I read more of the pamphlet which went on to say that I was too old for childbearing and to stress the state of health which prevailed in the Valois line. It was God's punishment on their flesh and bones for the lives of debauchery they had led. He finished by praying to Heaven to give me honorable and long sovereignty over my people with no ruling commander— especially the French Monsieur.
I could not accuse him of disloyalty to me, but his references to my age and the implication that I had been deluded, as some foolish girl might be, by the blandishments of a practiced libertine, set my anger simmering.
Stubbs, his printer and his publisher were brought to trial for publishing a seditious libel. They were found guilty and sentenced to that punishment which my sister had introduced when there was so much written about her marriage to Philip of Spain. It was that the guilty man's right hand should be struck off.
It was a cruel sentence and I deplored it; yet I could not control my wrath.
The printer was pardoned. He had merely printed what he had been given to print. It was different with the writer and the publisher.
I shall never forget that November day. It fills me with shame even now, and I knew as soon as it happened that I should have stopped it; I should have done so if it had not been for the ridicule I fancied the man had heaped upon me while I was striving all the time to do what was best for my country. Alas, my fury was not calmed in sufficient time.
So those two men—Stubbs and Page the publisher—were brought out from the Tower wherein they had been kept, to a scaffold which had been set up before the Palace of Westminster. There was a vast crowd to see the sentence carried out. I was sure that everyone in that crowd must have expected a last-minute message to stop the barbarity which was about to be performed on two good men.
But it did not come. First Page's hand and then that of Stubbs were struck off with a cleaver driven through the wrist with a beetle; and the wound seared with a hot iron. Page cried out: “I have left there the hand of a true Englishman”; and Stubbs said: “God save Queen Elizabeth.” Then both men fell fainting to the ground.
When the news of how bravely they had met their punishment was brought to me, I was overcome with remorse for I knew that it should never have happened. I could have lost my subjects' esteem even more than I was in danger of doing through the proposed marriage. They might think me foolish to be bemused by an ugly little Prince, but they would still love me; they would feel very differently about an act of cruelty.
When I was furious with myself it was one of my less pleasant traits to try to blame someone else. I sent for Walsingham and asked him why he had not discovered that the pamphlet was about to be published. Did he have a secret service or not? How could he have failed to suppress it?
Walsingham was not a man to mince his words—unlike most around me. I think he was too sure of my need of him—as was Burghley. He more or less implied that he had known the pamphlet was about to be produced and he agreed with the sentiments expressed in it.
I was angry with him and told him maliciously that he should prepare to leave for France because he should be one of those whose duty it was to bring about negotiations for the marriage.
The next criticism came from none other than Philip Sidney. I could scarcely believe the young jackanapes had had the temerity to write to me in such terms. But he was a bold young man—quiet, serious and clever, and he was, after all, Robert's nephew. He wrote:
“How the hearts of your people will be galled, if not alienated, when they shall see you take a husband, a Frenchman and a papist in whom the very common people know this, that he is the son of the Jezebel of our age—that his brother made oblation of his own sister's marriage, the easier to massacre our brothers in religion…”
I knew how strongly Philip Sidney felt about the massacre which had occurred on the Eve of St Bartholomew for he had been in Paris at the time. He was a Protestant and must have lived in terror during that terrible time, English though he was and therefore aloof from the quarrels of Frenchmen.
“As long as he is Monsieur in might and a papist in profession, he neither can nor will greatly shield you, and if he grow to be a king, his defense will be like that of Ajax's shield which rather weighed down than defended those that bore it.”
Wearily I tossed the letter aside. I wondered if Robert had seen it. Robert was against the marriage, of course. He would see his power greatly diminished if I took a husband. But you, my sweet Robin, I thought sadly, though back in favor will never be quite so close to me again now that you have taken that she-wolf to wife.
What should I do to Philip Sidney? I could not cut off his right hand.
The impertinent young fellow should be sent abroad for a while. I did not want to see him for some time. Perhaps in due course he would realize— as all my subjects might—that I was flirting so outrageously with the Frog Prince to prevent their being plunged into war.
* * *
WHEN I HEARD that Robert had a son my feelings were mixed. At first I rejoiced, for I knew that it was what he had longed for. What man does not want to see himself reproduced? Robert was no exception. I heard that there was great rejoicing at Leicester House and that a special cradle had been made for the child and it was draped with the most costly crimson velvet. It would be very splendid as everything was in Leicester House—and in every residence of Robert's.
I remembered when he had acquired Leicester House. It was about ten years before. The house was situated on the Strand and the gardens which ran down to the river were very beautiful. Many a time Robert and I had strolled among the flower beds to where the water lapped the privy steps and we had watched the craft sail along the river.
Then I imagined her there—the she-wolf—proud with the son she had produced. How like her to get a son! And so soon after the marriage! I could picture her smug, triumphant face with those magnificent eyes demanding admiration. And when I thought of her I was so angry that all my pleasure in Robert's triumph disappeared. I should have been the mother of his child. I could have been… but at what cost! My independence! My sovereignty! They were my life. I could never have given them up—not even for the satisfaction Lettice was enjoying now.
And where was he? Was he in attendance on the Queen? Indeed not! He was preening himself as the proud father at Leicester House.
The Countess of Leicester indeed! I heard she gave herself airs. She had her own little court at Leicester House…at Wanstead…at Denbigh… at Kenilworth… wherever they happened to be. And how had he acquired his wealth and fine houses? Through his Queen. I had given him everything … and here I was alone … childless while that she-wolf sat in triumphant state.
Thinking of that newly born child my thoughts returned to another. It was at Kenilworth that I had seen that child who bore a remarkable resemblance to Robert.
Douglass Sheffield! What was that story? He had married Douglass, so Douglass was reported to have said. Robert, of course, denied that there had been a marriage. But there was the child.
Just suppose there had been a marriage. Then Madam Lettice would not in truth be Leicester's wife and the little boy of whom they were so proud in his crimson velvet cradle would be a bastard.
The thought soothed me. I sent for Sussex.
When he arrived I said I was a little anxious about Lady Sheffield. I had heard that she was suffering from a mysterious illness. What did he know of her?
Sussex replied: “Your Majesty need have no anxiety about the lady now. She was ill—mysteriously ill, indeed some thought that she might have been poisoned—but she has recovered miraculously and is now Lady Stafford. She married Sir Edward Stafford and they appear to be living very happily together.”
“I am glad that she recovered, but was she not said to have made a previous marriage?”
Sussex knew very well that I was aware of the scandals concerning Lady Stafford. Naturally I would be, as they concerned Robert.
“Life has worked out very satisfactoril
y for her now,” began Sussex.
“That may be, but if she were in fact previously married and her husband is still living, she cannot be married to Stafford.”
Sussex looked perplexed and I went on: “I want you to look into this matter.”
He was still bewildered. “Your Majesty will remember that the lady claimed to have been married to the Earl of Leicester.”
“I do remember it,” I said, “and if this is indeed true, my Lord Leicester must return to his true wedded wife.”
“But Leicester—”
“He has gone through a form of marriage with the Countess of Essex, yes; but if he was really wed to Douglass Sheffield, the marriage to Lady Essex is no marriage at all, and if it can be proved that he was married to Lady Sheffield, he shall return to her.” My calm deserted me and I shouted: “They shall live together or…he can rot in the Tower.”
Sussex regarded me with dismay. I had betrayed myself, but I did not care. All I wanted was revenge on Lettice Knollys.
* * *
I INSISTED THAT there must be an inquiry. Lady Stafford must be questioned and I would be present at the examination. Sussex was against it. He was one of the very few men in my Court who dared go against me and he had exasperated me many times. I had raged against him, called him an idiot, told him he ought to be banished from Court. All of which he had taken with resignation; but when I called him traitor, he protested with righteous indignation and seemed not to care how he offended me. He was a man who would state his opinions no matter what such frankness brought down on his head; and I must respect him for that. He knew I would never banish him from Court. Honest men were rare and if Sussex lacked the brilliance of Burghley and Bacon and the charm of Robert, Hatton, Heneage and the rest, he was an honest man. I had not a more faithful servant at my Court.
So now Sussex did not hesitate to tell me that he thought I was wrong to raise this matter of Leicester's possible marriage to Lady Stafford.
“The Earl is married; Lady Stafford is married; and Your Majesty would do well to let be.”
“I am the best judge of that, my lord,” I said sharply.
“I think, Your Majesty, in the circumstances…”
I silenced him. He was alluding, of course to my well-known attachment to Robert. He deplored it, and as it happened he disliked Robert more than any man at Court. Robert's devious methods were abhorrent to him; yet at one time he had been ready to agree to a marriage between us because he thought I was so enamored of Robert that my happiness lay in such a marriage. I am sure that he was also of the opinion that any marriage was better than none and that with two so passionately devoted to each other as Robert and I were, a union was sure to be fruitful.
“So, Master Sussex,” I said, “you are against this inquiry because Lady Stafford is a connection of your wife. Is that not so? Your good lady wants no scandal in the family!”
Sussex hesitated. There was an element of truth in that, he admitted; but his real objection was my involvement in the affair.
How involved was I in this?
“People will say that it is your anger against Leicester which prompts you rather than your desire to sift the truth—which can do little good now.”
“Little good! Do you think of your wife's precious cousin…or whatever she is…do you think her reputation is of no account? I tell you this, my lord Sussex: There shall be no immorality at my Court.”
He knew then that I would have what I wanted, and accordingly Lady Stafford was summoned and I listened while Sussex questioned her. He had succeeded in making me accept a secret inquiry, saying that if Lady Stafford proved that there had been a true marriage between herself and the Earl of Leicester then the matter could be taken to court. Of course he was right.
What a timid creature this Lady Stafford was! I wondered what Robert could have seen in her. When I thought of myself… and Lettice… strong women … women of personality … whatever could he have seen in this… mouse!
She looked half crazed and was certainly very frightened. She said that she was married to Sir Edward Stafford and it was a very happy marriage.
“But is it a marriage,” asked Sussex, “if you are already married to the Earl of Leicester?”
“That was no true marriage.”
“There was a time when you were pleading that it was,” Sussex reminded her. “What has happened to change your mind?”
“I was mistaken…”
“It seems a strange mistake to make,” I couldn't resist interjecting. “Do you mean to say you did not know whether you were married or not?”
She turned to me and fell to her knees, wringing her hands while the tears coursed down her cheeks. “Your Majesty,” she said, “I thought I was married then… but now I…am not sure. There were those to say there was no marriage. I thought…”
I looked in exasperation at Sussex who began his relentless questions. Her meeting with Leicester, the sudden flaring of passion between them… he was irresistible… she had been a faithful wife until then… the letter he had written…
“What was in the letter?” demanded Sussex.
“That he would marry me when my husband died.”
“But your husband was well, was he not?”
She nodded wretchedly.
“Then why did he talk of his death?”
“He…he said it would not be long before we could be legally married.”
I was tapping my feet impatiently. I did not want a case of murder to be brought against Robert. I only wanted to separate him from the she-wolf.
“Where is this letter?” I demanded.
“I—I do not know…”
She told what I knew already. Foolish little creature! She had lost the letter; it was found by her sister-in-law and taken to her husband who left her and went to London threatening to divorce her, but before he could do so, he died.
“And when you were free, you married the Earl of Leicester.”
“I…I think so…”
“Have you any proof?”
“I—I trusted him. He said we were married. It seemed like a marriage. Perhaps…”
“You must have some documents. There would have to be papers.”
“I—I don't know. I have no papers. Oh please, my lord, Your Majesty, let me go…I have a good husband who cares for me. I want nothing of my lord Leicester. It was no marriage. I have no papers…”
She began sobbing wildly.
Sussex looked at me and said: “I think nothing can be gained by pursuing this inquiry, Your Majesty.”
I was shaking with emotion, but I saw that he was right.
Lady Stafford covered her face and went on crying. “I know nothing… nothing,” she murmured. “I can only say I trusted him. He said all was well. I don't know…I don't know any more…”
“The woman is hysterical,” I said. “Go back to Sir Edward Stafford, Lady Stafford.”
She was taken away.
Sussex stood before me. Much as he hated Leicester I think he was rather pleased by the outcome. His chivalry had been touched by the sight of that poor woman in distress.
I went back to my apartments. I was filled with a cold anger and the hatred I bore Lettice Knollys was greater than ever. She had won again.
But I will be even with her yet, I promised myself. She shall not hold Robert. His place is at Court with me, and that is somewhere you shall never come, my lady!
Father Parson's Green Coat
TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE LEICESTER'S MARRIAGE. I saw to it that he was constantly at Court, keeping my promise to myself that I would exclude Lettice and separate the married pair as much as possible. This was not difficult, for when I commanded he must come; and as I would not receive her, she must perforce absent herself. When I visited his houses I gave notice that I was coming so that she could remove herself before I arrived. I liked to imagine her chagrin, which must have been great. I heard that she lived most splendidly, glorifying even Leicester's houses; she lived li
ke a queen, it was said. That gave me grim amusement. A queen in exile, I thought.
I could not forget her. Whenever I saw Leicester I was reminded of her. He was as devoted to me as ever, but sometimes I wondered when he was at my side whether he would rather have been with Lettice.
Although he behaved as though his adoration of me had not diminished, he could no longer talk of marriage; but he never gave the slightest hint that he did not continue to regard me as the most desirable of women.
One New Year's Day his present to me was fifteen large gold buttons and three dozen smaller ones to match, all embellished with rubies and diamonds in the form of lovers' knots; and enchanting as they were in themselves, there was no mistaking the sentiment they expressed.
I could not help asking him whether his wife had assisted him in choosing them. He answered gravely that the choice had been entirely his.
I thought angrily: Oh Robert, I know there had to be women, but why could they not have been light love affairs such as you have had in countless numbers? Why did there have to be this one… and with that woman?
But I did not mention her often and I kept him beside me.
In the autumn of that year I met a wonderful man whose exploits filled me with pride and admiration. This was Francis Drake, a young man from Devon. When I say young, he was about forty years of age, and it is significant that I was beginning to think of such as young.
He was the greatest sailor in the country…in the world, I would venture to say, and he had performed a magnificent feat in sailing round the world.
Three years earlier I had learned of his intention to navigate the globe and bring back treasure from far places. It was a plan which appealed to me. I had always liked adventurous men, and had long realized that the strength of my country must lie in its Navy. We were an island; we needed special protection; so I had promoted the building of ships, and I wanted men such as Francis Drake to sail in them.
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