Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean - Страница 42

• Предыдущая
• 42/145
• Следующая

Meanwhile life at Hatfield was changing. There was a less rigorous guard on me. Sir Thomas Pope had always been my good friend so there was little change in his attitude toward me. It was different with others. Visitors came to Hatfield from Court and there was a clear indication in their manner toward me that they already regarded me as their Queen.

One of my best friends was Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, an ardent Protestant. In fact I detected a certain fanaticism in him which I did not share, for I did not like that stern unrelenting attitude from whichever side it came. It was dangerous, bred cruelty and intolerance and prevented one from changing one's mind when it would be wise to do so.

All the same I knew that Sir Nicholas would be a good friend to me because in spite of recent deviation for form's sake, I represented the Protestants. He had been suspect at the time of Wyatt's rebellion and had only narrowly escaped death then. He was well versed in political affairs and had a wide knowledge of what was happening at Court; and his visits to Hatfield were becoming more frequent. I knew from Sir Nicholas how rapidly the Queen's health was declining.

“There are rumors of her death,” he said, “even while she lives.”

“One must be careful not to be misled by rumor,” I replied.

“Indeed that is so, Your Grace. The Queen is so sick and clearly on her death-bed. People are being put in the pillory because they are saying she is already dead.”

“I shall need proof before I believe it. And the burnings?” I continued.

“They go on apace. It would seem as though the Queen believes that the more people who die in torment, the greater her glory in Heaven. As I left London a poor woman named Alice Driver was preparing for her death and the people had come out to watch her last minutes. She had already had her ears cut off and was calling Her Majesty Jezebel as they tied her to the stake.”

I shivered. “The Queen knows of this… and death is close to her!”

“The Queen believes she does God's work, Your Grace.”

“It is beyond my understanding, Master Throckmorton,” I said.

“The people are looking to you, Your Grace. They say when your turn comes there will be an end to this misery.”

“There shall be, Nicholas, my friend. There shall be. It would appear to be near now but we must step with caution. I have faced death too many times to want to challenge it. I have my enemies. It is not too late for them to turn against me… while the Queen lives.”

“Which cannot be long, my lady.”

“You speak carelessly. I will not claim the throne until I am certain that my sister is dead. There is a ring she wears day and night. She calls it her betrothal ring because it was given to her by Philip. I will not believe that she is dead, until I hold that ring in my hand.”

“It shall be my duty, Your Grace, to bring it to you.”

And so I waited at Hatfield and each day when I rose, I wondered: Is this the one?

THERE WERE SO many visitors to Hatfield, so many who wished me well. I often said to Kat: “How many of these men would be coming to me now if they thought I had little chance of mounting the throne? How many come for love of me? How many for hopes of what good will come to them?”

“It is hard for queens to tell the difference, my love,” said Kat, wise for once.

“Perhaps one can never be sure and since one cannot it is well to make certain that one never has a chance of finding out… unless one wants to.”

“Oh, you are a shrewd one,” said Kat.

At least I was sure of her love. It had remained steadfast through all my adversities and so would it be to the end of our days.

We had one visitor at Hatfield who threw Kat into a flutter of excitement. In fact it had the same effect on me, though I was more discreet about it.

So many visitors to Hatfield—so what could be so special about one more? He was exceptionally tall—not too broad but broad enough to give an impression of masculine strength to his elegance. He had dark hair and eyes, with a fresh complexion and the most perfectly shaped features I had ever seen… not too finely chiseled, as Kat said afterward, but with that little touch of rough hew which was so becoming in a man. His clothes were rich, the colors not overbright but tastefully blended. He was the most handsome, the most graceful and the most attractive man I had ever seen—even including Thomas Seymour.

I never forgot that meeting; all through the years I have carried with me the memory of Robert Dudley as he was when he presented himself to me on that autumn morning.

I was told he begged an audience of me though I could never imagine Robert begging anything. He would ask it in a manner which suggested he was sure of success. Confidence was ever his way.

When they told me that Lord Robert Dudley was asking to see me, I was excited even before I saw him. I remembered the boy I had known at my father's Court; even then there must have been some quality in him which impressed me; then there had been the time when we had been in the Tower together and the fact of his nearby presence had given me courage and lightened the dark days. Now here he was at Hatfield asking an audience.

I went down and received him in the great hall.

When he saw me he fell onto his knees. He took my hand and kissed it and lifted his eyes to my face.

“Welcome to Hatfield, Lord Robert,” I said.

“My gracious lady,” he replied. “It is indeed good of you to see me.”

“There is no need to remain on your knees,” I told him.

He rose and then I saw how tall he was, while he looked at me as though in wonder and I felt a glow of pleasure, for his gaze was not only of respect for my rank but deep admiration for my person.

“Why have you come, Lord Robert?” I said to hide a certain confusion. “Is it for the same reason that many come to Hatfield now?”

“I have just returned from battle.”

“Yes. I believe you did good service for your country. And now you are here…as many others are.”

“I came to bring you gold,” he said. “I have sold some of my estates so that I might have the money. I trust you will not need it, but if there should be trouble it would be well for you to be prepared.”

“You bring me money, Lord Robert!”

“I have it here. My man will bring it to you. Your Grace, if it should be necessary to fight for what is yours by right, here is one who will stand beside you and cares so much for your cause that he has sold certain of his estates to raise money for any need or emergency which may arise.”

“You are indeed a friend,” I said, “and I thank you.”

“There was a time when you and I were both prisoners in the Tower,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “There was a young boy…”

“Little Martin,” I replied. “He brought me your messages of cheer until they stopped him.”

“Your Grace remembers! It is more than I dared hope. I never forgot, and I shall be with you should you need my help.”

“Thank you, Lord Robert. I accept your offer and your friendship.”

“I shall be watchful of Your Grace. There is much coming and going on the road to Hatfield. The Queen is very sick. If anything should go wrong, Hatfield could become a prison.”

“If aught goes wrong? What mean you by that?”

“None knows more than Your Grace what a dangerous world we live in.”

“Lord Robert, are you telling me there are plots against me?”

“I know of none. None would confide in me. I have always been Your Grace's most ardent supporter.”

“Except,” I said, a little sharply, “when you were among those who tried to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne.”

“That was my father, and as he was my father I was forced to stand with him. It was no disloyalty to Your Grace. I am yours to command. My lands and goods are at your disposal. This I have brought with me is but a token. Whatever need you should have of me, I am yours … these arms, this heart… this man.”

• Предыдущая
• 42/145
• Следующая