But it did not come to pass; and now Philip was coming home because he wanted my country to join his in the war against the French.
WE WERE DISTURBED by the menace of another rebellion. This time it was Thomas Stafford. It was very disconcerting to me because the young man was Reginald's nephew.
Reginald was very upset about it. He talked to me about Thomas, who had renounced the Catholic faith. When he was on the Continent, Reginald had made great efforts to bring him back to it—but in vain.
Thomas's mother, Ursula, was the daughter of my dear Countess of Salisbury; thus she was Reginald's sister. So the young man had royal blood on that side of the family; but his father was the third Duke of Buckingham who was descended from Thomas Woodstock, third son of Edward III. So … Thomas had royal blood on both sides, and he had the temerity to consider that his claim to the throne was greater than mine, for he declared that, by marrying a Spaniard, I had forfeited my right to it.
It seemed so recklessly stupid that one felt one should ignore it, and, as Thomas Stafford was abroad, we did for some time. It had seemed just one of the minor irritations I was doomed to suffer.
Gradually we began to see that it was not so trivial. This was when the English ambassador to France sent dispatches home which indicated that Thomas Stafford was being received with respect by Henri Deux, who was giving him encouragement, and had even promised him two ships to help him.
Ruy Gomez da Silva arrived in England. It was February and bitterly cold.
I was delighted to see him, because I knew that his coming meant that Philip would soon follow.
Ruy Gomez was a typical Spanish nobleman. He was a master of courtesy, as Philip was; but Ruy Gomez had an ease of manner, a way of flattering with his eyes and paying unspoken compliments which made one feel attractive even though one knew to the contrary. He was a very gracious, charming gentleman.
He asked for an audience immediately on his arrival and, of course, I granted it with alacrity.
Susan warned me that, underneath all the charm, here was an astute diplomat who should be carefully watched.
He talked pleasantly and easily of the journey, the crossing and the health of Philip, which was good.
“His Majesty has been completely immersed in his duties, which were onerous, and now that the Emperor has passed his dominions to his beloved son, those duties are increasing.”
“We shall have much to discuss,” I said.
“The French are causing a great deal of trouble,” Gomez told me.
“There are always some to cause trouble, and often it is the French.”
“The King needs all the assistance he can get.”
He did not actually say that Philip was coming to ask me to give assistance, but he implied it. Though, of course, I knew that already.
“The Council and the country would not be in favor of our being involved in war at this time,” I told him.
He gave me the most flattering of smiles. “You are the Queen,” he said.
“It would be necessary for the Council to agree.”
“The French are no friends of England.”
“It seems to me that no country is a friend of another.”
He looked at me reproachfully. “But our countries, Your Majesty, are united by the marriage of yourself and the King.”
“That is so,” I agreed.
“And it is because the King relies on your love and loyalty that he will tear himself away from his duties to come to you.”
“It is long since I have seen him.”
“His duties have kept him, most reluctantly, from your side.”
I thought: Fêting the beautiful women of Brussels? Enjoying a liaison with the Duchess of Lorraine?
“And now he will come,” I said, “because he needs help.”
“He has yearned to be with Your Majesty. As I stress, it is only duty which has kept him away from you.”
“And now duty bids him come to me.”
“It is his love for Your Majesty which will bring him.”
His eyes were shrewd. I knew what he was telling me in his subtle way. He was sounding me. Would I and my Council be prepared to declare war on France? If so, Philip would come to England and we would work together on that project. If not, he would be wasting his time in coming.
I tried to stifle the wretchedness I was feeling. It was better to be ignorant when knowledge brought so much pain.
He was watching me closely. He would have to report to Philip. Was it worth his while to come? If there was no hope, he would find some excuse to stay away. If there was hope, he would come and persuade me.
That was not true, I admonished myself. He was my husband. He wanted to be with me. Of course, his duties were extensive; he had a kingdom to govern. I had allowed people to poison my mind against him. When he came, he would assure me that he loved me and that it was only his overwhelming duties which kept us apart.
For a moment I looked steadily at Ruy Gomez da Silva. I could not face the truth. I had to see Philip.
I said, “The French are as great a menace under Henri as they were under François.”
He nodded. That was good enough. Philip would come.
I WAS AT GREENWICH. The news had come that evening. Philip had landed at Dover.
It was wonderful to see him again. I embraced him warmly, and he smiled at me affectionately. I was a little concerned, because he had aged considerably. Yet in a way that made me feel better, for I knew that my looks had not improved since his departure. There had been too many sleepless nights, too much bitterness.
As soon as I saw him, my heart softened toward him. I told myself romantically, foolishly, We shall start again.
I ordered that the bells of London should ring out and the Tower guns fire their salutes. And we rode together into the capital. There was a noticeable lack of rejoicing in the streets. I fancied I could smell the smoke from the Smithfield fires. There were a few faint cheers and a great deal of silence.
The citizens no longer loved me, and they distrusted my husband. Reginald would say he had been right. There should never have been a Spanish marriage.
I had prepared banquets and masques to welcome Philip but he displayed little interest in them. He had never had any great enjoyment in that kind of activity.
When we were alone together, he was subdued. He told me he had been concerned in affairs of the Continent, and the election of Paul IV had been a shock to him.
I said that a man such as he was, a firm upholder of the true faith, should be beloved by the Pope.
“This Pope is an ambitious man,” he said. “He should never have been elected.”
“I wish that Reginald had become the Holy Father,” I said.
He did not answer.
And so we retired. It was not quite as it had been before. I felt I was outside the scene, looking on at myself and my husband. There was no spontaneous love. Did I imagine it or was he as one performing an onerous duty? In the past it had been necessary in the hope of getting an heir. That reason was there no longer. He regarded it as an impossibility, though hope lingered with me. But now he must perform his duty for the sake of getting England to declare war on France.
It was not for such purposes that love was meant.
I half deluded myself. I suppose, when one has been so deprived of love as I have, one snatches at even a pretense of it.
The next day, when I was introduced to the ladies and gentlemen of his entourage, I received a shock.
A tall and beautiful woman was presented to me, and I was immediately struck by her radiant good looks.
“The Duchess of Lorraine…”
I felt sick. He had brought her with him! Oh, how dared he! How could he be so blatant?
She was kissing my hand, lifting her dark-fringed eyes to my face, studying me, no doubt seeing me as the plain, unwanted wife. I looked at her coldly, nodded and passed on to the next who was being presented to me.