by Jean Plaidy
Incredible as it might seem, Essex once more raised objections to this choice.
“No, Your Majesty,” he said. “Mountjoy is not the man. He has no experience of war. He has only a small estate and therefore cannot supply many followers, and he is too interested in literature to make a good soldier.”
I was so angry with him. He did not seem to understand that, although I had allowed him to return to Court, I now regarded him in a different light. I no longer had the same love for him. I was prepared to give it, it was true, because I needed to fill the gap left by Leicester, but I had made a discovery—that great affection comes about naturally and it cannot be forced. Much as I wanted that perfect relationship which had been between myself and Leicester, I now accepted the fact that I could never have it. It was the sort of thing which came once in a lifetime, if one was lucky. It could never happen to me again.
I looked at this brash young man. He was very handsome with that brand of interesting looks which appealed to me. I was sixty-six years of age. Was I going to inspire that romantic love I had had from Leicester? Never! It was over.
I turned on Essex and said: “My Lord Essex, you do not like my choice of a man for Ireland any more than you did before. I can see that you believe Mountjoy not to be worthy of the task. Well, perhaps there is one other who might be chosen.”
I saw the satisfied smile play about his lips. I thought: Yes, Essex. You see me as a foolish, doting old woman. I am in some ways; but there is always my serious self looking on at my folly and never failing to make me aware of it.
“Yes,” I continued. “You, my lord. I have decided to send you to Ireland.”
HE WAS TAKEN ABACK. It was not what he wanted. He had planned to stay at Court and rule the country through me. To have forgiven him for that humiliating scene seemed to make it certain to him that he could behave as he liked and still come back to favor. I admit it seemed so. He was thinking he had more influence at Court than even Leicester had had.
When he realized he could not evade the appointment, I will say that he set about the adventure with enthusiasm.
He selected his followers with alacrity, and I was interested to see that his stepfather, Christopher Blount, was one he had chosen to go with him. I heard that there was a deep friendship between those two, and that Blount worshipped Essex—as I believe the whole family did. I wondered what the she-wolf thought about losing her husband and her son at one time.
I was interested to hear that Southampton was going with him. Oh well, I thought, that will rid us of that troublesome gentleman for a time.
It was a day in March when he set out for Ireland and when his cavalcade reached Islington there was a great storm and such a downpour of rain that the men had to take cover from it. People shook their heads over this and said it was a sign that the expedition would not be a success.
The prophecy was not far wrong.
Essex had no love for his task once the first enthusiasm had waned. He knew that to bring law and order to a people like the Irish was an impossibility. He made mistakes. He was unsuited to the mission. I wished that I had sent Mountjoy, who was a clever and steady young man, and who would not take an action without first giving serious thought to it.
Essex bestowed honors on those of whom he was fond. He had made his stepfather Marshal of the Army—a ridiculous appointment and one Blount could never have aspired to but for his relationship with Essex. My policy had always been to favor those whom I liked, but only if they were good enough to do the work. But I could not expect such wisdom from Essex.
He sent word to me that he was proposing to make Blount a member of the Council of Ireland. I promptly replied that there should be no such appointment.
As a result Christopher Blount returned to England. His health was not good, said Essex. Whether this was to be construed as petulance on his part or whether it was actually true, I did not know; and, as I had no intention of displaying the slightest interest in Lettice Knollys's husband, except to forbid him to take posts for which he was unsuited, I did not inquire.
Then came the most startling news. Essex had appointed the Earl of Southampton General of Horse, although he must have known that it was an appointment of which I would disapprove. How dared he give command to such a man—one to whom I had shown my dislike! The post should have gone to Lord Grey who was Southampton's superior in military skill in every possible way. Moreover when the appointment was made official, Grey would be serving under Southampton; and in addition to Grey's being the man of superior knowledge, he was also an enemy of Southampton, who had once intended to fight a duel with him—and would have done so if I had not stepped in.
What was Essex thinking of? He cared nothing for the cause. All he wanted to do was honor his friends—and one who was in disgrace at Court and had shown his defiance of me!
I wrote at once forbidding the appointment.
Essex's answer was that it had already been made and could not be rescinded. I heard too that Southampton, no doubt because he was robbed of the presence of Elizabeth Vernon, was becoming very friendly with the most handsome of the men. He shared a tent with a very good-looking young captain—one Piers Edmonds—and, said my informant, Southampton would hug him in his arms and play wantonly with him.
I was horrified. I sent orders to Essex that the command must be taken from Southampton without delay, and I did this in such authoritative terms that even Essex realized he must obey.
It was not surprising that affairs in Ireland were going badly.
VERY SOON IT became clear that the appointment of Essex had been a disaster.
He ignored my instructions, which were arrived at with the help of the Council. He would go his own way, which was the wrong one. He was defeated everywhere. His excuses were that there was sickness in the army before the battle commenced, or that the weather had been against him.
Why wasn't action taken when the army was in better state? I demanded. And why was the campaign started at the approach of winter? Why had not July or August been chosen? It seemed that none of the seasons of the year had been considered favorable. A messenger arrived to tell me that Essex had been parleying with Hugh O'Neill, Earl of Tyrone, after having come face to face with him at Ardee in Louth where Essex did not attack, his forces being so few in number compared with those of Tyrone. He should have known that it was Tyrone's custom to make agreements that he might break them when it suited him to do so. In any case, Essex had no right to make agreements without first receiving instructions from England.
That infuriated me. Essex was hopeless. There were some who were suggesting that he was serving the Irish better than the English, and that was tantamount to saying that he was a traitor.
It was Michaelmas time and I was at the Palace of Nonesuch. I had risen from my bed and was seated at my dressing table while my ladies were gathered about me ready to assist at my dressing.
I yawned for I was still sleepy. My hair, quite white now, hung about my face in disorder. I was sitting there in my bedgown when the door burst open and a man—muddied from a long ride, disheveled and his clothes awry—came bursting into the apartment. At first I thought he was an assassin—and then I recognized him.
“Essex!” I cried.
“Your Majesty!” He flung himself at my feet and kissed my hand fervently.
He had come from Ireland. He feared evil had been spoken of him. He had ridden through the night and had just arrived at Nonesuch Palace, and had been unable to wait longer before seeing his fair and beauteous Queen.
Fair and beauteous Queen! An old woman of sixty-five, her face pale and unadorned, her white straggly hair awry about her face!
He must be very frightened to talk so, I thought. This means great disaster in Ireland.
Then I was thinking how I must look. He had never before seen me in this state of undress—nor had any man, except one from my window and that was years ago when I had been younger. It was suddenly borne home to me that he must be as ast
onished to see me as I was to see him—though for different reasons.
My one thought was to get rid of him as quickly as possible. I could not bear that he should see me thus. How different I must look from that scintillating goddess in her jeweled gowns and ruffs and her magnificent curling red hair. He was trying not to look at me. Even he must spare a thought from his own affairs to realize how I was feeling.
I sat very still and spoke gently to him because it was the quickest way of getting rid of him. I would see him later, I said softly. He could tell me everything then.
After he went, I sat very still, trembling with the shock of what had happened. I took up a hand mirror and looked at myself. It was horrible. My face was drained of color. My hair straggled about my shoulders—gray and scanty. I looked what I was—a tired old woman.
How dared he come bursting in like that! Did he think he could behave as the whim took him and that I would forgive him?
I thought: Essex, you have gone too far this time. I will never forgive you for this.
I WAS ESPECIALLY careful with my toilette and when I was ready to go into the Presence Chamber I was sparkling with jewels. There was the faintest color in my cheeks, which gave a brightness to my eyes. Was it anger against this man who had dared see me in my natural state? No man had ever seen me like that before. I had thought none ever would. And he had dared! No, I would never forgive him for that. Always when I saw him I would see myself … old … unadorned … with nothing of beauty left to me.
He was there. His eyes alight with excitement. I thought: By God's Holy Son, he believes that he only has to smile on me and I am his slave. In his mind I am no queen for he stands above me.
You will never have to learn a harder lesson than you will learn now, my Lord Essex, I thought.
He knelt before me. I gave him my hand which he fervently kissed. He raised his eyes to look at me but my gaze was fixed over his head in the distance.
“My fairest Queen …” he began.
I said coolly: “You may rise, Essex.”
“I came to you,” he began breathlessly. “There is so much to tell you…”
I replied shortly: “You may tell it to the Council.”
He was taken aback. I saw the deep color flood his face. He could not believe that I had spoken to him thus.
I turned to Robert Cecil and engaged him in conversation. Essex fell back, a sullen, angry expression on his face. All those present were watchful. They had expected me to give him a warm welcome, and that the erring young man would once more be forgiven his sins and be taken back into favor. But they did not know what he had seen that morning. I should never forget it, though. Every time I saw him, I should remember. And I did not want to be reminded.
HE WAS QUESTIONED by the Council and his answers brought to me. I said that I found them unsatisfactory and this was the general opinion.
It was decided that he should remain in confinement at York House. I traveled down to Richmond with the Court and tried not to think of Essex. I daresay I was sharper with my ladies than ever. I was never happy until I was fully dressed in all my finery, and yet I hesitated long over the gown I should wear. There were, I think, about two thousand of them to choose from. Then there was the wig to be selected from my collection of eighty.
Only when I was fully dressed and a shining sparkling vision looked back at me from the mirror could I feel a little happier.
But I did not want to think of Essex and I certainly did not want to see him.
When I heard that he was ill, I laughed. Was he not always ill when life turned against him? Oh I know Robert had been the same. How many times had I hurried to him to tend him when there was some disagreement between us? Yet I had never blamed him. How could I, when I myself had used the device often enough? I had always smiled indulgently at Robert's illnesses because they showed me he could not bear to be out of favor. He used to be really desperate when he was.
But Essex… now, if he were ill, then he deserved to be. He had been arrogant and too sure of himself. How dared he imagine he knew what was best for Ireland when he had gone there and made a bigger mess of it than any of his predecessors? But most of all how dared he come dashing into my bedchamber when I was unprepared to receive him!
Old Lady Walsingham came to me. I greeted her warmly. She had been a good wife to my dear Moor. She begged me to allow Essex to write to his wife who had just had a baby.
I said coolly: “He is under restraint. It is not permitted for those who are confined as he is to write letters. Moreover the Countess of Essex will surely not wish to hear from one who has treated her with such little regard. He is no more a faithful husband than a faithful subject.”
Lady Walsingham wept, but I hardened my heart. He had treated poor Frances badly. I doubted he had bothered to write many letters to her when he was in Ireland.
Frances herself sent me a jewel in the hope that the bauble would soften my heart toward her husband. Foolish girl! I had jewels in plenty—and in any case nothing would soften my heart toward a young man who had seen me as he had. She should have more pride than to sue for him, considering the manner in which he had treated her, preferring the beds of his mistresses to hers and blatantly letting her know it. I sent the jewel back.
His sisters Penelope and Dorothy dressed themselves in black and came to plead for him. I did receive them, for I saw at once that they were greatly concerned for their brother. It was amazing what affection he had inspired.
I spoke to them gently and said that I understood their anxiety. Their brother was a most misguided young man. He had disobeyed my orders and his case was in the hands of the Council.
Penelope cried out that in my great mercy I could save him. I surveyed her coldly and said: “The Queen is not told by her subjects what she can and cannot do.”
She was aghast. She thought she had done harm to her brother's cause, which she was trying so hard to plead, and I said more kindly: “You may go. His fate is in the hands of the Council. I understand your grief. You are bold because you are fond of him.”
They went away heartened. They thought I had received them kindly and that was a good sign.
But I did not want to see him again because I knew that when I did, I would see myself in his eyes.
A rather disturbing matter arose at this time.
A certain John Hayward had written a book called The History of Henri IV. He had dedicated this book to Essex and had written a dedication in it in which he compared Essex with Bolingbroke. This had caused a ripple of excitement considering the position in which Essex now found himself. Cecil had been horrified at the book and others had found it to be distinctly subversive. Cecil thought there was in it an incitement to rebellion. As a result Hayward was put in the Tower.
Essex was brought before a court in York House and charged with making a dishonorable and dangerous treaty with the Earl of Tyrone, and also with contempt for the government. He had promoted the Earl of Southampton against the wishes of the Queen and Council and had distributed knighthoods when he had no authority to do so. It must have been galling to Essex to have the learned Counsel Francis Bacon taking part in the proceedings against him. It was not a trial, being entirely informal, and I believe that afterward Bacon tried to justify himself for speaking against the man who regarded him as a friend, by stating that in acting in this manner he was able to retain the Queen's confidence, which he hoped later to use in Essex's favor. However, the result of the tribunal was that Essex was dismissed from all the offices he held, and was to remain a prisoner in York House until further notice.
I could not forget him as I should have liked to. I had loved him, even though I knew his character to be too simple to give him any hope of fulfilling his high ambitions. He was too passionate and too candid; he was like a blundering but endearing schoolboy at his most charming; at his worst he was almost oafish. He was politically ignorant; he was vain in the extreme and there was no doubt that he had the power to fascinate the oppo
site sex. There had been many times when I had treated him as a lover—almost as I had Leicester; but he did not see it as a game I was playing. He had the myopia of the small mind which sees itself as a giant among pygmies. It was ridiculous for such a man to believe he could pit his wits against men such as Cecil. What a fool he had been. And because women liked him, he thought he could dominate me.
Meanwhile Mountjoy had been sent to Ireland and it was gratifying to find that he was beginning to make a success of that most difficult of tasks. I hoped Essex remembered that it had been my plan to send Mountjoy in the first place. How he must regret his opposition to that suggestion!
I did not want him to remain in confinement, and after three months he was released, but banned from any public posts and forbidden to appear at Court.
It must have been obvious, even to Essex, that his advancement at Court was over.
He was in a dire state; his health was failing; he had been cut off from the most influential men at Court, and he was in financial difficulties. One of the biggest sources of income for him had been the lease he had held on the sweet wines and which was a concession many longed for. I had given him a lease of ten years and that period was running out. If it were not renewed he would be poor indeed. He wrote to me begging me to renew it.
Why should I give this great concession to one who had flouted me? Moreover, I had heard that he was gathering together in his house a band of disgruntled men—those who had a grievance against the state and that meant against me; and much wild conversation took place there, which was occasionally brought to my ears.
So I refused to renew the lease on the sweet wines.
Perhaps it was not to be expected that he would sink into a life of obscurity. There would always be trouble wherever Essex was.
Tension was rising. Southampton, that man who displeased me so much, was visiting Essex House frequently. One day Southampton came face to face with Lord Grey near Durham House. The old enemies quickly picked a quarrel and during the fighting which broke out, one of Southampton's men lost a hand.