Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (43 page)

with work! No one had ever stretched his mind like this before and her

ability to manage her affairs and her court never ceased to amaze him. Oh

no, he had no qualms about her conduct in Council.

It was her private hours of pleasure that gave him real concern. He

allowed for her youth, allowed for the years of miserable restraint—but

he simply could not make allowance for her relationship with Robin

Dudley. And that relationship was becoming quite impossible to ignore.

Cecil stood unobtrusively in the doorway of the Great Hall, glowering

at the court masque, waiting for some appropriate moment at which to

catch her eye and draw her aside. There was news from France—not

Legacy

pressing, admittedly—but news he would prefer to discuss before she went

to bed—if she ever went to bed! Sometimes he doubted it. They were

dancing—well, he had nothing against dancing, he was no Puritan—but

was it necessary to dance all night with the same partner? By the same

token, was it necessary to wear a green wig?

The music rose to a climax and every partner exchanged a formal kiss.

Only there was nothing
formal
in the way Robin Dudley kissed his

Queen; and Cecil found his own hands were clenched with anger.

They must be watched. Later, I shall arrange it
—

The masque ended and the court applauded as Robin led the Queen

back to the dais. She sat down in the chair of state and handed him her

heavy mask on its silver handle. Robin, in turn, handed it to his sister, pretty,

dark-eyed Mary Sidney, who curtsied and withdrew tactful y out of hearing.

“You make a better mermaid without the mask,” said Robin thought-

fully. “That pale mysterious face of yours beneath a green wig has quite

an eerie fascination. You look like—”

“Like death, Kat said.” Elizabeth’s eyes were smoky with kohl; her

smile was provocative.

“Ashley is a silly old fool,” said Robin seriously. “There can’t be

another woman in England who could wear that wig and get away with

it. Why shouldn’t you wear something that suits you so extraordinarily

well? You are the Queen.”

“True.” Elizabeth nibbled the plumes of her fan aggressively. “I am

the Queen and answerable to none save God. If I should wish to be

outrageous, eccentric, even
dishonourable
—” She caught a sight of the

grim figure by the door and broke off with a sharp sigh. “Damn! There’s

Cecil hanging around like the ghoul at the feast. I swear if he had his way

I’d be locked up in a glass cabinet and only trotted out for Council meet-

ings and state occasions. Judging by his face I’d say he doesn’t approve of

my green hair either.”

Robin followed her glance with sudden hostility.

“It’s not his place to approve or disapprove of you, madam. I wonder

you don’t box his ears and tell him to go to the Devil.”

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head.

“Ah no, to lay a finger on all that dignity would be sacrilege.” She

leaned back in her chair, fanning herself lazily. “Now you, on the other

hand, have the sort of face that simply asks to be slapped.”

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“Is that all my face moves you to, madam?” His eyes were steady on

her face. “It did not seem so to me just now when we danced.”

He moved close, leaning over the arm of her chair with the boldly

painted hunter’s mask hanging from a ribbon on his strong wrist. She was

acutely aware that the talk and laughter in the hall had become muted,

that all eyes were fixed upon them in vulgar curiosity.

“You must not kiss me again like that.”

“How would Your Majesty prefer me to kiss you?” he inquired pleas-

antly. “Like that wooden idiot Pickering?”

“Not at all for the present,” she said coolly. “I would prefer you to

leave the court for a while.”

His hand on hers tightened angrily. “For what purpose?”

“To perform a small service for me. But, of course, if you are unwilling

I can easily find someone else—Tom Heneage perhaps—or that wooden

idiot, Pickering—”

Robin kissed her hand hastily.

“You don’t need those fools. I can provide anything Your Majesty

may desire.”

“Anything?” she mocked. “Anything at all?”

“Tell me what you wish me to do.” He was suddenly eager and

humble. “Please tell me, madam.”

It was always “madam” now, whenever he was uncertain of her,

whenever he was afraid he had taken familiarity too far. It was something

to hold power over such an arrogant young man.

“I want you to consult your astrologer, Dr. Dee,” she said slowly.

“On your behalf ?”

She nodded. “To discuss the most propitious day for my corona-

tion—if there ever
is
a coronation. Cecil’s yet to find a bishop willing

to crown me.”

Robin frowned. “Catholic bishops! Why wait on them? The Protestant

clergy will soon be flocking back from Geneva, ready to slit each other’s

throat for the honour!”

“It’s too early to risk trouble, Robin. I dare not be crowned by

Protestant rites.”

“Have
all
the Catholic bishops refused?”

“All save one, and who can blame them? Once I’m safely crowned I

shall be quite at liberty to start a reign of persecution worse than the last.”

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“But you won’t,” he pointed out reasonably. “You’ve given your

royal word—”

She looked up at him quickly, with a slight smile.

“And knowing what my royal word is worth, you as a Catholic bishop

would be prepared to trust your life to it?”

He coughed and supposed not; they shared a smile. After a moment

he said cheerfully, “So there’s not much point in my going down to

Mortlake to see Dee, is there?”

Elizabeth shrugged.

“Well—there’s always Bishop Oglethorpe. He’s too scared of the

Pope to say yes, and too scared of me to say no, but since I’m nearer than

the Pope I may well win in the end. And the minute he agrees I want to

be ready, with the stars on my side. If you go I shall be endlessly grateful.”

“May I know what form that gratitude will take?” he inquired

significantly.

“Leave of absence,” she said mischievously, “to visit your wife.”

“My
wife
!”

“Yes—with this ring I thee wed—remember?”

He wrenched the hunter’s mask from his wrist with a savage twist that

snapped the ribbon, and his sister glanced round in alarm.

“I won’t be mocked,” he said darkly. “Even by the Queen.”

“I’m not mocking—merely reminding my Master of Horse that he

has not ridden his own mare for many weeks. You are a married man,

Robin.”

“And if I were not?”

The rash words were out and could not be recalled. He knew a

moment of acute unease, until he saw that she was still smiling, her gaze

bright, amused, and tolerant.

“If you were not you would be in need of a wife, my Robin. And I

rather think I should have to find you one with some alacrity.” She stood

up abruptly. “Now let loose my hand—I must go to Cecil.”

t t t

Robin left the court for Mortlake in a mood of baffled exasperation and

Elizabeth was conscious of some relief. There was a great deal requiring

her attention and it was easier to concentrate without those predatory

eyes constantly following her about. Cecil relaxed, too, in Robin’s

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absence, and lowered his guard against fear of disillusion. She was not

going to disappoint him, as others had. It was almost ten years now since

he had singled her out as his personal protégée, and so far she had not

put a foot wrong along the slippery ledge she walked. She was young and

totally inexperienced, yet she behaved like a seasoned statesman. At her

first public reception Philip’s Ambassador had challenged her to be “very

careful” in religious matters.

“It would indeed be bad of me to forget God, who has been good to

me,” she had replied innocently, and Cecil had been astonished at the

ease with which she slid round the direct threat from Spain. Everyone

knew she must keep friends with Philip, yet to lose faith with none of

her Protestant allies while doing it—now that was truly remarkable! Her

own personal leanings were still an ambiguous question mark in Europe,

and she had taken the heat out of religious controversy by forbidding all

public sermons for the present.

No English sovereign had ever sat on a more uncertain throne. The

Catholics considered her a bastard; the influential Protestants, now

flocking back into the country from exile, expected to see an immediate

return to the religious regime of King Edward. Religion could make or

break her, and quite honestly Cecil saw no way of effecting a settlement

that would make her safe. With her claim to the throne so tenuous, she

could not afford to alienate any large section of the population; but clever

as she was, she had to alienate someone soon. She could not sit on the

religious fence for ever.

They talked long on the issue and he looked forward to each personal

interview, because he could talk to her like a man. It was his pleasure to

guide her; she learnt so quickly. On Christmas Day she walked out of the

chapel before the elevation of the Host—if there was uproar they could

always say she had felt ill. There was no uproar. On New Year’s Day she

proclaimed all future services would be held in English. Still no outcry.

It was working, this gentle easing away from Rome, each step so small it

was hardly noticeable, yet inexorably showing the way they would go.

Soon they would be ready for Parliament.

What surprised Cecil most was her complete lack of illusion. She

deceived everybody, but she never deceived herself. She knew all the

odds were against her success. She was surrounded on all sides by rival

claimants to the throne whose legitimacy was beyond question. And

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England was weak, riven by internal divisions, virtually bankrupt since

Mary’s disastrous campaign in France. What a task! He had seen strong

men, able men, go under with less than half the opposition that waited

for Elizabeth. Her enemies said smugly that it was only a question of

time and waited gleefully for her brief hour of triumph to collapse like a

speculator’s bubble.

But if she was nervous and insecure, no one knew about it. She had a

calm, unquestioned air of authority which had caused even Feria to admit

grudgingly that “she never gives her orders and has her way as absolutely

as her Father did.”

Fluent in six languages, she was uniquely independent in her dealings

with foreign ambassadors; and her Council she had tamed by the end of

her first week. Not a man among them seriously entertained the hope of

becoming the power behind the throne. Even Cecil knew his place.

Only a husband could hope to challenge her power. She had said

many times in private, and in public, that she did not intend to take one.

But, naturally, no one believed her.

t t t

The Count de Feria was not enjoying his ambassadorial duties in England.

Communication with King Philip had led him to believe he would step

effortlessly into the same unique position of influence that Renard had

held in the previous reign.

But it simply had not happened. Far from becoming her chief adviser,

he was finding it extraordinarily difficult to get close enough to give any

advice at all. He was hedged in by an unseemly press of envoys and special

emissaries of foreign suitors and no one seemed the least impressed by his

credentials as Spanish Ambassador. And he was not accustomed to being

treated as though he were of no account.

He wrote home in alarm to inform his master, “I am afraid one day we

shall find this woman married and I shall be the last person in the palace

to know anything about it.”

Personally he considered the Queen’s attitude to be suicidal. Without

Philip’s support her petty, insignificant little crown would be knocked off

her swollen head inside six months. And yet this jumped-up, low-born

baggage still behaved as though she were the centre of the universe—and

more to the point, succeeded in getting everyone around her to treat her

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accordingly. Feria had never seen so many men compete for the honour

of making utter fools of themselves—Lord, they fell over themselves

backwards to keep her in a pleasant humour. It was a ridiculous sight.

Give her a year at this rate and there would not be a single
man
among

the lot of them. Already they showed disturbing signs of losing their

initiative, and more incredibly, their self-interest.

Feria had found he could not even bribe with success. One very

promising candidate, accepting his delicate overtures with interest, had

come back to tell him the next day that “the Queen says it is quite accept-

able for me to take the money and I should be glad if you would let me