Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2 Read online

  The count, bowing low, was getting himself out of the presence chamber as speedily as he could, before this volatile young queen embarrassed them both. Already he could see tears gathering in her eyes, and her mouth was trembling.

  ‘I will write to him at once,’ he said soothingly. ‘He will understand. He will understand completely.’

  ‘I am so sorry!’ Elizabeth cried as the ambassador backed away swiftly to the double doors. ‘Pray tell him that I am so filled with regret!’

  He raised his head from his bow. ‘Your Grace, think no more of it,’ he said. ‘There was no offence given and no offence taken. It is a matter of regret for both parties, that is all. You remain the warmest friend and ally that Spain could desire.’

  ‘Allies always?’ Elizabeth begged, her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Can you promise me that, from your master? That we will be allies always?’

  ‘Always,’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘And if I need his help I can count on him?’ She was near to breaking down, as at last the doors opened behind him. ‘Whatever happens in the future?’

  ‘Always. I guarantee it for my master.’ He bowed his way through to the safety of the gallery outside.

  As the doors closed on his hasty retreat, Elizabeth dropped the handkerchief and gave Cecil a triumphant wink.

  Elizabeth’s Privy Council was meeting in her presence chamber. The queen, who should have been sitting in state at the head of the table, was pacing between the windows like an imprisoned lioness. Cecil looked up from his neat pages of memoranda and hoped that it was not going to be an impossibly difficult meeting.

  ‘The treaty of Cateau Cambresis puts us in a far stronger position than ever before,’ he began. ‘It ensures peace between Spain, France, and ourselves. We can count ourselves as safe from invasion for the time being.’

  There was a chorus of self-satisfied assent. The treaty which guaranteed peace between the three great countries had been a long time in negotiation but was a first triumph for Cecil’s diplomacy. At last England could be sure of peace.

  Cecil glanced nervously at his mistress, who was always irritable with the smug male style of the Privy Council. ‘This is almost entirely thanks to Her Grace’s skill with the Spanish,’ he said quickly.

  Elizabeth paused in her tracks to listen.

  ‘She has kept them as our friends and allies for long enough to frighten France into agreement, and when she released Philip of Spain from his promises to her, she did it with such skill that Spain stays our friend.’

  Elizabeth, soothed by flattery, came to the head of the table and perched on the arm of her great wooden chair, head and shoulders above the rest of them. ‘That’s true. You may go on.’

  ‘The treaty, and the security it brings us, gives us the safety to make the reforms that we need,’ he went on. ‘We can leave the question of Scotland for the moment, since the treaty assures us that the French will not invade. And so we are free to turn to the urgent business of the country.’

  Elizabeth nodded, waiting.

  ‘The first should be to make Her Grace supreme governor of the church. As soon as we have got that passed, we will adjourn parliament.’

  Elizabeth sprang up and stalked to the window once more. ‘Is this our first business indeed?’ she demanded.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Norfolk, ignoring his niece, the queen. ‘Send them back to their fields before they start getting ideas in their thick heads. And get the church bolted down.’

  ‘All our troubles over,’ said one idiot.

  It was the spark to the tinder of Elizabeth’s temper. ‘Over?’ she spat, erupting from the window like an enraged kitten. ‘Over? With Calais still in French hands and small chance of buying it back? With Mary still quartering English arms on her shield? How are our troubles over? Am I Queen of France or am I not?’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘You are,’ said Cecil quietly, when no-one else dared to speak. In theory she was. The English monarchs had always called themselves King of France even when the English holdings in France had shrunk to the pale of Calais. Now it seemed that Elizabeth would continue the tradition even though Calais was gone.

  ‘Then where are my French forts, and my French territories? I will tell you. In the hands of an illegal force. Where are my guns and my walls and my fortifications? I will tell you. Pulled down or turned on England. And when my ambassador goes to dine at the French court, what does he see on the plates of the French princess?’

  They were all looking down at the table, willing the storm to pass them by.

  ‘My coat of arms!’ Elizabeth shouted. ‘On French plate. Has that been resolved in this treaty which you are all so thrilled with? No! Has anyone even addressed it? No! And you think that the most important business of the kingdom is the leadership of the church. Not so! My lords! Not so! The most important business is to get me back my Calais, and get that woman to stop using my coat of arms on her damned plates!’

  ‘It will be resolved,’ Cecil said soothingly. He glanced around the table. They were all thinking as one man: that these council meetings would be so much easier if only she would marry a reasonable man and let him do the business of kingship.

  To his horror, he saw that her dark eyes were filling with tears. ‘And Philip of Spain.’ Her voice was husky. ‘Now, I hear that he is to marry.’

  Cecil looked at her aghast. The last thing he had imagined was that she had actually felt anything for the man she had tormented during his wife’s lifetime and then had strung along for months after.

  ‘A marriage to seal the treaty,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I don’t believe there is any courtship, any preference. There is no attraction, no rival attraction involved. He does not prefer her to … to …’

  ‘You urged me to marry him,’ she said, her voice throbbing with emotion, looking along the bowed heads of her Privy Council. ‘Still you continually persuade me to one man or another, and see? The man of your choice, your preferred suitor, has no fidelity. He swore that he loved me; but see? He will marry another. You would have had me marry a faithless flirt.’

  ‘None could suit her better,’ Norfolk said, so low that nobody could hear but his neighbour, who snorted with suppressed laughter.

  It was pointless even to attempt reason with her, Cecil knew. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘We were most mistaken in his nature. Thank God that Your Grace is so young and so very beautiful that there will always be suitors for your hand. It is for you to choose, Your Grace. There will always be men who long to marry you. All we can do is advise your own wise preference.’

  A sigh like a passing breeze passed through the beleaguered council. Once again, Cecil had hit exactly the right note. Sir Francis Knollys rose to his feet and guided his cousin to her chair at the head of the table. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Although they are less important indeed, we do have to talk about the bishops, Your Grace. We cannot go on like this. We have to make a settlement with the church.’

  Amy’s cousin and her husband, a prosperous merchant with an interest in the Antwerp trade, greeted her on the doorstep to their large square-built house in Camberwell.

  ‘Amy! You’ll never guess! We heard from Sir Robert this very morning!’ Frances Scott said breathlessly. ‘He is coming to dine this very day, and staying at least one night!’

  Amy flushed scarlet. ‘He is?’ She turned to her maid. ‘Mrs Pirto, unpack my best gown, and you’ll need to press my ruff.’ She turned back to her cousin. ‘Is your hairdresser coming?’

  ‘I told him to come an hour early for you!’ her cousin laughed. ‘I knew you would want to look your best. I have had my cook at work ever since I heard the news. And they are making his favourite: marchpane.’

  Amy laughed aloud, catching her cousin’s excitement.

  ‘He has become a great man again,’ Ralph Scott said, coming forward to kiss his cousin-in-law. ‘We hear nothing but good reports of him. The queen honours him and seeks his company daily.’