by Amy McLean
"Gráinne O'Malley, I assume. Captain Gráinne O'Malley" He scoffed as he spoke her name and title.
"Then my letter has been received," she presumed.
"If you are referring to the letter in which you requested an audience with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, then yes, it has been received. I would not be standing here waiting for you otherwise, would I? My name is Lord Burghley, Mistress O'Malley. I have been sent as Her Majesty's Lord Treasurer to bring you to her. We expected you would be arriving soon, and so transportation has been arranged for you presently."
"You mean—"
"Her Majesty will see you, Mistress O'Malley. In fact, I dare say that she is looking forward to the meeting. However, this does not mean that she is in favour of your request. It merely indicates that she wishes to issue her command to you in person." He gestured toward Donal and Cathleen. "Who might I ask are these two?"
"This is my brother Donal, and our dear friend Cathleen, Lord Burghley," Grace said. "They have accompanied me here from Clare Island."
"Well, you better bring them with you. We cannot have them roaming the streets. Follow me."
Grace was relieved that Lord Burghley hadn't expected other members of her crew. She had been right to instruct them to stay inside the cabins. They were at least out of danger there.
The carriage was not a small rickety affair like most of the contraptions that bumped their way along the streets. Next to the mule carts that carried produce or coal for fires, it appeared to be from a different world entirely. It was larger and much grander than the others, black in colour and finished with delicate detailing on the metalwork. After all, it was the property of Her Majesty.
The three heaved themselves onto the step at the side of the carriage and clambered inside. "Does the Queen sit in here?" Cathleen whispered to Grace, who was sitting opposite her. "Don't be stupid, girl," Lord Burghley scolded as he slid in next to Cathleen, "Her Majesty has her own carriage suitable only for Her Majesty. This one is used simply to collect those with whom Her Majesty wishes to speak."
The coachman whipped the horse into action upon Lord Burghley's command, and the carriage began to make its way along the road.
After a long journey in silence they finally reached the entrance to Greenwich Palace. The horse and carriage continued up the pathway toward the main entrance of the building. It slowed to a halt and the coachman climbed down from his seat to open the door. Lord Burghley was the first to exit. The other three waited until he had given them permission to alight.
The main entrance to the palace consisted of two large doors, each made from dark wood with a thick iron handle. A man stood at the side of the door. He was dressed similarly to Lord Burghley, but his clothes were a little more threadbare, made from a lesser material. He kept his eyes forward, not looking at the arrivals.
Lord Burghley stood at the front as he faced Grace, Donal, and Cathleen, who were standing in a line. "You must not, under any circumstances, speak to Her Majesty unless she has specifically requested for you to do so." The tone in his voice suggested he quite clearly assumed they were uncultured creatures who had been taught neither manners nor morals. "You must not touch anything, and you must remain beside me at all times while we make our way through the grounds. I do not know why Her Majesty is so keen to accept your request, and you might be glad to hear that she has instructed me specifically to not tie your hands"—Cathleen gulped, her face turning paler—"but I am not to argue with her decisions. Now if you would please follow me..."
He turned and headed for the doors, which were opened swiftly by the man who was positioned at the entrance.
The entrance hall was vast, polished and gleaming. The ceiling was high, causing their footsteps to echo as they made their way deeper into the building.
They continued along several corridors. Aside from a few family portraits that lined the walls, there wasn't much to see. Grace assumed Lord Burghley had taken them along a route which would allow them to see as little as possible of the Queen's private palace. Eventually they stopped outside another door, this one narrow and not as tall as the one at the main entrance.
"It will do you well to remember everything I have told you," said Lord Burghley. He knocked lightly on the door.
Somebody on the other side turned the handle and the door as it opened. Grace inhaled and held her breath as she waited for the room to be revealed to her. She exhaled as quietly as possible, preparing herself for the moment she'd been waiting for.
With the door now fully open for them to enter, it was time to meet Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.
The room was relatively dark, so they were able to see very little as Lord Burghley led them inside, each one walking in single file with Grace in front, and Cathleen following Donal. A narrow crimson rug ran the length of the room, protecting the royal floor beneath it from unworthy feet. Grace looked down at the shape of her boots as they walked across the carpeted surface. She thought about how Gráinne would have made the exact same steps. She wondered how she had felt when she knew she was approaching the Queen. Grace's heart beat wildly in her chest. She had no idea what to expect.
As they reached the top of the room it began to grow brighter. This end was illuminated by candles, with the lower end kept in darkness to prevent visitors from absorbing too much of their surroundings. Once at the bottom of the rug, Lord Burghley stood still in front of Elizabeth. The others stood directly behind him, unable to see her.
"Your Majesty," he bowed as he spoke, "Captain Gráinne O'Malley and her associates." Cathleen and Donal noticed his etiquette and followed his lead, but Grace found herself rooted to the spot where she stood, her hands shaking. After receiving a nod from Elizabeth, Lord Burghley made his way to the side of the room.
Donal and Cathleen edged to one side of Grace so that Elizabeth could see them, but Grace remained several metres away from Elizabeth yet directly in front of her.
Grace gulped as she looked into Elizabeth's piercing eyes. No matter how unprepared she felt, whatever happened next was something she knew she was going to have to face. There was no going back now.
"Mistress O'Malley," Elizabeth said in an affected politeness, "allow me to welcome you to my palace. How kind of you to visit!"
21
That's...Elizabeth I?!
Elizabeth's image wasn't far removed from some of the more iconic portraits that had been painted of her, but now that Grace was standing right in front of the Queen she could see, quite distinctly, that her facial features were similar to—no, exactly like—Fran's. The likeness seemed almost impossible.
"Mistress O'Malley!"
Before Grace could consider the resemblance any further, Elizabeth spoke to her, her voice high in pitch. Grace didn't respond, remembering what Lord Burghley had said to her outside. It didn't seem like a question.
"I expect you are wondering why I was so willing to see you today," Elizabeth continued. It was rather peculiar for Grace to find that Elizabeth was speaking to her in Latin. What was more bizarre was the fact that Grace understood every word that she was saying. It had become apparent that language barriers did not take effect on this side of reality. "You will understand that I do not allow anybody into my palace without good reason. However, upon receiving your letter, I found it to be most interesting. You see, Mistress O'Malley,"—Grace expected such a use of her name was no more a sign of friendship than it was a gesture of courtesy—"it is rather unusual for a female like yourself to be in such a peculiar position, and to be so proud of it of as well! And you are from Connacht, is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Grace managed to respond.
Elizabeth leaned over to whisper something in the ear of the guard who had been standing next to her. He was average in height with a length of blonde hair by his neck. His face was motionless, void of all expression.
As Grace nervously watched Elizabeth speak to the guard, she noticed a faint tickle on her arm. She reached up to discreetly scratch at the area, bu
t as she touched her chemise she noticed that there was something inside her sleeve. As cautiously as she could she edged it down. She didn't need to remove the object all the way before she noticed her name at the top of the parchment.
It was unmistakably the same letter she had found inside Gráinne's boot when she had first discovered the portal at the top of her stairs. Without having to fully remove the letter to read it, its words began filling her with their support and courage.
"Right away, Your Majesty."
Grace's attention snapped back as the guard spoke. She watched him bow and exit the room, and took advantage of the opportunity to stuff her letter firmly back up her sleeve and out of sight.
Elizabeth turned to her again: "It cannot be denied that your courage is admirable, Mistress O'Malley. It is not every day that somebody can stand in front of me, dressed as you are, and neither kneel nor show any sign of remorse. So often I must look down on pleading, pitiful faces. Your unusual confidence is almost a welcomed change."
Grace was fairly certain she didn't feel confident, but she was pleased that she was managing to appear so. Perhaps this admission was all she needed to summon her strength.
The guard returned almost immediately and held open the side door. Another man appeared with his back turned as he pushed Tibbott inside. Grace was unable to see his face as he walked with his body turned away from her. Tibbott, however, she could see quite clearly.
James?!
"Tibbott!" Cathleen screamed.
"Silence!" Elizabeth cried out, stunning Cathleen. The poor girl was shaking as she huddled closer to Donal. He tried to calm her but his own eyes were ablaze with fury at the sight of his nephew chained in front of him.
It was not the sight of her surrogate son that had disturbed Grace, but the fact that, as far as she could see, it was James standing before her. His bright blonde hair was unmistakable, even though it was now dirty and matted, and his watery blue eyes were identical.
Tibbott was pushed to the corner of the room, his hands and feet remaining tied together as the man who had brought him in fiddled with the chains to ensure he could not escape. The young boy looked up at his mother, but he knew better than to speak to her. Grace could feel her own eyes watering as she looked at the broken, fragile boy, so close yet so far away from her.
"Thank you, Lord Bingham," Elizabeth said to the man standing beside Tibbott.
Grace's sorrow quickly changed to anger when she heard the name spoken that she knew had brought so much turmoil to Irish soil. Her blood began to boil as he tightened Tibbott's chains.
Her anger quickly changed again to confusion when Lord Bingham finally turned around. Grace had thought she had come to accept the situation, but seeing her boss standing right in front of her as he held tightly onto the iron chain that was connected to the boy she recognised as her fresh-faced colleague, altered that. Lord Bingham appeared to be the double of Mr Barrie, with the same bitter smirk spread over his face.
But there was no time for contemplating how any of this could be possible as Elizabeth demanded her attention.
"Now, Mistress O'Malley," she pressed her hands onto either side of her throne and lifted herself, "please move a step closer."
Grace obeyed, taking a step forward.
"Thank you." Her words were soft, not at all as threatening as Grace had first perceived. Elizabeth also stepped forward, leaving behind the support of her bronze high-backed throne, and poised herself.
"Mistress O'Malley, I expect you think that you are in ownership of the sea..."
'I have earned the respect I am shown in Connacht, Your Majesty. I would never expect anything. It is a trait most unflattering." Grace heard the words as they left her mouth. She couldn't deny that she had spoken them, but they were not her own.
"I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman," Elizabeth began, "but I have the heart and stomach of a king. Do you think that I am not able to see right through you? You have been a traitor to England for many years. This meeting has been long awaited, I can assure you."
"I do nnot deny that, Your Majesty."
"You appear overly proud of this identity you have fashioned for yourself. It is hardly conceivable!" She threw back her head and laughed loudly. Lords Bingham and Burghley joined in her mirth.
"Hush!" she ordered them to silence. They obeyed immediately, straightening up to reassert their positions.
"Dear boy Tibbott," Elizabeth continued without looking at him, "I do not know how you are able to remain upright when your mother partakes in such a filthy, masculine activity as piracy. If I were you, I would most certainly find myself crippled with shame."
Tibbott lifted his head for a chance to exchange a glance with Gráinne, but as soon as Bingham detected his movement he slammed his hand onto the back of his head, forcing his eyes back down to the ground.
"Lord Bingham, there will be no need for that. Please, allow the child to look at his mother. It is the least we can allow him. After all, if it was not for him, I would not have the pleasure of inviting Mistress O'Malley here today, would I?' Her eyes widened into a sinister glare.
Grace looked at Tibbott for a moment before he returned his attention to the floor. He knew better than to take advantage of what was offered to him so reluctantly. He knew Bingham would punish him for it later, but it was worth it just to look upon the woman who had raised him, the mother he knew he had let down. He would never be able to forgive himself if any harm came to her in England.
Elizabeth's voice heightened in both pitch and pace as the conversation snapped to the treason of her prisoner. "Your son, Mistress O'Malley, has been a mischievous little boy. Fortunately for me, Lord Bingham—a loyal servant to me—put a stop to your son's miscreant behaviour. Locking him up was but a simple precaution to ensure that he was in no position to further seek the destruction of my empire."
Tibbott's head remained bowed but Grace was certain she could see him wincing as Lord Bingham tugged at the chains to tighten them, snarling as he moved.
"So you are here to request that I set your son free," Elizabeth continued. "However, I do not believe that it would be a wise decision. My throne is much safer while this Irish brute is locked away. Wouldn't you agree, my Lords?" She didn't turn to face Lords Bingham and Burghley as they agreed with her in unison. Instead she kept her eyes locked firmly upon Grace.
Grace, in turn, did not look away from Elizabeth. She was transfixed by her wig of rich red hair, large enough to hide a thousand secrets, and the giant skirt of her dress which must have made it nearly impossible for her to walk.
Elizabeth was silent now. Grace took this as her cue to speak. She swallowed to clear her throat, straightened her posture in preparation for addressing Queen Elizabeth I. "Your Majesty, Tibbott's actions may be reprehensible, but I have come here today to offer an explanation for the behaviour of my clan, and that of the people of Ireland. We are continuously looked down upon, repeatedly spat at and gibed. That much we can endure. Such insults do not affect our ability to survive. However, it is the undermining of our physical conditions which have made it nearly impossible for us to live harmoniously.
"Perhaps the extent of our suffering has not been fully revealed to you, Your Majesty. The force with which we are punished for merely existing is stronger than that with which we are able to cope. We try to stand up, but repeatedly we are pushed to the ground, and that ground we fall onto is diminishing. The reason for Tibbott's revolt was a consequence of further land reduction on the west coast. Lord Bingham has seized another plot, which was being used to grow crops to feed our people. Every time one of your subjects helps himself to our land, we are forced to face further hunger.
"Your men do not pay for what they take, and so we do not have the means of exchanging with other landowners. We are quickly running out of land sufficient for growing food. We have but a few patches of malnourished grass, which must be kept for the cattle to graze. Our animals are weakening as rapidly as our crops are
failing. People are becoming ill, and many of them are dying because they do not have the strength to recover.
"Mothers have become too weak to feed their babies, children too fragile to grow and develop. Our men have little strength left to bring in enough fish to sustain our population. I am here today to request that you consider not the way in which my son has behaved, but the reasons why he felt he needed to respond the way that he did. In our time of desperation, we depend on the arrival of change, and this change is something only you can command, Your Majesty."
Grace bit into her lip nervously. Elizabeth remained silent. Grace could feel everybody's eyes upon her. Lords Bingham and Burghley glared at her. Donal and Cathleen, who had remained as motionless as possible, looked at her with hope, Cathleen's eyes streaming with tears. Tibbott had lifted his head just enough so that he was able to look at his mother. He prayed silently that the Queen would find no derision in what had been said. If she did, then the consequences would be dire.
"Mistress O'Malley," Elizabeth finally said, "you speak to me in a manner I find fascinating. It is unusual for one to address me so boldly. If nothing else, I admire your approach."
"Your Majesty, if I may," Lord Bingham interrupted.
"I am not finished, Lord Bingham," she snapped before returning her attention to Grace. "However, I still struggle to see exactly why I should allow your son to go free. How can I be sure that he will not repeat his despicable actions? After what you have done against my people, I must wonder why I should not lock you up with your wretched son and throw away the key!"
Cathleen gasped.
"Your Majesty, I shall not be restrained. I will not hide who I am."
"So many have died at your hands—"
"That has often been beyond my control."
The room returned to silence as Elizabeth paused to think about what had been said. She concentrated on Grace, focusing her attention on her eyes.