Philippa Gregory - The Virgin's Lover

She is small scale, not a queen at all yet. She will stick at the raising of the Host because she can see it; that is real, it happens before her nose. But the great debates of the church she would rather avoid. Elizabeth has no vision; she has never had time to see beyond her own survival.

At the table, Cecil beckoned to one of his clerks and the man stepped forward and showed the young queen a page of writing.

If a man wanted to dominate this queen, he would have to separate her from Cecil, Robert thought to himself, watching the two heads so companionably close together as she read his paper. If a man wanted to rule England through this queen he would have to be rid of Cecil first. And she would have to lose faith in Cecil before anything else could be done.

Elizabeth pointed to something on the page; Cecil answered her question, and then she nodded her agreement. She looked up and, seeing Dudley’s eyes upon her, beckoned him forward.

Dudley, head up, a little swagger in his stride at stepping forward before the whole court, came up to the throne and swept a deep, elegant bow.

“Good day, Your Grace,” he said. “And God bless you in this first day of your rule.”

Elizabeth beamed at him. “We have been preparing the list of my emissaries to go to the courts of Europe to announce my coronation,” she said. “Cecil suggests that I send you to Philip of Spain in Brussels. Shall you like to tell your old master that I am now anointed queen?”

“As you wish,” he agreed at once, hiding his irritation. “But are you going to stay indoors at work all day today, Your Grace? Your hunter is waiting, the weather is fine.”

He caught her longing glance toward the window and her hesitation.

“The French ambassador…” Cecil remarked for her ear only.

She shrugged. “The ambassador can wait, I suppose.”

“And I have a new hunter that I thought you might try,” Dudley said temptingly. “From Ireland. A bright bay, a handsome horse, and strong.”

“Not too strong, I hope,” Cecil said.

“The queen rides like a Diana.” Dudley flattered her to her face, not even glancing at the older man. “There is no one to match her. I would put her on any horse in the stables and it would know its master. She rides like her father did, quite without fear.”

Elizabeth glowed a little at the praise. “I will come in an hour,” she said. “First, I have to see what these people want.” She glanced around the room and the men and women stirred like spring barley when the breeze passes over it. Her very glance could make them ripple with longing for her attention.

Dudley laughed quietly. “Oh, I can tell you that,” he said cynically. “It needn’t take an hour.”

She tipped her head to one side to listen, and he stepped up to the throne so that he could whisper in her ear. Cecil saw her eyes dance and how she put her hand to her mouth to hold in her laughter.

“Shush, you are a slanderer,” she said, and slapped the back of his hand with her gloves.

At once, Dudley turned his hand over, palm up, as if to invite another smack. Elizabeth averted her head and veiled her eyes with her dark lashes.

Dudley bent his head again, and whispered to her once more. A giggle escaped from the queen.

“Master Secretary,” she said. “You must send Sir Robert away, he is too distracting.”

Cecil smiled pleasantly at the younger man. “You are most welcome to divert Her Grace,” he said warmly. “If anything, she works too hard. The kingdom cannot be transformed in a week; there is much to do but it will have to be done over time. And…” He hesitated. “Many things we will have to consider carefully; they are new to us.”

And you are at a loss half the time, Robert remarked to himself. I would know what should be done. But you are her advisor and I am merely Master of Horse. Well, so be it for today. So I will take her riding.

Aloud he said with a smile: “There you are then! Your Grace, come out and ride with me. We need not hunt, we’ll just take a couple of grooms and you can try the paces of this bay horse.”

“Within the hour,” she promised him.

“And the French ambassador can ride with you,” Cecil suggested.

A swift glance from Robert Dudley showed that he realized he had been burdened with chaperones but Cecil’s face remained serene.

“Don’t you have a horse he can use in the stables?” he asked, challenging Robert’s competence, without seeming to challenge him at all.

“Of course,” Robert said urbanely. “He can have his pick from a dozen.”

The queen scanned the room. “Ah, my lord,” she said pleasantly to one of the waiting men. “How glad I am to see you at court.”

It was his cue for her attention and at once he stepped forward. “I have brought Your Grace a gift to celebrate your coming to the throne,” he said.

Elizabeth brightened; she loved gifts of any sort, she was as acquisitive as a magpie. Robert, knowing that what would follow would be some request for the right to cut wood or enclose common land, to avoid a tax or persecute a neighbor, stepped down from the dais, bowed, walked backward from the throne, bowed again at the door, and went out to the stables.

Despite the French ambassador, a couple of lords, some small-fry gentry, a couple of ladies-in-waiting, and half a dozen guards that Cecil had collected to accompany the queen, Dudley managed to ride by her side and they were left alone for most of the ride. At least two men muttered that Dudley was shown more favor than he deserved, but Robert ignored them, and the queen did not hear.

They rode westerly, slowly at first through the streets and then lengthening the pace of the horses as they entered the yellowing winter grassland of St. James’s Park. Beyond the park, the houses gave way to market gardens to feed the insatiable city, and then to open fields, and then to wilder country. The queen was absorbed in managing the new horse, who fretted at too tight a rein but would take advantage and toss his head if she let him ride too loose.

“He needs schooling,” she said critically to Robert.

“I thought you should try him as he is,” he said easily. “And then we can decide what is to be done with him. He could be a hunter for you, he is strong enough and he jumps like a bird, or he could be a horse you use in processions, he is so handsome and his color is so good. If you want him for that, I have a mind to have him specially trained, taught to stand and to tolerate crowds. I thought your gray fretted a little when people pushed very close.”

“You can’t blame him for that!” she retorted. “They were waving flags in his face and throwing rose petals at him!”

He smiled at her. “I know. But this will happen again and again. England loves her princess. You will need a horse that can stand and watch a tableau, and let you bend down and take a posy from a child without shifting for a moment, and then trot with his head up looking proud.”

She was struck by his advice. “You’re right,” she said. “And it is hard to pay attention to the crowd and to manage a horse.”

“I don’t want you to be led by a groom either,” he said decidedly. “Or to ride in a carriage. I want them to see you mastering your own horse. I don’t want anything taken away from you. Every procession should add to you; they should see you higher, stronger, grander even than life.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I have to be seen as strong; my sister was always saying she was a weak woman, and she was always ill, all the time.”

“And he is your color,” he said impertinently. “You are a bright chestnut yourself.”

She was not offended; she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, d’you think he is a Tudor?” she asked.