The Marriage Game (23 page)

Judging the mood of her councillors and people in the wake of her brush with death, Elizabeth was reluctant to summon Parliament.

“Not yet!” she insisted. She had no intention of being bullied into marrying. She had no peace from Robert on the subject, let alone Cecil, and her Lords and Commons could be demanding and stubborn.

“Madam, the business of the kingdom cannot wait,” her Spirit persisted.

“After Christmas,” she said firmly.

“There are pressing matters to be discussed,” Robert weighed in. Since his preferment to the council, he had made himself cognizant of all such matters and conscientious in making his voice heard. On this issue he, Norfolk, and Cecil were in accord.

Arundel spoke up. “Madam, it is the succession of which we speak.”

“It is not seemly for you, a subject, to interfere in such a matter,” Elizabeth reproved him, very angry now.

“With respect, madam, it is the right of your Lords and Commons to interfere in a matter that touches the whole realm,” Arundel answered.

She rounded on him furiously. “You would not have dared say that to my father!”

“Your father, madam, made continuous efforts to secure the succession, as I remember,” Arundel countered.

“And he would have had your head for such insolence!” she shouted, hot tears of temper welling.

“Let us calm down,” Cecil intervened. Never mind the succession: war was threatening here in the council chamber. “Madam, leaving
aside the question of your successor, which it is Your Majesty’s prerogative to decide, may I remind you that Parliament has the power to vote for the revenues that the crown badly needs at this time?”

He had her there, damn him! The treasury was all but empty. She gritted her teeth and summoned Parliament.

1563
 

Even before Parliament convened, Westminster was abuzz with talk of the succession. Members coming up from the shires had but one aim in mind, which they shared with the Lords donning their fur-trimmed robes in readiness for the opening ceremonies. After the previous autumn’s smallpox scare, the matter must be settled once and for all.

Robert was bursting with anticipation. It was now “next year,” Elizabeth had given him her promise, and the whole country, miraculously, was on his side.

The Queen was seated defiantly in state on her throne in the House of Lords as Dean Nowell of St. Paul’s delivered the opening address. And, predictably, he did not waste time in raising the subject that was on everyone’s mind.

“Just as Queen Mary’s marriage was a terrible plague to all England, so now the want of Queen Elizabeth’s marriage and royal issue is like to prove as great a plague,” he declaimed. Elizabeth glowered at him, but he faced her boldly. “Madam, if your parents had been of like mind, where would you have been then?”
You
would have been in the Tower had you spoken thus to my father, Elizabeth thought, simmering with wrath. But the dean plowed on, ignoring her icy gaze. “Alack!” he cried. “What shall become of us?”

I know what will become of
you
, she thought viciously. How she
contained her fury, she did not know, and she was mightily relieved to depart soon afterward (inwardly vowing never again to show favor to Dean Nowell), leaving both houses to their furious debating. She knew she had not heard the last of them, and sure as the Dreadful Day of Judgment, a lovingly worded petition signed by all the Lords and Commons arrived at Whitehall soon afterward. Before she knew it, Elizabeth found herself standing once more in her presence chamber, facing her Commons.

The Speaker, looking suitably intractable and kneeling at the head of a deputation of his equally intractable fellows, read it out to her. “Your Majesty, we, your loyal and loving subjects, so rejoice in the bounty and fruits of Your Majesty’s rule that we earnestly desire to see its glorious continuance, and to this end we urge you most humbly to marry as soon as it may please you, or to designate a successor; for in so doing you will strike terror into your enemies and replenish your subjects with immortal joy.” He went on relentlessly to remind her of the terror felt by her people during her illness, and warned her that unspeakably awful civil wars might result if she died without naming her successor. A very long list of calamities would ensue: the meddlings of foreign princes, the warring of ambitious factions, seditions, slaughter, the destruction of noble houses, the subversion of towns, the stealing of men’s possessions, attainders, treasons … Elizabeth wondered if bad weather might even be on the list.

The Speaker droned on, clearly uncomfortable to be delivering such a lengthy petition that laid its message on rather heavily. “We fear the heretics in your realm, the malicious papists. From the Conquest to the present day, the kingdom was never left as it is now, without a certain heir. If Your Highness could conceive or imagine the comfort, surety, and delight that should come to you by beholding an imp of your own, it would sufficiently remove all your scruples.” Elizabeth was not particularly fond of any imps, even royal ones, so this particular argument left her singularly unmoved, and it did not even begin to address what must happen before the said imp could be beheld.

Having finished at last, the Speaker looked up nervously and held
out the petition. Elizabeth nodded and took it from him as if it had been contaminated by poison.

“I thank you all,” she said, summoning up far more graciousness than she actually felt. “I will read over your petition and make my answer as soon as is convenient.” Then she made her escape in as stately a fashion as possible.

Robert hastened out after her.

“No!” she said when he caught up. “Not now, Robin. I have heard enough about marriage for today.” But there was Cecil, ready to waylay her at the door to the privy chamber. She groaned inwardly.

“You heard what Parliament wants?” she growled.

“Yes, madam.”

“And no doubt
you
want to give me your advice!”

“Madam, the matter is so deep that I cannot reach into it. But I will say, God send it—and you—a good issue!”

“Amen!” said Robert. Elizabeth sailed past them, not deigning to reply.

She would not, could not, give in. She was the Queen, by God! How dare they maneuver her into a corner on a matter that touched her so closely? If she married, she would do it in her own time and no one else’s.

She summoned the Speaker back, and received him and other members of the Commons in the gallery at Whitehall. Standing deliberately in front of a magnificent portrait of a menacing Henry VIII, she welcomed them as they knelt before her.

“I thank you all for your petition,” she said, smiling as benignly as was humanly possible. “I assure you that I am as worried about the succession as you are, especially since my illness. The matter occupied my mind constantly as I recuperated. And when I thought myself on my deathbed, I desired to live not so much for my own safety as for yours.” She was watching their faces closely. She knew she had won their sympathy.

“I labor under an intolerable burden,” she went on. “You ask me to
name a successor, but I cannot wade into so deep a matter without weighty deliberation, and I am concerned about choosing the right heir. If my choice were to lead to civil war, you, my loving subjects, might lose your lives—but
I
hazard to lose both body and soul, for I am answerable to God for my actions.”

A few heads were nodding sagely. Many faces showed understanding. But now Elizabeth frowned. “It is not your place to petition me on this matter. But I know the difference between men who act out of love and those who make mischief. I have no wish to hear you speak of my death, for I do know that I am mortal, but I appreciate your concerns. I promise you, I will take further advice, and then I will give you an answer. And I assure you all,” she added, her smile radiant again, “that though, after my death, you may have many stepdames, you will never have a more natural mother than I mean to be to you all.”

It was a touch of genius, she felt. Her words had clearly left the deputation feeling comforted, and they departed happily with hearty words of thanks and much praise for the Queen’s wisdom and her care for them.

But two days later Elizabeth had to face a contingent from the House of Lords, who were not so easily quelled. They urged her, nay, demanded of her, to marry whomsoever she pleased, and as soon as she pleased. Then they had the nerve—the overweening audacity—to say that even Lord Robert would be a better choice than no husband at all. The look on Robert’s face would have stopped an army in full charge, and it was well that he had to control his anger, being in the Queen’s presence.

“Name your successor,” the Lords begged, “since law and order dies upon the death of princes.”

Elizabeth froze, and there was an awkward silence until Norfolk, unsubtle as usual, broke it. “The Queen of Scots has a claim to Your Majesty’s throne.”

“She is barred by the Act of Succession, and by virtue of being born out of the realm,” Elizabeth said coldly.

“Even so, madam, she takes her claim seriously, as do the Catholics in England and abroad. We, your faithful lords, are anxious to have it
disposed of, for as mere natural Englishmen, we do not wish to be subject to a foreign prince, and Queen Mary is a stranger. The very stones in the streets would rebel at the prospect of her ruling this realm!” As would I, Elizabeth thought. Mary queening it in her pretty gowns in France, with her pretty head unbothered by state matters, was one thing; Mary queening it in Scotland, just on England’s doorstep, and scheming to get her throne, was quite another.

She stood there fuming, waiting for them to finish haranguing her. She did not bother to conceal her irritation. “My lords, I made allowances for the Commons, but I expect
you
to know better than to press me on such weighty matters. It is not impossible that I will marry.” She looked at Robert and was gratified to see that his rage had subsided and that he was regarding her with an expectant smile on his face. “I am not old,” she went on. “I am not yet thirty. The marks you see on my face are not wrinkles, they are the fading scars of smallpox; and although I might be old to start bearing children, God may send them to me if He wishes, as He did to St. Elizabeth. So you had better consider well what you are asking, for if I were to declare a successor from among my kinsfolk, it would cost England much blood.”

That silenced them! They left meekly as lambs, and as the days passed and it became clear that a chastened Parliament—obediently awaiting a response to its petitions—was deliberately refraining from debating the succession, Elizabeth began to believe that she had quelled the Lords and Commons into silence. But Robert was not prepared to be silent. One night, as they lay abed and she expected him to claim her as usual, he did not. Instead, he raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, and he was not teasing or amorous.

“Bess, with all this talk of marriage going on, you have not said a word of it to me, and yet you have promised to marry me this year. Why will you not satisfy Parliament and tell them that is your intention?”

Elizabeth’s tired mind fumbled for words. “Sweet Robin, I have not forgotten my promise. But I shall say to you what I intend to say to Parliament when I can face responding to those two great scrolls they had the nerve to force upon me. If you think that I have vowed or
determined never to trade the single life for marriage, put that out of your mind, for your belief is awry.” She reached up and traced his cheek and beard with her finger. “I love you, Robin. And though I think the single life would be possible for a private woman, I do strive to tell myself that it is not meet for a prince. Be patient with me a short while longer, for if I can bend my liking to your need, I will not fail you.”

“But you have
promised
,” Robert persisted. “Is this a woman’s promise?” He was irate now.

“Anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor,” she riposted. “I
have
promised, on the word of a prince!”

“Then why the ifs and the striving? Surely you knew your mind when you gave that promise?”

Elizabeth flared. “Of course I did! But there is far more to the matter than two lovers plighting their troth. If I have given you an answer answerless, it is because you, like Parliament, have forced me to it!”

“Why can you never be straightforward?” Robert flung back. “With you, all is obfuscation and delay! What is an answer answerless if it is not another of your stalling tactics? Elizabeth, the country needs an heir. I need an heir. I need a wife too, and the only woman I want is you. But if you keep me waiting much longer, I swear I will look elsewhere.”

They both drew back, appalled—he at having blurted out what had sometimes, disturbingly, crept into his mind lately, and she at the notion that he might abandon her and find love with a lesser mortal.

“Get out,” she snarled, picking up a pillow and hurling it at him, then kicking him for good measure.

“Don’t worry, I’m going!” Robert shouted, not caring who heard. And, ducking as the next pillow came hurtling through the air, he grabbed his nightgown, pulled it on furiously, and stamped back to his own room.