Lizzie Oddingsell tumbled off her horse and hugged them indiscriminately, and then straightened up to kiss her sister-in-law, Alice, and her brother, William.
They all three turned and hurried to help Amy down from her horse.
‘My dear Lady Dudley, you are most welcome to Denchworth,’ William Hyde said warmly. ‘And are we to expect Sir Robert?’
Her blaze of a smile warmed them all. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Within a fortnight, and I am to look for a house for us and we are going to have an estate here!’
Robert, walking around the Whitehall Palace stable yard on one of his weekly inspections, turned his head to hear a horse trotting rapidly on the cobbled road and then saw Thomas Blount jump from his hard-ridden mare, throw the reins at a stable lad and march towards the pump as if urgently needing to sluice his head with water. Obligingly, Robert worked the pump handle.
‘News from Westminster,’ Thomas said quickly. ‘And I think I am ahead of anyone else. Perhaps of interest to you.’
‘Always of interest. Information is the only true currency.’
‘I have just come from parliament. Cecil has done it. They are going to pass the bill to change the church.’
‘He’s done it?’
‘Two bishops imprisoned, two said to be ill, and one missing. Even so, he did it by only three votes. I came away as soon as I had counted the heads and I am sure of it.’
‘A new church,’ Dudley said thoughtfully.
‘And a new head of the church. She’s to be supreme governor.’
‘Supreme governor?’ Dudley demanded, querying the curious name. ‘Not head?’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘That’s an odd thing,’ Dudley said, more to himself than to Blount.
‘Sir?’
‘Makes you think.’
‘Does it?’
‘Makes you wonder what she might do.’
‘Sir?’
‘Nothing, Blount.’ Dudley nodded to the man. ‘My thanks.’ He walked on, shouted for a stable lad to move a halter rope, finished his inspection in a state of quiet elation, then turned and went slowly up the steps towards the palace.
On the threshold he met William Cecil, dressed for the journey to his home at Theobalds.
‘Oh, Lord Secretary, good day. I was just thinking about you.’ Dudley greeted him jovially and patted him on the shoulder.
Cecil bowed. ‘I am honoured to occupy your thoughts,’ he said with the ironic courtesy that he often used to keep Dudley at a safe distance, and to remind them both that the old relationship of master and servant no longer applied.
‘I hear you have triumphed and re-made the church?’ Dudley inquired.
— How the devil does he know that? Only I knew what the votes would be. I haven’t even had my report to say it is done — Cecil demanded of himself. — And why can’t he just dance with her and ride with her and keep her happy till I can get her safely married to the Earl of Arran? —
‘Yes, a pity in many ways. But at last we have agreement,’ Cecil said, gently detaching his sleeve from the younger man’s detaining hand.
‘She is to be governor of the church?’
‘No more and no less than her father, or her brother.’
‘Surely they were called head of the church?’
‘St Paul was thought to have ruled against a woman’s ministry,’ Cecil volunteered. ‘So she could not be called head. Governor was deemed to be acceptable. But if you are troubled in your conscience, Sir Robert, there are spiritual leaders who can guide you better than I.’
Robert gave a quick laugh at Cecil’s wonderful sarcasm. ‘Thank you, my lord. But my soul can generally be trusted to look after itself in these matters. Will the clergy thank you for such a thing?’
‘They will not thank us,’ Cecil said carefully. ‘But they may be coerced and slid and argued and threatened into agreement. I expect a struggle. It will not be easy.’
‘And how will you coerce and slide them and argue with them and threaten them?’
Cecil raised an eyebrow. ‘By administering an oath, the Oath of Supremacy. It’s been done before.’
‘Not to a church that was wholly opposed,’ Dudley suggested.
‘We have to hope that they will not be wholly opposed when it comes to a choice between swearing an oath or losing their livelihood and their freedom,’ Cecil said pleasantly.
‘You don’t propose to burn?’ Dudley asked baldly.
‘I trust it will not come to that, though her father would have done so.’
Robert nodded. ‘Does all the power come to her, despite the different name? Does it give her all the powers of her father? Of her brother? Is she to be Pope in England?’
Cecil gave a little dignified bow, preparatory to making his leave. ‘Yes indeed, and if you will excuse me …’
To his surprise the younger man no longer detained him but swept him a graceful bow and came up smiling. ‘Of course! I should not have delayed you, Lord Secretary. Forgive me. Are you on your way home?’
‘Yes,’ Cecil said. ‘Just for a couple of days. I shall be back in plenty of time for your investiture. I must congratulate you on the honour.’
— So how does he know about that? — Dudley demanded of himself. — She swore to me that she would tell no-one till nearer the time. Did he get it by his spies, or did she tell him herself? Does she indeed tell him everything? — Aloud he said, ‘I thank you. I am too much honoured.’
— You are indeed — Cecil said to himself, returning the bow and making his way down the steps to where his short-backed horse was waiting for him, and his entourage was assembling. — But why should you be so delighted that she is head of the church? What is it to you, you sly, unreliable, handsome coxcomb? —
— She is to be the English Pope — Robert whispered to himself, strolling like a prince at leisure in the opposite direction. The soldiers at the end of the gallery threw open the double doors for him and Robert passed through. The intense charm of his smile made them duck their heads and shuffle their feet, but his smile was not for them. He was smiling at the exquisite irony of Cecil serving Robert, all unknowing. Cecil, the great fox, had fetched home a game bird, and laid it at Robert’s feet, as obedient as a Dudley spaniel.
— He has made her Pope in everything but name. She can grant a dispensation for a marriage, she can grant an annulment of a marriage, she can rule in favour of a divorce — Robert whispered to himself. — He has no idea what he has done for me. By persuading those dull squires to make her supreme governor of the Church of England he has given her the power to grant a divorce. And who do we know who might benefit from that? —
Elizabeth was not thinking of her handsome Master of Horse. Elizabeth was in her presence chamber, admiring a portrait of Archduke Ferdinand, her ladies around her. From the ripple of approval as they noted the Hapsburg darkness of his eyes and the high fashion of his clothes, Robert, entering the room at a leisurely stroll, understood that Elizabeth was continuing her public courtship of this latest suitor.
‘A handsome man,’ he said, earning a smile from her. ‘And a good stance.’
She took a step towards him. Robert, alert as a choreographer to every move of a dance, stood stock-still and let her come to him.
‘You admire the archduke, Sir Robert?’
‘Certainly, I admire the portrait.’
‘It is a very good likeness,’ the ambassador Count von Helfenstein said defensively. ‘The archduke has no vanity, he would not want a portrait to flatter to deceive.’
Robert shrugged, smiling. ‘Of course not,’ he said. He turned to Elizabeth. ‘But how could one choose a man from canvas and paint? You would never choose a horse like that.’
‘Yes; but an archduke is not a horse.’
‘Well, I would want to know how my horse would move, before I gave myself up to desire for him,’ he said. ‘I would want to put him through his paces. I would want to know how he felt when I gentled him un
der my hand, smoothed his neck, touched him everywhere, behind the ears, on the lips, behind the legs. I would want to know how responsive he was when I was on him, when I had him between my legs. You know, I would even want to know the smell of him, the very scent of his sweat.’
She gave a little gasp at the picture he was drawing for her, so much more vivid, so much more intimate, than the dull oil on canvas before them.
‘If I were you, I would choose a husband I knew,’ he said quietly to her. ‘A man I had tested with my own eyes, with my own fingers, whose scent I liked. I would only marry a man I knew I could desire. A man I already desired.’
‘I am a maid,’ she said, her voice a breath. ‘I desire no man.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth, you lie,’ he whispered with a smile.
Her eyes widened at his impertinence, but she did not check him. He took silence for encouragement, as he always would. ‘You lie: you do desire a man.’
‘Not one who is free to marry,’ she shot back.
He hesitated. ‘Would you want me to be free?’
At once she half-turned her head away from him and he saw that he had lost her to her habitual coquetry. ‘Oh, were we speaking of you?’
Immediately, he let her go. ‘No. We are speaking of the archduke. And he is a handsome young man indeed.’
‘And agreeable,’ the ambassador interposed, hearing only the tail of their low-voiced conversation. ‘A fine scholar. His English is all but perfect.’
‘I am sure,’ Sir Robert replied. ‘Mine is remarkably good too.’
Amy was blooming in the April weather. Every day she rode out with Lizzie Oddingsell or with Alice or William Hyde to look at land that might be bought, woods that might be felled to clear a space for a house, or farmhouses that might be rebuilt.
‘Will he not want something much grander than this?’ William Hyde asked her one day as they were riding around an estate of two hundred acres with a pretty red-tiled farmhouse in the centre.
‘We would rebuild the house, of course,’ Amy said. ‘But we don’t need a great palace. He was very taken with my cousin’s house at Camberwell.’
‘Oh, a merchant’s house in the town, yes,’ Mr Hyde agreed. ‘But will he not want somewhere that he can entertain the queen when the court is on progress? A house where he can entertain the whole court? A big house, more like Hampton Court, or Richmond?’
She looked quite shocked for a moment. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘He wants something that we would have as our home, that would feel like a proper home. Not a great big palace of a place. And surely the queen would stay at Oxford if she came to this part of the country?’
‘If she wanted to hunt?’ Alice suggested. ‘He is her Master of Horse. Would he not want enough land for a great deer park?’
Amy’s confident laugh rang out. ‘Ah, you would have me buy the New Forest!’ she exclaimed. ‘No. What we want is a place like my home in Norfolk, but just a little bigger. Somewhere like Flitcham Hall that we nearly bought, just a little grander and bigger than that. Somewhere that we can add a wing and a gateway, so that it is a handsome house, he would not want anything mean, and with pleasure gardens and an orchard and fish ponds of course, and some pretty woods and some good rides, and the rest would be farmland and he will breed horses for the court. He spends all his time in palaces, he will want to come home to a house which feels like a home and not a great cathedral filled by a band of mummers, which is what the royal palaces are like.’
‘If you are sure it is what he wants, then we can ask them the price for this place,’ William Hyde said cautiously, still unconvinced. ‘But perhaps we should write to him to make sure he does not want something more imposing, with more chambers, and more land.’
‘There is no need,’ Amy said confidently. ‘I know what my husband wants. We have been waiting to make a home like this for years.’
Robert Dudley was deep in planning the greatest court feast since the high point of the queen’s coronation. Ostensibly it was to honour St George’s Day, the great day of English celebration that the Tudors had introduced to the court calendar. It would be the day that he and three other great noblemen accepted the Order of the Garter, the highest award of chivalry, from the queen’s hand. The order was given only to men who had excelled themselves in defence of the crown. The queen was awarding it to Robert Dudley, to her young kinsman Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, to Sir William Parr, her late stepmother’s brother, and to the Earl of Rutland.
There were those who suggested that Robert Dudley was an odd addition to this array of family, or senior councillors, and perhaps, since he had been part of the expedition that had lost Calais for England, he had not made a particularly dazzling defence of the realm.
Also, said the gossips, planning a few processions could hardly qualify a man for the highest order of English chivalry, especially since his grandfather and father had been condemned traitors. How could a man like Robert Dudley have earned such exceptional honour? But no-one said it very loud. And no-one said it anywhere near the queen.
There would be jousting all the afternoon, the knights would come into the jousting ring in costume and in disguises, they would recite witty and beautiful verses to explain their role. The theme of the feast was to be Arthurian.
‘Is it Camelot?’ Sir Francis Knollys asked Robert with gentle irony, in the tilt yard, where he was supervising the flying of the flags with mediaeval crests. ‘Are we enchanted?’
‘I hope you will be enchanted,’ Robert said pleasantly.
‘Why Camelot, exactly?’ Sir Francis was determinedly uncomprehending.
Dudley dragged his eyes from the tilt yard which was being swathed in gold cloth, economically saved and re-used from the coronation pageants. ‘Obvious.’
‘Not to me. Tell me,’ Sir Francis pleaded.
‘Beautiful queen,’ Robert said shortly, ticking off the elements on his long, slim fingers. ‘Perfect England. Unified under one magical monarch. No religious issues, no marriage issues, no bloody Scots. Camelot. Harmony. And the adoration of the Lady.’
‘The Lady?’ Sir Francis queried, thinking of the shrines all around England to the Lady Mary, mother of Jesus, now slowly falling into disuse, as the country people were persuaded that what had been the core of their honest faith was error, even heresy.
‘The Lady. The queen. Elizabeth,’ Robert replied. ‘The Queen of our Hearts, the Queen of the Joust, in her summertime court, ruling forever. Hurrah.’
‘Hurrah,’ Sir Francis chorused obediently. ‘But hurrah to what exactly? Unless to celebrate your ascent to the Order of the Garter, for which greatest congratulations.’
Robert flushed slightly. ‘I thank you,’ he said with simple dignity. ‘But it is not to celebrate my honour. It goes further, far beyond someone as humble as me, far beyond the noble lords, even.’
‘Goes?’
‘Out to the country. To the people. Every time we have a pageant or a day of festivities, it is copied, in every town and every village up and down the country. Don’t you think that giving them all the idea that the queen is a ruler as wonderful as Arthur reminds them that they should love and revere and defend her? Reminding them that she is young and beautiful and that her court is the most handsome of all of Europe doesn’t just play well in England; the word goes everywhere: to Paris, to Madrid, to Brussels. They have to admire her, so they have to recognise her power. It makes her as safe as Cecil’s treaty.’
‘I see you are a politician,’ Sir Francis said. ‘And it is as we agreed. That she should be seen to be loveable so that she is beloved, so that they will keep her safe.’
‘Please God,’ Robert assented, and then made a little irritated tut as a clumsy pageboy dropped his end of a bolt of cloth and it trailed on the tilt yard’s sandy floor. ‘Pick it up, lad! It’s getting dirty!’
‘And have you thought of her safety at this day?’ Sir Francis confirmed. ‘Most of the people have heard now that the Pope has blessed an attack on her.�
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Dudley faced him. ‘I think of nothing but her safety,’ he said flatly. ‘Night and day. I think of nothing but her. You will find no more faithful man in her service. I think of her as if my life depended on it. Indeed, my life does depend on it.’
Sir Francis nodded. ‘I don’t doubt you,’ he said honestly. ‘But these are anxious times. I know that Cecil has a spy network across all of Europe to catch anyone who might come to England to threaten her. But what of Englishmen? Men and women that have passed as our friends? People who might even now be thinking that it is their duty, their sacred duty, to assassinate her?’
Robert squatted down and drew with his finger on the sandy floor of the jousting arena. ‘Royal entrance here. Only members of the court allowed in. Merchants, citizens of London, general gentry here: kept from her by the gentlemen pensioners. Apprentices here, further back: since they are always the worst troublemakers. Country people, anyone who has come here without invitation, further back still. At each corner an armed man. Cecil’s men to go among the crowds, watching. I have a few trusted men of my own who will pass around and keep their eyes open.’
‘But what about the threat from her friends? Gentry and nobility?’ Sir Francis asked softly.
Robert rose up and brushed off his hands. ‘Pray God that they all now understand that their loyalty is first to her, however they like to celebrate Mass.’ He paused. ‘And, to tell you the truth, most of those that you would doubt are already being watched,’ he volunteered.
Sir Francis gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘By your men?’
‘Mostly Cecil’s,’ Robert said. ‘He has hundreds in his secret employ.’
‘Now there is a man I would not want for my enemy,’ Sir Francis remarked cheerfully.
‘Only if you were certain you could win,’ Robert replied smoothly. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a pageboy unrolling a pennant and hauling it up a pole. ‘You! Look at what you’re doing! That’s upside down!’
Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2 Page 72
