The circumstances delighted me. Robert Dudley, the only man whom I would have considered marrying, already had a wife. It was a situation which appealed to both sides of my nature. Perpetual courtship.

Philip of Spain was courting me and his Ambassador, the Count de Feria, was constantly calling on me. The last man I would marry would be Philip of Spain, but I saw no reason for telling de Feria so. I was quite enjoying raising my brother-in-law's hopes. It amused me and it was necessary to keep the King of France guessing. The last thing he would want would be yet another alliance between England and Spain. It was also the last thing I wanted, but I must be diplomatic. So I pretended to consider Philip's proposal.

De Feria was most attentive. What fools these men are! Did they think I would forget their treatment of me in the past?

On one occasion he told me that his master was pleased that I had accepted the allegiance of the Catholic peers in spite of my—forgive him but he must say it—misguided attitude in some matters.

I replied breezily that I was of the nature of a lion, and lions did not descend to the destruction of mice.

He smiled uneasily. I really did enjoy my encounters with de Feria. He was having rather a bad time, and I thought that sooner or later Philip would become exasperated with him. Then I heard that through de Feria Philip was offering bribes to some of the Catholic peers, suggesting that they work for him and try to reestablish the Church as it had been in Mary's reign. The first thing Lord William Howard did—for he was one who had been sounded as a possible recipient of Philip's bounty—was to come to me. I advised him to tell de Feria that I gave my consent to his accepting the money.

I could imagine de Feria's face when Lord William Howard told him that. I could not resist teasing the Spaniard further and when he next came into my presence I said: “I hope, Count, that His Most Catholic Majesty will not object if I employ some of his servants he has here among my courtiers.”

It was a clear indication that Philip's clumsy attempt to set spies about me was not going to succeed.

These conversations with de Feria always put me in the best of moods. The poor Spaniard had little humor. He was courtly, impeccable in dress and manners—all that one would expect of a Spanish Ambassador—but he was serious in the extreme, and he did not understand the frivolous side to my nature at all. If he glimpsed it, he would dismiss it as feminine vagary and most unsuitable in a sovereign. I found it most suitable and often it brought me an advantage as it did now, for instead of giving an outright no and breaking off negotiations, which would give great offense to Spain and delight France, I was reveling in my dalliance with Philip through his solemn Ambassador.

“Do you think a marriage between your master and me would be successful, Count?” I asked tentatively.

“I think it would be most felicitous to both Your Majesties and our two countries,” was the answer.

“When my father went through a form of marriage with his brother's widow that gave rise to much controversy. It was said that it was no true marriage.”

“That was because your father wished to repudiate Queen Katharine and marry your mother.”

“Of that I am aware, but you do not deny that the circumstances gave rise to conflict. My father's conscience worried him greatly on that store.”

“Your father had a most convenient conscience,” he said sharply.

Poor de Feria. He was beginning to lose his temper.

“Let us not speak ill of the dead, Count. And a great King at that.”

“I am sure Your Grace will want to face the truth. There need be no obstacle to a marriage. My master is assured the Pope will give a dispensation.”

“The Pope? Oh, he is no friend of mine.”

“That would soon be rectified, Your Majesty, if you were married to the King of Spain. My master would ask for the dispensation and you would have no need to fear the Pope once you were married to the King of Spain.”

“I am sure that the Pope and your master are indeed good friends, but as I have no fear of the Pope, I do not need your master's protection from him.”

He was exasperated but the foolish man did not believe that a woman could rule, and this was one of the attitudes which incensed me and made me determined to show these arrogant men how wrong they were. He went away crestfallen and I was sure anxious not to return to Spain to admit the failure of his mission.

IT WAS ONLY NATURAL that there should be other suitors. Nothing pleased me more. I pretended to consider each in turn. There was the Archduke Charles son of the Emperor Ferdinand, as well as Eric of Sweden.

When I sat with my Councilors, I said: “I do believe that the people would not wish me to take a foreign husband.”

That remark had an immediate effect which amused me very much. In the quiet of my bedchamber, Kat and I would have our little gossip—rather undignified in a queen, but the frivolous side of me enjoyed the indulgence. I always delighted in gossip. In fact, even my sterner side admitted that it was not an entirely wasted pastime. From it I did discover what the common people were thinking. Kat was my intermediary and as she prattled with high and low whenever she had the opportunity, my sources of opinion were very wide indeed.

I knew that the people were elated by my treatment of Philip of Spain. I do believe that had I agreed to marry him, I might have lost a large measure of my popularity. They had had a taste of Spanish intolerance and the subjugation of a queen. They wanted no more of that. Moreover, I do believe that had there been an attempt to force it on them, they would have rejected it strongly.

My remark about not taking a foreign husband had set their tongues wagging. The Earl of Arundel was the first to offer himself. I suppose he thought he had a chance. I did not disillusion him. It was a great pleasure to be asked to marry and I always felt a special fondness for the men who wanted me as a wife. It was ambition that prompted them, of course, but it was reasonable to presume they had some admiration for my person. I was twenty-five years of age and if I was not exactly handsome I did have some good points—my coloring, my lithe figure, my white skin and my beautiful hands. I was attractive without my crown but with it I was irresistible.

I favored Arundel for a while, and Robert was very jealous—an added pleasure.

Once he said: “I curse myself for having made that ridiculous marriage.”

“I have heard your Amy is a very pretty creature,” I said.

He was silent, bemoaning his fate, for he was sure that had he been unmarried, there would have been no hesitation and I would gladly have taken him. There was a modicum of truth in that. It was why the wise side of me rejoiced in Robert's Amy tucked away in the country.

Then there was Sir William Pickering—a very handsome courtier though by no means young. He must have been about forty, but he was well preserved in spite of a life in which gallantry had played a big part. He was rich because his father had been given grants of land by mine. He was extremely charming, and I pretended to consider him. The courtiers then began to make bets as to whether I would marry Arundel or Pickering for they were quite convinced that I would take one of them since I would not have a foreigner. So with all this speculation raising the hopes of first one and then the other, and with Robert glowering jealously on the scene, I found I was enjoying the matrimonial maneuverings.

The Count de Feria was angry and demanded an answer. I did not want to spoil the fun so I hesitated and gave him a little encouragement. People were saying that I would never have taken either Arundel or Pickering. It would have to be a foreign prince. Eric of Sweden was the favorite for a while.