by G Lawrence
I smiled. I too heard music in my head when I danced.
“You had trouble sleeping, Majesty?” she asked as she nodded to Blanche to rouse the maids so I might be brought hot water to wash after my exertions.
“I did. Thoughts in my head would not let me alone, and I thought I could hear people outside, but perhaps that was simply my imagination.”
As it transpired, it was not.
After I had washed, and a thin layer of cosmetics had been applied to my face, I called for the shutters to come down. I heard Kate take a sharp intake of breath from her place at the window.
“What is it?” I asked.
Kate turned, wonder and awe on her face. “I think you will have to see it with your own eyes, Majesty, in order to believe it.”
Curiosity roused, I went to join her at the window and as I did, my mouth fell open.
Where lawns had stretched the previous day, there was now a formal garden. Beds of flowers, ornamental shrubs and marble statues stood twinkling in the dawn light.
“But… that was not there last night!” I exclaimed. “I mourned to my lord Earl that I could not see his formal gardens from my windows!”
“When my Queen wishes for something, it comes true,” said a voice, high with delight and mischief, from the doorway. It was Robin.
I turned. Although not yet dressed, I was not immodestly presented. My nightgown was covered by a long black robe hemmed with fur, and there was a wig on my head. My face was not bare, but I was less formally attired than normal. I blushed as Robin hovered at the door.
“You did all of this in the night?” I asked.
“It came about because you made a wish,” he said, coming forwards to kiss my cheek. “And what you wish for will be done.”
He means I could marry if I chose to, I thought.
But I could not say anything. He was so pleased with himself, that I could not let him down then and there. If you have to do that at all, I thought. Say nothing. He will come to understand.
Was it cowardly? To say nothing, allowing the matter to drop? There had been a time when I had done the same and Robin had become embroiled in plots, born from the desperation of his dreams, to force me into marriage. But then I had granted him hope. I had not been dishonest since that time, and had thought I had made myself clear. There is no need to say the same things again, I thought. You have made no promises this time. Hold fast. Robin will understand in time.
When I was dressed, Robin took me on a tour of the castle. He had made many improvements since my last visit and was keen to boast about them.
“I like that you have kept to the ancient style of the building,” I said as we walked the hallways, entering almost every room, whether occupied or not, so I could see his work.
Most lords chose to renovate their houses in keeping with the styles of ancient Greeks and Romans, but Robin had chosen to style his in romantic, Arthurian garb, every wall hung with chivalric scenes on tapestry. Each room had long, big windows, spilling bright light into the interior. Where sunlight was not enough, there was a wealth of candles burning even in the day. Glass glittered in large panes like diamonds. Huge fireplaces were in almost every room, bearing branches covered in fresh leaves, along with wild flowers and catkins. Rush matting, clearly fresh since it was so green, covered the floors, which were also strewn with expensive herbs and flowers. Walking through Robin’s house was like meandering in the most magical forest in the world.
Robin must have spent a fortune on furnishings. Most houses, even noble ones, were spare of furniture. It was expensive, which was why people brought it along with them when they shifted residence, but even the most glorious articles were made more for practical use than for show. Not so at Kenilworth. Satin, silk, and velvet all shone from chairs in shades of blue, red, gold and silver. Golden tassels adorned the edges of chairs, footstools, cushions and curtains. Bed hangings were heavy with embroidery and gorgeous threads of bright colours. Tapestry lined almost every wall, and painted cloth hung where it did not. As a result, the house was a great deal warmer than many I had stayed in, even my own.
And that was not all. There were cupboards lining whole galleries, filled with plate of gold, silver, pewter and gilt. A huge room was dedicated to maps, glorious in workmanship and stunning to behold, and Robin’s library was staggering. I wandered the bookshelves, my hand trailing across spine after spine as he watched me.
“I hope you will have no call to come here,” he said.
“You would deprive me of the comfort of your books?”
“You read most often when out of spirits, Majesty. I hope to keep you merry.”
I smiled. “I read for many reasons, Robin. When I am upset, I read, it is true, but I turn to books at all times, in all moods, for they allow me to escape the world when I have need, and explain it to me when I am lost. They make a bright day happier and a gloomy one lighter by their touch.”
Portraits hung on many walls; many were of me, copied from originals, and some were of my father. I noted that my portraits were often hung beside those of Robin. In one set, Robin was clad in red from the tips of his ambitious toes to the top of his foolish head. Red being the colour of love and royalty, it was not hard to guess what that meant. And beside him, was me, dressed in the jewel-encrusted doublet he had presented me with for New Year’s. This set hung in the gallery, alongside portraits of European rulers, although Robin had had the good sense not to display them as though they were marriage portraits, and his portrait and mine had curtains about them.
There were also paintings depicting military scenes… a lot of them. I understood what he was trying to tell me. Along with Walsingham, Robin had been the man keenest on my Council to enter conflict in the Netherlands. All this show of war, victory and military achievements was intended to sway me into thinking well of that venture.
His house was one massive display of all he might offer me as a husband; love, protection, and security. As I wandered, noting every unsubtle hint and prod, I began to feel nauseous.
“The Lord of Leicester is not a subtle man,” murmured the ghost of Kat in my ear, speaking from the past. “This is the least subtle gesture I have seen him make.”
Only because you decided to leave me, I scolded her. Had you stayed, Kat, you would have witnessed this farce.
It was times like this I missed my friend most of all; when I needed her, not to give advice, but simply to be there. The times when we need someone, just a shoulder to lean on, and find, when we hold out our hand, there is nothing but air where our friend should be, those times hurt the most.
“You look sad,” Robin said, a worried air hanging about his head.
“Just thinking of old friends. Ones I wish could be here.”
Since Robin did not want me thinking of sad times when clearly all my thoughts should be on marriage, he hastily took me to the gardens. A balmy breeze was blowing, and we were greeted by the welcome sound of laughter. My fool Richard Tarlton was performing for groups of courtiers wandering the grounds. I smiled to him as we passed. Tarlton was a favourite of mine. A genius comic actor, he was also a budding playwright, although today he was merely dancing the jigs and telling the jests for which he was famed. In a doublet of russet and a buttoned cap, he bounded about as he sang. Tarlton had a squint eye and a rather flat nose, so was not a handsome man, but he was talented at pulling ludicrous faces, aided by his natural ugliness. As we passed he picked up his tabor to play, setting down the large bat he had been wielding as he told jests. Although famed for pulling grotesque faces, Tarlton was a skilled musician, and to the sound of his instrument we wandered the gardens.
“There are twenty miles of parks for you to explore beyond the castle walls,” Robin said, his face ruddy with pride as I admired the raised beds, lush flowers and pretty orchards which surrounded his house.
There was a wide grass terrace at the front of the castle from which one could see the whole property. On it stood stone statues, obelisks, white
bears and staffs, and armillary spheres, one of my personal emblems, which symbolised prudence and wisdom.
Flowing from the castle were arbours, lanes and groves of sweet cherries, apples, pears and quince, and alleys of grass wended into secret glens, where mounds of grass topped with fragrant flowers and herbs sat waiting for lovers to sit upon them. Tarlton was not the only man playing in the garden. Dotted throughout the grounds were musicians and acrobats, jugglers and players performing scenes. The air was high with the sound of music and birdsong, coming not only from wild birds, but from a grand aviary, painted gold and decorated with gems.
“Are my eyes amiss?” I asked as we peered into the aviary, “or are some of those birds not real?”
Robin chuckled. “I wonder, at times, if it would ever be possible to fool you, Majesty.” He called to one of his men and some of the birds were brought out, and to the wonder of the court, Robin showed us they were not real, but mechanical, controlled by cogs and wheels to sing and twist their heads.
Tench and carp swam in ornamental ponds surrounded by water features of Venus, Aphrodite and Cupid, and fountains rained water down in streams, making a pleasing mist that cooled the skin. An enormous fountain depicting Neptune and Thetis as well as scenes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses stood at the centre of the gardens. As my ladies wandered past, deep in conversation, the fountain squirted a stream of water at them, causing them to giggle and dance away.
Much of the gardens were Italian in style, with paths made of sand, which made it seem as though one walked on a gentle, sun-drenched beach. Pots holding citrus trees stood at the ends of paths, and in the centre of many of these small gardens, which all led into each other, were fountains of marble, shimmering in the sunlight.
We obamulated on, only to be stopped by several of my ladies squealing in delighted terror as a wicked wizard, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Phillip of Spain, leapt into the path, promising to carry them away. He was quickly seen off by a knight wearing Robin’s emblems, who raced from a hidden path, leaping boldly before my women to challenge the wizard to single combat. As the wizard was vanquished, the knight bowed. “May your day be well, now the threat of evil is gone,” he declared, promptly vanishing into another shrub.
Dear Lord, grant me patience, I thought. Robin was attempting to demonstrate only he could save me from my enemies. To my mind, I had demonstrated I was more than capable of saving myself.
As we wandered under the windows of my rooms I turned to Robin. “Tell me how you did it,” I said. “How you made this garden appear overnight.”
“I told you. What you wish for comes true.”
I knew magic was not the cause. Here and there I could see plants had been set into the earth swiftly, and the bottoms of some statues were just slightly out of alignment with their bases. Robin had ordered his men to work by candlelight, pulling in plants and statues from other parts of the garden to make this new one, just for me. There must have been a small army of them to get this done in one night, and when I looked at his men that day, and saw quite a few eyes rimmed by purple shadows, I knew how hard they must have worked.
We went to the lake, where a fountain stood at the centre of the island. After asking one of Robin’s men, I had been told that in order to construct the lake, or rather make it larger, Robin had demolished an entire village, and had paid for new houses to be built further away. Drawing close to rosemary bushes flanking the lake, I could see now how Robin had made the lake burn with golden fire on the night of our arrival; each spiky leaf of each and every plant, and there were thousands, had been painted with gilt.
The paint, if it lasted, would kill the plants. Robin’s display was not only one of wealth, but extravagance.
Statues of naked nymphs stood about the lake, water shooting from their breasts. Anne Dudley became quite flustered after watching them for a time. She stepped away, pressing hands to her flaming cheeks.
“And you a married woman,” I teased as we wandered back to the castle. “One would think you were a maid.”
“That sight would inflame even the coldest of passions, Majesty,” she said and giggled. “I am simply glad to be away from it. I thought I might burst into flame!”
Inflame even the coldest of passions, I mused. Was that indeed the point? For Robin to rouse me into a steaming vapour of lust with this romantic house, these extravagant shows of wealth, and by placing images of sultry desire before me?
I saw plain what he was up to.
All of this, all of it, was a God-forsaken marriage proposal.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kenilworth
Summer 1575
The rest of that day was surrendered to music and dancing. I floated on a barge on the lake, as musicians played and country youths danced about the edges of the water. One song in particular, Eliza is the fairest Queen, I had not heard before and liked so much I called for it to be performed three times. The dancers were exhausted by the end of the third round, and I asked Robin to allow them to rest.
“Your wish is my command,” he said, waving a hand to them.
I am not sure that is the case, Robin, I thought. It appears you think your wish a command upon me.
Inwardly I sighed. Why could he not understand that when I said I would take no husband I meant it? Did everyone think me so fickle and inconstant that I would alter my opinion as the wind changes direction? If so, it is your fault, I told myself. Keeping everyone guessing about my motives worked as a way of controlling my country, but it also meant people thought I might make abrupt about-turns at any moment.
That Sunday we went to the local church to attend the service, and afterwards made for the great hall, where a feast was held. The hall had been built by John of Gaunt, a man famous for the wealth of children he had bred. I was one of his descendants, as was Mary of Scots, and King James. Gaunt’s son, Henry, had deposed Richard II, taking the crown for the House of Lancaster. As I entered, I could hear Gaunt and Robin’s silent reproach on the food-scented air. Marry, bear children, whispered Gaunt. This is your duty.
Had you sired fewer, I thought, our country would have known less war and more peace.
I thought I heard an irritated huff. Clearly, Gaunt’s ghost did not like to be told the truth.
I took a seat and found all appetite had deserted me. I tried to eat from many of the dishes presented, as Robin had gone to great trouble. I did not want his foes thinking I was displeased with him, but I was starting to head down that ragged path. If one more allusion about marriage or symbol of love was rammed down my throat I might have screamed.
We feasted as musicians played and local girls, clearly selected for beauty, danced. There was broth of cabbage, preserved apples, and pork, which was sweet and sour on the tongue. Stew of mutton with parsley and marjoram, and sweet-sour spiced rabbit in ginger and cinnamon followed, along with tender braised spinach and spring greens laced with nutmeg and sugar. I was served capon crowned with eggs, creamed fish with almonds and saffron, and pickles of root vegetables and walnuts. We supped on baked herbed eggs and sops in wine, sallats of herbs drizzled with oil, pepper, salt and lemon juice, and golden apples, made of ground pork cooked with applesauce and saffron.
To follow came fig and raisin cream, fried fruit slices shining with butter and laced with crushed cloves, rosee puddings made from almond milk custard laced with rose petals, and tarts of elderflower, new cheese and sugared cream.
The feast lasted into the early evening, when we were taken outside to stand on the grass as more fireworks cascaded into the skies. “You are pleased with Kenilworth?” Robin asked, handing me a goblet of hot, spiced wine.
“I fail to see how anyone could not be.”
Seeing that febrile light in his eyes again, I turned my face away.
*
Another night of little, yet infinitely twisted, slumber made me sleep late the next day. My ladies knew that if I did not stir when the rest of the house did, they were to leave me be, or suffer t
he consequences. When I did rise at ten of the clock to take a small bowl of ale, the air was so hot I thought my temper had escaped my body and taken to the skies.
All through that restless night I had walked shady paths of worry and concern, which, inevitably, led to dark groves of anger and annoyance. It is often the way when emotions plague us at night. Small concerns become unsurpassable mountains, and little niggles transform into unbearable vexations.
For years I had dealt with Robin honestly and had thought he was satisfied with our relationship, as I was. It was true that we did not lie together, but I had thought our friendship and our love past such petty concerns. Our minds and souls as one, we had worked together well, and we confided everything in each other. I had even looked the other way over his affair with Douglas, and turned a blind eye to the many mistresses he was rumoured to keep in London. With all this, why could he be not satisfied? He had other women to go to if he needed to slake lust, so why did he need me to marry him?
