The Queen's Bastard

by Robin Maxwell

  Dudley stopped and turned to face Henry Sidney squarely.

  “’Tis simply the way to accomplish my goal, Henry. A means to an end. I am a Protestant at heart and have no wish to be ruled by Philip or Rome. But I do know that once Elizabeth and I are married” — he seemed overcome with the thought — “everything is possible.” Robin approached the stall of a handsome grey mare and entered it, sidling up to the horse and stroking its powerful neck. “And besides,” he added flippantly, “treaties are oftentimes broken.”

  “Broken treaties provoke wars,” insisted Sidney.

  “Jackie,” Robin called to a grubby young man spreading hay in the next stall, “bring Great Savoy round for Sir Henry, if you please.”

  Dudley began brushing the mare with a stiff brush, and she nuzzled him affectionately. The man did have an extraordinary way with horses, thought Henry Sidney. Elizabeth’s appointment of him as Horsemaster was most fitting.

  “So you will not speak on my behalf to Bishop de Quadra, then?” Robin inquired, seemingly unperturbed.

  “I haven’t said that. I simply require some assurance that I’m not stepping into a hornet’s nest. We know that the queen bee’s stinger is long and very sharp indeed.”

  “I take it my sister is still annoyed with me over the affair of Arch-duke Charles,” said Dudley.

  “Mary’s forgiven you because you are her brother and she adores you, but she was humiliated and mortified by your involving her in your devious marriage intrigues,” said Sidney as the stable boy returned with a magnificent stallion. “She’ll not likely involve herself again — and she has no idea what I’m about to do.”

  “Then you will help me!” cried Robin, clapping an arm round Henry Sidney.

  “I’ve said I will and I’m good for my word. I swear, Robert, you charm me as handily as you do women.”

  Dudley led both horses outside just as the diminutive black-clad Spanish ambassador approached.

  “Good morning, Bishop,” said Robin with a respectful bow.

  “Good morning to you, Lord Robert, Sir Henry,” replied de Quadra, his accent thick as Spanish honey.

  “Your mounts are ready, gentlemen,” announced the Horsemaster.

  “You have given me Speedwell again, I see,” said de Quadra, stroking the beast’s muzzle and examining the taut muscle of her right front leg.

  “You liked her well the last time you rode,” said Robin, “and her foreleg is healed altogether. You’ll have a fine ride.”

  Henry Sidney had already mounted his horse, and Robin himself gave the Spanish ambassador a leg up.

  “Godspeed, gentlemen!” cried Dudley as the men took off at a fast trot. “And good luck to you, Henry,” he called after them. But the pair were already out of hearing.

  Once they were out of sight, Robin saddled his own mount. He needed a place to give his mind free rein, to dream about the good news his brother-in-law would soon bring him of his fate and future. And for Robin Dudley that place was the back of a horse. He flung himself gracefully onto the beast’s back and with the merest coaxing — for his communication with these animals was exquisitely refined — they were off, flying at a full gallop out the gates of Whitehall Palace.

  Five

  ’Twas the season’s first water party and Dudley, Grand Master of the Revels, had once again outdone himself. Weather had obliged, the March sun spreading its warmth and light over the Thames. Hundreds of small, gaily festooned vessels wound with the tide on its curved course down from Greenwich through the reedy water meadows toward the sea. A large sailing fleet of white swans cruised in majestic escort alongside the royal barge, giving the Queen an extra measure of delight in an already exquisite day.

  On the foredeck Robin stood with Henry Sidney gazing out over the clear water, which sparkled like a broad basket of jewels. The men were smiling, full of confidence, pleased with the results of their latest efforts. At Henry’s urging, Bishop de Quadra had written to King Philip, and the Spanish monarch had indicated his support for Dudley’s marriage to Elizabeth. Even now de Quadra sat with the Queen on the poop of the barge, her special guest this day, for viewing the entertainments and water games.

  “The bishop tells me Elizabeth has said she shall have to marry someone, and that she believes her subjects wish her to choose an Englishman,” said Henry in a low confidential voice. “And better still, the ambassador claims that Philip would be especially pleased if the Englishman were yourself, as he has always been very fond of you.”

  Dudley could not help but puff with satisfaction. “How close I am to success,” he whispered fiercely. “I think only Elizabeth’s timidity holds her back now.”

  “I say you should take the manly course, entreat the Queen in a headlong manner to marry you before Easter.”

  Dudley inhaled deeply. “Wish me luck then, Henry. ’Tis as good a day as any.”

  As he reached the poop, Robin could see de Quadra and the Queen sitting side by side, heads together, sharing a laugh. He could hear that they conversed in Spanish, a tongue Elizabeth spoke as fluently as English.

  “Perfect,” said Dudley to himself. “They are of good cheer. Let me just find my way into the matter —”

  “Lord Robert!” called de Quadra heartily, spotting Dudley. He continued to speak in Spanish. “Come join us. We are very much enjoying this entertainment of yours.”

  “Did you see the mock battle of the frogs and fishes?” Dudley inquired, referring to the colorful floats manned by outrageously costumed aquatic figures.

  “If the frogs were the French,” asked Elizabeth tartly, “then who were the fishes?”

  “Who won the battle?” said Robin, answering question with question.

  “The fishes,” replied de Quadra.

  “Then the fishes were English, of course,” said Dudley with a charming grin.

  They all laughed merrily, and suddenly Robin Dudley, gazing over the rail into the water, found that his prayers had been answered. From the raft of swans to starboard, two birds had pulled ahead, gliding side by side as though leading a stately procession. Dudley acted quickly. There was no telling how long the formation would last thusly.

  “See the happy couple,” he said, directing Elizabeth’s and de Quadra’s gaze to the swans. “The bride and groom and their wedding party.”

  Elizabeth looked up at Robin with startled eyes. He held them brazenly for a long moment, then plunged into the boiling cauldron.

  “Bishop de Quadra, you and I and the Queen are all present on this already marvelous occasion. Why do you not marry us here and now?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes blazed, and Robin could not discern if they flashed with anger or excitement. Elizabeth smiled and took de Quadra’s hand in hers.

  “My lord bishop,” said the Queen carefully, “what think you of my sweet Robin’s proposal? Would you marry us?”

  Dudley’s heart fluttered strangely and he hardly dared to take his next breath.

  “But I wonder,” she added coyly, “that you may not have enough English to perform such a ritual. And of course, it must be done in English.”

  A clever feint, thought Robin. Neither an assent nor a rejection.

  Dudley’s suggestion at such a time in such a place had startled the bishop somewhat more than it had the Queen. He became serious then, and addressed her directly.

  “Heretics continue to despoil England, Your Majesty. Rid yourself of them,” he urged, pressing her hand between his own. “If you and Lord Robert will restore the True Religion, Philip will bless your marriage, and I …” He was barely able to speak, so overcome was he with the thought that in this moment he might give his king the one gift he most ardently desired: a Catholic England. “I shall be honored to be the priest presiding over that ceremony.”

  The smile never left Elizabeth’s face, but Robin wondered, as he watched her, what lay behind that smile. He had made his bid as boldly as a man could have done. His suit was supported by the King of Spain as fully as he had dr
eamed. “Elizabeth,” Dudley cried silently. “Elizabeth, consent. Make me the happiest man on earth!”

  “You are very kind, Bishop.” The Queen looked up warmly at Robin, grasping his hand. “You know of my deep feelings for Lord Robert. I shall give both your proposals some good thought. Ah, look there!” Elizabeth pointed to a seaweed-covered barge coming alongside them where mermaids and mermen lay about surrounding an enthroned Poseidon. The god-king raised his mock gold trident to the Queen, and she raised her hand to him, a triumphant salute.

  “I do so love my subjects!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  ’Twas a passion, Robin observed with a sinking sensation, that would have been far better directed at himself. The Queen had managed once again to outsmart him, evade him, slip through his hands like a wiggling eel.

  “Damn her, damn her!” he cried inwardly. Then affixing a pleasant smile on his bemused face, Lord Robert Dudley regathered his wits and resumed the intricate courtier’s dance.

  Six

  On a morning dark as dusk with the gloom of heavy rain, the royal carriage rumbled down the rutted highway. Men of the Queen’s guard muttered curses against not the wet but the cold of this Easter storm. The winter had been interminable, the Thames frozen over many times. In weeks past the warm days had heralded spring, trees rioting with pale green buds, delicate wildflowers poking up in patches of soft grass. And now this. Numbing cold rain and Her Majesty refusing to postpone the journey to Mortlake.

  Inside the carriage its occupants felt neither the wet nor the chill nor suffered the bone-rattling ride, for they were snug in cheerful good company. The Queen, attended by those dearest to her — Robin Dudley, Lady Mary Sidney, Henry Sidney, and their seven-year-old son Philip — was in high spirits. So comfortable and boisterous were these five, with ideas and arguments tumbling from their mouths like water from a fountain, that they shouted over each other to be heard, then laughed good-naturedly at their own rudeness.

  “John Dee seeks nothing more than educational reform!” cried Robin Dudley.

  “Reform? He seeks nothing less than revolution, Robin! He would, if he could, change the entire curriculum at Oxford and Cambridge, discarding classical humanistic studies, imposing Hermetic sciences and, worse, mathematics, which, as our childhood tutor Roger Ascham would say, is a little suspect, mayhaps even diabolic.”

  “And my tutor Doctor John Dee —” Robin persisted.

  “And mine —” added Mary Sidney playfully.

  “And soon to be mine —” piped in young Philip.

  “Our illustrious tutor taught us” — Robin wrapped an affectionate arm round his little nephew — “and will soon teach you, Philip, not only mathematics but practical applications of that science.”

  “Even you must admit, Your Majesty,” added the mild-mannered Henry Sidney, “that counting and bookkeeping with Roman numerals is more clumsy and time-consuming than with arabic numbers.”

  “I have no quarrel with practical mathematics, Henry, but Dee and his brothers in Hermeticism make wild claims that ‘number’ is the key to truth itself, that without it one has no understanding of the universe. Preposterous!”

  Certain that his next words would provoke an explosive reaction, Robin spoke directly to Elizabeth. “I agree with Doctor Dee that, in fact, ‘number’ was the pattern of God’s mind during creation.”

  “You cannot believe that, Robin!” said the Queen.

  “But I do,” he replied evenly. “I have all good faith in John Dee. He is the most brilliant mind in England and I know you agree.”

  “I do, but —”

  “And you were so mad with anticipation for this visit to his home that nothing — not a headache yesterday nor foul weather today — could keep you from it.”

  “I have the deepest esteem for Doctor Dee. He is a great philosopher and scholar, navigator and cartographer. He has written an elegant translation of Euclid’s Elements and finds many ways to serve his country with his learning. Only last month he offered up an interesting plan to reorganize our entire fishing industry. More important,” she added, “he has the most magnificent library in all of England. Four thousand books! Oxford and Cambridge together have less than one quarter that amount.”Then her expression changed to something close to disdain. “But of his beliefs in occultism, apocalyptic numbers, cabalistic formulas, and magical inscriptions, I do have serious doubts.”

  “So you have not come to see his gazing table, and will refuse to let him tell your future?” teased Henry Sidney.

  “Do you mean his magic mirror, Father?” asked Philip Sidney. “Does he really have such a wonderful thing?”

  “I’m told he has,” answered the elder Sidney. “And if he does, we shall all soon see it.”

  The little boy clapped his hands with excitement and the others smiled indulgently.

  “I think the Queen makes light of her interest in the occult sciences,” offered Robin, intent on reviving their argument. “She did, after all, have Dee cast her horoscope to find the most auspicious day for her coronation.”

  “On your insistent urging!” Elizabeth retorted. “And besides, one can hardly count astrology as occult. ’Tis common knowledge that the stars affect man’s fate and fortune.” Elizabeth thought of but did not mention something she had read in Anne Boleyn’s diary — a prophecy given her mother by the half-mad Holy Maid of Kent, one that had steered Anne’s fate, and therefore Elizabeth’s own. It was a seeing that told of Anne’s becoming queen, the birth of her “Tudor sun,” and that child’s reign of four-and-forty years. The first two aspects of the prophecy had come to pass, mused Elizabeth, but any well-informed person of that time might have guessed that the dark-eyed beauty so hotly pursued by King Henry might become his queen and would almost certainly bear a child. As for herself reigning forty-four years, Elizabeth was extremely dubious. She was already twenty-seven. A woman still reigning as queen at age seventy? She thought not.

  “You would do well to be more discerning about these Hermetic beliefs, my dear Robin, and not follow so blindly after every word this man proffers.”

  “Do you believe in the teachings of Moses, Your Majesty?” asked Mary Sidney.

  “By all means, Mary,” replied the Queen, startled by her waiting lady’s question.

  “Moses himself was instructed in the ancient Egyptian and Hermetic texts which say that magic is simply the knowledge of natural things. He was a man who had power in both his words and his works, do you not agree?”

  Elizabeth realized with sudden annoyance that she had blundered into a trap. But it was too late. Mary went on.

  “Therefore if Moses, who was simply a learned man, practiced magic, why then should a learned man such as John Dee not do the same?”

  Elizabeth slumped back into her cushioned seat, defeated. “There are four of you and only one of me,” she groused. “I shall never win this argument.”

  “Will you keep an open mind at least?” urged Robin Dudley. “Accept the possibility that mathematics and the occult have a true place in philosophy?”

  “When have I ever lacked an open mind, Robin? I will give our Doctor Dee every chance to convince me of his strange sciences.”

  “Look!” young Philip suddenly cried, pulling back the curtain. “The rain has stopped.”

  Indeed, the downpour had ended and the air wafted round their faces fresh and sweet. They could see trees still dripping with moisture, and the sun peeking through what remained of the black clouds. Robin thrust his head out the coach window for a moment, then turned to his friends.

  “We’ve arrived at Mortlake,” he announced with a smile. “The adventure begins.”

  An ancient and rambling farmhouse of many pieces and several levels, all cobbled together haphazardly, came into view. Waiting to meet their guests at the door stood the great man himself, his wife Katherine, and their eldest son Arthur, thirteen. The carriage clattered to a halt and Elizabeth had a glimpse of the spindly, middle-aged Dee, his long triangular bea
rd and piercing blue eyes. The Queen’s men scrambled down from their mounts to take up positions near the entrance, and footmen pulled open the carriage doors, helping the passengers to alight.

  There was a flurry of excited chatter and warm embraces all round between the Dudleys and the Dees. To the Queen her hosts offered their most sincere obeisance. But Elizabeth, happily informal with her previous company, desired to extend that same informality to the Dees, and so they were in good cheer as they entered the farmhouse, all weariness of the journey forgotten, and shut the heavy wooden door behind them.

  Dinner of mutton pie and roasted quail was served almost immediately after their arrival, for it was the plan that they should have as much of the daylight hours as possible to wander amidst the doctor’s libraries and laboratories. Conversation and argument continued over the meal as it had in the carriage — lively, loud, good-natured. For Elizabeth this was an especial delight, to be far from the rigid protocol of Court, the constant malicious gossip, the never-ending responsibilities. Here she was a girl in the classroom again, with no need to impose her will or always have her way. It was, she concluded, a great meeting of minds at this table — brilliant men, intelligent women, even interesting children, all participating, all exchanging information and ideas.

  Young Philip Sidney and Arthur Dee had become fast friends the moment they’d clapped eyes on each other. Philip, younger by half a dozen years and still a beautiful child with wavy dark hair and searching brown eyes, was razor sharp, brimming with wonder and anticipation of the day ahead. Arthur was self-possessed for his years, naturally well-mannered and already exuding the inquisitive air of a scholar. Certainly he was in awe of the Queen sitting at his family’s table, but the young man took little time to realize that he could speak his mind as freely as with his own kin.

  “Not sixty years ago,” said Arthur Dee gravely, “we thought the circumference of the entire world was twenty thousand miles, that we could get to the Indies by sailing west, and that the sun and all the universe revolved round the earth.”