Elizabeth: The Golden Age (7 page)

“Have you spoken to the queen?” Ursula asked. They were sitting across the room, by a long table.

“I speak to her daily,” Walsingham replied. “You know that. Have you suddenly decided to be impressed?”

She did not respond to his attempt at levity. “You know what I mean. You’ve done enough.” The urgency in her tone distressed him; he did not like to cause her grief. “No man could do more.”

“I can’t leave court yet. The queen needs me.” His eyes were dull, his shoulders had begun to stoop, and his movements were not as fluid as they had once been. But his voice was strong, authoritative. Much though he adored Ursula, he would never abandon Elizabeth.

Anger flashed in her eyes and he fought the urge to be irritated. “So you’re to die in a harness like a packhorse, are you?” she asked. “And for what?”

Walsingham bit back a sarcastic remark and fumbled for something to say that would not be incendiary. “I like to think of myself as a thoroughbred, not a packhorse. Have you such a low opinion of me?”

“Francis.” His wife took his hand. “You are the best man there is. I’ve never doubted that.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek as Mary came toward them, her arm in William’s.

“So, William,” Walsingham said, his voice deliberately light. “What do they say in Paris of the Pope’s call for holy war?”

“Many welcome it.” William hovered next to the table, his eyes not meeting his brother’s. He tugged at the ruffled collar, stiff around his neck.

“Sit, sit,” Ursula urged.

“Here by me, William,” Mary said.

“I don’t understand why we must all hate each other,” Ursula said, her steady gaze resting on her brother-in-law.

“Truth will always hate falsehood, ma’am,” William said, sitting next to Mary.

“Trouble comes when two sides both think they hold the truth.” Walsingham watched his brother carefully, trying to read his reaction.

“But only one of them can be right.”

“There are few issues more divisive than religion,” Walsingham said. “I’m glad to find myself on the side fighting for the truth.”

“How can you be certain you’re in possession of the truth?” William asked.

“I know it with all my heart. There’s not a shade of doubt in me. I’ve devoted my life to protecting it.”

“Why do we have to talk about war?” Mary asked, petulant. “You must have news, William. Are you married yet?”

Her uncle smiled. “Not yet.”

“Then we must find you a nice sensible English wife,” Mary said.

“No, no.” William shook his head. “I won’t be staying long. I must go back to my studies.”

His brother looked at him and spoke in measured tones. “Not too soon, I hope. Every man deserves a rest.”

“Listen to him!” Ursula said, casting her eyes to the ceiling. “When did you last rest, I’d like to know?” She leaned toward William. “He won’t listen to me. Not a thought for his health. You tell him; he’s your brother. He’ll die at his desk, out of sheer selfishness.”

Servants came in, carrying steaming platters of chicken boiled with leeks, mackerel with gooseberry compote, and artichokes baked with sherry and dates. Delicious smells filled the room as footmen poured wine.

“There are worse ways to go, madam,” William said, filling his plate.

“I cannot agree,” Ursula said. “No man should have to be so consumed with the business of state. He thinks nothing of us, only England.”

“My dear.” Walsingham gave her a tired smile. “No one doubts my adoration for you.”

“I should hope not,” his wife said. “But I’d like to ensure many more years of it, Francis. You’ll do us no good dead.”

“Quite,” William agreed, applying himself with unusual enthusiasm to the food before him. “I’m afraid your concern should focus more on my dear brother. It is he who risks running himself senseless.”

“My studies are not so ferocious,” William said.

“No?” Walsingham asked. “I wonder if that is so.”

William swallowed an enormous bite of mackerel. “What about you, Mary? Why aren’t you yet married?”

Mary’s silvery laughter delighted anyone who heard it. “I’ve exacting taste, sir, and have not yet met someone who meets my standards. Perhaps you could suggest a candidate?”

Walsingham sat back as his brother set himself to the task of playing matchmaker. His focus was obviously deliberate, and Walsingham knew there was little chance he’d learn anything further about the religious implications of William’s studies unless he turned to covert methods of information gathering.

Luckily, the covert was his specialty.

Chapter 5

The Presence Chamber was packed more tightly than usual, none of the courtiers wanting to miss the newest suitor, Archduke Charles of Austria, vying for the queen’s hand in marriage. Gossips claimed he could be the last, not because she would fall in love with him—no one expected that—but because she had reached an age at which she would no longer be able to bear children. No children meant no heir, and the lack of an heir would leave England in a precarious position. But the queen had always scoffed at issues of succession. God, she insisted, would take care of the matter, but the courtiers were skeptical. Not that any of them would dare admit that to her. Silence fell across the room as Elizabeth entered.

Stunning and terrifying, sumptuously gowned in the finest cream-colored velvet encrusted in jewels, she kept her ladies close to her while Walsingham stayed discreetly in the background. A tall, stiff collar fashioned from starched lace rose from the bodice of her dress as amethysts and canary diamonds set in gold draped her neck and hung from her ears. Her hands, covered with rings, rested unmoving on the arms of her throne as she sat, her entire person radiating regal grace as a shy, slight, shaking sixteen-year-old stepped forward to make a formal declaration of love.

It was difficult not to be bored in these situations. Early in her reign, Elizabeth had been amused—vaguely—by proposals of marriage and the suits of foreign princes. Her feelings on marriage had always been ambiguous at best, and her suitors were rarely appealing. She did not need a husband to gain a throne, did not want a man to guide her rule. Taking a spouse would degrade her power and having a child might kill her. Frankly, it seemed a bad business in which she stood to lose everything dear to her while gaining nothing.

Except love, of course. She might gain love, and that was the only thing that might entice her to marry. Not ordinary love, though: it would have to be passionate, enduring, consuming, and never compromise her role as queen. Was there a man alive capable of giving such a thing? She was skeptical even as she hoped. Not even her darling, darling Robert had succeeded in giving her all she needed, and she could not even imagine a man better than he.

Despite his faults.

There were always faults.

Today, however, she had no concern for love. She had to pay attention to the boy in front of her, and a quick glance to the side of the room brought a smile to the royal lips. The Austrian ambassador was quietly mouthing the words to him as he spoke. She felt a stab of sympathy and focused on the awkward speech.

“Your Majesty’s beauty is dazzling to my eyes,” Charles von Habsburg said, voice unsteady, tension evident on his not-unattractive, youthful face. “I see before me perfection in human form. I am overwhelmed. I am conquered. I die. Only your love, great Elizabeth, can restore me to life.”

The courtiers who filled the room with their brightly colored finery smiled, keeping their laughter silent. Not so thoughtful were the members of the Spanish delegation, who made no effort to hide their sneers. But the queen maintained her composure, looking at the boy with serious eyes, sympathizing with his nerves, knowing full well that it was not a simple thing to have to tend in public to business that ought to be entirely personal. When he had finished his speech, she gave him her hand to kiss.

“Your Highness does me great honor. Shall we go to dinner? It should prove almost as restorative as my love.” She slipped her arm through his and together they led the court through the mazelike corridors of Whitehall, their way lit by thousands of candles. “We shall dine in comfort,” Elizabeth said, leaning toward him. “But this palace could use a true banqueting hall. I ought to have one built. Are you interested in architecture?”

“I—I hardly know.” His voice was still shaking. He was a decent-looking man, far too young for her, but his nervousness touched her and she would not see him tortured by the court. For a moment, she considered him for Bess. They would make a good match. But she was not yet quite ready to give up her friend to matrimony.

Soon they were seated at an ornately dressed high table, on which stood an enormous castle sculpted out of sugar, flags depicting the arms of Elizabeth and the archduke flying from its towers. Musicians and tumblers waited on one side of the room, ready to entertain the guests, and there were more people in the room watching the party, eager to see the spectacle, than had been invited to eat. Among the observers was Walter Raleigh, who had taken care to dress in the latest court fashion, as handsome a man as had ever been in the palace. Bess Throckmorton lowered her eyes as she met his smile with one of her own. Elizabeth, watching, raised an eyebrow.

“So tell me, Mr. Raleigh, in your sea battles—how do you sink an enemy ship?” one of the courtiers asked, hardly able to take her eyes off him. “You shoot holes in its sides, I suppose.”

“No, ma’am,” Raleigh replied. “A sunk ship is of no value. The object is to capture and command.”

“And how do you do that?” she asked.

“Surprise. Speed.” He leaned closer. “Irresistible violence.” Calley, next to his captain, rolled his eyes.

Elizabeth could just make out their voices and was fully distracted by watching Raleigh flirt. She appreciated a man who could hold the attention of so many ladies, whose handsome features were matched with a quick wit and a ready smile. A not inconsiderable length of time passed before she realized that she was ignoring the archduke, who was picking at a dish of spiced rabbit.

“I think you’re not as accustomed as I am to eating in public. I have a secret.” She lowered her voice. “I pretend there’s a pane of glass—
eine Glasscheibe
—between me and them.” With an elegant flair, she moved one hand before her face, indicating an imaginary pane of glass, noticing as she did this that Bess, who had stepped away from her, was still watching Raleigh. Amused, she beckoned for the girl, who came to her at once.

“He interests me.” Her voice was low. “Talk to him.”

“Him, my lady?” Bess asked, moving her head slightly to indicate the man in question. “Him.” She was not being subtle in the least; it was obvious she was staring at Raleigh. Bess nodded, tugged her lip, blushing as she set off to speak to him. Elizabeth took a bite of chicken with rice and almonds and turned back to the archduke. “His Highness is tired after his journey.”

Shy beyond measure, frozen, he stared ahead, trembling, and Elizabeth could practically imagine him trying and rejecting responses to her simple statement. She did not rush him, gave no indication that he was taking too long. At last he spoke. “No man can be tired in the presence of so lovely a queen.”

“You play the game very well, my young friend.” Breaking a piece of crust off a mushroom pasty, she spoke softly in German, hoping that would make him more comfortable. “But don’t you find it hard sometimes not to laugh?”

His eyes flew wide, then relaxed as Elizabeth shot him a conspiratorial smile. “I’m too afraid to laugh,” he said.

“Why be afraid? We poor princes can only do our duty, and hope for the best.”

“You’re very wise, madam.” Grateful relief flowed from him, and he scooped up a large bite of rabbit from his plate, then drained his glass of wine before applying himself to the rest of the meal and accepting a heaping serving of golden steamed custard seasoned with saffron.



At the far end of the room, Bess faced Raleigh. “The pirate is not too bored by the vanities of the court, I hope,” Bess said, eyes sparkling, lips drawn in a winsome smile. “A simple sailor, dazzled by the bright lights,” he replied, the ladies surrounding him all but sighing over his every word. He showed no displeasure at their attention but gave no indication of disappointment when Bess drew him farther away. “If you can bring yourself to leave the dazzle of the bright lights for a moment—”

“Drawn away by the brightest light of all,” he said, catching her gaze, holding it.

Bess’s cheeks flushed dark as claret as he spoke, and her reply came too quick. “That can only mean the queen.”

“I don’t presume to raise my eyes so high.” He turned to the queen, and with a wicked smile across his face, bowed low.

“It seems you’ve presumed after all,” Bess said.

He stepped closer to her. “It seems you’re determined to think the worst of me.”

“Tell me what it is you really want.” Her voice was soft, intimate, bright.

“What every man wants. Money. Fame. Love.”

“In that order?” she asked, looking up at him through golden eyelashes.

“Each leads to the next,” he said. “The money will buy and equip ships for a return voyage to the New World. The success of my infant colony there will make me famous. The fame will bring me love.”

“It seems rather a long way round,” Bess said.

“There are benefits along the way. It is something, after all, to take a blank on the map and build there a shining city.” There could be no question of his enthusiasm; his entire body radiated it, pulsing with energy.

“Which you will no doubt name after yourself.” Her tone teased.

He smiled. “No doubt.”

Bess paused, considered. “Well, then. I am answered.”

“May I ask a question in return?”

“Of course,” she said. “How am I to win the queen’s favor?”

“Why should I tell you that, sir?” She could not help flirting with him; he was far too charming, far too good-looking.

“I’ve little enough to offer, I know. But whatever I have to give—ask, and it’s yours.”

Bess thought for a moment, studying his face, the creases between his brows as he looked intently back at her. “My advice to you is say what you mean to say as plainly as possible. All men flatter the queen in the hope of advancement. Pay her the compliment of truth.” She offered her hand, which he took and kissed at a pace so leisurely that it made all the skin on her body crave more of his touch.