Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (77 page)

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Susan Kay

Richmond at once. Arriving with time to spare, he went up the water

steps and into the palace where some jumped-up official in the Presence

Chamber informed him that he was late for his audience. Mendoza took

out his time-piece pointedly and examined it with compressed lips, but

the usher only shrugged insolently and opened the door to announce him.

In the room beyond, Mendoza found the Queen lying on a cushioned

couch and he checked in astonishment. There was a pinched look to her

face which suddenly caused him to feel positively genial as he bowed over

her hand.

“Good afternoon, madam. I trust I find you well.”

“You do not,” she announced peevishly. “I have been troubled by a

pain in my hip for several days.”

The look which accompanied this implied:
And you are to blame for it,

as you are for everything.
She had actually screamed that at him during a

previous meeting.

He schooled his expression into appropriate lines of sympathy.

“I’m sorry to see you suffering, madam.”

“Yes,” she said ironically, “I have no doubt you would arrange a very

speedy end to all my sufferings were it in your power to do so, Mendoza.”

He did not answer that, knowing how near the truth it was, and their

interview minced along the usual irritable lines, winding its way inevitably

to the question of the Spanish treasure. Mendoza, at first patient, became

patronising and belligerent in quick succession. He begged leave to point

out that the patience of His Most Catholic Majesty, though great, was not

without its limits. He begged leave to remind her—

Elizabeth sat upright on the couch, with two bright spots of colour

flaming into her thin face.

“Hold your damned rattling tongue, you insolent minion—I will hear

no more!”

Something snapped in Mendoza. After all these months of holding his

temper in bare restraint, he began to shout like a hysterical woman.

“Then if you will not listen to words, madam, you may shortly hear

cannon in their place!”

Her eyes narrowed suddenly and riveted his as she leaned forward a

little from her cushions.

“Speak to me like that once more, my friend,” she said softly, “and I

will put you in a place from which you will not speak again.”

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She meant it—he could see that. Diplomatic immunity would count

for nothing with this woman if she were pushed too far. The steely hold

of her eyes battered down the last of his defences and in a moment of stark

terror, he began to flatter her, fingering his ruff with a nervous gesture,

smiling uneasily, and curbing an urgent desire to urinate.

“Your Majesty has misunderstood my meaning—I spoke in jest,

merely to take your mind off your pain. No threat was intended—indeed

no. Who would wish to gainsay such a beautiful lady as Your Highness?”

The eyes released their hold and permitted him to step back from the

precipice. There was an acrid tang of sweat emanating suddenly from

his clothing and she held her pomander pointedly to her nose when she

dismissed him.

As he bowed stiffly and backed out, he reflected on the depth of his

hatred for her. It seemed to have taken control of his whole personality,

colouring and dominating every aspect of his existence. There were

times—today was one of them—when he could cheerfully have daggered

her without pausing to consider the cost. His only comfort was the certain

knowledge that her days were numbered—Spain, the Papacy, the Guise

party in France, she could not hold them off her trembling throne much

longer. It was a miracle she had lived so long.

It was true that many of her Catholic subjects remained loyal to her—

the English had no
zeal
, it was his continual complaint! Yet Mendoza

knew that the Council lived in daily dread of a Catholic assassination,

and deplored the moderation to which the Queen had clung throughout

her reign. The act of conversion to the Catholic faith had been made

illegal since Elizabeth’s excommunication and in that measure lay the core

of Mendoza’s hopes. In Douai, the famous Jesuit College was presently

training a whole new batch of young priests for their calling in England;

and once this formidable, dedicated band had infiltrated the country, their

avowed mission would be to sweep a wave of conversion across the land.

Faced with a steady growth in the numbers of English Catholics, Mendoza

knew that Parliament would panic, raising a clamour for harsher measures

which even the Queen could no longer ignore. There would be active

persecution at last, and under persecution even the most loyal and docile

Catholic might be prepared to put an end to England’s cunning Jezebel.

Mendoza went out of Elizabeth’s presence convinced that her charmed

life was in sight of its end, and determined to further that end himself by

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any means available to him. In the doorway he almost collided with the

Earl of Leicester, who smiled and bowed with mock civility, receiving in

return a salutation so curt it was almost a snarl.

Leicester went across the room and eyed the Queen cautiously before

sitting uninvited on the arm of her couch. Although she had been

expecting him and showed pleasure at his arrival, he was never entirely

sure of his welcome these days. The final departure of Alençon for his

armed mission in the Netherlands had made her more unpredictable than

ever and Leicester, above anyone else at court, found it necessary to tread

very gingerly around her moods.

“Something appears to have bitten Mendoza.” He looked at her

shrewdly. “Or would it be nearer to the truth to say
someone
?”

Elizabeth sank her teeth into a fruit sucket and smiled.

“He is a trifle ruffled, I grant you. Probably consequent on the fact that

he just declared war.”

“War?” Leicester stared down at her in alarm. “You mean
real
war?”

Elizabeth laughed shortly. “I don’t imagine even Mendoza would dare

to threaten me with toy soldiers!”

She sat upright on the couch and Leicester sank down into the space

she had made for him, looking extremely shaken.

“Good God!” he muttered, studying her face with anxiety. “This

could be serious.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m afraid Philip simply won’t oblige him in

the matter, not while I continue to hold Mary under lock and key. Poor

Mendoza will have to ease his spleen by sticking pins into my wax effigy

a little longer.”

Recal ing the ambassador’s expression of demonic rage, Leicester was

uneasy. Like most men of his age, he had a very healthy respect for al mani-

festations of witchcraft and he did not take such an accusation lightheartedly.

“If you really think that then the Spanish dog ought to be arrested and

sent packing.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“I can’t expel Mendoza without indisputable evidence that he intends

me harm—and I don’t have any evidence.”

Except, this stupid pain in my hip…which in anyone else I might call rheuma-

tism, only of course I know it’s not…it couldn’t be…by God, I’ll hang the first

doctor who dares to even suggest it…

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She stood up with slight difficulty and the great drum farthingale flung

out a wide sweep of pearl-encrusted skirts about her hips.

“Don’t lose any sleep over Mendoza, Robin. If that spineless little turd

was really capable of doing me any mischief he’d have done it by now, I

promise you.”

“And the treasure?”

“The treasure stays.” She smiled suddenly. “Only consider how it

would distress dear Francis if I returned it.”

“Quite,” conceded Leicester drily. “And we mustn’t upset dear Francis

must we?—I thought you were going to hang the knave!”

“I will, when I find a piece of rope long enough to do it.” Elizabeth

glanced out of the window where the sun was peeping sulkily through

patches of cloud. “Saddle that new gelding for me, Robin, and we’ll ride

out in the park when I’ve changed my gown.”

As she walked away from him towards the Privy Chamber, he suddenly

noted the slight, but unmistakable, limp which marred her old graceful

carriage and the sight made him frown.

“Madam,” he called after her quickly, “let us play cards or back-

gammon instead—it will be more restful.”

She stopped abruptly with her back still towards him and every muscle

in her body tensed with sudden fury. She had been confident it didn’t

show, would have sworn she could defy the most observant eye to pick

out that one tiny, disabling detail so symbolic in her mind of encroaching

age. But he had noticed—the one person in all the world from whom she

would have died to conceal it!

“
Restful
?” She repeated the word slowly as though it was an obscenity

and wheeled round to fix him with a look of absolute loathing. “It’s not

rest I need, Robert Dudley, but exercise. And be assured I’ll find it with

a man who’s nimbler on his feet these days than you are!”

The door of the Privy Chamber slammed in his face and he sat down

on the couch with rueful resignation. She had not forgiven him for

Alençon and there were times when he felt she never would. He never

knew for sure now just when she would turn on him without warning or

provocation; since the birth of his son to Lettice she had been downright

hostile on occasions. Once she had appointed his old enemy, Sussex, to

inquire into his previous liaison with Douglass Sheffield, seeking proof of

a pre-contract which would automatically invalidate his union with her

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cousin. There had been no proof, thank God, and the matter had served

no purpose other than to make him look an absolute fool in the eyes of

the court and drive Lettice into a transport of vindictive rage. For some

considerable time his home life had been conducted in frigid silence, and

he knew in his heart that that result had been the Queen’s only motive

in the whole distasteful affair. Yet, curiously, he could not hate her for

it. In a warped way, it had made him love her all the more, for he was

satisfied that her attempts to humiliate him made her suffer at a far deeper

level than he did himself. He had a family and she had nothing—nothing

but the crown which had cost her so dear in terms of private happiness.

In spite of his bondage, he had snatched a small part of his life back from

her, setting up one petty boundary beyond which she could never pass.

He felt able to cope with whatever she might choose to do against him,

for he understood that she was a deeply unhappy woman. And because

of that understanding, he found he was able to forgive her a great deal.

t t t

The Parliament of 1581 was, as Mendoza had anticipated, panic-stricken at

the rising level of recusants. Elizabeth was faced by a bill which prescribed

the death penalty for anyone found guilty of converting a subject to the

Church of Rome. She moderated it as far as she dared without alienating

Parliament, insisting that conversion itself was treasonable only if accom-

panied by withdrawal of allegiance to her; but she was forced to accept

that recusants should be taxed out of existence by staggering fines, far

beyond the reach of the majority of her Catholic subjects. She didn’t like

it and she made no secret of the fact, but Burghley had made it plain that

there was now no choice.

In May of that year the most famous Jesuit priest of all entered England.

Edmund Campion had once been Leicester’s cultured protégé and had

stepped in court circles, basking in the warmth of the Queen’s friendship

and favour; but now he travelled through England like a hunted fugitive.

For over a year he eluded all Walsingham’s efforts to capture him and

his stature and reputation soared in the eyes of the Catholic population

as he slipped from village to village, ministering secretly to the spiritual

needs of the persecuted. He was doing more than the entire Jesuit force

to put heart into the Church of Rome in England and his supporters

were beginning to think him invulnerable, when Walsingham’s spies

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finally took him on a hot July day from a priest’s hole in Berkshire and

imprisoned him in the Tower.

t t t

Elizabeth stood very still in the window embrasure, twisting the coro-

nation ring that of late had begun to grow uncomfortably tight on her

finger. Leicester, who had brought the bad news to her, stood beside

her, glad even of this tragedy which had suddenly brought them so

close together.

“It had to happen,” he said softly, “sooner or later. With Walsingham’s

spies all over the country it was inevitable. I didn’t find out until today

or I would have told you sooner—they put him in Little Ease to make

him talk.”

“
What
!” The Queen swung round and stared at him. Little Ease was