Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2

by Philippa Gregory

  — She is small scale, not a queen at all yet. She will stick at the raising of the Host because she can see it; that is real, it happens before her nose. But the great debates of the church she would rather avoid. Elizabeth has no vision, she has never had time to see beyond her own survival. —

  At the table, Cecil beckoned to one of his clerks and the man stepped forward and showed the young queen a page of writing.

  — If a man wanted to dominate this queen, he would have to separate her from Cecil — Robert thought to himself, watching the two heads so companionably close together as she read his paper. — If a man wanted to rule England through this queen he would have to be rid of Cecil first. And she would have to lose faith in Cecil before anything else could be done. —

  Elizabeth pointed to something on the page, Cecil answered her question, and then she nodded her agreement. She looked up and, seeing Dudley’s eyes upon her, beckoned him forward.

  Dudley, head up, a little swagger in his stride at stepping forward before the whole court, came up to the throne and swept a deep elegant bow.

  ‘Good day, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘And God bless you in this first day of your rule.’

  Elizabeth beamed at him. ‘We have been preparing the list of my emissaries to go to the courts of Europe to announce my coronation,’ she said. ‘Cecil suggests that I send you to Philip of Spain in Brussels. Shall you like to tell your old master that I am now anointed queen?’

  ‘As you wish,’ he agreed at once, hiding his irritation. ‘But are you going to stay indoors at work all day today, Your Grace? Your hunter is waiting, the weather is fine.’

  He caught her longing glance towards the window and her hesitation.

  ‘The French ambassador …’ Cecil remarked for her ear only.

  She shrugged. ‘The ambassador can wait, I suppose.’

  ‘And I have a new hunter that I thought you might try,’ Dudley said temptingly. ‘From Ireland. A bright bay, a handsome horse, and strong.’

  ‘Not too strong, I hope,’ Cecil said.

  ‘The queen rides like a Diana.’ Dudley flattered her to her face, not even glancing at the older man. ‘There is no-one to match her. I would put her on any horse in the stables and it would know its master. She rides like her father did, quite without fear.’

  Elizabeth glowed a little at the praise. ‘I will come in an hour,’ she said. ‘First, I have to see what these people want.’ She glanced around the room and the men and women stirred like spring corn when the breeze passes over it. Her very glance could make them ripple with longing for her attention.

  Dudley laughed quietly. ‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ he said cynically. ‘It needn’t take an hour.’

  She tipped her head to one side to listen, and he stepped up to the throne so that he could whisper in her ear. Cecil saw her eyes dance and how she put her hand to her mouth to hold in her laughter.

  ‘Shush, you are a slanderer,’ she said, and slapped the back of his hand with her gloves.

  At once, Dudley turned his hand over, palm up, as if to invite another smack. Elizabeth averted her head and veiled her eyes with her dark lashes.

  Dudley bent his head again, and whispered to her once more. A giggle escaped from the queen.

  ‘Master Secretary,’ she said. ‘You must send Sir Robert away, he is too distracting.’

  Cecil smiled pleasantly at the younger man. ‘You are most welcome to divert Her Grace,’ he said warmly. ‘If anything, she works too hard. The kingdom cannot be transformed in a week, there is much to do but it will have to be done over time. And …’ He hesitated. ‘Many things we will have to consider carefully, they are new to us.’

  — And you are at a loss half the time — Robert remarked to himself. — I would know what should be done. But you are her advisor and I am merely Master of Horse. Well, so be it for today. So I will take her riding. —

  Aloud he said with a smile: ‘There you are then! Your Grace, come out and ride with me. We need not hunt, we’ll just take a couple of grooms and you can try the paces of this bay horse.’

  ‘Within the hour,’ she promised him.

  ‘And the French ambassador can ride with you,’ Cecil suggested.

  A swift glance from Robert Dudley showed that he realised he had been burdened with chaperones but Cecil’s face remained serene.

  ‘Don’t you have a horse he can use in the stables?’ he asked, challenging Robert’s competence, without seeming to challenge him at all.

  ‘Of course,’ Robert said urbanely. ‘He can have his pick from a dozen.’

  The queen scanned the room. ‘Ah, my lord,’ she said pleasantly to one of the waiting men. ‘How glad I am to see you at court.’

  It was his cue for her attention and at once he stepped forward. ‘I have brought Your Grace a gift to celebrate your coming to the throne,’ he said.

  Elizabeth brightened, she loved gifts of any sort, she was as acquisitive as a magpie. Robert, knowing that what would follow would be some request for the right to cut wood or enclose common land, to avoid a tax or persecute a neighbour, stepped down from the dais, bowed, walked backwards from the throne, bowed again at the door and went out to the stables.

  Despite the French ambassador, a couple of lords, some small-fry gentry, a couple of ladies in waiting and half a dozen guards that Cecil had collected to accompany the queen, Dudley managed to ride by her side and they were left alone for most of the ride. At least two men muttered that Dudley was shown more favour than he deserved, but Robert ignored them, and the queen did not hear.

  They rode westerly, slowly at first through the streets and then lengthening the pace of the horses as they entered the yellowing winter grassland of St James’s Park. Beyond the park, the houses gave way to market gardens to feed the insatiable city, and then to open fields, and then to wilder country. The queen was absorbed in managing the new horse, who fretted at too tight a rein but would take advantage and toss his head if she let him ride too loose.

  ‘He needs schooling,’ she said critically to Robert.

  ‘I thought you should try him as he is,’ he said easily. ‘And then we can decide what is to be done with him. He could be a hunter for you, he is strong enough and he jumps like a bird, or he could be a horse you use in processions, he is so handsome and his colour is so good. If you want him for that, I have a mind to have him specially trained, taught to stand and to tolerate crowds. I thought your grey fretted a little when people pushed very close.’

  ‘You can’t blame him for that!’ she retorted. ‘They were waving flags in his face and throwing rose petals at him!’

  He smiled at her. ‘I know. But this will happen again and again. England loves her princess. You will need a horse that can stand and watch a tableau, and let you bend down and take a posy from a child without shifting for a moment, and then trot with his head up looking proud.’

  She was struck by his advice. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘And it is hard to pay attention to the crowd and to manage a horse.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be led by a groom either,’ he said decidedly. ‘Or to ride in a carriage. I want them to see you mastering your own horse. I don’t want anything taken away from you. Every procession should add to you, they should see you higher, stronger, grander even than life.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘I have to be seen as strong, my sister was always saying she was a weak woman, and she was always ill, all the time.’

  ‘And he is your colour,’ he said impertinently. ‘You are a bright chestnut yourself.’

  She was not offended, she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh, d’you think he is a Tudor?’ she asked.

  ‘For sure, he has the temper of one,’ Robert said. He and his brothers and sisters had been playmates in the royal nursery at Hatfield, and all the Dudley children had felt the ringing slap of the Tudor temper. ‘Doesn’t like the bridle, doesn’t like to be commanded, but can be gentled into almost anything.’

  She gleamed at
him. ‘If you are so wise with a dumb beast, let’s hope you don’t try to train me,’ she said provocatively.

  ‘Who could train a queen?’ he replied. ‘All I could do would be to implore you to be kind to me.’

  ‘Have I not been very kind already?’ she said, thinking of the best post which she had given him, Master of Horse, with a massive annual income and the right to set up his own table at court and to take the best rooms in whichever palace the court might visit.

  He shrugged as if it were next to nothing. ‘Ah, Elizabeth,’ he said intimately. ‘That is not what I mean when I desire you to be kind to me.’

  ‘You may not call me Elizabeth any more,’ she reminded him quietly, but he thought she was not displeased.

  ‘I forgot,’ he said, his voice very low. ‘I take such pleasure in your company that sometimes I think we are still just friends as we used to be. I forgot for a moment that you have risen to such greatness.’

  ‘I was always a princess,’ she said defensively. ‘I have risen to nothing but my birthright.’

  ‘And I always loved you for nothing but yourself,’ he replied cleverly.

  He could see her hands loosen slightly on the reins and knew that he had struck the right note with her. He played her as every favourite plays every ruler; he had to know what charmed and what cooled her.

  ‘Edward was always very fond of you,’ she said softly, remembering her brother.

  He nodded, looking grave. ‘God bless him. I miss him every day, as much as my own brothers.’

  ‘But he was not so warm to your father,’ she said rather pointedly.

  Robert smiled down at Elizabeth as if nothing of their past lives could be counted against them: his family’s terrible treason against her family, her own betrayal of her half-sister. ‘Bad times,’ he said generally. ‘And long ago. You and I have both been misjudged, and God knows, we have been punished enough. We have both served our time in the Tower, accused of treason. I used to think of you then; when I was allowed out to walk on the leads, I used to go to the very threshold of the gated door of your tower, and know that you were just on the other side. I’d have given much to be able to see you. I used to have news of you from Hannah the Fool. I can’t tell you what a comfort it was to know you were there. They were dark days for us both; but I am glad now that we shared them together. You on one side of that gate and me the other.’

  ‘Nobody else can ever understand,’ she said with suppressed energy. ‘Nobody can ever know unless you have been there: what it’s like to be in there! To know that below you, out of sight, is the green where the scaffold will be built, and not to know whether they are building it, sending to ask, and not trusting the answer, wondering if it will be today or tomorrow.’

  ‘D’you dream of it?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘Some nights I still wake up in terror.’

  A glance from her dark eyes told him that she too was haunted. ‘I have a dream that I hear hammering,’ she said quietly. ‘It was the sound I dreaded most in the world. To hear hammering and sawing and to know that they are building my own scaffold right underneath my window.’

  ‘Thank God those days are done and we can bring justice to England, Elizabeth,’ he said warmly.

  This time she did not correct him for using her name.

  ‘We should turn for home, sir,’ one of the grooms rode up to remind him.

  ‘It is your wish?’ he asked the queen.

  She gave him a little inviting sideways smile. ‘D’you know, I should like to ride out all day. I am sick of Whitehall and the people who come, and every one of them wanting something. And Cecil with all the business that needs doing.’

  ‘Why don’t we ride early tomorrow?’ he suggested. ‘Ride out by the river, we can cross over to the south bank and gallop out through Lambeth marshes and not come home till dinner time?’

  ‘Why, what ever will they say?’ she asked, instantly attracted.

  ‘They will say that the queen is doing as she wishes, as she should do,’ he said. ‘And I shall say that I am hers to command. And tomorrow evening I shall plan a great feast for you with dancing and players and a special masque.’

  Her face lit up. ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Because you are young, and beautiful, and you should not go from schoolroom to lawmaking without taking some pleasure. You are queen now, Elizabeth, you can do as you wish. And no-one can refuse you.’

  She laughed at the thought of it. ‘Shall I be a tyrant?’

  ‘If you wish,’ he said, denying the many forces of the kingdom, which inevitably would dominate her: a young woman alone amid the most unscrupulous families in Christendom. ‘Why not? Who should say “no” to you? The French princess, your cousin Mary, takes her pleasures, why should you not take yours?’

  ‘Oh, her,’ Elizabeth said irritably, a scowl crossing her face at the mention of Mary, Queen of Scots, the sixteen-year-old princess of the French court. ‘She lives a life of nothing but pleasure.’

  Robert hid a smile at the predictable jealousy of Elizabeth for a prettier, luckier princess. ‘You will have a court that will make her sick with envy,’ he assured her. ‘A young, unmarried, beautiful queen, in a handsome, merry court? There’s no comparison with Queen Mary, who is burdened with a husband, the Dauphin, and ruled by the Guise family, and spends all her life doing as they wish.’

  They turned their horses for home.

  ‘I shall devote myself to bringing you amusements. This is your time, Elizabeth, this is your golden season.’

  ‘I did not have a very merry girlhood,’ she conceded.

  ‘We must make up for that now,’ he said. ‘You shall be the pearl at the centre of a golden court. The French princess will hear every day of your happiness. The court will dance to your bidding, this summer will be filled with pleasure. They will call you the golden princess of all of Christendom! The most fortunate, the most beautiful, and the most loved.’

  He saw the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘But how you will miss me when I am at Brussels!’ he slyly predicted. ‘All these plans will have to wait.’

  He saw her consider it. ‘You must come home quickly.’

  ‘Why not send someone else? Anyone can tell Philip you are crowned; it does not need to be me. And if I am not here, who will organise your banquets and parties?’

  ‘Cecil thought you should go,’ she said. ‘He thought it a pleasant compliment to Philip, to send him a man who had served in his armies.’

  Robert shrugged. ‘Who cares what the King of Spain thinks now? Who cares what Cecil thinks? What d’you think, Elizabeth? Shall I go away for a month to another court at Brussels, or shall you keep me here to ride and dance with you, and keep you merry?’

  He saw her little white teeth nip her lips to hide her pleased smile. ‘You can stay,’ she said carelessly. ‘I’ll tell Cecil he has to send someone else.’

  It was the dreariest month of the year in the English countryside, and Norfolk one of the dreariest counties of England. The brief flurry of snow in January had melted, leaving the lane to Norwich impassable by cart and disagreeable on horseback, and besides, there was nothing at Norwich to be seen except the cathedral; and now that was a place of anxious silences, not peace. The candles had been extinguished under the statue of the Madonna, the crucifix was on the altar still but the tapestries and the paintings had been taken down. The little messages and prayers which had been pinned to the Virgin’s gown had disappeared. No-one knew if they were allowed to pray to Her any more.

  Amy did not want to see the church she had loved stripped bare of everything she knew was holy. Other churches in the city had been de-sanctified and were being used as stables, or converted into handsome town houses. Amy could not imagine how anyone could dare to put his bed where the altar had once stood; but the new men of this reign were bold in their own interests. The shrine at Walsingham had not yet been destroyed, but Amy knew that the iconoclasts would come against it so
me day soon, and then where would a woman pray who wanted to conceive a child? Who wanted to win back her husband from the sin of ambition? Who wanted to win him home once more?

  Amy Dudley practised her writing, but there seemed little point. Even if she could have managed a letter to her husband there was no news to give him, except what he would know already: that she missed him, that the weather was bad and the company dull, the evenings dark and the mornings cold.

  On days such as this, and Amy had many days such as this, she wondered if she would have been better never to have married him. Her father, who adored her, had been against it from the start. The very week before her wedding he had gone down on his knee before her in the hall of Syderstone farmhouse, his big, round face flushed scarlet with emotion, and begged her with a quaver in his voice to think again. ‘I know he’s handsome, my bird,’ he had said tenderly. ‘And I know he’ll be a great man, and his father is a great man, and the royal court itself is coming to see you wed at Sheen next week, an honour I never dreamed of, not even for my girl. But are you certain sure you want a great man when you could marry a nice lad from Norfolk and live near me, in a pretty little house I would build for you, and have my grandsons brought up as my own, and stay as my girl?’

  Amy had put her little hands on his shoulders and raised him up, she had cried with her face tucked against his warm homespun jacket, and then she had looked up, all smiles, and said: ‘But I love him, Father, and you said that I should marry him if I was sure; and before God, I am sure.’

  He had not pressed her – she was his only child from his first marriage, his beloved daughter, and he could never gainsay her. And she had been used to getting her own way. She had never thought that her judgement could be wrong.

  She had been sure then that she loved Robert Dudley; indeed, she was sure now. It was not lack of love that made her cry at night as if she would never stop. It was excess of it. She loved him, and every day without him was a long, empty day. She had endured many days without him when he had been a prisoner and could not come to her. Now, bitterly, at the very moment of his freedom and his rise to power, it was a thousand times worse, because now he could come to her; but he chose not to.