Treason in Trust

by G Lawrence

  I walked from that room an altered woman, but the peace that books granted me only lasted so long. I was also ill, and this was aiding my temper not at all. Small sleep, little mirth and food and a troubled mind allowed me no rest and sudden, violent attacks of blinding panic, which came without warning, had started to assail me. They were hunting me because of my indecision about Norfolk and Mary.

  The world seemed closer. The palaces felt like traps. There were times I could not breathe, could not think… times I had to send petitioners away from my Presence Chamber, and make for my gardens in haste, trying not to run in case anyone saw the rising panic within me. Most of the time I could conceal it. Most of the time I could pretend. If I got to the gardens and felt space about me and air flooding my lungs, I could bring myself under control. More embarrassing were the times I suffered an attack in front of people.

  One day, my ladies were performing their normal duties in dressing me. It was an elaborate ritual, sometimes elongated as I often changed my mind about which dress I wanted to wear.

  The ritual began with a linen smock placed over my perfumed skin. Most women did not wear any other form of underwear, but in times when the monthly courses had to be suffered, I would wear a thin belt supporting a linen pad between my legs. My gowns gave good support to the breasts, but there were secret garments that could be worn, ones men knew nothing of, which supported the breasts by cupping them in linen, holding them high by suspending the cups from the shoulders. I often employed such articles, as they were comfortable. My smock was warmed at the fire, as linen is a practical, yet cool material, and over my smock went whalebone stays, to keep my figure tight and thin. Over this went a farthingale, hooped and padded skirts, which held up my kirtle and gown, exaggerating the size of my hips, and therefore making my thin waist look even slimmer. Some were Spanish, shaped like cones, and some French, which looked more like wheels, thrusting out from the waist, creating steep vertical sides to the dress.

  Linen understockings came next, then silk stockings, tied just below the knee with pretty ribbon. Shoes would follow, and a kirtle over the farthingale, followed by my gown. The gown and kirtle I was often sewed into for the day. We used a great deal of pins, but sewing a lady into her dress, so it might remain as was intended, was common practice. My ritual was famous. Some men said it was quicker to dress a ship of my royal navy, than to dress the Queen.

  There was nothing untoward in what my ladies were doing that day, but I became aware suddenly of how close they all were. My breathing grew shallow and rapid. Soon I had pains in my chest and sides.

  “Get to!” I cried. They all glanced up, amazed. “You are too close,” I managed to wheeze.

  This admission unfortunately sent some into spasms of terror. They came closer, trying to comfort me. “Get away!” I shouted. Blanche pushed them back.

  Black dots danced before my eyes. Blanche thrust me into a chair and set my head between my knees. She ordered all the windows opened wide, and sent my other women from the room. Eventually, I glanced up, sick to my stomach. “Do they all think me mad?”

  “They understand the strain you are under, Majesty, even if not the way it manifests itself.”

  “They were too close. From now on, I want fewer women attending when I dress.”

  “It will be done.”

  I did not need to explain. Blanche had seen enough of my fits to understand.

  “It will become the first task of your new First Lady of the Bedchamber,” she said, making me look up at her with eyes full of shock.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, all feebleness falling from my blood as the energy of anger and annoyance took over. “You would leave me? Now? When I have most need of you?”

  “I am going nowhere, Majesty,” she said calmly. “But you need a woman with more energy than I possess to take on the duties of your first lady. I am sixty-five, Majesty. I can no more run about performing all the tasks you require done. I will remain with you, until the day of my death, but you need a younger woman to take on the post of Chief Lady of the Bedchamber.”

  “I do not want another lady.”

  “Then I will remain in post, Majesty, but it may cost me my life.”

  I scowled at her. “That is bribery,” I grumbled.

  “It is the truth.”

  I sighed and rose to take her arm. “Do you promise you will not leave me, if I place another in your post?”

  “I swore to watch over you on the first day I met you, cariad,” she said, her voice gentle. “And Welsh women do not break their vows.” She smiled at me. “It would seem you have recovered your equilibrium from the fit.”

  I stared at her for a moment then burst out laughing. “You tricked me!” I exclaimed. “You distracted me so I would forget my fright.”

  Blanche grinned, well-pleased with her trickery.

  I chose Kate Carey, Countess of Nottingham to replace Blanche, both for my affection for her and because of the promise I made to Knollys when Catherine had died about promoting their family. Kate was Catherine’s niece.

  She was overcome. “I never thought to dare hope I would take on such a post,” she said. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  “Mistress Parry will aid you,” I said. “As you learn your new duties.”

  There were many women who might have made it hard for a woman taking on their post, even if they had resigned it willingly, but not Blanche. She kept to the shadows, advising Kate quietly and in private, so the other women would not question her skill, and the maids would not flout her. Smoothly, as all things were when undertaken by Blanche, the transition took place.

  Whilst I was under attack from my own nerves, others were assaulted in their homes. In early March I had a rushed visit from the Portuguese Ambassador. “It was an unprovoked attack on my own house, Your Majesty!” he exclaimed as he came to the end of his explanation of recent events.

  The Bishop of London had suspected the ambassador was abusing his diplomatic rights by bringing English men and women to his house so they might hear Mass. All Catholic ambassadors were allowed to hear Mass according to Catholic rites as long as it was within the confines of their houses, and not broadcast to my people. De Quadra, the Spanish ambassador I had so hated, had abused his rights, but I had always been assured the Portuguese ambassador was a sensible man. Well aware that his country required allies, as Phillip of Spain was glancing at Portugal with an increasingly covetous eye, the ambassador was not in England to make enemies.

  The Sheriffs of London had led a raid, ordered by the Bishop of London, to arrest any of my subjects present at the Mass. The ambassador, who was by no means a physically imposing man, had put up a stout and spirited defence, offering to shoot any who abused his rights. Four Irish law students had been arrested, but no English subjects were found. The raid had not only been pointless, but politically perilous.

  “Lord Ambassador, I am appalled. I assure you, this infraction upon your rights will be dealt with swiftly. Please return to your home, and know yourself under my personal protection. You will suffer no more for the zeal of my servants, but I assure you, they will suffer for this outrage.”

  The Bishop of London and the Sheriffs received a grand scolding, and were told any future raids were to be put to me first. They were not happy, thinking I was too gentle, but raids such as this, on the house of a royal ambassador no less, would only stir up dissent.

  The Bishop complained to Cecil, and I stoutly ignored him. “I will not have my kingdom descend to anarchy,” I told Cecil. “The Bishop may complain all he likes. My opinions will not alter.”

  Other raids did go on, with my approval. Delve into the minds of my people, I would not, but if they were too obvious about their supposedly secret ceremonies, measures had to be taken. Purges of dissidents took place, and arrests were made, but punishments usually came in the form of fines and scoldings from my bishops. Warnings of further punishments were not discounted, and perhaps this was a burden to bear, but my threats wer
e nothing to the persecutions meted out elsewhere. I was remarkably tolerant and determined to stay that way.

  Sometimes it was taxing. A tract was published that year, attacking Cecil and my Council. The work accused Cecil and his brother-in-law Nicholas Bacon of setting private interests above those of England. It declared that attempts to exclude Mary Stewart from the succession were based on Cecil’s wish to control England. The authors thought me wholly dominated by Cecil, and blamed him for my religious policy.

  The author of this inflammatory work ignored that my laws could be more strictly imposed, or that I could have taken the same path as my sister, and used my people for kindling. Tolerance was a revolutionary idea, almost unheard of elsewhere. New ideas take time to sink into minds, for we are stubborn, hard-headed creatures.

  Your work will never be done, I told myself.

  I almost smiled as another voice in me responded to the first. Did you think, then, being Queen would be easy? It is not a title, position or job, it is a vocation, and a calling is never ended.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Richmond Palace

  Late Winter - Early Spring 1572

  “Why are they withholding my share of the spoils?” I demanded of Lord Howard.

  “They have offered no plausible reason, Majesty.”

  “Then they will not get a measured response.”

  I was angry. The Sea Beggars had seized several ships but failed to share the loot with me. This, added to our troubles with them over the Venetian ships, was leading me to think we could not continue our alliance. Phillip had been complaining about them too. He did not like that I protected Orange’s men. Whilst his reasons were understandable, he was doing the same by sheltering English rebels fled to Spain, such as the rebel lords Westmorland and Dacre. Talks about resuming trade were going on, and one of Phillip’s conditions was that I would cease to support the Sea Beggars. Whilst these pirates remained useful and profitable, I had had no wish to, but now…

  Something had to be done, but I did not want to lose them altogether.

  “I must appease Spain,” I said to Captain La Marck, one of the Sea Beggars’ leaders. “But I would make a quiet deal with you.”

  “We do not want to lose our seat at Dover, Majesty,” he said.

  “That, I cannot allow you to keep,” I said. “But I shall offer something greater in return. You have, for a long time, been trying to capture the deepwater ports of Brill and Flushing in the Netherlands. I shall help you, by secret means.”

  I explained my ruse. Officially, the Sea Beggars would be expelled from English waters on grounds of plundering, and I would tell Phillip I was not only bearing down on piracy in the Channel but also was taking England away from the contested slave trade. The first part of this deal of munificence, I had no intention of upholding, and the second I had already done. Phillip would be overjoyed to hear I was willing to make such generous terms, and the expulsion of the Sea Beggars would be his great prize.

  But secretly, I would aid the Sea Beggars to claim the ports they needed to turn the tide of rebellion in the Netherlands.

  “The Sea Beggars will leave, officially,” I told La Marck. “But you will be able to continue using the Isle of Wight as a base to sail from and repair your ships. Then, give me a few months. I will contact Sir Humphrey Gilbert and Sir Arthur Champernowne, men bonded to me in ties of affection, and they will aid you, unofficially, in your fight for the ports.”

  La Marck seemed unsure, so I went on. “In addition, I will command my men not to prey on your ships, but only on Spanish ones. We will guard the Channel, and you will take the Atlantic Coast. I will also continue to send aid to Orange, via La Rochelle.”

  Our secret deal was struck, and La Marck went to officially remove the Sea Beggars from England. I sat back, satisfied. I had managed to keep all I needed from the Sea Beggars, whilst also making it appear as though I was appeasing Spain. Making it seem as though I have moved against piracy will make it much easier to pretend I know nothing of Drake’s activities, too, I thought.

  “A missive from Ireland, madam,” said Blanche, coming forward with a roll of parchment in her hands.

  I sighed. I thought it was more bad news. But as I unrolled the scroll and read, I was pleasantly surprised. “Perrot has proved useful for a change,” I muttered. “Perhaps he has grown up.”

  Perrot, after attempting to challenge Fitzmaurice to that ridiculous, infantile and antiquated duel, had gone a little quiet, but he had redeemed himself. A three-month siege at Castlemaine had been ended by my bastard half-brother.

  “Ormonde is having some trouble with the O’Moores,” Cecil said later. “But in general, I think Ireland is coming into line.”

  “And our scheme to increase English influence?”

  We were sending colonists to Ireland, men loyal to the Crown, to spread control over regions still largely ungoverned by England. I understood change would not come without resistance. Irish people did not want to be ruled by English lords, but I could not take that into consideration. I did not want them harmed, but Ireland was a deep danger to me. It was prime territory for an invading army, and had already made ties with Spain and Rome. If despair and subjugation of its people were the price I had to pay for the security of all my territories, it would have to be paid. It was not fair, but that was the way it was.

  “We have men ready, Majesty. They will take up estates in the Ards of Down and Strangford Lough.”

  “And are only to react to violence,” I warned. “Not create it. I have enough to worry about with Perrot over there. Some men seem to desire trouble if it comes not naturally.”

  Not long later, we heard that Fitzmaurice was not done with rebellion. He went to Connaught, and was joined by the reckless sons of the Earl of Clanrickarde. Together with a band of Redshanks, their horde swept through Connaught, struck at Linster, and slaughtered all who had supported my men. The Earl of Clanrickarde was locked away in Dublin Castle, and only released when he swore to convince his sons to surrender. He was successful, but the presidency of Connaught was in peril.

  Fortunately, we had word that the Redshanks were unwilling to fight on. Mercenaries must be paid, and they had not. Fitzmaurice’s forces were reduced to six hundred men, and Ormonde went hunting for him.

  *

  That March, I fell dangerously ill.

  Efforts to distract myself from thoughts of Norfolk had proved unsuccessful, and the strain of the lingering question was great. Try as I might, I could find no peace and my appetite and slumber suffered. Perhaps I should have been expecting it, but sickness came as a surprise. I had been in quite good health for four years.

  It came about because I made a crucial mistake; I stopped.

  Sickness is never so well kept at bay as with work. The worst mistake one can make is to enter a long period of hard, strained toil, then suddenly stop. Every wandering illness and dark, malevolent spirit the body has encountered hears the wheels of the work wagon grind to a halt and runs straight into your back, crashing into you.

  The first I knew of it was when I encountered a complete lack of appetite. My ladies were not concerned when they took away my dinner untouched. I often ate little, but that night as they cleared the gilt plates and pewter platters away with unconcerned faces, I knew something was wrong.

  You see, it was not as though I did not get hungry, as they thought. I did. Usually, I had the desire to eat, but not the inclination. That night I possessed neither. That was unusual.

  I went early to bed, which raised a few eyebrows, as I was known for sitting at my desk until the dawn came. The next morning I woke long before first light with pains in my stomach, and fled to the privy where I passed a revolting stream of watery shit from my pained bowels. By the time Blanche came to me, I was running a fever. My head ached, as did my muscles, and I spent the day alternating between vomiting into a large wooden bowl and racing to the privy to expel horrors from my rear.

  This went on for more t
han a week. Blanche and Kate fed me rosehip and elderberry tea, watered ale and concoctions of herbs, and my doctors bled me, but nothing stopped the pain or the symptoms. I curled up in bed, crippled by cramps in my abdomen, and wished with great fervour I would simply die, and set myself free of agony. My doctors believed I was done for, and Robin and Cecil spent three days and nights in a nearby chamber, coming to me when I would allow it. I did not want them to witness my frantic flights to the privy.

  Robin stood in for me at a meeting of the Order of the Garter, the same one in which Cecil was admitted as a member. Walter Devereux, too, was welcomed that year as a Knight, as a reward for his services to the Crown in the time of rebellion. At the same time Lord Clinton became the Earl of Lincoln, as a reward for his services as Lord Admiral.

  A little later I made Walter the Earl of Essex. The title had died in the male line almost thirty years ago, and Devereux’s ancestors once had held it. This made my kinswoman Lettice one of the highest ladies in England.