‘There is always gossip about a man like Sir Robert,’ Lizzie said stoutly. ‘I wish I could have a shilling for every unfounded rumour I have heard about him, I would be a rich woman now. D’you remember what they said about him when he was with King Philip in the Netherlands? And how distressed you were when he came home with that French widow from Calais? But it all meant nothing, and nothing came of it.’
Amy’s hand went to the cool round beads of the rosary in her pocket. ‘But have you heard a rumour of him and the queen?’ Amy pressed her friend.
‘My sister-in-law told me that her cousin in London had said that the queen favours Sir Robert above any other, but there is nothing there that we did not know already,’ Lizzie said. ‘They were friends in childhood, he is her Master of Horse. Of course they are friendly together.’
‘She must be amusing herself,’ Amy said bitterly. ‘She knows he is a married man, she knows that she has to marry the archduke, she is just enjoying the summer in his company.’
‘Flighty,’ Lizzie said, watching Amy’s face. ‘She is a flighty young woman. There was gossip enough about her in her girlhood. If you want to think of scandal – Elizabeth was it!’
Hidden by the flap of her pocket, Amy wrapped her rosary around her fingers. ‘It is not for us to judge,’ she reminded herself. ‘It is my duty to stay loyal to my lord and wait for his return home.’
‘She would do better to mind the affairs of state,’ Lizzie Oddingsell volunteered. ‘They say there must be a war with the French and we are quite unprepared. She would do better to marry a good man who could run the kingdom safely for us all. Her sister married as soon as she came to the throne and chose a man who brought his own army.’
‘It is not for me to judge,’ Amy said, holding her beads. ‘But God guide her back to the path of right.’
Autumn 1559
The court, newly arrived in September at one of Elizabeth’s favourite houses, Windsor Castle, started the preparations for her birthday celebrations. Robert planned a day of festivities with the queen awakened by choristers, a choreographed hunt in which huntsmen would pause to sing her praises, woodland nymphs would dance, and a tamed deer with a garland round its neck would lead the queen to a dinner laid out in the greenwood. That night there would be a great banquet, with dancing, singing and a tableau depicting the Graces, with goddesses in attendance and Diana, symbolising Elizabeth the huntress, taking the crown.
The ladies in waiting were to dance as goddesses and the maids in waiting were to be the Graces. ‘Which Grace am I?’ Laetitia Knollys asked Robert as he allocated parts in a quiet corner of the queen’s presence chamber.
‘If there was a Grace called Unpunctuality, you could be her,’ he recommended. ‘Or if there was a Grace called Flirtation, you could be her.’
She shot him a look that was pure Boleyn: promising, provocative, irresistible. ‘I?’ she said. ‘Do you call me flirtatious? Now that is praise indeed.’
‘I meant it to be abuse,’ he said, pinching her chin.
‘From such a master at his trade it is a great compliment.’
He tapped her on the nose, as he would have reproved a kitten. ‘You are to be Chastity,’ he said. ‘I could not resist it.’
She widened her slanting, dark eyes at him. ‘Sir Robert!’ she pouted. ‘I do not know what I can have done to so offend you. First you call me unpunctual, then you call me flirtatious, and then you say that you could not resist giving me the part of Chastity. Have I annoyed your lordship?’
‘Not at all. You delight my eye.’
‘Have I troubled you?’
Robert winked at her. He was very certain he was not going to tell this young woman that he sometimes found it hard to look away from her when she was dancing, that once when he had danced with her and the movement of the dance had put her into his arms he had felt an instantaneous, irresistible thud of desire, stronger than he had ever felt for so slight a touch in his life before.
‘How could a little ninny such as you trouble a man such as me?’ he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I can think of a dozen ways. Can’t you? But the question is not how I would; but whether I do?’
‘Not at all, Miss Shameless.’
‘Chastity, if you please. And what do I wear?’ she asked.
‘Something fearfully immodest,’ he promised her. ‘You will be delighted. But you must show it to your mother, to make sure that she approves. The queen’s wardrobe has it for you. It is quite indecent.’
‘Should I not come and show it to you?’ she asked him provocatively. ‘I could come to your rooms before dinner.’
Robert glanced around. The queen had come in from the garden and was standing in a window bay, withdrawn from the rest, in close conversation with William Cecil. The young man picked out to be Laetitia’s husband was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking thoroughly surly. Robert judged he should bring this tantalising conversation to a close.
‘Most certainly, you will not come to my rooms,’ he said. ‘You will attempt to behave like a lady. You could be polite to poor young Devereux, your unhappy betrothed, while I go and talk with your mistress.’
‘Your mistress,’ she said impertinently.
Robert hesitated and looked gravely at her. ‘Do not overreach yourself, Mistress Knollys,’ he said quietly. ‘You are enchanting, of course, and your father is a powerful man, and your mother beloved of the queen, but not even they can save you if you are found to be spreading scandal.’
She hesitated, a pert reply ready on her tongue; but then at the steadiness of his gaze, and the firmness of his expression, her dark eyes fell to the toes of his boots. ‘I am sorry, Sir Robert, I was only speaking in jest.’
‘Well and good,’ he said, and turned away from her, feeling absurdly that although she had been in the wrong, and had apologised, he had been a pompous bore.
Elizabeth, in the window bay, talking low-voiced with Cecil, was so absorbed that she was not scanning the room for Robert.
‘And he has gone safely?’
‘Gone, and your agreement with him.’
‘But nothing in writing.’
‘Your Grace, you cannot think of denying your word. You said if he attempted the Scottish throne and was successful then you would marry him.’
‘I know I did,’ she said coolly. ‘But if he were to die in his attempt I would not want such a letter found on him.’
— Well — thought Cecil — my dream that she would be so taken with him, pretty boy that he is, can be forgotten, if she can imagine him dying in her cause, and all she cares is if he is carrying incriminating papers. —
‘There was nothing in writing, but you have given your word, he has given his, and I have given mine,’ Cecil reminded her. ‘You are promised to marry if he wins Scotland from the French.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, opening her dark eyes very wide. ‘Yes, indeed.’
She was about to turn away from him but he stood his ground. ‘There is something else, Your Grace.’
She hesitated. ‘Yes?’
‘I have intelligence of a possible attempt on your life.’
At once she was alert. He saw her face quiver with fear. ‘A new plot? Another one?’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘The Pope’s men?’
‘Not this time.’
She drew a shaky breath. ‘How many more men will come against me? This is worse than it was for Mary and she was hated by everyone.’
There was nothing he could say; it was true. Mary had been hated; but no monarch had ever been more threatened than this one. Elizabeth’s power was all in her person, and too many men thought that if she were dead then the country would be restored.
She turned back to him. ‘At any rate, you have captured the men who planned it?’
‘I have only an informant. I hope he will lead me onward. But I draw it to your attention at this stage because it was not only you who was threatened by this plot.�
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She turned, curious. ‘Who else?’
‘Sir Robert Dudley.’
Her face drained pale. ‘Spirit, no!’
— Good God, does she love him so much? — Cecil exclaimed to himself. — She takes a threat to herself as a matter of concern; but when I name him as a victim you would think she was in mortal terror. —
‘Indeed, yes. I am sorry.’
Elizabeth’s eyes were dilated. ‘Spirit, who would hurt him?’
Cecil could almost feel his thoughts clicking into place as a strategy formed in his mind. ‘A word with you?’
‘Walk with me,’ she said quickly, and put her hand on his arm. ‘Walk me away from them all.’
Through the velvet of his slashed sleeve he could feel the heat of her palm. — She is sweating with fear for him — he thought. — This has gone further than I had thought, this has gone to the very madness of forbidden love. —
He patted her hand, trying to steady himself and hide the thoughts that whirled in his head. The courtiers parted before Cecil and the queen, he saw a glimpse of Francis Knollys with his wife, his daughter demurely talking to young Walter Devereux, Mary Sidney, the Bacon brothers in conversation with the queen’s uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, a few men from the Spanish ambassador’s train, half a dozen hangers-on, a couple of City merchants with their sponsors, nothing out of the ordinary, no strange face, no danger here.
They reached the relative privacy of the gallery and walked away from the others, so that no-one could see the bleak agony on her face.
‘Cecil, who could dream of hurting him?’
‘Your Grace, there are so many,’ he said gently to her. ‘Has he never told you that he has enemies?’
‘Once,’ she said. ‘Once, he said to me that he was surrounded with enemies. I thought … I thought he meant rivals.’
‘He does not know the half of them,’ Cecil said grimly. ‘The Catholics blame him for the changes in the church. The Spanish think that you love him, and if he was dead you would take their candidate in marriage. The French hate him since he fought for Philip at St Quentin, the Commons of England blame him for taking you from your duties of queenship, and every lord of the land, from Arundel to Norfolk, would pay to see him dead because they envy him for your love, or they blame him for the terrible scandal that he has generated about you.’
‘It cannot be that bad.’
‘He is the most hated man in England, and the more that you are seen under his influence the greater the danger to you. I spend days and nights on tracking down plots against you; but he …’ Cecil broke off and shook his head regretfully. ‘I don’t know how to keep him safe.’
Elizabeth was white as her ruff; her fingers plucked at his sleeve. ‘We must have him guarded, Spirit. We must put guards about him, you must find out who would hurt him and arrest them, rack them, find out who they are leagued with. You must stop at nothing, you must take these plotters to the Tower and torture them till they tell us …’
‘Your own uncle!’ he exclaimed. ‘Half the lords of England! Dudley is widely despised, Your Grace. Only you and half a dozen people tolerate him.’
‘He is beloved,’ she whispered.
‘Only by his kinsmen, and those he pays,’ he said loftily.
‘Not you?’ she said, turning her dark gaze on him. ‘You don’t hate him, Spirit? You must stand his friend, if only for my sake. You know what he is to me, what joy he brings to my life. He must have your friendship. If you love me, you must love him.’
‘Oh, I stand his friend,’ he said carefully. — For I am not such a fool as to let you or him think otherwise. —
She took a shuddering sigh. ‘Oh, God, we must keep him safe. I could not live if … Spirit, you must guard him. How can we make him safe?’
‘Only by letting him decline in your favour,’ Cecil replied. — Careful — he warned himself. — Care and steadiness here. — ‘You cannot marry him, Princess, he is a married man and his wife is a virtuous, pleasant woman, pretty and sweet-tempered. He can never be more than a friend to you. If you want to save his life you have to let him go. He has to be your dear courtier, and your Master of Horse; but no more.’
She looked quite haggard. ‘Let him go?’
‘Send him home to his wife, it will still the gossips. Set your mind on Scotland and the work we have to do for the country. Dance with other men, set yourself free of him.’
‘Free of him?’ she repeated like a child.
Despite himself, Cecil was moved by the pain in her face. ‘Princess, this can go nowhere,’ he said quietly to her. ‘He is a married man, he cannot put his wife aside for no reason. You cannot sanction a divorce to serve your own lust. He can never marry you. You may love him; but it will always be a dishonourable love. You cannot be husband and wife, you cannot be lovers, you cannot even be seen to desire him. If there is any more scandal spoken against you, it could cost you your throne, it could even cost you your life.’
‘My life has been on a thread since I was born!’ She reared up.
‘It could cost his life,’ Cecil switched quickly. ‘Your favouring of him, as openly, as generously as you do, will be his death warrant.’
‘You will protect him,’ she said stubbornly.
‘I cannot protect him from your friends and family,’ Cecil replied steadily. ‘Only you can do that. Now I have told you how. You know what you have to do.’
Elizabeth gripped his arm. ‘I cannot let him go,’ she said to him in a low moan. ‘He is the only one … he is my only love … I cannot send him home to his wife. You must have a heart of stone to suggest it. I cannot let him go.’
‘Then you will sign his death warrant,’ he said harshly.
He felt a deep shudder run through her.
‘I am unwell,’ she said quietly. ‘Get Kat.’
He walked her to the end of the gallery and sent a page flying to the queen’s rooms for Kat Ashley. She came and took one look at Elizabeth’s pallor, and one look at Cecil’s grave face. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, Kat,’ Elizabeth whispered. ‘The worst thing, the worst thing.’
Kat Ashley stepped forward to shield her from the eyes of the court and took her quickly away to her rooms. The court, fascinated, looked at Cecil, who blandly smiled back at them all.
It was raining, the grey drops pouring like a stream down the leaded window panes of Windsor Castle, pattering like tears. Elizabeth had sent for Robert and told her ladies to seat themselves round the fire while he and she talked in the window seat. When Robert came into the room in a swirl of dark red velvet the queen was alone in the window seat, like a solitary girl without friends.
He came up at once and bowed and whispered: ‘My love?’
Her face was white and her eyelids red and sore from crying. ‘Oh, Robert.’
He took a rapid step towards her and then checked himself, remembering that he must not snatch her to him in public. ‘What is the matter?’ he demanded. ‘The court thinks you have been taken ill, I have been desperate to see you. What is the matter? What did Cecil say to you this morning?’
She turned her head to the window and put a fingertip to the cold green glass. ‘He warned me,’ she said quietly.
‘Of what?’
‘A new plot, against my life.’
Robert’s hand instinctively went to where his sword should be, but no man carried arms in the queen’s apartments. ‘My love, don’t be afraid. However wicked the plot I should always protect you.’
‘It was not just against me,’ she broke in. ‘I would not be sick with fear like this, just for a plot against me.’
‘So?’ His dark eyebrows were drawn together.
‘They want to kill you too,’ she said quietly. ‘Cecil says that I have to let you go, for our safety.’
— That damned cunning sly old fox — Robert cursed inwardly. — What a brilliant move: to use her love against me. —
‘We are in danger,’ he acknowledged quietly to
her. ‘Elizabeth, I beg of you, let me put my wife aside and let me marry you. Once you are my wife and you have my child then all these dangers are gone.’
She shook her head. ‘They will destroy you, as you warned me. Robert, I am going to give you up.’
‘No!’ He spoke too loud in his shock and the conversation at the fireplace was silenced and all the women looked towards him. He drew closer to the queen. ‘No, Elizabeth. This cannot be. You cannot just give me up, not when you love me, and I love you. Not when we are happy now. Not after so many years of waiting and waiting for happiness!’
She had herself under the tightest control, he saw her bite her lip to stop the tears coming to her eyes. ‘I have to. Don’t make it harder for me, my love, I think my heart is breaking.’
‘But to tell me here! In the full glare of the court!’
‘Oh, d’you think I could have told you anywhere else? I am not very strong with you, Robert. I have to tell you here, where you cannot touch me, and I have to have your word that you will not try to change my mind. You have to give me up, and give up your dream of our marriage. And I have to let you go, and I have to marry Arran if he is victorious, and the archduke if he is not.’
Robert raised his head and would have argued.
‘It is the only way to stop the French,’ she said simply. ‘Arran or the archduke. We have to have an ally against the French in Scotland.’
‘You would give me up for a kingdom,’ he said bitterly.
‘For nothing less,’ she replied steadily. ‘And I ask something more of you.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth, you have my heart. What can I give you more?’
Her dark eyes were filled with tears, she put out a shaking hand to him. ‘Will you still be my friend, Robert? Though we can never be lovers again, even though I will have to marry another man?’
Slowly, oblivious now of the ladies’ stares, he took her cold hand in his own, and bent his head and kissed it. Then he knelt to her and held up his hands in the age-old gesture of fealty. She leaned forward and took his praying hands in her own.
‘I am yours,’ he said. ‘Heart and soul. I always have been since you are my queen, but more than that: you are the only woman I have ever loved and you are the only woman I ever will love. If you want me to dance at your wedding, I will do it as well as I can. If you will recall me from this misery, I will return to joy with you in a second. I am your friend for life, I am your lover forever, I am your husband in the sight of God. You have only to command me, Elizabeth, now and ever, I am yours till death.’
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