Part 7 (1/2)
Emme shook her head. ”It's as plain as the nose on your face, to a friend who knows you well.”
”Do Frances and Anne suspect?” I whispered.
”I don't know,” Emme said. ”But you must be more discreet and hide your feelings. Sir Walter is the queen's favorite, and she would be most angry to learn of your love.”
”But it is so unfair!” I burst out. ”He is half her age. She will never marry him or anyone else. Why shouldn't I be free to love whom I will? Why shouldn't Anne marry Graham? Are you you content to let the queen rule your feelings?” content to let the queen rule your feelings?”
Emme shrugged. ”That is the way of our world.”
”When you are in love, you will not be so sanguine.”
”I have thought about this,” said Emme. ”I will let the queen choose my husband, and then I will choose whom to love. It may be my husband, or it may be another. For once a woman is married, the queen can no longer rule her heart.”
I regarded Emme with astonishment. I wished I could be as practical and sure of myself. She was a st.u.r.dy bark navigating the rough waters of the queen's court, while I was a shallow wherry, always in danger of capsizing.
That summer the queen was peevish, p.r.o.ne to outbursts and harsh accusations. Walsingham scurried through the halls, his beadlike eyes darting back and forth, and Robert Dudley was often in the queen's privy chamber. When an ashen-faced Earl of Shrewsbury was called in, we knew the furtive business concerned the Scottish queen. Then Shrewsbury's former page, one Anthony Babington, was arrested for plotting to a.s.sa.s.sinate Elizabeth and put Mary on her throne. After being hanged, Babington-still alive-was disemboweled, then quartered and beheaded. Balladeers sang the news of the gruesome death, which made me sick to think about. The d.a.m.ning piece of evidence against Mary was a letter written in her hand, approving the plot. The wily queen smuggled out her correspondence in a box hidden in a cask of beer, but the wilier Walsingham discovered it.
I ran to the chest where my own letters were hidden. They were still there, resting beside a pair of too-small shoes atop a hornbook from my childhood. Usually I placed the bundle beneath the hornbook. And the knot in the handkerchief seemed looser. Had I tied it carelessly? I undid the knot, thumbed through the letters, and a.s.sured myself nothing was missing. I folded the handkerchief and placed it in the toe of a shoe. I tied a ribbon around the letters and hid them inside my mattress. I determined to burn them at the earliest opportunity, for the Babington affair had frightened me.
The Scottish queen stood trial for her treason, which upset my royal mistress so much one would have thought she, not Mary, was to be judged. She could not eat. I set a platter of stew before her, but she pushed it away so violently it spilled all over my skirt before hitting the floor, where the dogs fell upon it.
”She sought every opportunity to betray me. She must die,” Elizabeth said to the dogs. ”But she is my cousin, my own flesh and blood!” She slammed her palms onto the table and stood up, shouting for Lord Burghley, her secretary of state.
I stood in the shadows, holding my breath, while the queen argued with Burghley.
”Mary is an anointed queen. If I consent to her execution, I am guilty of regicide. What will stop my own people from granting me that same death?” she said, her voice shrill.
The dogs crept to my feet, cringing there.
”She must die,” Burghley insisted. ”As long as she lives to give hope to papists and other disgruntled subjects, your life will be in danger.”
But Elizabeth would not consent, and the matter remained unresolved.
That fall, Sir Walter and I used such caution in our courts.h.i.+p that our letters were few and brief, carried by his valet or another of his trusted servants. One or two came by way of Emme, though I forbade her to take any risk for my sake. Meanwhile I lived in antic.i.p.ation of Accession Day, the November holiday when all the realm celebrated the anniversary of the queen's coronation. I knew I would see Sir Walter at the jousting and feasting. For days on end bells pealed, fireworks exploded, and the glow of bonfires lit the sky. In the streets hawkers sang ballads and psalms celebrating the queen's deliverance from the evil conspirators.
Awaiting the start of the tournament, I stood in the tilt gallery at Whitehall with Elizabeth and all her ladies. The gallery overlooked the tiltyard, on the far side of which stood a colorful pavilion hung with banners. Spectators filled the galleries surrounding the yard. I watched as the knights arrived-some in glittering chariots and artful disguises-to greet the queen before riding to the tiltyard. I tried to guess which one was Ralegh. My gaze was drawn to a knight in burnished armor engraved with twining leaves. He carried a bow and arrow in one hand and a leafy branch in the other. When he removed his helm with a flourish, I saw that it was Sir Walter.
A cry of delight escaped me but no one marked it. Everyone's attention was on the splendid figure climbing the stairs to greet the queen on Ralegh's behalf. He wore loose leggings of chamois and a tooled silver gorget around his neck. Above his ankles were matching silver greaves. His wide brown chest was bare, showing the raised markings on his skin. Streaks of red paint decorated his cheeks and his long hair was plaited with feathers. It was Manteo! I could not take my eyes off him, not even to gaze on Sir Walter below.
”The Savage Knight greets you, O great English weroance,” he said, then began to recite: ”From the New World he hails, Virginia she is named, And in her forests, rivers, and dales, Your virtue is proclaimed.”
He misp.r.o.nounced a word or two but not a single lady laughed. He ended with a plea to let him-that is, Ralegh-go to Virginia and ”with the touch of my own hand, bring under your sway all that wild land.”
Our applause sputtered like fire doused with water, for Elizabeth was not smiling.
”The messenger pleases me,” she said. ”But tell your master I like not his message.”
She held out her hand for Manteo to kiss. I watched in fascination as he took her small white hand in his tawny one and brought it to his lips.
Manteo then retreated down the stairs to join Sir Walter, who spurred his horse, scattering gravel as he galloped toward the tiltyard. Entering the lists, he unhorsed his first opponent, who clattered to the ground and lay there trapped in his armor. Ralegh struck the s.h.i.+eld of his second opponent so hard his lance s.h.i.+vered and cracked, and he raised the broken shaft toward the gallery. Was it a salute or a show of defiance? I glanced at the queen, who smiled as if the triumph were hers.
When the tournament ended, we hurried to dress Elizabeth for the banquet. Her damask gown was set with pearls and rubies, and she wore a matching headdress and a ruff made of Belgian lace. She glowed from the jewels and from the admiration of her knights. Concerns of state seemed far from her mind. At the feast I drank a little wine and danced with Emme and Frances while hoping to catch Sir Walter's eye. I laughed myself to tears at the antics of d.i.c.k Tarleton, who pranced around on a hobbyhorse, mocking the tournament. I sipped more wine and its heat rushed to my face, making me bold. While dancers performed a masque, I glanced around the audience until I saw Sir Walter. He looked in an ill humor, frowning with his arms crossed over his chest. When he met my gaze he raised his eyebrows and pointed to the dancers. But I wanted to watch him, not the masque.
When the musicians had played their final notes, I made my way through the crowd until I was standing beside him. My arm brushed against his sleeve. His fingers grazed the back of my hand, then my palm. The touch was light but the s.h.i.+ver of desire went deep.
”Why do you look so unhappy?” I asked in a low voice.
”You saw how Her Majesty rebuked me at the tournament. She will not support another voyage to Virginia because the last one failed.”
I had heard Ralph Lane's men were more interested in fighting and destroying villages than in building a colony, and they had killed an Indian leader.
”That was your own fault, Sir Walter,” I scolded him. ”For there was no man's wife or mother or sister among your colonists to restrain their bad natures.”
”What do you mean?” he asked, turning to face me.
”A colony peopled by soldiers and adventurers with no stake in their common welfare is a colony that must fail. A man with a wife and a family will be more inclined to live peaceably with the Indians than to provoke a war with them.”
Now Sir Walter had drawn me aside. ”Go on, Cat. Tell me more,” he said.
”Has it occurred to you that you must have women as well as men for your colony to thrive? Why, how else will you multiply the queen's subjects?” I felt myself blush. But I was excited, too, as the idea unfolded inside me. ”Perhaps, Sir Walter, if the queen saw you intended to settle Virginia with families who would make a livelihood there, she might change her mind.” I saw his face brighten. ”And if you were to insist on going there yourself, rather than sending a lieutenant to govern, she would see you are serious about its success.” My voice had risen, and heads turned in our direction.
The queen had also noticed us. She lifted her cup.
”Too much wine? Time for a sip of water instead?” she said, looking from me to Ralegh.
For a moment I was confused, my wits clouded by the wine. I saw Frances sneering and Anne with her hand over her mouth. Finally I realized the queen was rebuking me. And claiming Ralegh for herself.
Lightly as a dancer, Sir Walter stepped to her side. ”I shall pour it out myself and slake Your Majesty's thirst,” he said.
Now Emme was beside me, tugging me down onto a stool.
”Didn't I tell you to be more discreet?” she whispered. ”Why, the whole court saw how he looked at you!”
But I did not care. The idea I described to Ralegh was blossoming further, and with it my hopes. He would persuade the queen to let him go to Virginia. I would flee the court and, disguising myself if necessary, board his s.h.i.+p. At sea I would reveal myself, Sir Walter would declare his love, and we would be married. He would govern the Indians wisely, and I would be the first Englishwoman to live in that paradise, the New World, united with my heart's desire.
It was a lovely dream.
Chapter 14.
Fortune's Wheel Turns My hopes of escaping to a new life sustained me throughout the difficult months of winter. The queen was always in an ill humor from her many ailments. Chief among them was an abscess on her gums from a rotting tooth, which she refused to have pulled because it would leave a gap in her smile. The tooth prevented her from eating and she was peevish with hunger and pain. Also, her breath smelled foul, so it was unpleasant to be near her. Not a day went by when she did not revile one of us. I even saw Frances leaving her chamber in tears.
Only one person, d.i.c.k Tarleton, dared to jest in her presence. I had brought the queen a drink of mint and parsley to sweeten her mouth and there he was, strumming his lute.
”My royal mistress suffers a great abscess on her body politic. She will not be well until the Scottish queen is lanced and bleeds,” he said.
I held my breath, expecting a tirade, but she only waved him away.