Just Flesh and Blood

by Caro, Jane;

  As my mind wanders through the corridors of my past, a movement in the corner of the room brings me back once again to the present. I open my eyes. A messenger has entered, and the noise he makes shatters the hush that now surrounds me. I know what news he brings. As the old queen is dying, preparations must be made for the new regime. The messenger is a harbinger of a future that does not include me. Despite all its difficulties, betrayals and danger, I find I prefer the past, both because I was very much a part of it and because it is over. Whether for good or ill, I know how it turned out. What lies ahead of me is utterly unknown.

  I close my eyes in hope of returning to the safety of what has gone before, but my moment of consciousness has alerted me to the sufferings of my mortal body. My back aches on this cushion and I must adjust my weight to relieve it. As I shift, I again open my eyes and my attendants look at me in their turn. I do not acknowledge them, and the moment passes. I find a more comfortable position and close my eyes once more. I shift the finger that has been in my mouth all this time and drool escapes from my lips. I care not, because what happens now matters not at all.

  Essex wrote me a letter, a sulky, self-pitying letter which showed that his long exile had taught him nothing. ‘Your Majesty that hath mercy for all the world but me …’ I could hear his voice and see his pout as I read the words. ‘Your Majesty! I say that in the eighth month of my close confinement …’

  Eight months! Had it really been as long as that? I felt a small thrill of satisfaction. The balance of our relationship had so altered that I now held all the cards and he none. It was his undoing that, for all his fine words, he saw me as a silly old woman who had succumbed to his charms and had forgotten I was his queen. Not just any queen, either, but a monarch of more than four decades of experience who, like Patience on her monument, was well practised at keeping her emotions in check and knew when to be indulgent and when to strike. He had not realised that he had a tiger by the tail. By the tone of his letter, he still did not.

  ‘… the eighth month of my close confinement as if you thought mine infirmities, beggary and infamy too little punishment. You have rejected my letters and refused to hear of me, which to traitors you never did.’

  Where once he had the unique ability to say exactly what I wanted to hear, now he did the opposite. I looked up from his angry and petulant scrawl and saw that Robert Cecil was watching me anxiously from the other side of the room.

  ‘He has learnt no humility. He still thinks he can bludgeon me into submission.’

  ‘He is a man of very particular character, Your Grace. He has been so since he was a child.’

  ‘I do not forget that you grew up together. Indeed, it was his grief at your father’s funeral that softened my heart towards him the last time he indulged in treasonous behaviour.’

  ‘He was very fond of my father.’

  ‘Was your father equally fond of him?’

  ‘The young Robert Devereux amused him and infuriated him. He was a very appealing child, until he was thwarted.’

  ‘And you are of a similar age, but that is the only similarity between you, I think.’

  ‘I am glad of that, at least.’

  ‘There is no love lost between you, is there, my lord? It is you he mostly refers to when he talks of “traitors”, I suspect.’

  ‘The Earl of Essex and I have very little in common, that is true, but I bear him no ill will.’

  ‘It must have been hard for you growing up alongside the athletic and vigorous young earl.’

  ‘He could certainly outdo me in every physical endeavour, but not in any scholastic pursuit.’

  ‘Indeed. And here you are, enjoying my favour and my every confidence and there he is, locked inside his own four walls. We venerate physical prowess in boys and are not so impressed by scholastic achievement. I have often thought our priorities topsy-turvy.’

  I did not answer the letter and left its author where he was. Then I turned the screw. I compelled him to submit to further interrogations from the very men he saw as traitors. I wanted to wash my hands of the business, and let others decide his fate, but try as I might, I could not let the problem go.

  ‘To the bride and groom and the queen’s great majesty, long may she reign!’

  I was seated at the top table beside one of my ladies, Anne Russell, and her new husband, Lord Somerset. All the great and the good (saving any member of the Essex party) were in attendance at the wedding feast. A boar’s head with a baked apple crammed into its mouth was set down in front of us, along with trenchers of meat, platters of game and dishes of vegetables. Wine was poured into every glass and copious toasts were drunk. We ate, we drank, and we celebrated.

  I tried to take pleasure in the feast, but the problem of the Earl of Essex weighed heavily. I spoke the necessary pleasantries to the newlyweds, but my mind was elsewhere. Trailed by my attendants, I had begun taking great walks about the park. Despite my increasing age and the creaking of my joints, I walked quickly, driven on by the problem I was turning over and over in my mind. What was I to do with the reckless earl? I could not return him to my favour; nor could I keep him under house arrest indefinitely. I searched in my mind for a posting to a distant court where he could do little harm, but it did not matter which realm I thought of, the idea of the earl free to do what he pleased while full of hate towards me sent shivers down my spine. Wherever he went he would want to be the most important person in the kingdom. It was not in his nature to submit or take second place. He would foment problems everywhere. He could not help it.

  Suddenly my attention was drawn away from the problem of what to do with my Lord Essex, and back to the wedding celebrations. An attendant clapped his hands and the musicians in the gallery above us began to play a great fanfare. The wedding guests turned towards the double doors at the end of the room. Two dwarves pushed the doors open, making exaggerated show of how heavy they were. Once the doors were wide a company of tumblers somersaulted into the room, calling to one another as they leapt about the place. They moved so fast and with such agility their feet appeared never to touch the ground.

  After a few minutes of this, culminating in the young men forming a pyramid with the biggest and strongest tumblers at the bottom and the smallest and lightest at the top, they leapt nimbly back to the ground and flipped legs over arms in perfect formation until they stood – chests puffed out and arms extended – in two lines fanning out down the room. As one they turned and gestured towards the open doors. The musicians began to play an introduction and eight masked maids of honour, dressed in glittering silver and crimson, entered. They curtsied to the company and began to dance. When they had finished their figure, a maid I recognised as Mary Fitton – despite her face-covering – formally entreated me to join them on the floor.

  ‘Thank you for your kind invitation, pretty maid, but I cannot accept. You do not want an old woman joining your elegant company.’

  ‘Oh no, Your Majesty! Your grace and athleticism are praised throughout the world. We are but poor imitations of your great glory.’

  I smiled and shook my head. I took Mary’s hand and patted it kindly. ‘You are beautiful, and you are young. My pleasure now is to watch the eight Virtues charm us all with their dance.’

  ‘Please dance with us, Your Grace. It would be such a compliment to those who have been joined in matrimony today.’

  It was expected that I would resist for a while and she would entreat, until I acquiesced. So, I still had not let go of her hand.

  ‘What quality do you represent, my dear?’

  ‘I represent “affection”, Your Grace.’

  The smile disappeared from my face and I dropped her hand. The word had pierced me to the heart.

  ‘Affection?’ I turned my face away from Mary and scanned the room. ‘Affection’s false.’

  A silence fell. Mary was undaunted, however, and continued
her entreaties.

  ‘Please, Your Grace, will you join us in our dance? All here long to see you perform the steps. Your prowess and elegance are world-renowned. Our performance will be a poor show without you.’

  The fun of the ritual had gone for me, but custom and courtesy required that I – like Mary – follow the script. I knew that my age would stand in contrast to the youth and vigour of the girls who surrounded me, but I was also proud of my ability to move to the music and leap and prance almost as high as I had done in my youth. I still loved to dance just as I still loved to hunt. Indeed, only a few days previously we had brought down the boar whose head now graced the table.

  ‘You are persuasive, dear …’ Custom demanded I address her by the virtue she represented, but I could not do so. ‘… lady, so yes, I will join you in your pavane.’

  The pavane was a slow and courtly dance unlike the more energetic and showy galliard. I did not have the energy that evening for the latter. So, I danced and the court exclaimed and clapped and I knew they did so because of who I was, rather than how well I performed.

  I wonder, do they dance in heaven? The Catholics would say yay, the high Anglicans would dispute over it and the Puritans would say flatly nay. I do not know whether the Allah of the Musselmen approves of the dance or not, but I hope they dance in heaven. I found little joy in this dance, however, which is perhaps why I recall it so vividly. (Was it the last time I danced? I cannot quite remember.) Even as I performed the steps, my mind continued to ruminate over the problem of Essex.

  Eventually, against my better judgment, I agreed to release the earl from his detention. After all, he had been charged with no actual crime. But I still would not allow him into my presence or to attend my court. I did not need any legal reason to keep him away from me. Attendance at court lay entirely within the monarch’s discretion.

  Essex chafed under the continued humiliation. He felt excluded from everything that mattered. But there was worse humiliation to come.

  When the earl had ridden high in my favour I had rewarded him with profitable sinecures. But he was as heedless about his income as he was in everything else. He spent his own money as freely as he had often spent mine. His debts were high and now that his disgrace was common knowledge, his creditors were no longer prepared to offer him unlimited grace. They were clamouring for payment.

  ‘The awarding of the monopoly-tax on the import of sweet wines is due for renewal, Your Grace.’

  I was seated at my desk only half listening to the catalogue of administrative items that were falling due, but my ears pricked when Cecil got to this item. It was via this rich sinecure that Essex earned the bulk of his income.

  ‘Is it indeed?’

  ‘The rights are currently held by the Earl of Essex.’ Cecil was trying to sound as bland and disinterested as he had when he listed the other rights and rewards, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

  ‘Well, my Lord Secretary, what is your advice? Should I renew the earl’s rights or not?’

  ‘The decision is entirely yours, but it is one of the richest sources of income in your purview and there are many bills levied on your own household and on the treasury that will be coming due ere soon.’

  I cocked an eyebrow at Cecil. ‘Your father trained you well. You are skilled at the art of giving advice without appearing to.’

  Robert Cecil ventured a small smile. He was still not as relaxed with me as his father had been, but it was not really fair of me to expect him to be. His father had known me and worked with me when I was a neglected and despised nobody. The son had only ever known me as a great and powerful queen. It was at such moments that I missed my peers.

  ‘And how has the earl been behaving of late? Has he been brought to heel? Has there been any note of contrition or apology for his behaviour?’

  ‘He has written many letters, Your Grace, but I have not found an apology in any of them. I am unaware of any change in the Earl of Essex’s behaviour or his view of his grievances.’

  The mention of his grievances annoyed me. He had no grievances! The grief was all mine. It was I who had given him every preference, showered him with gifts – aye, like the monopoly on the importation of sweet wines – and been persuaded to let him do what he thought he should do. He had touched his sword in my presence. He had insulted me within my hearing. He had made parley with my enemy without my permission. He had failed to carry out my explicit orders. It was he who had spent much of my gold for no return. Worse, he had brought armed men into my bedchamber. It was the earl who owed me, not I who owed him. I got up with so much force that I upset my chair. It clattered noisily onto the floorboards and I saw Cecil jump.

  ‘An unruly beast must be stopped of his provender!’

  It is one thing to humiliate a man, to restrict his freedom, to exclude him from everything that he values; it is quite another to take from him his source of income.

  ‘The earl’s mood has moved from self-pity to fury, Your Grace.’

  ‘So, he has understood nothing, Sir Henry?’

  Sir Henry Lee was my contemporary; we had known each other since we were little more than children and he was attendant on my father. Since then, such was his skill at navigating changeable political climates, he had successfully served my sister, my brother and me. Such was his athleticism, he had served as my champion and head of my armoury until quite recently. Now, as almost the last of my peers, he had become a confidant.

  ‘I don’t think he has ever understood very much, but I think events are gathering a dangerous momentum and – although I know I am no longer Your Majesty’s champion – I still feel a responsibility to warn you when I can.’

  ‘I am not afraid of the Earl of Essex.’

  ‘But perhaps you should be. He feels himself to be cornered, and such animals are always the most dangerous.’

  ‘The means of getting out of his corner, as you put it, are entirely within his own grasp. If he could admit his fault, ask for my forgiveness – and really mean it – I could find it in my heart to be magnanimous.’

  ‘But he will never regain his old position. That is lost to him forever and he is not such a fool that he does not know it.’

  ‘What you say is true, but, even so, he has created his own dilemma. In honour of his grandmother and his stepfather, I have given him more leeway than I can remember ever giving anyone else.’

  ‘He has not the grace nor the wit to see it and I fear for the balance of his mind.’

  ‘The earl is going mad?’

  ‘Not as such, but he is losing perspective and saying things he should not. I fear his sense of grievance will lead him to do foolish things. There are many about him now who encourage his feeling of resentment.’

  ‘What has he said, my lord?’

  ‘He rails from morning until night against the injustices you have done him and sometimes speaks of you with much disrespect.’

  ‘What has he said, Sir Henry? Fear not to repeat the words to me, however treasonous they may be.’

  ‘He speaks often with scorn and fury of your desire for an unqualified apology. He has said that your conditions are – forgive me, Your Grace, I repeat his words exactly – as crooked as your carcass.’

  I fell silent.

  ‘It is a foul insult, Your Grace, and as inaccurate as it is traitorous.’

  I could see that my old friend Henry Lee was looking anxious. I knew he feared I might blame him for the words he repeated. I put my hand on his arm. I had asked him to tell me because, as my old friend, I hoped he would tell me the unvarnished truth. ‘So, where once there was nothing but honeyed words, now there is nothing but the darkest insults.’

  ‘He may not be fully responsible for what he says. The earl has come to believe many strange things of late.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘He believes that Cecil and Raleigh ar
e in league with Spain to have him murdered.’

  Sir Walter Raleigh, another up-and-coming young man, who had been regarded by Essex as a great rival, had returned from one of his long voyages of exploration and was listening to our conversation with interest. At the mention of his own name, he stepped forward. ‘He has gone mad, then, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Not quite mad, Raleigh. Do not deny that you are pleased to see Essex fall.’

  ‘I do not like the man and never have liked him, that is true, but I take no pleasure in anyone’s suffering. I know what it is to fall from your favour …’ Raleigh had spent some time in the Tower for marrying without my permission. Unlike the earl, however, he had returned to my service a wiser and more thoughtful young man. ‘… and to accuse me, and my Lord Secretary’ – Raleigh nodded respectfully at Cecil – ‘of conspiring with the Spaniards for any reason is a foul calumny!’

  ‘There is worse, Your Grace.’ Now Cecil stepped forward, his hands folded across his chest. There was something monk-like to his aspect, particularly given his serious expression. I signalled for him to continue. ‘The earl and his friends are planning to “surprise” the court and your royal person. The earl intends to tell you to dismiss all his enemies from your service. He would then put these so-called traitors on trial for their lives. I presume by “traitors” he is referring to me, Sir Walter, Sir Henry and many others here present. He then intends to summon parliament and – pardon me, Your Grace, but these are his exact words – “alter the government”.’

  ‘Alter it how?’

  ‘He has not made that quite clear.’

  ‘But it is not hard to imagine!’ In my alarm I had interrupted Cecil. ‘He means to rule England himself with me as his puppet and his captive.’

  ‘To be fair, he has not said so.’

  ‘A pox on your lawyerly caution! If he means to dismiss the men I have appointed and replace them with his own familiars, where exactly would that leave me?’