Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean. Страница 114

So he was back in high favor. The Netherlands venture had been a terrible disaster. I had always known that wars brought little profit. I had been against going in; it seemed no easy task to defeat the Spaniards even in the Netherlands where they were far from their homeland.

There were disturbing reports coming from Walsingham about the preparations for war. Whom could they plan to strike against but England? And this was confirmed by the fact that they were assembling a mighty armada to come against us.

I was pleased to have in my service such men as Sir Francis Drake—buccaneers of the sea who were really already at war with the Spaniards, intercepting their ships, taking their treasure and showing them that although they might have a great armada, the English were natural men of the sea and were a match for them. Drake had brought home great treasure and for that I was grateful. I was in need of money; the Netherlands had swallowed up vast sums—a waste of money I called it—and I was in sad financial straits; but even so I was not so poor as Philip, which was a comforting thought.

Drake had returned from one of his expeditions with quantities of booty—all taken from the Spaniards—and on the way home he had called in at Cadiz and as he said “singed the beard of the King of Spain.” This meant that he had gone in among the ships in the harbor and sunk or burned thirty-three of them and brought away four of them laden with provisions.

He had also brought back news that Spain was fast preparing to attack England and that the conflict would take place at sea. Philip must be stopped now and forever. He believed that our ships, which might lack the grandeur of the Spanish galleons, would be a match for them when the time came for them to test their strength.

Younger men were coming to Court to seek their fortunes. The old favorites remained—Robert, Hatton, Heneage—and I loved them all. The fact that they were getting old did not make me love them less. When Walsingham fell ill and Burghley had a fall from his horse, I was really anxious and I visited them and scolded them for not taking greater care of their health. I was a mother to them and they looked to me for comfort. I never failed them as I knew they would never fail me. It was a very special relationship I shared with my men; it was only those who had never broken through into the magic circle—like Davison—who did not enjoy it.

There were two newcomers—two of the most exciting young men I had ever known. One was Robert Devereux and the other Walter Raleigh.

Robert had brought his stepson to Court and clearly wanted me to receive him well. I don't know why I took an instant liking to him—for he was the son of my great enemy, that she-wolf, whom I had never ceased to hate and who had been banished from my Court since her marriage to Robert.

But there was something disarming about Robert Devereux—Earl of Essex since the age of nine when his father had died rather mysteriously in Ireland, poisoned as the chronicler of Leicester's Commonwealth put it.

He had been seventeen when Robert had first presented him to me, and I remembered him as the charming boy I had noticed when I had visited Chartley after that memorable time at Kenilworth.

He was most attractive. I thought, grudgingly, that he had inherited his good looks from his mother. He certainly had her auburn hair and dark eyes. He had an unusual way of walking, taking great strides, holding his head a little forward and stooping slightly. There were many beautiful young men in my life but this one was outstanding. He appealed to me immediately not unlike the manner in which Robert had. There had been only two for whom I had felt this romantic feeling until this time. One was Thomas Seymour and the other, of course, Robert. Robert was of my own age, and now that we were old both of us knew that nothing could change between us. No one else could ever mean to me what he did; but I did feel this flutter of romantic feeling for Essex, which was extremely odd because he was Leicester's stepson and the son of the woman I hated more than any other. Perhaps these facts were a fillip to my emotions regarding Essex. I was unsure, but that they existed I knew full well.

My impulse would have been to reject him because obviously she would be hoping for his success at Court; but he immediately caught my attention as he had all those years ago at Chartley.

He was very raw—and I saw at once that he had no political sense. He was the sort of man who spoke before he considered the effect his words might have—so he lacked the first quality of a courtier. It was once said of him in my hearing: “He is no good pupil of my Lord Leicester, who is wont to put all his passion in his pocket.”

I suppose that was true of Robert. No one knew better than he did how to dissimulate. One could never be absolutely sure with Robert. Perhaps that was what made him so fascinating. Essex left no one in doubt. I often thought this in him might bring about his downfall.

And then there was that other—that dark handsome brilliant man— Walter Raleigh. He was about thirty when he first caught my attention, and he had come to Court to do exactly that, hoping to make his fortune. He was the kind of man who must be noticed sooner or later. He was tall, wellbuilt and outstandingly handsome. He had thick black hair and the ruddy complexion of a countryman; but what was most noticeable about him was his amazing vitality; he seemed to have twice as much energy as most men.

He came to my attention one day when I was out walking surrounded by a group of the ladies and gentlemen of the Court. We had come to a road which was muddy and we stood for a few moments contemplating how best to get across without picking up too much mud. Then Raleigh came forward. He was wearing a beautiful plush coat, which was obviously new, and with a flourish he took it from his shoulders and spread it over the muddy patch for me to walk on.

I always accepted these extravagant gestures gracefully, though I knew that in his heart the young man would count cheap the cost of a coat, however fine, if it brought him royal favor.

But I had noticed him and I asked about him and learned that he was one Walter Raleigh from Devonshire, the county which had brought me my most excellent Francis Drake; and I decided that I would know more of this enterprising young man.

I learned that he had been in trouble. That was inevitable, I assumed, with a man of his spirit. He was quick-tempered, but not reckless with it as Essex was. I thought Raleigh was a man who would weigh well his actions. He was far cleverer than my charming Essex. He was witty, his badinage amusing and his conversation sparkling. Much more than Essex he had the qualifications to make him a success at Court. He had quarreled with Thomas Perrot and that had resulted in a brawl which had brought them to the Fleet Prison for a few days. Then he had had a fight with a man named Wingfield over a game of tennis, which had meant a brief spell in the Marshalsea. He had certainly had some questionable adventures but he had won distinction at sea.

During his early days at Court he had been befriended by Leicester, who also liked his spirit, and he had fallen in with the Earl of Oxford whom, though one of my favorites, I did recognize as a rather disreputable young man for he had behaved abominably to Burghley's daughter and was a real scoundrel. Raleigh and he soon fell out, however, and became enemies.

There was great jealousy between them, but that often happened between my men. Our relationship was such that it engendered jealousy. They really behaved like petulant lovers sometimes. I did not complain. My nature being what it was, I enjoyed it and perhaps encouraged it.

I enjoyed Raleigh's company very much. He was one who set great store on climbing to fame. I did not mind that. A man who will rise must climb.