Just Flesh and Blood

by Caro, Jane;

  I gave Essex so many chances – mostly in memory of the stepfather who had promoted the younger man’s interests so assiduously when he was still alive – but there was no sense in the earl. In an attempt to win back my favour (or to prove me wrong), he undertook another naval expedition against the Spaniards. His plan was to scatter the remaining Spanish fleet and capture the treasure ships laden with gold from the new world. He did the one, which may well have made our small island kingdom safer, but he completely failed at the other. Once again, Essex depleted my treasury and did not contribute one farthing.

  ‘I recommend Sir William Knollys, Your Grace. He is a good man, your loyal servant and has proved himself on the battlefield.’

  We were discussing who should fill the post of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. As usual the Irish were in open rebellion and the situation required a level head. Robert Cecil was well briefed and ready with his recommendation. Indeed, as was now our habit, he had previously sounded me out about the position and we had agreed on our favoured candidate. We were both also aware that this was a post the Earl of Essex deeply desired. Neither of us believed he was the right choice. Our conversation, observed by Charles Howard (he who had been made Lord Nottingham instead of the earl), Essex himself and one or two others, was for show.

  ‘An excellent suggestion, Master Secretary. Draw up the papers and notify Sir William of his new posting.’

  ‘I protest, Your Majesty! Is this now all it takes for such important decisions? Your secretary of state suggests a name and you concur? Surely we are entitled to a more thorough discussion than that?’ The Earl of Essex was bristling with indignation. This was not entirely a surprise. Both Cecil and I had expected a reaction. Whenever Essex felt slighted he became angry. Indeed, my secretary and I had discussed whether we should inform him of our decision in private, but I was sick of pandering to his sensibilities. I was the queen. I did not need to explain myself to him.

  In the face of the earl’s fury I felt an answering passion. His disrespect was becoming impossible to ignore. There were sharp words on the edge of my tongue, when Robert Cecil intervened smoothly.

  ‘I am happy to discuss the merits of Sir William’s appointment with my Lord Essex, Your Majesty, and I am happy to hear any alternative suggestions he may have for the post.’ Cecil was attempting to pour oil on troubled waters. He was doing what he could to calm things down. But my blood was up, and I ignored his peacemaking. I took a step closer to Essex.

  ‘Who would you recommend, my lord? Yourself? There seems hardly a position in my court that you do not have an opinion on. It seems you cannot imagine that anyone could have any merit compared with you. Indeed, I sometimes wonder that if I needed a new steward or serving wench you might not put up your hand. Mind you, I might see fit to give you those positions. You’d make a fine serving wench!’

  Essex stood deathly still as he digested my deliberate insult. To his credit, he managed to hold his tongue. What he could not do was control his features. He looked at me – his queen, his mistress in all things, the woman who had done her best to give him opportunities, promotion, sinecures – with contempt. Then he turned on his heel and presented his back to me. This was unforgivable. I leapt at him and before I even quite knew what I was doing, I was raising my hand. ‘Go and be hanged!’

  Then I boxed both his ears. He ducked under my sharp onslaught and instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword. I wondered for a ghastly second if he was about to run me through.

  Charles Howard stepped between us. ‘My lord, my lord, you forget yourself!’

  Had Essex raised his sword against me, whether he used it or not, his life would immediately have been over. Howard put both his hands on the hilt to force the earl’s sword back down into its scabbard.

  Essex pulled his hand from under Howard’s and shook his fist at us all. ‘I would not take such a blow from the king, her father! It is an indignity that I will not endure from anyone, no matter how high or low their station, let alone from …’

  And then he hesitated, finally sensing the extreme danger that he was in, but such was the intensity of his passion, such the intemperance of his nature, all he could manage was to lower his voice. It made no difference. I heard what he muttered as clearly as if he had yelled it across the room.

  ‘I will not endure such treatment from a king in petticoats.’

  The only sound in my normally raucous audience chamber was that of the earl’s boots echoing along the hallway as he stormed away. Every other soul in the room stood silent.

  ‘Are – are you all right, Your Majesty?’ Cecil was the first to find his voice.

  It took me a moment to gather myself before I could answer. ‘I – I – am quite unhurt.’

  ‘The earl thought better of his impulse, it seems.’ Charles Howard had retained the power of speech.

  ‘Did he, my lord? Or was it your prompt action that saved the queen’s life?’

  ‘I do not think that Essex would actually have drawn his sword.’ I still could not quite believe what had just happened.

  ‘But how can we be sure of that, Your Majesty? Every man here witnessed what he did and there was no mistaking the gesture. Even if the earl might have thought better of his action, to have contemplated such an act, to have allowed his hand to move towards his weapon – it is treachery, Your Grace. I should send soldiers to arrest him.’

  ‘No, no, Cecil. He knows full well what he has done. Leave him to stew upon it, but do not allow him into my presence again until I bid you otherwise. He is banished from court and must keep his distance.’

  ‘You show him more mercy than he deserves.’

  ‘My head is cooler than his and I would like to keep it that way.’

  But my head did not feel cool despite my brave words. The room was swimming slightly in front of my eyes, my skin was icy, and I had a strange black and yellow sensation. The assassin’s dagger I had spent my whole life fearing had almost become a reality. Worse, the threat to my safety had come from a member of my intimate circle, a man I trusted – despite our differences. The shock was overwhelming. I knew I had to remove myself from public scrutiny as quickly as I could. ‘If you will forgive me, my lords, I will retire to my privy apartments.’

  Two of my ladies tried each to take an arm to help me from the room, but I waved them away. The gathered counsellors bowed as I made my way to the same door that Essex had stormed through only a few moments earlier. And then I remembered the purpose of this meeting and paused before I crossed its threshold. I held onto the doorjamb to steady myself. ‘Confirm Sir William in his position, my lord, and offer him my thanks and congratulations.’

  When at last I sank onto a chair in the safety and relative privacy of my own chamber, my agitation must have been plain to see. My ladies gathered about me, their brows furrowed with concern.

  ‘Would you care for a cool drink, Your Grace?’ Philadelphia Carey, cousin to the Earl of Essex, was offering me a goblet.

  ‘No, thank you. I am perfectly well. Stand back, stand back – I need to breathe.’

  And where I had felt cold before, suddenly I felt hot, as if the very air of the chamber pressed against me.

  My ladies shuffled backwards. Philadelphia handed the goblet to a waiting maidservant and replaced it with a fan, which she passed to me. This time I accepted the proffered object gratefully. I unbuttoned the ruff about my throat and fanned my face and neck. My ladies said nothing, but the rustling silk of their gowns still assaulted my ears. I needed space and clear air around me. And yet, all the while I was inwardly berating myself for my cowardly reaction. No harm had been done me. No blood had been spilt. Why was I so upset?

  ‘Back, back!’ I said again, gesturing at them with my eyes closed. I heard by the creaking of the floorboards that they had done as I commanded. The fan was doing its work and I began to feel a little better. I opened my eyes and glare
d at the assembled women. ‘There is no need to fuss! As you can see I am entirely unharmed. It is hot in this room and you were standing too close – that is all.’

  ‘Is it true that my Lord Essex made an attempt on your life, Your Grace?’ Only Philadelphia had the courage to ask the question that hung so heavy in the room.

  ‘No, it was nowhere near as dramatic as that. Your cousin lost his temper and put his hand on his sword hilt, that is all.’

  The women gasped.

  ‘Is he under arrest?’

  ‘No, Philadelphia, but he is banished from court and will stay that way until further notice.’

  ‘And you have been so good to him. And, pardon me, Your Majesty, but you have always seemed so fond of him.’

  That slight nod to the gossip that had surrounded my relationship with the hotheaded earl made me think of his poor wife. ‘Where is the Countess of Essex?’

  ‘I am here, Your Grace.’ Her voice came from the back of the room. At the sound of it, the ladies who were crowded in front of her parted so that I could see her. The countess stood with her head bowed, her hands rigid by her side.

  I spoke to her gently. ‘You must go from court too, Frances.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘It is not as I wish; it is your husband’s behaviour that compels it. I am glad your father is not here to see this.’

  The Countess of Essex was Francis Walsingham’s only surviving daughter. The irony of this did not escape me. It had always been his greatest care to protect my person, so the dilemma the old man would have found himself in when confronted by the behaviour of his son-in-law did not bear contemplating. He was not the only one of my dear friends who would have been similarly disturbed by the earl’s behaviour. How would Robin have reacted? Or his grandmother, my dearest friend and cousin (some say half-sister) Catherine Carey – how would she have felt?

  ‘It is a small mercy.’ Frances spoke in a low and tearful voice. This event was a great blow to her.

  ‘I do not hold you responsible for your husband’s behaviour. I hope you know that.’

  ‘Your Majesty is very kind.’

  ‘Come closer. I do not wish to bellow at you.’ I exaggerated, but it annoyed me to see her cringing away from me. At this moment I felt a great deal more affection for the countess than I did for the earl. She had done me no wrong.

  The poor woman curtsied and made her way through the cluster of brightly clad ladies until she stood directly in front of me. She kept her eyes lowered, staring at the floor. I reached forward and took her gently by the chin and raised her face until I was looking directly into her eyes. She blinked, but dared not look away.

  I spoke to her quietly. ‘You have always shown me good and loyal service and my affection for you has not changed. I want you to be assured of that, but I cannot have you here while your husband is banished. Talk some sense into him if you can. Get him to apologise and make amends. Then, when some time has passed, and tempers have cooled, I may be able to forgive him. But, mark you this, he must fully and freely admit his fault. I will accept none of his half-apologies where he tries to blame others for his own misbehaviour.’

  ‘He is a proud man, Your Grace, but I will do all I can.’

  Poor Frances, I could see she very much doubted her ability to persuade her husband to do anything. Their marriage had not been a love-match. Frances had previously been married to Sir Philip Sidney and – as he lay dying on the battlefield – Sidney had bequeathed his wife to the earl, as if she were livestock, or household goods. She, like most women, had little say in the matter. Whether she loved Essex or not, I do not know. She did not speak ill of him in my hearing, but then she did not speak well of him either.

  I watched her back slowly out of the room. She was not a pretty young woman, having inherited her father’s long nose and narrow-set eyes, but her marriageability was never in doubt, especially when her powerful father was alive. Her best asset – as far as the men in my court were concerned – was her large annuity and her ability to bear healthy children. She had borne the Earl of Essex three already. But I found her good company. She had inherited her father’s penetrating intelligence. She did not chatter, but held herself aloof from the other women at court and I valued her quiet good sense. When she did speak, I found her remarks worth listening to. I imagine she bored her impetuous husband. More to the point, although I doubt he ever considered this, I suspect he also bored her.

  As I think back over the people I have known, I find my heart swells with pity for so many of them, but particularly for the women. It is a sympathy I did not feel often while they were alive. I am glad I was kind to Frances of Essex.

  Few if any of my female friends had either long or happy lives. There were some – Mildred Cecil comes to mind. My aunt Mary Boleyn was the most blessed of her siblings, dying (when I was ten) in her own bed, surrounded by her loving husband and children. I have only hazy memories of her. I think I only saw her once or twice after my mother’s execution. She wisely kept clear of the court. But it has been my pleasure to promote her children, and her children’s children where I can. The earl is her great-grandson. Philadelphia Carey her granddaughter and all the Knollys clan are related to Mary Boleyn in one way or another. It is ironic, I think, that the Boleyn blood flows thick and fast into the future, while the Tudor strain is rapidly drying up. Unless, of course, Catherine Carey really was my father’s daughter and not a Carey at all.

  Women, even aristocratic women, have so little power over their own lives. A woman’s happiness or otherwise depends so much on the nature of her husband. Seeing the misery that is so often the result of marriage and the mortal danger that stalks the birthing stool, I cannot regret my spinster status. Yes, I missed what Mildred and my Aunt Mary may have had, but they were the exceptions. Mostly, when I think of the married women I have known, I have missed nothing but unhappiness and the threat of agonising death.

  Mary Boleyn’s eldest child, my cousin Catherine Carey, was one of the more fortunate and yet even she suffered for love in the end. She married Francis Knollys when she was but sixteen. I remember very well her excitement when he proposed. They were two young people in the rarest of situations: they approved of one another as much as their parents approved of their choice. Catherine could not wait to be wed. Her romantic fantasies about love and children and domestic bliss were all she talked of throughout her betrothal. I listened grudgingly. I was a child of seven, a neglected princess. All I knew was that this marriage would take my dear friend, playmate and cousin away from me. I was jealous of the young man she loved and pulled scornful faces whenever his name was mentioned.

  Of all my many relatives she – and she alone – never caused me any trouble but gave me only friendship, support and love. She was nine when I was born, and she had little reason to love me. My mother, Anne Boleyn, had supplanted her mother, Mary Boleyn, in the king’s affections.

  Catherine was born in 1524 while her mother was still my father’s mistress and she had the red hair and small mouth characteristic of the Tudors. That is why so many still believe that Catherine is my half-sister as well as my cousin. Many took pleasure on remarking on her resemblance to my father and, later still, to me. I do not know if she and her brother Henry were the king’s bastards and I doubt Catherine knew either. My aunt took her secret with her to the grave – that is, of course, assuming that she herself knew whose child she had conceived. All I know is that from my earliest memory, Catherine was kind to me, even when I was not quite three years old and my mother was executed, and I became – like my sister Mary Tudor – a bastard princess.

  I was too young to understand what had happened, but it did not escape my notice that everyone who once had been so loving was now indifferent. Everyone, that is, but for three young women. Kat Ashley was newly promoted to be my governess and her love and care for me never wavered for a moment, not until the day she died.
Another who remained loyal was twelve-year-old Catherine Carey. Perhaps because she was also a Boleyn the cold wind of indifference blew just as icily on her as it did on me. The third person who became much kinder towards me in the face of my misfortune was the most surprising one of all. It was my sister Mary Tudor.

  I suffered much when Mary became queen (as indeed did Catherine Carey), but I remember our early years together with great affection. Perhaps my sister warmed to me because she saw that my fate in many ways mirrored her own. No doubt she was lonely and friendless, and I was but a small child and therefore easy to love. In giving me comfort perhaps she comforted herself. In mothering me perhaps she also mothered herself. Whatever the reason, she turned quickly from my enemy into my friend.

  It takes very little for me to imagine myself back in our cramped apartments at Hatfield or Hunsdon. There is Mary, her dark head bowed over her embroidery as she peers at her stitches. Despite the short sight that forces her to hold the cloth just beneath her nose, her stitches are always the smallest and the neatest. Kat is gossiping with a servant at the rear of the room, her arms full of linen she is supposed to be repairing. She is paying very little attention to us. Catherine is by the window, fully aware that our guardian’s attention is elsewhere. Surreptitiously glancing upwards at Kat, she is playing with a pack of cards, turning them over and forecasting our futures just as an old woman at a recent fair has taught her. Catherine has the great good fortune of not being royal, or acknowledged as such, anyway. This means that she has more freedom than either Mary or me. If the fair or a circus comes to town, Catherine can go. Mary and I are forced to remain behind. I watched my cousin and many of our attendants skipping down the avenue with delighted anticipation on their way to one such excursion recently. With my face pressed up against the window, I watched them until they were out of sight.