But there was little I enjoyed more than these marriage projects, although I knew in my heart that I was going to refuse them all. I had not said no to the only man for whom I might have forsaken my freedom to turn to some arrogant sprig even if he did come from a royal house. I had no need of royalty. I had that from my father and my glorious ancestors; but I did like the world to know that although I continued in the virgin state it was from my own choice and I had had, and was still having, ample chances of changing it.

Those téte-é-tétes with La Mothe Fenelon, who was the French Ambassador at that time, always stimulated me and I loved to hear about the perfections of the Duc d'Anjou and his burning desire to become my husband.

I had plenty of spies at the French Court—Walsingham saw to that— and they brought back the true state of affairs there, so I knew that Anjou was at this time carrying on a passionate love affair with the Princesse de Cléves; and his only desire for marriage with me was to gain possession of my throne.

I remember well those conversations I had with La Mothe Fenelon. He would look at me with assumed admiration and tell me how worthy the Duc d'Anjou was to be my husband.

“The only person who is worthy of the alliance,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied lightly, “I know he is highly esteemed at the Court of France for his excellent qualities. He is worthy of the highest destiny the world can bestow on him. But is it not true, my dear friend, that his thoughts are lodged on a fairer object? I am an old woman, who but for the need to get an heir should not speak of a husband. Often I have been sought, but by those who would wish to wed a kingdom rather than a woman. The great are married without seeing each other, so the choice cannot lie with their persons.”

Poor La Mothe Fenelon! He was faintly embarrassed but could not show it, of course. He knew that I was prevaricating and probably found it humiliating to have to work so hard to try to make me accept his Prince.

“And there is the King himself,” I went on. “He is now a married man. I trust he knows great joy in his marriage.”

La Mothe assured me that he did.

“Then let us hope that he does not indulge in the gallantries of his forebears. If he takes after his father and grandfather perhaps he will not be such a faithful husband.”

He was taken aback and I was sure he did not know whether I was favorable to the match or not. That was how I wished it to be.

One day I gave my leg an unpleasant knock against the bedpost and cut it open. The wound would not heal and I was quite lame for a while. I had to sit with my leg on a stool for it was quite painful to move about freely. Every little thing that happens to a royal personage is reported, often embellished, and to such an extent that it is magnified sometimes for good but mostly evil; and as in his last years my father had suffered from a festering in his leg, it was immediately assumed that I was afflicted with the same ailment.

The news, naturally, was taken to the French Court and I heard reports of Anjou's reactions to it. It was clear to me that he had no wish for marriage and it was only his mother's persistence which made him agree to negotiations.

Although I did not want him, I did not care that he should be against the match and only agreed to it because of his mother's persistence, and I was very disconcerted when Walsingham's spies reported to me a rather alarming conversation which had been overheard between Anjou and one other.

“Monsieur,” said the other, “you would do well to marry the old creature who has had for the last years an evil in her leg which will not heal. Let them send her a potion from France destined to cure all ills, and let it be of such nature that you will be a widower in the course of a few months, after which might you not marry the Queen of Scotland and become the undisputed ruler of the two kingdoms?”

That threw me into a rage. How dared they talk of me so—and plot my death!

Never, Monsieur d'Anjou! I thought. You will never get the better of me.

But I was even more enraged when I discovered that the wily Queen Mother was putting out feelers for a marriage between Anjou and the Queen of Scots.

Burghley soothed me, and so did Robert. He looked at me reproachfully, dumbly asking why I would not take the only man whom I could trust and who had loved me over the years.

I wanted to shout at him: “You fool, Robert, do you think I am going to marry any of those French fops! While we are negotiating we are keeping the friendship of France. Spain is against me. The Pope is against me. Scotland is as troublesome as ever, and I have the Queen of that country in my hands. I need friends, Robert; and while I am negotiating to marry a Prince of France, the French at least must be my allies.”

Then the Emperor Maximilian, no doubt disturbed at the thought of a French marriage, offered his son Rodolph as a prospective husband. He was even younger than Anjou.

Catherine de' Medici was greatly disturbed by the thought of a marriage with Maximilian's son and she cajoled and threatened Anjou, and even asked Walsingham to talk to him and make him see the advantages of a match with England.

I was amused. The more suitors the better. Then another appeared. This was Henri of Navarre—a rather crude but adventurous young man; and it was diverting to consider them all striving to win the prize—which was the crown of England.

It was a moment of great triumph when, at one of our banquets, I called for dancing and taking Christopher Hatton as my partner, I performed with him for the amusement of the Court. I leaped as high as I ever had and pirouetted many times. The applause rang out as I sat down and beckoned La Mothe to sit beside me.

“You can tell Monsieur d'Anjou that I danced higher than any in my Court and the reports of my sore leg are greatly exaggerated. It is as clean and white now as it ever was, and there are years of life in the old creature yet. Pray tell those chemists who thought to prepare a dose for me that they will have to produce something very clever if they will have a French prince marry Mary Queen of Scots and take my kingdom and hers into French keeping.”

Poor La Mothe! He was quite taken aback. He ought to have known what an excellent spy service I had through the good work of my swarthy Moor.

I thought the farce with Anjou had gone on long enough. It had served its purpose in keeping the attitude of the French open, so I sent word that if Anjou came to England he must change his religion. This gave him a graceful way out, and his reply was that he feared he could not do that.

I was amused when his indefatigable mother, refusing to accept defeat, offered Anjou's brother, the Duc d'Alenon.

This seemed a good joke and I could not help laughing when the proposition was put before me; and Burghley, with Leicester, joined in my amusement.

In the first place Alenon was even younger than his brother. Twentytwo years separated us; he was very small and no one could call him handsome. He had indulged overmuch in fleshly pleasures which had aged him prematurely; his skin was pitted with smallpox; and his ill-shaped nose was so large that it hung down over his mouth. He must have been a most repulsive object. The amusing side to this was that he had been christened Hercule; and anyone less like the great hero there could not have been.

Yet I did not give even him a definite refusal. I planned to have a little diversion with the hideous Prince.

All this coming and going of ambassadors suing for my hand did not prevent my round of engagements. At Greenwich I performed the Maundy ceremony, washing the feet of thirty-nine poor women. I have to admit that one of my yeomen of the laundry washed the women's feet first and, when they were clean, I came with my maids of honor who carried basins filled with herb-scented water, so I was presented with feet that had already been cleaned. Dirt and evil smells sickened me, and all knew of my passion for cleanliness so this seemed an acceptable way of performing the ceremony. Each of the chosen women received a gown, shoes and a wooden platter on which was half a salmon, ling and six herrings, in addition to a purse containing twenty shillings with which they seemed highly satisfied.

In August of that year I went on one of my pilgrimages through the countryside to show myself to the people, which was what they wanted. I always made sure that they had a good view of me and I paused on the way to chat with them, and thank them personally for the little presents they brought me, and however humble these were I always made them feel they were just what I needed. These journeys gave me as much pleasure as they gave the people, for always I was aware of that which was more important to me than anything else—the approbation of my subjects.

I was particularly happy on this occasion because Robert was beside me and we spent a short time at Warwick Castle, the home of his brother Ambrose, a charming man who had served his country well. He had been in the Tower with Robert when I had been there for he was arrested with his brothers for complicity in the plot to set Lady Jane Grey on the throne. I liked him well. He was something of an invalid due to a poisoned bullet which had struck him when he was defending Le Havre. I was especially fond of all Robert's family and I had never forgotten what I owed to his sister who had so valiantly nursed me during my attack of smallpox which she had caught, to be left disfigured.

I was received magnificently at Warwick Castle. There were the usual pageants and songs of praise for my beauty and wisdom. I could almost guess what the next line would be when they quoted their verses, but I liked them none the less for that; and it was delightful to see the pleasure these simple country people took in pleasing me and how conscious they were of the honor of coming face to face with their sovereign.