Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  I did notice that the two Howard girls were pursuing him. It amused me—two sisters fighting over one man—and my man at that. I thought Douglass Howard was the more likely to attract him. She was Lady Sheffield now but her marriage could not be very satisfactory as she cast such longing eyes on Robert—though I supposed no warm-natured woman of Lady Sheffield's type could fail to be affected by Robert's superb masculinity.

  Douglass must have been rather like Mary Boleyn, the type who found it hard to say no to an attractive man, because they were not only of a giving nature but had fleshly desires of their own. I knew these women. One of my stepmothers had been like that. Katharine Howard. Another Howard. Was it something in the Howard breed? I must ask my Lord Norfolk!

  Robert gave no sign in my presence that he even noticed Douglass Sheffield but he was a little piqued because I had given Christopher Hatton part of Bishop Ely's garden—a piece of fertile land between Holborn Hill and Ely Place. I reminded him that I had given him so much more and that all I asked in return was his love and devotion.

  “You have that,” he told me soberly, “and it does not need gifts or favors of any sort to maintain it.”

  There was a great tenderness between us at this time. I noticed a little white in his dark hair and that endeared him to me. Oh, it was true love I felt for Robert.

  In spite of Norfolk's protestations to me I knew that his scheme to marry Mary was still being considered and that there were certain people whom I had thought to be my friends, who supported it. I was afraid of trouble in the North and I did not trust the Catholic peers, therefore I thought I had better put an end to the plotting.

  One day when at table I told Norfolk that I wished him to sit beside me. He was a little nervous and I guessed this was because the idea of that marriage was still very strongly on his mind and he was wondering how much I knew.

  I could not resist taking his ear between my fingers and nipping it so hard that he winced and referring back to his previous remark I said: “Methinks you should take heed of your pillow, Norfolk.”

  Everyone who heard that knew I was aware of the plotting and that I did not like it. Norfolk was very subdued, and a few days later I heard that he had left Court.

  He wrote to me from Kenninghall assuring me that he had no intention of doing anything which should not have my favor.

  It struck me that this plot had gone further than I had thought and I suspected that Norfolk might be a guilty man, so I ordered him to return to Court without delay. He pleaded illness and I could not prevent myself smiling as I thought of the days of my own danger when illness had been a frequent plea on my lips. I sent word to him that he must consider himself a prisoner, and within a short time he was in the Tower while inquiries were being made concerning the proposed marriage.

  Then I had disquieting news which drove all thought of everything else out of my mind. Robert was ill… gravely ill… and begging me to come to him.

  As if I would refuse! He was at Tichfield and there I must go with all speed. This I prepared to do, chiding my attendants for their tardiness. I was filled with a terrible foreboding as we set out on the road. I thought of him constantly … Robert over the years … Robert a young boy—arrogant even then—taking my hand in the dance. I was not the Queen then, only a princess, branded a bastard by some, and we had been on equal terms… almost. And then … that awareness of him in the Tower … and his of me… and his coming to me before my accession throwing his gold at my feet. Robert must not die. I could not imagine my life without him.

  I went at once to his bedchamber. He was lying in his bed, pale and wan.

  “Robert, my love,” I cried.

  “Dear one,” he whispered, and his eyes lit up with joy. “So you came to me…”

  “As if I would not, you foolish man! Certainly I would be with you and my first command to you now is to come forth from that sick-bed and get back the good health you have always had.”

  “I shall die happy now,” he said, “because you are with me. I feared so much to go without seeing you.”

  “Be silent, Robert. I will not have such talk.”

  He appeared to be finding breathing difficult. “Dearest Majesty, I must talk to you… before…it is… too late.”

  “Save your breath,” I commanded, for in truth it frightened me to hear his harsh breathing.

  “I… must talk,” he insisted. “There is a plot afoot. I…I am not guiltless. I believed it would be good for England… and that is for you, my loved one…if Norfolk married Mary. I lived in perpetual fear that your life was in danger while the succession is unsettled and that woman lives.”

  “Have done with the succession!” I cried. “And stop talking. Save your breath. You need it.”

  “Nay…I cannot. I am in great fear that Your Majesty may be in danger. Norfolk plots…in secret with the Queen of Scots. Many of your lords are concerned in this. I have been myself. They meant no treason. They plan to restore Mary to Scotland where, with an English husband, she could be a good friend to England… and to satisfy France and Spain… you name her your successor…”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Dearest Majesty, before I go … I must have your forgiveness. Your safety is my only concern. Your forgiveness…I beg you… for the part I played in this. It was no treason against Your Majesty, I swear… though some may try to make it seem so.”

  He lay back gasping on his pillow and my whole being shuddered with my anguish. I had never before fully realized how much he meant to me and how empty and dark my life would be without him. Hatton, Heneage, all the pretty men who danced round me… what were they compared with Robert?

  “My dearest,” I said. “It is forgiven. I understand.”

  “Then I can die in peace.”

  “You know I shall not allow that.”

  He smiled at me wanly. “One does not speak of death to you. You like it not. You are impatient of death. You are immortal.”

  “You are right and I will not have this talk. I shall stay and command you to recover.”

  “Already Your Majesty's presence has worked like the elixir of life.”

  “My lord Leicester, I shall have you out of that bed and dancing a high measure with me ere long. I insist on that.”

  “And surely even the angels will not dare disobey you,” he said.

  I kept my word and stayed there with him. His recovery was miraculous and he declared it was my presence which always had the effect of making him feel more alive than he ever could in my absence.

  I did wonder how seriously ill he had been. He had certainly not been in his usual blooming health, but I pondered during those days whether his affliction was like one of those which had affected me so frequently before I came to the throne. Was it one of the illnesses of self-preservation? How deeply had Robert been involved with Norfolk? I did not believe for one moment that he would seek to set Mary on the throne. No! I knew my Robert. He had worked with Norfolk for the marriage with his eyes on the future. He believed, as so many did, that when I died Mary would come to the throne, and in that event he would not want to be completely out of favor.

  In any case, whatever his motive, for a short time I had lived through the terrible prospect of losing him. Now he was rapidly improving; we played games together and I took the utmost joy in scoring against him, for I knew that my success was due to superior skill and not to royal privilege.

  After that time of terrible anxiety the days of Robert's convalescence were sweet indeed. He had no doubt now of my love for him. I could see new hope springing up in his mind. Dear Robert, he would go on thinking of our marriage however old he became.

  Well, that was how I liked it to be.

  Meanwhile Norfolk stayed in the Tower.

  THERE WAS ONE MAN at Court who had served me well and to whom I owed a great deal. He was not one of my favorite men for he was not in the least handsome and lacked the dancing talent of men like Hatton and the courtly grace of Heneage—
but he was a man to be reckoned with, clever, subtle and faithful. I refer to Sir Francis Walsingham. He was not an old man being about three years older than I. He was very dark—not with the bold and handsome darkness of Robert, but with a Moorish swarthiness. I grew to appreciate his good works and became quite affectionate toward him and gave him the nickname of The Moor. I had a habit of bestowing such sobriquets on those around me and it was looked on as a mark of my favor to receive one.

  He was a stern Protestant and I had always felt that my enemies would most likely be found among the Catholic hierarchy. He was rich and a diplomat, a student of law, which I think was a great asset to him for he had studied for five years in various foreign countries. He was alert and quick to scent treachery. Indeed as I had often proved, a good man to serve me, and when I look back over my life I often think that one of my greatest gifts was an ability to choose the right men. The butterflies of my Court were in a separate category; they delighted and charmed me; but I never forgot for one moment that my strength lay in men like Cecil. Walsingham was such another.

  I was deeply shaken when there was an attempted rising in the North by the Earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, the aim of which was to release Mary Stuart and bring back Catholicism to England.

  I knew that Northumberland—a rather foolish man—had been annoyed because I had not entrusted Mary to him. How could he think I would be so foolish! He was a well-known Catholic and thought of himself—as all the Percys did—as lord of the North. What was disquieting was that Walsingham had discovered that the Spanish had promised aid to Northumberland and Westmorland if they could bring sufficient numbers to rise against me. The Pope too was behind the rising.

  And when I thought that even Robert had joined in the scheme to marry Norfolk to Mary without my knowing, I felt very uneasy.

  The plot was well advanced. The Duke of Alva had promised to send over an army of Spaniards. The Marquis of Catena had arrived in England ostensibly to conduct an embassy but in fact to lead the army when it arrived. Pius V had given his blessing to the enterprise.

  Fortunately the Earl of Sussex, when paying a friendly call on Northumberland, became suspicious. He came immediately to Cecil and me and told us that he feared a revolt against the crown was being planned.

  Cecil advised me to summon Northumberland to London and when I had a letter from him pleading illness, all my suspicions were aroused and I sent guards to him with orders to arrest him if he offered any excuse for not accompanying them. However, Northumberland was just a little too quick for them; he managed to escape and join Westmorland and the two Earls put up their standards, declaring their intentions to bring Mary out of captivity and restore the Catholic Faith to England. It was alarming to discover that a force of seventeen hundred horse and four thousand foot were ready to join them. They were able to march to Durham where they set up the Mass in the Minster. Then they passed through the North celebrating the Mass wherever they went.

  Sussex advanced on the North and soon put the rebels to flight and when defeat became obvious those who had enthusiastically marched to set up the Mass decided that they would be safer in their homes.

  Westmorland escaped to the Low Countries and after evading his captors for some time, the Earl of Northumberland ended up on the scaffold at York declaring to the end his belief in the Catholic Faith. His head was stuck on Micklegate—a warning to all traitors.

  I had to show the people that although I loved dearly those who were true to me and I wished to please them and do their will, I would not tolerate traitors and when I found them I could be as ruthless as my father had been.

  Six hundred men had been caught and were soon lifeless corpses hanging on gibbets—a grisly warning to any who thought they could lightly challenge the rights of the Queen.

  The North was plunged into mourning.

  “This is Mary Stuart's doing,” I said. “When she came into our realm, that was the end of the peaceful days.”

  “And so it will be while she remains in it,” retorted Cecil.

  I nodded. But how could I be rid of her? There was no evidence that she had been involved in this plot. Plotters used the names of those who were close to the throne, as I knew to my cost. How often had mine been used as the reason for rebellion!

  No! Mary was not personally to blame for this—although but for her it would never have taken place.

  SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM came to me on a matter of great urgency. He had uncovered a conspiracy, and it was his belief that immediate action should be taken.

  “It is a plot against Your Majesty's own person,” he declared.

  “You had better explain,” I told him.

  “I have been watchful of a certain Roberto Ridolfi—a banker from Florence who has, on more than one occasion, been acting suspiciously,” replied Walsingham. “I had reason to believe that he had been supplying money to the Northern rebels at the time of the rising. I took him into my house for questioning. However, nothing was revealed and I no longer had an excuse for detaining him. I let him believe that he was free from suspicion, for then I thought he would go about his business without taking any special care. At the same time I had him watched.”

  I nodded. I felt a great affection for men such as my swarthy Moor.

  “It came to my knowledge that this man was in touch with Leslie, Bishop of Ross, whom I knew was an agent for Mary of Scotland. Norfolk is involved.”

  “Norfolk! That knave!”

  “I have intercepted letters, Your Majesty, and I can tell you precisely what was planned. Mary was to marry Norfolk who will become a Catholic and together they were to set up the Catholic Church in England.”

  “In England!” I cried. “And what of the Queen of England? Is she supposed to stand aside and say, Do as you will, Your Majesties?”

  Walsingham hesitated. Then he said: “Your Majesty, it has been suggested that you will be… assassinated and Mary will take your place. The Pope agrees to help as does Philip of Spain. The plan is that as soon as they have killed Your Majesty, Alva arrives with an army to subdue any rising against them. The letters were entrusted to a certain Charles Baillie whom I have arrested, and I trust I have Your Majesty's approval for doing so. I have put him on the rack and have had a full confession from him.”

  “You did not tell us what was happening, Walsingham.”

  “Your Majesty, I knew I was on a trail. I trusted no one and wanted to keep the matter to myself until I had something to show you, for I did not want to come to you until I had the evidence to lay before you. I have letters written in Norfolk's hand. He has signed two documents. One that he is a Catholic and the other pledging himself to stand at the head of an army which Philip promises to send when the moment is ripe.”

  “The perfidy of the rogue!” I said. “Why did I spare him before?”

  “He was not implicated then, Your Majesty, as he is now.”

  “He is indeed now.”

  “As are Ridolfi and the Queen of Scots.”

  I nodded. “I thank you for your good services. They shall not be forgotten.”

  “It is my joy to serve Your Majesty.”

  “I will send for Cecil,” I said. “I shall acquaint him with what you have said. And stay with us. I would like him to hear all from you and see your evidence.”

  It was damning.

  There was nothing which could save Norfolk now.

  SCENTING DANGER, RIDOLFI had returned to Italy where I heard later that the Pope had received him warmly and given him honors. He was out of our reach, but Norfolk was not… nor was Mary.

  Mary had been proved an enemy once more. There were letters in her handwriting. She clearly accepted Norfolk as her husband-to-be and she knew on what terms help was coming from Philip of Spain and the Duke of Alva. She was as guilty as Norfolk.

  There were some who said: “Here is your chance. Destroy this woman now and she will be out of your way forever.”

  I thought of it—indeed I had sleepless ni
ghts thinking of it. She was guilty. She had schemed to overthrow me and if necessary take my life to do so. She had plotted to murder me, or at least she had connived at it … just as she had in the case of Lord Darnley.

  I had every reason to send her to the block, to condemn her to the death she had agreed should be imposed on me.

  Oddly enough, I could not do it. I hated her. I wanted her out of the way. She was a menace and yet I could not give orders to kill her. She was a queen for one thing. One queen cannot kill another. There must be some respect for royalty.

  Strangely enough, I was not sure that I wanted her out of the way. She maddened me but I liked to hear about her. I suppose I was more interested in her than in any other woman. I was foolish. How should I ever know when she was planning to kill me? Yet I could not bring myself to sign that death warrant.

  The guard should be tightened about her. There should be no more smuggling in of traitors' letters.

  She was my prisoner and she could never be anything else while I lived. Sometimes I marvel at my leniency toward that woman. Sometimes I thought she fascinated me as certainly as she had all those fine gentlemen who fell victim to her charms.

  I had no such qualms about Norfolk.

  On a hot June day he went out to Tower Hill where the executioner was waiting for him with his axe.

  SHOCKED BY THE LENGTHS TO WHICH SPAIN, WITH THE help of Pope Pius, was ready to go for my destruction, I knew that I must seek some alliance with France…at least the pretense of one, and when Catherine de' Medici suggested a marriage between her son the Duc d'Anjou and myself I pretended to consider it.

  Catherine was the most powerful figure in France at that time. Her son Charles IX was at best unbalanced, many said he was mad, and he was entirely in her hands. It was believed in some quarters that she had hastened his elder brother Franois—Mary's first husband—to his death so that she could rule through her weak-minded son. I do not know what happened in the case of Franois, but she certainly was the power behind the throne in France. And she longed to see one of her sons King of England.