Cecil was silent. Robert was gleeful.
“God’s Death!” he cried, using one of her oaths. “Why should we not crush this Catholic domination? Why should Your Majesty not be supreme head of the Protestant world?”
“There speaks the soldier,” she said, giving him a sharp tap on the cheek. “Let us have war that my lord of Leicester may distinguish himself and bring great glory to his name! Nay, Robert, the good things are won in peace. Is that not so, Master Cecil?”
“At this time, Madam, it would be daring enough to confiscate the bullion.”
“What reprisals could be taken by our little saint in his Escorial?”
“I do not think he is in a position to do overmuch. But there is the wool trade to consider and, as Your Majesty is well aware, our best customers are the Low Countries. Alba could seize our merchants’ goods there.”
“Well, we could seize the goods of the Netherlanders in England, which I believe are greater. Think of the riches these Netherlanders have built up in our country. Why, if we seized their goods and property here they would make such an outcry that the Spaniards would be forced to come to a peaceful settlement. Nay, my dear lords, no harm will come of this. We shall have the bullion as our loan; and this will teach these Spaniards to have more respect for Englishmen on the high seas. Hawkins was treated maliciously by those Spanish Dons in Mexico. Shall I allow my subjects to be treated thus?”
“But Hawkins gave as good as he got, Your Majesty,” said Robert.
“As good as he got? Nay, better, which is what I would expect of an Englishman.”
And in such good mood was she that Robert dared show his jealousy of her newest favorite.
“This Hatton man,” he said, when Cecil had left them. “Your Majesty cannot truly be so delighted with his company as it would seem.”
“But I am, Robert. I am. I declare my Lids are as necessary to me as my Eyes … or nearly so.”
“How can you say that?” he demanded passionately.
“Because it is true, dear Eyes.”
“Your Majesty seeks to torment me.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I have loved you long and you grow tired of such enduring devotion.”
“God’s Body!” she cried. “Never would I tire of fidelity. It is to my way of thinking the most endearing quality.”
“And Your Majesty doubts mine?”
“I doubt it not, dear Robin. Doubt not mine for you.”
He kissed her hand, wondering whether he might speak to her of marriage, but he was more cautious than he had been in the days before that spell of disfavor. She smiled at the frown between his brows, and she thought: Dear Robin, he grows older. He loses those handsome looks.
There were streaks of white in the once black hair; the skin beneath the eyes was a little pouchy, the fine line of the jaw a little flabby. A tenderness came over her. She would not tell him so, but she loved him no less than she had in the days when she had so often thought of him as a husband. If her thoughts were calmer now, they were no less affectionate.
She was still the coquette; but she had made her wishes clear. She was to be eternally young, even though Lanoy had failed to find his elixir. All handsome men, whatever their ages, must be in love with her. It was part of the homage she demanded as their Queen.
She was ready to tease Robert a little about Hatton, that greedy man, who had been bold enough to ask for part of the Bishop of Ely’s garden. Hatton had received his garden—twenty acres of fertile land between Holborn Hill and Ely Place—although Bishop Cox had protested most bitterly.
“Methinks, Robert,” she said, “you are more than my Eyes. I read your thoughts. I have given a garden to Hatton. But think, my dear friend, what I have given to you. And I doubt not that, ere you and I leave this Earth, I shall give you much more. Yet in return what do I ask? Your affection, your loyalty to the Queen, and your fidelity to Elizabeth.”
“They are yours, my beloved.”
She smiled at him, and although the smile was tender it held a warning. She had heard that two sisters at Court were madly in love with him; and that there was continually strife between them because of this. One was Lady Sheffield and the other was Frances Howard. He must so far have remembered the pain of his exile, which had started with a flirtation with Lettice Knollys, for Elizabeth had not heard that he had given either of these sisters the slightest encouragement.
And, she thought grimly, it would be wiser for him not to do so. She could not tolerate any of her favorites’ marrying, but that her first favorite should have a love affair at Court was more than she could bear. It seemed to her that her life and Robert’s life were closely bound; she had always been attracted to him—first in the nursery, then in the Tower and later at Court; she knew now that she would always love him beyond all others whatever befell. She felt a similar affection for Kat Ashley. She might quarrel with her and with Robert, but she would love them until she died. And whereas Kat was the friend, Robert was the lover.
He made one more attempt, and she enjoyed his making it because it was the symbol of his jealousy.
“What is it you admire so much in the popinjay?”
“Come, Robert, do not show your jealousy of a man because he is younger and more agile on his feet than you. Have you seen the fellow in the dance?”
“The dance!” said Robert. “I will bring Your Majesty a dancing master who will perform more gracefully before your eyes than Master Christopher Hatton.”
“Pish!” said the Queen. “I’ll not see your man. It is his trade to dance.”
She laughed at his discomfiture. She was pleased, thinking of her love for Robert, of the bullion which would shortly lie in her coffers, and of the pique and embarrassment of that pale man of Spain who had had the bad taste, after seeking to marry her, not to wait for more than a few months before marrying a French Princess.
In the Castle which was now her prison, Mary Queen of Scots heard of the tension between Spain and England. Tempestuous and impulsive herself, she was certain that this would mean war between the two countries. She did not understand the characters of Philip and Elizabeth; neither was of a nature to plunge into war. Mary, alas for herself, knew no such caution. Now she had wild hopes. If there were war, and Spain were victorious, she would not only be restored to her throne, but given that of England as well, providing she was ready to return the country to the Catholic Faith; and this she would be most happy to do.
The Casket Letters were causing a great deal of scandal, and many were asking themselves and each other how such a woman as Mary, obviously unfitted to govern her country, could possibly be restored to her throne. A solution was suggested: Why should she not marry an English husband chosen for her by the English Parliament, and one whom she could marry with Elizabeth’s consent? Then she might be considered next in succession if Elizabeth died childless. If her husband were an Englishman, England could be sure of peace with Scotland. There was one man very suitable for the position of Mary’s husband; this man was the first peer of England, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk.
This opinion was put forward by the Catholic peers of the North, for although Norfolk professed himself to be of the Anglican Faith, he was at heart a Catholic.
Leicester, with Sussex and Throckmorton, decided that, providing Norfolk and Mary became good Anglicans and took the rites of the Church of England to Scotland, this match could not fail to be beneficial to England.