Виктория Холт - My Enemy the Queen

"And she is to obey you?" I asked.

"Others lent their voices to mine," he answered.

Oddly enough I was glad they were together at this time. Perhaps because at this hour of her glory, when she showed herself to her people and her enemies as the great Queen she was, I ceased to see her as a woman—my rival for the man we both loved more than we could any other—and she could only be Elizabeth the Magnificent, the mother of her people; and even I must revere her.

What happened is well known, how she went to Tilbury, and made that speech which has been remembered ever since, how she rode among them in a steel corselet with her page riding beside her carrying a helmet decorated with white plumes, how she told them she had the body of a weak woman but the heart and stomach of a king and a King of England.

Truly she was great then. I had to grant her that. She loved England—perhaps it was her only true love. For England she had given up the marriage she might have had with Robert, and I cannot but believe that that was what she had longed for in the days of her youth. She was a faithful woman; true affection was there behind the royal dignity just as the brilliant statesman lurked ever watchful beside the frivolous coquette.

The story of that glorious victory is well known—how our little English ships, being so agile on account of their size, were able to dart among the mighty but unwieldy galleons and wreak havoc among them; how the English sent fireships among the great vessels, and the great Armada, called by the Spaniards The Invincible, was routed and defeated off our coasts; how the unfortunate Spaniards were drowned or cast ashore where scant hospitality was afforded them; and how some returned in disgrace and shame to their Spanish master.

What glorious rejoicing followed! There were bonfires everywhere with singing, dancing and self-congratulations.

England was safe for the Queen. How like her to strike those medals Venit, Vidit, Fugit as a play on the motto of Julius Caesar, who came and saw and conquered while the Spaniards came and saw and fled. That was very popular; but I think some of her sailors might have taken exception to the other medal in which she declared that the enterprise had been conducted by a woman—Dux Femina Facti. England would never forget what it owed to Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, Raleigh, Howard of Effingham, as well as Burleigh and even Leicester. However, she was the figurehead—Gloriana, as the poet Spenser had called her.

It was her victory. She was England.

I was at Wanstead when Leicester came home. I did not at first realize how ill he was. He was bolstered up with his glory. Never had he been in such favor. The Queen could not bear him to leave her for long, but she sent him away at this time because she feared for his health.

He did not usually go to Buxton at this time of the year, but she had decided that he must do so without delay.

I looked at him afresh. How old he was, divested of his glittering garments. He had put on weight again and left his youth far behind. I could not help comparing him with Christopher and I knew that I no longer wanted this old man in my bed even though he was the Earl of Leicester.

The Queen had seemed as though she could not honor him enough. She had promised to make him Lord Lieutenant of England and Ireland. This would bring him greater power than any subject of hers had ever known before. It was almost as though she decided that she wanted no more juggling for power between them; if she were not offering him a share in her crown this was something very near it.

There were others who realized this, and he was incensed because Burleigh, Walsingham and Hatton had persuaded her not to act rashly.

"But it will come," Robert told me, those eyes of his once so fine and flashing, now puffy and bloodshot. "You wait. It will come."

Then suddenly he knew.

Perhaps it was because he had ceased to think so much of matters of state. Perhaps his sickness—for he was very sick, more so than he had been during those bouts of gout and fever which had beset him over the last years—had made him especially perceptive. Perhaps there was an aura about me which women get when they are in love, for I was in love with Christopher Blount. Not as I had been with Leicester. I knew there would never be anything like that in my life again. But it was like an Indian summer of love. I was not yet too old to love. I was young for my forty-eight years. I had a lover twenty years my junior, yet I felt that we were of an age. I realized anew how young I was when I was face to face with Leicester. He was a sick and aging man and I lacked the Queen's gift of dedicated fidelity. After all I had been grossly neglected for her sake. I marveled that she could look upon what he had become and still love him. It was yet another facet of her extraordinary nature.

He had seen me with Christopher. I cannot say what it was. Perhaps the manner in which we looked at each other. It may have been that our hands had touched. He may have seen something kindle between us—or he could have heard whispers. There were always enemies to carry tales about us—of me no less than of him.

In our bedchamber at Wanstead he said to me: "You have a fondness for my Master of Horse."

I was not sure then what he knew, and to gain time I said: "Oh ... Christopher Blount?"

"Who else? Have you a fancy for each other?"

"Christopher Blount," I repeated, feeling my way. "He is very good with horses... ."

"And women, it seems."

"Is that so? You would have heard that his brother and Essex fought their duel. It was over a woman. A queen from the chessboard, in gold and enamel."

"I am not speaking of his brother, but of him. You had better admit, for I know."

"What do you know?"

"That he is your lover."

I shrugged my shoulders and retorted that if he admired me and showed it, was I to blame?

"If you let him into your bed, you are."

"You have been listening to tales."

"Which I believe to be true."

His grip was painful on my wrist, but I did not flinch. I faced him defiantly. "My lord, should you not look to your own life before you peer too closely into mine?"

"You are my wife," he said. "What you do on my bed is my business."

"And what you do in the beds of others mine!"

"Oh come," he said. "Let us not diverge from the truth. I am away ... in attendance on the Queen."

"Your good kind mistress ..."

"The mistress of us all."

"But in one particular case ... yours."

"You know there has never been that kind of intimacy between us."

"Arthur Dudley could tell another story."

"He could tell many lies," he retorted, "and when he says he is my son and Elizabeth's that is the greatest lie he ever told."

"It seems to be believed."

He threw me from him in his rage. "Do not evade the matter. You and Blount are lovers. Are you? Are you?"

"I am a neglected wife," I began.

"You have answered." His eyes narrowed. "Think not that I shall forget this. Think not that you can betray me with impunity. I shall make you answer for this insult... you and him."

"I have answered already for marrying you. The Queen has never once received me since."

"You call that payment! You will discover a great deal."

He stood before me—big and menacing, the most powerful man in the country. Words from Leicester's Commonwealth danced before my eyes. Murderer. Poisoner. Was this true? I thought of the people who had died at a time convenient to him. Was it merely a coincidence?

He had loved me. At one time I had meant a great deal to him. Perhaps I still did. He had come to me when he could; we had been well matched physically; but I had grown out of love with him.

Now he knew that I had a lover. Whether he wanted me still, I did not know. He was sick and feeling his age. I think at this time he only wanted to rest, but the hatred was there when he faced me. He would never forgive me for taking a lover.

I believed then that during those absences from home he had not been unfaithful. He had been in attendance on the Queen since his return from the Netherlands and I remembered that when he had been there he had wanted me beside him, decked out as his Queen.

Yes, I had had some power over him, for he had wanted me; he needed me; he would have been a uxorious husband if the Queen had allowed him to be.

And now I had betrayed him. I had taken a lover and one in what he would consider a menial post in his household. He would not allow any to insult him and escape. Of one thing I was certain. There would be revenge.

I wondered whether I should warn Christopher. No, he would show his fear. He must not know. I understood Leicester as Christopher never could. I would know how to act, I promised myself.

He said slowly: "I gave up everything for you."

"Douglass Sheffield, you mean?" I asked, determined to hide the fear I was beginning to feel by a show of flippancy.

"You know she meant little to me. I married you and braved the Queen's wrath."

"That was directed against me. It was not you who had to brave it."

"How could I be sure what would happen to me? Yet I married you."