Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (26 page)

your great mercy—”

Her voice wavered to a halt; Mary’s gaze was hard and shrewd.

“You must not concern yourself so greatly with the fate of traitors,

sister,” she said coldly. “It could be quite grievously misunderstood.”

Elizabeth took her embroidery scissors to the ragged rose and was silent.

In the event, however, Mary proved remarkably merciful to those

involved with Northumberland’s disastrous
coup
d’etat.
Jane Grey, though

tried and found guilty, was kept in honourable custody and given to

understand that her life was in no danger; Jane’s father, Suffolk, was

released; winter crept closer and still the Dudley boys lived on under

sentence of death in their comfortless prison cells. For Mary had better

things than revenge to occupy her narrow mind.

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After all the bitter, barren years of persecution, she was free at last to

consider matrimony, assured, in fact, on every side, that it was her duty

to consider it. The list of suitors made her blush like a schoolgirl. There

was Edward Courtenay, of course, the last of the Plantagenets, recently

released from his lifetime’s imprisonment in the Tower, very young, very

handsome, but frankly not very ardent—at least not to her. At every

evening reception he made it blatantly obvious where his interests lay.

He ogled Elizabeth quite shamelessly, admittedly, Mary was forced to

acknowledge, with very little active encouragement from that young lady,

who retired pointedly behind her pomander whenever he approached.

But Courtenay was merely a red herring in the ambassadors’ nets,

disguising the Queen’s true interest which lay with Prince Philip of Spain.

Simon Renard, the Spanish Ambassador, had done his job well, painting

a haloed image of his young master which was irresistible. Mary, in love

with the idea of love, wished to be left alone with her dream for a while

and forget the unpleasant. And by the unpleasant she meant Elizabeth.

But Renard would not let her forget. He was a smooth, polished,

ruthless little Spaniard, working with single-minded purpose for marriage

and alliance with Spain, and he had rapidly become the Queen’s closest

adviser. As such, he was acutely aware of the steady hostility from his rival.

De Noailles, the French Ambassador, was equally smooth, polished,

and ruthless and his immediate response to Spain’s suit was to gravitate

ostentatiously to Elizabeth’s side at every available opportunity in public.

To Renard’s suspicious eye, Elizabeth’s nebulous role at court had taken on

a new and sinister significance. This unspoken Protestant heir presumptive

was suddenly the greatest obstacle to Prince Philip’s path to England and

Renard had already resolved to dispose of her at his earliest convenience.

Accordingly, he invited her to dance and tried his hand at a little subtle

flattery. They manoeuvred delicately down the Hall, like two scorpions

locked in mortal combat, but no matter how he tried, he could not get

close enough to sting. And all the time as she smiled and parried his

thrusts like a seasoned fencer, he was aware of men’s eyes following her.

There was something indefinable about her that aroused intense male

excitement—he himself was not entirely proof against the extraordinary

promise of her smile. As for Courtenay, the lad was hopelessly lost, ready

to jump through a hoop at a snap from her fingers—all the more so, it

seemed, because she scarcely gave him a second glance. Oh yes, she was

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dangerous, there was no doubt of that. She had the power to seduce the

loyalty of every man at court—all she needed was the inclination and the

incentive to do it. And unless he was very much mistaken, de Noailles

was already fostering that—the Queen must be made to see it.

“Madam, she is too prominent in the eyes of the court.”

“How can she be otherwise? I can hardly hide her behind screens at

every court function—she is my sister!”

“Is she?” echoed the Spaniard softly. “I very much doubt it. Her

mother was executed on grounds of adultery and incest. Madam, have

you never wondered whether—”

“I have not,” retorted Mary, very defensive of a sudden. “What you

suggest is unthinkable.”

Was it? He did not think so. In his experience women were always

prickly and sanctimonious when you touched them on a raw nerve.

Certainly he was on the right track; but it would be necessary to follow

this particular path with some care.

“Grant that the relationship stands, madam, and you wil stil look in vain

for sisterly affection on her part. Has she once attended Mass to please you?”

Mary averted her eyes hastily.

“I shouldn’t wish her to attend simply to please me. Whatever her

creed, I could better brook her stubbornness than her hypocrisy.”

“The only creed she will ever hold is self-interest—madam, don’t

you see that she mocks your tolerance daily? Is it likely that she would

embrace the very faith which denies her legitimacy?”

“She was not responsible for the circumstances surrounding her birth,”

said Mary uncomfortably.

“She is responsible for her own actions now, madam—both

responsible and answerable! Test her loyalty and I assure you it will

be found wanting.”

“
Test
?” Mary stared at him uncertainly and Renard shrugged his

elegant shoulders.

“Your Majesty must offer an ultimatum. She must enter the true

Church or suffer the consequences.”

Mary got out of her chair and began to pace the panelled room,

chewing her lip. At last she said hoarsely, “In what form do you envisage

these—these consequences?”

Renard gave her a smile bespeaking exquisite patience. In all his

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distinguished career it had never been his task to deal with anyone so

naïve and guileless as Mary Tudor.

“In my country,” he remarked pleasantly, “the penalty for heresy has

always been death at the stake.”

“But my brother’s laws expressly forbid the persecution of heretics!”

“Your brother is dead,” Renard reminded her pointedly. “And laws

can be changed.”

t t t

Laws can be changed…
Elizabeth leaned against the stone parapet and stared

into the dark river swirling below her feet. She threw a stone into the

water and watched it disappear so sharply, swiftly, that her eye was unable

to record its descent. Death too could be like that, mercifully quick—but

not by burning, never by burning. Laws could be changed; and she did

not want to burn!

“Madam.”

She spun round wildly and sucked in a breath of relief.

“Cecil!”

“I must speak to you, madam, but not here in full view of the palace.

A little further down the river we shall have the shelter of the trees.”

She turned without question and walked away; a few minutes later he

joined her in the appointed place and knelt beside her where she sat on

the river bank.

“Is it true you are to accompany the Queen to Mass tomorrow?” he

demanded bluntly.

“It is!” Elizabeth sighed and stared bleakly across the river. “What does

it matter, after all, now that Parliament is to endorse the validity of my

father’s first marriage?”

“Whatever is settled in the matter of the Queen’s legitimacy no

Parliament will bar you from the succession,” said Cecil. “If the Queen

makes a stand on that issue she will be defeated—I give you my word

on it.”

He reached out to take her hand and again she felt the affinity between

them, a natural bonding of the spirit, utterly devoid of sex.

“If I go to Mass I shall alienate every Protestant in the realm. If I don’t

go it may be I shall not live long enough to alienate anyone. I’m in a cleft

stick, Cecil—advise me!”

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He looked at her steadily, without a flicker of emotion on his pale face.

“I believe Your Grace will feel unwell tomorrow—so unwell that you

can scarcely attend to the ritual. I believe your enemies will see that you

conform, but your friends will be reassured you do not do so cheerfully.”

“I can’t perform like a shamming schoolboy at every service.”

“Once will be sufficient to make your point. Certainly after that there

must be rigorous conformity. Avoid intrigue. De Noailles haunts you

because Renard has the Queen’s ear, but he is not your friend, nor is

his master. The King of France seeks only to advance the interests of

the young Queen of Scots, that she may bring a united Britain in her

marriage portion to the Dauphin. Fear France, madam, as greatly as you

fear Spain, for both countries seek your death.”

She smiled faintly. “And in what manner am I to pass safely through

that formidable gauntlet of hostility?”

“Softly, madam, like a cat in the dark.”

She leaned over and laid her hand on his plain sleeve.

“It
was
you who warned me of Northumberland’s trap, wasn’t it?”

He inclined his head in silence.

“Why?” she demanded, with sudden passionate interest. “Why do you

put yourself at risk for me?”

“You are the future,” he said gravely. “And you will survive. That is

all I can tell you.”

She held out her hands and allowed him to pull her lightly to her feet.

“We both know how to survive,” she said softly. “And when the time

comes we will know how to rule—you and I.”

t t t

When the little bell rang to announce the elevation of the Host, Mary

bent her head over hands clasped rigidly together. For most of the service

she had been forced to hold them in that same furious grip, tensing herself

against the urgent desire to lean over and slap her sister’s face.

It was intolerable! The procession to Mass had been marred by

Elizabeth’s persistent and remarkably loud complaints that her stomach

ached, but once inside the chapel, the fuss and performance had been

truly unbelievable. Even now, at this most sacred moment, one of her

ladies was ostentatiously rubbing her back. And Mary was not a fool; she

knew a public gesture when she saw one.

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When the farce was over, they walked back through the gardens

together in frosty silence. Elizabeth stole a glance at her sister’s stony face

and knew she had gone too far.

“If it please Your Majesty,” she muttered uncomfortably, “I should

like to retire to my own apartments.”

“You will stay,” hissed the Queen in a desperately controlled under-

tone, “until I am satisfied as to your true belief in the Holy Sacrament.”

Elizabeth lowered her eyes hastily.

“Madam, I have attended Mass of my own free will, without fear,

hypocrisy, or dissimulation.”

Suddenly Mary took her arm in a vicious nipping grasp and hastened

her further along the path, well out of the hearing of the curious court.

“Don’t play the hypocrite with me!” snapped the Queen furiously.

“What was the meaning of that disgraceful exhibition back there? Speak!

Tell me what you truly think for once.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were suddenly fixed on Mary’s like gimlets. She said

in a steely whisper, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Shocked by the brazen threat of those shamelessly amoral black eyes,

Mary released her hand. Threatened by the ultimate, unthinkable sacri-

lege to the Host, the very Body of Christ, there was nothing she could

do for the moment but capitulate with some tangible token of appease-

ment, symbolic of her trust and approval. In icy silence, she unfastened

a diamond and ruby brooch from her gown and pinned it to Elizabeth’s

plain bodice, then handed over her personal rosary of white coral beads.

Elizabeth curtsied demurely and made a show of fastening the beads to the

stomacher of her gown. And under the eyes of the court, they returned to

the palace with what passed for goodwill between them.

When Elizabeth entered her own room, whirling the coral beads care-

lessly, she found Kat waiting for her anxiously.

“What are you doing with that popish trinket?” inquired the governess

with mild distaste.

“What a heretic you are, Kat!” mocked Elizabeth, slinging the beads

carelessly across a table. “It was a present from Her Majesty—like this!”

She flaunted the brooch at her breast and Kat’s eyes widened in astonish-

ment at the size of the diamond.

“The Queen gave you that?” she echoed suspiciously.

“A small bribe, to help me to stomach the Mass in a rather literal

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sense.” Elizabeth sank down in the chair and fingered the beads slowly.

Her cynical smile was suddenly strangely sad. “I hope Cecil was right

about this, Kat. Because after today, she’s never going to trust me again.”

“My dear child,” said Kat drily, “it’s my belief she never has.”

t t t

“I could have killed her, Renard—I swear I could have killed her with