I did not want to see her, to listen to her pleas. I did not want a beautiful and fascinating rival at my Court.
Cecil agreed with me that a message should be sent to the North and for the time being she should be lodged in Carlisle Castle where she must be treated with the dignity due her rank.
This was a miracle. The greatest of my enemies had been delivered into my hands.
* * *
THERE ARE PEOPLE who must always be at the center of dramatic events. Mary of Scotland was one of them. It was unfortunate for her that a casket containing letters had been left behind in Edinburgh by Bothwell when he escaped to Borthwick. These were said to be the correspondence between Mary and Bothwell. I believed that some of them were forgeries, but like most good forgeries they could not be entirely false. It seemed certain that some of the letters had been written by Mary and if they were all true she was condemned, not only as being Bothwell's mistress before her marriage to him, but an accomplice in the murder of Darnley.
Her reputation was in shreds; but she still managed to charm her jailers. It was becoming more and more clear to me that I must not bring her to my Court. There she would no doubt practice her wiles and there were quite a number of Catholics only waiting for opportunities. She would always be a danger and must remain under supervision so that I knew at any given moment where she was.
She had been moved from several castles and there had been one or two attempts to free her. She seemed to have a way of bemusing her jailers; I did not forget how she had worked on George Douglas when she was sent to Lochleven until he was successful in maneuvering her out of the fortress.
The Catholic peers came up with a solution. Why should she not marry an Englishman with my consent, and then as I would not consider giving the country an heir, I could name her as my successor which would ensure peace with Scotland.
The Duke of Norfolk was suggested. I had never liked Norfolk. I remembered his feud with Robert and I knew that they were bitter enemies. Moreover, although he professed to be a Protestant, I believed he leaned toward the Catholic Faith, and it would not have surprised me if he had been one in private.
If I would marry and provide the heir all this plotting would stop, I knew; but it was too big a price to pay. Besides, Mary of Scotland was a good example of what men could do to a ruler. Robert had been the only one who had tempted me—but no, not even for Robert.
He seemed to be changing his tactics toward Norfolk, and I gathered, although he said little on this matter to me, that he was inclined to agree with those peers who would like to see Norfolk married to Mary. I knew my Robert well. Was he looking ahead to his future? Was he asking himself what his position would be if I were to die? All human beings were at the mercy of God, and people in high places were often at men's mercy too! Was his sudden friendship with Norfolk a sign that he was thinking of him as a future ruler of England? Favorites of past rulers were often not very popular with the reigning ones. Robert would have a good example of that in his own family for his grandfather had been one of the most highly prized of my grandfather's ministers, but when my father came to the throne he lost his head—more or less for that reason. Yes, Robert in some ways was a very cautious man. I was getting older. Soon it would not be possible for me to bear a child—and I was unmarried in any case. Perhaps Robert in his heart knew that I never would be wed and he was making certain provisions for the future.
I sent for Norfolk. I looked him straight in the eyes and said: “My lord, you have become a gallant. I see that you are in love. There is no more romantic sight than a man in love, be it with a woman or with a crown.”
Norfolk looked shaken.
“Your Majesty,” he began, “I know not what…”
“You know not what?” I interrupted. “My lord Norfolk, for such a lover as yourself there must be one thought uppermost in your mind and that is your inamorata—the Queen of Scotland. I know, Norfolk, that you plan to change your title of Duke for that of King.”
I was amused to see the terror in his face. I believe he thought that I had guards waiting to arrest him.
“Nay, Your Majesty,” he said, “I would not seek to marry such a woman… one who is known to be an adulteress… and some say murderess. I want to sleep on a safe pillow.”
“A crown might be worth taking a risk for, Sir Norfolk, eh?”
Norfolk had always prided himself on his rank as the leading peer. I had heard that the family had hinted that they were more royal than the Tudors. He said rather haughtily: “Your Majesty, I count myself as much a prince in my bowling alley in Norfolk as she is in the heart of Scotland. Moreover how could I marry one who pretends a title to the present possession of Your Majesty's crown? If I were to do so, Your Majesty might charge me with seeking the crown of England.”
“Remember it, Norfolk,” I said grimly. “I might well do that.”
When he left me I was sure he was well aware of my sentiments regarding the plan to marry him to Mary. She was a menace. Although I had been exultant when fate had delivered her into my hands I was realizing that she was more disturbing to my peace of mind in England than she had been when she was on her throne in Scotland.
What infuriated me was that she seemed to have the power to win peo- ple to her side. Bereft as she was, her throne lost, relying on my bounty, her reputation become very shady, still she attracted men to her cause. It must have been some essential femininity in her which aroused their protective instincts. I was sure I lacked that quality. I gave the impression that I was able to look after myself—which I was—but why it should be an asset not to possess this gift, I could not see. And yet I could. Men wanted to dominate. It was the very essence of their sex; and there were some women who sought to be dominated and this quality was that which attracted men so strongly. Mary had it to excess. As for myself, I did not possess it at all. My object was to prevent domination. Men professed to love me; they talked of my beauty, my many excellencies; but in my secret heart I knew that it was the crown which dazzled them, not the charms of Elizabeth. They loved me through fear of what might become of them if they didn't; they loved what good I could bring them in power, honors and wealth. But they loved Mary for herself. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why the thought of her so infuriated me, and not because of her pathetic claims to my throne.
Even men like Sir Francis Knollys were not immune to her charms. Sir Francis—my own kinsman and father of the saucy Lettice—had been uneasy with her and in time sorry for her. I trusted Knollys and it seemed to me that he was one of the best men I could have chosen as her jailer, yet I knew she pleaded with him to take her to me and that he pitied her when he gave her the answer he had been ordered to which was that I could not receive her for the sake of my own reputation until she was clear of the charge of murder. Knollys had begged to be released from the duty. But not yet, I thought, not yet.
He was a strict Protestant and when he took her to Bolton he tried to convert her to his views, and although I continued to trust him I began to feel that it might be unwise to leave one man too long in her company, and I had her transferred to Tutbury where the Earl of Shrewsbury could look after her. Not that I felt Shrewsbury would be aloof from her charms but he did have a very forceful wife who had already been much married and I guessed that she would know how to deal with Mary and be quite unmoved by that excessive femininity. I had the excuse for recalling Knollys when his wife died.
This was a great blow to me. Katharine Knollys had been born Carey and her mother had been Mary Boleyn, sister to my mother, so there was a strong blood connection. Katharine was a charming, gentle woman. I had often wondered how she came to have a girl like Lettice.
The whole Court knew how grieved I was by the death of my cousin, and I had her buried in St Edmund's Chapel at my expense. So I took the chance to recall Sir Francis and leave the troublesome Mary in the hands of Shrewsbury.
Robert was constantly in my company, as devoted and adoring as ever. He was persistent in
his efforts to make me agree to a marriage, and I liked persistence in men. One would have thought that as the time passed and we were growing older, he would give up hope, but he did not appear to do so. I think his eyes strayed often to other women. I did not mind that as long as I did not know about them. I was prepared for him to have his light love affairs, providing they remained light, and that any engagements he might have with others could be dropped at a moment's notice when I beckoned.
I did notice that the two Howard girls were pursuing him. It amused me—two sisters fighting over one man—and my man at that. I thought Douglass Howard was the more likely to attract him. She was Lady Sheffield now but her marriage could not be very satisfactory as she cast such longing eyes on Robert—though I supposed no warm-natured woman of Lady Sheffield's type could fail to be affected by Robert's superb masculinity.
Douglass must have been rather like Mary Boleyn, the type who found it hard to say no to an attractive man, because they were not only of a giving nature but had fleshly desires of their own. I knew these women. One of my stepmothers had been like that. Katharine Howard. Another Howard. Was it something in the Howard breed? I must ask my Lord Norfolk!
Robert gave no sign in my presence that he even noticed Douglass Sheffield but he was a little piqued because I had given Christopher Hatton part of Bishop Ely's garden—a piece of fertile land between Holborn Hill and Ely Place. I reminded him that I had given him so much more and that all I asked in return was his love and devotion.
“You have that,” he told me soberly, “and it does not need gifts or favors of any sort to maintain it.”
There was a great tenderness between us at this time. I noticed a little white in his dark hair and that endeared him to me. Oh, it was true love I felt for Robert.
In spite of Norfolk's protestations to me I knew that his scheme to marry Mary was still being considered and that there were certain people whom I had thought to be my friends, who supported it. I was afraid of trouble in the North and I did not trust the Catholic peers, therefore I thought I had better put an end to the plotting.
One day when at table I told Norfolk that I wished him to sit beside me. He was a little nervous and I guessed this was because the idea of that marriage was still very strongly on his mind and he was wondering how much I knew.
I could not resist taking his ear between my fingers and nipping it so hard that he winced and referring back to his previous remark I said: “Methinks you should take heed of your pillow, Norfolk.”
Everyone who heard that knew I was aware of the plotting and that I did not like it. Norfolk was very subdued, and a few days later I heard that he had left Court.
He wrote to me from Kenninghall assuring me that he had no intention of doing anything which should not have my favor.
It struck me that this plot had gone further than I had thought and I suspected that Norfolk might be a guilty man, so I ordered him to return to Court without delay. He pleaded illness and I could not prevent myself smiling as I thought of the days of my own danger when illness had been a frequent plea on my lips. I sent word to him that he must consider himself a prisoner, and within a short time he was in the Tower while inquiries were being made concerning the proposed marriage.
Then I had disquieting news which drove all thought of everything else out of my mind. Robert was ill… gravely ill… and begging me to come to him.
As if I would refuse! He was at Tichfield and there I must go with all speed. This I prepared to do, chiding my attendants for their tardiness. I was filled with a terrible foreboding as we set out on the road. I thought of him constantly … Robert over the years … Robert a young boy—arrogant even then—taking my hand in the dance. I was not the Queen then, only a princess, branded a bastard by some, and we had been on equal terms… almost. And then … that awareness of him in the Tower … and his of me… and his coming to me before my accession throwing his gold at my feet. Robert must not die. I could not imagine my life without him.
I went at once to his bedchamber. He was lying in his bed, pale and wan.
“Robert, my love,” I cried.
“Dear one,” he whispered, and his eyes lit up with joy. “So you came to me…”
“As if I would not, you foolish man! Certainly I would be with you and my first command to you now is to come forth from that sick-bed and get back the good health you have always had.”
“I shall die happy now,” he said, “because you are with me. I feared so much to go without seeing you.”
“Be silent, Robert. I will not have such talk.”
He appeared to be finding breathing difficult. “Dearest Majesty, I must talk to you… before…it is… too late.”
“Save your breath,” I commanded, for in truth it frightened me to hear his harsh breathing.
“I… must talk,” he insisted. “There is a plot afoot. I…I am not guiltless. I believed it would be good for England… and that is for you, my loved one…if Norfolk married Mary. I lived in perpetual fear that your life was in danger while the succession is unsettled and that woman lives.”
“Have done with the succession!” I cried. “And stop talking. Save your breath. You need it.”
“Nay…I cannot. I am in great fear that Your Majesty may be in danger. Norfolk plots…in secret with the Queen of Scots. Many of your lords are concerned in this. I have been myself. They meant no treason. They plan to restore Mary to Scotland where, with an English husband, she could be a good friend to England… and to satisfy France and Spain… you name her your successor…”
“I understand,” I said.
“Dearest Majesty, before I go … I must have your forgiveness. Your safety is my only concern. Your forgiveness…I beg you… for the part I played in this. It was no treason against Your Majesty, I swear… though some may try to make it seem so.”
He lay back gasping on his pillow and my whole being shuddered with my anguish. I had never before fully realized how much he meant to me and how empty and dark my life would be without him. Hatton, Heneage, all the pretty men who danced round me… what were they compared with Robert?
“My dearest,” I said. “It is forgiven. I understand.”
“Then I can die in peace.”
“You know I shall not allow that.”
He smiled at me wanly. “One does not speak of death to you. You like it not. You are impatient of death. You are immortal.”
“You are right and I will not have this talk. I shall stay and command you to recover.”
“Already Your Majesty's presence has worked like the elixir of life.”
“My lord Leicester, I shall have you out of that bed and dancing a high measure with me ere long. I insist on that.”
“And surely even the angels will not dare disobey you,” he said.
I kept my word and stayed there with him. His recovery was miraculous and he declared it was my presence which always had the effect of making him feel more alive than he ever could in my absence.
I did wonder how seriously ill he had been. He had certainly not been in his usual blooming health, but I pondered during those days whether his affliction was like one of those which had affected me so frequently before I came to the throne. Was it one of the illnesses of self-preservation? How deeply had Robert been involved with Norfolk? I did not believe for one moment that he would seek to set Mary on the throne. No! I knew my Robert. He had worked with Norfolk for the marriage with his eyes on the future. He believed, as so many did, that when I died Mary would come to the throne, and in that event he would not want to be completely out of favor.
In any case, whatever his motive, for a short time I had lived through the terrible prospect of losing him. Now he was rapidly improving; we played games together and I took the utmost joy in scoring against him, for I knew that my success was due to superior skill and not to royal privilege.
After that time of terrible anxiety the days of Robert's convalescence were sweet indeed. He had no doubt now of my love f
or him. I could see new hope springing up in his mind. Dear Robert, he would go on thinking of our marriage however old he became.
Well, that was how I liked it to be.
Meanwhile Norfolk stayed in the Tower.
* * *
THERE WAS ONE MAN at Court who had served me well and to whom I owed a great deal. He was not one of my favorite men for he was not in the least handsome and lacked the dancing talent of men like Hatton and the courtly grace of Heneage—but he was a man to be reckoned with, clever, subtle and faithful. I refer to Sir Francis Walsingham. He was not an old man being about three years older than I. He was very dark—not with the bold and handsome darkness of Robert, but with a Moorish swarthiness. I grew to appreciate his good works and became quite affectionate toward him and gave him the nickname of The Moor. I had a habit of bestowing such sobriquets on those around me and it was looked on as a mark of my favor to receive one.
He was a stern Protestant and I had always felt that my enemies would most likely be found among the Catholic hierarchy. He was rich and a diplomat, a student of law, which I think was a great asset to him for he had studied for five years in various foreign countries. He was alert and quick to scent treachery. Indeed as I had often proved, a good man to serve me, and when I look back over my life I often think that one of my greatest gifts was an ability to choose the right men. The butterflies of my Court were in a separate category; they delighted and charmed me; but I never forgot for one moment that my strength lay in men like Cecil. Walsingham was such another.
I was deeply shaken when there was an attempted rising in the North by the Earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, the aim of which was to release Mary Stuart and bring back Catholicism to England.
I knew that Northumberland—a rather foolish man—had been annoyed because I had not entrusted Mary to him. How could he think I would be so foolish! He was a well-known Catholic and thought of himself—as all the Percys did—as lord of the North. What was disquieting was that Walsingham had discovered that the Spanish had promised aid to Northumberland and Westmorland if they could bring sufficient numbers to rise against me. The Pope too was behind the rising.
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