hand, and the advantages and disadvantages of each match. Cecil was a great one for lists; their march down the page matched the orderly progression of his thinking.
Husbands for the Queen.
1. King Philip of Spain – he will need dispensation from the Pope/ he would support us against France and save us from the danger of the French in Scotland/ but he will use England in his wars/ the people will never accept him a second time/ can he even father a child?/ she was attracted to him before but perhaps it was spite, and only because he was married to her sister.
2. Archduke Charles – Hapsburg but free to live in England/ Spanish alliance/ said to be fanatically religious/ said to be ugly and she cannot tolerate ugliness even in men.
3. Archduke Ferdinand – his brother so same advantages but said to be pleasant and better-looking/ younger so more malleable?/ She will never brook a master, and neither will we.
4. Prince Erik of Sweden – a great match for him and would please the Baltic merchants, but of no help to us elsewhere/ Would make the French and the Spanish our bitter enemies and for the scant benefit of a weak ally/ Protestant of course/ Rich too, which would be a great help.
5. Earl of Arran – heir to the Scottish throne after Princess Mary/ could lead the Scottish campaign for us/ handsome/ Protestant/ poor (and thus grateful to me). If he were to defeat the French in Scotland our worst danger is gone/ and a son to him and the queen would finally unite the kingdoms/ A Scottish-English monarchy would solve everything …
6. An English commoner – she is a young woman and sooner or later is bound to take a liking to someone who always hangs about her/ This would be the worst choice: he would further his own friends and family/ would anger other families/ would seek greater power from his knowledge of the country/ disaster for me …
Cecil broke off and brushed the feather of the quill against his lips.
It cannot be, he wrote. We cannot have an overmighty subject to further his own family and turn her against me and mine. Thank God that Robt Dudley is already married or he would be scheming to take this flirtation further. I know him and his …
He sat in the silence of the night-time palace. Outside on the turret an owl hooted, calling for a mate. Cecil thought of the sleeping queen and his face softened in a smile that was as tender as a father’s. Then he drew a fresh piece of paper towards him and started to write.
To the Earl of Arran:
My lord,
At this urgent time in your affairs the bearer of this will convey to you my good wishes and my hopes that you will let him assist you to come to England, where my house and my servants will be honoured to be at your disposal …
Elizabeth, in her private apartment at Whitehall Palace, was re-reading a love-letter from Philip of Spain, the third of a series that had grown increasingly passionate as the correspondence had gone on. One of her ladies in waiting, Lady Betty, craned to see the words upside down but could not make out the Latin, and silently cursed her poor education.
‘Oh, listen,’ Elizabeth breathed. ‘He says that he cannot eat or sleep for thinking of me.’
‘He’ll have got dreadfully scrawny then,’ Catherine Knollys said robustly. ‘He was always too thin; he had legs like a pigeon.’
Lady Mary Sidney, Robert Dudley’s sister, giggled.
‘Hush!’ Elizabeth reprimanded them primly; she was always sensitive to the status of a fellow monarch. ‘He is very distinguished. And anyway, I daresay he is eating. It is just poetry, Catherine. He is just saying it to please me.’
‘Just nonsense,’ Catherine said under her breath. ‘And Papist nonsense, at that.’
‘He says he has struggled with his conscience, and struggled with his respect for my faith and my learning, and that he is sure that we can somehow find a way that allows us both to continue in our faith, and yet bring our hearts together.’
‘He will bring a dozen cardinals in his train,’ Catherine predicted. ‘And the Inquisition behind them. He has no affection for you at all, this is just politics.’
Elizabeth looked up. ‘Catherine, he does have an affection for me. You were not here, or you would have seen it for yourself. Everybody remarked it at the time, it was an utter scandal. I swear that I would have been left in the Tower or under house arrest for the rest of my life if he had not intervened for me against the queen’s ill wishes. He insisted that I be treated as a princess and as heir …’ She broke off and smoothed down the golden brocade skirt of her gown. ‘And he was very tender to me.’ Her voice took on its typical, narcissistic lilt. Elizabeth was always ready to fall in love with herself. ‘He admired me, to tell the truth; he adored me. A real prince, a real king, and desperately in love with me. While my sister was confined we spent much time together, and he was …’
‘A fine husband he will make,’ Catherine interrupted. ‘One who flirts with his sister-in-law while his wife is in confinement.’
‘She was not really confined,’ Elizabeth said with magnificent irrelevance. ‘She only thought she was with child because she was so swollen and sick …’
‘All the kinder of him then,’ Catherine triumphed. ‘So he flirted with his sister-in-law when his wife was ill and breaking her heart over something she could not help. Your Grace, in all seriousness, you cannot have him. The people of England won’t have the Spanish king back again, he was hated here the first time, they would go mad if he came back again. He emptied the treasury, he broke your sister’s heart, he did not give her a son, he lost us Calais, and he has spent the last few months in the most disgraceful affairs with the ladies of Brussels.’
‘No!’ Elizabeth said, instantly diverted from her love-letter. ‘So is that what he means when he says he neither eats nor sleeps?’
‘Because he is always bedding the fat burghers’ wives. He is as lecherous as a sparrow!’ Catherine beamed at her cousin’s irresistible giggle. ‘You must be able to do better than your sister’s left-overs, surely! You are not such an old maid that you have to settle for cold meats, a second-hand husband. There are better choices.’
‘Oh! And who would you want me to have?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘The Earl of Arran,’ Catherine said promptly. ‘He’s young, he’s Protestant, he’s handsome, he’s very, very charming – I met him briefly and I lost my heart to him at once – and when he inherits the throne, you join England and Scotland into one kingdom.’
‘Only if Mary of Guise were to helpfully drop dead, followed by her daughter,’ Elizabeth pointed out. ‘And Mary of Guise is in good health and her daughter is younger than me.’
‘Stranger things happen to further God’s will,’ Catherine said confidently. ‘And if the regent Mary lives, why should she not be pushed off her throne by a handsome Protestant heir?’
Elizabeth frowned and glanced around the room to see who was listening. ‘Enough, Catherine, matchmaking doesn’t suit you.’
‘It is both matchmaking and the safety of our nation and our faith,’ Catherine said, unrepentant. ‘And you have the chance to secure Scotland for your son, and save it from the Antichrist of Popery by marrying a handsome young man. It sounds to me as if there is no decision to take. Who would not want the Earl of Arran, fighting on the side of the Scottish lords for God’s kingdom on earth, and the kingdom of Scotland as his dowry?’
Catherine Knollys might be certain in her preference for the young Earl of Arran, but at the end of February