by G Lawrence
“Dee has said the same to me, Majesty,” he noted from his comfortable seat. “Although he seems to think there is more to this art than any have managed to discover thus far.”
“Lannoy also believes he can make an elixir of eternal life,” I mentioned. “He says as much in this letter.” I put the parchment to one side. Could it be true? If so, it was worth a little financial risk to put into practice. The letter was from Cornelius de Lannoy, an alchemist from the Low Countries. Keen to escape the troubles presently besetting his homeland, and even more eager to work on his theories, he had written asking that I take him in and give him funds to practise his craft. Alchemy was technically illegal in England, but if I chose to I could allow Lannoy to practise by issuing a dispensation. Lannoy believed he could conjure the Philosopher’s Stone; a fabled gem that could turn base metal to gold and create a potion of perpetual life and health. If true, it would certainly solve all my problems, both financial and in the case of the succession. If I were to live forever, there would be no need for an heir. What a way to prevent my Council and Parliament ever bringing up the subject again!
“What do you think of the idea, Robin… to live forever?”
“All men desire immortality,” he said, playing with the tassels on one of the cushions. “But I have ever believed only God was capable of such a feat.”
“It sounds lonely to me,” I said, crossing to the fire and sitting next to him on the floor cushions. “To live forever, as those you love wither and die? To have those you love pass into Heaven, leaving you to face aeons of existence alone, until the end of days?”
“I suppose you could feed this fabled potion to those you love, Majesty, and maintain the court in all its splendour until the final day of reckoning.” Robin smiled at me and took my hands in his. They were warm. I could feel the calluses on them against my soft skin. “Eternity would not be lonely, if you were at my side. In this life, I need no other but you.”
My heart sang. The pestering stranger who had worn Robin’s face had gone. Now, the man I loved had returned. I stroked my fingers against his and kissed their tips. Then I breathed in and smiled, pulling my hands away. “Shall I give Lannoy dispensation to practise his art in England, then?” I asked, drawing us back to business. “He offers the princely sum of thirty-three thousand in gold and precious stones per annum if it works.”
“What a very specific amount,” Rob marvelled with mocking eyes. Robin did not believe this art could bear fruit, at least not in the hands of Lannoy. “The alchemist must have worked his sums to the last shilling! I must tell Dee of this. He will be fascinated to hear how the man could be so exact!”
I laughed. “I will send word to Lannoy to come to England, and I will offer him a pension,” I said. “The distilling rooms in Somerset House should suit him, and if he succeeds, who knows what may come, Robin? England may well have a queen to rule over its people forever, and become a rich nation in the process.”
“It sounds like an ideal future to me, Elizabeth.” I did not remark on his familiarity, I liked it. Not since the days when Amy Dudley was still alive, and I had offered my heart to him, had I been so happy. There was much to content me. Talks had resumed on my proposed marriage to Archduke Charles but were moving at a satisfyingly slow turn of speed thanks to the good offices of my friend de Silva. Mary was sending delegates to meet mine in the north of England, but these negotiations, too, were not serious in the slightest. I had recovered of my late illness and Robin was back at my side. Life was sweet in those hard days of winter.
*
Another, rather more surprising marriage proposal arrived, too, that winter, in the shape of the fourteen-year-old King of France. Catherine de Medici had evidently decided the best way to stop me interfering in France was to saddle me with her son.
“People will say that I am marrying my grandson,” I had remarked dryly when the idea was presented. I have to admit, my feelings were bruised when many in the Presence Chamber laughed heartily at my jest.
It was true enough, however. I was thirty-one to this King’s fourteen years. Although I had to show due respect for the offer in public, I was not enthused. There were rumours that the young King was about as hale as his late brother had been, and, according to the newly returned Throckmorton, Charles was under his mother’s complete control. My new ambassador, Sir Thomas Smith, wrote that the King was tall, but had knobbly-knees, thick ankles and ill-proportioned legs. When I put this image of a weak, gangly, mother-led lad next to my bold, hale, handsome Robin, I could only find the idea repellent.
I had to maintain talks for the good of England, however. The French ambassador, de Foix, appeared to lose heart after my jest, so I pretended to be affronted, telling him I had only wished to point out the difficulties of the match, and I was still open to talk about it. It was a way of keeping negotiations open with France, and showing the Hapsburgs I had other options as well. As soon as they heard France’s offer, the Hapsburgs were most eager to talk about trade and negotiate for the release of their ban on English ships. Seeing Hapsburg interest renewed, the French were under pressure to court my desires too. Having them both at my mercy was vastly satisfying. But I ran into troubles with my Council, who, as ever, took any proposal of marriage as serious, and never saw the potential benefits of stringing suitors along. To me, this was an opportunity to make trade deals, and barter with my fellow monarchs. My Council, however, were generally opposed to a match with France. I turned to Robin as I needed at least one on the Council to show interest. Everyone knew my regard for him, so if he spoke in favour of the match, it would buy me time for other negotiations.
“I need someone to act as though they think the French marriage a good idea, Robin,” I said. “Otherwise the Council will make me abandon it, and in doing so I will be under more pressure to accept Archduke Charles. I want time to bargain with both sides. Besides, if there are two suitors, then no two men will ever agree. If there is one, they might unite.”
“I am at your service, Majesty,” he said with a devilish grin. “Anything to prevent you marrying another man. I will gladly help. France is obviously my first choice. ”
De Foix was encouraged by Robin’s enthusiasm. King Charles declared himself in love with me, no doubt at the urging of his overbearing mother, and started to pen the most appalling poetry in an effort to win my heart. I had thought the worst poet in Europe was Erik of Sweden. I was mistaken.
There was another string to this lute played by the French, for in addition to offering Charles as a suitor to me, Catherine de Medici offered her second son, Henry, Duke of Anjou, to Mary. I am sure it would have suited that devious Medici snake well to tie her house to both England and Scotland in marriage. It certainly made Phillip of Spain nervous. Although Spain and France were generally united in religion, they had never been easy neighbours. I think they had spent more time at war with each other than ever at peace. The idea that France, Scotland, and England could become united made Phillip twitch on his throne as though his clothes were infested with hungry fleas. It was therefore as much for my own amusement as for political gain that I decided to stretch negotiations out. Mary, however, was repulsed by the notion of marrying her former brother-in-law. Having known Anjou since he was a child, Mary was in a position to know his character and looks in ways I could only guess on with Charles. Mary refused to consider the proposal, but she seemed to have turned cool on the idea of marrying Don Carlos too. The reason being, that another suitor was being offered.
Lennox had been greeted at Mary’s court and had managed to become a firm favourite with her in a short space of time. Mary had agreed to reverse the attainder against him for his past treachery, and had welcomed him with open arms to rounds of feasting, dancing and hunting. Installed in glorious apartments in Holyrood Palace, Lennox wasted no time in not only restoring his own titles, but seeking to add to those of his son as well.
Lennox was pouring sweet promises into Mary’s ear. Randolph informed me t
hat Lennox had presented my cousin with a miniature of Darnley, and spent his days telling Mary what a man his son was; handsome, learned, wise, chivalrous… Lennox must either have had more imagination than I would have credited him for, or he was blind to his son’s flaws. Lennox was keen to sell his son. He told Mary not only of Darnley’s many apparent virtues, but also that marriage to his son would aid her in her quest for the English throne. I was obviously supposed to know nothing of this. Lennox knew I would disapprove, and he also knew it was in my power to decide whom Darnley would marry. But ambassadors have long, keen ears. Randolph concealed his findings in cipher, and Cecil and I devoured the papers he sent from Scotland.
Darnley was still at my court, but there would soon come a time when I knew I would have to choose whether to allow him to join his father in Scotland or not. If I did, and Mary liked him, would she be so foolish as to marry him? Perhaps this would be a good test of whether she was indeed suited to be my heir. A true Queen must choose her head over her heart, as I had done. I had tested Robin’s loyalties, and he had prevailed. Perhaps this was a way to test my cousin… But still, I wavered.
If I was unsure, the Lennoxes were not. Cecil’s spies watching Margaret Lennox had found out that when Melville returned to Scotland she had given him something for Mary. Although we were unsure what this gift was, to my mind there was only one thing it could be; the Lennox Jewel. It was a fabulous trinket, designed as a pendant to wear about the neck or on the girdle. It was a golden heart, with a crown at the top, surrounded by fleurs-de-lis, on a background of dazzling azure enamel. Under the crown, which was mounted with rubies and emeralds, was a winged heart with a huge sapphire set into its centre. Crafted in gold were the figures of Faith, Hope, Truth and Victory and about the border, the motto “Who hopes still constantly with patience shall obtain victory in their pretence.” Not the snappiest of mottos, I grant you, but the jewel was famous. It had been commissioned the previous year to celebrate the marriage of Lennox and Margaret, and demonstrated their obvious links to the crowns of both Scotland and England. Lennox wanted Mary for his son and thought to buy Mary’s affection with this shiny trinket and with all his pretty, pretty lies.
As a sudden thaw came in January, causing flooding and distress in many parts of my realm, much of my time was taken up with organising repair crews, charity and aid to those affected. Whilst I was busy acting for my people, my cousin was busy reconsidering her choice of husband. Cecil informed me that Melville had met with Margaret Lennox often whilst he had visited court, and my wily Spirit had no doubt that my duplicitous cousin was working hard to ensure her son became a king. In doing so, Margaret was going directly against the oath she had sworn to me. I doubted this troubled Margaret a great deal. Any promise to me she would have seen as easily forgotten.
My cousin of Scots was as keen to marry as I was to remain single. I came to think that perhaps my cousin and I were not as alike as I would have once liked to believe.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Greenwich Palace
Winter 1565
Robin had made me most content since his return to favour. We were free and easy in each other’s company. Winter passed in perfect happiness and I had just started to sink into this blissful bath of contentment when Robin evidently decided enough was enough. Perhaps believing my memory was lapsing, Robin held an entertainment in my honour. During the day we attended a joust where Robin rode, wearing my favours. To see him, riding out into the lists, his armour shining in the watery sunshine… Ah, it was like watching a god of old come back to grace us mere mortals with his sacred presence. He rode against Norfolk, Pembroke, Heneage and Sussex, and won against them all.
After the joust there was a wrestling competition, which was exciting to watch, and even more thrilling to wager upon. I won myself a fine pile of coins from betting against my ladies. When dusk began to fall, we raced inside to don gown or tunic and emerge for an evening supper party. A select group of courtiers and my ladies were chosen to attend. It was a pleasant, intimate, evening. Then came the entertainment Robin had selected. It was a play, a comedy, as he came to tell me, so no immediate lights of alarm blazed in my mind as the players strolled out onto their makeshift stage.
When the drama unfolded however, my contentment and happiness seeped from me. Sadness invaded my bones and blood. This comedy, if that was what it was, was all about marriage. It was a play about the gods of ancient Rome. Juno advocated matrimony to Diana, who was opposed, and both gave their cases to Jupiter to decide. Strangely enough, don’t you think, Jupiter supported marriage over chastity; a depressingly tedious, predictable verdict. Admittedly, some of the players gave foolish, and therefore amusing, reasons for either marrying or remaining single, but since the whole tenor of the play revolved around advocating marriage, I was not pleased. I sat there listening to the players, glancing at Robin’s shining face. Why could he never leave well alone? Did he think his recent good behaviour would have altered my opinion? Or… a different and much more unpleasant thought reared up in my mind… had all his recent good behaviour been just another deception? Had all of his efforts at friendship been a feint, to once more lull me into a state of happiness, so he could pounce on me, and take me off-guard? I pursed my lips, feeling foolish for having believed in my favourite, as Jupiter spoke final, glowing words about the glorious state of matrimony. I turned to de Silva who was at my elbow. “This is all about me!” I muttered out of the side of my mouth. His lips broke into a sympathetic smile.
“It may be that is the case, Majesty,” he murmured, glancing at Robin. “Your people wish to see you married, madam, none can ever doubt that… and none more so, I believe, than your good friend, the Earl of Leicester.”
I twisted my face into a look of annoyance. “Good friend!” I muttered irritably. Was Robin a good friend? I did not know. I felt cheated, tricked, deceived… It was a dirty feeling. I found myself mistrusting every sweet moment between Robin and me of late.
Lifting my voice, so that many could hear me, I spoke loudly. “Marriage is a state for which I never had any inclination, my lord ambassador. My subjects, however, press me so that I cannot act according to my private inclination, but must marry or take the other course, which is a very difficult one. There is a strong idea in the world that a woman cannot live unless she is married, or at all events, that if she refrains from marriage, then she does so for some bad reason. They said of me, in the past, that I did not marry because of my fondness for the Earl of Leicester, and the sole reason I would not marry him then was because he had a wife already. And yet, you see… Although he hath no wife alive now, I still do not marry him. I cannot cover everyone’s mouth; people will hold their own opinions… I must content myself with doing my duty and trusting in God, for in doing that, the truth will at last be made manifest. God alone knows my heart. And what lies within it is very different from what people believe, as you will see some day.”
“I do not think your heart is so very different to those of other women, Majesty,” Silva said, adjusting a stray ribbon on his tunic. “You are merely different in the manner in which you choose to live your life, Majesty. I do wonder if, watching your example, many women would choose to marry not, if they were allowed to do so.”
I smiled. “Most women should marry, my lord ambassador. What would men do without us?”
He smiled and glanced at me with sparkling eyes. “Without women, my lady, men would be a poor lot, indeed. How would we men know what to do with ourselves, if we did not have our wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, aunts and nieces all at hand to instruct us?”
“Tis true,” I agreed, chuckling.
“We would be lost.” De Silva’s voice was mocking. He put a hand to his chest and sighed dramatically and then smiled. “But in all seriousness, madam, if I had not women in my life, I should be a pauper, and not only in terms of the money in my purse.” He turned to me, his face affectionate. “Women have different ways to men, and men to women, but w
hen set in the right alignment, they meld together so well that then, then I appreciate why God made us as He did.”
I snorted. “You know that oftentimes, de Silva, my reluctance for the state of marriage has led some to believe that I am a man in disguise.” I shook my head. “I wonder why they think this? Why, if I were a man, would I pretend to be a woman? Had I been born a man, as my parents so desired, it would have alleviated many of the problems I have encountered.”
“And replaced them only with different ones,” he noted. He looked me up and down. I almost blushed as his gaze lingered on my white bosom, and drifted over the curve of my delicate jaw. De Silva lifted his shoulders. “To claim such a fantasy, such people must not have seen you, Majesty. It is plain you are a woman indeed, and a beauteous one.”
“People are apt to comment well and heartily on all they have never seen, my lord ambassador, do you notice that? Any man may be thought a scholar of a subject if he speaks with confidence. And often, the more outlandish the claim, the more it is believed. Speak bold, speak loud and you can win people over to the most ridiculous of notions.”