Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean - Страница 84

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“But,” I cried, “my loyal subject Harry Goldingham you have made me laugh, and I do declare that I like your performance as well as anyone's.”

Harry Goldingham leaped from his dolphin and came to kneel at my feet. I gave him my hand and he kissed it fervently. I had made a friend for life, and it was incidents such as this and my natural instinct for dealing with them which won the love of my people.

I made it clear to Robert that I did not want Harry Goldingham reprimanded. I said: “I have enjoyed his efforts. There is a good man and a loyal one.”

So that passed off very well and I said afterward that it was one of the highlights of my stay at Kenilworth.

People from the surrounding countryside were allowed to come in and see the performances, but I think most of them came to see me. I was always gracious to them, being aware always of the need to hold my people's approval, and that it was more necessary to me than anything else.

Some of the performances of these country folk could be a little wearisome, but I never showed that I was in the least bored nor that I compared their rustic antics with the sophisticated players who entertained me at Court.

I sat through Hock Tuesday which was played by certain men of Coventry and was founded on the massacre of the Danes in the year 1002. The insolence and cruelty of the Danes and the bravery of Hunna, commanderin-chief of Ethelred's army, was stressed. There were realistic encounters between Danes and English knights, which ended in the Danes being beaten and held captive by the English women. This I took as a compliment to my sex.

Afterward I expressed my delight in the play and my fears that the Danes might be victorious in swordplay.

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” roared the English knights, “us 'ud never have let that be.”

I said that I should have known the English must triumph.

I gave gifts of money to the players, which pleased them well, and to make it a very special occasion I bestowed knighthoods on five members of the nobility—among them Burghley's eldest son, Thomas Cecil.

There was one other play for my pleasure. This was entitled A Country Bridal and, compared with Hock Tuesday, it was a polished production.

It was the story of a country marriage which for some reason was considered to be a matter for ridicule. The bridegroom was by no means handsome and was clad in an old tawny worsted jacket, a straw hat, and had a pair of harvesting gloves on his hands as he came limping onto the scene. The morris dancers followed him with Mad Marian, a jester, and the bridesmaids—none of them below thirty years of age. A boy came next carrying the bride cup; and last of all, the bride, who was nearer forty than thirty, and made up to look as ugly as possible in a tousled wig and an ill-fitting smock.

The morris dancers danced and the pair were married and staggered off together to the wild excitement of the crowd who had been allowed into the grounds to see the performance.

How they loved it! And yet their eyes were more often on me than on the players; they were clearly gratified to see me laughing.

I did wonder why Robert allowed this piece to be performed. The bride, who was well past her prime, might have been meant to be a lesson to me. Was Robert trying to tell me that we were both getting old and if ever we were going to marry we should do so now? Subtlety was not one of Robert's gifts. However, so much did the people enjoy the play that I refused to consider that there might be some ulterior motive in its selection.

The next day there was an incident concerning Lady Sheffield.

I had been watching the ban dogs. There were thirteen of them and they were very wild, having been locked away and kept short of food to make them fierce. Before the dogs appeared the bear had been trundled into the arena. He looked vicious and very formidable. I was so close as to see his little pink eyes leering round him, scenting danger, ready for the attack.

Then the dogs were let out. The battle was fierce and bloody. I sat there watching, entranced. Sometimes I thought the bear would win… but no, the dogs were triumphing, but at what cost to them! The people shouted and cheered the dogs. There was a deafening noise and a constant yelping as the dogs, panting and bloody, went in again and again to the attack.

When the battle was over with no victor, for although one or two of the dogs survived they would never fight again, I was sitting in the shade with some of my ladies round me when a young boy ran up and stood beside me. With the innocence of children he placed his hands on my knees and gazed up at me wonderingly. He was a particularly handsome child, and I was always drawn to children.

“Why do you gaze at me, little boy?” I asked.

He replied: “You are the beautiful Queen.”

I patted his head. “So you find me beautiful, do you?” I could never resist compliments. “Is it because I am the Queen, or would you find me beautiful if I were not?”

The child was puzzled, but he delighted me even more by nodding vigorously which I accepted as Yes.

“You know I am the Queen,” I said. “But I do not know who you are. Tell me your name.”

“Robert,” he said.

“Robert!” I echoed. “That is a very favorite name of mine.”

He smiled up at me, and I said: “Who brought you to Kenilworth?”

“It was my mama,” he answered.

“And who is your mama?”

He looked at me in some amazement and said: “She is my mama.”

I smiled and patted his dark head about which the hair curled prettily.

I turned to one of my women. “Whose child is this, do you know?”

“His mother is Lady Sheffield,” was the answer.

“Indeed,” I said. I was remembering the Sheffield scandal. How long ago was it that I had heard the story about Robert's letter to her, followed by Sheffield's death? Those were uneasy thoughts. How old was the child? Not more than three years I would say. Then was it possible that he had been born after Sheffield's death?

Then… who was the father?

I kept the boy with me, but the conversation of a child of three can be somewhat inconsequential and though some of his answers were clear enough, one must wonder how much was fantasy.

“Would you like us to remove the child, Your Majesty?” asked one of the women.

“No, no, let him stay awhile. Will you find the Earl of Leicester and tell him that I would see him.”

It was not long before Robert was speeding across the grass.

The little boy gave a cry of joy and ran to him, falling against him and clutching his legs. Robert picked him up in his arms and the boy was laughing. Of course Robert had that charm which would attract even children, but it did seem to me that the boy and he were not strangers.

Robert said something to the child and looked about him. A woman came up and took the boy, who rather reluctantly allowed her to lead him away.

Robert came to me smiling and urbane, but was he just a little uneasy?

He took my hand and kissed it. “I trust Your Majesty continues to enjoy our presentation.”

“Extremely so, Robert. You excel in everything. The entertainment has never been surpassed. What a charming boy!”

“Yes. A pleasant child.”

“An exceptionally handsome one.”

“Did Your Majesty think so?”

“Did you not? He seemed to know you.”

“Oh yes, I have seen him before.”

“Whose son is he?”

“Lady Sheffield's.”

“An old friend of yours.”

“I have so many friends.”

“Not too many of those who have been involved in scandal, I hope.”

“Rumor? Scandal? Who can escape it?”

“Not some of us, Robert, I fear. So she is a guest of yours here at Kenilworth—this Lady Sheffield?”

“Yes—one of the Howards, Your Majesty will remember.”

“Wasn't there some mystery about her late husband's death?”

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