The Marriage Game (12 page)

“Kat, you are bold to speak thus, and you are not my mother to say yea or nay,” Elizabeth burst out, finding to her horror that she was near to tears. Mentioning her mother had made her think how wonderful it would be if Anne were alive and able to counsel and comfort her; and the thought of distancing herself from Robin had all but finished her. He was her joy, her comfort, her one fixed point in a maelstrom of shifting alliances. “Oh Kat, dear Kat, that was unfair. You have been as a mother to me, and seen me through my darkest hours. Just understand that I need to see Robin constantly, because in this world I have so much sorrow and tribulation, and so little joy.”

“Hush, my lamb,” Kat soothed, rising and hastening to embrace her. “Forgive me if I spoke out of turn. What is all this sorrow and tribulation you speak of?”

Elizabeth shuddered. There were times—and this was one of
them—when she felt overwhelmed and isolated. She burst out, “Alas, to be a king and wear a crown is more glorious to them that see it than it is a pleasure to them that bear it! My enemies are many, and some wear a smiling face. I feel so insecure, so alone sometimes. My crown is a burden as well as an honor. I know there are many who would topple me if they could, and many who would rule me. That is one reason why I dare not marry, why I deny myself the solace of marriage. I am not as other women. I am the Queen. I intend to remain the Queen.” The outburst had been cathartic. She was composed now, sure again in her chosen course, aware that only in moments of weakness did she waver and begin to believe there might be another way.

“Just be careful, sweeting,” Kat urged. “Only yesterday Baron Breuner was quizzing your ladies as to how often you were alone with Lord Robert. Of course they swore by all that is holy that you have never been forgetful of your honor, but it is clear that the baron sees Lord Robert as a threat to the Archduke’s chances of success. And you and I, Bess, know well how many times you have been private with him.”

Elizabeth met her eyes. “As I have been closeted with Cecil, with Bacon, with Sussex and others, yet no one accuses me of dalliance with them.” She giggled at the thought of solemn, virtuously married Cecil rolling on the bed with her. “You need not worry about Baron Breuner, Kat. He has already raised the matter of Lord Robert with me; he asked me outright if I loved him. I told him I was so beset with my royal duties that I had not had time to think of love.”

In fact, she reflected after Kat had gone, reassured, into the outer chamber, she had of late thought of little else.

Word came that Prince Erik had set off for England, all afire to woo the Queen, but was driven back to Sweden by storms.

“God is protecting me,” Elizabeth declared thankfully to her council. “He does not intend for me to marry.”

Cecil bridled. “Madam, my head is spinning from counting your suitors. Might I venture to suggest that you think of the needs of your kingdom and choose one of them?”

“God has given me a sign, good Spirit,” Elizabeth said loftily. “And never fear, I always look to the needs of my kingdom, unfailingly.”

Erik appeared undaunted by God’s disapproval. He put to sea again, only to be embroiled in a terrible storm that saw him once more washed up, battered but not defeated, on his native shore. Soon afterward a letter from him came for Elizabeth, having bested its scribe and crossed the waves. It made her mouth twitch.

“Prince Erik writes that, although cruel Fortune has prevented him from coming by sea to claim me, he intends at the first opportunity to hasten through armies of foes to be by my side, as he is bound by an eternal love toward me.” She looked up at her councillors. “It seems, though, that matters of state are more of an obstacle than armies of foes. He cannot come just now, so he is sending his brother here in the hope of obtaining a favorable answer.”

Just hours later Cecil came to inform Elizabeth that the Earl of Arran had arrived secretly in London. “I have privily lodged him in my house at Westminster,” he said. “We cannot have him getting caught up in the crush of suitors and hopeful ambassadors at court. That would never do, when you are supposed to be entertaining him only.” It was true, Elizabeth thought, things were getting rather crowded at court. She might start a harem, like the sultan!

Two days later Arran was brought privately to see the Queen. She saw before her a mild-faced man of no special beauty and a somewhat awkward manner. It was hard to believe that the French regarded this vacuous specimen as a threat to Queen Mary, and certainly he was no great catch for the Queen of England. Even so, she would keep him dangling, for there was much she wanted of him.

They talked—if it could be described thus—of the threats from Scotland and France. Arran was only half listening. He seemed to be intrigued by a bee that was buzzing at the window.

“My lord,” Elizabeth tried again, “it is not just a threat to England. It is a threat to Protestants everywhere, and we must deal with it.”

Buzz, buzz
. Arran started and nodded. “I am at your ladyship’s disposal,” he said.
Your ladyship?
She bristled but let it go.

“I want you to return to Scotland and lead the Protestant lords
against the rule of the Queen Regent,” she told him, hoping to focus his attention. “They are eager for your coming. Together we can overthrow the Catholics in Scotland and trounce their alliance with the French. I have arranged for Thomas Randolph, our agent, to accompany you.” That was as well, for the earl might not find his way out of London otherwise.

Arran bent and kissed her hand.

“Madam, about my proposal,” he began, as if he had not heard a word she’d said.

“We will talk about it later,” said Elizabeth firmly, but with a dazzling smile. The poor fool was not quite right in the head. She would get Randolph to pinion him in a corner and explain in words of one syllable what she wanted him to do, then she would pray that Arran’s concentration span was sufficient for him to understand and actually put the plan into action; but she did not hold out much hope of that. Marry him she would not. Five minutes in his company had been enough to convince her of that.

“You are out of tune!” Elizabeth complained.

“No, it is your ears that are out of tune!” Robert countered.

She snatched the gittern from him and began strumming a melody on it, admiring the fine carving on its wooden panel and the elegantly fashioned sound holes. It sounded divine. Robert admitted defeat; like all her family, she had a gift for music.

“Bravo!” he applauded. They were sitting close together on a window seat in the gallery of Windsor Castle, replete after a good day’s hunting in the August sunshine and a hearty repast in the banqueting pavilion. Everyone else was keeping a discreet distance.

Elizabeth struck up a merry courante, but suddenly stopped, aware that Cecil was approaching, a sober presence amid the peacock colors of her courtiers.

“Madam, I must speak with you,” he said, with the briefest of nods at Robert.

“Is it urgent, William?” she asked testily.

“I think so, madam.”

“Very well.” She rose and preceded him toward the deserted council chamber. “Well, my Spirit?”

Cecil cleared his throat. “Madam, I
must
speak. These rumors about you and Lord Robert have gone too far. I received this report today. It is being said around the court that you are with child by him.” He handed her a paper.

Elizabeth burst out laughing. “William, this is nonsense and you know it! You also know I mean to die a maid.”

“I know only what Your Majesty tells me,” Cecil said stiffly, “and that you have a habit of frequently changing your mind. Madam, I beg of you, use more discretion in your dealings with Lord Robert. There are no fewer than twelve envoys now at court, all urgently pressing the suits of their hopeful masters. You are in a strong position. The princes of Europe are queuing up for your hand, and while they live in hope, they remain friendly toward us. But how they will actually fare, God knows, and certainly not I.”

“You know my mind, William. Keep them waiting, keep them sweet.”

“Madam, their heads are spinning as fast as mine is. One day you are for the Archduke, the next you affect to be indifferent to his proposal. It is the same with all your suitors, even those fools Arundel and Pickering.”

“I have turned them both down,” Elizabeth said. “I could not bear their prancing around me anymore.”

Cecil sighed. “Well, Heaven be thanked for small mercies. But what is this I hear from Bishop de Quadra? Apparently you have told him more than once that you yearn to be a nun and pass all your time in a cell praying.”

“I was teasing him,” Elizabeth confessed, giving Cecil an arch look.

“I fear he did not like your flippancy in such a matter. And yearning to be a nun does not ride well with the attention you pay Lord Robert. Madam, I fear these new rumors will be your undoing. I pray you, do not give your enemies cause for gossip.”

“Ah, my careful Spirit, there is no cause for gossip,” Elizabeth reassured him. “Do you take me for such a fool?”

“No, madam, but others think you abandon caution. Quadra believes that all is falsehood and vanity with you, and that you but toy with the Archduke.”

“God’s blood!” Elizabeth exploded. “I will teach him that he must not say such things! I will show him that I am honest in my dealings.”

Cecil concealed a smile. “And Lord Robert? You will be more circumspect?”

She smiled innocently in turn.

Elizabeth fumed and fretted. How dare Bishop de Quadra speak of her like that! She must somehow show him that she was not trifling with him—and pay him back for his rude words.

Robert’s sister, Mary Sidney, was the lady-in-waiting she loved the most after Kate Knollys. Mary and her husband Harry were especially dear to her—Elizabeth’s brother, King Edward, had died in Harry’s arms—and both were utterly loyal. Mary was raven-haired and exquisitely beautiful, a flower grafted from a noble tree; what was more, she had a good heart and a playful sense of humor. A true Dudley, she also had a penchant for intrigue. She was just the person to assist her mistress.

Elizabeth sent for Mary and told her that she wished her to visit Bishop de Quadra in secret. Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You wish me to compromise his reputation, madam?” she asked, incredulous.

“Nothing like that,” Elizabeth chuckled, “although I should dearly love to see the good bishop’s face if it were! No, Mary, it is a ploy to revive the negotiations for my marriage to the Archduke. It is not something I can broach myself.”

Mary was trying but failing to conceal her dismay. Obviously she had been hoping that the Queen would marry her brother.

Elizabeth ignored her discomfiture. “You will tell His Excellency that a plot was uncovered at Nonsuch Palace—a plot to poison me and Robert.”

“Oh, madam!” Mary cried, a look of horror on her face. “I did not know of this.”

“That is because there
was
no plot!” Elizabeth said, laughing. “But you will tell him that there was, and that you are now so afraid for my safety that you desire to see me married to a great prince who can protect me from my enemies. You will beg him to reopen negotiations on behalf of the Archduke. That you, a Dudley, are beseeching it will carry conviction.”

“Your Majesty thinks he will heed
me
?”

“Yes, indeed.” Elizabeth was enjoying herself hugely. “And you will say to him that he must ignore my apparent reluctance to discuss the marriage, as it is the custom for ladies in England not to give their consent in such matters until they are teased into it.”

Disconcerted though she was, Mary Sidney had to smile at the thought of the dignified, portly Bishop de Quadra striving to tease the Queen.

“Just tell him,” Elizabeth went on, “that the time is ripe, and I might now be prevailed upon to give my answer, and also that my council will urge me to do so, as they are tired of all the delays. Assure the bishop that you would not say such things to him if they were untrue. If it comes to it, you may even say that you are acting with my consent. Tell him I would never raise the subject myself, but that I should be glad if the Archduke would visit England.”

“Very well, madam, I will try to see him tonight.” And Mary sped from the room on soft-slippered feet.

Later, toward midnight, she returned with Robert, who gave Elizabeth a challenging look. Of course he wanted to know why she had changed her mind about the Archduke—and involved his sister, of all people, in this covert intrigue with Quadra.

“Well?” Elizabeth asked, avoiding his gaze.

“The bishop did not believe me at first,” Mary said, “so he sought out Robert.”

“Fortunately, madam, Mary had spoken to me beforehand and explained the situation,” Robert explained, a touch stiffly. “I assured him that she wasn’t lying. I think, coming from me, that carried some weight. And now, madam, may I have your leave to depart?”

“Robin, calm down,” Elizabeth said. “You know I am playing games.”

“I know nothing with you!” he retorted.

Elizabeth frowned. “Mary, could you leave us, please?” she said, and when Mary was gone, turned to Robert and put her arms around him. “I will show you what I mean very shortly, my Eyes.” She smiled. “This little charade is but a ploy to put Bishop de Quadra in his place, and teach him not to accuse me of being false and vain and fickle!”

“Ah,” Robert replied, his face relaxing into a grin. “So you do not mean to marry the Archduke, then?”

“Not at the moment,” Elizabeth replied.

The September days were warm when the Queen removed to Hampton Court. Every day, she was out in its spacious gardens, walking along broad paths lined with railed flower beds and heraldic beasts on striped poles in green and white, the royal Tudor colors.

“My father loved this place,” she told Robert, indicating the monumental red-brick complex of buildings behind her. “He took it from Cardinal Wolsey and converted it into a pleasure palace for my mother. Alas, she was dead before it was completed.”

“It is a magnificent memorial to them both,” Robert observed, “and your father did right to take it. No cardinal—or indeed any man of God—should own such a great house.”