Elizabeth I

by Margaret George

  “A lovely piece of work,” Marjorie had said when once we looked at it together, “but the story always revolts me. The man saw her naked. He didn’t mean to. Why should he be killed for it?” At the time her question seemed sensible. But now I knew the reason.

  Because mortals must not look upon the divine? Because a man intruding into the privacy of a woman’s bath is assaulting her, in effect if not intent?

  The eyes of the statue Actaeon were terrified and bewildered. He could barely comprehend his transgression. The eyes of Essex when he barged into my chamber had held no such uncertainty. He had acted as if he belonged there. That was his great trespass and his effrontery.

  I knew there would be murmurs, people saying that in punishing him I acted out of vanity—that he had seen me without my regalia, seen me in my human and frail guise, that my pride could not permit that.

  It was not true. But how could they know that? One has to be a queen or a goddess to understand. There were differences between us and ordinary people. I looked into Diana’s eyes, eyes that had seemed heartless when I looked into them three years ago. But now they seemed to encompass both sorrow and anger, not heartlessness. They betrayed the dreadful knowledge of the gods that they are forever set apart.

  Diana, now I understand, I thought. But unlike you, I would not condemn a man even for such a shocking breach of conduct. I had told Essex that he could insult my person but not my office. My scepter and crown must remain untouched and inviolate. It was for this that he must be punished, not for seeing me in my bath.

  On our way back, I spotted Francis Bacon walking among the topiary animals, inspecting them. He looked up when he saw us and bowed. “I came to ask your permission to speak to the Earl of Essex but was told you had gone out. In the meantime, I amuse myself by looking at these toys.”

  “I am sure you have an opinion about them,” I said. “You do about everything.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You will find it set out in my essay about gardening.”

  “Is this a ploy to sell your books?” asked Helena playfully.

  “Indeed, Lady Northampton, I would be pleased to give you a copy.”

  “I appreciate your generosity, sir,” she said. “Unusual for an author.”

  “On what matter do you seek permission to speak to Essex?” I asked.

  “I heard the news of his untimely arrival,” he said. “Although I am not of the Privy Council”—for an instant his eyes lingered and his speech hesitated, for emphasis—“I rode along with them. I used to give Essex advice. I would like to do so now in his hour of need.”

  “It will do little good. He is past listening to advice, if ever he did.”

  “Let me visit him as a friend, then, paying a condolence call.”

  “I must insist that witnesses be present. If that fool had done the same when he spoke with O’Neill, half his troubles would not exist.”

  “Of course. I am not planning on helping him escape.”

  “If he tries to escape, his punishment will be worse. His days of merry escapes are over.”

  “It sounds as if, Your Majesty, everything is over for him.”

  “I have decided nothing yet. The Privy Council deliberated and recommended that he be arrested. Today is the Sabbath, and I am resting from decisions. Go to him. Give him some cheer, if you can.”

  He bowed again. “Thank you.”

  “It is good to have friends like you,” I said. “He is a fortunate man that way.”

  After he left, Helena said, “He was coy about the topiary.”

  “As I recall from the essay, he dislikes them,” I said. “He says they are fit only for children.”

  “That must be why they are so popular at court,” said Catherine.

  As we were crossing the courtyard, John Harington came out a door. He stopped in full stride and made a show of greeting us.

  “What, did the fool bring you, too?” I cried. “Straight from Ireland?” Harington had followed Essex to Ireland and been knighted there. Now apparently he had followed him home. He dropped to both knees and bowed his head. I caught his belt and said, “By God’s son, my godson, I am no queen. That man is above me!”

  “No, no, Your Majesty. That is not so.”

  “By God’s son again, you soldiers were all idle, useless knaves, and Essex the worst of the lot, for wasting your time and our army in such ways.”

  “There were so many difficulties, problems unique to Ireland—”

  “That’s a tune you all sing in unison, then?”

  He lifted his face up. “No, do not judge me in accordance with him. I have kept a journal of my part in the campaigns, and it was not all in vain.”

  “Give me that journal, then. Let me read it.”

  “It is at home, not here.”

  “Then get you home and wait to be sent for.”

  He rose. “I do not have to be told twice, Your Majesty,” he said, “truly.”

  He dashed away so quickly that Catherine and Helena burst into laughter. “He runs as if the Irish themselves were chasing him,” Catherine said.

  I must give my verdict tomorrow morning. It should be a wise one, not dictated by personal vindictiveness or desire to punish. I must segregate him from the rest of the world, that theater that had been his undoing. Segregate, but not deprive of life. Perhaps the enforced rest would restore him to sanity. In my deepest heart I had not given up hope that he could be redeemed.

  Early the next morning I called the Privy Council. They stood at attention, looking nervous.

  “We have reached a decision about the Earl of Essex,” I said. “Does that surprise you? We have been accused of dithering and refusing to make decisions, but difficult matters require thought, and we dislike irrevocable measures. Therefore, it is our pleasure that the Earl of Essex be conveyed to York House, there to be kept under house arrest and supervision by Thomas Egerton, the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. He is not to return to Essex House. He is allowed two servants. He may not walk abroad, not even in the gardens, and he is to be allowed no visitors.”

  All eyes turned to Egerton. He ran his hands through his hair, as if that would clear his doubts.

  “As Your Majesty wishes,” he said. The others looked pityingly at him.

  “One of our court, the Earl of Worcester, has a coach at the ready. He can lend it to transport Essex to London. We want the shades drawn and Essex kept out of sight. You”—I nodded at Buckhurst, the admiral, and Cecil—“will ride behind and, upon arrival, escort Essex into his new quarters and settle him.”

  “What of his wife, children, and mother?” asked Cobham.

  “We appoint Lord Hunsdon to tell them of the arraignment, the findings, and our decision.”

  “But can they not see him at least once? He has not seen them since he left for Ireland,” said his uncle Knollys.

  “That was his decision. He must learn that actions have consequences. If we pamper him now, he will take no lesson from it.”

  Any other man would certainly have had the right to see his family, but Essex would only construe it in the wrong way.

  “Take him away, my lords. Take him away.”

  70

  LETTICE

  October 1599

  What is that banging?” I cried. I feared it like a summons from hell. Banging was never good. It always meant an emergency. “Open the door!” I yelled down the stairs. Since my son’s absence, the servants had grown lax and impertinent.

  One of Frances’s lady attendants rushed to the door. Where were the male servants? A pitiful lot! She tugged at the door and I could see a well-dressed man standing there. I had best go down.

  Immediately I recognized him. It was George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, the Queen’s cousin, and mine. This was state business.

  “Cousin,” I said. “We welcome you. Pray, come in.”

  He stepped across the threshold, removing his hat. “I thank you,” he said.

  But I could not contain myself, I could n
ot wait. “My son!” I cried. “Is he safe? Does he live?” I had had no word in weeks.

  Carey smiled tentatively. “He is safe. You need have no fear.”

  “Ireland—the dangers lurk everywhere. Oh, thank God, he is safe!”

  “He is no longer in Ireland,” said Carey. “He has returned to England.”

  It took me a moment to absorb these words. “In England? But where? And why?”

  “As to the where, he landed and rode directly to the Queen at Nonsuch. As to why—that is the great question. Great enough that he has been placed under arrest, and is even now being installed at York House under the supervision of the Lord Keeper, Thomas Egerton.”

  “Oh, we must go to him!”

  “Madam, you cannot. That is what I am charged with telling you. His arrest is strict. He is not allowed to walk outside. He is allowed no visitors.”

  “No visitors?”

  “None.”

  “But his wife! His new daughter!”

  “None, my lady.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth. “But why?”

  “He left his post in Ireland abruptly, in direct disobedience of his orders not to return, and threw himself at the Queen in person. He had concocted a scheme in his mind whereby the Queen had been deluded by false councillors—men like myself, my lady—and he needed to counteract this in person. He relied on his charm and desperation.” He stopped and coughed discreetly. “But Her Majesty sets great store by obedience, and he had abandoned his post at a delicate time, throwing all into confusion. I must add that he had conducted an unauthorized interview with the enemy and, even by the most charitable interpretation, had surrendered English interests to him.”

  “Oh, God!” was all I could say. All was lost.

  “He will be well treated,” Hunsdon said. “Egerton is a most reluctant jailer.”

  “And my husband?” I only now thought to ask.

  “He returned with my Lord of Essex. He is not under arrest. He will be home shortly. There are no restrictions on him or his movements.”

  “Her Majesty is gracious.” I hoped that did not sound sarcastic.

  “More than you know,” he said. “Her father would have had the lot imprisoned and executed.”

  After he left, I sank down on a bench. My mind was whirling. Robert had risked all on a throw of the dice, and lost. Christopher was safe. What had happened in Ireland?

  I must tell Frances. She had been waiting for every post, eager to hear of her husband’s exploits. Her childbed had been difficult, and even now she had not fully recovered. Her little daughter Frances, her namesake, cried night and day and would not be comforted. She was eager to show her to her father, as if he would have some magic to quiet her. “Poor babe,” she would say. “If your father could only hold you, your cries would vanish.”

  She was usually in her chambers, not having the strength to venture out, even in this mild weather. I knocked lightly, and she called out, “Please come in.”

  I stepped into her parlor and saw her sitting there, prettily attired. She was rocking the cradle at her feet, a beautifully carved one that had lulled her other two children.

  “Mother Devereux,” she said, smiling. “See how she kicks her feet today. She has not cried since last evening.”

  Dutifully I bent down and looked at the little face, framed with dark, straight hair. “Oh, that is good,” I said. Then I straightened up and looked at her. “I come with surprising and unsettling news. Robert is here in England. He left his command in Ireland and rode here to see the Queen. Unfortunately she has had him arrested and put under the jurisdiction of the Lord Keeper. He is at York House. But he is allowed no visitors. We cannot see him.”

  Her little face did not register understanding. “For how long?” she asked.

  “I do not know. It is for an indefinite period. Lord Hunsdon rode here to tell us.”

  “But I must see him!” she cried.

  “The Queen is adamant. No visitors. Not even a walk outside.”

  “That is not healthy! How can he be denied fresh air?”

  “I suppose she would say he can open his windows.”

  Frances slumped. “I have not seen him since March. I am his wife!”

  “The Queen is well aware of that.” I took a deep breath. “Did he intimate in any letters that he was thinking of returning?”

  “No! He writes more letters to you and the Queen than he does to me!”

  “Apparently no one was aware of it.” He had acted on one of his sudden impulses, then. He was prone to that. But in this instance! How irresponsible!

  “A number of people returned with him,” I said. “She is letting all those go. Christopher will be allowed to come home.”

  “How fortunate that you are married to a lesser-ranking man, then,” she said.

  So the docile daughter-in-law had sting. “That is one compensation,” I said. “But as the mother of the prime man in disgrace, I share all your worry.”

  I left her, trying to collect my thoughts. Soon Christopher would come, and surely he could tell me what had happened. I had heard little from him since he had gone to Ireland; he was not the sort to write letters. I knew that things had gone badly but, selfishly, I was only concerned that Christopher and Robert were safe. Each time a report arrived, I braced myself for bad news. As weeks passed and the names on the death rolls were those of others, I thanked God. Then I asked him to forgive me. I was afraid he would punish me for my selfishness by killing them in revenge.

  At least they were out of Ireland, I thought. No matter what happened here, they were safe. Better to be disgraced and still draw breath than to perish honorably on the battlefield. Hardly very noble of me, but what mother can afford to be noble at her child’s expense?

  Was he ill? So often he had been ill, felled by his constitution. Perhaps he had despaired and thought his only hope of cure was to get out of the bogs. I sat before the fireplace, throwing another log on the fire, sending out bursts of sparks. I was chilled straight through, not from the weather but from fear.

  I must have sat like this for an hour. Then I heard a commotion at the door, someone coming in. Christopher? I rose and looked down into the hall to see the top of that familiar head.

  “Christopher!” I cried. “Christopher!” I rushed down the stairs.

  He looked different. Thinner, darker. He put his bag down and stood wearily. “Wife, I am safely back,” he said. I embraced him, putting my face up against his soiled and tattered coat. It had been stiff and bright with embroidery when he left. He took my chin and lifted my face toward his and kissed me. His lips were chapped and rough.

  “And thank God for it,” I said. He had escaped from Ireland, escaped the death that that land dealt out to anyone daring to spend time there.

  “You know about Robert?” he asked.

  “Hunsdon came here to tell me. He’s confined at York House? And may have no visitors?”

  “That’s true.”

  “But why?”

  “Let me sit. My leg is bothering me. It got smashed when a horse fell on it. Not broken, but it’s not the same. And how about some ale? Wine? Anything, truth be told.”

  “Of course. Of course.” I settled him in a comfortable chair before the fire and ordered some drinks brought, along with bread, pears, and walnuts. He took a long sip of the ale and relaxed back into the chair.

  “I’ll tell it as quickly as I can,” he said, taking another sip. “Robert had nothing from the Queen but criticism and scolding. No matter what he did, she put the worst interpretation on it. He was convinced that his enemies back here were using every opportunity to turn the Queen against him. Her harsh tone told him they had succeeded. He felt he had to come in person, surprise her before Cecil and the rest knew he was here, and tell her his side of the story.” He refilled his cup. “I thought it foolish. I thought he should take the entire army with him.”

  “Christopher, no! Think how it would look!”

  �
��He was too cautious for that. Like you, he thought it would look bad. I argued that it didn’t matter how it looked; at least that way he couldn’t be taken prisoner. Well, now. That’s what happened.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he was foolhardy enough to come to England, without the Queen’s permission, with only a small contingent of men, not enough to protect him. The Queen tricked him, made him think she welcomed him, when all the while she was making sure he didn’t have the army with him. Once she knew that, she had him arrested. There was even a little mock trial before the Privy Council that condemned him for disobedience, and a few other things.” He wiped his mouth. “The Queen’s a wily one. She had us all to dinner and looking at her down the table, you’d never know that she wasn’t delighted her dear Robert had returned. Then, bang! He’s locked in his room to await the Queen’s pleasure.”

  I remembered her cold eyes when she handed the Boleyn necklace back to me. Once she had loved me, but her change was absolute. How could I have forgotten what she was capable of?

  “Why did she let you go?”

  “He was the fish she wanted. The rest of us didn’t count. Throw the minnows back in the water. And so, here I am, having swum back. Or rather, ridden back.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We wait. We wait.”

  Two weeks went by. London talked of nothing else but the arrest of Essex. Swarms of people gathered at our gates, and many more in front of York House. Ballads celebrating Essex’s bravery and chivalry were brayed in taverns and outside his prison. Slurs against Cecil were painted on walls, calling him a mole, a miscreant, and a mouse. People muttered against the Queen, although they dared not do it so openly. Frances decked herself in mourning clothes and applied to the Queen for permission to visit her husband. She was turned away, so she went and took her place before the courtyard of York House and stood forlornly, attracting much attention, until the Queen ordered her out of sight. I was astounded at her audacity and rather applauded it.