“Essex!” I cried.
“Your Majesty!” He flung himself at my feet and kissed my hand fervently.
He had come from Ireland. He feared evil had been spoken of him. He had ridden through the night and had just arrived at Nonesuch Palace, and had been unable to wait longer before seeing his fair and beauteous Queen.
Fair and beauteous Queen! An old woman of sixty-five, her face pale and unadorned, her white straggly hair awry about her face!
He must be very frightened to talk so, I thought. This means great disaster in Ireland.
Then I was thinking how I must look. He had never before seen me in this state of undress—nor had any man, except one from my window and that was years ago when I had been younger. It was suddenly borne home to me that he must be as astonished to see me as I was to see him—though for different reasons.
My one thought was to get rid of him as quickly as possible. I could not bear that he should see me thus. How different I must look from that scintillating goddess in her jeweled gowns and ruffs and her magnificent curling red hair. He was trying not to look at me. Even he must spare a thought from his own affairs to realize how I was feeling.
I sat very still and spoke gently to him because it was the quickest way of getting rid of him. I would see him later, I said softly. He could tell me everything then.
After he went, I sat very still, trembling with the shock of what had happened. I took up a hand mirror and looked at myself. It was horrible. My face was drained of color. My hair straggled about my shoulders—gray and scanty. I looked what I was—a tired old woman.
How dared he come bursting in like that! Did he think he could behave as the whim took him and that I would forgive him?
I thought: Essex, you have gone too far this time. I will never forgive you for this.
* * *
I WAS ESPECIALLY careful with my toilette and when I was ready to go into the Presence Chamber I was sparkling with jewels. There was the faintest color in my cheeks, which gave a brightness to my eyes. Was it anger against this man who had dared see me in my natural state? No man had ever seen me like that before. I had thought none ever would. And he had dared! No, I would never forgive him for that. Always when I saw him I would see myself … old … unadorned … with nothing of beauty left to me.
He was there. His eyes alight with excitement. I thought: By God's Holy Son, he believes that he only has to smile on me and I am his slave. In his mind I am no queen for he stands above me.
You will never have to learn a harder lesson than you will learn now, my Lord Essex, I thought.
He knelt before me. I gave him my hand which he fervently kissed. He raised his eyes to look at me but my gaze was fixed over his head in the distance.
“My fairest Queen …” he began.
I said coolly: “You may rise, Essex.”
“I came to you,” he began breathlessly. “There is so much to tell you…”
I replied shortly: “You may tell it to the Council.”
He was taken aback. I saw the deep color flood his face. He could not believe that I had spoken to him thus.
I turned to Robert Cecil and engaged him in conversation. Essex fell back, a sullen, angry expression on his face. All those present were watchful. They had expected me to give him a warm welcome, and that the erring young man would once more be forgiven his sins and be taken back into favor. But they did not know what he had seen that morning. I should never forget it, though. Every time I saw him, I should remember. And I did not want to be reminded.
* * *
HE WAS QUESTIONED by the Council and his answers brought to me. I said that I found them unsatisfactory and this was the general opinion.
It was decided that he should remain in confinement at York House. I traveled down to Richmond with the Court and tried not to think of Essex. I daresay I was sharper with my ladies than ever. I was never happy until I was fully dressed in all my finery, and yet I hesitated long over the gown I should wear. There were, I think, about two thousand of them to choose from. Then there was the wig to be selected from my collection of eighty.
Only when I was fully dressed and a shining sparkling vision looked back at me from the mirror could I feel a little happier.
But I did not want to think of Essex and I certainly did not want to see him.
When I heard that he was ill, I laughed. Was he not always ill when life turned against him? Oh I know Robert had been the same. How many times had I hurried to him to tend him when there was some disagreement between us? Yet I had never blamed him. How could I, when I myself had used the device often enough? I had always smiled indulgently at Robert's illnesses because they showed me he could not bear to be out of favor. He used to be really desperate when he was.
But Essex… now, if he were ill, then he deserved to be. He had been arrogant and too sure of himself. How dared he imagine he knew what was best for Ireland when he had gone there and made a bigger mess of it than any of his predecessors? But most of all how dared he come dashing into my bedchamber when I was unprepared to receive him!
Old Lady Walsingham came to me. I greeted her warmly. She had been a good wife to my dear Moor. She begged me to allow Essex to write to his wife who had just had a baby.
I said coolly: “He is under restraint. It is not permitted for those who are confined as he is to write letters. Moreover the Countess of Essex will surely not wish to hear from one who has treated her with such little regard. He is no more a faithful husband than a faithful subject.”
Lady Walsingham wept, but I hardened my heart. He had treated poor Frances badly. I doubted he had bothered to write many letters to her when he was in Ireland.
Frances herself sent me a jewel in the hope that the bauble would soften my heart toward her husband. Foolish girl! I had jewels in plenty—and in any case nothing would soften my heart toward a young man who had seen me as he had. She should have more pride than to sue for him, considering the manner in which he had treated her, preferring the beds of his mistresses to hers and blatantly letting her know it. I sent the jewel back.
His sisters Penelope and Dorothy dressed themselves in black and came to plead for him. I did receive them, for I saw at once that they were greatly concerned for their brother. It was amazing what affection he had inspired.
I spoke to them gently and said that I understood their anxiety. Their brother was a most misguided young man. He had disobeyed my orders and his case was in the hands of the Council.
Penelope cried out that in my great mercy I could save him. I surveyed her coldly and said: “The Queen is not told by her subjects what she can and cannot do.”
She was aghast. She thought she had done harm to her brother's cause, which she was trying so hard to plead, and I said more kindly: “You may go. His fate is in the hands of the Council. I understand your grief. You are bold because you are fond of him.”
They went away heartened. They thought I had received them kindly and that was a good sign.
But I did not want to see him again because I knew that when I did, I would see myself in his eyes.
A rather disturbing matter arose at this time.
A certain John Hayward had written a book called The History of Henri IV. He had dedicated this book to Essex and had written a dedication in it in which he compared Essex with Bolingbroke. This had caused a ripple of excitement considering the position in which Essex now found himself. Cecil had been horrified at the book and others had found it to be distinctly subversive. Cecil thought there was in it an incitement to rebellion. As a result Hayward was put in the Tower.
Essex was brought before a court in York House and charged with making a dishonorable and dangerous treaty with the Earl of Tyrone, and also with contempt for the government. He had promoted the Earl of Southampton against the wishes of the Queen and Council and had distributed knighthoods when he had no authority to do so. It must have been galling to Essex to have the learned Counsel Francis Bacon taking part in the pro
ceedings against him. It was not a trial, being entirely informal, and I believe that afterward Bacon tried to justify himself for speaking against the man who regarded him as a friend, by stating that in acting in this manner he was able to retain the Queen's confidence, which he hoped later to use in Essex's favor. However, the result of the tribunal was that Essex was dismissed from all the offices he held, and was to remain a prisoner in York House until further notice.
I could not forget him as I should have liked to. I had loved him, even though I knew his character to be too simple to give him any hope of fulfilling his high ambitions. He was too passionate and too candid; he was like a blundering but endearing schoolboy at his most charming; at his worst he was almost oafish. He was politically ignorant; he was vain in the extreme and there was no doubt that he had the power to fascinate the opposite sex. There had been many times when I had treated him as a lover—almost as I had Leicester; but he did not see it as a game I was playing. He had the myopia of the small mind which sees itself as a giant among pygmies. It was ridiculous for such a man to believe he could pit his wits against men such as Cecil. What a fool he had been. And because women liked him, he thought he could dominate me.
Meanwhile Mountjoy had been sent to Ireland and it was gratifying to find that he was beginning to make a success of that most difficult of tasks. I hoped Essex remembered that it had been my plan to send Mountjoy in the first place. How he must regret his opposition to that suggestion!
I did not want him to remain in confinement, and after three months he was released, but banned from any public posts and forbidden to appear at Court.
It must have been obvious, even to Essex, that his advancement at Court was over.
He was in a dire state; his health was failing; he had been cut off from the most influential men at Court, and he was in financial difficulties. One of the biggest sources of income for him had been the lease he had held on the sweet wines and which was a concession many longed for. I had given him a lease of ten years and that period was running out. If it were not renewed he would be poor indeed. He wrote to me begging me to renew it.
Why should I give this great concession to one who had flouted me? Moreover, I had heard that he was gathering together in his house a band of disgruntled men—those who had a grievance against the state and that meant against me; and much wild conversation took place there, which was occasionally brought to my ears.
So I refused to renew the lease on the sweet wines.
Perhaps it was not to be expected that he would sink into a life of obscurity. There would always be trouble wherever Essex was.
Tension was rising. Southampton, that man who displeased me so much, was visiting Essex House frequently. One day Southampton came face to face with Lord Grey near Durham House. The old enemies quickly picked a quarrel and during the fighting which broke out, one of Southampton's men lost a hand.
Such brawling was against the law and Grey was arrested since it was his man who had caused the damage.
Knowing Southampton's quarrelsome nature I agreed that Grey might not be to blame and he was released, much to the chagrin of Southampton—and of course of Essex.
I imagined Lettice's feelings at this time. How anxious she must have been for her son! She was clever enough to see that he was heading straight for disaster. One thing I was certain of: He should never come to Court again, though there were some who still believed that he would. They had seen my fondness for Leicester; they had marveled that after his marriage, which had so upset me at the time, I had received him back at Court and become as close to him as ever. They did not understand. With Leicester it had been a lasting love; with Essex it was a dream, a pretense, a ridiculous fantasy, which I had fabricated in the belief that I could catch at my youth again and be loved as Leicester had loved me.
Essex himself had brought real life into vivid existence when he had come face to face with an old woman.
The dream was over—and that could only mean the end of Essex, unless he was prepared to live quietly in some place far from Court. As if he ever would!
He was still writing pleading letters, still having bouts of illness; but although I sent him broth from time to time, I would not relent.
He had his enemies among the ladies of my Court—possibly those he had dallied with for a while and then deserted—and they did not hesitate to pass on gossip that was detrimental to him. I was shocked when I realized that his adoration of me had turned to vilification.
It was reported that he had said that now I was an old woman my mind was as distorted as my carcass.
And this was the man who, a short time before, had been extolling my beauty!
Clearly he knew that there was no chance of a reconciliation between us. If he had been wiser he would have known it from the time he strode into my bedchamber and confronted an old woman. But when had he ever been wise? When had he ever learned?
Desperate men were gathering at Essex House—men who had little hope of making their way in my Court. They were seeking a way to fame and fortune, and they knew that could not come to them through me. So they were looking elsewhere—some to the Infante of Spain for whom they could make out a remote claim; some to James of Scotland who was the next in line to the succession.
It seemed incredible that even Essex could be crazy enough to plan a revolution. But he had some to support him—all those failures who had not made their way at Court. Oh, the foolish boy! If ever anyone asked for selfdestruction, it was Essex.
When his followers persuaded the players at the Globe to put on William Shakespeare's Richard the Second, I presumed it was to show the people how easy it was for one king to abdicate and to be replaced by another.
Raleigh—Essex's old enemy—came to me in a state of some excitement. He had rowed himself down the Thames and as he was passing Essex House, he had been shot at. He had been to visit Sir Fernando Gorges, a great friend of Drake's, who in spite of his name had come from a family who settled in England at the time of Henry I—a man who had served England well and had been governor of Plymouth—hence his friendship with Drake. Gorges told Drake that Essex had made an effort to enlist him in his enterprise.
“Your Majesty,” said Raleigh, “the actions of Essex are now becoming dangerous. According to Gorges there are plots in progress, and Gorges does not like the sound of them. He says there will be bloodshed. And, as Your Majesty knows, Essex is capable of any wild act.”
“I think,” I said, “it is time some action was taken about the Essex House plotters.”
I called the Council together and I chose four men to call on Essex. The Lord Keeper, Sir Thomas Egerton, was one of them and John Popham the Chief Justice another. They went with the dignity of the posts they held, and accompanying them was Essex's uncle, Sir William Knollys, who would naturally show some sympathy to his kinsman; the Earl of Worcester, who had at one time been a friend of Essex, was also of the party. I sent these men because I thought Essex would understand why I had chosen them; they were more likely to bring about a peaceful conclusion to the trouble than such as Sir Walter Raleigh.
But at the same time I ordered troops to be gathered together, ready to march on Essex House if need be.
Then I went about the ordinary business of the day.
Essex received the party of four and complained to them that his life was in danger and that he was only protecting himself, whereupon Egerton put on his hat, which proclaimed that he came in his official role, and made the usual statement.
“I command you all upon your allegiance to lay down your weapons and depart, which you all ought to do, thus being commanded, if you be good subjects and owe that duty to the Queen which you possess.”
It was Essex's chance—not to come back into favor; he would never do that and he knew it—but to save his life.
But of course he would not help himself.
He pushed the councilors aside and left the house accompanied by two hundred armed men—among them his stepfathe
r Christopher Blount.
I heard about it afterward—how he rode through the streets of London calling to the citizens to come and join him, really believing that James of Scotland would send an army to his aid. He was my enemy in truth, for the plot was to replace me, kill me if need be. It was galling to realize that this young man whom I had loved and tried to put into Robert's place could behave so.
Did he really believe that because he had enjoyed certain popularity with the Londoners he could turn them against me! I had been their beloved sovereign for more than forty years. They loved me. The Londoners were as shrewd as any people in this kingdom—or any other—and they knew that I had brought peace, prosperity and victory at sea which had made them secure. Did he really believe that they would overthrow me because a foolish boy was annoyed with me? Did he really believe I could be replaced by a princess from Spain or a young man from across the Border?
His little rebellion was soon quelled. Sir Christopher Blount was wounded and captured; and very soon Essex and Southampton, with others, were in the Tower.
* * *
HE COULD NOT be anything but guilty. He was a traitor who had plotted against the Crown, who had tried to raise men against the Sovereign and planned her assassination in order to put another in her place. It was blatant treachery and there was no other name for it. Therefore there could be no other course than to find Essex, with Southampton and Christopher Blount, guilty. They were sentenced to death and again it was my bitter duty to sign the death warrants.
I decided to spare Southampton's life for I was sure he had been drawn into the conspiracy by Essex, and eventually he was condemned to life imprisonment. Christopher Blount was to suffer the death penalty.
I knew there were some who believed I would not sign Essex's death warrant. They remembered how I had hated signing that of Mary of Scotland. They believed that I was weak where my affections were concerned; they considered how many times I had forgiven Leicester. It was true, I was faithful in my affections, and had I not forgiven him time and time again?
Queen Of This Realm Page 54