I shouted: “Send for Essex.”
He came sauntering in with that nonchalance which delighted me while it angered me.
He would have taken my hand and kissed it but I stood glowering at him.
“So, Master Husband,” I said, “you are here.”
Understanding dawned on him and what infuriated me was that he did not care. He knew that I had learned of his marriage and he was shrugging his shoulders. How different it had been with Leicester when I heard that he had married Lettice Knollys. He had made an excuse. I had refused him so many times, and he had been contrite and eager to make me understand that whoever came into his life, I was the first and always would be. With Essex there had been no suggestion of marriage with me. On the other hand he was my favorite young man and I had made it clear that I wanted to be aware of all the proposed marriages of my important courtiers.
He said rather carelessly: “So the news is out?”
“Your pregnant wife has told me.”
“Well it could not remain a secret forever, could it?”
“And why must it be a secret?” I asked.
“Because I feared Your Majesty's disapproval.”
“You were right to fear that.”
“I thought you were fond of Frances. You are a godmother to Sidney's child. Her father was one of your most able statesmen and you always showed great appreciation of his services.”
“To marry… without my consent…you!”
He replied coolly: “I adore Your Majesty. You are a divine being, apart from all others. I have loved you from my boyhood when I first saw you at Chartley. My great joy in life is to serve you…”
“And take steps behind my back?”
“I am a man who must live his own life and marry where he will.”
“If there is one thing I hate most in my subjects it is deceit.”
“No deceit was intended. Frances's father approved of the match.”
“I've no doubt he did. He wanted his daughter well provided for.”
“It seemed to us that his consent was enough.”
“You are insolent,” I cried. “You have enjoyed great favor at Court. I gave you that. I brought you to the position you now enjoy. You must not forget that I can cast you down as quickly as I brought you up.”
“That is true,” he said lightly, “and I must accept Your Majesty's decision as to my future.”
“Why do this in secret?”
“I know Your Majesty's uncertain temper and I had naturally no desire to arouse it.”
“You insolent dog!” I cried.
“That is not insolence, Your Majesty,” he replied with a slight smile, “just honest frankness for which you have so often commended me. If I had come to you and asked permission, you would have refused it. Then I should have had to disobey you. Now I have merely displeased you.”
I was so hurt, and angry with myself, for caring so much about this brash young man.
I said: “It is not the secrecy only which I find insupportable. I had plans for a grand marriage for you. I had been considering that… and now you go and tie yourself up with this girl…”
“Walsingham's daughter.”
“Penniless!”
“I do not set great store by riches.”
“Nor on royal favor either, it would seem. I believe you will be wanting to spend time with your wife… particularly in view of her condition. So, we shall not be seeing you at Court for some time, I gather.”
It was dismissal. Banishment.
He bowed low and with great dignity retreated.
I WAS IN A mood of dejection for days. Essex's absence from Court reminded me of the old days when Leicester had not been there. What was it about them? Was it a certain magic in their personalities which made life seem flat without them?
Raleigh was much in evidence, and he was a charming young man, very interesting to talk to, as well as gallant in manner, behaving toward me as though he were a lover. That was soothing and helped to shut out from my mind the thought of Essex and Frances together. Perhaps I should cultivate Raleigh, let the beautiful young men squeeze Essex out. He had gone too far—not only by making this marriage but in his entire attitude toward me.
Poor Frances! I thought. If stories are true she will have a philanderer for a husband. She should not forget that Essex had the blood of that she-wolf in his veins.
I danced merrily with my young men. I did not ask for news of Essex; but I was sad and depressed. How life had changed! My dearest one gone. Walsingham gone. And poor old Hatton sick and ailing. Nothing would be the same again.
Hatton had been out of favor. It was a foolish matter over some money he owed the crown. I had always been insistent that debts should be paid. In fact when I played cards in the evening and won I never allowed anyone to default on payment. I had not realized that Hatton was financially pressed. These men of mine lived in such splendor and spent so lavishly that I imagined they were richer than they made out to be.
Hatton had pleaded an inability to meet the debt and I had insisted it be paid.
The effect of this had worsened his illness so that he was confined to his bed and I was horrified to learn that the doctors considered his condition to be grave.
I immediately went to Ely House where I found him in bed. They were trying to make him take a posset, and I was alarmed to see that his hands shook so much that he could not hold the dish.
As I entered this was taken away from him and he made an attempt to rise. I quickly forbade him to do this, and then I dismissed those in the bedchamber and sat down beside his bed.
I could have wept to see the ravages of pain on the face of my once so handsome dancing partner.
“Your Majesty does me great honor …” he began.
“Be silent,” I commanded. “Talking takes too much effort for you. My dear old Mutton, here is a pretty pass. You must get well at once. I command you to do so. We miss you at Court.”
He smiled and shook his head and an infinite sadness swept over me.
“My Eyes have gone. My Moor has left me. I must keep my old Bellwether.”
“Your Majesty has made me very happy.”
“Methinks we have made each other happy over the years,” I said. “Now enough of this. What is this posset we have here?” I picked up the dish and sniffed it, recognizing it as a well known remedy and an efficacious one. “I know this well,” I said. “Many times have I benefited from it. Eat it. It will give you strength.”
He took the dish from me but his hands were shaking too much for him to lift the spoon to his mouth, so I took it and fed it to him.
“There,” I said, as though talking to a child, “take every drop.”
And he did so, smiling almost sheepishly. “Your Majesty should not so humble herself.”
“Humble myself!” I cried. “You are one of my men, and I love my men. They are to me the husband and the sons I never had.”
I saw the tears on his cheeks. He was very moved.
I bent over him and kissed his brow, and I said to him: “You must obey your Queen, Chancellor, and she orders you to get well.”
This was one of the occasions when Christopher Hatton did not obey me.
I felt his loss deeply… more than I had imagined possible. There were few of my own generation left now. New men were appearing on the horizon and I wondered whether I should get the same unswerving devotion from them as I had had from those who had brightened my youth. They were a different breed: Essex, Raleigh, Mountjoy… No, the days were passing. Life would never be quite so wonderful again.
Hatton's death was a loss to the country as well as a personal one. Because he had been so handsome and such a good dancer, people had been apt to underestimate him. He had been an excellent Vice Chamberlain before he had become Lord Chancellor and had organized celebrations and festivities with a masterly hand—which was another reason why he had not been taken seriously by some. But I knew that he had been an able politician and h
ad seen as clearly as I did that one of the dangers in our country was that of religious conflict, which had brought civil war to others—as in the case of France. We wanted none of that in England. We had to take a stand between Puritans and Papists, and I did not know which sect I disliked most. Hatton had agreed with me that there must be no war over religion, which was a matter of an individual's conscience. In fact, he had been suspected of being a secret Catholic because of his leniency toward Catholics. This was not so. He felt as I did and we had been completely at one on this point.
Hatton had wanted to avoid excesses from both extremes, a view with which I heartily agreed. He had been a fine orator. True, he had liked rewards. Who does not? He had been very eager to acquire the London estate of the Bishop of Ely, and I had thought he should have it for he had need of a splendid home so that he could entertain visitors from abroad when necessary—and his Queen, of course. The lands were said to be some of the richest in England and comprised several acres of vineyard and arable land besides a house and chapel.
I had been delighted when this was passed to Hatton. He had been such a good servant and loyal courtier, and I had a specially fond feeling for him because he had remained unmarried. He had always said that he could love only one woman—even though it must be from a distance—his Queen. That seemed to me the ultimate gesture of love.
He had been a clever man and only had seemed less so because he had to stand beside greater statesmen like Burghley and Walsingham—and above all my incomparable Leicester.
So, another bitter loss.
I needed refreshing company, so I brought Essex back to Court.
I asked about the child which had now been born and was pleased that it was a boy and to be called Robert.
Essex and I were on the old terms. We played chess and cards together into the early hours of the morning. But I did not want to see the new Lady Essex. So Frances did not come to Court, but I believe lived nearby with her widowed mother, as she had before her marriage.
* * *
IT WAS GRATIFYING to me that although I was growing old my people did not love me less. I had lost a tooth or two; my skin was becoming lined, though it never lost its whiteness which I preserved most carefully; and my hair was growing scanty so that I had to resort to more false pieces and mostly wigs; but whenever I went out I was greeted with acclamations of joy and admiration. The people were uplifted by the defeat of the Spaniards; but other monarchs had been victorious in battle, yet none of them had ever had that firm hold on the people's affections which I had.
Never since the day of my accession had I failed to see the importance of this. I could be a virago in my private apartments—and often was. There was scarcely one of my ladies who had not had a blow or painful nip from me. I made no attempt to control my temper among them and if I was irritated I expressed my feelings forcefully. It was the same in the Council Chamber. My temper was quite uncontrolled. But on my progresses I never showed the slightest rancor toward my people. They could bring me absurd petitions; they could even criticize me to my face and I received all this with a degree of charming attention and tolerance. I was playing a part—that of the great benevolent monarch—and I knew that through it I kept my hold on my people's affections and I was determined never to lose that.
It was the reason for the firmness of the crown. My grandfather had suffered all his life as King from the fear of having come to the throne in circumstances which could be questioned; he must be looking over his shoulder all the time lest someone was preparing to snatch the crown from him. My father had had no fear of losing it. He saw himself as divine. He had a natural charm and an appearance of immense strength and he kept the approval of his people throughout his reign. He ruled through fear and great self-confidence which fostered an attitude of certainty that he would always do so. I held my people to me with love, and the bonds of love are the strongest in the world.
I tried always to act as my people would wish me to. We had persecuted the Catholics; we had hounded priests from their priest holes in the great Catholic houses and brought some of them to a barbarous death. I had allowed this because it was what the people wanted. They had an inherent fear of Catholicism, and it would linger I was sure. None of them could forget the terrible burnings at the stake during my sister's reign. People still talked in hushed whispers of Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper. Certain seamen had been captured by the Spaniards and escaped to give accounts of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition. We wanted none of that in peaceful England. Pray God it would never come to that. So we must keep out the Catholics. I knew there were good Catholic gentlemen. They had supported us against the Spaniards in war. But the whole country was against that form of religion as practiced by Spaniards and upheld by the Pope.
On the other hand we had the Puritans—toward whom I felt a great abhorrence. They wanted to create what they called an English Sunday. This would ban fairs, hunting, rowing, cockfighting and bear-baiting—in fact any kind of sport. The Council would have passed that measure but I vetoed it. I could imagine what those people who had cheered me on my pilgrimages throughout the land would say to that. They worked hard, I said. They should have a little respite on Sundays and amuse themselves in whatsoever way they thought best. I was sure I was right as I was when someone tried to bring in an act which would mean the death penalty for committing adultery, blasphemy and holding heretical opinions.
No, no, no! I insisted. That would bring us close to what we had been fighting against. Why did men fight as they had against Spain? How was it a few men in inferior ships gained a great victory? Because they were fighting for freedom, was the answer.
No, I wanted no more religious bickering. I wanted my people to be free, happy and prosperous—and that meant to live good honest lives in peace. No wars! And freedom to worship as they thought best. As long as they obeyed the laws of Christ I could see no reason why they were not good Christians.
Let be, I wanted to cry all the time.
As an act of defiance against those who would close the theaters, I formed a band of players who would act for my delight. I called them the Queen's Men.
I looked forward always to my progresses through the country for I considered it of the utmost importance to show myself to my people. There was great rejoicing in the towns and villages through which I passed; and I must admit that there was little I enjoyed more than receiving homage and adulation.
I was so accustomed to displays of love and loyalty that it was a shock when I received evidence that I had dangerous enemies among the people.
One day when I was walking in the gardens at Hampton where a crowd had gathered to watch me pass, there was a sudden shout and I saw someone being hustled away by the Yeomen of the Guard. Another picked up a pistol which lay on the ground and hastened off after the group who were pushing their prisoner through the crowd.
There was a hushed silence and then someone in the crowd cried: “God save Your Majesty. Death to those who would harm you.”
Then I guessed that this had been an attempt at assassination.
I made no show of haste to leave the place nor any fear because I had been in danger of losing my life, but paused to speak to some of the people who had thrust forward to see me. Some had petitions which I read carefully and promised they should have consideration, stressing that it would be the Council who decided, in case the decision should be adverse. Then the blame would not be laid on me!
As soon as I was back in the palace, I asked what the trouble in the gardens had been about.
It was disturbing to know that it had been an attempt on my life and I said I would personally question my would-be murderer.
To my amazement they brought in a woman. She looked at me defiantly as she stood there, a guard on either side of her. “Who are you?” I asked. “And do you admit to wanting to kill me?”
She replied: “My name is Margaret Lambrun, and I do.”
“Well, at least you are honest,” I said. “Yo
u are Scottish, are you?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“So thought I. A murderous race, the Scots. They have given my ancestors and me a great deal of trouble. Why did you wish to kill me?”
“You killed my Queen and my husband,” she said. “I wanted revenge for that.”
“You refer to Queen Mary of Scotland who was found guilty of plotting against my realm and attempting to murder me.”
The woman was silent.
“That is the truth, you know,” I said softly.
“My husband was in her service. When she was executed he died of grief.”
“He would have done better to have lived to look after his wife and prevent her from committing rash actions.”
“He loved the Queen. He was heartbroken when she died.”
Poor woman! That was the last thing she could have said to endear her to me. I had long been hearing of the fatal fascination of the Queen of Scots and I was exasperated that even after her death it was still effective.
“You were in possession of two pistols,” I said. “Were you going to take two shots at me?”
“No. One was for you and then I should have turned the other on myself.”
“Do you know what I am going to do with you, Margaret Lambrun?” I said.
“It matters not what you do with me,” she replied. “My life is over.”
“You are a youngish woman. There could be years before you. I say this: Forget that husband who died of a broken heart grieving for another woman. He is not worthy of your remembrance. I know men well. They are not worth dying for. You are an honest woman and have suffered much. I am going to give you a free pardon.”
She stared at me in astonishment for a few seconds, then she fell to her knees continuing to look wonderingly at me.
“Methinks,” I went on, “that you have heard evil tales of me. Perhaps through your husband's fascinating mistress. You foolish woman, do not again risk your life for the sake of a man. Get to your feet now and be gone from here.” I called to the guards: “Take her away.”
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