Cecil was silent. Robert was gleeful.

“God’s Death!” he cried, using one of her oaths. “Why should we not crush this Catholic domination? Why should Your Majesty not be supreme head of the Protestant world?”

“There speaks the soldier,” she said, giving him a sharp tap on the cheek. “Let us have war that my lord of Leicester may distinguish himself and bring great glory to his name! Nay, Robert, the good things are won in peace. Is that not so, Master Cecil?”

“At this time, Madam, it would be daring enough to confiscate the bullion.”

“What reprisals could be taken by our little saint in his Escorial?”

“I do not think he is in a position to do overmuch. But there is the wool trade to consider and, as Your Majesty is well aware, our best customers are the Low Countries. Alba could seize our merchants’ goods there.”

“Well, we could seize the goods of the Netherlanders in England, which I believe are greater. Think of the riches these Netherlanders have built up in our country. Why, if we seized their goods and property here they would make such an outcry that the Spaniards would be forced to come to a peaceful settlement. Nay, my dear lords, no harm will come of this. We shall have the bullion as our loan; and this will teach these Spaniards to have more respect for Englishmen on the high seas. Hawkins was treated maliciously by those Spanish Dons in Mexico. Shall I allow my subjects to be treated thus?”

“But Hawkins gave as good as he got, Your Majesty,” said Robert.

“As good as he got? Nay, better, which is what I would expect of an Englishman.”

And in such good mood was she that Robert dared show his jealousy of her newest favorite.

“This Hatton man,” he said, when Cecil had left them. “Your Majesty cannot truly be so delighted with his company as it would seem.”

“But I am, Robert. I am. I declare my Lids are as necessary to me as my Eyes … or nearly so.”

“How can you say that?” he demanded passionately.

“Because it is true, dear Eyes.”

“Your Majesty seeks to torment me.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because I have loved you long and you grow tired of such enduring devotion.”

“God’s Body!” she cried. “Never would I tire of fidelity. It is to my way of thinking the most endearing quality.”

“And Your Majesty doubts mine?”

“I doubt it not, dear Robin. Doubt not mine for you.”

He kissed her hand, wondering whether he might speak to her of marriage, but he was more cautious than he had been in the days before that spell of disfavor. She smiled at the frown between his brows, and she thought: Dear Robin, he grows older. He loses those handsome looks.

There were streaks of white in the once black hair; the skin beneath the eyes was a little pouchy, the fine line of the jaw a little flabby. A tenderness came over her. She would not tell him so, but she loved him no less than she had in the days when she had so often thought of him as a husband. If her thoughts were calmer now, they were no less affectionate.

She was still the coquette; but she had made her wishes clear. She was to be eternally young, even though Lanoy had failed to find his elixir. All handsome men, whatever their ages, must be in love with her. It was part of the homage she demanded as their Queen.

She was ready to tease Robert a little about Hatton, that greedy man, who had been bold enough to ask for part of the Bishop of Ely’s garden. Hatton had received his garden—twenty acres of fertile land between Holborn Hill and Ely Place—although Bishop Cox had protested most bitterly.

“Methinks, Robert,” she said, “you are more than my Eyes. I read your thoughts. I have given a garden to Hatton. But think, my dear friend, what I have given to you. And I doubt not that, ere you and I leave this Earth, I shall give you much more. Yet in return what do I ask? Your affection, your loyalty to the Queen, and your fidelity to Elizabeth.”

“They are yours, my beloved.”

She smiled at him, and although the smile was tender it held a warning. She had heard that two sisters at Court were madly in love with him; and that there was continually strife between them because of this. One was Lady Sheffield and the other was Frances Howard. He must so far have remembered the pain of his exile, which had started with a flirtation with Lettice Knollys, for Elizabeth had not heard that he had given either of these sisters the slightest encouragement.

And, she thought grimly, it would be wiser for him not to do so. She could not tolerate any of her favorites’ marrying, but that her first favorite should have a love affair at Court was more than she could bear. It seemed to her that her life and Robert’s life were closely bound; she had always been attracted to him—first in the nursery, then in the Tower and later at Court; she knew now that she would always love him beyond all others whatever befell. She felt a similar affection for Kat Ashley. She might quarrel with her and with Robert, but she would love them until she died. And whereas Kat was the friend, Robert was the lover.

He made one more attempt, and she enjoyed his making it because it was the symbol of his jealousy.

“What is it you admire so much in the popinjay?”

“Come, Robert, do not show your jealousy of a man because he is younger and more agile on his feet than you. Have you seen the fellow in the dance?”

“The dance!” said Robert. “I will bring Your Majesty a dancing master who will perform more gracefully before your eyes than Master Christopher Hatton.”

“Pish!” said the Queen. “I’ll not see your man. It is his trade to dance.”

She laughed at his discomfiture. She was pleased, thinking of her love for Robert, of the bullion which would shortly lie in her coffers, and of the pique and embarrassment of that pale man of Spain who had had the bad taste, after seeking to marry her, not to wait for more than a few months before marrying a French Princess.

In the Castle which was now her prison, Mary Queen of Scots heard of the tension between Spain and England. Tempestuous and impulsive herself, she was certain that this would mean war between the two countries. She did not understand the characters of Philip and Elizabeth; neither was of a nature to plunge into war. Mary, alas for herself, knew no such caution. Now she had wild hopes. If there were war, and Spain were victorious, she would not only be restored to her throne, but given that of England as well, providing she was ready to return the country to the Catholic Faith; and this she would be most happy to do.

The Casket Letters were causing a great deal of scandal, and many were asking themselves and each other how such a woman as Mary, obviously unfitted to govern her country, could possibly be restored to her throne. A solution was suggested: Why should she not marry an English husband chosen for her by the English Parliament, and one whom she could marry with Elizabeth’s consent? Then she might be considered next in succession if Elizabeth died childless. If her husband were an Englishman, England could be sure of peace with Scotland. There was one man very suitable for the position of Mary’s husband; this man was the first peer of England, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk.

This opinion was put forward by the Catholic peers of the North, for although Norfolk professed himself to be of the Anglican Faith, he was at heart a Catholic.

Leicester, with Sussex and Throckmorton, decided that, providing Norfolk and Mary became good Anglicans and took the rites of the Church of England to Scotland, this match could not fail to be beneficial to England.

Ambition made Norfolk eager for the marriage, but he was a little shaken by the revelation of the Casket Letters.

The Queen, hearing of the plan, sent for Norfolk. “So, my lord, you make great plans?” she said. “You would marry the Queen of Scots and change your rank of Duke for King?”

“Nay, Your Majesty. Why should I seek to marry so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress, and one who had committed murder? I love to sleep on a safe pillow.”

“There are some who might consider a crown worth such risks.”

The old Norfolk pride showed itself. “Your Majesty, I count myself, by your favor, as good a Prince at home in my bowling alley in Norfolk as she is in the heart of Scotland.”

The Queen nodded. Those were not idle words. Norfolk, first peer of England, the country’s only Duke, was one of its richest men.

“And, Your Majesty,” went on Norfolk, “I could not marry with her, knowing that she pretends a title to the present possession of Your Majesty’s crown. If I did so, Your Majesty might justly charge me with seeking the crown of England.”

“I well might do so,” said the Queen grimly.

Norfolk felt that he had come well out of a difficult interview, but the thought of a crown, even though it was but the crown of Scotland, could not lightly be dismissed. Mary was a dangerous woman, but she was a fascinating one.

He discussed the matter with Robert, who felt that he could not oppose the marriage while the succession was still not fixed. Elizabeth was strong and healthy, but often people died suddenly. If Mary became Queen of England, Elizabeth’s favorite would have little to hope for unless he showed himself, during the lifetime of Elizabeth, not unfriendly to Mary. Robert’s love and loyalty were for Elizabeth; but he did not see how this marriage of Mary with Norfolk could affect that.

“I will do my best,” said Robert, “to show the Queen the advantages of this marriage. The tormenting problem of the succession must be fixed in some way, and how better than this?”

Norfolk looked at his old enemy. They had never liked each other. Norfolk still regarded Robert as an upstart; Robert did not forget old insults.

Robert arranged that Norfolk should sup with the Queen and put his case before her; but Elizabeth was suspicious, and before he had a chance of speaking of the marriage, she leaned toward him and, taking his ear between her thumb and forefinger, nipped it hard.

“I would wish you, my lord,” she said, “to take good heed to your pillow.”

That was a sly reference to his own remark. The pillow could mean that which he shared with Mary, or another one of wood on which he might lay his head before the axe descended.

Norfolk rose from the supper table at which they sat and, throwing himself upon his knees before her, assured her that his one wish was to serve her, and that he had no intention of making any marriage which should not be in accordance with her wishes.

He left, relieved that he had emerged from a difficult situation with safety. But the matter did not end there. Mary began to write letters to him; and into those letters it seemed that she infused some of that charm of which he had heard so much. She was an adulteress, he believed; he suspected her of murder; but he became more and more fascinated, not only by Scotland’s crown, but by Scotland’s Queen.

In spite of Elizabeth’s objections, the lords would not abandon the idea of the marriage, for it seemed to them the only means of avoiding war with the great Catholic countries, France and Spain, who were ever watching, seeking an opportunity to overthrow Protestant England. The Netherlands were in a sorry state and, once they were completely subdued by the iron hand of Alba and the Inquisition, it might be that Alba’s next task in the establishment of the Catholic Faith throughout the world would be to subdue England. There was one way of holding off that calamity: Promise the succession to Mary Queen of Scots and, to ensure her good behavior, give her a good English husband, a man who could be trusted as they believed they could trust the Duke of Norfolk. The project was the hope of the Catholics in England, and of these there were many.

These peers believed that if they could get rid of Cecil and his party they could achieve this object, for Cecil was upholding the Queen in her objections to the match.

A conspiracy was set on foot to depose Cecil and, because many remembered what had happened to Thomas Cromwell in the days of the Queen’s father, they had the axe in mind for Cecil.

Robert, who had somewhat half-heartedly thrown in his lot with the opponents of Cecil, was chosen as the man to lay the proposition before the Queen. He chose a meeting of the Council to do this; and he pointed out to her that it was the considered opinion of those of her ministers who were not of Cecil’s party, that his policy was leading England toward danger. This policy had, it was felt, so far alienated England from France and Spain, that the only way in which the damage might be remedied was to offer Cecil as a sacrifice to Catholic opinion abroad.