The Ringed Castle (80 page)

Except when she combed her hair, she had forgotten about it. Recollection of the incident itself still made her want to laugh at inconvenient moments, and, in respect of its effect on Mr Crawford, gave her much satisfaction. He was improving. He was making, indeed, unforeseen strides. She only hoped that Kiaya Khátún would not undo the good work when she got him.

She was kept busy at Greenwich, for the Queen’s cold made all the extra Masses a trial, and her toothache refused to yield to treatment. So when the festivities began, the Queen remained indoors out of public view while King Philip took his sister and cousin to fire off hackbuts and hunt in the sunshine. Or so they claimed. From the
Queen’s lonely irritability, Philippa doubted if she believed it. And thought, privately, that it was less a matter of dalliance than a family conclave, from which his wife’s emotional ear had been excluded. King Philip’s affliction, they said, still troubled him on occasion. About its nature, no one had been quite specific.

She worked hard, too, in order to free Jane to see her Count of Feria. Don Gomez was well born and wealthy and eighteen years older than Jane Dormer. He was also a Jesuit, which meant that he believed that consummate prudence, allied with moderate saintliness, was better than greater saintliness and mere prudence, which made it interesting to conjecture whether the betrothal, when it came, was likely to be protracted or short. The difference in age, Philippa supposed, would be overcome, Jane being very mature for her years, although she could not imagine the Count of Feria in a bright orange coat and a death’s head. She made up her mind to find out how old Mr Crawford was.

It was the Queen, concerned about Philippa’s situation, who told her that further representations were being made from all quarters about her divorce, and Austin at last began to look cheerful, and
a
number of other young men, who had become her regular escorts, began to be a little less manageable as the rumour went round. While extremely tired of her condition, half maid and half matron like the Medioxes, Philippa was aware that the matter was still far from simple.

Cardinal Pole, the Papal Legate and supreme authority on such matters was still at his palace in Canterbury, suspended in space between his recalcitrant monarch and his even more obdurate Pope. It was said that the Pope intended to revoke the Cardinal’s Legation, to deprive him of the means of doing injury to God and to himself, as he put it. The French, who had still not broken the truce in order to come to the Pope’s aid, were now wholly out of favour, and the Constable’s son still awaited his divorce.

His Holiness, who had borne the fatigues of Holy Week with incredible vigour, filled the air with thunderous grievances: Flemings and Spaniards took root like weeds, unlike the French, who flew off and would not remain were they tied and bound. All Italy, he warned the Venetian Ambassador, would be dispatched and Venice remain as the salad. But England, he bellowed, would remain at peace despite Philip, since the English were not quite so easy to cook, and the King of France possessed Scotland, a scourge for the English, who, being almost savages and poor, would go joyfully for gain into England.
 … Would to God
, said the Pope, referring to the unwell King Philip,
would to God that misguided youth would do as he ought: he has excited the great he-goats who might bite him in earnest
.

And in the Pontiff’s gracious reply to Queen Mary’s letter of appeal and contrition:
We would willingly separate the Queen’s cause from
her—we know not whether to call him husband, cousin or nephew—and to have her as a daughter. She should not allow herself to be induced to do aught to our detriment, or that of the French King, or we will spare neither relatives nor friends, but include in our maledictions and anathemas all who shall desert the cause of God
.

And King Philip, who never now discussed matters of religion, save to urge less severity in order not to upset the Queen’s people, weathered a stormy interview with his Queen with his usual coldblooded calm, and laid before her the results of his consultations with scholars, universities and theologians on the propriety of disarming this frantic Prince, the Vicar of Rome. It
is lawful for a vassal
, said the scholars,
and even more for a son, to anticipate the attack which he sees is being prepared against him by his spiritual Father and by his Prince
.

Thus the princes of Christendom, rising from their knees to hurry to their writing-desks, that Easter.

Overwhelmed with debt, surrounded by inexpert and detested commanders, with his provinces mortgaged and his revenues alienated King Philip awaited the return of Ruy Gomez with money, and a response to the humble message Ruy Gomez had borne to his father the Emperor, begging him to leave his retirement in Spain:
The success of my enterprise will depend on it … I am sure that if the world hears he has done as I ask, my enemies will take an entirely different view of the situation and will reconsider their plans.… Beg him to send me his opinion about the war, and where I had better attack and open the campaign to gain the greatest advantages.…
And while waiting, King Philip issued a letter to the nobles of England. In it, he declared that His Holiness the Pope, having seized an unjust pretext to break with him, had invaded the Kingdom of Naples, having concluded a league with the King of France and the Duke of Ferrara, and having called the Turkish fleet to assist him.

He himself, declared King Philip, had decided to raise a powerful army to create a diversion in France this summer, and, this being the first campaign in which he had taken part, he was anxious that it should go well. Since he was unable to finance it wholly from his own resources and those of Spain, he requested the bishops, the leading nobles and the high officers of state of England ‘as you are animated by the greatest zeal for our service and the general good of the Spanish kingdom’, to lend him as much money as they possibly could. And, promising ample security for repayment at the earliest possible date, he signed it, as it was written, in Spanish.

The air was not filled with the murmur of Englishmen, obediently counting their gold. And Philippa, traitorously, had cause to be glad that the four ships now lying above London Bridge were already freighted with their cargo of arms, destined for another country entirely.

They were due to sail on May 3rd; and on April 19th the Court returned to Whitehall Palace in London. On the same day the Muscovite Ambassador went to Westminster Abbey to hear Mass, and later to the Lord Abbot’s for dinner. Afterwards, he was invited to tour the reopened monastery and to inspect St Edward’s new shrine. Then, escorted by the Aldermen of the City and the merchants of the Muscovite Company in splendid array, he rode into the park and back to the city. He wore his cloth of gold with raised crimson velvet, and the Voevoda Bolshoia was not with him.

On April 22nd, the Queen gave a farewell banquet in Westminster for the two Duchesses of Lorraine and Parma, on the eve of their long-awaited departure. Philippa was there, but not the Muscovite Ambassador.

Ludovic d’Harcourt sent her a note and later called, by appointment, to see how she was. He himself, his cloak covering the empty sleeve of his doublet, was well on the mend. The Voevoda Bolshoia did not call, or send her a note. Philippa, accustomed by now to the minimal courtesies, recalled that with Mr Crawford the proffering of even the minimal courtesies was dependent on the current state of his nerves. She took, since there was no other course, a philosophic view of the matter.

On April 23rd, the Feast of St George, the Crown held a chapter at Whitehall of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, the premier English order of knighthood, and combined with it, in a stroke of inspiration allied to economy, the ceremonial leavetaking of Osep Nepeja, the Muscovite Ambassador.

After the ceremony, which included a procession by King Philip and his knights in red velvet through the Hall and round the court by the Hall, viewed by the Queen from a window, the Muscovite Ambassador was received in audience upstairs in the Queen’s presence chamber in an audience attended by both Philippa Somerville and the Voevoda Bolshoia.

The whole Court was there. The room was filled with noblemen, Spanish and English, and their ladies; with Aldermen and Muscovite merchants, conducted hence by the Earl of Shrewsbury in loyal support of the Ambassador. With the ten Knights of the Garter, including Sir William Petre, sweating under the weight of his robes, and Henry Sidney, accompanying his brother-in-law Sussex, newly invested as a Knight of the Order. With Austin Grey, Marquis of Allendale, whose uncle, Lord Grey of Wilton, had also today been elected
in absentia
.

It was an occasion for extravagant costume. The Heralds’ tabards outglittered the rich coats of the Royal Guard, ranked with their halberds; the courtiers crowded the spaces amongst them, bright as chattering fountains in sunlight. Philippa, entering gravely as the
Queen, to the sound of trumpets, moved to her Chair of Estate saw that the merchants, in a frenzy of optimism, had fitted out Master Nepeja with a new garment, jewelled and embroidered and more splendid than any he had exhibited yet. She thought, but could not believe, that there were earrings lost somewhere on each side of the box-cut brown beard.

She had spent a great deal, it had to be admitted, on her own dress, which had a jewelled petticoat, quite impracticable, and a train of white gauze, lightly wired, cut to fall from her shoulders. Philippa added to it all the accessories it demanded, which were a straight back, a severe hairline and a scowl, and sailed into the room to take her place, standing, by the Queen’s chair. Since she had a point to make, she made it a positive one.

Nepeja, naturally, was waiting in mid-floor with his sponsors. Last time, it had taken her some searching to disentangle the supercilious face of Mr Crawford, and even then, all she had received, tardily, was the concession of a raised pair of eyebrows. This time, she cast one stately glance round the packed and perfume-soaked room and saw him, instantly, although he was not even looking at her.

He was not where she had expected him to be, and far from being conspicuous. In front of him, she now saw, was the cheerful bulk of Ludovic d’Harcourt, smiling at her, and the short man with the fluffy hair, whom she had been told was called Daniel Hislop, and Adam Blacklock, familiar from long ago, with the thin pink scar like a pen mark running across his lean face, which no one had been able to explain to her.

But she saw them all afterwards. What had drawn her eye was the sensation of being looked at; which was odd, because she was used to the considering stares of the Court, as they weighed up your rings and your sempstress and your behaviour, and the look in the Queen’s eye as she addressed you. But where the gaze was which had attracted her she could not now tell. Mr Crawford’s eyes were downcast, and she could see, even at this distance, the graze he had received at the Revels and Masques, standing out against the rest of his profile.

She stared at him for a while, with her eyebrows raised, and then realized that Lady Lennox was looking at her, and let her eyes wander. Master Nepeja, echoed by Robert Best, was making a long oration in Russian thanking her gracious Majesty for her hospitality and for all the loving kindness shown to himself and his master by the Queen’s gentle subjects. He began, she noted, with some over-confidence and then lost his way half-way through and had to be guided back to his page by Rob Best. Then the Queen replied, and the reply was duly translated. After that, one by one, the Embassy stepped up to the dais, to kiss hands and take formal leave.

And then, of course, Mr Crawford had to emerge, and walking
forward knelt, while the Queen’s short-sighted eyes, frowning, looked down on him. Philippa could not hear what was said. But she saw him rise and step back bowing, first to the Queen and then to King Philip, and then incline his head, smiling faintly, to Petre and one or two other Councillors. Then, just as he stepped aside, he turned his head and sent the same smile, shared, between Lady Lennox and herself.

Recognition at last. Philippa grinned, despite all her resolutions, and he caught it, backing deftly into his place. Then, seeing she still had his eyes, she smiled again, but he had stopped looking and was listening, head bent, to something Rob Best was whispering. Then it was time to assist the Queen rise and walk, with the whole company following, to the chapel for Vespers. The Muscovite Ambassador was led before the entire Order to take his stately seat with the Duke of Norfolk, higher in order of ranks than all the lords of England and Spain and above all the other exalted personages then of the company. Afterwards, eschewing the reception upstairs, he was escorted to his barge to return downstream to his lodging.

Philippa Somerville, staging a brief and spurious moment of giddiness, handed her duties briskly to Jane Dormer and, chastised by her train, raced down to the landing-stage after him.

The Ambassador was there, surrounded by his merchants, his nine Russians and his aldermen, but the Voevoda Bolshoia had vanished. Ludo d’Harcourt, applied to, searched the landing-stage also. ‘He was here a moment ago. Has he gone back to the Palace?’

No one knew. At least, when the barge departed ten minutes later, he was not in it; and it had to be concluded that he had decided to make his own way back to Fenchurch Street. Which, indeed, proved to be the case. Long after the Knights of the Garter had laid their robes thankfully back in their coffers, and the Court, equally thankfully, had retired to the chambers it happened to favour that evening, Francis Crawford strolled into Master Dimmock’s fine mansion and appeared surprised and even faintly displeased to find himself waylaid on the stairs by d’Harcourt.

D’Harcourt, forced to deliver his message on the landing, was made aware of precisely how lame his embassy was. ‘I deeply regret,’ Lymond said, ‘and even had you approached me in the morning, I should have regretted as deeply, that I have no leisure at present for calling on ladies. If
you
have, then perhaps you would convey as much.’