by Alison Weir
Essex never received her letter. On 24 September, he suddenly announced he was leaving for England, and, taking a substantial number of followers, took ship half an hour later, in defiance of the Queen's orders and having, technically, abandoned his army. Elizabeth, and many other people, would interpret this as desertion. In six months, he had wasted 300,000 of public funds, and his campaign had been an unmitigated disaster.
At dawn on 28 September, having ridden hard for three days, he reached Westminster, where he discovered that the Queen was at Nonsuch. Leaving his escort in the capital, he crossed the Thames by the Lambeth ferry and galloped south at great speed in driving rain, arriving there at ten o'clock the next morning. Then he strode into the palace, caked with mud, marched through the Presence and Privy Chambers, and burst unannounced into the Queen's bedchamber.
Chapter 25
'The Minion of Fortune'
Elizabeth had just left her bed, and her maids were about their work. It now took her a long time to put on her mask of youth, her wig, her fine clothes and her jewels, so that she could face the world looking her best. When Essex flung open her door and fell to his knees she was, according to Rowland Whyte, a courtier, 'newly up, her hair about her face' and her wrinkled face unpainted. Despite her shock and embarrassment, she did not lose her composure, but offered Essex her hand to kiss and 'had some private speech' with him, 'which seemed to give him great contentment'.
Elizabeth, having no idea of what was going on outside the palace, may well have concluded that her fears had become reality, and that Essex had come at the head of an army to depose or restrain her. Yet he seemed well-disposed, and with great presence of mind she dismissed him, promising they would talk further when they were both more presentable. He had no idea of her inner turmoil, nor of how grossly he had offended her: 'coming from Her Majesty to go shift himself in his chamber, he was very pleasant and thanked God that, though he had suffered much troubles and storms abroad, he found a sweet calm at home'.
The court was agog with speculation. ' 'Tis much wondered at here that he went so boldly to Her Majesty's presence, she not being ready and he so full of dirt and mire that his very face was full of it,' observed Whyte.
After Essex had gone, Elizabeth quickly completed her toilette, then summoned the four members of the Council who were at Nonsuch that day: Cecil, Hunsdon, Thomas, Lord North, and Sir William Knollys. At half past twelve, she saw Essex again, and for an hour and a half, 'all was well, and her usage very gracious towards him'. Later, at dinner, he was in high spirits, and entertained his friends and the ladies with tales of Ireland. But Whyte sensed an underlying tension: 'As God help me, it is a very dangerous time here.'
In the afternoon, having ascertained from Cecil that there was no immediate danger of insurrection, Elizabeth summoned Essex once more, but this time 'he found her much changed in that small time, for she began to call him to question for his return, and was not satisfied in the manner of his coming away and leaving all things at so great hazard'. He responded by losing his temper and demanding to explain himself to the Council. The Queen 'appointed the lords to hear him, and so they went to Council in the afternoon', Elizabeth having retreated, in no very encouraging mood, to her apartments.
Essex was made to stand bare-headed before the Council table whilst Cecil accused him of disobeying Her Majesty's will, deserting his command, acting contrary to orders, making too many 'idle' knights, and intruding overboldly into the Queen's bedchamber. For five hours he sought to justify his actions before being informed that he was being dismissed so that the Council could adjourn to discuss the matter. After a debate lasting only fifteen minutes, the councillors recommended to the Queen that he be arrested.
That evening, at eleven o'clock, 'a commandment came from the Queen to my Lord of Essex, that he should keep [to] his chamber': he was to remain under house arrest until his conduct had been fully investigated. His enemies now closed in for the kill. Next morning, when the full Council, hastily summoned, was assembled, he was brought before it again, the clerks were sent out, and the doors were closed. He then underwent a further three hours of questioning, during which he conducted himself, for once, with 'gravity and discretion'. Informed of his answers, the Queen made no comment, merely saying she would think on the matter. But she was in an angry and vengeful mood. By now, the court was a-buzz with rumours, whilst the Queen and her councillors were still half-expecting the remnants of Essex's army to arrive and attempt a coup. When, by the morning of October, it became clear that their fears were groundless, Elizabeth gave orders for Essex to be committed to the custody of his friend, Lord Keeper Egerton, to remain under house arrest during Her Majesty's pleasure at the latter's official residence, York House in the Strand. He was permitted only two servants and no visitors, not even his wife. No sooner had Essex been brought there than he fell sick - genuinely, this time.
Nobody, not even Cecil, believed that Elizabeth would keep him under lock and key for long.
Shortly afterwards, Harington received a message from Essex begging him to go to the Queen and show her his diary of the campaign, hoping that it would prove to her that Essex had done his best. Harington was reluctant to face her, for he feared she might have found out that he himself had visited Tyrone after the truce and been entertained to a 'merry dinner' with the rebels. It was as he had feared, for when he knelt before her, quaking, she bore down on him and, grabbing him by the girdle, shook him violently.
'By God's Son, I am no queen!' she thundered. 'That man is above me.' And 'she walked fastly to and fro', frowning at Harington. Tremulously, he handed her his journal, but, reading it impatiently, she was not impressed.
'By God's Son, you are all idle knaves, and the Lord Deputy worse, for wasting your time and our commands in such wise!' she swore. Terrified, he did his best to placate her, but 'her choler did outrun all reason', leaving all present in no doubt 'whose daughter she was'.
'Go home!' she bawled. Harington 'did not stay to be bidden twice', but rode off to Kelston as 'if all the Irish rebels had been at my heels'.
After a short interval, Harington sent his wife to plead his case with the Queen, instructing her to say, pointedly, that she kept her husband's love by showing her love for him. The analogy was not lost on Elizabeth, who replied, 'Go to, go to, mistress, you are wisely bent, I find; after such sort do I keep the goodwill of all my husbands, my good people; for if they did not rest assured of some special love towards them, they would not readily yield me such good obedience.' So saying, she agreed that Harington might return to court, but when he ventured to do so, she could not resist taking a dig at him.
'I came to court in the very heat and height of all displeasures,' he told Sir Anthony Standen, a friend.
After I had been there but an hour, I was threatened with the Fleet [prison]. I answered poetically that, coming so late into the land service, I hoped that I should not be pressed to serve in Her Majesty's fleet in Fleet Street. After three days, every man wondered to see me at liberty, but I had this good fortune, that after four or five days, the Queen had talked of me, and twice talked to me, though very briefly. At last she gave me a full-gracious audience in the Withdrawing Chamber at Whitehall, where, herself being accuser, judge and witness, I was cleared and graciously dismissed. What should I say? I seemed to myself, like St Paul, rapt into the third heaven, where he heard words not to be uttered by men; for neither must I utter what I then heard. Until I come to Heaven I shall never come before a statelier judge again, nor one that can temper majesty, wisdom, learning, choler and favour better than Her Highness did at that time.
In October, the truce expired and Tyrone re-armed. The Queen, whose wrath had increased rather than abated, blamed Essex and resolved to teach him a lesson. 'Such contempt ought to be publicly punished,' she told her Council. To the French ambassador, she declared her intention of showing Essex who held power in England. Had her own son committed a like fault, she asserted with passion, she would have
him put in the highest tower in England. The world, however, did not realise the quality of her indignation, and looked daily for his release. Even the Council had recommended it several times, on the grounds that Essex had been incompetent rather than malicious, and that his offences did not merit such severity.
But 'Her Majesty's anger seems to be appeased in nothing'; months later, she confided to the French ambassador that she had not revealed to her councillors the full extent of Essex's disobedience, and although she did not elaborate further, such fragments of evidence as exist indicate she may have suspected the Earl of having been in league with Tyrone before he set out for Ireland, in which case, his offences were very serious indeed. It seems, however, that what she had learned was not sufficient to secure a conviction, for she remained unsure as to what she should do with him, and asked Francis Bacon, who wrote an account of their interview many years later, for his advice. Bacon, perceiving that Essex was ruined, had decided to abandon him in the interests of furthering his own career, and now pounced on this chance of ingratiating himself with the Queen. He told her that he thought Essex's offences serious. He would never, he advised, send him back to Ireland.
'Whensoever I send Essex back to Ireland, I will marry you! Claim it of me!' Elizabeth cried. She said she meant to bring Essex to justice, but how? Had he committed treason? Was it a cause for the Star Chamber? Bacon advised her that to proceed thus would be unsafe, since, although Essex had been incompetent, there was little evidence of deliberate misconduct or treason. Were he to be convicted on such flimsy proofs, his popularity was such that there would almost certainly be a massive public backlash; already, the people were criticising her for keeping him under arrest without charge. This was not what Elizabeth wanted to hear, and, with a venomous look, she indicated that the interview was over. However, when she had thought on what Bacon had said, a public trial did seem inappropriate and provocative.
At the Accession Day tilts on 17 November, Elizabeth appeared relaxed and unconcerned, presiding over the jousts for several hours. A week later, having announced that Mountjoy was to replace Essex as Lord Deputy of Ireland, she suddenly decided that she would make public account to her subjects for her treatment of Essex. It was then the custom, at the end of the legal term, for the Lord Keeper to deliver a speech to the people in the Court of Star Chamber, and the Queen resolved to make this the occasion for the sorry catalogue of Essex's offences to be read out, 'for the satisfaction of the world' and to suppress the 'dangerous libels cast abroad in court, city and country, to the great scandal of Her Majesty and her Council'.
When he received a summons to appear, Essex pleaded that he was too sick to attend, having 'the Irish flux', but Elizabeth did not believe him, so, on the afternoon of 28 November, accompanied by Lord Worcester and Lady Warwick, she had her bargemen row her to York House. What transpired there is unrecorded, and there is no evidence that she even saw Essex, who was said to be at death's door.
Nevertheless, on 29 November, before a solemn gathering of Privy Councillors, judges and laymen in the Star Chamber, Essex was accused of mismanaging the Irish campaign, squandering public funds to the tune of - 300,000, making a dishonourable treaty with Tyrone and abandoning his command against the express orders of the Queen.
Bacon was not present, and when the Queen asked him why, he claimed he had been deterred by threats of violence and worse from the people, who were calling him a traitor for betraying his friend. She did not believe him, and refused to speak to him for weeks afterwards.
After Essex's offences had been published, the Star Chamber proceedings came to an end, and he remained in confinement, though many people thought it unfair 'to condemn a man unheard' without trial.
Throughout the weeks of his confinement, Essex had suffered greatly. He was in pain due to a stone in the kidney and recurring bouts of dysentery, he was allowed to see no one but his servants, he could not go out of doors, and his submissive letters to the Queen provoked no response, driving him to desperation. Even Harington, who bravely came to see him, dared not carry a letter to Elizabeth, for he had barely recovered her favour and had no wish to be 'wrecked on the Essex coast'. The people, however, had not lost faith in Essex, and their sympathy grew when it became known how critically ill he had become: laudatory pamphlets asserting his innocence were distributed in the streets; graffiti insulting the Queen and Cecil (who was blamed for poisoning her mind against Essex and had taken to going about with a bodyguard) appeared on the palace walls; and in pulpits throughout the land, preachers offered up prayers for this champion of the Protestant faith, urging Elizabeth to show clemency. Worst of all, 'traitorous monsters' (the Queen's words) had the temerity to make 'railing speeches and slanderous libels' against her. All this disturbed her greatly, for, having devoted her whole life to courting the love of her subjects, she could not bear to see evidence of their disaffection.
In early December, therefore, Elizabeth graciously allowed Lady Essex, who had stayed at court, conspicuously dressed in mourning, to visit her husband during the daytime, but he was so ill, both in body and spirit, that Frances concluded there was 'little hope of his recovery'. Whyte wrote, 'He is grown very ill and weak by grief, and craves nothing more than that he may quickly know what Her Majesty will do with him. He eats little, sleeps less, and only sustains life by continual drinking, which increases the rheum.'
Distressed to hear this, the Queen sent eight of her physicians to attend him, but their report was not encouraging: his liver was 'stopped and perished', and his intestines ulcerated. He could not walk, and had to be lifted so that his linen, soiled with black matter from his bowels, could be changed. All the doctors could prescribe were glisters (enemas) to cleanse his system. Elizabeth ordered that he be moved to Egerton's great bedchamber, and with tears in her eyes dispatched a messenger with some broth and a message bidding Essex comfort himself with it, and promising that, if she might with honour visit him, she would. She also conceded that, when he was better, he might take the air in the garden of York House.
Nevertheless, she had now seen enough evidence to suggest to her that his dealings with Tyrone had verged on the treasonable, and was still insisting that he be punished for his offences. Yet her anger was underlaid with sadness, and, as she told the French ambassador later, she was still hoping Essex might yet 'reform', for the sake of 'those good things' that were in him.
On 19 December, it was rumoured that Essex had died, and several church bells began tolling. On the door of Cecil's house, someone scrawled, 'Here lieth the Toad'. But when the Queen heard her chaplains praying for Essex, she bade them desist, for she had heard he was not dead, but had in fact recovered somewhat. A week later, he was sitting up in bed, and soon afterwards was taking his meals at table.
Elizabeth kept Christmas that year at Richmond; the court was crowded and merry, and the Queen appeared in good spirits, playing cards with Sackville and Cecil, and watching her ladies performing country dances in the Presence Chamber. There were also 'plays and Christmas pies' for her delectation. There was talk of Pembroke's heir, young William Herbert, becoming the new royal favourite, since 'he very discreetly follows the course of making love to the Queen', but he proved to be a dull, unambitious youth who preferred reading to jousting and was soon 'blamed for his weak pursuance of Her Majesty's favour. Want of spirit is laid to his charge, and that he is a melancholy companion.'
On Twelfth Night 1600, reported a Spanish agent, 'The Queen held a great feast,' in which the Head of the Church of England and Ireland was to be seen in her old age dancing three or four galliards.'
Essex's sister, Lady Rich, had already incurred the Queen's displeasure with her incessant pleas on her brother's behalf. Before her lover Mountjoy left for Ireland on 7 February, he conferred with Southampton and Essex's friend Sir Charles Danvers as to how they might best help Essex. It was agreed that they would enlist the support of James VI by informing him that the Cecil faction was working to prevent his succession,
and that his only hope of wearing the crown of England lay in the return to favour of Essex. If James would consider a show of armed strength to bring that about, Mountjoy would back him by bringing an army of 4-5000 men over from Ireland to force Elizabeth to agree to their demands. Since all three men were in secret contact with Essex, it is almost certain that he knew of, and had approved, this treasonable plan. But James diplomatically showed little interest in the proposal, and it was shelved.
By the end of January, Essex was well again, and, Elizabeth, stiffening in her resolve, announced to her councillors that she meant to have him publicly tried for treason on 8 February in the Star Chamber. Cecil and Bacon, fearful of public opinion, dissuaded her, suggesting instead that she secure his submission privately. At Cecil's suggestion, Essex wrote her a humble letter craving her forgiveness, beseeching her to let this cup pass from him. 'The tears in my heart hath quenched all the sparkles of pride that were in me,' he declared. Unwillingly, she cancelled the trial at the last minute.
On 3 March, Whyte noted that 'Her Majesty's displeasure is nothing lessened towards the Earl of Essex.' After representations by Egerton, who was finding his position intolerable, Elizabeth gave permission on 20 March for Essex to return under the supervision of a keeper, Sir Richard Berkeley, to live in Essex House, which had been stripped of its rich furnishings, but he was not allowed to leave it and was only permitted a few servants. Nor were his family allowed to live with him. He was still writing plaintive letters to the Queen, pleading to be restored to favour. 'God is witness how faithfully I vow to dedicate the rest of my life to Your Majesty,' he assured her.