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There were also rumblings in the direction of that other—and to my mind more dangerous—rival. Mary Queen of France and Scotland was in somewhat desperate straits and that at least gave me some pleasure. The spoilt darling of the French Court was so no longer. The King of France had died at the joust when a splinter had entered his eye and his son Franois, husband of my rival, had come to the throne to occupy it for a very short time. Poor boy, he had always been a weakling and it was said that his mother, Catherine de' Medici, who had a reputation throughout Europe for being one of the most scheming women alive, had, according to certain rumors, hastened his death in order to make way for another son who was completely under her control. Franois, it seemed, like most men, had come under the spell of the fascinating Mary and doubtless would listen to her rather than to his mother. Catherine, however, was one of those who did not find young Mary so enchanting and she was making it clear to her that there was no place for her in France, so there was nothing Mary could do but return to Scotland.
I could imagine how different those dour Scottish nobles would be from the gallant French courtiers and poets who had circulated round Mary. I had seen some of them and I was quite amused to think of her returning to them. On the other hand, I felt apprehensive to have her so close, just across the border, such a dangerous claimant to my throne.
What was particularly galling was that she had had the temerity to emblazon the arms of England on those of Scotland and France, and to style herself Queen of England.
I had to remember that although the country as a whole was against a Catholic monarch, there were a number of ardent Catholics in the land, and if I were to displease them it would not need much to raise protests against me, and there was this woman—supposed to be so fascinating and younger than I—waiting on the other side of the Border.
I knew that I was not unduly disturbed because Cecil was uneasy too.
We had made peace with the French, and there was in existence the Treaty of Edinburgh which set out that those French who had come to Scotland to help the Scots against us must retire; and another clause was that a fine should be paid by Mary for blazoning the arms of England with those of Scotland and France.
This treaty was not yet ratified. Therefore when Mary sent emissaries asking for a safe passage to Scotland, I was incensed. How dared she imagine that I would welcome her presence so close to England when the treaty was unsigned and she was blatantly laying claim to my throne?
When she was made aware of my reaction she pleaded that she had been under the command of her father-in-law, King Henri Deux, and her husband, King Franois; and therefore had no alternative than to call herself the Queen of England. My reply to that was that when the treaty was signed, she should have safe passage. Her excuse then was that she could not sign the treaty until she had consulted with her Scottish subjects, and this she could not do until she reached Edinburgh.
It was clear to me that she had no intention of signing the treaty, and therefore I refused her safe passage.
However, when she was in our waters, a fog arose and she managed to elude the English ships which were searching for her and thus she reached Scotland safely. I was disappointed. I should have liked to detain her in England as my guest. I had thought a great deal about her and not only did I want to know what she was doing but I was also curious to see what she really looked like and if she were as beautiful as she was said to be. Some of the poems those Frenchmen had written about her were too eulogistic even for royalty.
I received a request from her uncle, a member of the famous Guise family whose brothers were the great Duke and that Cardinal of Lorraine who had played such a big part in Mary's life—some said quite a sinister part. This plea for an invitation was from the younger brother but it was one which I found most intriguing. Besides being the Grand Prior of France, he was the commander of the French Navy and I was very eager to meet a member of that family which had played such a large part in shaping the history of France and had at times been more important rulers than the kings.
I was not disappointed. The Grand Prior was a fascinating man. There was little of the churchman about him. He was handsome, possessed of grace and charm, with impeccable ma
I made him talk about his niece Mary whom he had known well. Her mother had been his sister and the Guises had taken charge of her when as a child she had first arrived in France. He said she was charming and beautiful and—perhaps because of his beautiful ma
I was determined to entertain him royally to show that we in England could treat our visitors with perfect hospitality even when not so long before we had been enemies.
I decided on a banquet to be followed by a ballet.
I had the banqueting hall hung with tapestries representing the parable of the virgins of the Evangelists, and with the Grand Prior seated beside me I explained to him that I had been born in the Chamber of Virgins under the sign of the Virgin which brought out gallant remarks about my not being allowed to remain in the single state for long. To which I replied that the choice lay with me.
His eyes sparkled with Gallic passion and he implied that he would greatly love to be the one who made me change my mind.
I laughed with him. I enjoyed this kind of conversation. Robert glowered a little, but he knew there was nothing to fear from this Frenchman. All the same he was becoming more and more possessive and hated to see anyone take up too much of my attention. He was also growing too bold and because I had granted him favors and shown my regard for him sometimes he behaved as a jealous husband might, and although there were occasions when I was amused at this, at others I was not. I suppose it depended on my mood.
The ballet was a great success. It was performed by my maids of honor representing the ten virgins—the foolish and the wise. They carried silver lamps, beautifully engraved, some carrying oil, some empty.
There was spontaneous applause. I glanced sideways at my handsome Frenchman and could be sure that he was enchanted by the sight, so perhaps it was as elegant as he was accustomed to seeing at the French Court.
The ladies set down their lamps and danced most gracefully. They came to the Prior and his entourage and invited them to dance, which they did.
I was ready to dance because I had arranged as part of the procedure that they should beg me to do so and that I should at first refuse and then give way because I wished to honor the Prior.
Later he complimented me on my dancing, my beauty and the elegance of my Court.
I turned to him smiling and said: “You are so gallant, Monsieur, that I love you, but I hate that brother Guise of yours who took Calais from me.”
“Alas,” he said, “that is war. But on this enchanted night let us not talk of unhappy things. I have seen you dance, and I could never be happy again if I did not have the honor of dancing with you.”
I could dance through the night without the slightest fatigue, so I was delighted; and they all watched while I and the Grand Prior of France danced together.
In due course I said goodbye to the charming Prior and he left for France. I could imagine what questions the Queen-Mother, Catherine de' Medici, would ask of him but I was sure he had been impressed by the ma
My thoughts were constantly on Mary of Scotland and they brought me little comfort. Cecil shared my apprehension.