by Alison Weir
She had not 'lost her presence of mind for a single moment', reported the Venetian ambassador in Paris, 'nor neglected aught that was necessary for the occasion. Her acuteness in resolving the action, her courage in carrying it out, show her high-spirited desire of glory and her resolve to save her country and herself'
According to Camden, her gratitude towards Leicester led her to have Letters rjatent drawn up appointing him Lieutenant Governor of England and Ireland, a position that would invest him with more power than had ever been granted to an English subject. Burghley, Walsingham and Hatton, however, fearing the consequences of the favourite becoming a virtual viceroy, persuaded the Queen to change her mind, and it appears that Leicester never knew how well she wished to reward him.
Thanks to the thorough preparations made by the government, the intensive training and organisation of troops and resources, the skill of the English commanders, and of course the 'Protestant' wind, the mighty Armada had been vanquished, and England had achieved one of the greatest victories in her history.
The camp at Tilbury was disbanded on 17 August, when Leicester rode in triumph back to London 'with so many gentlemen as if he were a king', to be greeted by cheering crowds. On the 20th, the Lord Mayor and aldermen of London attended a packed service at St Paul's to give thanks for the victory.
At the beginning of September, most of the sailors were discharged; money was in desperately short supply and Elizabeth could not even afford to pay the remaining wages due to the men. Few had lost their lives during the fighting, but the poor provisioning of the ships and rations of sour beer had left thousands of sailors ill or dying of typhoid, scurvy or food poisoning in the streets of the Channel ports. Realising that no more money would be forthcoming from the Exchequer, Effingham, Drake and Sir John Hawkins themselves provided wine and arrowroot for their men. The Queen was furious to hear that other captains had squandered money apportioned for their men's wages, and was ever afterwards prejudiced against sea-captains, but the major blame for her sailors' plight was undoubtedly hers.
Great national celebrations of the victory were planned. On 26 August, Essex staged a triumphal military review at Whitehall, after which Elizabeth watched with Leicester from a window as the young Earl jousted against the Earl of Cumberland. Leicester, reported one of Mendoza's spies, had been dining every night with Elizabeth, and had fully regained his former position of power and prestige. But he was a sick man, exhausted by the stresses of the past weeks, and left immediately after the review for Buxton, hoping that the healing waters would restore him.
From Rycote in Oxfordshire, where they had often stayed together as guests of Lord and Lady Norris, he wrote to the Queen on 29 August:
I most humbly beseech Your Majesty to pardon your old servant to be thus bold in sending to know how my gracious lady doth, and what ease of her late pain she finds, being the chiefest thing in the world I do pray for, for her to have good health and long life. For my own poor case, I continue still your medicine, and it amends much better than any other thing that hath been given me. Thus hoping to find a perfect cure at the bath, with the continuance of my wonted prayer for Your Majesty's most happy preservation, I humbly kiss your foot.
From your old lodgings at Rycote this Thursday morning, by Your Majesty's most faithful and obedient servant, R. Leicester.
P.S. Even as I had written this much, I received Your Majesty's token by young Tracy.
His plan was to proceed by slow stages towards Kenilworth, but on the way he was 'troubled with an ague' which turned into 'a continual burning fever', and was obliged to take to his bed at his hunting lodge in Cornbury Park, near Woodstock. Here he died at four o'clock in the morning on 4 September, with 'scarce any [one] left to close his eyelids'. Modern medical historians suggest the cause may have been stomach cancer. He was buried beside his little son in the Beauchamp Chapel in the Church of St Mary the Virgin at Warwick, where a fine effigy by Holtemans, portraying Leicester in a coronet and full armour, was later placed on his tomb.
'He was esteemed a most accomplished courtier, a cunning timeserver, and respecter of his own advantages,' observed Camden. 'But whilst he preferred power and greatness before solid virtue, his detracting emulators found large matter to speak reproachfully of him, and even when he was in his most flourishing condition, spared not disgracefully to defame him by libels, not without some untruths. People talked openly in his commendation, but privately he was ill spoke of by the greater part.'
Even after his death the slanders continued. Although a post mortem produced no evidence of foul play the malicious Ben Jonson claimed, without any foundation, that Lettice had poisoned her husband with one of his own deadly potions in order to marry her lover, a tale that many believed, for few mourned his passing, not even the poet Spenser, his former protege, who wrote dismissively:
He now is dead, and all his glories gone. And all his greatness vapoured to nought. His name is worn already out of thought, Ne any poet seeks him to revive, Yet many poets honoured him alive.
'All men, so far as they durst, rejoiced no less outwardly at his death than for the victory lately obtained against the Spaniard,' wrote John Stow the antiquarian.
Elizabeth was griefstricken by the loss of Leicester, the man who for thirty years had been closer to her than any other, whom she called 'her brother and best friend'. In her hour of greatness, she was now plunged into personal sorrow. Walsingham wrote that she was unable to attend to state affairs 'by reason that she will not suffer anybody to have access unto her, being very much grieved with the death of the Lord Steward'. Mendoza's agent reported on 17 September, 'The Queen is sorry for his death, but no other person in the country. She was so grieved that for some days she shut herself in her chamber alone and refused to speak to anyone until the Treasurer and other councillors had the door broken open and entered to see her.' After that, according to Camden, she 'either patiently endured or politely dissembled' her grief.
When the Earl of Shrewsbury wrote congratulating her on her victory and condoling with her on her sad loss, she confided to this 'very good old man' that, 'Although we do accept and acknowledge your careful mind and good will, yet we desire rather to forbear the remembrance thereof as a thing whereof we can admit no comfort, otherwise by submitting our will to God's inevitable appointment, Who, notwithstanding His goodness by the former prosperous news, hath nevertheless been pleased to keep us in exercise by the loss of a personage so dear unto us.'
Sadly, she re-read Leicester's letter from Rycote, and then, inscribing it 'His last letter', laid it carefully in a little coffer that she kept by her bed. It was found there after her death, and now reposes in the Public Record Office at Kew.
In his will, Leicester left 'my most dear and gracious sovereign, whose creature under God I have been', a diamond and emerald pendant and a rope of six hundred beautiful pearls, but he had lived extravagantly and died virtually bankrupt, leaving his widow with debts of 50,000. Half was owed to the Queen, who now had her revenge on Lettice by exacting her dues: in October she ordered a detailed investigation of the late Earl's financial affairs, took back Kenilworth Castle and all his lands in Warwickshire, and ordered Lettice to auction the contents of his three main residences, Kenilworth, Wanstead and Leicester House. She had no sympathy for the grieving widow, and continued to behave as if Lettice did not exist. Although her marriage appears to have been happy- in his will, Leicester referred to Lettice as 'a faithful, loving, very obedient, careful wife' - the Countess, probably for financial security, remarried within a year: her third husband was Sir Christopher Blount, a friend of her son Essex.
The remaining part of Leicester's estate passed to his 'base son', Sir Robert Dudley, which many perceived as a tacit acknowledgement of the boy's legitimacy. However, Dudley was never able to prove this, and the earldom of Leicester passed to Leicester's sister's son, Robert Sidney. Leicester House on the Strand became the property of his stepson, who renamed it Essex House.
Leicester's death went virtually unnoticed, and certainly unmourned, in the national elation that followed the defeat of the Armada. Elizabeth had to put on a brave face in order to lead the people in their celebrations, but it was noticed, that autumn, that she was 'much aged and spent, and very melancholy'. When she sat for George Gower, for the famous Armada portrait, she wore Leicester's pearls, as she would in many subsequent portraits.
With Leicester gone, the task of organising the victory festivities fell to Hatton, Essex and Sir Henry Lee. A medal was struck, bearing the legend, 'God blew with His winds, and they were scattered', and proved hugely popular, while Sir Thomas Heneage commissioned Nicholas Hilliard to make the Armada Jewel, which was presented to the Queen, who later gave it back to Heneage. Freed from the fear of reprisals for Mary Stuart's death, Elizabeth released Sir William Davison from the Tower, remitting his fine the following year and, in 1594, making him a grant of land. She never employed him again, although she permitted him to draw his salary as Secretary up until her death.
On 12 November, the Queen moved her court to Somerset House. The public mood on 17 November, Accession Day, was especially jubilant, and the 19th, St Elizabeth's Day, was declared an additional public holiday to commemorate the victory, which that year was marked by services of thanksgiving, devotional processions, feasting, tilting, cock-fighting and bonfires.
Godfrey Goodman, the future Bishop of Gloucester, then a child of five living with his family in the Strand, later recalled how suddenly, that November,
there came a report to us, much about five o'clock at night, very dark, that the Queen was gone to Council, and if you will see the Queen, you must come quickly. Then we all ran. When the court gates were set open, the Queen came out in great state. Then we cried, 'God save Your Majesty!' The Queen said unto us, 'You may well have a greater prince, but you may never have a more loving prince.' And so the Queen departed. This wrought such an impression upon us, for shows and pageants are ever best seen by torchlight, that all the way we did nothing but talk of what an admirable queen she was and how we would venture all our lives to do her service.
The culmination of the celebrations came on Sunday, 26 November, when the Queen, passing through railings hung with blue cloth behind which stood cheering people, came in an elaborate canopied chariot drawn by two white horses to St Paul's Cathedral to give public thanks for the greatest English victory since Agincourt and acknowledge her debt to God and to Providence. The enormous glittering procession that attended her was such as had not been seen since her coronation, and there were pageants, songs and ballads performed in the City of London in her honour as she passed.
At the west door of the cathedral, Elizabeth alighted from her chariot and fell to her knees, making 'her hearty prayers to God' before the huge crowds. Then she passed into the church, which was hung with the captured banners. Later, after the sermon had been preached, she read out a prayer she had herself composed, and addressed the congregation 'most Christianly', enjoining them to have gratitude for their glorious deliverance. They responded with a great shout, wishing her a long and happy life, to the confusion of her enemies.
The Queen then went in procession to the nearby bishop's palace, where she dined with the Bishop of London before returning, 'by a great light of torches', to Somerset House.
Elizabeth's reputation was never greater than at this time, making her the most respected monarch in Christendom. Even her enemies acknowledged her qualities, Pope Sixtus V declaring,
She certainly is a great queen, and were she only a Catholic, she would be our dearly beloved daughter. Just look how well she governs! She is only a woman, only mistress of half an island, and yet she makes herself feared by Spain, by France, by the Empire, by all!
He jested that he wished he were free to marry her: 'What a wife she would make! What children we would have! They would have ruled the whole world.' He also praised the courage of Drake - 'What a great captain!'
It was a time for superlatives. In France and in Italy, as in Rome, Catholics honoured the Queen. Henry III lauded her valour, spirit and prudence, declaring that her victory 'would compare with the greatest feats of the most illustrious men of past times'. Even the Ottoman sultan sang her praises and made peace with Poland for her sake.
After 1588, the fame of the Virgin Queen spread far and wide, while in England, where her people basked in the reflected glow of victory, her legend grew, giving rise to a new cult figure, . She was more convinced now than ever that God had destined her to rule her people, and that the victory was a signal manifestation of the divine will, and for the rest of her reign, writers and artists would portray the elements bowing to her authority. Her Catholic subjects had proved themselves loyal, and the threat of insurrection had receded, paving the way for more tolerance towards recusants in the future. The conviction of the Protestant majority that God and Providence had intervened in England's hour of need gave a new stability to the Anglican Church. Above all, there was a surge of national confidence, which led to the flowering of literature and the decorative arts known as the English Renaissance.
A Westminster schoolboy, John Sly, admirably expressed the mood of the English people when, in his text of Julius Caesar's works (now preserved at Oxford), he repeatedly scribbled the Queen's name, along with this couplet:
The rose is red, the leaves are green, God save Elizabeth, our noble Queen!
23
'Great England's Glory'
After Leicester's death, Elizabeth turned to Essex, who rapidly assumed the role of chief favourite, moving into his stepfather's old apartments at court and being constantly in the Queen's company. Courtiers seeking patronage and favours thronged about him, for they had heard of his 'forwardness to pleasure his friends', and he was assiduous in using his influence with the Queen on their behalf. But if, as frequently happened, she turned down his requests, he would sulk, being 'a great resenter and weak dissembler of the least disgrace'. Elizabeth, whose patience he often strained, enjoined him to be content with his good fortune, but he did not cease his demands, and often threatened to retire from court and live in the country, knowing that she so needed his company that this might bring her to heel.
'She doth not contradict confidently', he would say, 'which they that know the minds of women say is a sign of yielding.' He thought to manipulate her, but constantly underestimated her formidable intellect and strength of will. However, such was her affection for him that she would invariably forgive him for minor transgressions: this, again, led him to believe that he could do as he pleased with impunity.
Unlike Leicester, he was popular with the people, whom he courted with 'affable gestures and open doors, making his table and his bed popularly places of audience to suitors'. The Queen soon grew jealous, wishing him to be dependent upon her alone for his success; she wanted no rivals for the people's affections.
Essex's old guardian Burghley tried to take the young man under his wing, but Essex was 'impatient of the slow progress he must needs have during the life and greatness of the Treasurer', and also resentful of the rising influence of Burghley's son, Robert Cecil. He desired to reach spectacular heights in the shortest time possible.
At fifty-five, Elizabeth was remarkably healthy. Her leg ulcer had healed and she was as energetic as ever, still dancing six galliards on some mornings, and walking, riding and hunting regularly. Age and victory had invested her with even greater dignity and presence, and when her people saw her pass by in her golden coach, she appeared to them 'like a goddess'. Essex was clever enough to defer to her as such, conveying to her overtly, and through the subtle symbolism beloved of the age, his love and devotion. 'I do confess that, as a man, I have been more subject to your natural beauty, than as a subject to the power of a king,' he told her. Naively, he thought that his influence would in future be unchallenged.
However, he was soon to be disabused of this notion, for in November 1588, the Queen's eye alighted again upon Sir Charles Blount, son of Lord Mou
ntjoy, a scholarly youth with 'brown hair, a sweet face, a most neat composure, and tall in his person', whose skill in the joust brought him to her attention. Impressed, she 'sent him a golden queen from her set of chessmen', which he tied to his arm with a crimson ribbon. Observing it, the jealous Essex sneered, 'Now I perceive that every fool must have a favour.' The offended Blount challenged him to a duel in Marylebone Park, in which he slashed the Earl in the thigh and disarmed him.
Officially, Elizabeth took a hard line against duelling, but already she was becoming weary of Essex's high-handedness, and when she heard what had happened, she retorted, 'By God's blood, it was fit that someone or other should take him down and treat him better manners, otherwise there will be no rule in him.' She insisted, however, that she would not allow either man back to court until they had shaken hands, which they did, later becoming devoted friends, despite the fact that Blount remained in favour with the Queen.
Blount, who had fought in the Netherlands and against the Armada, was ambitious to go abroad to seek martial adventures, but Elizabeth would not hear of it, telling him, 'You will never leave it until you are knocked on the head, as that inconsiderate fellow Sidney was. You shall go when I send you. In the meanwhile, see you lodge in the court, where you may follow your books, read and discourse of the wars.' In 1589, she appointed him one of her Gentlemen Pensioners.
In December, Essex quarrelled fiercely with Raleigh, and challenged him to a duel, but the Council, in some alarm, forbade it. Despite their efforts at concealment, Elizabeth got to hear of it, and was 'troubled very much', but Essex was unconcerned. 'She takes pleasure in beholding such quarrels among her servants,' especially when they concerned herself, he informed the French ambassador.