Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  “I came to bring you gold,” he said. “I have sold some of my estates so that I might have the money. I trust you will not need it, but if there should be trouble it would be well for you to be prepared.”

  “You bring me money, Lord Robert!”

  “I have it here. My man will bring it to you. Your Grace, if it should be necessary to fight for what is yours by right, here is one who will stand beside you and cares so much for your cause that he has sold certain of his estates to raise money for any need or emergency which may arise.”

  “You are indeed a friend,” I said, “and I thank you.”

  “There was a time when you and I were both prisoners in the Tower,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “There was a young boy…”

  “Little Martin,” I replied. “He brought me your messages of cheer until they stopped him.”

  “Your Grace remembers! It is more than I dared hope. I never forgot, and I shall be with you should you need my help.”

  “Thank you, Lord Robert. I accept your offer and your friendship.”

  “I shall be watchful of Your Grace. There is much coming and going on the road to Hatfield. The Queen is very sick. If anything should go wrong, Hatfield could become a prison.”

  “If aught goes wrong? What mean you by that?”

  “None knows more than Your Grace what a dangerous world we live in.”

  “Lord Robert, are you telling me there are plots against me?”

  “I know of none. None would confide in me. I have always been Your Grace's most ardent supporter.”

  “Except,” I said, a little sharply, “when you were among those who tried to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne.”

  “That was my father, and as he was my father I was forced to stand with him. It was no disloyalty to Your Grace. I am yours to command. My lands and goods are at your disposal. This I have brought with me is but a token. Whatever need you should have of me, I am yours … these arms, this heart… this man.”

  I was so touched I held out my hand, which he took and kissed fervently. He was a little too bold, perhaps, a little too intense, but I was honest enough to admit that I liked his fervor.

  I said: “Thank you, Lord Robert. You may go now. I shall not forget this magnanimous offer. I may hold you to it, you know.”

  “I shall be here whenever you need me.”

  He bowed low and departed.

  I went to my room. I did not want to speak to anyone for a while. I just wanted to think of him. I would remember every word he had said, every inflection of his voice, every expression which had touched his handsome face, the ardor in his eyes.

  I should see him again soon and perhaps then I should be Queen.

  MY SISTER KNEW that she was dying. I heard that she had received a letter from Philip in which he urged her to name me her heir. I did not see that that was important. I was her heir on the terms of my father's will. It was not for Mary to name me, or anyone else. But it did show that Philip realized I must follow her. He must have been extremely nervous about French aspirations through Mary Stuart and I still believed that in his heart he was hoping to marry me. I was certain that he was a little enamored of my person and because of his nature he would look forward to marriage with one who was young and attractive; moreover, in his arrogant way he would think he was quite capable of bending me to his will. How mistaken he was!

  I was a little surprised when two members of Mary's Council arrived. I thought they might well have come to announce her death and I was wondering whether I should believe them. I had to watch for traps. I had said that I would not accept that my sister was dead until I held her gold and ebony ring in my hands, and I meant that.

  But the councilors had not come to kneel to me as their Queen. They bowed with due deference and one of them said: “The Queen has sent us to Your Grace to tell you that it is her intention to bequeath the royal crown to you. In return for this favor there are three conditions with which you must comply. The first is that you will not change the Privy Council; the second that you will make no alteration in religion; and thirdly that you will discharge the Queen's debts and satisfy her creditors.”

  I felt anger rising within me, but I said calmly enough that I could satisfy her on the last of these matters with the utmost ease as she was asking nothing more than what was just. “As to the others,” I went on, “there is no reason why I should thank the Queen for her intention to give me the crown for she has neither the power to bestow it upon me nor can I be deprived of it. It is my hereditary right. I respectfully point out that I should be allowed to choose my own councilors as she chose hers.”

  I could see they were really taken aback and I really believe they thought I should be overcome with gratitude because the Queen was giving her consent to what was mine by right. But now I had come to the dangerous clause: religion. It was always religion which caused the greatest trouble. The Queen was not yet dead and I still had to walk warily. I paused to consider my reply. Then I said: “As to religion, I promise this much, that I will not change it providing only that it can be proved by the word of God which shall be the only foundation and rule of my religion.”

  They looked bemused, as well they might. Experience had taught me that it is always wise to be obtuse when discussing religion, and if one could bring in God as one's advocate so much the better.

  The Councilors went away. I fancied they were gravely considering my words and I felt that I was getting very near to the crown.

  THE NEXT CALLER was the Count de Feria, the Ambassador from Philip himself. He was extremely affable, and I was inclined to be a little aloof, for I fancied I did not have to be so careful in manner toward him as I had been in the past. He and his master would immediately lose their importance when my sister was no longer there to sustain it and it pleased me to let these arrogant Spaniards know that England was slipping out of their clutches.

  He began by conveying Philip's friendly feelings toward me.

  “He has ever been kindly disposed toward Your Grace,” he said. “You will remember that it was through his persuasion that you came to Court.”

  “I remember it well,” I replied.

  “Moreover, it was he who advised the Queen to make you her heir and you must feel gratitude toward him for this.”

  There was nothing which annoyed me more than to be told that my sister had had to be persuaded to give me that to which I had a right, and I felt my anger flaring up. I said coldly: “This was no matter of persuasion. I am the heir to the throne by right of birth. As my father's daughter, I am so named in his will. Therefore no matter what your master said to my sister, my right to the throne is my own, and I believe the people of England will see right done.”

  “I am sure you will be grateful for the continued friendship of my master.”

  “Friendship is always to be preferred to enmity and I shall remain friendly with all those who mean well to my country.”

  “Through his marriage my master became King of this country.”

  “He was the Queen's consort it is true, although he spent very little time with her.”

  “He had so many duties in Spain…”

  “And now he will be even more engrossed in his duties,” I said, referring to the death of the Emperor Charles which had occurred the previous month.

  De Feria could not deny that. I was smiling, inwardly wondering what he would report to his master.

  I went on: “As you know the King, your master, urged me more than once to marry Philibert of Savoy. Ah, if I had, where should I be now? Not here, most certainly. I should have been ill advised to have listened to him.”

  “My master believed at the time that it would have been an excellent match for you. He was eager for your good.”

  That was too much and I need not be subservient now.

  I said sharply: “Your master has the good of his own country ever at heart, and that is all that can be expected of a ruler. My sister lost favor with her people when she
married a foreigner and brought him to these shores.”

  De Feria was nonplussed. I wondered if he had been told to sound me out about marriage with Philip. If he had, he evidently decided that this was not the moment to raise the matter. Nor was it, with Philip's poor wife, my sister, not yet dead, certain though it was that her end was imminent.

  He went away somewhat crestfallen and I felt I had handled the situation very well.

  THE TENSION WAS MOUNTING. I wanted to be alone to think. Mary was dying. It could not be many days now. I went into the gardens and as I was there I heard the sound of horses' hoofs. A party of riders were close. I stood still, my heart beating fast. Then I saw them.

  They were members of the Council and they could only be here on one mission.

  They dismounted and came toward me. They fell to their knees.

  “God save Queen Elizabeth!” they cried, and they took my hand and, in turn, kissed it and swore to serve me.

  I listened to them and was exultant. This was the greatest moment of my life.

  I was overcome with joy but perhaps because of the vicissitudes through which I had passed I felt strangely humble.

  Often during my most dangerous moments I had made Kat read Psalm 118 with me and I knew it by heart.

  “It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes.

  “Thou hast thrust sore at me that I might fall; but the Lord helped me.”

  Often I had repeated those words and they came once more into my mind and I cried aloud: “This is the Lord's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.”

  EVERYONE WAS NOW converging on Hatfield, all eager to proclaim me Queen.

  Nicholas Throckmorton arrived with the gold and ebony ring, and he was a little put out because the Council had reached me first. I thanked him for his good service, which I promised I should not forget.

  There was one other who came riding at full speed on a magnificent white horse.

  I was delighted to see him and when he knelt down, kissed my hand and cried: “God save the Queen!” I almost wept with an emotion which I had to conceal.

  “I would I had been the first to reach you,” he said. “As soon as I heard the news, for which I was earnestly waiting, I took my fastest horse. I wished to be the first to call you Queen and offer my life in your service.”

  “I forget not that you came earlier,” I said. “Rest assured, Lord Robert, that you will not be forgotten.”

  “My lady…so young…so fair… and a crown to carry!”

  “Do not fear for me,” I answered. “I have long been prepared.”

  “Fortune is smiling on England this day,” he said.

  “Perhaps too it will smile on Robert Dudley,” I said. “I offer you the post of my Master of Horse. What say you?”

  He was on his knees again. His eyes sparkled with pleasure and all the time they watched me. I was young…so was he. We were of an age.

  “Master of the Queen's Horse,” he said slowly. “There is nothing I could have wished for more… because it will bring me close to Your Majesty. I shall be beside you for as long as you need me.”

  Oh, glorious day! Dull November perhaps, but for me no day could have been brighter.

  Truly it was marvelous in our eyes. At last I had my crown. I had the homage of my subjects, the love of my people—and the passionate admiration of Robert Dudley.

  ALTHOUGH THIS WAS A TIME OF GREAT TRIUMPH FOR ME, I must not forget that it had come about through my sister's death and I thought it would be proper to show a little sorrow for her. I did not have to feign this entirely. I had often thought of Mary and the tragic failure of her life. I had looked on it as an outstanding example of how not to act. The people did not mourn her. How could they when they could smell the smoke from Smithfield? But that was in the past. This was the time for rejoicing. Young Elizabeth had taken the place of aging Mary, and the ties with Spain, that hated enemy, were broken. They looked forward to golden days and they must not be disappointed.

  I had decided that I should remain a few days at Hatfield House out of respect for my sister. It was two days after her death before I was formally proclaimed Queen at the gates.

  The next day I held my first Privy Council. Hatfield House had become a Court. People were gathering there all hoping for some place in my service. But I already knew whom I should employ. The trials through which I had passed had given me a good idea of whom I could trust and who had the ability to serve me as would be necessary. Therefore I was delighted to welcome William Cecil to Hatfield for I had never forgotten his help and was well aware of his astuteness. I had made up my mind that when I formed a government, he should be part of it.

  At that first Council meeting I got some inkling of the state of the country, and it was decidedly depressing. We were sadly weakened; our exchequer pitiably lacking; food was dear; we were at war with France and Scotland, and the French had recaptured Calais so that we no longer had a foothold in France. But there was one thing I had always known and that was that wars brought no good to either side. Perhaps because I was a woman I had no desire to indulge in them. I had no glorious dreams of riding into battle; my victories should be those of diplomacy. I remember William Cecil's once saying that a country gains more in a year of peace than by ten years of war. I agreed with that sentiment, and I made up my mind that my country should not go to war unless it was absolutely necessary to do so.

  The more I thought of it the more I knew that Cecil was the man for the most influential post in the government, and at the first meeting of the Council I announced that I had chosen him for my chief Secretary of State. I did keep certain members of Mary's Council in office. The Earl of Arundel and Lord William Howard were two of them, and another was William Paulet, Marquess of Winchester, whom I made Lord Treasurer. Nicholas Bacon was Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, and Sir Francis Knollys, who was a second cousin by marriage, became Vice Chamberlain. He was a firm Protestant and had found it necessary to leave the country during Mary's reign, but I knew he was a good honest man, and I liked to favor my mother's relations, provided they had the ability.

  I was satisfied that I had built up a strong government, and it suddenly occurred to me that none of the members I had chosen was young. Cecil, oddly enough, was the youngest, and he was thirty-eight. I was glad of this for I was a great believer in experience—a valuable asset which few people have the wit to appreciate. But being aware for so long that sooner or later I could become Queen, I had many times planned which men I would choose to serve me. It was exhilarating to be in the position to make those plans reality.

  We were no longer going to be ruled by priests. I had a company of able and trustworthy men and I intended to turn my country from debt and bankruptcy into a great state when every man and woman in it should be proud to be English.

  I had to give Kat a post to keep her close to me so I made her my first Lady of the Bedchamber and her delight in her new dignity greatly amused me.

  “It will make no difference to me, queen or not,” she told me. “You'll still be my Elizabeth and I shall say what I please.”

  “You will have to be careful, Kat,” I warned her. “Only fools anger princes.”

  “Well, you have always said I was a fool, mistress.”

  I boxed her ears playfully. I made her husband Keeper of the Jewels and my dear Parry was Treasurer of the Household. I was not one to forget my old friends.

  Even aged Blanche Parry, whose learning I had always valued and who had taught me to speak the Welsh language, was not forgotten. Indeed why should she be? She was very clever and erudite and quite worthy to hold the post of Keeper of the Royal Books at Windsor Castle, an honor which delighted her.

  There was another side to my glorious position and that was one—such was my nature—which I awaited with eager anticipation: my ride through my capital city, my acclamation by the people, and my coronation which must take place as soon as possible for there is a belief among the people that a monarch is no
t a true one until she—or he—has been crowned.

  An added delight to these preparations was that they would be supervised by my Master of Horse, and that gave me an excuse to have many consultations with the man in whose company I took such delight.

  Robert Dudley was for me the ideal companion. He showed me in a hundred ways that he adored me… and not just as a queen. He had graceful manners so that while he was bold he always remembered who I was. For me it was the perfect relationship. I had always been susceptible to admiration; I greatly enjoyed compliments even when the wiser side of my nature told me they were not true; and in spite of the fact that the thought of marriage was repulsive to me, courtship I found exhilarating. And this was the relationship which was springing up between Robert Dudley and me. He admired me; his looks, his gestures, his words, implied that he was in love with me. He was particularly eligible because he was already married and for that reason I could dally with him to my heart's content.

  A week after Mary's death I came to London. What a glorious day it was when I rode through my capital city, and how the people rejoiced! I was deeply moved by their trust in me. They looked to me to bring happiness and prosperity back to the country and I vowed I would do so. This was the end of the Smithfield fires. This was the beginning of the great era which I vowed would be known forever as Elizabethan. I swore to myself that I would never betray them. I loved these people with their honest faces and their shining belief in me. I would show them my love for them. I felt as Joan of Arc must have felt riding into Orleans. She had been sure she had God's blessing—and so was I.

  How they cheered me! They came to me with nosegays—some very humble. I took them all and kissed them and that made them cheer more wildly. I gave them to one of my women to hold for me while I tenderly thanked the givers. My people must never think me too proud to speak to them whenever they wished to speak to me. I knew that the approval of these people was necessary to keep me in my place, and that was something I should never forget.

  And riding beside me was that incomparable man. How he sat his horse! There was no man in England who could manage a horse as he could. He was rightly Master of Horse. Moreover his office meant that he was often beside me, which was what I wanted as much as he did.