Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  I could dance through the night without the slightest fatigue, so I was delighted; and they all watched while I and the Grand Prior of France danced together.

  In due course I said goodbye to the charming Prior and he left for France. I could imagine what questions the Queen-Mother, Catherine de' Medici, would ask of him but I was sure he had been impressed by the manner of his reception, and I did believe that he really had admired me a little.

  My thoughts were constantly on Mary of Scotland and they brought me little comfort. Cecil shared my apprehension.

  I said to him: “It is not a comforting thought to know that she is just across the Border and does not need to cross the seas to come to England.”

  Cecil said: “I know Your Majesty's great desire is for a peaceful reign, and that you agree with me that the best way to keep peace is to prepare for war. I have been meaning to discuss with you, when the time was ripe, the extension of the Navy. We should build more ships. It gives work to our people and work makes prosperity. It is better to spend money on such things than on war… and then should the need arise to defend ourselves we are prepared.”

  I smiled at him. “Dear good Master Cecil, I thank God for giving you to me.”

  He was moved and I felt better than I had since Mary Stuart had come to Scotland.

  I LISTENED TO the young man who sat some little distance from me playing his lute. He had a delicate touch and the music moved me deeply. He was a handsome young man—very tall and elegant; his hair curled prettily about his head, but there was a petulant touch about his mouth. In spite of his handsome looks he was quite unlike men such as Robert Dudley, the kind I so much admired, for there was something almost effeminate about young Lord Darnley.

  As I listened I wondered whether that petulance I had noticed was envy. Did the foolish boy really think he should be sitting in my place? It was amazing what notions crept into the mind of those who had a modicum of royal blood.

  Of course he was of the male sex and that, in his eyes, set him above any woman however capable, however much closer she was to the throne. The assumption that women were somehow inferior to men always made me burn with indignation. I would show them one day that my sex was no handicap to my power and my ability.

  But perhaps my young lute player's dissatisfaction had been inspired by his mother. There was a woman to watch. I was certain that she was up to tricks and had been ever since I came to the throne.

  This boy was the second but eldest surviving son of Matthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, and Margaret Douglas—and Lady Margaret was the daughter of my father's sister, Margaret Tudor. My father and his sister Margaret had never been on good terms, and he had been delighted when she married into Scotland; but Margaret Tudor had all the fire and determination of her race and she had had a very colorful life on the other side of the Border. This Lady Margaret, Countess of Lennox, was the child of her mother's second marriage to Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, and she had always been an enemy of mine. She had been a great friend of my sister Mary and I believed she had even had the temerity to fancy she might follow Mary in my place. I discovered that she was responsible for certain activities at the time of the Wyatt Rebellion and had done her best to have me implicated in that affair.

  When I came to the throne I extended the hand of friendship to her as I did to so many who had shown a certain animosity to me during my sister's reign for I hoped to win them over; but there are some who cannot be won and for a woman of Lady Lennox's nature together with her strong Catholic leanings and a drop of royal blood, there would always be resentment of me, and she had never overcome the covetous aspirations she had had toward my throne.

  She was intriguing in Yorkshire so I brought her and her family to London where the Earl of Lennox was lodged in the Tower and the Countess and Lord Darnley were kept in restraint in the house of Sir Richard Sackville at Shene while inquiries were made concerning their activities.

  From Shene the Countess wrote me most appealing letters assuring me of her desire for friendship and it had occurred to me that it would be better to have the family under my eyes at Court rather than intriguing somewhere in the country.

  In due course I granted the Earl's request that he might go to Scotland, so he left his lodgings in the Tower and departed. I did not think either the Countess or the Earl were very clever and I was sure that their son would never win the people's approval—so I was not unduly worried about them. If it had not been for their royal connections, I would have dismissed them as nonentities.

  However, Lord Darnley certainly knew how to play the lute and any good musician was welcome at my Court.

  As I sat listening to him the Scottish Ambassador, Sir James Melville, was at my side and I could see that he too was moved by the music.

  When Darnley stopped playing I applauded and the young man came and bowed to me. He had graceful manners and really was a very pretty boy.

  I watched the rather dour Melville studying him as Darnley moved off and joined some of the ladies who were inclined to pet him.

  I said to Melville: “Our pretty boy has a masterly touch with the lute.”

  “Very accomplished,” agreed Melville.

  “I believe his mother has ambitions for him.”

  “What mother is not ambitious for her son?”

  “She is trying to regain her estates in Scotland.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  Ah, I thought, Master Melville is taken with the pretty boy and his forceful mother. I shall have to watch this.

  “I was happy that Your Grace had permitted the Earl to visit Edinburgh,” went on Melville.

  “He is going to plead with the Queen of Scots for the restoration of his estates. Let us hope he will be successful.”

  “Then I doubt not the Countess and Lord Darnley will join him there.”

  I was a little puzzled because I was growing more and more certain that Sir James was working toward some end and it had suddenly occurred to me that it might involve the Lennox family.

  I discussed it with Cecil who was always aware of intrigue wherever it sprang up.

  “It would seem to me,” said that wise man, “that the Countess might like to see her son married to the Queen of Scotland.”

  “Impossible!” I cried.

  “Why so? The Queen is a widow. She is very young and will certainly marry.” He looked at me sternly. “She owes it to her people to get an heir.”

  I did not answer that and he went on: “Why should it not be Henry Stewart Lord Darnley? He has royal blood; his grandmother was the daughter of a king. And if at the moment he lacks ambition, most certainly his parents do not. His mother is anxious for a crown…of some sort. She once had pretensions to yours, remember. It seems most natural to me that, failing the crown of England, she should set her son trying for that of Scotland.”

  “Darnley King of Scotland! I would never agree to that.”

  “Once he was in Scotland your consent would not be necessary. Moreover, consider it. What think you of Lord Darnley?”

  “Very little. A frivolous, petulant, spoilt boy.”

  “That is exactly my opinion. Would it not be better for the Queen of Scots to marry a petulant spoilt boy than a strong man?”

  I looked at Cecil and once again I thanked God for him.

  “I see,” I said slowly.

  “We must certainly wait and see what comes of this matter. We will oppose it in public but in private … let us consider that for England it would not be such a bad thing.”

  WE WERE AT Hampton Court and the weather was cold for October. I had not been well for some days and had had a touch of fever. One of my pleasures was to take a bath which many of my ladies thought was bad for my health, but I found that to immerse my body in warm water, and lie there until it was cleansed of its impurities, refreshed me. Since I had become Queen, courtiers had become much cleaner for the simple reason that I had a very sensitive nose and could not bear anything evil-smelling clos
e to me. All at my Court must wash and change their clothes regularly so that there was no unpleasant smell about them when they came into my presence. Consequently the production of soap had greatly increased. When I traveled my bath would be taken with other household goods so that whenever I felt the need I could enjoy complete immersion.

  Kat said it was folly when I was not feeling well and she was sure I had some fever, but I told her to be silent; but perhaps she was right for I caught a chill and the next day I had to take to my bed.

  When Lord Hunsdon heard that I was unwell, he begged to be allowed to come to see me. I was rather fond of him and he was my first cousin, being the son of my mother's sister Mary. When I came to the throne he had been plain Henry Carey. I gave him a knighthood at once and later created him Baron Hunsdon. I always tried to help the Boleyns and he was one to be proud of because he excelled at the jousts, and not long ago he and Robert had led the lists against all comers in a tournament we had had at Greenwich. I had been so delighted that my cousin and the most important of all men should so excel together.

  So I allowed Lord Hunsdon to be brought to me.

  When he saw me he fell on his knees by the bed in some alarm and begged me to allow him to summon a doctor in whom he had great trust because he himself had benefited from his skill. So I gave my permission for Dr Burcot to come to see me, and when he came I was furious that I had done so, for the man looked at me, touched my brow, felt the fever and said: “Your Majesty, you have the smallpox.”

  The smallpox! The dreaded disease which could be fatal and almost always was! And even if one survived there was a chance of one's being disfigured for life. The thought of my white skin—in which I took such pride—being hideously pitted was more than I could bear.

  “I have not got the pox!” I cried. “I will not have the pox! Take this man away. He is a knave. A charlatan. He knows not what he talks of.”

  Dr Burcot bowed and retired and I lay back on my bed exhausted with rage and fever.

  I lived in fear and each morning I searched my body for the dreaded sign. No spots appeared, but I felt no better. My fever increased. I knew now that they all expected I was on my death-bed and the Privy Council was called together to take a vital decision on the succession. Some naturally thought that Katharine Grey should succeed me; others thought that the choice should fall on Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, who was a Plantagenet through his descent on his mother's side from Edward IV's brother the Duke of Clarence. He was a strong Protestant and for that reason was sure of favor in many circles. The great fear was that Spain would take action and an attempt would be made to set Mary Stuart on the throne.

  I was only vaguely aware of this as I lay in my bed and suddenly I opened my eyes and saw the members of my Council about my bed.

  I struggled back to consciousness. This could mean one thing. I was dying.

  My first thought was of Robert Dudley, which showed that I truly loved him. I thought: What will become of him? It was his great wish to rule the country and there was no doubt that he had great ability.

  I said: “My lords, my end is near. That is why you stand there regarding me so solemnly.”

  And when they did not answer, I was sure that it was true.

  “I beg of you to name Lord Robert Dudley Protector of the Realm,” I went on. “This is my wish. Be good to my cousin, Lord Hunsdon, who has served me well. Scandal has been talked of me but I swear before God that although I love Lord Robert Dudley and always have, nothing improper has ever passed between us.”

  The Council was overcome with emotion and promised me that my wishes should be carried out.

  I thanked them and closed my eyes.

  But my cousin Hunsdon had great faith in the doctor whom I had dismissed and sent a messenger to him asking him to come back and help me.

  Dr Burcot was a German and he made it clear that he took commands from no Englishman or -woman.

  “She insulted me!” he cried. “She called me knave. If she would not listen to my advice when I might have saved her, I decline to offer it again.”

  The messenger, who believed that I was dying and perhaps for love of me—but more likely because he wanted to keep his master in high favor— took Dr Burcot's coat and boots and told him that if he did not come at once to my bedside he would run him through the heart—and he produced his dagger to prove it.

  The doctor was either impressed by such fervor or afraid the man would carry out his threat—in any case he put on his boots and coat and came with all speed to my bedside.

  I think I must have been very near death when he arrived. He grumbled that he was almost too late but there might yet be a chance. “The spots must come out,” he said. “And I have to force them out.”

  Then he did a most extraordinary thing. He told them to put a mattress by the fire and had my body wrapped in a piece of scarlet cloth. I was then carried to the mattress and laid there, where I was given something to drink which was sweet and soothing. I drank deeply for he made me take as much as I could; and when I had drunk I saw the red blotches beginning to appear on my hands and arms.

  “What means this?” I cried.

  “I told Your Majesty that you had the pox,” said the doctor. “You called me a knave. Well, now you will see.”

  “The pox!” I cried in horror. “I would rather die.”

  “Nonsense,” said the doctor whose respect for my rank was nonexistent. “It is better to have the pox outside your body than inside where it can kill you.”

  I was overcome with grief though the fever had left me and I could only think that the smallpox marked people permanently. All my pretensions to beauty would be gone. I could not bear that. I realized then what a vain woman I was—vain about trivialities. Almost as much as a great ruler, I wanted to be a desirable woman.

  I began to feel better. The terrible fever which had put me in a stupor was passing, but the fearful spots were rapidly covering my face, my arms, in fact every part of my body.

  Mary Sidney came to me and said she would be with me day and night and that if I would restrain from scratching the spots there was no reason why I should not emerge with my skin as beautiful as it had ever been.

  I never forgot what I owed to Mary Sidney. I knew that she was a good and loyal creature but I had thought her devotion might have been due to a desire to protect her brother's fortunes. Kat would have been with me but she was aging now and not well enough to stand the strain of nursing. But it was comforting at such a time to have someone near me who was so close to Robert.

  Mary fed me, washed me, sat with me and watched over me.

  I loved her dearly for what she had done for me. And after a while my spots began to fade but I would not leave my apartments until they were completely gone.

  Then one day Mary did not come to me. I was desolate when they told me that what we had feared might happen had come to pass. She was suffering from the smallpox.

  It did not take long for my skin to heal. I think I was very healthy. I had not overeaten as many of my subjects did—including Robert—and I had always kept my body especially clean. It may be that this helped me. In any case very soon I had completely recovered. For several days I wanted to keep looking at myself. Not a spot! Not a blemish! My skin was as dazzlingly white as it had ever been.

  I knew that I owed this to the irascible Dr Burcot and I chided myself for dismissing him so vehemently on the first occasion. If I had not done so, I might have been more quickly cured and to show my gratitude I gave him a grant of land and a pair of golden spurs which had belonged to my grandfather King Henry VII. He thanked me for them in his gruff way, but I believed he was immensely gratified that I had emerged unscathed.

  I wanted all those who had shown their love for me to know how grateful I was, but there was one I could never repay.

  I cannot get out of my mind the day Mary Sidney came to me. She was cured of the pox and when she came in heavily veiled and knelt at my feet, terrible fears bese
t me.

  “Oh Mary,” I murmured. “So you…”

  She lifted the veil and I saw her ravaged face. I could not speak. I was so overcome with emotion. My pretty Mary, to look so hideous, and it had happened because of her devotion to me.

  “Oh Mary, Mary!” I cried and we wept together.

  “Everything shall be done,” I told her.

  But she shook her head sadly. “Nothing can be done,” she said sadly. “And Henry?” I asked. “He said it was just as it ever was between us… but I saw his face and he could not bear to look at me.”

  “My dear, dear Mary, you shall always be at my side.”

  She shook her head. “There is only one thing I want to do and that is hide myself away.”

  “You shall have apartments here … your own apartments. You shall receive only those whom you wish to and, Mary, I shall come to see you every day when I am here…We shall talk together… and, dear Mary, I shall never forget.”

  We clung to each other—but there was really no comfort I could offer her. I felt her misery acutely for she had incurred it for my sake and it could so easily have happened to me.

  AFTER MY RECOVERY Lettice Knollys came to Court now and then. Although I was a little wary of her because of what I fancied I had seen pass between her and Robert, I was glad to see her. She had a lively wit and now that she was a mother, her beauty seemed to have deepened.

  I used to talk to her a good deal and although there were occasions when she irritated me with too frank a comment, I could always give her a slap or a nip which silenced her and reminded her who was the mistress.

  I missed poor Mary Sidney sadly, but I had given her very luxurious apartments and, although she rarely emerged from them, I hope she was not too unhappy. Whenever I was in the neighborhood I visited her each day and I would tell her everything that was happening, and we did spend some very happy times together.

  I was furious when the Archduke Charles offered himself to Mary Stuart, and as usual I did not restrain my comment. Cecil reproved me, pointing out that although I did not want the man myself I wanted no one else to have him, which I suppose was true.