The Marriage Game (11 page)

“Your Majesty,” he said, with an elegant French accent, “I bring heavy news. My master, King Henri, is dead. He was terribly injured in a tournament when a lance pierced his eye, and the doctors could not save him, for all our prayers.”

“God rest his soul,” Elizabeth said piously, appalled to hear of Henri’s terrible end, but relieved that the lecherous, aggravating man would challenge her title no more. “His sufferings must have been dreadful. I will write without delay to Queen Catherine to condole with her in her sad loss.” By all accounts Henri had been constantly unfaithful, while his dowdy, dumpy Italian wife was continually pregnant. No doubt she was relishing her widowhood.

“I thank Your Majesty.” The ambassador bowed again. “I am come also to announce the accession of the most Christian king, Francis II.” A sickly, spotty, sullen teenager, Elizabeth had heard, who was too young and feeble as yet to exercise sovereign power. Catherine de’ Medici would be seizing her advantage, make no bones about it!

“We shall write also to congratulate His Majesty on his accession,” she said graciously.

That afternoon, in council, she was less composed.

“The Queen of Scots is now Queen of France also,” she fumed, “and would be Queen of England if she had her way. No, you needn’t remind me, my lords, I know that the Catholics think she should be. But King Henri, though he proclaimed her thus, was ever a realist;
he
would not break the terms of the peace treaty. Queen Catherine is more of a threat. She has no love for me, and she is the power now at
the French court. If she allies with the powerful Guises—Mary’s uncles—they may do their best to overthrow me.”

“That is not the only danger,” Cecil said. “Mary’s mother, as regent in Scotland, is aware that the Protestant lords there detest her because she is a Catholic. Naturally we support them in their desire to rule Scotland themselves and overthrow the old religion. But what if these two queens of Scotland and France unite against us with the aim of placing Mary on our throne, which they may very well do? That would make England a satellite of France and put paid to the ambitions of the Protestants in Scotland.”

“The answer is to make mischief for the French,” Elizabeth declared, thinking fast. “And for me to take a husband who will give their king some trouble!”

Twenty pairs of male eyes turned on her in astonishment. Cecil sat up eagerly, like a dog waiting to be given a juicy bone.

“Does Your Majesty have someone in mind?” he asked, not quite concealing the fervency behind his question.

“A Scotsman, the Earl of Arran,” Elizabeth said. “He is Queen Mary’s heir until she bears a child, and he is a Protestant. His name has been mentioned before as a possible suitor, and there can be no doubt that the Scottish lords who rule there would favor the match. We are all upholders of the true religion, and a marriage between Arran and me would unite England and Scotland as never before.”

“And if anything should befall the Queen of Scots,
which God forbid
,” Cecil said, struggling to keep his face impassive, “then Your Majesty would succeed to the throne of Scotland.”

“Exactly.” Elizabeth beamed. “We are one in spirit, William. And with my backing, the Scottish lords could triumph over the Queen Regent. I have been told again and again that Queen Mary is content to leave others to govern her kingdom for her. She has been in France since childhood and was raised to be its queen. I hear she likes fine clothing and music; she will play her part gracefully.”

“I agree, madam. A ruler she is not,” Bacon said. “She can have hardly any memory of Scotland. A barbaric land, I have heard, and not to be compared with France, where she has grown up.”

“What she wants is to be Queen of England,” Cecil said. “That is her chief aim in life, by all accounts. Scotland seems not to be important to her.”

“Indeed, my Spirit,” Elizabeth agreed, smiling at her new name for Cecil. “But we will show her that my crown is not hers for the taking. I will invite Arran to England.”

She knew that Robert would react like a child deprived of a treat. She must make him realize that this projected marriage was but an arrow to pierce the heart of her enemies. But she would enjoy flirting with Arran, if only to spite her empty-headed rival, Queen Mary.

A clerk entered the room and passed Elizabeth a letter. She read it and smiled, for more flirting was now in order. “I should tell you, my lords, that Prince Erik of Sweden will not take no for an answer. He is coming in person to woo me!”

“That will put the cat inside the dovecote,” Sussex observed.

“He is a Protestant, and therefore a most welcome suitor,” Elizabeth said, thinking that Robert would now be even more jealous. “I look forward to raising his hopes.” (If nothing else, she added to herself.) “But what we really need is an alliance with the Emperor and King Philip against the French. My lords, I will charm Arran to keep the Scots sweet and unsettle the Italian woman in France, and I will play the adoring virgin with the Swede, but first I intend to see Baron Breuner and tell him that I am reconsidering my decision about marriage with the Archduke Charles.”

Elizabeth hunted, banqueted, and danced her way through her first summer progress, an extended journey through her kingdom during which she could see and be seen by her subjects, and save money by accommodating herself and her court in the houses of her nobles and foremost citizens. During the months of July and August she was in high spirits as her great procession made its unwieldy way along the road from Eltham Palace to Dartford, Cobham, and Nonsuch, and the people came flocking to greet her, calling out blessings upon her and bringing humble, touching gifts.

Lord Robert rode right behind her, and sometimes alongside, much
to the ill-concealed chagrin of Cecil and the other councillors. Robert was with the Queen almost constantly, or never very far from her side—almost as if he were King already. He appeared in ever more lavish and dashing suits of clothing, dripping with jewels and puffed up as a turkey cock, his patrician nose held high with pride. Elizabeth could barely draw her gaze away from him. He was a prince among men, bold, comely, and exciting. She thought of the admiral less and less these days; that hurt seemed to be healing fast. She was in love with Robin—and she cared not who knew it. If she wanted to hold hands with him under the table, or caress his cheek, or steal a kiss, it was no one’s affair but her own. She was the Queen, and none had the power to gainsay her.

At night she would often summon him to her closet, or even her bedchamber if her temporary lodgings were less spacious. On these occasions she would close the door firmly on her women, telling them she had state secrets to discuss. Then she and Robert would fall upon each other—and state secrets be damned! Usually they ended up on her bed, tangled in a hot and heady embrace and lost to the world.

By and by Elizabeth had permitted what Kat would assuredly have called liberties. She had let Robert touch her breasts—which appeared to send him delirious—or her long, slender legs, his eager fingers caressing her over the newfangled silk stockings she loved to wear. She even—sometimes—allowed him to guide her hand where he wanted it, but only over his codpiece; further she would not go. It was all exciting and wondrous, and the very secrecy surrounding it added spice—indeed, all the flavors of the Orient—to their loving. She enjoyed nothing more than watching Robin lose control. It pleased—and aroused—her to be in command of a man in that way.

“You are killing me,” he groaned one especially impassioned night, as he rolled on his back, panting as if he was in extremis. Moonlight streamed through the open lattice window, illuminating his noble profile. “Why can I not have you?”

“You know very well,” Elizabeth teased, propping herself up on one elbow and planting delicate kisses on his cheek.

“Listen to me, Bess!” he growled, grasping her hand. “I would be your husband. You have nothing to fear from me. You must see that.”

“Only scandal, as you have a wife,” she said, tart.

“But it will not be for long, and then I will be free.”

Elizabeth was suddenly chilled. “Can you so easily contemplate the death of someone you once loved?” she whispered.

“No—of course not. I may not love Amy as I did, but I feel sorry for her. I do not wish her dead. Seeing her so ill and frightened is a torment to me, for I cannot help her. But a man must have some comfort in his life. I never loved Amy as I love you, Bess. We are two of a kind, you and I, and there will come a day when I am free to wed again.”

“I cannot be seen to be contemplating marriage with a married man.”

“Then give me cause to hope.”

Elizabeth was silent.

“At least give me some high office of state,” Robert urged once again. “Your councillors hate me. They are envious and resentful. The court is full of talk about my being descended from traitors fleshed in conspiracy—I, who am utterly loyal, as
you
well know. Cecil is working hard to marry you to the Archduke, but mainly to spite me.”

Elizabeth flared. “Robin, are you never satisfied? You control a great network of patronage. If people want to see me, they approach you—and I know it is at a price. Cecil tells me you do everything in your power to sabotage or undermine any marriage negotiations.”

“Do you blame me?” Robert smoldered. “I loathe the idea of your marrying a Catholic, as should all true Englishmen! And if you take one of those pretty princes, I am finished.”

“But I have not said I will take one of them.”

“Nor have you said you will have me! Bess, you
love
me. You have said it, many times. You want me—despite what you say. And you need me.”

“I need no man!” Elizabeth retorted angrily, getting up and smoothing down her gown. “And right now I need to sleep.
Alone
. Good night, Robin!”

At Nonsuch, an exquisite fantasy of a hunting box built by Elizabeth’s father in the Italian style, Arundel welcomed his queen with a flourish. The tapestries and furnishings she had insisted on bringing from Hampton Court were already in place in the sumptuous rooms he had made ready for her, and he laid on a banquet with so many courses that it was three in the morning before she departed, yawning, to bed. There were masques, dances, and hunts for her pleasure, and, prominent in every one, Arundel himself, pompous, dazzling, and ridiculous in his expensive finery, paying her clumsy compliments and making excruciating declarations of his love. Elizabeth bore it all with good humor, but she reckoned that the magnificent set of silver plate he gave her as a farewell had been dearly bought.

Evidently Pickering, strutting before her at every opportunity, thought so too, for he now seized every opportunity of disparaging Arundel, while paying Elizabeth the most extravagant attentions. Elizabeth caught Robert watching them, his face like thunder. She smiled at him sweetly as she sailed past on Pickering’s arm.

Kat watched, darkly disapproving. Elizabeth had managed to avoid any confrontations with her—she was the Queen, after all, and above admonition now, surely—but one morning, as she was about to leave her bedchamber, she was astonished to see her old nurse fall creakily to her knees before her.

“Madam, my sweet Bess, I implore you in God’s name to marry and put an end to these distressing rumors about you and Lord Robert,” the old woman pleaded, and there could be no doubting her sincerity. “I must tell you, in your own interests, that your behavior has occasioned much evil talk.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. She would not brook such presumption, even from one who was dear to her. “If I have showed myself gracious to Lord Robert, he has deserved it for his honorable nature and dealings. It is beyond me how anyone—you especially—could object to our friendship. I am always surrounded by my ladies …” She faltered as she saw her old nurse pursing her lips.

“But you are not,” Kat challenged gently.

“They are within earshot,” Elizabeth insisted, flushing, for she
would have it her way, “and it would be obvious to them, and indeed to all, if there was ever anything dishonorable going on between us. But let me tell you this, Kat.” She was really cross now. “If I had ever had the will or inclination, or found pleasure in a dishonorable life, I do not know of anyone who could forbid me, even you. But I trust in God that no one will ever see me stoop so low.”

Kat’s distress was painfully evident. She wrung her hands, almost weeping. “But the rumors are so damaging to you, Bess. If I speak out of turn it is only because of the love I bear you. You surely do not want to alienate your people, after making such a good beginning and receiving such demonstrations of their affection. There are factions forming here at court: those who hope for much by supporting Lord Robert; and those who work against him. Will you see your court, and mayhap your kingdom, so much divided?”

Elizabeth shrugged, barely containing her impatience. “I commend you for your devotion, Kat. As for marrying, I cannot take a husband without weighing all the advantages and disadvantages. I would be a fool otherwise!”

“In that case, should you not distance yourself from Lord Robert, and give these negotiations a chance to flourish?”