Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean. Страница 91

I could not have enough of Simier's company; in fact so successful was his visit that most of those around me thought that I intended entering into matrimony at last.

There were intimate discussions between the doctors and some of the members of my bedchamber as to whether I should still be able to bear a child and give the country the longed-for heir. The verdict was that this was distinctly possible. I was forty-five years of age but extraordinarily well preserved. I had all my teeth; my skin was white and clear; my face was unlined, and if my hair was not quite as bright and plentiful as it had once been, that was easily remedied. My ladies had some effective lotions and there were always false pieces and wigs to fall back on.

They were right. I was in the condition of a woman ten years younger than myself and although it was getting rather late for marriage, the verdict was that if I did not delay too long there might very well be a satisfactory outcome.

This was one of the most enjoyable periods I remember. I was being courted with charm, skill and a display of absolute adoration by one who clearly had been chosen for his abilities to represent his master. My own men showed clearly their regard for me and made it obvious that they were only in favor of the marriage because they believed it would be best for me; but the faces of those most near to me were melancholy during those days.

I asked Hatton what ailed him and he said he dared not tell me, at which I insisted.

Then he said: “Since Your Majesty commands, I will tell you it is because of this marriage.”

“Oh, so old Bellwether does not like the French.”

“I know,” he said, “that this marriage would do good to the country.” Then he raised his eyes to me with the most soulful expression and added: “I have to agree with the Council that it should take place, but when it does I shall suffer most dreadfully. Your Majesty fishes for men's souls and has so sweet a bait that none can escape your network.”

I gave him a playful push. “It will make no difference to you, my dear Mutton,” I said. “You will remain my friend as you ever were.”

It was the same with Heneage. He raised his eyes to mine and said: “I know this marriage must be but it is hard for one who loves Your Majesty— even as the French Prince will, and the greatness of his kingly birth makes him fit to have Your Majesty it is true, but the love of this humble servant is no less great than that of the highest prince.”

I replied with deep feeling that nothing would induce me to part with my dear friends, and no matter if I married the greatest prince in Christendom I should never do that.

John Aylmer, Bishop of London, may not have been able to express his devotion in such a flowery manner but he did so in a practical way. There was a great deal of talk at this time about plots devised by the Catholics, the aim being to depose me and set Mary of Scotland on the throne. In fact several waxen images of me had been found in the house of a Catholic priest in Islington. Such matters were promptly dealt with but they did give rise to concern and I began to be plagued by a nagging toothache, which grew so bad that I was unable to sleep at night and so anxious did my ministers become—they were always thrown into a panic at any disability on my part—that they called a conference of the physicians, one of whom mentioned a certain Anthony Fenatus who had a reputation for making fantastic cures.

“What if the man is a Catholic?” said Burghley.

“What if he is one of Philip's spies?” asked Robert.

“He might be a sorcerer,” suggested Heneage.

Thus it was decided that Fenatus should not actually see me but should write a prescription which one of our men would make up.

Fenatus replied that he had no skill to produce an effective cure and if a tooth was hollow the only way to stop the pain was to withdraw it. However, if Her Majesty did not wish to submit to the chirurgical instruments, the tooth could be stopped with wax which would loosen it, but care must be taken that the wax touched no other tooth; then juice of the plant known as fenugreek, which was to be found in Suffolk, should be applied. This might loosen the tooth still more and make it easy to withdraw, for, he repeated, the only safe way to be rid of the pain was to be rid of the tooth.

The method was tried without success. The tooth remained firm and unbearably painful. My Council met and discussed the tooth as though it were the gravest matter of state, which I supposed it was for the pain was undermining my health.

Burghley implored me to have it withdrawn, but I was adamant. I could not endure the pain of it.

Then it was that John Aylmer showed his love for me in a very special way. He said: “Your Majesty, to draw a tooth is not as painful an operation as Your Majesty thinks. The pain is sharp and short and to be preferred to this enduring agony. I am an old man with few teeth to spare but Your Majesty shall see a practical experiment on me for I would willingly give my life in your service, so what is a mere tooth?”

Whereupon he called the surgeon and in a very short time one of his teeth was pulled out. He uttered not a cry, but sat still holding a kerchief to his mouth with a look of triumph on his dear good face.

After that I had no alternative but to submit to the operation and in a very short time it was performed. Aylmer was right—a short sharp pain was infinitely preferable to that continuous nagging agony.

Such devotion filled me with gratitude and I would never forget John Aylmer's action and whenever I saw him afterward I asked him how many teeth he had left and he would tell me with a smile and add that every one of them was at my service.

I was fortunate in the men I had chosen to surround me. Years afterward, looking back, I often thought that one of my greatest gifts was an ability to sift the wheat from the tares. I had the greatest men in England serving me, which was tantamount to serving their country, and I have never forgotten—and as I grew older this became more clear to me—what I owed to these good and clever creatures.

Robert during this time was inclined to be sullen. His hatred of Simier made me laugh. He said that the man was a poseur, a twittering Frenchman, a man whose chief concern was the cut of his coat.

I replied: “Dear Robert, you dress rather splendidly yourself.”

“I trust I do not mince and prance like your little French favorite.”

I pretended to be annoyed with him and said that I intended to keep my charming friend at my side, not only out of courtesy to one who came on such an errand but because I happened to like his company and found it more amusing than that of some others.

I expected Robert to be overcome with remorse and seek a way of regaining my favor; but he was not and did not; instead he asked for permission to leave Court and this I peremptorily gave.

Rumors concerning the evil powers practiced by the French emissary persisted and it was believed that they came from the jealous Leicester; but the people in the streets were saying that I was being wooed by sorcery and that the Queen Mother of France was noted for dabbling in the black arts.

Realizing that such rumors were having an adverse effect on his courtship and guessing from where they emanated, Simier decided to have his revenge.

He came to me one day, his eyes sparkling with excitement which at first I thought was pleasure in seeing me. He took my hand and kissed it in that particularly fervent manner of his which so pleased me and said that his master was growing more and more impatient.

“When I write to him and tell him of your perfections, he is all eagerness to taste your sweetness. He cannot understand why you are so cruel as to keep yourself from him. Your Majesty, I beg you to say the word which will make him the happiest man on Earth.”