In High Places

by Bonny G Smith

  “The sly piece!” he cried. “Going behind my back to Henri to demand a pact between England and France! Henri will never agree. He knows, if Elizabeth does not, that there can be no pact between France and England that is not sealed by our nuptials. Otherwise, how can he trust Her Grace to uphold her end of the bargain?”

  Simier studied the backs of his hands as if he had never seen them before. By doing so he hoped to avoid meeting Alençon’s eye. For he knew, if Alençon did not, that Elizabeth always knew exactly what she was doing. But it would do no good to point out the fact to the duc, who would believe what he wanted to believe. Best to let Alençon find out on his own that Elizabeth was a duplicitous, deceitful woman, and a formidable queen who knew what she wanted and how to get it; and who would stop at nothing to accomplish her purpose.

  Muffled shouts from above decks heralded their arrival at the London docks. From there they would board the queen’s barge to Richmond Palace. What awaited them there Simier could not say; he only knew that without the support of the Queen of England, the war in the Netherlands could not be won.

  ###

  Elizabeth stood at the water steps in the muted light of an autumn dusk. As queen for nigh on twenty-three years, she had learned that one must practice a certain amount of deception if one were to rule effectively. And so she was now very circumspect about choosing her times for certain things. For instance, she no longer received foreign delegations in the full light of day. That sort of business was now conducted only at certain times; never when sunlight flooded her presence chamber. Any meetings that required close proximity were held at dusk or in the evening, when she could count on the soft glow of firelight as her ally.

  But where Alençon was concerned, there could be no avoiding the reality of what had become of her beauty. After this first meeting, he would be by her side almost constantly until he departed. Which, God send, would be quickly! She could not marry him; she had known all along that she could not marry him. The madness that had seized her during his first visit was inexplicable. Not since she was very young had she allowed her feelings such free rein; first with Thomas Seymour and then with Robert. Never again!

  The torches lining the path from the palace to the water steps had been lit; the flames flickered and danced in the evening breeze that arose on the river just at sunset. The light was perfect. In her hands she held a Tudor rose; she recalled at that moment another time when she had held a rose to meet a suitor. She had been young then, and lovely; the purpose of the rose at that far distant rendezvous had been to call attention to her beautiful hands. But not this time; this time the rose was meant to distract Alençon’s attention from her ravaged beauty.

  Suddenly she dashed the rose to the gravel path and in a fit of pique, ground it into the stones with her slippered foot. Why had she to care what Alençon thought of her? Was he not ugly and pock-marked? But her anger passed as quickly as it had come upon her, and she regretted the rose, now a pulpy red and green smear on the path.

  When she looked up again, there it was; her barge. And standing at the prow were Alençon and Good Jehan. Tears sprang up in her eyes. She had not realized until that very moment how much she had missed them. But it would never do to let them know that. No, she must show her anger to Alençon for his perfidy in the Netherlands, lest he think to gain the upper hand with her. And as much as she enjoyed Simier’s company, she was not blind to the fact that he was her Frog’s evil genius.

  Alençon resisted the urge to twist his cap in his hands as if he were a nervous schoolboy. He still could not believe that he had been reduced to courting a woman old enough to be his mother, just for the sake of a few ducats. Thoughts of his brother flashed through his mind; the knave! The high and mighty king of France! A mere figurehead! For where would Henri be without their formidable mother at his side? And now Henri, for fear of pushing Philip into full scale war against France, had refused to allow any more French recruits to join his army in the Netherlands. This meant that he must hire mercenaries; their pay would break him. Mercenaries were not like common soldiers, who were content to pillage, rob and rape for their compensation. They demanded cash money, and it was dangerous to keep them waiting for it for too long.

  But it was not just that he hated and resented Henri. Deep in his heart there lurked a desire to rival his brother; to take his throne of France if that were possible, but if not, to somehow find power to equal Henri’s, and even Philip’s in Spain. The only way to accomplish this desire was to marry Elizabeth and become King of England. He would then use his wife’s men and money to finish the Spanish in the Netherlands once and for all. Was he not the conqueror of Cambrai, having defeated and ousted that great general, the Duke of Parma? What had he to fear from Elizabeth? As his wife, she would be expected to make his wars hers, and to fund his efforts in the Netherlands.

  And did it not augur well that the Queen of England herself had come to the water steps to greet him privately and personally? For there she stood. From a distance she looked magnificent. But he had been warned; the queen had aged in the years since he was last in England. He must not let on, but must praise her to the sun, moon and stars. He needed her money and he needed to be king. Only marriage would do, and it must be now. He would not only not leave England without her answer to his suit; he had resolved that he would not leave until the deed was done. He was not a beardless boy, to be toyed with in such a manner. No. He would put his foot down. He was a man, after all, and Elizabeth, even though she was a queen, was still a mere woman. If she did not comply, she would feel the sting of his tongue this time, by all that was holy! And should not England greatly benefit from a Netherlands liberated from the yoke of Catholic Spain, with its terrifying Inquisition, and Autos-de-Fe? So now he must placate the old harridan to get what he wanted from her.

  The barge slid to the side of the wharf and rocked uncertainly for a few moments. The bargemen swiftly tied her back and at last the boat was steady enough, in the flooding tide they had fought all the way up the river, to disembark.

  Finally he stood before her. Yes, she had aged, but she was, for all that, still an impressive presence. He knelt before her and reached up his hand for hers, that he might kiss it.

  But Elizabeth drew back, her mouth set in a grim line. Just like Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus, the scales had been lifted from her eyes. Whatever it was that she had seen on his previous visit was gone. She no longer wanted to marry him. Before he had even uttered a single word, she knew she was heartily sorry that he had come. Childbearing was no longer a possibility; she had no wish to share her power with anyone. Had she had such a desire, she would have years ago found a way to marry Robert. Robert! She was softening towards him. She still loved him in spite of all that he had done. She knew in her heart that on Alençon’s previous visit, she had been taking advantage of the situation to get her own back on Robert for marrying Lettice. And perhaps she had become lost in the moment with Alençon upon occasion. Or mayhap she was simply in love with love.

  There were many reasons not to marry Alençon and precious few to dissuade her from the view that the idea of marriage with a French prince was not only impossible, it was absurd. The whole charade was now no more than a political ploy; which, if she were honest with herself at least, was all it had ever been.

  She had been about to berate him for making deals and declaring titles for himself without seeking her advice and approval. But no matter. She had already done so in her letters anyway. He had never replied, sending only a message saying he was coming, and now, here he was. Well, one should get more flies with honey than with vinegar, as wise old Kat Ashley used to say. All she really wanted, what she needed, was a mutual pact with France in case either were invaded by a hostile enemy. And all knew which enemy that was likely to be! The very thought of Portugal now absorbed by Spain gave her many a sleepless night. But why require marriage to seal the bargain? However, Henri and Catherine were adamant; if there were no marriage, there would
be no mutual agreement. So how to get what she wanted? She should resist Alençon at first, and then appear to capitulate. She would laugh with him, be merry, agree to the marriage in public, and in some fetching manner.

  And then she would present her conditions.

  Catherine would not like her terms; she, Elizabeth would compromise on the straw issues. Of course the French would want the pact to be mutual; this she would concede. And with a wink towards Madrid and a figurative nudge in the side, she would say loudly she would not help François in the Netherlands. The French would compromise by backing away from marriage as a demand. She would get what she wanted in the end; but the negotiation started here, with Simier and Alençon.

  Very well then. She held out her soft, white hand with its long, elegant fingers; Alençon took it in his brown, calloused one. But before his lips could reach the back of her hand, at the moment when his skin touched hers, the world once again turned upside down for both of them.

  Paris, January 1582

  “What ails him this time?” asked Catherine, with barely concealed impatience. That Henri would not make old bones was no secret, least of all to the king himself. As with all her boys, he had a weak constitution. Why was it that her girls were hale and hardy, but the boys were frail and puling? God's will must be obeyed, He owned everything, and she truly believed that He only lent for as long as He thought fit the children whom He bestowed upon one. But it was the boys who mattered.

  She had at least taken the precaution of marrying Margaret, her youngest daughter, to Navarre. If her boys failed her, the Prince of Navarre would inherit the throne of France. That galled her; but Margaret was poised to become Queen of France should such an eventuality occur.

  But how could she have foretold that Margaret would turn out to be such a thorn in her side? The insolent chit had actually left her husband and fled to Paris seeking asylum at the French court. And openly taking lovers! If one must indulge in such crass, undignified, sinful behavior, one ought at least to do it discreetly.

  Suddenly Catherine became aware of the unaccustomed silence in the room and looked up to see several pairs of eyes upon her.

  “Well?” she asked wearily. “What is it?”

  The apothecary swirled blood from Henri’s latest bleeding around in the bowl. “We are all agreed…” …there was safety in numbers! “…that it is a bilious humor, Your Grace. A liver ailment. The liver produces all of the humors, Your Grace, because all are needed for life. But should the body fail to produce that which is needed…”

  Her gaze travelled the length of the room to where Henri lay in the great bed. One arm lay over the porcelain bowl; the bleeding from his forearm had not yet been staunched. The leeches stood by awaiting the blood; in their eager hands they held the vessels they would fill. Catherine shivered, and averted her eyes.

  “Is it likely to be fatal?” she asked. And only Alençon left of all her boys! She knew a fleeting recollection of the bleak years when it had seemed that she was barren. How could it be that she had gone through everything she had gone through only to stand by helplessly and watch as her dreams of dynasty died? The physicians, leeches and apothecaries searched the room with their eyes, but none dared to meet her steely gaze. None wanted to predict the outcome of the king’s latest ailment. Finally, the first physician shifted his stance and cleared his throat.

  “Difficult to say, Your Majesty,” he replied sagely. “Most difficult.” No man wanted to foretell the king’s death; and least of all do so, and then be wrong! The truth was, they had no idea what ailed the king, or whether he would live or die of this latest affliction.

  Catherine waved an impatient hand. “Oh, off with you,” she cried. Worthless knaves, all of them! Henri’s fate was in God’s hands, and none other. She must prepare for any eventuality.

  And so her thoughts came full circle back to Alençon. What a tricky business that was proving to be! So the heretic Queen of England had publicly declared her intent to marry Alençon. Both her Council and her people were divided on the issue; but the fact remained that a Catholic king in England did not sit any better with the English than the idea of a King of France with a heretic wife pleased the French. Such a marriage simply must not take place on those grounds alone. She allowed her gaze to alight upon Henri, who was exhausted and sleeping after his bleedings. Her prognosticators were usually forthcoming with all manner of information when she asked it of them, but on the death of Henri they were silent. Ah, well. Could one ever really know for certain what the future held? In her heart of hearts she thought not.

  But Alençon and Elizabeth must not marry for the simple reason that no one must control Alençon save herself, and she had every intention of ensuring that a marriage between them did not take place. She suspected that both she and Elizabeth wanted the same thing; a mutual treaty free of marriage bonds. Both queens possessed subtle minds. She had no doubt that they both understood, and were in at least tacit agreement, that it was not the conclusion of such a treaty, nor even the alliance itself, that really mattered so much; it was the negotiation of the treaty. For as long as they were bandying words back and forth, all of Europe must hold its breath and await the outcome. The uncertainty this caused was far better than placing an agreement that neither was likely to honor, or to honor for long.

  And so she would continue to insist that the marriage take place before a treaty could be placed, and Elizabeth would continue to bluster and make the marriage contingent upon impossible demands. The return of Calais! An end to France’s Auld Alliance with Scotland! And a score of other unreasonable demands. And clever Elizabeth had also demurred to Parliament, saying they must approve any match she made. That was patently untrue, but it did what both women hoped such ploys would do: it introduced delay, which bought them both time.

  And so they would keep on and on and nothing would be accomplished; it was better that way. Even though neither queen wanted the marriage, and both wanted the alliance, which in the end they would agree upon, she could not afford to raise suspicion as to her true motives by acquiescing too quickly. But not only must she not appear too eager to abandon the marriage, she must seem to fight fiercely for the alternative. Men such as Cecil and Walsingham were very astute; they should have anticipated her ploy. That they had not yet done so she attributed to that extra something that Italians had for intrigue. And so she fought with words for the alliance of France and England through a marriage bond, but her deeds said differently, and they would eventually bear a much different fruit.

  She looked up from her musings to see Henri heave a heavy sigh in his slumber. His color had returned; he looked almost normal. Waves of relief swept over her. Ruling in Henri’s name was difficult; but ruling on behalf of Alençon may prove well-nigh impossible. Such a troublesome child! She had spent many a sleepless night pondering where she had gone wrong with Margaret and François. It was all her fault…both children had been over-indulged, and now she, as their mother, must pay the price for her leniency.

  Catherine arose from her chair with great difficulty; constant child bearing over her fertile years had left her plump and shapeless, and she needed a stout stick, or arm, to heave herself up. The walk to the bed where Henri lay seemed miles away. She turned and walked away.

  Another trait her Italian blood had vouchsafed her was a delicious sense of irony. She heard that Elizabeth and Alençon had affectionately exchanged elaborate New Year’s gifts; she had given him a bejeweled arquebus, and he had bestowed upon her a diamond-studded anchor, a symbol of his supposed constancy. She chuckled as she wheezed and made her slow way back to the Queen’s Chambers. The Queen of England would be weighed down by that anchor…most likely in short order… should she ever marry Alençon. And he would have something with which to shoot her when she became too overbearing.

  The guards kept their eyes forward as Catherine made her slow way down the corridor. Each wondered, as she passed them by, what had so amused the Queen Mother of France.

&nbs
p; Canterbury, February 1582

  The cavalcade would its way through the city gates and down narrow, winding streets on the last stages of the journey from London to Canterbury. Above them towered the awesome cathedral, which dominated the town. Here she would say her farewells to Alençon. People lined the streets and sat in upper storey windows to watch the spectacle of their beloved queen and the hated French prince making their slow way to the bishop’s palace. But their love for Elizabeth and their awe at her presence amongst them kept the focus of attention fixed firmly upon her, to the neglect of Alençon, who was leaving in any case. The duc had sworn he would not depart England until Elizabeth had become his wife. And yet now here he was, leaving with nothing but the ducats in his purse, and a firm promise of more funds once he left England’s shores.

  The whole thing had been a grand charade; she had fooled everyone. Perhaps even herself, for a time… the madness that was Alençon had seized her once again the moment their hands had touched at the water steps at Richmond. A reprise of their whirlwind courtship followed. It was heady stuff; and always at the back of her mind was her need to make herself appear desirable to Robert. It was Robert whom she loved, and nothing to be done about it. But still, Alençon had a hold upon her that even she, who was steeped in self-knowledge and objective thinking, could not understand, or even define.

  François the Constant indeed! A bejeweled anchor! Far from symbolizing his constancy to her, she saw only the thick chain of a real anchor, tying her to him forevermore. Even in the state of euphoria in which she existed whenever they were together, a part of her could still see… quite clearly… what marriage to Alençon would truly mean. As pleasant as this strange interlude she was enjoying with him was, their marriage must not be.