Part 10 (2/2)
”Yes, Your Majesty.”
”But comely enough, we should think, to attract a husband. And that is what we shall do, dear sister. Get you a husband.”
So that's what this was about! She had brought me from Hatfield to tell me that she planned to force me to marry!
”Has Your Majesty a candidate in mind who would not object to a wife with a long, thin nose?” I asked.
”And a sharp tongue,” she added. ”It is your tongue that most men would object to.”
”Yes, Your Majesty.”
For a time the queen was silent. Mary had developed a troubling habit of staring. I didn't know if she had fallen into a reverie or forgotten I was there. I remained on my knees and waited.
”We wish devoutly that you accept the suit of Emmanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, to be your husband. King Philip is in agreement with our wishes.”
This was the same duke who had come to England to ”pluck the fruit” two years earlier, while I was a prisoner at Woodstock. Apparently he had not given up. ”I am pleased that the duke thinks well of me,” I said carefully, my thoughts racing. I calculated each reply I might make, weighing the possible consequences.
Mary hesitated and pulled at her lower lip. This was another irritating habit. ”Savoy has much to recommend him,” she said. ”He is the most highly regarded of the Emperor Charles's generals.”
”With all due respect, Your Majesty,” I began, ”I cannot marry the duke.”
”And why not? He would make you an admirable husband, Elizabeth. You would do well to choose him.”
I paused a moment to summon my courage. Then I plunged ahead. ”I have made up my mind not to marry,” I stated in a clear, firm voice. ”It is not a choice of this man or that one but of no husband at all.”
Mary smiled sourly. ”Perhaps you wish to take a vow of celibacy, then?” she said. ”Withdraw to a nunnery?”
”No, madam,” I said. ”I simply wish not to marry.”
”You refuse the order of your queen?” she snarled, her bitterness breaking through. ”You refuse the order of your sovereign, who holds over you the power of life and death? Perhaps you would change your mind after a few months in the Tower.”
The Tower! The queen guessed my deepest fear and played upon it. But I resisted her tactic. Deciding that tears were now called for, I began to weep. ”I remain obedient in all things to Your Majesty,” I cried, reaching for her sympathy. ”But, I beg you, do not force me to marry!”
Mary gave me another of her long, hard stares. Then abruptly she waved me away. ”Go back to Hatfield,” she snapped. ”This interview has been of no use.”
The next day I returned to the country, having negotiated once more a difficult stretch of road but never sure that the queen might not change her mind, as she had before.
I also vowed that Queen Mary had seen the last of my tears, real or feigned. I would not weep in her presence again.
CHAPTER 17.
King Philip's Return Christmas of 1556 found me once again at court, invited, no doubt, because Philip had sent instructions to the queen to do so. I took with me a number of new gowns and petticoats, made to my order in France. I felt that it was now time to show whatever friends I had at court a new Elizabeth, strong and able, no longer in the shadows. Therefore I chose the loveliest shades of blue and green, russet and yellow, to set off the elegant jewels my father had left me.
My finery was wasted on this court. Never have I witnessed such lackl.u.s.ter Yuletide observancesa”I cannot use the word festivitiesa”as Mary moved woodenly through the rites and customs. She seemed barely able to mutter ”wa.s.sail” when the traditional toasts were drunk.
Fortunately for me, among the guests was Anne of Cleves, with whom I pa.s.sed a number of pleasant hours. Her gowns were somewhat out-of-date, as they had always been, but her jewels were magnificent. As usual, she was an astute observer of court life. We sat near a fire in the drafty chamber that had been a.s.signed to Anne, our hands busy with needlework and our tongues seeking those subjects that interested us both.
”Hers is not an easy lot,” Anne murmured, indicating the queen, ”being married to such a man.”
I smiled; if anyone would recognize the difficulties of marriage to an impossible husband, it was my father's fourth wife.
”King Philip has been gone for a year and a half,” Anne observed. ”He puts off the queen with promises and excuses. The gossips tell me that he has been behaving rather badly with the ladies of Flanders.”
”Does the queen know of this?” I asked.
”She does,” Anne replied.
”Perhaps she even expects it. But she fears that one of his flirtations will turn to love. Indeed, she fears that it already has.”
”And has it?”
”Christina of Denmark, d.u.c.h.ess of Lorraine, is said to be quite beautiful.”
”Is Philip in love with the d.u.c.h.ess?” I whispered.
”So I am told.”
For a while we plied our st.i.tches in companionable silence, and I pondered this bit of gossip.
”Nonetheless,” Anne continued, ”King Philip will soon return to England. He has made up his mind to go to war against France. He needs English money to finance it.”
”And the queen has agreed to provide it?”
Anne of Cleves raised her eyebrows. ”He has made it a condition of his return. She wants him to come back.”
”Badly, it would seem.”
”Very badly.” Anne sighed. ”At all costs. And while he is here”a”she glanced at me from the corner of her eyea””he means to see you married off. Probably to the duke of Savoy. You are aware of this?”
I nodded. ”But I do not intend to marry,” I said.
Anne of Cleves laid aside her needlework and looked at me directly. ”It was once rumored that, had Mary died in childbirth, King Philip would have married you. You are important to him for political reasons. It is at his insistence that Mary has not found some reason to have you executed for treason. You owe Philip your life. But he will attempt to persuade you, by honeyed tones or by threats, to change your mind about marriage. Can you hold to your decision in the face of his will?”
”My power to refuse is greater than his power to insist,” I said pa.s.sionately.
”Then I wish you strength and courage, my dear Elizabeth.”
Our conversation ended when our maids entered the chamber to remind us that the time had come to change into our gowns for the New Year's banquet. I would wear yellow silk embroidered with pearls, opening upon a petticoat of palest green.
The queen, although appearing low-spirited, was, as always, generous with her gifts. I received from her a golden goblet set with pearls, identical to the goblet she presented to Anne of Cleves.
SOON AFTER Twelfth Night I made my farewells and returned to Hatfield. There I remained until March, when I received the news that King Philip was returning to England. I was invited to the celebration, and I accepted. It was another opportunity to show myself to England's n.o.bility as the queen's sister and next in line for the throne.
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