by G Lawrence
But all this performance was not all about vanity. I wanted to show my cousin that if she could toy with my interests, then I would retaliate. Had Mary not done the same with Randolph? Distracting him with talk of other matters so she would not have to converse on the subject of marriage?
At the end of Melville’s stay, I ordered him to stay for another two days, so I might further impress him with my dancing. Whilst I wanted him to admire my talent and my strength, I had another reason for detaining him. Henry Darnley was attending this event, and I was keen to know what my cousin might think of him. Melville’s opinion was important, for if he believed Mary might find Darnley attractive that was good, but if he believed she might actually consider marrying the young fool that was another matter. Taking to the floor with Robin, I danced eight galliards without tiring. Afterwards, and much to my satisfaction, the ambassador confessed that his Queen had nothing like my strength and grace in the dance.
“What do you think your Queen would think of our shared cousin of Lennox?” I asked Melville as we stood drinking ale. “Some have remarked that he, as my cousin’s kinsman, would make a good choice of husband for her.”
Melville glanced over. Darnley was lounging, surrounded by his usual gang of young pretty lads at the edge of the hall. His rosebud lip curled as he made a no doubt scathing remark about one of the dancers, and his band laughed with sycophantic appreciation. Melville shook his head. “No woman of spirit would choose such a man that is more like a woman than a man, Majesty,” he said in a scathing tone. “I regard Lord Darnley as a rather lusty, beardless lad, with a face more at home on a lady than a man.”
I snorted with amusement, and Melville grinned. “I heard the Cardinal of Lorraine once referred to him as a polished trifler,” I whispered to the ambassador. “A rather polite way of describing him, do you not think, my lord?”
“It is a shame he is heir to so much and yet has so little to recommend him,” Melville agreed. “And no, Majesty, I do not believe my mistress would find him suitable as a husband. He has too many faults, despite his titles and blood.”
Good, I thought. If I did send Darnley to Scotland then he would prove a momentary distraction for Mary and nothing more. That would be helpful. As I was talking to Maitland, Robin joined us. Bringing a fresh cup of wine for me, he stood waiting to join the conversation, but without seeking to interrupt. I smiled affectionately at him. Robin had been so pleasing of late. I really believed we had left our times of trial behind us.
“Will you be staying for the ceremony for my Lord Robin, ambassador?” I asked, putting my hand on Robin’s sleeve. “In a few days we will make him an earl. I hope that this elevation will make him more suited to your Queen, in terms of title at least.” I gazed lovingly at Robin. “For I already know he is suited to her in spirit and in character.”
“I shall stay, of course, if you wish me to attend, Majesty,” Melville replied.
“I should like your Queen to know I do all I can to advance Lord Dudley’s suit in her estimations,” I said. “I know that, should she choose him as her husband, she would become the happiest of women.”
Robin chuckled. “My Queen is ever kind to me, lord ambassador,” he said. “But I am eager to meet the Queen of Scotland and put my suit to her in person.”
“I am sure my Queen is no less interested in meeting you, my lord.” Melville bowed. “To meet the man who has so captivated the heart of her good sister, and to discover if he has the power to bewitch her heart as well.”
I patted Robin’s arm. I was pleased with his dissembling. Had I been Melville, I am sure I would have believed Robin was in earnest. Robin was becoming quite talented at pretence. The thought pleased me then, but later I came to be disturbed by it. If he was so talented, was there a chance he was play-acting when it came to our relationship? I cast the thought from my mind. I was sure Robin was in earnest. The truth of his love was there, returned in every word and gesture… Or at least, I hoped it was.
Chapter Fifty-Three
St James’s Palace
Autumn - Winter 1564
Robin finally achieved one of his ambitions that September. In a glorious ceremony in the Presence Chamber at St James’s Palace, I made him an earl and a baron. Robin Dudley took the titles of Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh. The title of Earl of Leicester was important as four previous earls of that name had been sons of English kings. At the same time, I made Robin order a new book of his lineage, which showed his descent, in the female line, from King Edmund Ironside.
At last raised to the peerage, ostensibly in the name of making him more acceptable to Mary, Robin entered arrayed in a glorious tunic of russet silk and cloth of silver, with robes of estate draped over his broad shoulders and a great sword in his strong hands. I stood with my cousin, Lady Strange, holding my train, as I marvelled at Robin’s fine form and grace. He was so solemn and proud during the ceremony, I could not resist reaching down and tickling him playfully under the chin as I invested him with the collar of his earldom and his ermine-lined robes. Norfolk let out a barely concealed snort of disgust as he saw me tickle Robin, and my actions were censured for being too familiar, but I cared not. I was happy, restored to full friendship with Robin. There seemed to be nothing which could incite me to displeasure.
“How like you my new creation?” I asked Melville as we stood chatting after the ceremony. I gazed at Robin, knowing I could never be parted from him. Even if he could not be mine, I would not allow him to belong to any other either. I could not. For all that had come between us, all of the hurt, misery and pain, I loved him. I always would.
“The Earl of Leicester is a fortunate man to have such a loving Queen,” Melville said. I noted he avoided commenting on Robin’s suitability as a husband for my cousin. I was not surprised. From Cecil’s spies and from de Silva himself, I had heard Melville had used his time at the English Court to visit the Spanish ambassador, attempting to resurrect negotiations of marriage to Don Carlos. Mary was not serious about marrying my Robin; that was clear now.
More fool you, sweet coz! I thought. Any woman would be lucky to have Robin as a husband. Of course, none of them were going to… He was mine.
I excused myself from Melville and went to Robin. “My dear Earl,” I said happily. “How do you like your new collar? It suits you, Robin. You were born to be a peer.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He kissed my hand, his bright eyes gleaming over the top of my pale skin. “I find it most comfortable, although I still am nervous that your cousin may take up your offer of my hand.”
“Worry not, Robin.” I took his arm. “My cousin has been sending her ambassador to talk in secret with de Silva. She wants mad Don Carlos, and so I am sorry to tell you, my lord Earl, you will have no cause to leave England. You must stay here…” I smiled wickedly. “But if you lose a crown in Scotland, you get to keep your English earldom, so whichever way, you have won, have you not?”
“I would rather remain a merry Englishman, Majesty, than become a poor-tempered Scot.”
I laughed, feeling joyous. All that remained was to stop my cousin marrying into Spain to make me satisfied on all counts. “Cecil wants to send Darnley to Scotland,” I said. “He thinks the lad will distract Mary from her plans to wed elsewhere. What do you think?”
“Surely handing her a potential husband of royal blood would be dangerous, Majesty?”
“It would,” I agreed. “But even more dangerous would be a match with Spain. Tensions in the Low Countries continue, and Phillip blames me for the uprisings. If Mary marries Don Carlos, we could find a fleet at our door in a short space of time. They might gain papal approval, and invade.” I stared over at Darnley. “My cousin will not listen to me about taking a good Englishman for her husband, but I wonder… would she take a bad one instead? If she married Darnley it would cause some problems for us, but would they be less than if she married with Spain? Darnley has no fleet, no army. He may yet prove to be the lesser evil.”
>
“If he is the lesser evil for England, Majesty, then I say send him.” Robin took a goblet of ale from a passing servant and drank deep. “At the least his handsome face will distract the Queen, and at the most she will take a fool for a husband.”
“There is something in me that wants Mary to refuse him,” I said. “There is something in me that wants her to be clever, Robin… to see through him, even though I know that her marrying with Spain instead would be disastrous.” I sighed. “Sometimes the wishes of my heart and the best outcome for my country are not in agreement with each other.”
To my surprise, Robin did not seek to bring up another event where my heart’s desires and the best interests for England were not aligned. “You like her, don’t you?” he asked.
“I do,” I admitted. “She has wit and guile, Robin. She has the instincts of a survivor. I believe, given the chance, she could be a worthy heir… but I know many would not accept her. I change my mind about her often enough.”
“There were some who did not want you on the throne, Majesty,” Robin said. “You did not let that stand in your way. Perhaps your cousin will prove the same.”
“A part of me hopes that very much Robin,” I confessed, taking a sip of my wine. “Just as another part, the part which must think for England, hopes that she will fail.”
*
The creaking carts moved slowly against the dense, thick mud and tumbling water on the roads. We were travelling only a mile from St James’s Palace to Whitehall, and yet the distance might as well have been twenty for the struggle of the wagons carrying my goods.
“We will ride on ahead,” I called to my servants. I nodded to my ladies, who wore miserable expressions as they sat upon their horses. Sleet fell from the skies and water dribbled from their hoods. From the river we could hear shouting. The River Thames had frozen solid, and a market had been constructed on its icy surface. Beside the market, people played football, bowls and skittles. The game of football was a rather unruly sport. Two teams, usually numbering men of fifty or more on each side, would gather and try to get a ball made of hog-skin into their opponent’s goal. It often became rowdy, and sometimes ended in fights. My father had disapproved of the sport, and had banned it in favour of archery practice, but I allowed it as long as it did not get out of hand.
Riding on ahead of the struggling carts, we reached Whitehall in good time, but I was chilled to the bone. Forced that night to sit before the fire and warm my blood with spiced wine and good flames, I did not attend the dances at court. A few days later, I was taken with a sudden, violent pain in my gut. I almost did not make it to the privy. An explosion of such horrific violence came from my bowels that I thought I might pass all my inner organs out through my rear. Can you imagine how hard it was for me to get upon the privy in time when struck with a flux of the belly? The gowns I wore were so heavy, bejewelled and intricate and were usually pinned on me. It took several of my women to aid me in the privy on a normal day, but as this hideous sickness took hold of me I had to be stripped to my undergarments, so that I was capable of voiding all within me quickly and without damage to my fine clothes.
Shivering and shaking from loss of fluids, I was put to bed by Kat. I spent that night either in bed or dashing from it. God’s blood! What a horrible time that was! A day later, Kat and Blanche were confined to separate beds with the same sickness. Another day and poor Mary Sidney was struck down with it, too. From under her dark veil she apologised for having to retire from my service for a few days, and then raced out. I had no illusions where the poor woman was going…
As always, when I was ill, there was an immediate fluster that I was to die and leave England with no heir. Although I felt truly rotten, I knew my life was not in danger. Mary Radcliffe took over, and organised care of the other stricken ladies, too. Pouring ale and water down my throat in vast quantities to make up for all I lost, and rallying my remaining ladies into caring for the sick, Mary proved herself an able commander of the Bedchamber. I lost weight, but I was never in peril for my life. Trying to convince my men I was safe was, however, a hard task. You never would have seen a group of men so afraid. They were like squawking hens flapping about a barn upon the intrusion of a hungry vixen.
Although my bowels eventually decided to stop punishing me, my illness continued on through the festivities. I was weak, and continued to experience pains in the belly, which did not inspire me to eat a great deal. I could not feast and dance as I would have liked to, particularly this year since we had much to celebrate with Robin’s ennoblement.
My cousin in Scotland sent a letter mourning my sickness, but this time her sentiments hardly rang true. I’m afraid my thoughts on my cousin had turned less generous after Melville’s visit. When he had returned, Randolph had discovered that Melville had told Mary I was a dissembler and could not be trusted. Mary’s letters became less frequent, less affectionate and more insistent about the succession. Robin had ceased to pester me, and so Mary had stepped in to take his place. I knew she was thinking if I should die, as was widely rumoured, then she could come to claim my throne.
De Silva was a regular visitor to my sick room. I was glad to see him for he often was able to brighten my spirits. “I have such pains in my belly,” I told him on the first day he came. I had been out of bed for a few days, and no longer required to be dressed only in nightclothes, but I was still unwell. “I hope you will dispel my pains by talking with me.”
“Shall I tell you a tale I heard lately, Majesty?” he asked.
“Only if it is amusing, my lord,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
“It is a tale of the Bishop of Leon and how he took a fall in front of the whole Spanish Court, Majesty,” said de Silva, grinning wide. His voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. “But… if I dare tell you, you must promise to tell no other, for the bishop displayed much he did not intend to as he tumbled before my King!”
I laughed. De Silva knew I had a passion for the ridiculous, and delighted in finding stories which would amuse me. With him at my side I was cheered. My doctors, however, could always ruin any happiness. Blaming this illness on my virgin state, they nagged me. “Remaining a virgin, Majesty, is hazardous for a woman,” said one of them in a grave tone. He looked so young he could have been my son. “For the passions and urges within a woman for sex are stronger than those within a man. Keeping them pent up allows illness to enter the body as it is weakened from this excess of passion.”
Excess of passion! What a belief! That I was dwelling in a state of ever un-sated lust and made ill because of it! The only man I had ever desired truly was Robin and although I loved him I was not pining away for want of his body next to mine! Eventually the only man I would allow entrance to my chambers was my apothecary, John Hemingway, who decided I had eaten or drunk something which was infested with sickness. At least he did not attempt to blame all ills on a maiden’s thwarted desires!
“After all, Majesty,” he said as he prepared a potion. “If this was caused by your virginity, then why would married ladies in your service suffer from the same illness?”
It was a good point, and one my other doctors seemed incapable of recognising. I wondered sometimes if Cecil or Robin had told them to put all my illnesses down to my virginity, in an effort to scare me into marriage. I recovered, but I emerged wasted and thin. Long hours spent in my stuffy bedchamber made me yearn for the outdoors, but Kat, who was better by that time, turned wild at the thought of me riding into the countryside. To appease her temper, and save myself a round of lectures, I remained indoors. But I was not happy about it.
“I am not a child, Mistress Ashley!” I cried at her as she pestered me to eat and then turn in early for bed.
“You are to me, Majesty,” she huffed. “You are like my own daughter, and at times such as these, will obey me as such!”
Blanche stepped in to take Kat away. “She only acts this way for love of you,” Blanche said when she returned.
“She should
have a mind who is Queen!” I retorted, vastly annoyed with my oldest friend.
“So she should, Majesty… Now, how about a nice bowl of pottage before bed?”
I glowered at Blanche. “You are as bad as she is.”
“If you mean I love you as well as Mistress Ashley, madam, then you are quite correct,” Blanche said, coming to the bed with a bowl of broth and holding out a full spoon to me. “Now, open wide, Your Majesty.”
I chuckled at her, and obediently opened my mouth.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Whitehall Palace
Winter 1565
“The man claims he can make base metal into pure gold, if given the correct financial support to set up the enterprise,” I said, reading from the parchment in my hands even as I spoke to Robin. Lounging on cushions before the crackling fire, Robin looked quite at home. The dance of the flames played on his skin, and revealed lighter hints of colour in his beard. His eyes mirrored the fire as he gazed on it. I could see bright embers and flickering flame against the dark night of his eyes. He was so handsome, he almost stole my breath. Robin’s recent ennoblement and return to my favour suited him. He looked happier than he had done for months. The pleasure of knowing he was to remain an Englishman and had my favour once more made him as cheery and bright as the fire.