by G Lawrence
As we heard of growing problems in France, Maitland left on a mission of peace for his Scottish homeland. I instructed him to go to his Queen and tell her of my passionate interest in the meeting.
I was still in two minds about the prospect of meeting my cousin. I was curious about her, and I had never been good at restraining my curiosity. There was a part of me that longed to put a face to all I had heard of her over the years. There was another part of me which was apprehensive. Quite apart from political considerations, I had heard much of her beauty, and I was vain enough to find this threatening. No woman likes to be outdone. I could shine above women with fairer faces than me in England, for the crown made me more beautiful than I was. But Mary had her own crown. She had the potential to outdo my charms.
But there were deeper concerns for me to think on. There always are for a queen. It was not only for my sake I wanted to know my cousin better, but for England as well. I did not like to hear the succession talked of in Council, in Parliament, or at court, but that did not mean I did not think about it. How could I do otherwise? England was my responsibility. This became only more relevant as the investigation into the marriage of Hertford and Katherine Grey reached its conclusion. Their marriage was declared null and void, and any children resulting from it therefore illegitimate. This was good for me as it was the vindication of all I had said and thought on the matter. Katherine’s supporters were not pleased, but they could not deny Archbishop Parker’s findings. I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling safer than I had done for months.
“The child is illegitimate, Cecil, and the mother proved unsuitable.” I could have set my head back and crowed like a triumphant rooster. “Katherine Grey will no longer be considered for the succession.”
Cecil moved swiftly on to other business, but I could see that in his mind the matter was not finished. After all, I had been declared illegitimate, and I still sat upon this throne. If anything unexpected were to happen to me, I knew Cecil would work to place Lord Beauchamp on the throne with a regency council to govern until he came of age. Such a result would hold the best of both worlds for my Cecil. He would have a male, Protestant king, and he would be in control of England until the boy came of age. I did not believe Cecil actually wanted anything to happen to me. For all the times we disagreed, we were more often united. He had respect for me, even loved me in his own way, I believe. I felt the same for him. We understood each other. We knew the other was capable of duplicity, even evil, but we worked together to maintain goodness. There are princes who will only have men about them who agree with everything they say. Some who take every difference of opinion as an insult, but I was not one of those. I did not tolerate insubordination, or disrespect, but I did not believe in closing my ears. The final decision was always mine, but the manner of reaching that decision should be one that was shared. We were a good team, Cecil and me. Many was the time I was angered by him, but many more were the times I was grateful to have him. But even if he loved me, Cecil wanted a future where normality would be restored. He looked to a future where the Protestant line would be assured, and where kings would reign. My growing affection for Mary troubled him. His vision of the future was different to mine.
Tempted though I was to order an Act of Attainder and have Katherine and Hertford branded traitors, I had them instead sentenced to life imprisonment, but they were hardly mistreated. Katherine’s chambers in the Tower were hung with rich curtains of velvet and tapestry to keep out the draughts. She had an allowance for coal and wood to keep her chambers warm for her child, a bed with a good mattress, and whatever she wished, within reason, for her table from the private kitchens. Her pet dogs and little apes lived with her, as did a maid, and she was allowed to take exercise in the gardens of the Tower. She had not her freedom, but I made no move to take her life. My forebears would not have been so generous.
Whilst many still hoped there would come a day when I would relent, release Katherine and Hertford, and name her son my heir, I looked in another direction for the future of England… I looked to Scotland, to the young Queen there, who I hoped would not disappoint my growing faith in her abilities.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Greenwich Palace
Summer 1562
France erupted into war.
We had known it was coming, but somehow it still came as a shock. It was civil war of a most unusual kind, made not between royal houses hungry for power, but between Christian faiths, struggling for the very soul of France.
The royal house of Valois, led by Catherine de Medici, was set on reconciliation, or so it appeared. You could never be sure with that slippery eel. Catherine tried to stride through the middle of the troubles, openly supporting neither side. She placated, she pleaded and cajoled, trying to head off war before it roared into full power. I wondered how long this would last, for Catherine and her son could not teeter on a cliff edge between the two sides indefinitely. Eventually they would have to choose, and they were much more likely to choose the Catholic side, than the Protestant.
Reports of the first skirmishes arrived in England. Civil war is dangerous. Weakened by its own people fighting each other, the country is open, too, from attack from other nations, as well as gaining nothing but the destruction of its own people, their lands and livelihoods. I have never understood the use of the word ‘civil’ when it comes to war. There is nothing civil about war. It is a dirty, foul creature which steals, murders, and rapes its way through a country. It is a beast which stalks the hearts of men, bringing out the worst elements of their characters. We never know what we are capable of until we have feared for our lives. And now, in France, this war set neighbour on neighbour and kin against kin; the dirtiest, vilest kind of conflict.
Throckmorton and Robin added their voices to Cecil’s, pleading that England should intervene. Many on the Council were eager for war. They offered many persuasions to entice me to send men to aid the Huguenots, even dangling Calais before me. My sister had lost Calais when she sent men to join her husband’s forces against France in war. The loss had been a hideous insult to English pride, and my men knew I wanted it restored. I admit, it was tempting. To restore Calais would bring joy to England, and I knew it would have grieved my father to think it lost forever. There were other considerations too. Cecil pointed out that, should the Huguenots win, and overthrow their Catholic overlords, France might become a Protestant state. The idea of having another Protestant nation near us, and one we had aided, would be advantageous. I could not deny there were reasons to consider aiding the Huguenots. But, of course, if they lost, and the Catholic factions prevailed, we would have a hostile Catholic nation on our doorstep… A much less enticing proposal.
As I pondered, voices rose against my meeting with Mary. Throckmorton wrote, advising that to meet with my cousin at this time would be a poor idea, and impolitic if we did wish to support the Huguenots against the Guise, who were, after all, Mary’s kin. The fact that this war had sprung from her uncle’s attack on Huguenots in Mary’s dower lands meant that many viewed her as embroiled, even complicit, in this affair. For me to meet with her might lead people to believe I supported the Catholics, and could alienate Protestant allies, such as Sweden. But, I reasoned, to not meet with Mary may well alienate my nearest neighbour.
To my mind there were as many arguments for getting involved as there were for remaining out of this conflict. My personal inclination was that we should not enter this war. I wanted to meet in peace with Mary, or at least improve relations between us by acting as though I was going to meet with her even if it never came to pass. But my men would not let this lie. They wanted to become part of this war, as much for its own sake, I believe, as because of the benefits and morals involved. War is a drug to the hearts of some men. They are raised on stories of it and nurtured by its fantasies. If they believe all they are told, they come to think on war as a glorious event; one in which they are proven men, and made heroes. But that is not the truth. Whilst heroes have been made in battles, a
nd some men have done acts of bravery and compassion in conflict, most of the time war is a filthy thing. To the common people, those ever caught in its crossfire and flame, it is a hideous demon that brings nothing but death, humiliation, and loss. No, I had no wish for war. But my Council did.
“We should support the Huguenots,” Robin declared with passion to the Council. He had asked permission to come and speak, for he was not a part of my Council, but had said to me that he felt strongly about the issue. “They are men of our faith, my lords, and the Catholic Guise have shown that they have no honour.” Robin’s cheeks were scarlet. His words were convincing, but I knew what he was up to; trying to resurrect his much-damaged image by reinventing himself as a paragon of Protestantism. I was not about to let him shove me into war as he had tried to force me into marriage.
“Were you not in bed with de Quadra, a Catholic, not so very long ago, my lord?” I asked in a frosty tone. “And yet now, you are here becoming a champion of the Protestant cause? Remind me to take note of your leaps of loyalty, my lord, for there are so many I will lose track.” The others chortled at Robin’s discomfort. He glowered at the table since he did not dare glare at me. He did not like me bringing up his recent shame, but I was not going to allow him to get away with pretending such zeal when he was in fact only looking after his own interests.
“You cannot meet with Mary of Scots, my lady,” Cecil interjected as the laughter died down. “To do so would only strengthen the Guise. England would be seen to be supporting French Catholics, and possibly vindicating the massacre of Wassy. We cannot make enemies with Protestant countries who would look on this meeting with distaste.”
“But yet we can afford to make enemies of Catholic nations by sending in troops to support the Huguenots?” I asked with incredulity. “I am talking of meeting with my kinswoman, and a fellow head of state, in peace, Cecil, to talk of peace. Surely peace is more important than war? Surely peace brings greater benefit?”
“We could regain Calais, Majesty, as you have always longed to,” Pembroke noted, looking up from petting his hound. “If we offer support to the Huguenots, they may be willing to barter for its restoration.”
“As many have said to me over the last few days,” I said irritably. “It is as though Calais has transformed by magic into a rump of beef, and you all think me a slathering hound, my lords, willing to do anything for a bite.” More chuckling. My men found me amusing, whether they agreed with me or not. “You will set the meeting with my royal cousin into motion, my lords. I wish to at least talk of meeting with Mary Stewart. If she is anything like as charming in person as she is in her letters I believe we have the potential for friendship, and that is more suited to my heart than war.”
I held up a hand as voices broke out in protest. “But I will think on the matter of France in all seriousness, I promise you. Do not believe my heart is cold when I hear about those of our faith being so abused. Do not believe I feel no temptation to aid them. Do not think I hear not the cries of mothers, whose sons have died, or feel not the grief of God for seeing His children butchered. I still believe it is not our place to enter this conflict, and yet I will consider your opinions, my lords. But I have to think of what this will bring to my own people. England must always be my first, and most important, concern.”
Two weeks later, Maitland returned to court. I discussed plans with him about the proposed summit. We discussed York as a possible meeting place, and plans were set in motion for tournaments, entertainments and public meetings between Mary and me. Much to my satisfaction, peace was brokered in France between the warring sides. It was an uneasy truce, to be sure, but at least it was peace. My Council, many of them clearly disappointed, decided the need for England to become engaged in war was required no longer.
I sat back, breathed a sigh of relief for having managed to avoid becoming entangled in war, and started to instead contemplate how to outshine a woman who was younger and prettier than me. I admit it was a high concern for me, not only as a woman, but as a queen. But my curiosity about Mary was starting to outweigh my reservations.
As I read Mary’s letters, all containing great joy about my continued resolve for us to meet, I began to think I might actually enjoy meeting her… If, that was, I could contain the envy I might encounter upon seeing her, or jealousy, if my people decided she was more beautiful than I was.
*
Cecil had become obsessed with the weather.
As talks went on about the English-Scottish summit meeting, Cecil came up with a seemingly never-ending list of problems which, in his mind, should delay the meeting. Each day he arrived with more: the autumn rains would make travel impossible, he said; the wheels of carriages and wagons would be clogged with mud, he said; there were shortages of fowl and wine in the north of England, he muttered; the planned entertainments would be ruined by hail, rain, wind, snow, storms, tempests and mudslides… Cecil did not want the meeting to go ahead, that I knew, but the barrage of excuses he presented was getting faintly ridiculous.
“You seem to have become most interested in practical matters, Spirit,” I noted calmly as he finished another list showing why it was clearly impossible for me to meet my cousin that autumn. “I have ever known you fond of maps, but did not know that travel and travelling, weather and wagons, were such passions of yours.”
“The meeting is impractical, and cannot go ahead,” he said stiffly.
“The meeting is un-retractable, and therefore will go ahead. Do not test my patience, Cecil. You know I have little as it is.”
Cecil went off muttering into his beard. Unable to reason with me, Cecil decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to Maitland, informing the Scots’ ambassador the meeting was not to be. When I heard this I was furious. Another one seeking to overstep his authority!
“The meeting will assuredly go ahead, ambassador,” I said to a heated Maitland, who came to protest this abrupt cancellation. The Presence Chamber was packed that morning with petitioners. “I know not to whom you have been speaking, but they do not speak for me. I am quite capable of doing that for myself, my lord. My wishes are unchanged. I want to meet my good sister of Scotland and know her better. Ignore these triflers who play with you, they speak not for me.”
I glared openly at Cecil. Chatter broke out, and even some muffled laughter. Cecil was a powerful man, and power attracts enemies like flies to rotting flesh. There were many happy to see he had slipped in my estimations. Cecil was aghast, not only that I still wanted to meet Mary, but that I had shamed him in public. I suffered no remorse. How many times was I going to have to slap my men about their well-fed buttocks before they understood who was master here?
“My royal cousin will have one thousand attendants, as will I,” I went on briskly, enjoying the pallor on Cecil’s face. “We will meet in September, in the north of England, at York. And whilst in England, my cousin will be granted dispensation to worship in the Catholic faith as though she were at home.”
There was a lot of muttering at that. Cecil went white as the moon. Maitland was taken aback, and hardly knew what to say. “That is… most generous, Majesty,” he said eventually. “My Queen will be overjoyed at such a munificent offer from her beloved sister. She did not expect you to be so magnanimous in terms of religion.”
“Whilst England will always be a Protestant nation, my lord ambassador, I believe there is small difference between the Christian faiths. We all worship the same God. I am happy to make concessions for your Queen, and I am sure she will respond in kind with the same open friendship. We may be of different faiths in practice, but I believe we are of one belief at heart.”
There! I thought happily. Let Cecil understand the more he opposes me, the more I will work to make peace with my cousin of Scots.
Cecil was not the only one unhappy with my proposals. There were plenty at court who were vastly displeased with me, but the more they fought me the more resolved I became to actually go ahead with this meeting. Mait
land made for Scotland a day later, and Mary was overcome by my generosity. I sent Maitland with letters for Mary, and finally sent a portrait to my cousin. She had sent me several, but I had waited until I had one which satisfied my desire to outmatch my cousin. I was not as pretty as her, but the portrait I sent was impressive. My red hair flamed against my pale skin. My black eyes were bright and bold. I was dressed in red, golden and ermine trimmed robes, and looked every inch a Tudor. I was pleased with the effect, and it seemed Mary was as interested in me as I was about her, for she quizzed Randolph when the portrait arrived. He sent me a full report of their meeting.
“How like is it, unto the Queen, your Mistress’s lively face?” Mary asked, gazing at the portrait.
“Your Majesty will shortly be the judge of the likeness when you meet my mistress… but when you meet with her, I assure you, you will find more perfection than could be set forth by the arts of man,” answered Randolph.
What a lovely man Randolph was. I did so like to hear such things.
“To meet with my cousin is the thing I have most desired ever since it was suggested,” Mary went on, walking about the portrait and leaning in to examine it closely. “Let God be my witness, I honour her in my heart and love her as my dear and natural sister.”
Randolph wrote further to say he believed Mary’s expressions were honest. It was rather sweet, in a strange way, that Mary should be so affected by the idea of us meeting. I wondered if she felt that sense of loneliness that our positions could bring. A queen is surrounded by people, and yet is alone in her station. Could we ever be close enough to become friends, I wondered, or are we too close to one another, too close in position and rank to ever be true friends? In the end, I did not have to wonder on the subject. Fate stepped in to thwart our plans.