Виктория Холт - In the Shadow of the Crown

“They should have elected you, Reginald. You should have been Pope.”

“My dear Mary, I am a sick man.”

“So they chose this old man!”

“You have not seen him. He has the energy of youth and the experience of old age. A man who can combine the two is a rarity, but such is Cardinal Caraffa who is now Paul IV. It is unfortunate that he has a grudge against Philip.”

“How could Philip have aroused his animosity? It was not very wise of him, was it?”

“It would have been if the Cardinal had failed to be elected. Philip tried to prevent that and so, I fear, has earned the Pope's enduring emnity.”

“A man of God will forgive,” I said.

Reginald smiled wryly. “The Pope will try to drive Philip out of Europe and to achieve this is ready to make an alliance with the French.”

“All my life I remember it. There was an alliance between my father and the King of France… and then they were enemies and there was an alliance with the Emperor. Then he quarrelled with the Emperor and was the friend of France. How much are these alliances worth, Reginald?”

“A great deal while they last. Philip is disturbed.”

“That is why he is coming home. He will talk to me. It is what he wants.”

“I will tell you what he wants. He will want England to stand with him. He will want you to declare war on France.”

“War! I hate war! There are enough troubles here already. The drought has not helped. The people fear famine, and when that threatens they turn against those who in their eyes are wealthy and well fed. There has been trouble since we turned to Rome. Oh, Reginald, there are times when I am so unhappy. The people no longer love me. I think they are waiting for my death… hoping for it… that they may turn to Elizabeth.”

“She would take the country away from Rome.”

“She would do what the people wanted her to.”

“She has heard the Mass.”

“Yes… but showing her reluctance. She sways with the wind. Which way do you want me to go? What is the best for me? she asks herself. And that is the way she will go.”

“There are some who think she should be questioned.”

“I cannot believe she would ever harm me.”

“You are too trusting.”

“Yes,” I agreed, thinking of Philip. “It may be that I do not employ subterfuge as some people do.”

He put his hand over mine. “You have done well,” he said.

“Remember you used to say you had a mission? God had chosen you to bring England back to His true Church? You must rejoice, for you have done that. Always it will be remembered that it was in your reign that England returned to the Church of Rome.”

It was pleasant to be with him. I wanted to talk of the old days when I was a child and I had first known him. He had seemed so noble then. I liked to think of our mothers talking confidentially over their needlework, matchmaking for us.

If I had married Reginald when I was young and had wanted to, how different my life would have been. It would surely have been a very suitable and happy marriage.

But it did not come to pass; and now Philip was coming home because he wanted my country to join his in the war against the French.

WE WERE DISTURBED by the menace of another rebellion. This time it was Thomas Stafford. It was very disconcerting to me because the young man was Reginald's nephew.

Reginald was very upset about it. He talked to me about Thomas, who had renounced the Catholic faith. When he was on the Continent, Reginald had made great efforts to bring him back to it—but in vain.

Thomas's mother, Ursula, was the daughter of my dear Countess of Salisbury; thus she was Reginald's sister. So the young man had royal blood on that side of the family; but his father was the third Duke of Buckingham who was descended from Thomas Woodstock, third son of Edward III. So … Thomas had royal blood on both sides, and he had the temerity to consider that his claim to the throne was greater than mine, for he declared that, by marrying a Spaniard, I had forfeited my right to it.

It seemed so recklessly stupid that one felt one should ignore it, and, as Thomas Stafford was abroad, we did for some time. It had seemed just one of the minor irritations I was doomed to suffer.

Gradually we began to see that it was not so trivial. This was when the English ambassador to France sent dispatches home which indicated that Thomas Stafford was being received with respect by Henri Deux, who was giving him encouragement, and had even promised him two ships to help him.

Ruy Gomez da Silva arrived in England. It was February and bitterly cold.

I was delighted to see him, because I knew that his coming meant that Philip would soon follow.

Ruy Gomez was a typical Spanish nobleman. He was a master of courtesy, as Philip was; but Ruy Gomez had an ease of manner, a way of flattering with his eyes and paying unspoken compliments which made one feel attractive even though one knew to the contrary. He was a very gracious, charming gentleman.

He asked for an audience immediately on his arrival and, of course, I granted it with alacrity.

Susan warned me that, underneath all the charm, here was an astute diplomat who should be carefully watched.

He talked pleasantly and easily of the journey, the crossing and the health of Philip, which was good.

“His Majesty has been completely immersed in his duties, which were onerous, and now that the Emperor has passed his dominions to his beloved son, those duties are increasing.”

“We shall have much to discuss,” I said.

“The French are causing a great deal of trouble,” Gomez told me.

“There are always some to cause trouble, and often it is the French.”

“The King needs all the assistance he can get.”

He did not actually say that Philip was coming to ask me to give assistance, but he implied it. Though, of course, I knew that already.

“The Council and the country would not be in favor of our being involved in war at this time,” I told him.

He gave me the most flattering of smiles. “You are the Queen,” he said.

“It would be necessary for the Council to agree.”

“The French are no friends of England.”

“It seems to me that no country is a friend of another.”

He looked at me reproachfully. “But our countries, Your Majesty, are united by the marriage of yourself and the King.”

“That is so,” I agreed.

“And it is because the King relies on your love and loyalty that he will tear himself away from his duties to come to you.”

“It is long since I have seen him.”

“His duties have kept him, most reluctantly, from your side.”

I thought: Fêting the beautiful women of Brussels? Enjoying a liaison with the Duchess of Lorraine?

“And now he will come,” I said, “because he needs help.”

“He has yearned to be with Your Majesty. As I stress, it is only duty which has kept him away from you.”

“And now duty bids him come to me.”

“It is his love for Your Majesty which will bring him.”

His eyes were shrewd. I knew what he was telling me in his subtle way. He was sounding me. Would I and my Council be prepared to declare war on France? If so, Philip would come to England and we would work together on that project. If not, he would be wasting his time in coming.

I tried to stifle the wretchedness I was feeling. It was better to be ignorant when knowledge brought so much pain.

He was watching me closely. He would have to report to Philip. Was it worth his while to come? If there was no hope, he would find some excuse to stay away. If there was hope, he would come and persuade me.

That was not true, I admonished myself. He was my husband. He wanted to be with me. Of course, his duties were extensive; he had a kingdom to govern. I had allowed people to poison my mind against him. When he came, he would assure me that he loved me and that it was only his overwhelming duties which kept us apart.