Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  Never since the day of my accession had I failed to see the importance of this. I could be a virago in my private apartments—and often was. There was scarcely one of my ladies who had not had a blow or painful nip from me. I made no attempt to control my temper among them and if I was irritated I expressed my feelings forcefully. It was the same in the Council Chamber. My temper was quite uncontrolled. But on my progresses I never showed the slightest rancor toward my people. They could bring me absurd petitions; they could even criticize me to my face and I received all this with a degree of charming attention and tolerance. I was playing a part—that of the great benevolent monarch—and I knew that through it I kept my hold on my people's affections and I was determined never to lose that.

  It was the reason for the firmness of the crown. My grandfather had suffered all his life as King from the fear of having come to the throne in circumstances which could be questioned; he must be looking over his shoulder all the time lest someone was preparing to snatch the crown from him. My father had had no fear of losing it. He saw himself as divine. He had a natural charm and an appearance of immense strength and he kept the approval of his people throughout his reign. He ruled through fear and great self-confidence which fostered an attitude of certainty that he would always do so. I held my people to me with love, and the bonds of love are the strongest in the world.

  I tried always to act as my people would wish me to. We had persecuted the Catholics; we had hounded priests from their priest holes in the great Catholic houses and brought some of them to a barbarous death. I had allowed this because it was what the people wanted. They had an inherent fear of Catholicism, and it would linger I was sure. None of them could forget the terrible burnings at the stake during my sister's reign. People still talked in hushed whispers of Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper. Certain seamen had been captured by the Spaniards and escaped to give accounts of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition. We wanted none of that in peaceful England. Pray God it would never come to that. So we must keep out the Catholics. I knew there were good Catholic gentlemen. They had supported us against the Spaniards in war. But the whole country was against that form of religion as practiced by Spaniards and upheld by the Pope.

  On the other hand we had the Puritans—toward whom I felt a great abhorrence. They wanted to create what they called an English Sunday. This would ban fairs, hunting, rowing, cockfighting and bear-baiting—in fact any kind of sport. The Council would have passed that measure but I vetoed it. I could imagine what those people who had cheered me on my pilgrimages throughout the land would say to that. They worked hard, I said. They should have a little respite on Sundays and amuse themselves in whatsoever way they thought best. I was sure I was right as I was when someone tried to bring in an act which would mean the death penalty for committing adultery, blasphemy and holding heretical opinions.

  No, no, no! I insisted. That would bring us close to what we had been fighting against. Why did men fight as they had against Spain? How was it a few men in inferior ships gained a great victory? Because they were fighting for freedom, was the answer.

  No, I wanted no more religious bickering. I wanted my people to be free, happy and prosperous—and that meant to live good honest lives in peace. No wars! And freedom to worship as they thought best. As long as they obeyed the laws of Christ I could see no reason why they were not good Christians.

  Let be, I wanted to cry all the time.

  As an act of defiance against those who would close the theaters, I formed a band of players who would act for my delight. I called them the Queen's Men.

  I looked forward always to my progresses through the country for I considered it of the utmost importance to show myself to my people. There was great rejoicing in the towns and villages through which I passed; and I must admit that there was little I enjoyed more than receiving homage and adulation.

  I was so accustomed to displays of love and loyalty that it was a shock when I received evidence that I had dangerous enemies among the people.

  One day when I was walking in the gardens at Hampton where a crowd had gathered to watch me pass, there was a sudden shout and I saw someone being hustled away by the Yeomen of the Guard. Another picked up a pistol which lay on the ground and hastened off after the group who were pushing their prisoner through the crowd.

  There was a hushed silence and then someone in the crowd cried: “God save Your Majesty. Death to those who would harm you.”

  Then I guessed that this had been an attempt at assassination.

  I made no show of haste to leave the place nor any fear because I had been in danger of losing my life, but paused to speak to some of the people who had thrust forward to see me. Some had petitions which I read carefully and promised they should have consideration, stressing that it would be the Council who decided, in case the decision should be adverse. Then the blame would not be laid on me!

  As soon as I was back in the palace, I asked what the trouble in the gardens had been about.

  It was disturbing to know that it had been an attempt on my life and I said I would personally question my would-be murderer.

  To my amazement they brought in a woman. She looked at me defiantly as she stood there, a guard on either side of her. “Who are you?” I asked. “And do you admit to wanting to kill me?”

  She replied: “My name is Margaret Lambrun, and I do.”

  “Well, at least you are honest,” I said. “You are Scottish, are you?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “So thought I. A murderous race, the Scots. They have given my ancestors and me a great deal of trouble. Why did you wish to kill me?”

  “You killed my Queen and my husband,” she said. “I wanted revenge for that.”

  “You refer to Queen Mary of Scotland who was found guilty of plotting against my realm and attempting to murder me.”

  The woman was silent.

  “That is the truth, you know,” I said softly.

  “My husband was in her service. When she was executed he died of grief.”

  “He would have done better to have lived to look after his wife and prevent her from committing rash actions.”

  “He loved the Queen. He was heartbroken when she died.”

  Poor woman! That was the last thing she could have said to endear her to me. I had long been hearing of the fatal fascination of the Queen of Scots and I was exasperated that even after her death it was still effective.

  “You were in possession of two pistols,” I said. “Were you going to take two shots at me?”

  “No. One was for you and then I should have turned the other on myself.”

  “Do you know what I am going to do with you, Margaret Lambrun?” I said.

  “It matters not what you do with me,” she replied. “My life is over.”

  “You are a youngish woman. There could be years before you. I say this: Forget that husband who died of a broken heart grieving for another woman. He is not worthy of your remembrance. I know men well. They are not worth dying for. You are an honest woman and have suffered much. I am going to give you a free pardon.”

  She stared at me in astonishment for a few seconds, then she fell to her knees continuing to look wonderingly at me.

  “Methinks,” I went on, “that you have heard evil tales of me. Perhaps through your husband's fascinating mistress. You foolish woman, do not again risk your life for the sake of a man. Get to your feet now and be gone from here.” I called to the guards: “Take her away.”

  She hesitated. Then she said: “Would Your Majesty give me permission to speak?”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Those people out there… They believe that you are divine.”

  “It seems to me I must have some of the qualities you believed were in the sole possession of Mary of Scotland.”

  “Those people love you as she was never loved by the people.”

  “Well, my good woman, your eyes have been opened, and you have seen that I am not
the monster who was to receive your fatal shot.”

  “You are a great queen,” she said. “Those people will tear me apart because I tried to kill you.”

  “True enough,” I agreed. “But you who are prepared to kill a queen cannot be afraid of a crowd of people.”

  It was a strange revelation. The fanatical young woman who had stood in the crowd and contemplated my death was gone, and in her place was a practical person who was beginning to think she might have some future after all.

  I realized that my response to her attempt to kill me had bewildered her and yet at the same time it had made her see her future more clearly. She was not going to die. She was going to live, and life had become very precious to her. It must have been so for she was anxious to preserve it. “If Your Majesty would give me a safe passage to France, I would settle there and try to make a new life.”

  I smiled at her.

  “It shall be,” I said. Then turning to the guards I continued: “Take her away. See that she has safe conduct to the coast.”

  As she went she gave me a look of gratitude, amazement and something like admiration.

  I smiled. In time, in her French haven, she might think as highly of the Queen of England as she had of the Queen of Scots.

  FOR SOME TIME the Council had been trying to persuade me that we should carry our disagreements with Spain into Spanish territory. I had opposed this as I did any form of war, but at length I agreed that this particular action might be advantageous to us.

  Since the year 1581 Don Antonio, the deposed King of Portugal, had been living in England in exile. Don Antonio was the bastard son of the previous King's brother, but because he was illegitimate, the Spaniards laid claim to the crown of Portugal on account of Philip's mother's being the late King's sister. He had sent Alva into Portugal to take it and this was speedily accomplished.

  Don Antonio had had long talks with me. He was yearning to claim his crown. He told me how the Portuguese hated the Spaniards and that if he could only get back, the whole country would rise against Spain; and having been stripped of its power through the defeat of the armada, the Spaniards would suffer another humiliating defeat and Don Antonio would be back on the throne.

  Drake came to discuss the problem and Drake's great aim in these enterprises was to bring back treasure. This I applauded. I wanted Spanish treasure to strengthen my exchequer; I wanted their gold and jewels to pay for my country's needs so that I did not have to resort to taxing my people.

  Drake was the great pirate who knew how to bring treasure home. So I agreed and it was arranged that the expedition would be commanded at sea by Sir Francis Drake and on land by Sir John Norris.

  I invested sixty thousand pounds in the enterprise; some of the generals put up about fifty thousand, and between the City of London and other ports throughout the country one hundred and forty-six ships were contributed to the scheme.

  Essex wanted to join the expedition and I smiled fondly at his enthusiasm.

  “I do not intend that you shall risk your life,” I said. “Your place is at Court.”

  But he would not let the matter rest. He plagued me night and day. He wanted to go. He had need of the money. He would find treasure; but most of all he wanted to have a shot at the Spaniards.

  “No,” I insisted. “You shall not go.” And I became angry with him and ordered him to drop the subject.

  This he did and I thought he had come to his senses at last. I should have known better.

  The expedition was ready and at Plymouth waiting to sail. It was then I heard what had happened.

  Essex's brother-in-law, Lord Rich, came to me bringing a letter addressed to me in Essex's hand. Essex had sent him a key to the desk in which the letter had been placed and he had not sent the key until he was well on the way.

  He had been determined to join the expedition, he wrote. Not only did he want to fight for England's glory, but he was in desperate need of money for he was deeply in debt. He owed at least twenty-three thousand pounds. I had been good to him and he would ask for no more. He was not of the nature of some (this was a dart directed at Raleigh who never failed to ask for what he wanted). He must go away. He must find fortune. And he trusted I would forgive him for going against my wishes.

  Forgive him! I was furious with him. Never once in the whole of my time with Robert had he openly defied me. How dared this young upstart behave so!

  I would show him that he could not go against my wishes.

  Immediately I sent guards to bring him back, and his grandfather Sir Francis Knollys himself went to Plymouth.

  I heard then that for days he had shut himself away making preparations. He had gone to the house of his brother-in-law Lord Rich to dine, to allay suspicions, for he feared he might have been watched. Outside his lordship's house was Essex's secretary and a groom waiting with horses ready to ride with all speed to Plymouth. They had ridden for ninety miles on the horses and then Essex had taken a post horse and sent his companions back to London with the horses and a letter to Lord Rich containing the key to the desk in which he had locked the letter to me so that it could be delivered after his departure.

  Drake and Norris knew that I had forbidden him to go and I relied on them to send him back. But they did not see him, for Essex, guessing they would never let him board a ship, had made a secret arrangement with Captain Roger Williams who had agreed to take him. Thus Essex was able to board Williams's ship, the Swiftsure, and put out to sea.

  So Essex had defied me again. I was so angry. I swore this should be the last time.

  WAR NEVER PAYS. I could have told them that before the expedition set out; and I reminded them that I had only agreed to go on with their schemes because they had all worn me down with their importunings.

  However if there was enough booty to come out of it I supposed I would consider it worthwhile.

  I was worried constantly about Essex. He could be so foolhardy and I knew he was reckless. He would take such absurd risks and I wanted him back at Court. I was unwise, I knew, to set such store by him but I was missing Robert so much and I was desperately anxious to put someone else in his place. I needed that very special person in my life and I had no doubt that I had chosen unwisely in Essex.

  Although I could never think of him as a possible lover as I had Robert, he did give me that very special brand of affection which I never quite sensed in the others; and because he was a young man who disdained to flatter and dissimulate, I knew it was genuine affection.

  I sent urgent messages to Drake and Norris. Essex was to be sent back. But, of course, he was not with them and it was some time before the Swiftsure joined up with the rest of the fleet, and then there was not a ship available in which to send him home.

  I wrote angrily to him:

  “Essex,

  “Your sudden and undutiful departure from our presence and your place of attendance, you may easily conceive how offensive it is, and ought to be, unto us. Our great favors bestowed on you without deserts, hath drawn you thus to neglect and forget your duty; for other constructions we cannot make of those your strange actions. Not meaning, therefore, to tolerate this your disordered part, we gave directions to some of our Privy Council to let you know our express pleasure for your immediate repair hither…

  “We do, therefore, charge and command you forthwith upon receipt of these our letters, all excuses and delays set apart, to make your present and immediate repair unto us, to understand our further pleasure. Whereof see you fail not, as you will be loth to incur our indignation, and will answer for the contrary to your uttermost peril.”

  When he received such a letter written in my hand, he knew he dare not disobey, and he set sail for home.

  The expedition was at an end. The Portuguese had not welcomed Don Antonio as he had believed they would. They did not like their Spanish masters, but they were too lethargic to bestir themselves sufficiently to make the change.

  It would have been a disastrous affair but for Sir
Francis Drake, who brought home enough booty to have made it just worthwhile.

  I was prepared to upbraid Essex and banish him from Court until it pleased me to recall him, but when I saw him, looking a little pale from battle, and kneeling before me raising those fine dark eyes to my face, so full of loving admiration, I relented.

  I was so pleased to have him back safely.

  I said: “Never behave so again. If you did that could be the end of your hopes at Court.”

  That was all; and within a few days he was installed in his old place. And to prevent his going abroad again in search of fortune, I granted him a lease of the farm of sweet wines—which had been Robert's before he died and which would give him a large income that might settle outstanding debts and, I hoped, in future enable him to live within his income.

  HE WAS RESTLESS. He was not suited to Court life. He lacked Robert's ambition as well as his tact; and he lacked Robert's shrewdness. Why had I thought there could ever be anyone to take Robert's place?

  And yet he fascinated me. In a way, I thought of him as a son, loved none the less because he was wayward, and I was content only when he was near me. He could change my mood; he could make me feel young. He was in love with me in a way that most young men had been when I was a young woman. There was no question of a union of any sort between us, but it was love…of a rarefied kind. But I wanted that. It had to come naturally. It was not, as with such as Raleigh, for favor at Court. Essex did not seek favor; he was indifferent to honors. He supported lost causes. And he was honest. He could forget the respect due to me. Anger would flare up and he would not watch his words; but this was honest Essex; so that when he did show his affection for me I knew it was genuine.