by Jean Plaidy
“Somerset’s a fool. One would have thought he would have realized that he kept his place through his gentle good nature. If Northampton were alive he would warn him.”
“Or Overbury.”
“Ah, Overbury. That fellow did all his work for him, if you ask me. Advised him too. Somerset without Northampton and Overbury … could be vulnerable.”
“And that,” said Pembroke, “is why we must act quickly. I have presented Mr. George Villiers with clothes in which he will not be ashamed to appear at Court. He was somewhat shabby and although he had good looks enough to make him outstanding in any company, in fine clothes he has the appearance of a young Greek god. The King is aware of him, but hesitates to show him favor because, although I am sure he is turning from Somerset, he turns slowly; and as you know he remains friendly toward those who have once been his favorites, even though others do supplant them.”
“He should be brought more to the King’s notice, this Villiers,” said Lake. “I will buy him a place as cupbearer to the King. What think you of that?”
“Excellent!” cried Pembroke. “That shall be the next step. And very soon I shall approach Her Majesty—who knows of our plan—and ask her to beg the King to give young Villiers a place as one of his Gentlemen of the Bedchamber.”
The conspirators were now certain that the heyday of the reigning favorite was coming to an end; and they were very gay when they took their leave of Pembroke and rode back to Whitehall.
As they came through Fleet Street, they passed several stalls on which traders had set up their merchandise. On one of these a painter had displayed his work and prominent among it was a picture of Robert Carr.
The party paused to look at it. It was a good likeness.
One of them turned to his groom.
“Take up a handful of mud,” he said, “and throw it at that picture.”
The groom looked amazed. “Did you mean that, sir?”
“I meant it. Do it, man.”
With a grin, the groom obeyed.
The painter who had been hovering close by, watching the party of Court gentlemen and hoping for a sale, stared in astonishment when he saw his best picture ruined.
He dashed out and cried: “Gentlemen, this is a poor joke.”
“We like not your subject,” said the man who had ordered the groom to throw the mud.
“It is my lord Somerset!” protested the painter. “What better subject in the kingdom?”
“You paint too well, my friend” was the answer. “We recognized the fellow at first glance. ’Tis the first of much mud which will be thrown at that man.”
“Having spoiled the picture you must pay for it.”
But the men were already spurring their horses and galloping on.
The artist shouted after them. “Think not you will escape with this. I know who you are. I shall complain to my lord Somerset. You’ll be sorry.”
Robert listened to the artist and as he did so anger flamed within him. He was becoming angry quite frequently now; he was nervous; his relationship with James had changed, and he was surprised at how readily his temper flared up.
He had noticed George Villiers about the Court and it seemed to him that many were trying to bring that young man to the King’s notice. He guessed why. He had studied Villiers closely and noticed the fine clear skin, the handsome features, the flush of youth; and that sent him to his own mirror. He had aged since the divorce; perhaps he had begun to age since he had first known Frances and the fact that he and she were deceiving her husband had given him so many misgivings; but he saw now that as far as looks were concerned he could not compare with this fresh young man.
It was too humiliating, because his spies brought him reports that Pembroke and Lake were at the head of this youth’s supporters, and he well knew how Pembroke and Lake felt about himself. So it was clear what they were trying to do.
This knowledge was perhaps at the very root of his touchiness. He wanted to prove that his power over James had not changed; that was why he allowed himself to lose his temper so often.
He found himself wishing that Overbury was alive and they were good friends again so that he could talk this matter over with someone of discernment and sympathy.
“Mud!” he exclaimed. “They threw mud at my picture.”
“Yes, my lord. And ’twas not boys’ play either. They were gentlemen of the Court and one of them commanded his groom to do this. The others were all with him though. I shouted after them that it was the best of my pictures, which was so, my lord, being copied from one I have seen of your lordship.”
“They knew it was of myself?”
“They said so, my lord. They said they did not like the subject, and this would be the first of much mud that would be slung at your lordship.”
Robert controlled his rage, rewarded the artist and tried to shrug the matter aside. It was natural that he should have enemies.
When Frances heard what had happened she was furious. She too was aware of George Villiers. She was determined that her husband was going to remain in his present position; he was to be the first gentleman of the Court and she the first lady. It would be ironical if after all she had gone through to achieve her present position, she should lose it to that nobody, George Villiers.
Frances had discovered who the insulting men were. They were of the Pembroke party—those men who were supplying Villiers with new clothes, who had arranged for him to be the King’s cupbearer, who were bringing him to the King’s notice on every conceivable occasion.
“You cannot allow this insult to pass,” she stormed at Robert. “They must be shown that you are all-powerful. It would be the utmost folly to ignore this.”
“It is of no real importance to me, Frances.”
“Then it is to me,” she cried. “We must revenge ourselves, and in like manner, to let them know that we are aware who did this thing.”
“But how?”
“I have thought of a way. That young upstart will be at the royal table this very day. He will be mincing in the fine clothes which have been bought for him. Just as he is about to rise and serve the King’s wine, one of our men shall tip a dish of soup over him. It’s a just reward for what they did to your picture.”
“Well, that’s harmless enough,” agreed Robert.
Robert was seated on the right hand of the King and James seemed pleased because Robert was in a good humor. Though it was a sad thought that Robert should have become like other lads to whom he had given his affection—subject to tantrums.
The King’s eyes strayed to the young cupbearer who was seated some distance from him. A winsome lad, who might have been a model for the head of St. Stephen. His was a rare beauty, and it was difficult to keep one’s eyes from that face. But he must not anger Robert. Robert had become very observant and was apt to sulk if he looked too long at yonder lad.
He wanted to say: Look here, Robbie, it’s some years since you lay with a broken arm on the grass of the tiltyard and our friendship was born. There’ll never be another to take your place with me. But why, lad, cannot you be as you once were. Once there was not a sweeter tempered laddie in my kingdom. I want my lad Robbie back. If he will come I’d never as much as glance at yon boy if I thought it pained him.
James sensed that Robert too was very much aware of that young man who sat there nonchalantly, as though his beauty made him an equal of all men.
The accident happened suddenly. One of the King’s gentlemen, who had risen to serve him with soup, had to pass the spot where young Villiers was sitting. As he did so, he seemed to slip and tilting the dish forward slopped it over young Villiers’ coat and fine satin breeches.
Villiers stood up, his handsome face scarlet (none the less beautiful for that, James noticed) and did an alarming thing. He lifted his hand and boxed the ears of the gentleman server.
There were several seconds of silence. Robert was aware of Frances whose eyes had widened with delight. He knew what she was thinking. For any man to strike
another in the presence of the King was a crime to be severely punished; and the punishment was that the right hand of the offender should be struck off.
Somerset stood up.
He knew that everyone was watching. The Queen, Pembroke, Lake and all those who supported this man believed that by one rash act he had ruined his chances—and their hopes—of supplanting Somerset.
“You young fool,” he said. “To behave thus in the presence of His Majesty will bring its own reward.”
Young Villiers had turned pale, now looking more like the statue of St. Stephen than ever. He knew what Somerset meant because there was not a man at Court who was unaware of the penalty for striking another in the presence of the King. Those watching saw his left hand close over his right as though he would protect it.
“Come here, young man,” said James.
Villiers stood before the King.
“You’re over-rash, lad,” James continued.
The clear young eyes looked straight into his. James could not meet them. They were as beautiful as Robert’s had been when he was as young as this one. James’s eyes rested on that right hand; it was well shaped and the fingers were long and tapering.
Mutilate that beautiful body, thought James. Never!
“A fine coat spoiled,” went on the King and his mouth turned up at the corner.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured the young man.
“But coats, lad, can be replaced; hands cannot.”
He saw the terror in the boy’s face; and he was aware of Robert, smiling almost complacently beside him. In that moment he began to turn away from Robert.
“Well,” he said, “ye’re young and a newcomer to Court. Guard your temper, lad, and dinna let such a thing happen again in my sight.”
When the young man knelt before the King and lifted his beautiful face, James was deeply moved. “Get back to your place, boy,” he said. “And remember my words.”
There was a rustle throughout the Court; there were sly glances and whispered comments.
Some fell from their horses; some boldly cuffed a gentleman in the King’s presence.
It did not matter. One way was as good as another for a handsome young man to bring himself to the King’s notice.
George Villiers had indeed come to Court.
There was great exultation in the Pembroke group, particularly when a few days after the incident of the ruined suit, a post in the King’s bedchamber fell vacant.
“It could not be more opportune,” cried Pembroke. “The time had come to put Villiers in the King’s intimate circle. It is the duty of one of us to suggest to His Majesty that Mr. George Villiers would adequately fill the post which has fallen vacant.”
When the matter was suggested to James he was excited. He had not forgotten young Villiers and he would have been delighted to comply with the request; but knowing Robert’s feelings he hesitated and said he would think of the matter and give his answer in a few days.
This was a blow because Villiers’s supporters had believed that James would agree immediately.
Robert still had his friends who knew that if he were supplanted by Villiers their own careers would automatically suffer. So it was not long before Robert heard that Pembroke and his friends were trying to get the bedchamber post for Villiers.
He talked to Frances about this and her eyes grew dark with anger. She was throwing herself wholeheartedly into the conflict against Villiers; she found it stimulating to have something to work for; also it took her mind off that little band of blackmailers whom she was paying regularly.
“Villiers must not have the post,” she cried. “If he does, depend upon it, he will be in your place ere long.”
“He could not be. He is too young and inexperienced.”
“You were once.”
“It has taken me years to get to my present position.”
“Villiers looks a sharp one.”
“I see,” said Robert bitterly, “that you mean I was a fool.”
“You had friends to help you.”
“And so has he.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. He has powerful men behind him. You had my great-uncle, but he is dead now.”
“I would to God Overbury were here.”
Frances clenched her hands and screamed: “He was no good to you … no good to us. You were a fool over that man, Robert. For God’s sake try to have a little more sense.”
She ran from the room and Robert scowled after her.
What had happened to his life? What had happened to him?
Frances was not the sweet and loving woman he had imagined her to be. She was continually goading him. A fool! Was he? He thought of other men who had taken bribes—something he had disdained to do. Had he been a simpleton? He had always agreed with the King … until now. He had never tried to force his opinions on James.
Did James think him a fool too? Did James think that he could introduce that sly boy into the bedchamber because he, Robert, was too soft to protest?
He went off to James who had retired for the night and arrogantly entered the private apartments.
“Why, Robbie,” said James, starting up. “What brings you here at this time?”
“I see, Your Majesty, that you are no longer my good friend.”
“Now, Robbie, what has come to ye, lad. Where’s the gentle boy I used to know?”
“Perhaps Mr. George Villiers has taken his place.”
“Ah—so it’s that, lad, is it. Nay, Robbie, there’s none who could take your place with me. Did you know?”
“It does not seem that is so.”
James patted the bed. “Sit ye down, Robbie, and listen to your old Dad. You’re not the boy you used to be. What’s happened to change you?”
“I change?” cried Robert. “It is you who have changed … toward me … ever since they brought that pretty boy to your notice.”
James shook his head. “You grieve me, Robbie. You grieve me sorely. You come to me in temper at this most unseasonable hour. You bereave me of my rest, it seems on purpose to hurt me. Why have you become sullen of late, Robert? What has happened to your love for me? I have suffered through my affection for you. I have prayed for you, because, my boy, I think that if you go on as you have begun you will be sorry. I never prayed for any subject alive but you. I will speak to you now with great seriousness. You should not forget that you owe your wealth and your standing here at Court to me. It is because I have loved you so much that I have borne patiently with your tempers. Do not try me too much. Continue to love me, be to me as you once were and hold me by the heart, Robbie. If you do this you may build upon my favor as upon a rock. Rest assured that I shall never weary of showing my affection for you. I have accepted your arrogance toward me, and I forgive it—although it is something I find hard to forget. Your fate is in your own hands. Here is the best and kindest master you could ever have. But if you are ungrateful, if you forget that although he loves you, he is still your King, then you will have only yourself to blame for the consequences.”
Robert listened sullenly to his speech. He longed, even as James did, to be back on the old footing. He wished that he were more articulate; he wished that he could explain to this good friend how everything had changed since he had betrayed Essex through his love for Frances. He believed that James would have understood more readily than he did himself.
He fell on to his knees then and kissed James’s hand, and seeing the sullenness fade from his face, the King was delighted.
“Your Majesty,” said Robert, “forgive me.”
“We’ll say no more of this matter, Robbie. But forget not what I have said.”
Robert remembered then why he had come here and he said: “Could I ask one favor of you?”
“What is it, Robbie?”
“A kinsman of mine seeks a place at Court and as there is one at this time in the Bedchamber it would give me the greatest pleasure to offer him that.”
Deeply moved the King answe
red: “My dear friend, dispose of the place as you deem fit. And remember this: I shall never suffer any to rise in my favor except that he may thank you for it.”
This was victory. Robert wept with affection and relief; and both he and James were happy because it seemed to them that their love was as firm as it ever had been.
There was disappointment in the Pembroke faction when it was known that the bedchamber post had gone to Somerset’s nephew.
“It seems,” said Sir Thomas Lake, “that Somerset has not lost a jot of the King’s favor.”
“James always clung to his old friends,” agreed Pembroke; “but he is taken with young Villiers and we must not lose heart. I am going to see the Queen.”
Anne received him, as always, with pleasure and he immediately told her what he wanted of her.
“Somerset is becoming unbearably arrogant, Your Majesty.” Anne nodded her agreement, being always ready to listen to criticism of Somerset.
“There is only one way of clipping his wings, and that is to turn the King’s affection to another.”
“And have another ape Somerset become as overbearing?”
“Villiers is young as yet.”
“Do not think that youth is less arrogant than middle-age. Promote this young man, my lord, and I tell you he will soon be despising us as Somerset does.”
“This young man is of a different nature. He is more ready to learn.”
“He’ll not be for long.”
“If he should in time grow like Somerset that time is far distant, Your Majesty. He could not become so powerful for years, and we must bring Somerset down or submit to his rule.”
“You are right in that,” Anne sighed. “What do you wish me to do?”
“Present him to the King. Tell him that you ask this favor of him, which is a knighthood for George Villiers and a place in the Bedchamber.”
“There was a place in the Bedchamber.”
“Gone to Somerset’s nephew, Your Majesty. Soon there will be no post at Court which is not occupied by one of Somerset’s men.”
“Well,” said Anne, “I think you are right in that.” She hesitated. “I will do as you wish,” she went on, “and I shall ask Prince Charles to give me his support.”
