Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2

by Philippa Gregory

  ‘It’s not my opinion,’ she gasped. She was on the floor kneeling at his feet in one smooth movement, hammered down by his anger. ‘I do not despise you. It is not my opinion, I love you, Robert, and I trust you …’

  ‘You taunted me with the death of my brother,’ he said coldly. ‘Amy, I do not want to quarrel with you. Indeed, I will not. You must excuse me now, I have to see about something in the stables before I go to dinner.’

  He swept her a shallow bow and went from the room. Amy scrambled up from her subservient crouch on the floor and ran to the door. She would have torn it open and gone after him but when she heard the brisk stride of his boots on the wooden floor she did not dare. Instead she pressed her hot forehead to the cool panelling of the door and wrapped her hands around the handle, where his hand had been.

  Dinner was a meal where good manners overlaid discomfort. Amy sat in stunned silence, eating nothing, William Hyde and Robert maintained a pleasant flow of conversation about horses and hunting and the prospect of war with the French. Alice Hyde kept her head down, and Lizzie watched Amy as if she feared she would faint at the table. The ladies withdrew as soon as they could after dinner and Robert, pleading an early start, left soon after. William Hyde took himself into his privy chamber, poured himself a generous tumbler of wine, turned his big wooden chair to the fire, put his feet up on the chimney breast and fell to considering the day.

  His wife Alice put her head round the door and came quietly into the room, followed by her sister-in-law. ‘Has he gone?’ she asked, determined not to meet with Sir Robert again, if she could avoid him.

  ‘Aye. You can take a chair, Alice, sister, and pour yourselves your wine if you please.’

  They served themselves and drew up their chairs beside his, in a conspiratorial semi-circle around the fire.

  ‘Is that the end of his plans to build here?’ William asked Lizzie Oddingsell.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘All she told me was that he is very angry with her, and that we’re to stay here another month.’

  A quick glance between William and Alice showed that this had been a matter of some discussion. ‘I think he won’t build,’ he said. ‘I think all she showed him today was how far apart they have become. Poor, silly woman. I think she has dug her own grave.’

  Lizzie quickly crossed herself. ‘God’s sake, brother! What do you mean? They had a quarrel. You show me a man and wife who have not had cross words.’

  ‘This is not an ordinary man,’ he said emphatically. ‘You heard him, just as she heard him, but neither of you have the wit to learn. He told her to her face: he is the greatest man in the kingdom. He stands to be the wealthiest man in the kingdom. He has the full attention of the queen, she is always in his company. He is indispensable to the first spinster queen this country has ever known. What d’you think that might mean? Think it out for yourself.’

  ‘It means he will want a country estate,’ Lizzie Oddingsell pursued. ‘As he rises at court. He will want a great estate for his wife and for his children, when they come, please God.’

  ‘Not for this wife,’ Alice said shrewdly. ‘What has she ever done but be a burden to him? She does not want what he wants: not the house, not the life. She accuses him of ambition when that is his very nature, his blood and his bone.’

  Lizzie would have argued to defend Amy, but William hawked and spat into the fire. ‘It does not matter if she pleases him or fails him,’ he said flatly. ‘He has other plans now.’

  ‘Do you think he means to put her aside?’ Alice asked her husband.

  Lizzie looked from the one grave face to the other. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard him,’ William said to her patiently. ‘Like her, you hear him; but you don’t attend. He is a man rising far from her.’

  ‘But they are married,’ she insisted uncomprehendingly. ‘Married in the sight of God. He cannot put her aside. He has no reason.’

  ‘The king put two wives aside for no reason,’ William Hyde said grimly. ‘And half the nobility have divorced their wives. Every Roman Catholic priest in England who married during the Protestant years had to put his wife aside when Queen Mary came to the throne, and now perhaps the Protestant clergy will have to do the same. The old laws do not stand. Everything can be re-made. Marriage does not mean marriage now.’

  ‘The church …’

  ‘The head of the church is the queen. Act of parliament. No denying it. What if the head of the church wants Sir Robert to be a single man once more?’

  Lizzie Oddingsell’s face was bleached with shock. ‘Why ever would she?’ She dared him to name the reason.

  ‘To marry him herself.’ Mr Hyde’s voice dropped to a low whisper.

  Lizzie put down her wine glass, very slowly, and clasped her hands in her lap to stop them shaking. When she looked up she saw that her brother’s face was not drawn like hers, but bright with suppressed excitement.

  ‘What if our lord were to be the King of England?’ he whispered. ‘Forget Amy for a moment, she has signed the warrant for her own exile, he will give up on her now, she is no use to him. But think about Sir Robert! Think about us! What if he were to be King of England! What would that mean for us? What of that, sister?’

  Amy waited in the porch of the church in the early hours of the morning for Father Wilson to come and unlock the great wooden doors. When he came up the churchyard path and saw her, pale in her white dress against the silvery wood door, he said nothing but gave her a slow, sweet smile and opened the door to her in silence.

  ‘Father?’ she said softly.

  ‘Tell it to God and then to me,’ he said gently, and let her go in before him.

  He waited at the back of the church, busying himself quietly until she rose from her knees and sat in the pew seat, and only then did he go to her. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘I have angered my husband on another matter,’ she said simply. ‘And so I failed to plead for our bishop.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t reproach yourself for that,’ he said. ‘I think there is nothing any of us can do. The queen is to be called supreme governor of the church. All the bishops have to bow down to her.’

  ‘Supreme governor?’ Amy repeated. ‘But how can she?’

  ‘They say that she does no more than claim the title of her brother and her father,’ he said. ‘They don’t say that she is a woman and filled with a woman’s frailties. They don’t say how a woman, bound by God to be the handmaiden to her husband, cursed by God for the first sin, can be supreme governor.’

  ‘What will happen?’ Amy asked in a little thread of sound.

  ‘I am afraid she will burn the bishops,’ he said steadily. ‘Already Bishop Bonner is arrested, and one by one, as they refuse to kneel to her, the others will be taken.’

  ‘And our bishop? Bishop Thomas?’

  ‘He will go like the others, like a lamb to the slaughter,’ the priest said. ‘A great darkness is going to come over this country and you and I, daughter, can do nothing more than pray.’

  ‘If I can speak to Robert, I will,’ she promised. She hesitated, remembering his rapid departure, and the rage in his voice. ‘He is a great man now, but he knows what it is to be a prisoner, in fear of your life. He is merciful. He will not advise the queen to destroy these holy men.’

  ‘God bless you,’ the priest said. ‘There will be few who dare to speak.’

  ‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘Will you have to take an oath as well?’

  ‘Once they have finished with the bishops they will come for men like me,’ he said certainly. ‘And I shall have to be ready. If I can stay, I will. I am sworn to serve these people, this is my parish, this is my flock. The good shepherd does not leave his sheep. But if they want me to take an oath which says that she is Pope then I don’t see how I can do it. The words would choke me. I will have to take my punishment as better men than me are doing now.’

  ‘They will murder you for your faith?’

  He spread ou
t his hands. ‘If they must.’

  ‘Father, what will become of us all?’ Amy asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I wish I knew.’

  Robert Dudley, storming into court in no very sweet temper, found the place strangely quiet. The presence chamber held only a sprinkling of ladies and gentlemen of the court, and a handful of lesser gentry.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ he demanded of Laetitia Knollys who was seated in a window bay ostentatiously reading a book of sermons.

  ‘I am here,’ she said helpfully.

  He scowled at her. ‘I meant anyone of any importance.’

  ‘Still me,’ she said, not at all dashed. ‘Still here.’

  Reluctantly, he laughed. ‘Mistress Knollys, do not try my patience, I have had a long, hard ride from one damnably stubborn and stupid woman to another. Do not you make a third.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, opening her dark eyes very wide. ‘Who has been so unfortunate as to offend you, Sir Robert? Not your wife?’

  ‘No-one that need concern you. Where is the queen?’

  ‘Out with Sir William Pickering. He has returned to England, did you know?’

  ‘Of course I knew. We are old friends.’

  ‘Don’t you adore him? I think he is the most handsome man I have ever seen in my life.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Dudley said. ‘Are they riding?’

  ‘No, walking. It’s more intimate, don’t you think?’

  ‘Why aren’t you with them?’

  ‘Nobody is with them.’

  ‘Her other ladies?’

  ‘No. Really, nobody. She and Sir William are quite alone today as they have been for the last three days. We all think it’s a certainty.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘Their betrothal. She cannot keep her eyes off him. He cannot keep his hands off her. It’s such a love story. Like a ballad. It is Guinevere and Arthur, it truly is!’

  ‘She will never marry him,’ Dudley said, with more certainty than he was feeling.

  ‘Why should she not? He’s the best-looking man in Europe, he’s as rich as an emperor, he has no interest in politics or power so she can rule as she wants, and he has neither enemies in England nor a wife. I would have thought he was perfect.’

  Robert turned from her, unable to speak for rage, and almost collided with Sir William Cecil. ‘Your pardon, Lord Secretary. I was just leaving.’

  ‘I thought you had just arrived.’

  ‘Leaving to go to my rooms,’ Robert said, biting the inside of his mouth to contain his temper.

  ‘I am glad you are back,’ Cecil said, walking beside him. ‘We have needed your counsel.’

  ‘I thought no work had been done at all.’

  ‘Your counsel with the queen,’ Cecil said flatly. ‘This whirlwind courtship may suit Her Grace, but I am not sure if it is beneficial for the country.’

  ‘Have you told her that?’

  ‘Not I!’ Cecil said with a little chuckle. ‘She is a young woman in love. I rather thought you might tell her.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Well, not tell her. I thought you might distract her. Divert her. Remind her that there are many handsome men in the world. She does not have to marry the first one that comes free.’

  ‘I’m a married man,’ Robert said bleakly. ‘In case you forgot. I can hardly compete with a bachelor dripping in gold.’

  ‘You are right to remind me,’ Cecil said blandly, changing tack. ‘Because if he marries her both of us will be able to go home to our wives. He won’t want us advising her. He will put in his own favourites. Our work at court will be over. I can go home to Burghley at last, and you can go home to …’ He broke off, as if surprised to remember that Robert had no great family estate. ‘Wherever you choose, I suppose.’

  ‘I will hardly build a Burghley with my present savings,’ Dudley said furiously.

  ‘No. Perhaps it would be better for both of us if Pickering were to have a rival. If he were to be troubled. If he were not to have everything quite his own way. Easy for him to be smiling and pleasant when he rides a straight road without competition.’

  Dudley sighed, as a man weary of nonsense. ‘I am going to my rooms.’

  ‘Shall I see you at dinner?’

  ‘Of course I shall come to dinner.’

  Cecil smiled. ‘I am very glad to see you back at court,’ he said sweetly.

  The queen sent a dish of venison down the hall to Sir William Pickering’s table, and, even-handed, sent a very good game pie to Robert Dudley’s table. When the boards had been cleared and the musicians struck up she danced with one man and then the other. Sir William sulked after a little of this treatment; but Robert Dudley was at his most debonair, and the queen was radiant. Robert Dudley stood up for a dance with Laetitia Knollys and had the pleasure of hearing the Spanish ambassador remark to the queen what a handsome couple they were together. He watched the queen pale with anger. Shortly after, she called for a pack of cards and Dudley bet her the pearl in his hat that he would have won on points by midnight. The two went head to head as if there were no-one else in the room, no-one else in the world; and Sir William Pickering retired early to bed.

  July 1st 1559

  Dear William,

  Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, ambassador to Paris, addressed Cecil in a coded letter, freshly delivered by a hard-pressed messenger.

  Incredible news. The king has, this very day, been wounded in a jousting tournament and the surgeons are with him now. The word I hear is that they are not hopeful; the blow may be fatal. If he dies, there is no doubt that the kingdom of France will be ruled in everything but name by the Guise family, and no doubt but that they will immediately send forces to strengthen their kinswoman Mary of Guise in Scotland, and move on to conquer England for her daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots. Given their wealth, power and determination (and the justice of their claim in the eyes of all Roman Catholics), given the weakness, division, and uncertainty of our poor country, ruled by a young woman not long on the throne, with a debatable legitimacy, and without an heir, I think there can be no doubt of the outcome.

  For God’s sake, for all of our sakes, beg the queen to muster our troops and prepare to defend the borders or we are lost. If she does not fight this battle she will lose her kingdom without a struggle. As it is, I doubt that she can win. I shall send to you the moment that the king dies. Pray God that he rallies, for without him we are lost. I warn you that I do not expect it.

  Nicholas.

  William Cecil read the letter through twice and then pushed it gently into the hottest part of the fire in his privy chamber. Then he sat with his head in his hands for a long time. It seemed to him that England’s future lay in the hands of the surgeons who were, at this very moment, struggling to keep King Henry II of France’s breath in his failing body. The safety of England had been guaranteed at the peace of Cateau Cambresis by this king. Without him, there was no guarantor, there was no guarantee, there was no safety. If he died then the avaricious ruling family of France would ride their merciless cavalry through Scotland and then through all of England.

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Yes?’ Cecil said calmly, no trace of his fear in his voice.

  It was his steward. ‘A messenger,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Send him in.’

  The man came in, travel-stained, and walking with the stiff bowlegged stride of a rider who has spent days in the saddle. Cecil recognised Sir James Croft’s most trusted servant and spy.

  ‘William! I am glad to see you. Take a seat.’

  The man nodded at the courtesy and lowered himself gingerly into the chair. ‘Blisters,’ he said by way of an explanation. ‘Burst and bleeding. My lord said it was important.’

  Cecil nodded, waited.

  ‘He said to tell you that all hell broke lose at Perth, that the French queen regent could not overcome the spirit of the Protestant lords. He said his bet is that she will never be able to get her troops to stand against them. They don’t have the
heart for it and the Protestant Scots are wild for a fight.’

  Cecil nodded.

  ‘The Protestants are tearing the abbeys down all the way on the road to Edinburgh. Word is that the captain of Edinburgh Castle won’t take sides, he’ll bar the castle gates against them both until law is returned. My lord’s own belief is that the queen regent will have to fall back on Leith Castle. He said if you are minded to take a gamble, he would put his fortune on Knox’s men; that they are unbeatable while their blood is up.’

  Cecil waited in case there was any more.

  ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I thank you,’ Cecil said. ‘And what did you think of them yourself? Did you see much fighting?’

  ‘I thought they were savage beasts,’ the man said bluntly. ‘And I would want them neither as allies nor as enemies.’

  Cecil smiled at him. ‘These are our noble allies,’ he said firmly. ‘And we shall pray every day for their success in their noble battle.’

  ‘They are wanton destroyers, they are a plague of locusts,’ the man said stoutly.

  ‘They will defeat the French for us,’ Cecil prompted him, with more confidence than any sensible man would own. ‘If anyone asks you, they are on the side of the angels. Don’t forget it.’

  That night, with Cecil’s grave news beating a rhythm of fear into her very temples, Elizabeth refused to dance with either Sir William Pickering or Sir Robert Dudley, who eyed each other like two cats on a stable roof. What use was William Pickering or Robert Dudley when the French king was dying and his heirs were mustering an expedition to England, with the excuse of a war with the Scots to hand? What use was any Englishman, however charming, however desirable?