“My son, let us look facts in the face. Your solemn manners did not please the Italians and the Flemings. Believe me, they will not please the English. They are a rough people, a hearty, lusty people. They eat and drink with more gusto than any other nation we know. You will have to learn to do the same and appear to enjoy it. As a rough, uncultured people, they will expect you to enjoy what they enjoy. Your clothes must not be too somber. These people love bright colors … scarlets … blues and gold. You must not ride among them simply clad. You must feign great pleasure to be among them. Do all you can to learn their language. Remember, you will be their King. We will try to bring about your coronation as soon as possible, but they are a difficult people. It would seem that since the death of Henry VIII they have been ruled more by their parliaments than by the monarch.
“I shall make you King of Naples. We cannot have you merely a Prince when you mate with a Queen. Your rank must be equal.
“My dear son, there is one matter which I know you will join with me in wishing to bring about more speedily than anything else: the saving of this island for Holy Church, bringing them back to the Catholic fold. Your bride will help you in this, for she is a fervent Catholic. But it will be necessary to act with the utmost wariness. I know from our ambassadors and spies—as you do—that we shall not be dealing with a docile people. Do not attempt to force the Inquisition upon them … at first. Wait until you are firmly settled, until your son is born; wait until you are indeed King of England. I doubt not you will soon have your way with this old virgin, who, I understand, is delighted at the prospect of the match. But remember … first of all tolerance, for these islanders are lovers of tolerance. They have never been as deeply religious as our people have. But we will make them so in time. But at first … tolerance,
“So to England, my son, richly clad and in great splendor, carrying magnificent gifts, smiling on the people, quaffing their beer—it is loathsome, Renard tells me, but you will become accustomed to that— dancing attendance on the ladies, being a bluff and hearty fellow rather like their old King Henry—one of the biggest rogues in Christendom, but well liked among his people, who forgave him his sins because of his hearty manners.”
Philip let the dispatch drop from his hands. He went to the window and looked out on the shouting, laughing crowds in the streets.
He must go to England, marry an aging woman whom he disliked on hearsay, and get her with child; and he must be a jolly, hearty, bluff, splendor-loving man; he had to learn to become a person quite different from himself.
Philip was glad that Ruy was to accompany him into the barbaric island, but he did not say so, being as chary of showing his feelings as ever.
“What news?” he asked.
“Not good news, Highness. The English are gathering in the streets of their cities, shouting insults against Spain. They smile on the Princess Elizabeth; and they wish the Queen to marry Courtenay.”
“That we know,” said Philip. “But the Queen is strong. She put down the Wyatt rebellion, and she is eager for our match.”
“She is madly in love with your Highness.”
“It is not her feelings for someone she has never seen which are important,” said the Prince primly, for the thought of Mary’s doting adoration disturbed him deeply. “It is the temper of the people with which we are concerned.”
“Highness, doubtless they will try to keep this from you, but I think you should know it, for to be warned is to be armed: We go—and I thank the saints that I shall go with you—into a strange land; and there the people will hate us; they will mock us; they will watch us; they will misconstrue our actions.”
“I have already been warned that I must change my very nature. I must be as one of them—gay, ribald, eating too much, drinking too much—a real English gentleman.”
“Then you would assuredly win their hearts. But the English wish their Queen to marry an Englishman. They distrust us and are afraid of us; that means they hate us. I must tell you this: A fight took place in Moor Fields— which I understand is open land situated in or about the city of London. In the games the boys who played divided themselves into two parties, one representing Wyatt’s men, the other the Queen’s and your own troops. One urchin played Wyatt, another your Highness. And the one who was representing yourself was taken prisoner. The whole gang then joined to take vengeance upon him. They hanged that boy; and had they not been seen and the serious nature of the offense against yourself been noted, he would have lost his life.”
“You imply that if they would hang my impersonator, what would they do to me if they could lay their hands upon me?”
“Highness, I imply that we must move with the utmost caution.”
Philip smiled. He almost confided in Ruy then: It is not these barbarians whom I fear; it is not the rope they might put about my neck, the coarse food I must eat, the ale I must drink. No. It is the woman … this aging spinster. I dread the moment when, the ceremonies over, I shall find myself with her in the marriage bed and with what I am led to believe will be her cloying affection, her long-delayed passion.
Philip got up and walked to the window. “How go the preparations?” he asked briskly.
“The Marquis de las Nevas has set out for England with the priceless jewels you are sending to the Queen. Egmont, Alba, Medina Celi, Feria, Pescara, and the rest are making their final preparations. I am ready. It will not be long now before your Highness rides out of Valladolid on your way to England.”
“The sooner the thing is accomplished the better,” murmured Philip.
“I rejoice to hear your Highness say so. Then you are reconciled?”
Philip turned away as he said almost haughtily: “How could it be otherwise? Is it for me to flinch from what I have to do for the good of our country?”
Ruy bowed his head. If Philip curbed his feelings, so did Ruy. There were times when Ruy wished to embrace his friend and to tell him of the love and admiration he had for him, which exceeded that expected of a servant for a royal master.
