by Jean Plaidy
“So, Master Heneage,” I said, “you have decided to fight duels, have you, when you know I forbid such folly?”
“Your Majesty,” he began, raising his bewildered eyes to mine, “I…I but sought to teach a lesson…”
“So you have become a tutor, have you, my merry man. You would teach the Earl of Leicester good manners, would you, disregarding your Sovereign's wishes and strutting about waving your sword!”
“Your Majesty, the Earl of Leicester began this by threatening me…”
I pupped with my lips which they all knew was my way of expressing contempt. I kept him on his knees while I made it very clear that I would have no dueling in my realm.
“If you think to win my favor with your buccaneer's ways you are mistaken. I will not have brawling… and screaming of abuse. Though…if you must fight, fight with words.”
“Your Majesty …” There was a certain protest in his voice. I suddenly had a picture of Robert lying mortally wounded on a stretch of grass with a triumphant Heneage standing over him and I could not bear it. I brought up my hand and gave Heneage a stinging blow about the head.
I watched the red blood flow into his face; he put up his hand and I was rather sorry for him. After all this had all come about through their feelings for me and if it was ambition which prompted them rather than love, I could not blame them for that.
“There, Master Heneage, you may go, and next time prate not so freely of using your sword against another of my subjects, wreaking damage on him… and yourself.”
He went out shamefacedly and feeling sorry for him I called out: “I like to see you too well at my Court, Master Heneage. Remember that.”
The smile came back to his face. He bowed as he retired; and I did not think he would dare challenge Robert again.
Then I sent for Robert.
If he had come humbly I think I should have forgiven him and then asked him outright about his affair with Lettice, banished her from Court and taken him back; but he was truculent. In a way I would not have had him pleading, and although part of me wanted him to, I was glad there was nothing mealy-mouthed about Robert. He flattered me; perhaps he professed to love me more than he did; but if part of that love was for the crown, there was still a large measure for me alone.
He was sullen, aloof, proud, telling me quite clearly that although I was the Queen he considered himself my equal—and that was something I would not endure.
I said: “So you think fit to flout my rules and brawl with Heneage?”
“I cannot submit to insults from such men.”
“Such men? What mean you? Heneage is a worthy member of my Court.”
“If Your Majesty thinks so…”
“I do think so. I tell you I think so.”
He lifted his shoulders almost contemptuously and I thought: This is what comes of showing too much favor to one man. This arrogant Robert needs a lesson and by God's Blood he shall have it.
“I have wished you well,” I cried and my voice grew louder as I continued: “But my favor is not so locked up in you that others may not have a share of it. I have other servants besides my Lord Leicester. I would have you remember, Master Dudley, that there is one mistress here and no master. I have raised up some, but they can as surely be lowered, and so they shall be if they assume an arrogant impudence because once they enjoyed my favor.”
Robert was stunned. I admit now that I was a little, too. I was angry and deeply hurt, to see him standing there so far apart from me, his face as handsome in anger as it ever was. I almost put my arms about him and promised him that I would marry him after all.
But the sterner side of me said no. Have you not seen what happens to a man when a little power passes into his hands? What did Melville say of you: You will brook no commander. Remember it, for Melville is right.
So I stood there and for a few moments we stared coldly at each other in silence.
Then he spoke quietly and said: “Your Majesty, I ask your permission to retire from Court.”
“You have it,” I said, “and the sooner the better.”
He was gone, leaving me angry, deeply wounded and desperately unhappy.
HOW DULL THE COURT was without him! I was fractious and illtempered. When I sat through the long process of preparing myself for the evening's revelries, I was constantly shouting at my ladies until they were reduced to such nervousness that they were even more clumsy than they would otherwise have been; and this added to my irritability. All the intricate processes of getting into bone and buckram, the tight lacing, the whalebone hips, the petticoats, the glittering picadillie ruffs, the gorgeous gowns of velvets and brocades glittering with pearls and precious stones… they all seemed pointless because Robert would not be there to see me. Lettice was still waiting on me, and I did have the satisfaction of knowing that, in any case, he was not with her.
I heard that he had gone to Kenilworth which had come into his possession with the title, and that he was making it into one of the most magnificent castles in the country.
I wondered if he missed the Court and me.
They were saying: This is the end of Leicester. His day is over. Well, he had a good running. Who will take his place?
Idiots! I thought. As if anyone could take his place!
One of Robert's chief enemies was Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. I had favored Howard when I came to the throne because of his connection with my mother's family; moreover I needed his support because he was one of the leading peers in the country; but I never liked him. I thought he was arrogant and stupid with it.
Many of them were jealous of the favor I showed to Robert, of course, and Norfolk particularly so since the incident at the tennis court some little time before which I had forgotten.
I had been watching Robert play with Norfolk. My father had excelled at the game and loved to play it before spectators for he always won (it was the rule of the Court that no one should beat him). Therefore he had liked a goodly company of lookers-on, especially beautiful women.
In this particular game Robert was winning for he was very skilled in all games and although, like my father, he hated to be beaten, in Robert's case he had to win by skill.
This he was doing and Norfolk was becoming more and more disconcerted especially as when Robert made a good stroke I clapped my hands and my ladies naturally did the same.
During a pause in the game with Robert well in ascendance, he came to my side. I smiled at him lovingly and he returned my smile.
“You are too hot, Robin,” I chided him. “You will take a chill.”
At which he took my mockinder—a sort of handkerchief—from my girdle and mopped his brow with it. I must admit that I was a little taken aback by such an act of familiarity in public, but it pleased me in a way, even though I knew that it was such gestures which gave substance to the gossip that we were lovers.
Norfolk had seen it and he cried out: “You impudent dog! You insult the Queen!”
He approached Robert brandishing his racquet and I thought there would be a fight in my presence. I was too startled to cry out and before I could do anything to put an end to the scene, Robert had seized Norfolk's hand which held the racquet, twisting it so that the Duke yelled in pain and the racquet dropped to the ground.
I could blame Norfolk absolutely for he had started the brawl. I shouted then: “How dare you, Norfolk! How dare you behave in such a way before me! Look to it, or it may not be only your temper which is lost.”
Norfolk was immediately subdued. He wanted to explain but I silenced him and he asked leave to retire.
“That I willingly give,” I cried. “And pray do not return until I send for you.” Then I turned to Robert and I said: “Methinks, my lord Norfolk does not like to be beaten at tennis. Not only does he lose the game but his temper with it. And you, my lord Leicester, are somewhat overcome by the heat. Pray be seated and cool yourself.”
I indicated that he should sit beside me and as he did so, I took the mo
ckinder and replaced it in my girdle.
So now that Robert appeared to be in decline Norfolk would be jubilant and with the help of Sussex and Arundel he thought he could destroy Robert forever.
I was sure that they were behind the diabolical plan, when rumors started to circulate once more concerning the death of Amy Robsart.
It appeared that John Appleyard, Amy's half-brother, had stated that he had received large sums of money from Robert at the time of Amy's death for his services in suppressing certain facts and now his conscience demanded that he make those facts known.
I could imagine them all—Norfolk, Sussex and Arundel—rubbing their hands together with glee. Leicester is out of favor. Let us kick him while he is down. Let us destroy the gentleman once and for all.
Robert might survive my disfavor and occupy himself away from Court, but if he were found guilty of murder, what then?
Old scandals did not easily die. Skeletons remained to confront the unwary. But they had forgotten that if Robert could not afford to have the circumstances of Amy Robsart's death brought into prominence, nor could I.
I thought of him surrounded by the splendors of Kenilworth. Was he as lonely as I, as wretched without me as I was without him?
I knew what I would do. I would recall him to Court. I would show my favor to him. I would let him know that when he was in danger there was one who would not forget him.
I sent for him.
He came back with all speed. I shall never forget the moment when he came into my chamber. He knelt at my feet and I touched his head—that dark curling hair which I loved so much.
I said: “Rob, the Court has been dull without you.”
“Elizabeth,” he said. “My beautiful Elizabeth.”
Then he was kissing my hands and I felt near to weeping.
“You are an evil man to displease me,” I cried emotionally. “Never… never do it again.”
He stood up and would have embraced me but I stepped back. Too much emotion might betray me into taking steps which I would regret later.
I said: “I want to discuss that knave Appleyard with you.”
So we talked and it was as it used to be. He told me how lonely he had been, how pointless life was and he had not much cared when Appleyard had brought his monstrous accusations against him.
“The rogue shall be made to eat his words,” I said. “I doubt not that now you are back with me Norfolk and the rest will be less anxious to bay at your heels.”
“May God bless Your Majesty now and forever.”
“Oh Robin,” I said quietly, “it pleases me to have you back.”
I ORDERED THAT John Appleyard be arrested and examined by the Privy Council and I commanded Cecil to interrogate him first; and then the other members of the Council should do so. This included Norfolk and Sussex. But I had no fear of them. My favor had drawn their teeth, and as Cecil realized the need to discredit Appleyard, for accusations against Robert could incriminate me, I could rely on the matter's being brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
I was right to act as I did. Appleyard confessed that he had received money from Robert, but as he was his brother-in-law there seemed nothing significant in this. He had, he admitted, asked Robert for money and Robert had considered his demands as blackmail to which he would not submit, and had cut off all communications with him. That had been the state of affairs when he had been approached by two men who offered him money to reopen the scandal. He was ashamed to say that he had agreed to do this.
He was a frightened man and I was grateful to Cecil for proving that this had only come to light because Appleyard knew that Robert was out of favor at Court. We did not know who the men were who had approached him, but I was ready to swear that Norfolk had had a hand in it.
Appleyard was all contrition; he pointed out that he did not believe his half-sister had been murdered and that all he would say—even when bribed—was that he believed, because of the Earl of Leicester's standing at Court, the matter had not been sifted properly. He had merely asked for a reopening of the investigation.
The minutes of the inquest were presented to him but it was discovered that the man could not read and they had to be read to him.
Here was a man who could not read, who had first taken money from Robert—although it had been given out of generosity to a brother-in-law— and who had accepted bribes from the men who would not come into the open, but wanted to bring a case against the Earl of Leicester which they thought at this time might succeed.
The whole case clearly had its roots in malice.
Cecil and I agreed that no revenge should be taken on Appleyard. We wanted no martyrs. All we wanted was no more talk about a matter which was best forgotten. So Appleyard was discharged with a warning that he should take more care in future.
Robert was back in higher favor than ever. I did not think he would lightly displease me again, and I was very happy to have him beside me.
As a precaution I summoned Lettice's father, who was the Treasurer of the Royal Household, and I told him that I did not like wives and mothers to be separated from their families for too long, and I thought it would be better if his daughter returned to her husband.
Her husband was in Ireland, he told me.
But I frowned and said her children would be missing her.
It was good enough. He knew that it was my wish that Lettice should retire from Court.
So she went and that, I thought, will be the end of Robert's little flutter with that woman which had caused me such unnecessary trouble.
EVENTS IN SCOTLAND NOW BEGAN TO ASTOUND US. IT seemed that Mary could not be anywhere without raising a storm; she must always be at the center of great events. I had been amused to discover that she had quickly realized the nature of the man she had so romantically married. Lord Darnley was dissolute, unfaithful and a heavy drinker, and as soon as she had fondly but foolishly proclaimed him King of Scotland he made no attempt to hide his true nature. His behavior was despicable. He became involved in street brawls, picked quarrels with all those who dared contradict him and took every advantage of Mary's devotion to him. That devotion very naturally soon began to fade and she must have seen him in a very different light—seen what to me had been obvious from the start—the weakness of those sensuous lips, the blankness behind the pretty eyes. What a fool Mary was! She made me realize more than ever that I had been wise “to suffer no commander,” as her Ambassador had put it.
In one thing she had succeeded. She had quickly become pregnant. Cecil brought me the news with something like reproach in his eyes, but I reminded him that Mary had been foolish to marry Darnley when she might have had the Earl of Leicester. To which Cecil replied: “Your Majesty knows that Leicester would never have been allowed to leave your Court. You cannot let him stay in Kenilworth long without recalling him.”
“Robert would never have gone,” I said with a smile, “so we waste time, Master Cecil, in discussing what can never be now. So… she is with child. That will please the people of Scotland, doubtless. But it is another little claimant to our throne.”
“The Queen of Scots appears to be distressed by her husband's drunken frolics and his numerous infidelities. Doubtless the child will console her.”
There were rumors about her Italian secretary, David Rizzio, an excellent musician of whom she was said to be inordinately fond. I could imagine that this Italian was a charming relief from the dissolute Darnley; and Mary was noted for gathering about her poets and musicians. I supposed she was trying to bring something of the French Court into that of Scotland. The contrast must be very depressing for her.
There had already been some scandal about a young French poet, Pierre de Chastelard, who had escorted her when she had first arrived in Scotland and returned to France to be sent back by Catherine de' Medici, probably to spy for her, as that wily woman would not have sent a charming young man merely for the purpose of diverting her daughter-in-law.
We had heard that Chastel
ard and David le Chante, as she called Rizzio, were constantly in her company. Chastelard was said to be the Queen's lover and had even been discovered hiding in her bedchamber, though I have to say that it was Mary and her ladies who found him there and raised the alarm; but as I said he could not have been hopefully hiding there unless he had had some encouragement.
The sequel of that little escapade was that Chastelard was obliged to place his head on the block in the marketplace of St Andrew's where he died bravely, poor young man, quoting Ronsard's Hymn to Death as he did so.
“Je te salue, heureuse et profitable Mort…”
It was brave to die with such words on one's lips. Poor young songster, his death had not enhanced his mistress's reputation.
But there were even more dramatic events to follow. I often wondered whether Rizzio was in truth Mary's lover. That she had a weakness where men were concerned seemed clear, for she had smothered Darnley with affection before they married. I think she must have been a deeply sensuous woman and as Darnley clearly no longer pleased her, it might have been that she turned to the Italian for more than music.
So he was doomed. I heard many versions of that terrible night's happenings and in my mind I can see it clearly. Saturday night in Holyrood House. Outside the March winds buffeting the castle walls and the Queen in her sixth month of pregnancy. She was not feeling well enough to meet a great many people so she was taking supper quietly in a small room with a few of her intimates, her bastard brother and sister, Robert Stuart and Lady Jane, Countess of Argyle, among them. Her father, James V, although he had only one legitimate daughter had been very energetic outside his marriage bed. The doctor had advised Mary not to overtax her strength but to live quietly and eat red meat which explains why it was being served in Lent. The Laird of Creech, her Master of the Household, was there with her equerry and doctor. I asked for these details as I wanted to set the scene in my mind. And there was of course that other who was rarely absent from the Queen's side—David Rizzio. He was in a rich damask gown trimmed with fur, satin doublet and russet velvet hose, with a fine ruby at his neck. This was mentioned because they were all gifts from the Queen; and those who wished to vilify her noted these matters.