Queen of This Realm (57 page)

Such talk could not fail to impress and inspire… and perhaps alarm… and people grow vicious when frightened.

I was deeply disturbed—as I so often was by the need to inflict death… I had not forgotten my mother's fate. I thought that Campion should not have been condemned, though I knew that, as a practical matter, Walsingham was right. I was in acute danger. The blow could come from the least expected quarter. I had to put my safety in the hands of my good and careful Moor; and he would allow no one the chance of harming me if he could help it.

I was glad that Edmund Campion escaped the final painful humiliation. They cut him up after his death, not before. What a concession!

I prayed for him that night. I asked forgiveness of God for my part in his death, and I took some comfort to know that he had left that poor tortured body of his behind him forever.

I knew that he was a good man, and I could not forget his bright and clever face as it had been when he had welcomed me to Oxford.

I COULD NOT
keep Anjou dangling forever, much as I should like to gain more time. The situation in the Netherlands was even more delicate. That poor country had constantly asked me for aid against the Spanish and I had hesitated to give it, fearing it might involve my people in conflict. The French, however, had become very alarmed at the prospect of Spain's obtaining dominance there. On the other hand, they were a Catholic country and we were menaced by the Catholics of Europe who might join together to attack England. Fortunately there was a bitter rivalry among themselves.

My little Prince had always been a trouble to his family. His mother had no great love for him, nor had his brother; and it must have seemed a good idea to send him to the Netherlands to help the people against the Spaniards, since the last thing France wanted was to see a triumphant Spain. Anjou had flirted with the Protestant Faith, though he was no more stable in that direction than he had been in others. Therefore, why should he not go to the Netherlands independently of France—but secretly aided by them—and wage war on Spain?

This seemed to me an excellent idea. It was fighting my war for me and it was a state of affairs which I wanted to continue for as long as possible— as long as he was fighting independently of France, for to contemplate French domination of the Netherlands was even more alarming than that of Spain as they were closer to us and could invade more easily.

It was a very complicated and intricate situation and it needed the most skillful diplomacy. I must keep Anjou fighting in the Netherlands and he must be on my side… not that of the French. The French doubtless saw the marriage as bringing England back to Catholicism and obviously thought that when Anjou was victorious, they would join up with him and his victory would be that of the French.

I had no doubt that the wily Catherine de' Medici believed that she could rid herself of her troublesome son and win the Netherlands for France at the same time; and I had to keep her believing that that was what she was going to achieve.

But she was becoming impatient. Walsingham reported that the King of
France and his mother were exasperated by my delaying tactics with regard to the marriage; they were behaving in a very cool manner toward the English envoys and himself. Not content with complaining to my Council, he had the temerity to write lecturing me.

I smiled to think of what my father's reactions would have been to such a letter. Walsingham's head would have been in acute danger. But I understood. I respected my Moor. He was a man of courage and immense ability so I meant to keep his head where it could best serve me, even though it meant suppressing my irritation. There was logic in his reasoning and it did bring home to me the fact that I could not play this game much longer.

It was galling to see that my devious diplomacy was not always appreciated by my most able ministers. I had to play the part of a vain, coquettish woman—not so difficult for in some ways I was one—but they did forget that I was also an astute politician. When they came to look back over the past three years, they would see what advantage I had brought to my country by holding off the French while I could build up our defenses. I had plans, too, which might amaze them, for my little Anjou was a weathercock in his politics and I believed that he would sway toward whichever side could bring him a touch of glory. Poor little Frog, so unprepossessing, with a brother a King occupying a throne which he had hoped to get for himself, and with a mother who dominated her children and decided the policy of France. They would see how my plans for him worked out … if they would only be patient. But I must play the game my way and I could not yet explain to my Moor, or even to my Spirit. There must be no hint that matters were otherwise than they appeared to be, and if I was to play my part with conviction, I had to believe in the role I was playing.

It was agreed that Anjou should come to England again and this time there should be a definite decision.

Walsingham returned. “You knave,” I said to him. “In the beginning you were against the marriage … none more so. Now you see it as inevitable…as part of an alliance with France. You are like a weathercock, Master Moor.”

He was disconcerted but unrepentant. Men such as he do what they think right and no one—king or queen—is going to divert them.

I gave him a sharp slap on the arm and said: “You will see.” But he knew that though I was displeased with him, I recognized him as a devoted servant, and his allegiance was even stronger because he respected me, though he believed, like the rest, that I had gone too far in this matter of the marriage. It was going to be difficult to extricate myself. I alone had to do that, and I was not quite ready yet. I had still to keep the French anxious and the Spaniards guessing.

When Anjou came, fresh from his victory after the relief of Cambrai, we welcomed him as the future consort of the Queen should be received, and so we set out to entertain him royally. We erected what we called a temporary banqueting hall in Whitehall which cost the amazing sum of one thousand, seven hundred and forty-four pounds, nineteen shillings, and we went to the further expense of putting the guests in luxurious lodgings in the area. I gave a splendid dinner party and so did Leicester and Burghley. The language presented some difficulty and Burghley produced some clever young interpreters, so that there should be no misunderstanding of what was being said and it should be clear that we wished to honor our guests. Among those clever young men was one who had come into prominence lately: young Francis Bacon, son of Nicholas and nephew of Burghley, who had already brought him to my notice.

We did everything we could to make this a splendid occasion. I wanted no one to guess just yet that I intended to break off the negotiations. All the finest furnishings were brought to Whitehall—pictures, carpets, plate, everything; and we had great entertainments such as jousting and bear-baiting as well as the banquets.

I had lulled the fears of the French and added to those in my subjects' minds. That could not be helped. There would have to be an understanding soon.

Anjou returned to France, triumphant, with plans to come to England in October—six months later—when all the documents would be ready and all that would be needed was his signature and mine.

There were rumors from the Continent. The French were growing restive. The Spaniards were secretly jeering. Delay, they said. Constant delay. The Queen of England does not intend to make this marriage.

Burghley told me that the Spaniards were gambling on it—one hundred to one against.

It could not go on. My ministers were very anxious. They had almost made up their minds that there would be a marriage. I was touched to realize that one of their main anxieties was that I might attempt to bear a child and endanger my life. There was no doubt that they wanted me to remain their Queen.

When October came, Anjou arrived at Rye. My clever Walsingham— the eternal spy—had arranged that prostitutes should be supplied for the French to make them happy. Not only did these women make the French happy, but Walsingham and Burghley also, because they came away with details of secret documents which gave us an idea of the French attitude. Thus we learned that if there was no marriage this time, there would be an end to the negotiations.

There was no doubt in the minds of my ministers that I had brought myself to an impasse and it seemed to them that there was no way out but through marriage.

I was as determined as ever to remain unmarried but I would not admit this… yet.

When Anjou and I met we greeted each other with great affection. He fell to his knees and regarded me, his grotesque face alight with adoration.

I stooped and kissed him, telling him that I had longed for this meeting. Robert was standing by and I noticed with pleasure that he looked very angry.

“Let us walk in the gallery,” I said to Anjou. “I want to hear of your journey and to tell you of my joy in seeing you.”

Anjou and I walked a few paces ahead with Robert and Walsingham behind when Mauvissiére the French Ambassador came in unannounced. He made his way straight to me and said that he had orders from the King of France that he must without delay have a statement from me as to whether or not I intended to marry the Duc d'Anjou.

Here was a difficulty. What could I say? It was a matter of yes or no; and I was not yet ready for a no.

So I replied in the only way possible. I said: “You may write and tell this to the King: The Duc shall be my husband.”

Then I turned to my little Prince and kissed him on the mouth, and taking a ring from my finger I put it on his.

Anjou was overcome with joy. He immediately took a ring from
his
finger and put it on mine.

We had plighted our troth.

“Come with me,” I said, and I led him from the gallery to a chamber in which many of my courtiers were gathered. I told them in a voice which was audible throughout the room what had taken place.

The news spread rapidly. There was to be a marriage.

ROBERT BURST INTO
my chamber. I had never seen him so upset.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “How dare you come in thus unannounced?”

He said: “I have just witnessed that scene in the gallery.”

“Scene? My Lord Leicester, I don't understand you!”

This was how I liked Robert—all fire and jealousy. He could not be regretting a crown now since he was no longer free to marry. This was pure jealousy… for me.

“That… that
frog
…” he stammered.

I laughed and said: “Robert, you look as though you will explode. I like
not that purple tinge in your face. To tell the truth it worries me. You will have an apoplectic fit one day, and none to blame but yourself. You eat too much… you drink too much. How often have I told you!”

He took me by the shoulders. Why did I allow such liberties? I suppose if one allows them in one direction one must in another. There had never been, nor ever could be, any relationship in my life like that I shared with Robert. I was happy now because he was jealous, because for a time at least he had forgotten Lettice.

He cried: “I demand to know. Are you that man's mistress?”

I laughed at him and he shook me. I was too astounded to answer for a few moments. Then I remembered my dignity.

“My lord Leicester,” I said, “you take great liberties with me. Perhaps I have favored you too much and you have grown to believe you possess powers… even over me. You are mistaken, my lord. I could send you to the Tower in five minutes. Take your hands from me at once.”

He obeyed and stood looking at me, the anger still in his face.

“Are you that man's mistress?” he repeated, almost pleadingly.

“My lord Leicester,” I said with great dignity, “I am the mistress of you all.”

He looked so distressed. He could not bear to think that I had given to another that which I had always denied him. He could always soften me. It was only when he was absent that I could be really angry with him.

“Robert,” I said, “I have promised myself that I shall go to my grave a virgin. I still intend to do that.”

He took my hand and kissed it then and I touched the dark curling hairs at the back of his neck as he did so.

I said gently: “You may go now.”

I COULD SEE
now that the farce was at an end. The French had ceased to help Anjou in the Netherlands, so the situation was changing. I would have to come out in the open. A few days after the scene in the gallery, I arose and declared to my ladies that I had had a sleepless night, which was true, for I was deeply anxious as to how I was going to plan the next scene.

When the Duc came to me, I said that I thought I could not endure another night like that through which I had just passed. I had been torn by my emotions and I was going to make the biggest sacrifice a woman had ever made. “I shall give up the thought of marriage for the sake of my people,” I added.

He was dumbfounded and did not know what to say for a few moments. I could understand his confusion. I went on to say that I knew that if I married
I would not live more than a few months. My people needed me and for their sakes I would not marry.

It was all such nonsense. No wonder he was bewildered, but when he realized that I meant what I said, he burst into tears and cried out that he would rather we were both dead than not married.

“My dear little Frog,” I replied, “you must not threaten a poor old woman in her kingdom.”

He said: “I meant no harm to your blessed person but I would rather be cut in pieces than not marry you and so be laughed at by the world.”

So that was it. He feared ridicule.

“Alas, alas,” I consoled him. “My heart is yours, little Frog, and now it is broken. But I am a queen and must do my duty.”

“But it has gone too far. Your people know. They accept…”

“I know, little one. Leave this to me. My dear little Prince, how can I let you go?”

Perhaps I went too far for the purple color flooded his angry face. Never had he looked more grotesque; and now there was real misery on his ugly little face; he looked like a poor little frog who has been turned out of a very pleasant pond.