The room inside was small, with a stone floor. No carpets, no curtains or fine drapes. Just a chair and stools.
And my Queen.
Slowly things began to look right again. Things smelt right, too, with my smell and my Queen’s. The furniture that had come with us was unpacked, along with my Queen’s sheets, her carpets, the altar for her prayers. I supervised it all, but kept a firm eye on my Queen, in case she vanished again.
She was unhappy, but I wasn’t sure why. We were all back together again, weren’t we? She and I, and Jane and Barbara and Mistress Curle, and Master Bourgoine and Master Melville. She and I had our own big soft bed and our gold plates and our green glass cups.
Good fine meals came to our chambers too. It was autumn, so the lamb was fat and tender. There were plovers, too, baked with fruit inside; and stubble-fed geese—we’d seen them on our journey, grazing in the fields where the wheat had been harvested, and I had barked at the silly waddling things—and fresh herrings, which we only got when it was cool; and peaches, pears and squishy medlars, which looked like the messes I’d made when I was small but tasted sweet and grainy, like a pear; and comfits from Antwerp; and glasses of syllabub, which my Queen let me lick from her fingers.
We were together again. We had our good food and our bed. How could she be sad?
She was anxious as well. Even Jane stiffened now when anyone knocked at the doors as though she might have to help me protect our Queen. Gone were our peaceful days of embroidery, with me seated on my Queen’s knee, with Jane reading or Master Curle writing letters for her. Day after day my Queen sat for hours staring at the wall, silent, thinking. She seemed to be waiting.
But for what?
We had just said our morning prayers. Jane had dressed my Queen and helped her to her chair in the outer room. My Queen sat there, still silent, as she had been these past few days, while Master Bourgoine played on the lute and Jane combed me (which I quite enjoyed) and hunted through my fur for fleas. There had been fleas at one of the inns that we had stayed in. I had been bothered by them ever since. There is always one flea that keeps escaping…
My Queen had not replied the last time Jane had spoken to her, nor when Master Melville had either. It was as though she didn’t hear their voices or the music from the lute. So now, as she squished a flea between her fingernails, Jane leant down and whispered, ‘Folly! Make her laugh.’
‘Woof?’ I said, not sure I understood.
‘Make her laugh as you did before. Dear Folly, please.’
I might not understand the words, but I understood the emotion that lay behind them. My Queen was far away…and it was up to me to bring her back.
‘Woof,’ I said thoughtfully, as Master Bourgoine played another tune. If I had been younger I’d have chased my tail—that always brought a smile. But it was beneath my dignity these days. When you are a puppy you almost believe that one day you’ll catch it—tail chasing doesn’t really work unless you believe.
And then I had it! My Queen was happy when she sang—or, at least, she sang when she was happy. So I would sing and she would join in…and smile.
I lifted up my nose.
‘Hooowwwl!’
My Queen looked up, startled. Well, she had never heard me sing before.
‘Hoowwwl! Howwwl!! Hooowwwwl!!’ I sang. It was better than human singing. It was much louder too. I was proud. I lifted up my nose again…
‘Oh, Folly!’
It had worked! She wasn’t laughing, it was true. But she was smiling. And she was looking at us, as though her mind were back with us again. ‘Master Bourgoine,’ she said, ‘I vow you have never had accompaniment like that.’
He smiled back. ‘No, Madam. Folly’s voice is…shall we say…unique?’
‘Woof!’ I said. I wanted him to go back to playing so I could show off again. Now I’d learnt this trick I didn’t want to let it go.
His hands strummed the strings again. I lifted up my nose…
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I forgot my singing. I jumped from Jane’s lap and I ran, barking, to my Queen. She picked me up just as Master Melville opened the door.
‘Master Cecil,’ he announced. ‘And Her Majesty’s commissioners.’
The men crowded into our small chamber. They smelt of cloves and oranges and rosewater, and were gorgeously dressed in silks and velvets, with fine stockings on their legs that I knew would ladder if I just took one good bite.
But I stayed where I was on my Queen’s lap. I didn’t even growl, for I could tell she wished me to be silent. But there was something about them that made the hair stand up on my neck.
The man in front bowed. He handed my Queen a letter.
My Queen nodded her thanks. She began to read, then looked up. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘I am to be put on trial and you will be my judges.’
The man bowed again.
‘No,’ said my Queen. ‘It will not happen.’
The man blinked. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘you have no choice.’
‘And who are you, to tell me that? I am a queen.’ My Queen spoke calmly, as though she had rehearsed the words, but I could feel her fingers clench in my fur. ‘I will do nothing that may prejudice either mine own Royal Majesty, or that of other princes in my place and rank.’
‘Madam, I realise this is upsetting—’
‘You realise nothing, Master Cecil! My mind is not dejected, neither will I sink under my calamity. You may go.’
‘Madam—’
‘I have spoken, Master Cecil. You may leave.’
The men left, but not for long. Even before our dinner was brought up they were back again. But my Queen hardly let Master Cecil speak.
‘I am a queen,’ she said. ‘Not a subject. If I appeared at a trial I should betray the dignity and majesty of kings. It would also be a confession that I am bound by the laws of England, even in religion.’
‘Madam, it is our Queen, our Sovereign Elizabeth, who bids you to answer these questions…’
‘I will answer questions. I will answer to my cousin Elizabeth. I will answer to your Parliament. I will not answer to these commissioners, who have been chosen by my enemies, and who will have condemned me before I speak.’
‘Madam, I assure you—’
‘It is not me you need to reassure. Look to your consciences and remember that the theatre of the world is wider than the Kingdom of England. Treat me ill, and your country—and yourselves—will suffer for it. Indeed—’
The man Cecil interrupted her. His face had grown red, and I could see his fists turn stiff with fury. ‘Neither we nor my Mistress have anything to reproach ourselves with! Her Majesty has shown you nothing but kindness. How have you repaid her? By scheming behind her back, plotting her death—’
‘I repeat what I have said, Master Cecil. I will not answer to you, or any of your commissioners.’
‘Then, Madam, if you will not defend yourself, I have the authority to try you in your absence.’
‘Authority! I am a queen!’
The man’s face was white about the mouth now. He was almost yelling. ‘The Queen, my Mistress, knows no other queen in this realm but herself. Believe me, Madam—’
‘I have spoken!’ My Queen’s voice was cold.
‘Madam, I—’
‘Jane, may I have the comb?’ Even as the angry man kept speaking, my Queen began to comb my coat as though none of the men in their fancy clothes were there.
And finally they left.
Our dinner was brought in then. I had been smelling it for ages and my tummy rumbled. There wasn’t room in our small chamber for my Queen’s table and the table for her people too. So now she ate alone, except for me.
But today she shook her head. ‘I am not hungry. I will rest and—’
‘Woof,’ I objected. If my Queen went to her bedchamber now I’d have to go with her. I’d miss my dinner.
I laid a paw on the cloth. ‘Woof!’ I added firmly.
My Queen laughed. I
t was the first time I had heard her laugh since Chartley. ‘Oh, my Folly. What would I do without you?’
‘Good dog,’ said Jane softly as she passed. ‘Oh, good dog.’
My Queen sat down then. She let Master Melville serve us with minced chicken, which she knew I loved, and quince cream, which I had come to like too. She fed me with her fingers and she even ate some herself, which made me glad, for she smelt more settled after she had eaten.
The servers cleared the meal away. But as soon as the table had been moved the men were back again. I wondered if they had been waiting downstairs.
The fierce little Cecil of the morning didn’t speak. Instead a taller man bowed more deeply than the others. ‘Madam, I beg you to listen. For your own sake.’
‘I am listening.’
‘You must know that Royal Majesty does not free you from answering the crime of plotting to kill a queen. If you be innocent, you wrong your reputation in avoiding a trial.’
‘I have said that I will answer questions. But not to you. And as long as you acknowledge I am your Queen’s nearest relative and the heir to her throne.’
‘That is enough!’ It was the small angry Cecil man again. ‘Your trial begins tomorrow, Madam, even if you are absent!’
He turned to go.
‘Search your consciences!’ cried my Queen. ‘May God reward you and yours for your judgment against me.’
The door closed. My Queen was trembling. She held me close for a moment.
‘Well?’ she said to her people. ‘Am I right?’
‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ said Barbara.
‘I think…’ It was her doctor, Master Bourgoine. ‘Madam, all you have said is right and proper. But if you do not appear they will convict you.’
‘They will convict me anyway.’
‘But if you appear your case must be recorded for others to hear, to read. Without that, Madam, you will be silent to the world.’
‘I have friends. I can write to King Philip of Spain, to King Henri of France, to my Guise uncles…’
‘Madam…’ he hesitated, as though he hated to say the words. ‘The letters to your friends and supporters must have been read. Perhaps the brewer was an English spy—or in the pay of English spies—who only took the letters to let his masters read them. Any letters you write now may well be burnt long before your friends can read them or act upon them.’
My Queen looked thoughtful.
Master Bourgoine glanced at Mistress Curle and Barbara, then added, ‘It is possible, Madam…just possible…that Master Nau and Master Curle may have confessed.’
‘No!’ cried Barbara.
My Queen stared at him. ‘I cannot believe that!’
‘Madam…I am sorry…but even if they have stayed silent, what might the world think if you refuse to speak?’
My Queen was silent. ‘But to appear in a public trial…to lower myself to plead before those men…’
‘Not to plead, my Lady. But to state your case to the world.’
My Queen was silent. She stroked my ears, but did not speak again till it grew dark.
They came next morning, as soon as it was light. My Queen was in the outer chamber, dressed in black velvet with a cap of white and a long white veil down her back. I sat on her lap again, but I think they hardly saw me, a black dog on a black skirt. I hardly moved, for my Queen sat still and rigid too.
‘Master Cecil,’ she said, ‘Master Walsingham. If I come to the trial will you put my words and protests in writing?’
Master Cecil looked surprised. ‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Then I will appear,’ she said.
CHAPTER 22
I Try to Help My Queen
Fotheringhay Castle, 14 and 15 October 1586
Jane called for a posset to settle the Queen’s stomach before she spoke. My Queen sipped at it, but I could tell it was just to please Jane.
Jane made sure she wore her turquoise ring, too, to keep her spirits up, and a sprig of vervain in her sleeve.
And then she left, with Master Bourgoine and Master Melville on either side, her arms twined in theirs to help her walk. Her legs had swollen so much the past few days it was impossible for her to stand alone.
She kissed me before she left. But this time it was my Queen who decided that she should leave me. So I didn’t whine or bark. I sat on the red velvet of her chair to keep it warm till she came back.
And then I waited.
I watched the sunbeams float above the stone floor of our chamber. I watched the light move until the sunbeams disappeared. I heard Barbara sob.
‘They will stretch him on the rack! They will pull out his fingernails! Oh, my husband…’
‘Shh,’ said Jane. ‘Shh.’
I let the talk wash above my head. Food was brought in, not the fine dishes that were brought for my Queen, but bread and meat and other things. I don’t know what. I didn’t care.
Nothing that anyone else did was important. I waited for my Queen.
At last I heard footsteps—the men coming back up the stairs, half carrying my Queen between them.
‘Madam!’ Jane ran to help her, and Barbara and Mistress Curle too. But she waved them away.
‘Not to my bed. My chair…’
I understood, even if the women did not. In her bed she would be a sick woman, needing rest. On her chair, the flowery scent returned and she was a queen, even if the golden canopy was gone.
I ran to her, but Jane saw that my legs were too stiff from sitting all day to jump up by myself, and did it for me. My Queen stroked me, then rested her hands on my body, as though to seek its warmth.
‘Madam…how was it?’
‘They know it all.’
‘Madam!’
‘They have the letters—the ones to Babington. Piece by piece they read them out. Master Nau has confessed.’ My Queen glanced at Barbara and Mistress Curle. ‘Master Curle has confessed too. I have been betrayed.’
‘No!’ cried Barbara. ‘Madam, he wouldn’t do that to you!’ She hid her face in her hands.
Mistress Curle said nothing. But her face was the colour of milk custard. Her hands were clenched so hard I could smell the blood as her fingernails cut into her hands.
The room was silent. No one spoke. Then Jane said, ‘Madam, what now?’
My Queen shook her head. I could smell old tears, but she was not crying now. ‘The trial goes on tomorrow. I will say that they have only shown me copies of my letters, not originals. I will say that the copies are forgeries, that I never wrote such things.
‘I will say that yes, I have sought my liberty and my rightful place as Queen of England as well as Scotland. Yes, I have urged my supporters to do whatever is in their power to free me. I am the last Catholic member of the royal houses of both England and Scotland, and I would cheerfully give my best blood to secure relief for the suffering Catholics of this realm. I will say, surely you too accept that any act is justified to put the rightful Queen upon her throne.
‘These things might put my cousin in danger. But that is war, not murder. I would never make shipwreck of my soul by conspiring in the destruction of my beloved sister. That is what I will say tomorrow.’
The words sounded as though she was reading them from a book, as though she had said them many times or practised them in her mind.
‘Madam…’ began Master Melville.
‘No. I have thought what I must say. And now…now I need to rest…’
They brought supper into our bedchamber. I wouldn’t leave her side. She was quiet while the others were in the room, but when we were alone she cried.
My Queen needed to be loved. Why couldn’t the whole world love her like I did?
I licked her face. I whined, to keep her company. And finally the sobs stopped.
I slept, at last. But I think that she did not.
She left me again the next morning, her head held high, the men supporting her as before.
Once more she was gone for the whole day, while
I waited. But this time when she came back she only said, ‘It is done,’ and continued to her room.
CHAPTER 23
My Queen is Happy
Fotheringhay Castle, November 1586 to January 1587
The men didn’t bother us again.
I heard them leaving all the next day; horses stamping in the courtyard, the yells of grooms, the grating of carriage wheels against the cobblestones.
Then they were gone.
My Queen was joyous. Over and over she told her people what she had said, and who had said what in return. She even had her money back, it seemed. Carpets arrived from Brussels to warm our floors, and fine lace too, for my Queen’s dressmakers to fix upon her clothes. Monsewer arrived with lists of cinnamon and suckets, licorice and aniseeds, and my Queen approved them all.
Everything is all right, I thought. The men will do what my Queen wants, just as they should. We will all be happy now.
‘I think I will get some new birds,’ said my Queen one morning. She had even started embroidering again. ‘Take a letter to my agent, Master Melville. He is to buy me small birds, of every sort of plumage. He must buy cages too. But not until after winter…Summer, yes, that’s the time for birds.’
She moved more easily these days, though only about her rooms. There was a new sore on her shoulder which troubled her especially at night. She slept restlessly, often waking and calling for the candles to be lit, and for Jane to read to her until she slept again.
But mostly she was happy.
There was only one bad day. We had been at dinner—a fine one too, with capon in lemon sauce (which made me sneeze), smothered rabbit in the juice of small green grapes, and turkey again, which had become my favourite, and rose-petal tarts and fig-paste pies with lemon sauce, and pigeons stuffed with dried raspberries and mulberries in mustard sauce.
I was licking the last of the lemon sauce off my nose when the door to my Queen’s chamber opened. Before Master Melville could announce the visitors, Sir Amyas strode in. For once he seemed neither angry nor demanding. ‘Madam,’ he said quietly. ‘There is news.’
The Animal Stars Collection Page 55
