by Derek Wilson
We are not totally devoid of clues as to how he maintained regular contact with the mini-court at Hatfield. He had several friends in the princess’s household. William Cecil, John Dudley’s invaluable aide, was her surveyor and a man in whose skill and discretion she reposed considerable trust. Then there were Gianbattista Castiglione, Elizabeth’s Italian tutor, and John Dee, her astrologer. Both were well known to Robert; both enjoyed his generous patronage in after years; both had been apprehended by Mary’s officials on suspicion of plotting an Elizabethan coup. The necessary secrecy which guarded all Elizabeth’s dealings at this time has prevented historians from unravelling the relationships which undoubtedly existed between the princess and her many friends at home and abroad but Robert Dudley was very prominent among them. In all likelihood he held a unique position which enabled him to form a bridge between the world of Elizabeth’s fragile retreat, her friends and well-wishers in the country at large, and the court of Philip II, whose concern for her well-being advanced steadily as his wife’s health decreased. Robert had deliberately cultivated members of the king’s suite and was well placed to keep Elizabeth informed of official Spanish attitudes towards her. For all these reasons and because these two young people understood each other, Elizabeth had good reason to be grateful to Robert Dudley.
The autumn was oppressive with anticipation and especially so at Hatfield where Elizabeth awaited the news which never came. On 8 November Mary accepted the inevitable and nominated the princess her successor. But still she did not die. William Cecil rode back and forth along the London highway carrying news and messages. It was a highway increasingly choked with hopeful men and women travelling to Hatfield.
As soon as Mary Tudor breathed her last, just before dawn on 17 November, the lords of the Council immediately set off into Hertfordshire. In the park at Hatfield they found Elizabeth walking beneath the bare trees and knelt to offer their allegiance. The new queen’s first reaction was to render thanks to God. Then, laying emotion aside, she settled down to business, sitting in conference with Cecil and some of the others to discuss immediate arrangements. There were certain people who had to be informed urgently of Elizabeth’s accession. So it was that a secretary made the first memorandum of the reign. This revealing document, though damaged by fire, still survives:
To send messengers to the Emperor, Sir William Pickering, Sir [Nicholas] Wotton; to the King of Spain, Sir Peter Carew, Lord Robert Dudley; to the King of Denmark, Sir Thomas Ch[alloner] . . .15
13
The Gypsy
The King’s Majesty, about a twelvemonth past, gave a pardon to a company of lewd persons within this realm, calling themselves Gipeyans for a most shameful and detestable murder.1
The words are those of Thomas Cromwell and date from 1537. Gypsies first made their appearance in England around the beginning of the sixteenth century and like most asylum seekers who followed an alternative lifestyle to that of good, home-dwelling, honest-working, English people they were regarded with suspicion and, often, hostility. Gypsies were, in the common mind, swarthy vagabonds capable of every imaginable crime from selling poisons to horse stealing, from cut-pursing to kidnapping children. So when people referred to Robert Dudley as the ‘Gypsy’ they were not being complimentary.
The head of the remarkable Dudley clan which had somehow bounced back from its seemingly complete destruction in 1553 was always the object of scorn and mistrust. Partly, this was the result of his black inheritance. His grandfather and father had both been cordially hated and both had died as traitors, so it was inevitable that people should believe that Dudley blood was tainted. There was, of course, an element of jealousy involved, especially among courtiers who saw themselves as rivals for the queen’s favour. Men who began with the assumption that Lord Robert was a ‘bad lot’ were genuinely puzzled by Elizabeth’s obvious regard for him. They saw him as a shallow charmer who lacked the intellectual equipment to serve as a fitting companion for so intelligent and well educated a queen. Women were less surprised. They looked at Robert Dudley and saw an incredibly handsome, self-confident man, tall by the standards of the day (a little under six feet), dark, athletic, magnificent on horseback, always stunningly dressed and having flashing, mischievous eyes. (Elizabeth nicknamed him her ‘eyes’ and he kept up the intimate joke by often signing himself ‘ŌŌ’.) Dudley had all the swaggering, macho, seductive arts of the accomplished courtier and, at twenty-five, he was at the height of his manly powers. He was ‘dangerous’ and, therefore, attractive to women.
However, at the outset of the reign, none were surprised or scandalized when Elizabeth summed the Gypsy to be a senior member of her household. His appointment as Master of the Horse was an obvious one. He was a member of a prominent family, he was a highly accomplished rider and the office had been held in Edward’s reign by his eldest brother. Robert Dudley was known to be an old friend of the queen and it was perfectly reasonable that she should choose men she liked and trusted to be among her more intimate companions. If any observers were anxious about the resurrection of Dudley fortunes their fears were calmed by the fact that Lord Robert and his kin had no political power in the new regime. In the slimmed-down Council with which Elizabeth began her reign there was, pointedly, no room for Robert or for Ambrose, who was made Master of the Ordnance or for Sir Henry Sidney, who became President of the Council in the Marches of Wales. Elizabeth had had plenty of time to think about the style and personnel of her household and her government and had discussed such matters with Cecil, who immediately took up the position of Secretary. For the Council they basically recreated the kind of body that Northumberland had established in the early days of his regime: it was compact, consisted largely of like-minded men (most of Mary’s advisers were either excluded or subsequently removed) and regarded itself as having a semi-tutorial role. The new occupant of the throne was not a minor but she was a ‘mere’ young woman and would require particularly firm guidance. The seasoned diplomat, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, did not hesitate to play the pedagogue with his royal mistress. ‘Beware of womanish levity,’ he admonished, ‘for where the King governeth not in severity and prudence there doth emulation and ambition sow their seeds.’2 An attitude that to us sounds patronizing was the norm in sixteenth-century government circles. Female rule was regarded as unnatural and potentially disastrous (as the last five years had amply demonstrated) and high on the Council’s agenda throughout the early years of the reign was the business of finding a suitable husband for the queen. It was frankly inconceivable that she would choose to remain single, any more than Mary had. She should, she must and she would marry and have children, thus sparing the nation fresh bouts of trauma over finding a legitimate heir.
The Privy Chamber, whose members had exercised considerable influence with Henry VIII and Edward VI, was depoliticized. This was because it was staffed largely by women but also because Cecil disliked the diffusion of power. No longer did all the great household officers have seats on the Council. The policy failed because it did not acknowledge that the monarch’s closest companions were political figures and because this particular monarch was determined to turn for advice to whomsoever she chose. Elizabeth soon made it clear that she would not be bullied by her Council, nor would she take them fully into her confidence on every issue. Therefore, if the Queen’s political advisers wanted to know what she was thinking or wanted to press home their advice they needed intermediaries: they needed the queen’s friends. Thus emerged the figure of the royal favourite, the unofficial consort. And for most of the reign that position was held by Robert Dudley.
Lord Robert’s new job carried considerable responsibility, the more so as Elizabeth hugely enjoyed going on progress and regularly spent three months of the year on tour, showing herself to her people and enjoying the hospitality of her wealthier subjects. The Master of the Horse was responsible for the transport of the queen and the court on all occasions, ceremonial and otherwise; for the supervision of the royal studs togethe
r with the purchase, training and equipping of horses for all purposes; for the provision of mounts for household officials and royal messengers; for the organization of the queen’s annual progresses; and for the planning of ceremonial journeys. He had to provide war horses, ‘great horses’ for the joust and for pulling the unsprung carriages just coming into fashion, coursers for the queen’s gentlemen; palfreys and amblers for the maids of honour, cobs and rouncies for lesser attendants, mules and sumpters for baggage, and a supply of hacks and hunters for the queen’s sport. The stable employed a large staff of aveners, grooms, clerks, farriers, purveyors and baggage-men. The routine organization was done by subordinates but Robert maintained close personal control and much of his time was spent considering reports on horses at stud; instructing foreign agents to buy new bloodstock; planning the stages of the royal progresses; organizing tourneys and accompanying the queen in the hunting field.
It was work he found congenial and for which he was well qualified, but more important than the daily routine of stable administration was the proximity it gave him to the queen. No official had reason to be closer to Elizabeth than her Master of the Horse. Wherever she stayed Robert had his own suite of rooms. On ceremonial occasions he rode immediately behind her. He was at her side when she travelled abroad and when she went to the hunting field. Since she loved being in the saddle, these occasions were frequent.
However unremarkable Robert’s appointment might have seemed originally, his relationship with Elizabeth soon set tongues wagging. People said that the queen was bent on following the example of her cousin, Frances Grey. She had carried on an affair with her master of the horse, Adrian Stokes, behind the back of her husband, the Duke of Suffolk, and as soon as the duke had been executed she had married her lover. Now royal watchers observed the body language of Robert and Elizabeth, listened to tittle-tattle about what the couple, supposedly, got up to in private and scented a delicious scandal.
If we want to understand this latest episode in the black legend of the Dudleys we, once again, have to draw back the curtain of contemporary and later prejudice. The legend goes something like this: Elizabeth was a wonder-queen of whom one should think no ill. She was also an extremely intelligent and canny woman. Yet, somehow, she became infatuated with Dudley. Since she could not possibly be to blame for this unfortunate state of affairs, obviously the Gypsy had cast his spell over her. Once again a member of this incorrigible family had set his sights on the achievement of ultimate power. Fortunately for England, Elizabeth the queen finally triumphed over Elizabeth the woman and Robert Dudley’s ambitions were quashed. Such a simplistic interpretation of events fails to take account of the complexities of Elizabethan court politics. The relationship of Elizabeth Tudor and Robert Dudley evolved over three decades and was shaped by various pressures. The first traumatic and ultimately tragic twenty-two months were fashioned by the young queen’s inexperience, political rivalries, the rehabilitation of the Dudleys, Robert’s relationship with his wife and the conventions of courtly love.
It all started with the friendship of the queen and the courtier. They were of an age. They understood each other. They had just shared a harrowing five years. The queen compared her experience under Mary with that of Daniel in the lions’ den.3 Elizabeth faced a daunting task. She needed wise councillors but also people with whom she could relax. She loved music, dancing, masques and plays and threw herself into court entertainments with an enthusiasm some thought unbecoming. Robert, the dashing, handsome perfect courtier was the ideal companion of her leisure hours but it was almost inevitable that he should become more than that. Within a month his closeness to the queen was common knowledge. By the following spring the Spanish ambassador, Don Gomez Suarez, Count Feria, was reporting a much increased intimacy between Elizabeth and her favourite:
During the last few days Lord Robert has come so much into favour that he does whatever he likes with affairs and it is even said that her majesty visits him in his chamber day and night. People talk of this so freely that they go so far as to say that his wife has a malady in one of her breasts and the Queen is only waiting for her to die to marry Lord Robert. I can assure your Majesty that matters have reached such a pass that I have been brought to consider whether it would not be well to approach Lord Robert on your Majesty’s behalf promising your help and favour and coming to terms with him.4
Another member of the diplomatic corps, ears and eyes ever open to potential scandal, hinted at libidinous goings-on but thought it prudent to exercise self-censorship:
My Lord Robert Dudley is in very great favour and very intimate with her majesty. On this subject I ought to report the opinion of many but I doubt whether my letters may not miscarry or be read, wherefore it is better to keep silence than to speak ill.5
If Elizabeth knew of the whisperings and the disapproving glances around the court she did not care. Now, for the first time in her twenty-five years she could do as she liked. And she did.
For his part, Robert had deliberately set out to impress. The rebuilding of his family’s fortunes depended on his maximizing the relationship he already enjoyed with Elizabeth. In 1559, he approached Baron Edward Dudley with an offer to buy Dudley Castle and its dependencies. He had a list made of all the baronial lands together with the outstanding mortgages and calls upon it.6 But cousin Edward was no Lord Quondam; though he affirmed that ‘if God does not send us issue there is no one I would rather see inherit than your Lordship,’ he was not prepared to sell,7 and by the end of 1560 Robert had been obliged to give up his plans to acquire the ancestral home.
Robert was well equipped to achieve his objectives. Not only was he handsome and charming; he was the most extrovert member of the family and had inherited the lion’s share of his father’s drive and ambition. It was natural to his siblings that he should become their leader. But they were not blind to his faults. Within weeks of his appointment as Master of the Horse Robert received a letter from his sister Catherine, wife of the pious Earl of Huntingdon.
I hear God hath increased you with honour since my departure. I pray let me desire you to be thankful unto him that showeth himself so gratious unto you. I am bold to write this because I know honour doth rather blind the eye than clear it . . .8
Catherine knew that her brother was vain, proud and headstrong and feared that his elevation might go to his head.
Dudley was an utter spendthrift on anything that might make a show and enhance his public persona. In later years he remarked, with a ruefulness which thinly veiled boasting, ‘I have lived always above any living I had.’ His letters give ample evidence of his extravagance. To a colleague in Antwerp he sent an urgent commission:
Touching the silks I wrote you about, I wish you to take up and stay for me 4000 crowns worth of crimson and black velvet and satins and silks of other colours. And if there be any good cloth of tissue or of gold or such other pretty stuff, stay for me to the value of £300 or £400, whatever the charge shall be . . .
P.S. Make stay of as much stuff as I have written for and the money shall be sent you immediately . . . Let it be of the best sort of every kind I have written for . . .9
His wardrobe was immense, running, according to an inventory, to several hundred items listed under a profusion of headings:
Night gowns, short gowns, cape cloaks, short cloaks, long cloaks, riding cloaks, riding slops, cassocks, hose paned and slops, doublets, jerkins, buttons, brooches, tags and points of gold, caps and hats, boothose and stockings, rapiers and daggers with their girdles and hangers, fawchions, woodknives, buskins, shoes, pumps, pantophels, slippers and boots.10
Another list of several thousand personal possessions contained numerous exotic items ordered from leading English and foreign craftsmen:
the portraitures of the Queen’s majesty and my lord, cut in alabaster . . .
a salt, ship fashion, of the mother-of-pearl, garnished with silver and divers works of warlike ensigns and ornaments, with sixteen pieces of ordnance,
whereof two on wheels, two anchors on the fore part, and on the stern the image of Dame Fortune, standing on a globe, with a flag in her hand . . .
A chess board of ebony, with chequers of crystal and other stones layed with silver, garnished with bears and ragged staves and cinqfoils of silver, the thirty-two men likewise of crystal and other stones set, the one sort in silver white, the other gilt, in a case of leather, gilded and lined with green cotton.11
Dudley’s exotic showmanship has to be seen against the background of an exuberant, youthful court and the kind of behaviour that was expected of its members. In particular we need to understand the kind of love games in which the queen and her attendants were constantly involved and which affected personal and family fortunes.
The courtier’s everlasting role was to make ostentatious display of loyalty and devotion to the sovereign. When that sovereign was an unmarried woman such behaviour inevitably took on the character of flirtation and even courtship. The queen had to be wooed with songs, poems, gifts and exuberant protestations of love. The overblown, amorous rhetoric of a letter from Christopher Hatton, one of her ‘suitors’, indicates the kind of attention Elizabeth expected and which became the convention. After Hatton had been sent away from court for his health, he wrote:
. . . Madam, I find the greatest lack that ever poor wretch sustained. No death, no, not hell, no fear of death shall ever win of me my consent so far to wrong myself again as to be absent from you one day . . . I lack that I live by. The more I find this lack, the farther I go from you . . . My spirit and soul (I feel) agreeth with my body and life, that to serve you is heaven, but to lack you is more than hell’s torment unto them. My heart is full of woe . . . Would God I were with you but for one hour. My wits are overwrought with thoughts. I find myself amazed. Bear with me, my most dear, sweet Lady. Passion overcometh me. I can write no more. Love me; for I love you . . . Shall I utter this familiar term, ‘farewell’? Yes, ten thousand, thousand farewells. He speaketh it that most dearly loveth you . . .12