He shifted in his seat, but she would not let him go.

“Whose hair is the better color—the Queen of England’s or the Queen of Scots’?”

“I beg Your Majesty to excuse me. I know nothing of such matters.”

“I believe that you do not remember what color hair your mistress has. It cannot have struck you very forcibly, you treacherous man.”

“Madam, I serve my mistress faithfully …”

She tapped his arm and laughed, for she was in a very frivolous mood; and it was as though her secret thoughts were so amusing that she could not refrain from laughter.

“I know it, I know it,” she cried. “You have not noticed your mistress’ hair, because it is so like other ladies’ hair that it has passed your notice. Now here is a simpler question: Who is the more beautiful, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

Melville answered: “You are the fairest …” She smiled graciously at him, but he continued: “… in England. Our Queen is the fairest in Scotland.”

She pouted. “Come, come! That will not do.”

“Nay, Your Majesty pokes fun at this poor ambassador.”

“I am in earnest. I wish to know. I greatly regret that I have not my dear sister here in England. I would remedy the lack. I wish to know exactly how she looks.”

“Your Majesty, you and she are the fairest ladies in your Courts.”

“I am fairer of skin and lighter of hair, am I not?” she persisted.

“That is so, Your Majesty, but …”

“But what, sir?”

“Our Queen is very beautiful.”

“We have heard that said. We would we had her here that we might prove the truth of it. Who is the taller, she or I?”

“Our Queen is taller, Your Majesty.”

“Then she is too tall!” said Elizabeth. “For it is said that I am neither too tall nor too low.”

She was a little annoyed, and talked no more of appearances. This man was certainly uncouth; he did not even know how to compliment a Queen. She thought of the charming things Robert would have said to reassure her.

“How does your Queen pass the time?”

“She hunts.”

“Does she read?”

“She does, Your Majesty. She reads good books—the histories of countries.”

“And does she love music?”

“Very much, Your Majesty.”

“What instruments does she play?”

“The lute and the virginals.”

“Does she play well?”

“Reasonably well, Your Majesty … for a Queen.”

Then the Queen must play for the Scottish ambassador; she did so, and he had to admit that, on the virginals, she excelled her rival.

Then she must arrange for dances to be performed before him that she might show him how she danced. The inevitable question was asked: “Who is the better dancer, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

He was frank: “My Queen dances not so high nor so disposedly as Your Majesty.”

She was inclined to be amused at the reply, but she answered tartly that she held the dance to be an expression of joy and high spirits, not so much a matter of elegance as she believed the French and the Spaniards looked upon it.

“Ah, that I might see your Queen!” she sighed. “You cannot guess how I yearn for a meeting. Would you could bring her to me.”

“I would willingly convey Your Majesty to Scotland. Our King James the Fifth went in disguise to France in order to inspect the Duke of Vendôme’s sister who was proposed for his bride. He was dressed as a page. What if Your Majesty so disguised herself?”

“Ah, that it could be so!” she sighed.

Then she said those words which set the whole world laughing and raised the high indignation of Scotland. “I have found a husband for your mistress.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I will give her the only man in the world whom I consider worthy to mate with her. This is the most virtuous, the most perfect of men, one whom I would have married myself had my mind not been given to

the virgin state. You have guessed? But surely you have. There is only one man who could fit such praises. I refer to my Lord Robert Dudley.”

The ambassador was at a loss for words.

She smiled at him pleasantly. “Ah, you feel his rank is not high enough? That is easily remedied. I shall do for him that which I have long promised. I shall make him the first Earl in the country. Now, my dear Melville, to your chamber, and write to your mistress that she may no longer remain in ignorance of the great good I would do her.”

Robert was furious.

He demanded instant audience and she, nothing loth, granted it.

“My lord, what ails you? See how I have your good at heart!”

“You would make a laughing-stock of me, Madam.”

“What! In offering you one of the most sought-after of brides?”

“There is only one bride I would have.”

“You are too ambitious, Robert.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You do not seem to understand that you speak with your Queen.”

“But you have led me to believe you would marry me.”

“Time and time again I have told you that I would never forsake the virgin state. Why, Robert, she is the fairest of women.”

She waited and of course it came: “That is untrue. You are the fairest of women.”

“Master Melville does not seem to think so, and he has seen us both.”

“The man is an uncouth ruffian from a land of barbarians.”

“I believe you are right, Robert.”

“Then put an end to this farce.”

“Come here, my love. Kat … a cushion for my lord. I would have him kneel at my feet. Nay, woman, the best of my cushions, for only the best is good enough for him. Hath he not said so?” He took her hand and kissed it. “Robert,” she said, “my fool Robert, do you think I would let you go to her!”

“Do you think I would ever leave you?”

“I’d send you to the block if you tried.”

“Then we see this matter through the same eyes as always?”

“Yes, my dearest Eyes, we do. But the woman is an arrogant creature. She will be angry when she knows I offer you, and she’ll not dare refuse you. But she will be angrier still when you refuse her. It will be as though you choose between us—marriage with her or the hope of marriage with me. And Robert, you are a man whom any woman would delight in having for her husband.”

“Except one who torments and teases and will not decide.”

“It is the Queen who is uncertain. The woman would take you this moment.”

“My beloved … my Queen …”

“Hush! That sly Kat listens. My dear one, now I shall show my love for you. I shall make you an Earl … the Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, that title which has only been used until now by royal persons; and I shall give you the Castle of Kenilworth and Astel-Grove. Now, you see, my darling, why I have seemed harsh to you to whom I could not be harsh. I did not grant you this state before, for I did not wish our enemies to call you my lap-dog. Now a great title will be yours; you will be the richest man in England—almost a King—and that is what I wish you to be. This I can do now, and none dare say me nay; for to marry with the Queen of Scots you must indeed be Earl of Leicester. And if you do not marry the Queen of Scots, you will still be with your own Elizabeth, and you will be none the worse—the Earl of Leicester instead of plain Lord Robert.”

He was kissing her hands, her throat, and her lips.

Robert was created Earl of Leicester with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster.

The Queen had insisted that, before he departed for Scotland, Sir James Melville must witness the ceremony, that he might report to his mistress in what high esteem the Queen held the man she was offering to her dear sister of Scotland.

She would allow none but herself to help him put on his robes. He was very solemn and dignified, and never had he looked quite so handsome as he did in his robes of state.

All those present noted the tender looks the Queen bestowed upon him; and, as he knelt before her and bent his head, she could not resist tickling his neck, there before them all.

She turned to the Scottish ambassador and, her face shining with love and pride, said: “How do you like him?”

“He is doubtless a worthy subject,” said Melville. “He is happy to serve a Queen who discerns and rewards good service.”

She smiled and her eyes fell on young Darnley who, as Prince of the Blood Royal, was standing near her. She knew that the sly ambassador was in touch—as he thought, in secret—with that young man, and that he hoped to make him, instead of the Earl of Leicester, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots.

She pointed to Darnley and said, imitating the Scottish accent: “Yet you like better yon lang lad.”

He was sly, that man. He did not know how much she had learned of his secret plotting. He whispered, thinking to please her: “No woman of spirit, Your Majesty, would make choice of such a man—for although he is very lusty, so I have heard, he is beardless and has the face of a lady.”

The Queen signified that she was well pleased with this answer, and her eyes went back with admiration to the newly made Earl.

Later at the banquet to celebrate the occasion she kept the Scot beside her.

She reminded him of the great affection she had for Mary.

“To no other would I offer Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. You must tell your mistress that in so doing I offer her the greatest compliment I could offer any. I am giving her the man I would have married myself were I not determined to live and die in the virgin state.”

“Madam,” he said, “ye need not to tell me that, for I know your stately stomach. You think that if you married you would be but Queen of England, and now you are both King and Queen. You will not suffer a commander.”

She looked at him shrewdly. He was no fool, this dour Scotsman.

Very soon after Robert was made Earl of Leicester, the Archduke Charles, having been rejected by Mary, began again to sue for Elizabeth’s hand. Catherine de’ Medici was trying to get the Queen for her son, King Charles; and failing him, for his brother, the Duke of Anjou.

Elizabeth meanwhile feigned to consider these suggestions with rapt attention. She allowed Darnley, against the advice of Cecil and her Council, to leave for Scotland.

It seemed that as soon as the Queen of Scots saw the beardless boy with the lady’s face, she fell in love with him and decided to dispense with the consent of the Queen of England. She married him.

It was not until after the ceremony that Elizabeth heard of the marriage.

She received the information calmly, and laughed merrily over it with the newly-made Earl of Leicester.

SEVEN

It was now eight years since Elizabeth had become Queen, and still she was unmarried, and still Robert continued to urge their union; but he was less hopeful than he had been.

He was now in his thirties—a little less handsome but not less attractive to women; and if the Queen could not make up her mind whether she would marry him or not, there were many ladies who would not have hesitated for a minute if he had offered himself to them.

He was one of the richest men in England now; he was the most powerful. But he had paid for these honors, and Robert was beginning to think that he had paid dearly.

He had always been attracted by children; the little boy who had served him so nobly during his imprisonment was no exceptional case. Children’s eyes followed him; they liked his magnificence, his great stature, his handsome face. His manner toward them was all that children desired it to be; he treated them with an easy nonchalance; he made them feel, not that he was stooping to their level, but that miraculously he had lifted them to his.

He now began to examine his dissatisfaction. He believed that above all things he had wished for marriage with the Queen; perhaps he still did. But he also felt a great desire to have children—sons—and they must be legitimate; yet what chance had he of getting legitimate sons while he must go on awaiting the Queen’s pleasure? Naturally he would prefer his first-born to be heir to the throne; but had Elizabeth decided to wait until they were too old to have children?

He had heard the words of the Scottish ambassador: “Madam, I know your stately stomach. You would be King and Queen.”

There was truth in those words, and it might well be that she, who would tolerate none equal with herself, had secretly made up her mind never to marry.

He had not, of course, been faithful to the Queen; but his love-affairs had had to be secret. He could never so much as look for long at any one of the Court beauties, for if the Queen’s jealous eyes did not detect a Court peccadillo, her spies would; and they were everywhere. He had powerful enemies who were hoping for his overthrow; Cecil was one of them, and since he had been made Earl of Leicester and Cecil had received no similar honor, the Queen’s chief minister must certainly be envious. Norfolk, Sussex, Arundel—those most powerful men—were only a few of his enemies. He knew that they were secretly working against his marriage with the Queen, and that the friendship they feigned to express was merely a sign that they feared Elizabeth might one day marry him. He suspected that Cecil had put into Elizabeth’s head the idea of marrying him to Mary Stuart, and although he had come well out of that matter as the Earl of Leicester, he could not help feeling that he had been exposed to a certain amount of ridicule.