In the Shadow of the Crown (59 page)

I could not imagine where he could be. I wondered if I might ask him what induced him to rise so early. I had hoped to wake and find him beside me. But I did not ask him. One did not ask Philip such things. For all my love for him, I felt there was a barrier between us. But I did discover later that it
was
a Spanish custom for certain gentlemen to come into the bridal chamber after the wedding night in order to congratulate the married pair.

I was learning that the customs of my husband's Court were very different from ours, but at that time I was amused by the differences and told myself how interesting it would be to learn each other's ways.

I was surprised when I did not see Philip all that day. I was told that he was busy attending to dispatches he had received from his father.

It was my duty to meet the wives of the gentlemen who had accompanied him, and I began with the Duchess of Alva. She was very elegant and rather alarmed me by her stately demeanor. But I was in love with all things Spanish. It was natural that I should be. I had Spanish blood in my veins. I remembered snatches of conversation I had shared with my mother years ago. She had been brought up in a Court which must have been very like that in which Philip had lived. I thought of how happy she would be if she could see me now.

The Duchess and I got on very well after a while. I suppose she was as nervous of me as I was of her. I had gone to meet her, which surprised her because she had expected to find me seated, and she did not know how to greet me. She sank to her knees and tried to kiss my hand, but I put my arms round her and kissed her cheek.

I meant to be warm and friendly but my manner seemed to disconcert
her; however, after a while we were able to speak in a friendly fashion together.

It was very difficult to break through the solemnity of the Spanish, and I could see that this was going to be a problem with Philip. I could never be sure what he was thinking. He behaved with courtesy and gentleness toward me, yet he was never abandoned, never passionate. If I had not deluded myself, I could have feared that our marriage, our love-making, was to him a task, a duty which must be performed.

Later I believed this was so, for when he had gone, people talked more freely of him, and I have to admit that whenever possible I urged them to do so. There came a time when I felt a certain masochistic pleasure in torturing myself, when I wanted to learn the truth about my marriage.

Then I reminded myself that I was old and he was comparatively young… that I was to him a kind of maiden aunt.

But for the time being I was blissfully happy.

We left Winchester for London and crossed London Bridge at noon, surrounded by the nobility of Spain and England. We were greeted by the pageantry one grows accustomed to on such occasions; but what pleased the people most, I am sure, were the ninety-seven chests—each over a yard long—which contained the bullion Philip had brought with him.

We came to Whitehall, where celebrations continued. These were, however, cut short by the death of the old Duke of Norfolk. I insisted that the Court go into mourning. Poor Norfolk! The last years of his life had been very melancholy. After narrowly escaping being beheaded by my father, he had been a prisoner all through the last reign; and when I had come to the throne, he had been released but his luck had not changed. He had led an inferior force against Wyatt and had suffered the humiliation of being defeated, which would be heartbreaking for a man of his caliber. So it seemed right to put on mourning for an old friend.

At Windsor the ceremony of the Garter was officially performed, and I was happy to see Philip honored. I wanted to give him so much, which could seem only very little after all the happiness he had brought me.

Susan used to watch my exuberance with a certain fearfulness. I know I behaved like a young girl in love; but, if I was not a young girl, I was certainly in love, and older people's feelings can be so much stronger than those of the young, particularly when happiness comes to them late in life after much tribulation.

I wanted Philip to have a coronation. So did Renard, who came to see me about the matter and to stress what a good thing it would be.

“He would take so much of the burden from your shoulders. You have
too much to contend with. You must see that he is given the status here that he so richly deserves.”

“I would willingly give it,” I said.

“There is nothing I want more. I will speak to the Council.”

I did.

Gardiner said, “The people would never accept it.”

“I am the Queen,” I reminded him. “I intend to rule as my father did.”

“It was different in your father's day. It is not long since people flocked to Wyatt's banner. There is your sister…”

“I know you want to have her…removed… but I will not allow that. She is not concerned with this. I am sure the country would welcome a king to help in governing them.”

“The time has not come…yet,” insisted Gardiner.

It was a sort of compromise. Not yet, he said. He must mean that we should wait awhile.

I had to admit that he was right, for after that first enthusiasm when we had our ceremonies and pageants, which people always enjoy, they began to display their dislike of foreigners in general and Spaniards in particular. It was said that there were more Spaniards than English in the streets of London. “England is for the English,” was their cry. “We want no aliens here.” Those who had come in Philip's train were rich, and that aroused the people's envy. Children called after them in the streets and threw stones at them. Quarrels were picked and there was frequent fighting. The Spaniards began to fear that it was unsafe to go out alone, for they were constantly being robbed.

I was ashamed of my countrymen, but Philip remained calm and as courteous as ever; he would not give up his Spanish household and, as I had provided him with English servants, he kept the two, which must have been a great expense; but as he could not easily dismiss those I had found and would not give up those he had brought, he accepted the cost.

I wished that we could have talked more openly together. I wished I had known what was in his mind. There were constant dispatches arriving from the Emperor. Philip would spend most of the day dealing with them. I saw very little of him except in company, and when we were alone in our bedchamber, very few words were spoken.

It was in September when I believed I might be pregnant. I had suffered through my life from internal irregularities, so I could not be sure, but I had a certain exultant feeling within me. I felt blessed, and I said to myself: This is what the Virgin experienced when she was visited by the angel.

This was what I had longed for. A child of my own! Everything I had
endured… all my troubles… they were all worthwhile, if I could hold my own child in my arms.

I was afraid to say anything. I was fearful that it might not be so.

But it must be. Why else should I have this feeling of exultation?

SEPTEMBER PASSED. EACH DAY I became more sure. I wanted to sing out to the housetops, “My soul doth magnify the Lord …I am to have a child…a child of my own. It will be a son. It must be a son.” Oh, what rejoicing there would be! If only the time would pass more quickly. When could I expect the birth? Next May perhaps? The child would be my firstborn. Who knew? There might be others…

I could think of nothing but my child.

Susan knew that something had happened. She waited for me to tell her. But I did not just yet, hard as it was to keep a secret. I was afraid that she would remind me of my weakness which had been with me all my life.

“Are you sure?” she would say. “Can Your Majesty be sure?”

I could not bear that there should be a doubt; and she would doubt, I knew. She would say, like the rest: She is nearly forty years old. She is too old for childbearing. She has her weakness. It is a recurrence of that which we have known before.

No! No! I argued with myself. This is different. I am no longer a virgin. I am a wife…a passionately loved wife.

Passionately? Was Philip passionate? How could I know? What experience had I of passion? He seemed eager and loving. He did care for me. He did, I vehemently assured myself.

At last I could not resist telling Philip. We had retired for the night and were alone together.

I said to him, “Philip, I think it may be so…I believe it to be so…” He looked at me eagerly.

“I believe I am with child,” I concluded.

I saw the joy in his face, and my heart swelled with happiness.

“You are sure…?”

“Yes, yes…I think it may be so.”

“When… when?”

“I cannot be quite certain of that. Perhaps next May we may have our child.”

I saw his lips moving, as though in prayer.

A FEW WEEKS PASSED. I was terrified that I should be proved wrong; but so far I was not.

I had told Susan now. She looked alarmed.

“Why, Susan,” I said, “you should rejoice.”

She replied, as I knew she would, “You are sure, Your Majesty?”

“I am absolutely sure.”

“May God guard Your Majesty,” she said fervently.

I knew what she was thinking. I was old… too old… for childbearing. I was going to prove them wrong. I was not yet forty. Women had children at that age. I was small and slight—not built for the task of bringing children into the world. They would all have to change their minds. I would make them.

I was faintly irritated with Susan. She did not share my pleasure. I would have reprimanded her but I knew it was out of her love for me that she was apprehensive.

Philip said to me, “The French are plaguing my father. I should be there to help him.”

A cold fear ran through me. “He will understand that you must be here,” I said.

“Oh yes… for a time.”

“It is your home now, Philip.”

He said a little coldly, “My home is in Spain. One day I shall be the King.”

“That is far ahead, and now that we are married we must be together. The people would never allow me to leave this country.”

He said nothing, but his lips were tight.

I thought: Poor Philip. He is a little homesick. It is natural. Perhaps the Emperor would come and visit us or, mayhap, when the child was born, I could go with him… just for a brief visit.

I knew that could never be. But I was in love and about to be a mother, so I allowed myself wild dreams.

HAPPY AS I WAS, I thought often of my sister Elizabeth. She was a prisoner at Woodstock under the good, though stern, Sir Henry Bedingfield and I knew how that must have irked her.

From Sir Henry I had learned of a plot to assassinate her. The suspicion came to me that it might have been hatched by Gardiner, who was always an enemy of hers, and I expect he feared what might happen to him if she came to the throne. According to Sir Henry, he had been called away and had left his brother in charge, giving him strict injunctions that Elizabeth must be watched day and night, not only because of what she herself might become involved in but because there might be those who wished to harm her.

A man named Basset, with twenty men, had been found loitering in the
gardens, with the obvious intent of doing some harm to my sister. Because of the strict vigilance, the conspiracy had been discovered and the plot failed.

Although she caused me continual anxiety, I should hate any harm to come to her; so she continued to be in my thoughts.

I had never understood her and was always uncertain as to whether or not she would plot against me. Whenever we were together, I felt nothing but affection for her. Perhaps I was guileless, but I believed she cherished sisterly feelings toward me.

And these accusations which were brought against her? Were they true? I wished I knew. I wished I could trust her completely and that she could come to Court so that we might be as sisters should.

I spoke to Philip about her.

I said, “My sister is much on my mind. It is hurtful that she should be kept under restraint. After all, she is my sister. I want to see her. I want to ask her, face to face, how much truth there is in these rumors that she has supporters who would set her up in my place. If she has hopes …” My voice softened and I looked at him appealingly, “… they cannot remain…now.”

I believe the Spaniards are brought up to hide their emotions. My mother had not been like that. Formal as she could be at times, she had always been warm and loving with me. Perhaps it was not in Philip's nature to show emotion.

He was preoccupied with the subject of Elizabeth. I had noticed that, whenever her name was mentioned, he became alert and gave his full attention to what was being said.

“Bring her to Court,” he now advised.

I smiled happily. “You think that would be a good idea? Gardiner is against it.”

He lowered his eyes. “Bring her to Court,” he repeated. “Speak with her alone. Ask her… then judge.”

I nodded. “I should like to see her married.” I smiled at him fondly. “Everyone should marry. It is the greatest happiness on Earth…as I have found.”

A wry smile touched his lips. I told myself it meant that he agreed with me.

I went on, “Emmanuel Philibert will be here for a few months. He would be a suitable match. It will be better when she is out of the country. While she is here, there will always be people to see her as a rallying-point. There are a great many heretics in the country, Philip, and they look to her.”

“That will be remedied,” he said. “Send for her. It is the best.”

He asked questions about her, and I told him how, when she had been born, she had been treated with great respect and, when her mother fell out
of favor, how her fortunes drastically changed. “She has lived her life under the shadow of death,” I went on. “Many times she has come face to face with it.”

I could not help thinking that at one time Philip and his father had been eager to see the end of her. Now he seemed to be more tolerant. I thought: Being in love makes one eager to see the whole world happy…even those who may be our enemies.

“It will be different now,” I said, “because of the child. I believe that, before, she refused marriage because it would have meant her leaving the country.”