The Great Roxhythe

“Under which King, Bezonian?”

King Henry IV Part II

To
my mother and father.

Book I

The Ways Run Parallel

I

The King and His Favourite

A large gentleman was strolling from group to group in one of the great galleries of Whitehall. He was very exquisite, this gentleman, adorned with all the coloured silks, velvets and furbelows which that Year of Grace, 1668, demanded. A great peruke was on his head, with flowing, dark curls that reached over his breast and below his shoulders. He carried his plumed hat in his hand, and at times he made great play with it, as if to point some witty remark. At other times he opened his jewelled comfit-box with a delicate flick of his wrist, and selected, with some care, a tinted sweetmeat. Once or twice he swept a low bow to some lady of his acquaintance, but for the most part he was occupied with the courtiers who were present, always lazily smiling, and with his brown eyes bored and expressionless. His height, and the breadth of his shoulders made him easily distinguishable in the gay throng, so that those who wished to speak to him soon found where he was standing, and made their way towards him. He was the Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe, the King’s favourite and the ladies’ darling, and his name was on many lips.

No longer in his first youth, my lord had nothing to learn in the way of polish. He was the perfect courtier, combining grace and insolence even more successfully than his Grace of Buckingham. His brow was incomparable; his air French; his wit spicy; his tailoring beyond words, remarkable. Even in those days of splendour and unlimited extravagance he was said to be fabulously wealthy.

All this was enough to gain him popularity, but yet another asset was his. This was the ear of the King.

For no one did Charles cherish quite so warm a regard. He had never been heard to speak harshly to the favourite, and the favourite had never been heard to take a liberty with his good-natured master. He had been with Charles on his travels; had fought at his side at Worcester, had entered London in his train in 1660, and was now one of the most influential men in town.

He was something of an enigma. As indolent and as licentious as his royal master, possessing strong personal magnetism, many engaging qualities, and excellent abilities, he never interested himself in the affairs of the moment nor exercised his influence either for his own ends or for those of some “party.” He belonged to none of the factions; he was no statesman; his lazy unconcern was widely known. He never plotted, and never worried himself over the affairs of the State. He had few friends, and some enemies. The King’s brother, the Duke of York, openly disliked him for the influence he held over Charles; influence that his Grace did not possess; influence that might be turned against him. Many of the courtiers covertly hated him for this same reason, but no one, for some inexplicable reason, ever intentionally annoyed him.

This afternoon, as he walked through the gallery, he found that the conversation was more serious than was either seemly or usual. On all sides was talk of the Triple Alliance with Holland and Spain which the King had signed but a few weeks ago. No one could quite understand why Charles had done this, but nearly everyone was pleased. Uneasy patriots who feared the French King’s yoke saw in this new bond a safeguard against France and a safeguard against the attacks of the Dutch; while the fervent religious party who had murmured at the King’s marriage to a Papist and at his good-humoured toleration of the Catholic religion thought this Protestant alliance a proof of Charles’ good faith.

The King occupied himself so little with affairs that many of the men who surrounded him came to the conclusion that he had had no mind of his own in the matter, but had blindly followed his ministers’ instructions. Others who had more insight into the King’s nimble, competent brain confessed themselves at a loss to explain his concurrence with a bond which must surely be disadvantageous to himself. These were his intimates; men who had some conception of the King’s friendship with his cousin Louis, and a knowledge of the condition of his private purse. They wondered, and surmised, and exchanged glances, but they were few in number, and the majority of men thought the King an indolent prince with no head for business and certainly no taste for intricate intrigue.

It seemed that the only man at Whitehall that afternoon who neither wondered nor surmised but who was content to receive the news placidly and without argument, was, as usual, Lord Roxhythe. He spent his time turning aside solemn questions as to his opinion of the bond by a series of flippant rejoiners. He grew weary at last of trying to turn men’s thoughts into lighter and more congenial channels, and withdrew to the side of Mrs. Chester, one of the Queen’s ladies. There he remained, and was exchanging languid badinage with her when a page broke in on the gathering about the lady’s couch and bowed low.

His Majesty desired my lord to go to him at once.

It was no unusual thing for Charles to summon his favourite to him privately, and no one thought it a matter for suspicion; not even Sir Thomas Killigrew who was unreasonably jealous of his rival.

My Lord Roxhythe cast an appealing glance at Mrs. Chester, and rose.

“Oh well, sir!” shrugged the lady with a little moue of pretended anger. “I know you will never stay by my side when His Majesty calls!”

“Sweetheart,” retorted Roxhythe, audaciously, “I would stay by your side as I could, but seeing that I may not, how can I?”

Mrs. Chester laughed immoderately at this, flirting her fan.

“You confound me with your woulds and coulds, sir! I know not the answer to your riddle, yet if I command your company … ?”

“Then on two sides my company is demanded, and on the both by Royalty.”

“How?” she dimpled.

“Why, Fairest, if His Majesty is King of England, you are the Queen of Beauty, and I know not whose claim be the stronger.”

As Mrs. Chester was no more than ordinarily good looking, this fulsome compliment pleased her very much.

“And so what would you do?”

“I would compromise, sweet.”

“Compromise! I do not think I like the word. But how?”

Roxhythe picked up his hat and gloves and bowed.

“I would take you with me to His Majesty so you might both have my company.”

Her laughter followed him across the gallery as he walked in the wake of the page to the King’s private closet.

Charles sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, but at Roxhythe’s entry he rose and came forward, hands outstretched.

Roxhythe took them in his, carrying them to his lips.

“Ye are recovered from your indisposition, Davy?” asked the King affectionately. “Do you know that ’tis five days since I have seen you?”

“Do I not, Sir!” smiled Roxhythe.

“And even now I have to send for you because you do not come! What ill usage is this, David?”

“None, Sir,” was the prompt reply. “I have been a suppliant at your door, and turned away because that Your Majesty was greatly occupied with State affairs.”

“They had no orders to turn you away, David! Odds-life, but one would think the business of more account than you!”

“One might,” conceded Roxhythe, and laughed. “They would have announced me, but hearing of Your Majesty’s occupation, I forbad them.”

“You think so much of business!” sighed the King. “Well, I have been with my nose to the grindstone all the morning and I am not finished with it yet. Sit down, Davy!” He returned to the desk.

Roxhythe chose a seat opposite him and laid down his hat.

Charles’ heavy face was overcast. His melancholy eyes, resting on the favourite’s face, were frowning. Roxhythe raised his brows, and leaned back in his chair.

“David,” said the King, at last, “I am in something of a quandary.”

Roxhythe said nothing.

“If I do not obtain money soon I am like to be in a worse one. This Dutch alliance is of no use to me.”

“Well, we always knew that, Sir. You’ve commands for me?”

“A request.”

“Name it, Sire.”

“Gently, Roxhythe! There is much ye must understand first.”

Roxhythe drew closer to the desk.

“This is a secret matter, Sir?”

“For the present, yes. David, the matter is this: very soon I must have means, or I fall. The Commons will grant me nothing, nor will I ask them. There is Louis. …” He paused.

Roxhythe made a little gesture of distaste.

“You are adverse from dealing with the French King, ah? Well, so am I. I’ve no mind to bear his yoke on my shoulders, for I believe it would tax my ingenuity to its uttermost to outwit him. That he would jump to the movement of my finger I know. Yet …” Again he paused.

“You do not wish to put England under his thumb, Sir?”

“I do not wish to put myself under his thumb, Roxhythe. His Christian Majesty is very grasping. So I am forced to think of another alternative.”

“Well, Sir?”

“My nephew.”

For an instant Roxhythe was puzzled. Then his eyes narrowed.

“William of Orange.”

Charles nodded.

“You see the possibilities of the idea?”

“I see a great many impossibilities, Sir.”

“You are not over encouraging, Roxhythe. You have not heard what is in my mind as yet.”

Roxhythe bowed.

“I am waiting for Your Majesty to expound.”

“It is this. De Witt rules Holland, and he holds my nephew prisoner. Yet I have good reason to believe that his position is none too safe. Already there are murmurings among the people. Nassau is always Nassau—in Holland. If William were to rise up ’gainst Their High Mightinesses the mob would flock to his standard. The mob’s memory is never of the longest. In the face of his present unpopularity, it would forget the good De Witt wrought in Holland, and stand again for the Orange. With an English army to back him William might very easily overthrow De Witt and take his rightful place as Stadtholder. He might even be made King.”

“And the price, Sir?”

“Tribute paid to me, yearly.”

“So you will hold the Provinces as a subsidiary state to England?”

“Ostensibly. Enough to satisfy Ashley.”

“Ashley. So he is in the plot?”

Charles shrugged.

“To some extent. He does not know my whole mind. He sees advancement for himself in it. And the Country’s good. A patriot, this Ashley.”

“And who else knows of the thing, Sir?”

The King moved a little uneasily.

“Buckingham,” he answered shortly.

“Your Majesty trusts that man too much.”

The King’s eyes flashed.

“My Majesty does not brook correction, Roxhythe.”

“Your pardon, Sir.”

One of the dogs barked in its sleep and growled.

The King leant forward again.

“In Holland today there is a strong Orangist party. Influential men, some of them …” he mentioned names. … “And a few of the richer tradesmen. Not so many of that class. ’Tis the noblemen and the mob who are for the Orange, but the burghers stand by De Witt. If Louis presently invades the Low Countries, as I believe he will do, De Witt’s position becomes the more insecure. The mob will blame him for the invasion, and turn to rend him. Then were the time to produce the Prince, with a small force at his back. England would approve it, and in such a way I might become independent of Louis.”

“It is a pretty scheme, Sir,” said Roxhythe slowly. “But one point Your Majesty overlooks.”

“What is it?”

“The Prince himself, Sir.”

Charles brushed the objection aside.

“A mere boy. My bait should be tempting enough.”

“Have you considered that others may have dangled that same bait?”

“Louis. Assuredly. But on my side there is this: I am his uncle; England is Protestant, as he is. Louis is Catholic, and the blood-tie is not so close.”

“You are sure, too, that the Prince is amenable to bribes, Sir?”

The sombre look faded from the King’s face. He showed his teeth in a smile of pure mischief.

“Roxhythe, Roxhythe, have ye forgot he is a Stuart?”

The favourite laughed.

“No, Sir. Nor that he is also a Nassau.”

“A proud race,” nodded the King. “Still, his youth stands me in good stead.”

“He may have older and wiser councillors, Sir, not easy to dazzle.”

“I never yet met a statesman I could not bribe,” replied the King cynically.

A smile flickered across Roxhythe’s mouth.

“What will you bribe them with, Sir? I thought ’twas Your Majesty who required money.”

“I am prepared to spend some money that I may obtain more,” retorted the King. “I believe the Commons would assist me for such a cause.”

“All things are possible, Sir,” said Roxhythe pessimistically.

“So I think. But first I must know my nephew his mind. From all I can gather he is a youth of parts. I would lay my proposition before him, for without his consent nothing is possible.”

Roxhythe twisted his rings.

“And so we come to the part I have to play.”

Charles glanced at him affectionately.

“I would not press you, David. I but request.”

My lord’s lips twitched.

“Your Majesty knows I can refuse you nothing,” he said.

The King put out his hand quickly.

“Ah, David! If I had more about me of your loyalty!”

“Then, Sir, were I not so favoured,” smiled Roxhythe. “I am to go to the Hague?”

“Ay. You will bear a packet containing the—bribe—as writ by Ashley. But you know my mind as he does not, and you will plead my cause with the Prince yourself. Remember I am set on this thing if it may be brought about.”

Roxhythe stood up.

“I will serve you to the best of my ability, Sir. My instructions, I suppose, I receive from Messieurs Ashley and Villiers?”

“They await you in the room opposite. Roxhythe, my displeasure will be very great if you anger these men! Already they do not like it that I have chosen you for messenger, and I will have no petty quarrelling! Remember you are my friend!” He rose also, and extended his hand. He was a very great Prince.

Roxhythe kissed his fingers.

“I will bear your words in mind, Sir. But I never quarrel.”

“No,” admitted the King, laughing. “But you have a damned annoying air about you!”

“That is possible,” agreed my lord placidly, and left the presence.

Outside he paused, and glanced down the corridor. There was no one in sight.

“Ashley and Villiers,” he murmured. “What ails my little master?”