The Marriage Game (14 page)

“Madam,” complained Cecil, “I am seeing nothing but wooing and controversy. I wish you would choose one and leave the others honorably satisfied.”

“Ah, my Spirit, but while they live in hope, they remain my friends!” Elizabeth said sagely. And long might it continue! Although in truth she was a little frayed from the effort.

The King of Denmark now joined the melee. His envoy arrived at court with a proposal of marriage, and made a great show posturing in a crimson doublet embroidered with a heart pierced by an arrow.

Bishop de Quadra sought out the Queen as she sat conversing with Duke John in the gallery above the tiltyard. “I see that your suitors are courting Your Majesty at a marvelous rate,” he observed, the smile fixed on his face.

“Many are hopeful,” she answered dismissively, being in no mood to wrangle with him. Robert had just entered the lists and she could not take her eyes off him. As the contestants charged, she stood there, riveted.

“Maybe you are thinking of an alliance nearer home,” Quadra said softly.

“I am considering several options,” Elizabeth replied, clapping vigorously as Robert unhorsed her cousin, Lord Hunsdon. “Bravo!” she cried. “Bravo, my Eyes!”

Baron Breuner was watching jealously from his vantage point a little farther along the gallery. As soon as he decently could, he requested an audience.

“Your Majesty, it seems there is no point my staying in England,” he said, his expression conveying that there would be if she’d only come to her senses. “You do not want to marry my master the Archduke. Your heart is given to another.”

“I will be the judge of where my heart is bestowed,” Elizabeth said coolly, her good mood evaporating. If Breuner left England, Robert would be blamed for it. She was well aware that he was already viewed
by everyone as the reason why she would not commit to any of her suitors. Cecil had warned her, more than once, that she was casting away her advantages because of him—and he was not the only one complaining.

When Robert came to her that night, he was livid—but not with Breuner.

“Norfolk goes too far! He told me—he actually said to my face—that he would do all in his power to bring about your marriage to the Archduke. I answered that he is neither a good Englishman nor a loyal subject, to advise the Queen to marry a foreigner.”

“Then I must be a traitor to my own throne, for I have contemplated it many times,” Elizabeth said wryly. “But ‘contemplated’ is all there is to it, and just now I do not want to think of importunate foreign princes, or their importunate ambassadors. God’s blood, Robin, do not frown so! Norfolk is a fool. Leave me to deal with him. You and I have better things to do.”

She smiled and held out her hand.

Breuner was still at court, all smiles now, for some mysterious reason—and Bishop de Quadra was in a high good mood when next the Queen granted him an audience. He could barely wait to tell her his news.

“The Archduke Charles is shortly to set out for England, madam.” He might have been informing her of the Second Coming. “All your conditions have been met, and soon you will see him face-to-face.”

Elizabeth hardly needed to pretend she was disconcerted. “But I understood that the baron was leaving England, and would not press his master’s suit further.”

“I must apologize for him, madam. He gained the wrong impression, that your heart was set on another.”

She toyed with the rings on her elegant fingers, feeling as if she had been ambushed. “Bishop, my heart is set on no one. I am not contemplating marriage at present. Of course, I
might
change my mind when I see the Archduke.” It was as unlikely as the Second Coming, but the bishop might not appreciate such honesty—or the analogy.

She was pleased, though, to see that she had ruffled Quadra’s feathers. It would serve him right for his presumption. “Madam,” he said testily, “you have all but invited him for your inspection.”

“No!” she snapped. “I said only that I wished to meet him and get to know him, and that I could never marry a man I have not met. Others have put their own construction on my words.”

“Madam,” Quadra spluttered, “I have it on good authority, from one of your own ladies, no less, that some reluctance to commit to marriage is expected of English ladies, and that you do but wait to be teased into an answer.” Steam might at any moment issue from the bishop’s ears, Elizabeth thought, suppressing a giggle. It was plainly beneath his dignity to have any truck with teasing.

“Members of my household often say such things, and with the best of intentions,” she countered, “but they have never done so on my authority.” She was enjoying this immensely.

“Then I have been made to look a fool,” Quadra stuttered. “I do not pretend to understand Your Majesty.”

“Good Bishop, I hardly understand myself!” Elizabeth beamed.

One dark winter evening Elizabeth was sitting at a desk in her privy chamber, engrossed in translating a passage from Tacitus, when Cecil came to her, his face grave.

“Madam, before we go into council, I must warn you that my spies are reporting dangerous gossip about Lord Robert. It is being bruited, not just in England but also abroad, that he means to poison his wife so that he can marry you.”

“That is a wicked lie!” Elizabeth flared. “Anyone who believes it is a fool, as Robert would be if he ever contemplated such villainy. But he is not, thank Heaven. He is too religious a man ever to think of such wickedness. Even so, were he to murder his wife, suspicion would immediately light upon him, and the hue and cry would be out. And I,” she cried, warming passionately to her theme, “would I be so foolish as to marry him after that? They would say that I had been his accomplice, and it would cost me my throne. Who is spreading these stupid rumors?” She was almost tempted to commit murder herself.

“Bishop de Quadra for one,” Cecil said. “He is the most inveterate gossip, and I suspect he reports every piece of idle chatter in his dispatches. That may be why this talk has spread beyond Your Majesty’s realm. Challoner, our man in Brussels, forbore to commit details of the rumors to paper, they are so foul. He hastened to assure me he knew they were false.”

“I should hope so!” Elizabeth fumed, then sighed deeply. This had all gone too far. “What remedy is there, my Spirit?”

Cecil eyed her wearily. “Marry, madam—and soon. That would put an end to all the tales.”

Elizabeth threw him an exasperated look.

“I will deal with this my way,” she insisted.

She responded to the speculation by appointing Robert Lord Lieutenant and Constable of Windsor Castle. She took to praising his loyalty to herself and his zeal for the reformed faith. Let the world see that she had no cause to be ashamed of her Eyes! Her open favor would give the lie to the malice of her enemies. It had already enabled Robert to secure court posts and other offices for many of his friends. Now, in anticipation of his elevation to greater things—rumors or no rumors—people thronged more greedily than ever to obtain his patronage, and an eager faction formed around him in the expectation that he would soon be King.

Elizabeth knew that most people underestimated Robert. He might strut like a peacock in gorgeous plumage, but he had a fine mind, and he was hot for the Protestant cause. It had taken time, but many were beginning to see him as the champion of the new religion, and theological tracts were already being dedicated to him. It was known too that it was not mere jealousy that set him against the Archduke: he abhorred the prospect of England being tied to a Catholic power, or allied in any way to Spain, and many applauded him for that, even if they did not like him.

Elizabeth watched Cecil watching Robert. She knew her Spirit too well to suspect that he too was animated merely by personal jealousy. No, he saw Robert as a threat to her chances of making a good political marriage, and to the stability of the realm. He was so obviously taking
care to be especially courteous and affable to Robert, but she knew that he was hand in glove with Norfolk and would bring the favorite down if he could. In December, however, Norfolk went too far, and publicly accused Robert of poking his nose into state affairs, where it most definitely was not wanted or appreciated. Elizabeth had had enough. She banished the duke to the North to serve as Lord Lieutenant on the Scottish border. Let him simmer for a while in the wastes of Northumberland, and reflect upon where his arrogance had brought him!

1560
 

Archduke Charles had not come after all. Someone warned him that it might prove a humiliating exercise, and his father the Emperor would not allow him to expose himself to that. In December a disgruntled Breuner had left England; and two months later, very reluctantly, Duke John went home, Elizabeth having most courteously turned down Erik of Sweden. Most people believed that the way was being cleared for the Queen’s marriage to Lord Robert. Now there were not just rumors that he meant to poison his wife; there was also talk that he would divorce her. The consensus was that he would get rid of her by some means.

The truth was that Amy Dudley’s health was deteriorating rapidly. Elizabeth found herself facing the fact that Robert might soon be a free man—and that he would waste no time in pressing his suit. She felt she ought to be exhilarated at the prospect, but in reality she saw herself cornered. Whatever Robert said or did, he could not purge her of her fears of what marriage would mean for her.

God be thanked, the trouble with the French and the Scots was at an end. The Queen Regent of Scotland had died, the Protestant lords had seized power, and the French had sued for peace.

“William, I want you to go to Edinburgh in person to negotiate a treaty with the Scottish lords,” Elizabeth instructed Cecil. Her other councillors looked dubious. What was the matter with them? Were
they wondering what she would get up to without her Spirit’s restraining influence? Things had certainly come to a pretty pass!

Cecil seemed to be entertaining the same concerns. In fact he looked alarmed. “Is it really necessary that I go?” he asked. “Randolph is a good agent. He can deal with this.”

“There is no more skilled negotiator than you,” Elizabeth insisted. Cecil did not argue, but when the meeting ended he waited until the others had left.

“Madam, I must ask. The banishment of my lord of Norfolk is preying on my mind. Does the idea of my going to Scotland proceed from Lord Robert?”

Elizabeth bridled. “God’s death, William, it is my idea, and you know it is a sound one.”

“You will not make any decision over your marriage while I am away?”

“You mean, am I going to do away with Lady Dudley and hasten Robin to the altar?”

Cecil was perturbed by her levity.

“It is no light matter, madam. You know what people are saying, and you do nothing to discourage it.”

“What, that Robin and I have had five children in secret? I read that report. I hope the woman is behind bars now.”

“Madam, we can lock up as many offenders as we can catch—and we might as well lock up the whole court in the process—but that will not stop the rumors. Only Your Majesty can give the lie to them.”

“God’s blood, are you saying I am not circumspect? Or that I set a lewd example?”

“Madam,
I
know that you are without reproach. But others see what they want to see. You associate with Lord Robert, a man fouled with rumor. He could bring the realm to speedy ruin were you to marry him.”

Elizabeth lost patience. “You fear only for your influence, William, and that colors your opinions. Now get ye gone to Scotland and stop fretting. I am the one who rules here, and I can manage without you for a few weeks.” She was being unfair to Cecil, she knew, for he had
never put his own concerns before the needs of the realm, but she was sick to the teeth of his constant vilification of Robert. She couldn’t wait to see the back of him.

Cecil went, unhappily, to Edinburgh. There, setting his worries aside, he negotiated a masterful treaty that gave Elizabeth everything she wanted and more. The Scots and the French had agreed to peace terms. Most important, the Scots would recognize Elizabeth as Queen of England. Mary Stuart would stop quartering the arms of England with her own, and—God be praised—had undertaken to cease calling herself by Elizabeth’s title.

The threat of war had receded. Elizabeth now stood triumphant in the eyes of Christendom.

Robert was peevish.

“Cecil has not secured the return of Calais,” he grumbled, “or made the French reimburse you for all the money you have outlaid fighting them in Scotland—money England can ill afford.”

“By God, he has not!” Elizabeth concurred. Cecil’s criticism of Robert still rankled. “I will write and remind him of his duty.” Let Cecil feel the draft of her displeasure. He would soon stop complaining.

That was the only blot on the landscape of that glorious summer, her second as Queen. Elizabeth basked in the golden sunshine, giving herself over to pleasure and love, and Robert was never far from her side. By day they rode and hunted through countryside baked brown in the heat, Robert stripped of his doublet and Elizabeth wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her fair skin; in the evenings they danced galliards, laughing as they leapt high in the air, or made music together, strumming ballads on lute or gittern; and at night they lay rapt in each other’s arms. Ambassadors from politically amorous foreign princes still crowded the court, but it was plain to all that the Queen had eyes only for one man. And now the whispers were louder than ever: “Wanton! Adulteress! Harlot!” But Elizabeth stoutly ignored them. She did not blanch when Bacon, earnest to protect her reputation in Cecil’s absence, ventured to protest that Lord Robert was ruining the realm with his vanity.