by Jean Plaidy
When Norfolk had been in the Tower, he had devised some harebrained scheme for rescuing him, Norfolk being distantly connected with him through a Lady Anne Howard who had married into the de Vere family. Naturally it had come to nothing and Oxford quarreled violently with his father-in-law, Cecil, because of this.
There was one thing which worried me. When he had been foiled and the attempted rescue of Norfolk shown as the immature plot it was, Oxford was so incensed that he swore revenge on Cecil.
Cecil told me this and shrugged his shoulders.
“He is a willful boy,” he said. “I know not what will become of him.”
“I like not those threats of vengeance on you,” I said.
“He is nothing but a foolish boy,” Cecil assured me.
And I was inclined to agree.
“He now wants to be taken into the Navy,” said Cecil.
“That shall not be,” I replied firmly. I had two reasons. One, he was too reckless and I was becoming more and more proud of my growing Navy; and the other was that I enjoyed his company at Court.
“I persuaded him that as he enjoys Your Majesty's favor he would probably do better to remain at Court.”
I nodded my approval.
But it was asking too much of a nature like Oxford's to live in peace with those around him. Very soon after that he was in conflict with another young man whom I admired.
This was Philip Sidney who had many talents to recommend him apart from the fact that he was the son of my dear Mary Sidney, whose nursing during my smallpox attack had cost her her good looks. I visited her frequently in her secluded apartments at Hampton Court, and I constantly let her know that I did not forget what she had done for my sake. So the fact that she was Philip's mother would alone have made me take a special interest in the boy. Moreover, he was Robert's nephew. Robert was very good to him in many ways, and Philip I believe looked on Robert as a kind of god. That pleased me. He was a very good-looking young man, somewhat serious, highly cultivated, and he wrote verse with a flow which I found most remarkable. Mary had shown me some of his writings with great pride—so he was a young man in whom I took a particular interest.
Oxford knew of my regard for him and was jealous of it; but his real enmity, I imagined, was directed against Robert, so he struck at him through young Sidney. Even such a rash young man as Oxford would scarcely dare challenge Robert himself.
The incident took place on one of the tennis courts where Sidney was enjoying a game with a friend. Oxford came along and, deciding he wished to play, ordered Sidney and his friend to leave the court free for him.
Sidney naturally retorted: “Why should I? You must wait until the game is finished.”
“Don't be insolent, you puppy,” cried Oxford; at which Philip Sidney was incensed and there on the spot challenged Oxford to a duel.
Fortunately I was informed of this proposition and I was furiously angry. Dueling was against the law, and in any case I did not want any of my people killed in senseless quarrels—particularly two young men who graced my Court and pleased me with their presence.
I sent for Philip Sidney and demanded to know what he meant by chal- lenging the Earl of Oxford to a duel. He replied that Oxford had insulted him and his father by calling him a puppy and so implying that his father was a dog.
“Such folly!” I cried. “And over the use of a tennis court, I understand. That there should be such fools in my kingdom, I can scarcely believe. So you, my young coxcomb, would shed blood, would you, because of the rash words of another?”
“I would bear no insult, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, would you not?” I said. “Would you rather bear your Sovereign's wrath? You should know, little boy, that if you are to stay at my Court, you must show proper respect to noblemen. You have dared challenge a noble earl!”
“Your Majesty, may I respectfully point out that the rights of men come before the rights of noblemen. Your noble father supported the rights of the common man against the aristocracy when he believed it was just to do so.”
“You give a good account of yourself,” I said. “Remember this: I could send you to the Tower for challenging a noble earl, but there are members of your family who are very dear to me. Do not take advantage of this. There shall be no duel. Understand that. Now you may go. I shall be lenient with you this time—but remember.”
When he left me I was smiling. He really was a very charming fellow. He was not quite twenty years of age. Oxford was about four years older and I was certain Oxford had picked the quarrel with him because he was Robert's favorite nephew. These jealous men! I thought indulgently. But I was a little alarmed, for Philip Sidney had aroused Oxford's enmity and I believed the latter might be very irresponsible. I should hate anything to happen to increase Mary Sidney's anxieties for I knew how she doted on her son.
I suggested to Robert that such a cultivated young man should have the opportunity of foreign travel, and he agreed that he should go to Venice, where he could study Italian literature, astronomy and music.
I felt happier when young Sidney was safely out of the country.
Catherine de' Medici was working indefatigably to bring about my marriage to Alenon, and her special envoys were urging me persistently. They told me that the young Duc was madly in love with me. I pretended to be gratified. I was sure they thought me a vain and simpering woman, which was what I wanted them to believe, for the longer these negotiations went on, the better. How little they knew me!
I was fully aware that Catherine was eager for the marriage to take place before I saw her son, which confirmed all the stories I had heard of his unprepossessing appearance. Finally, however, she seemed to give way, and word was sent to me that King Charles would come to the coast of France with his brother whom he would send over to Dover that I might meet him.
This alarmed me a little. Perhaps the Duc was not so unprepossessing after all. What would the people say if they thought I was seriously considering marrying a prince whose brother was responsible for that terrible massacre on St Bartholomew's Eve?
Since I had sought the meeting, it was not easy to evade it, but I did so by adopting one of my coy maidenly attitudes. I replied that it was too decisive a step to be undertaken at this stage and not in keeping with my virgin state.
I could imagine Catherine's fury against me, but that lady should have realized by now that she was dealing with one as devious as herself!
I was saved from having to make a clear decision by events in France. Charles was a dying man; he had never really recovered from that awful night of slaughter and had been ailing ever since. He had always been a weakling physically as well as mentally, and it was obvious that he had not long to live.
His brother, the Duc d'Anjou, next in line to the succession, had become King of Poland, so he was far away. That must have given my little Alenon ideas. He was an ambitious gentleman, I will say that for him. He was always ready to take advantage of a situation. Of course, there was now great bitterness throughout France between Huguenots and Catholics, and Alenon decided that with his eldest brother in sight of death and his brother Anjou away in Poland, he had a good chance of coming to the throne himself.
He schemed with two noblemen, Mole and Coconnas, to seize the throne on the death of the King and consolidate himself there before the return of Anjou from Poland.
It was hardly likely that he would be able to succeed, for Catherine de' Medici was watchful on behalf of Anjou, who, it was said, was the only person she had ever loved; and very soon my little Prince's schemes were discovered by his mother. I heard that some sources in France suggested that I was involved in the plot. That was entirely untrue.
However, Alenon did not hesitate to betray his allies when the plot was discovered and they went to the scaffold.
In the midst of this Charles died. Anjou was proclaimed Henri III while Alenon took the title of Anjou as the new King's younger brother.
Denied the crown of France, Alenon—now Anjo
u—again turned his eyes back to England. I was amused for the situation was becoming really intriguing. I remembered that the new King had at one time been a suitor of mine and I wondered if he might renew the courtship now that he was King of France.
There was a certain irritation at home. I had suffered so much from the pretensions of Mary Stuart that I was especially sensitive about the actions of those claiming to have royal blood. Therefore I was much disconcerted when I heard of the marriage between Elizabeth Cavendish and Charles Lennox. These two young people had the most scheming mothers in the country. Charles was the son of the Countess of Lennox, Darnley's mother; she had already shown her ambition through her eldest son. And now she had married the younger, Charles, to the daughter of the Countess of Shrewsbury. I knew that lady very well. She was called Bess of Hardwick, being the daughter of John Hardwick in Derbyshire. She had only been married to Shrewsbury for a short time, but she had quickly shown that foolish man who was the master of the household. She had had three husbands—all wealthy—and had seen each of them out of this life after they had left her with their worldly goods. Bess had made sure of that.
Perhaps it had been wrong to put Mary Stuart into the charge of the Shrewsburys, but I had felt that Bess of Hardwick would make sure that a firm hand was kept on Mary and prevent her from trying her wiles on Shrewsbury, which was what I imagine she did with some of her jailers. None of them seemed entirely immune.
However what had resulted instead was a match—aided and abetted by Mary Stuart I gathered—and now Charles Stuart was married to Bess of Hardwick's daughter, and these ambitious ladies were already looking forward to offspring who would have a claim to the throne.
I flew into a rage when I heard this and Cecil had a hard task restraining me. “They have been intriguing at Sheffield Castle,” I cried. “Imagine them! The three witches! Getting their heads together… Mary Stuart urging them on, reminding them of the Stuart pretensions to the throne. I shall throw the three witches and the happy married pair into the Tower.”
“Your Majesty could hardly imprison Mary Stuart for approving of the match.”
For a few minutes I would not listen to Cecil and, knowing me, he let me rage on.
“To bring the Queen of Scots to the Tower would be dangerous,” he continued eventually. “There might be an attempt to rescue her on the way there; and the cause would scarcely be considered just. She would become a martyr and you well know the people's feelings for such.”
Of course he was right.
But those women had arranged this marriage without my permission.
“Ah, there we have a point,” said Cecil. “Charles, being of royal Stuart blood, should have asked permission before marrying, and failing to do this has broken the law.”
That was good enough. Very soon I had those two energetic countesses in the Tower.
But all this was very disturbing, bringing home to me again the uneasiness of royalty, particularly that of a House which many must still believe had come to the throne not through the straight line of succession. There had been three generations of sovereign Tudors by now, but can one ever be completely safe? Even my father had had to make sure that those who might lay claim by blood to the throne were put out of the way.
That set me brooding on Mary Stuart. There would never be real peace in my life while she lived.
A further cause for annoyance was that, on his way home from Poland to France, Henri III had met and fallen in love with Louise of Lorraine whom he insisted on marrying. What was particularly galling was that La Mothe, I discovered later, had been instructed to keep the news from me as long as possible. I always felt piqued when a one-time suitor married. I wanted them to be like Robert and go on sighing for the impossible forever.
I pretended that my anger was because Henri had married a member of the House of Guise, which had always been my enemy and with whom Mary Stuart had close connections, her mother being one of them.
Then I heard that Catherine de' Medici and her Court had been amused by the action of dwarfs who had been dressed up to look like my father and myself and the Earl of Leicester. I could imagine what ribaldry had been intended; and I saw no reason for not giving expression to my indignation. I let La Mothe know of it, pointing out to him that if the courtiers of France wished to make fun of any they might first start in their own Court.
However, Catherine was still anxious to preserve good relations. She must still have hopes for the newly created Duc d'Anjou, for she sent placating letters. I was assured that the dwarfs who had taken part in the masquerade were all very pretty and the scene had much charm and had been carried out with the impeccable taste due to persons of distinction. If any offense had been taken, it must have been because of my Ambassador's imperfect knowledge of the French language.
I did not believe it, and I continued to show my displeasure.
All the same, negotiations for a marriage with my little French Prince were not broken off.
ROBERT HAD LAVISHED A GREAT DEAL OF TIME AND MONEY on the Castle of Kenilworth, which had come to him with his title, and he often talked about the place, telling me how much he longed to entertain me there.
Why should I not visit his beloved mansion? I asked myself. I was constantly taking tours through the country. I liked the people to see me and I wished to be assured of their regard.
So in the summer I set out with my entourage. We made a rather impressive cavalcade passing through the countryside for we took not only trunks of clothes but household furnishings as well. I liked my bath to be taken along, for some of the houses were very primitive, and I am sure many of the inhabitants of them never dreamt of taking a bath. They had to be careful of their personal cleanliness when I was around though. I made sure of that. I liked them to know well in advance that I was coming so that they could look to the sweetening of their houses, for there was little I loathed as much as evil-smelling places and verminous rushes.
I was in good spirits when we set out, thinking of Robert whose company I should soon be enjoying, and imagining the lavish spectacles he would be devising for my pleasure.
Before we reached Itchingworth we were met by a party of riders, and I was delighted when I saw who rode at the head of them. I recognized him from a distance. No one sat a horse quite like Robert; no one had his air of distinction and mystery; it was a particularly delightful encounter because I had not been expecting it, imagining that Robert would have so much to prepare at Kenilworth that he would need to be on hand, waiting to greet me when I arrived.
“Why,” I cried out as he rode up, dismounted and knelt in that wonderfully courtly fashion which none could practice as he did, “if it is not my Lord Leicester! We did not expect you here, my lord.”
“My impatience to see Your Majesty was so great that I could wait no longer.”
“And you were sure of your welcome, I'll be bound.”
He was standing up now, so tall, so distinguished, my heart leaped with pleasure at the sight of him, as it always did after an absence.
“All is well at Kenilworth?” I asked.
“As well as it can be without Your Majesty's presence, but that I trust will soon be remedied; and then Kenilworth will be the happiest house in the world.”
Such charming things he said! He was the constant wooer and that was how I wanted it to remain.
“Have I Your Majesty's permission to ride beside you?”
“You would incur Her Majesty's displeasure if you rode anywhere else, Master of Horse.”
Then we laughed and talked and, as we rode into Itchingworth, I noticed there were two women in the party whose names had been linked with Robert's; one was Douglass Sheffield, the other was Lettice Knollys.
They were both exceptionally beautiful women and obviously of very differing temperaments. Douglass was a soft and clinging creature while the handsome Lettice, as I have said before, could take good care of herself.
I have no doubt that there were many women who could bo
ast of encounters with Robert. Why not? As long as they were unimportant and Robert did not become heavily involved, I was not averse to his having a brief flirtation with such women. I knew very well that they were all substitutes and, he being a lusty man, they were necessary to him; any one of them would be dropped at a word from me. As long as that state was preserved I did not object.
I dismissed both women from my mind and gave myself up to the chase which was most enjoyable.
After Itchingworth we went to Grafton, which was one of my houses. The weather was very hot and, as we stepped into the cool hall, Robert said the first thing that I required was a drink of cool ale.
“As you do yourself, my lord, I'll swear,” I said.
He admitted this was so and he called to the servants to bring ale which they did, but when I put it to my lips I spat it out.
I was furious. Why, in my own house, did they have such stuff? They knew I drank only the mildest ale, and this strong variety was not to my liking; and yet they had dared bring it to me.
Robert tried a flagon and when he had sipped, grimaced.
“It is as strong as malmsey,” he cried. “I feel heady already.” Then he roared out to the servants that light ale must be brought at once.
There was pandemonium throughout the house. Where was the ale the Queen preferred? Apparently they had none in the house at all. They had known I was coming yet had neglected to provision it, and here I was tired and hot and unable to quench my raging thirst in my own home!
“Bring something!” I shouted. “I dare not let Your Majesty take the water,” said Robert. “For all we know it could be contaminated. Leave it to me.”
What a wonderful organizer he was! What a man of action! In a few moments he had sent his servants out in all directions telling them that they must return with light ale suitable for the Queen to drink.
I was astonished at the speed with which these men came, bringing with them just the ale which suited me.
