Over meals, he told them of his life, which, to my children, seemed very adventurous; days at Shrewsbury School and Christ Church, Oxford, and how his father had sent him out to complete his education by three years' travel on the Continent. Penelope rested her elbows on the table and watched him as though she were in a trance; and I thought: Yes, I should like this very attractive young man as her husband. I will certainly talk to Walter when he returns and perhaps we can make a match of it.
Some of Philip's adventures had been lighthearted, others somber. He had been in Paris staying at the house of the English Ambassador on that fateful August night of '72, the Eve of St. Bartholomew; he had heard the tocsins sound in the early hours of the morning and, looking from his window, he had seen the terrible sights of bloodshed and massacre when the Catholics had risen against the Huguenots and slaughtered so many of them. He did not enlarge on this although young Robert urged him to.
"That night," he said, "was a blot on the history of France, and is one which will never be forgotten." Then he turned the occasion into a gentle lesson on the need for tolerance of the opinions of others, to which the children listened with an attention which astonished me.
Then he told them of the festivities at Kenilworth, which we had just left, and the fairylike scenes which had been enacted on the lake at midnight; he spoke of the mummers and the dancers, the plays and the pageants; and it was like seeing it all over again.
He spoke often and affectionately of his uncle, the great Earl of Leicester, of whom the children had of course heard often. Robert's name was known everywhere. I hoped they had not heard the whispers of scandal attached to it or, if they had, they would have the sense not to speak of it before Philip. It was clear that the young man regarded his uncle as some sort of god; and it pleased me that such a clearly virtuous person should have an entirely different picture of Robert from that of the envious scandalmongers who longed to believe the worst.
He told us how clever his uncle was with horses.
"He is the Queen's Horse Master, you know, and has been from the day of her accession."
"When I grow up," announced my son Robert, "I am going to be the Queen's Horse Master."
"Then you cannot do better than follow in the footsteps of my uncle Leicester," said Philip Sidney.
He explained to us all the art of manege, which Leicester had mastered, and that there were certain tricks which were practiced by the French to perfection. After the St. Bartholomew massacre, he went on to tell us, Leicester had sounded out Frenchmen who had worked in the stables of murdered noblemen and who he thought might be seeking employment, but they all had too high an opinion of their skills and the payment demanded was excessive.
"In time," Philip said, "my uncle decided to go to Italy for his horsemen. They had not such high ideas of what they were worth as the French. In any case, there is little any man alive can teach my uncle about horses."
"Is the Queen going to marry your uncle?" asked Penelope.
There was a brief silence while Philip looked at me. I said: "Whoever told you she might?"
"Oh, my lady," said Dorothy reproachfully, "everybody is talking about them."
"There will always be gossip about people in high places. The best thing is to shut one's ears to it."
"I thought we were to learn all we could and never shut our ears and eyes to anything," insisted Penelope.
"Ears and eyes should be open to the truth," said Philip.
Then he started to talk again about his adventures in foreign places, and as usual he fascinated them.
Later I saw him in the gardens with Penelope, and noted afresh how they seemed to like each other's company in spite of the fact that he was a young man of twenty-one or two and she but a girl of thirteen.
On the day of the Queen's expected arrival, I was on the lookout. As soon as the cavalcade was sighted—and there would be scouts who would give me some warning—I must ride out with a little party to welcome her to Chartley.
I received the warning in good time. I was dressed in a very fine coat of mulberry-colored velvet and a hat of the same shade with a cream-colored feather which curled down at one side. I knew that I looked beautiful, not only because of my elegant well-chosen clothes but because of the faint color in my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes which the prospect of seeing Robert had put there. I had dressed my fair hair simply with a love lock falling over my shoulder—a fashion from the French which I much fancied because it called attention to the natural beauty of my hair, which was one of my greatest assets. This would contrast with the Queen's frizzed, puffed style which had to be augmented by false hair. I promised myself I must look far younger and much more beautiful in spite of her splendor—and that should not be difficult because I was.
I met them halfway from the castle. He was riding beside her and in the brief time since I had seen him I had miscalculated that overwhelming magnetism which swept away every desire I had except to be alone with him and make love.
His Italian style doublet in which rubies had been set, his jornet about his shoulders of the same deep red wine color, his hat with the white feather—all these were of matchless elegance; and I scarcely noticed the glittering figure at his side who was smiling benevolently at me.
"Welcome to Chartley, Your Majesty," I said. "I'm afraid you will find it somewhat humble after Kenilworth, but we shall do our best to entertain you in a manner which I fear cannot be worthy of you."
"Come, Cousin," she said, riding beside me. "You look in good spirits, does she not, my Lord Leicester?"
My Lord Leicester's eyes met mine, earnestly pleading, conveying one word: "When?"
He said: "Lady Essex does indeed look in good health."
"The entertainments at Kenilworth were such as to excite us all and revive our youth," I replied.
The Queen frowned. She did not want it to be said that her youth needed reviving. She must be seen as the perpetually youthful. It was about such matters as this that she was pettishly foolish. I could never understand that trait in her character. But I was sure she thought that if she behaved as though she were perpetually young and the most beautiful woman in the world—kept so by some divine alchemy—everyone would believe it.
I could see that I must be careful, but being in Robert's company went to my head like strong wine and I felt reckless.
We rode at the head of the cavalcade—Robert on one side of her, I on the other. In a way it seemed symbolic.
She asked about the countryside and the state of the land, and showed a rare knowledge and interest; she was gracious and declared that the castle was a fine sight with its towers and keep.
Her apartment satisfied her. It should have, for it was the best in the castle and the bedchamber which Walter and I occupied when he was at home. The bed hangings had been shaken and repaired where necessary and the rushes on the floor gave off the fragrance of sweet-smelling herbs.
She seemed well pleased and the food was excellent, the servants all being excited by her presence and eager to please and humor her. She treated them with her usual grace and had them ready to grovel if need be in her service; the musicians played her favorite tunes and I had made sure that the ale was not too strong for her taste.
She danced with Robert, and as the hostess it was fitting for me to take the floor with him—but briefly, of course. The Queen would not have him dance for long with anyone but herself.
The pressure of his fingers on my hand was full of meaning.
"I must see you alone," he said, turning his head and smiling at the Queen as he did so.
I answered, with a blank expression, that I had much to say to him.