In High Places

by Bonny G Smith

  Elizabeth cursed the sore on her leg that prevented her from riding; she tried and failed to feel the sun on her face from inside the contraption in which she rode, and in which she felt all but a prisoner.

  This was the first Progress that she had not made from horseback. The ulcer on her leg was now as large as a sovereign and continued to worsen despite the efforts of her physicians and apothecaries. She had thought at the time that the new conveyance that had been introduced recently from Holland, and which she had had especially built for this year’s Summer Progress, was an answer to prayer; but now she was sure that it was not. The new-fangled device was called a coach; hers had twelve wheels, and was made of scarlet leather, studded with gilt nails. But it had turned out to be damnably uncomfortable; despite the cushions on which she sat, the ride of this new contraption was hard on a part of her anatomy that, as a queen, she must refrain from mentioning. One could at least post when riding a horse! Thank heaven Robert had had the foresight to insist that an empty litter be taken along…just in case. When she departed Penshurst Place a week hence, it would not be in the coach!

  All the way from Igtham Mote the people, hearing of her coming, had lined the roads, cheering themselves hoarse. Children shyly offered her their wilted little posies of wildflowers, and young girls danced before her, strewing her path with flower petals. Every so often musical instruments of all sorts seemed to appear out of nowhere, and impromptu singing would break out amongst the throng. Everyone wanted to offer something to their beloved queen.

  Often she would hear a voice cry out from the crowd for her attention to listen to an appeal, and she would be asked for justice, and the arbitration of some local dispute. She never refused to hear a request, and often she was able to settle some long-standing grievance to the satisfaction of all, right on the spot. When that was not possible, she would make arrangements to hear the arguments of all involved during her stay, then render a judgment.

  Just as the procession rounded the last bend that would take them into the village of Penshurst, Elizabeth heard the unmistakable sound of pounding hooves. She looked out just as a blur on horseback went past the coach. A royal courier! All knew and understood that her Summer Progress was a time of respite for her; no work was allowed to follow her at these times. Therefore, the news the courier brought must be of vital importance. Perhaps a war had broken out, or it was the death of a fellow sovereign. She had left capable men in charge in London, so whatever it was, it had better be dire or she would know why. Robert and Cecil had gone ahead to Penshurst Place to ensure that all was in readiness; Penshurst was the home of one of her favorite ladies and Robert’s sister, the Lady Mary Sidney. The courier would find Cecil and she would find out what was afoot after the ceremonies in celebration of her arrival were over.

  She passed through many towns and villages on her Summer Progress, all of which welcomed her heartily. But her welcome in Penshurst seemed likely to outshine them all. The aldermen, dressed in their ceremonial robes, stood beaming at the entrance to the village green, where the long cavalcade finally came to a halt. It took some time to bring the entire column to a halt; her retinue consisted of over five hundred people, hundreds of carts laden with everything a queen needed to make herself and her ladies comfortable on her journey, and no less than two thousand horses. But finally all were assembled and her gentleman usher handed her down from the coach.

  The cheers of the people were deafening, but finally they died down and the aldermen knelt before her, the chief of them handing her a golden cup filled with coins. This was the usual gift from the cities, towns and villages for the privilege of a visit from their sovereign. In tiny Penshurst, she did not expect the gift to be plenteous, and peering into the cup, she saw that this was so; such a small village likely had little in the way of coined money.

  The chief alderman saw the look of what he thought was disappointment on her face and said, “If it pleases Your Grace, there is a great deal more in the cup than can be seen with the eye.”

  Elizabeth smiled and asked, “Why, what mean you?”

  “The cup is also filled,” he said, “with the hearts of your loving subjects.”

  She was moved to tears, and when she found her voice, she said, “We thank you most heartily; that is a great deal more indeed!” She resolved that when Parliament next met to levy her a tax, that Penshurst was to be relieved of the obligation.

  ###

  The journey from Igtham to Penshurst was only twelve miles, but it had taken all day; Elizabeth was weary not from the outing itself, which she had enjoyed, but from the jolting of the coach. Lady Mary Sidney, Robert and Cecil met her at the door to the manor house; she insisted on as little ceremony as possible when she was visiting family or friends. Because of her great love for Robert, she considered his family her own. But something in their expressions struck a warning note. The courier!

  “What is it?” she asked. “What is amiss?”

  Wordlessly, Cecil handed her a scroll. She unfurled it and her eyes raced over the document. “God’s death!” she cried. “Where did this come from?”

  “It was found nailed to the Bishop of London’s garden gate,” replied Cecil.

  Elizabeth reread the document; it was a copy of a papal bull depriving “Elizabeth, the pretended Queen of England, the servant of wickedness”, of her throne, and declaring that henceforth, her subjects were absolved of their allegiance to her.

  “Well,” she said with a hearty laugh. “I must say that the Bishop of Rome has the most deplorable timing! Had this bull been promulgated during the Northern Rebellion, it might very well have swayed any Catholic waverers. As it is…” She handed the parchment back to Cecil with a shrug, and as she let go of it, it rescrolled itself, as if it had a life of its own. “So Pius declares that I am a heretic and has excommunicated me. I assure you that as a heretic, excommunication shall work no hardship on me!”

  “Your Grace,” said Cecil, “the true danger of this,” he tapped the scroll, “is not to Your Grace’s immortal soul. Its intent is to visit excommunication upon anyone who does not deny their allegiance to you. I agree that such will work no hardship on your Protestant subjects. But it places England’s loyal Catholics…and there are many…in a difficult position. If they do not deny their allegiance to Your Grace, then they stand to suffer the same anathema that has been visited upon you. For those who believe in the power of the pope to bar their entry into Heaven, it will present an intolerable situation.”

  Elizabeth began pacing the length of the entrance hall of Penshurst Place. Robert wordlessly cupped her elbow and steered her to the solar, where refreshments had been laid out for her after her journey. The afternoon light was waning, but the solar was a corner room with windows facing both south and west; the golden light streamed in. Penshurst was newly built, and had been designed in the shape of an “E” to compliment the queen, in the fashion of the day. The windows were open wide; the sweet scent of stocks and gillyflowers wafted in and filled the room.

  “I fear me that this is true,” said Robert. “With the promulgation of this bull, we must henceforth regard all English Catholics as potential traitors…and some as possible assassins. Cecil,” he said, turning to face Sir William, “we must notify Walsingham at once. Where is that courier?”

  “It was Walsingham who sent it on,” replied Cecil. “A letter accompanied this,” he tapped the scroll, “with plans for the better safety of Her Grace. Your Grace,” he said, turning to Elizabeth, “perhaps it would be best…”

  “Do not dare to say it!” shouted Elizabeth, who had resumed her pacing in the solar, doing her utmost to ignore the pain from the sore on her leg and the limp it necessitated. “I refuse to cut short my holiday because of Sir Pope! The stupid old man! For almost twelve years I have managed to strike a balance between my Catholic subjects and a Protestant Church of England! And with one irresponsible stroke of the quill, Pius has struck it all down like a house of cards! He has turned a religious
issue into a political one, and to what purpose? To instigate France or Spain to invade? I trow that Charles and Philip will be as incensed as I am at this senseless bit of interference and warmongering by the Bishop of Rome!”

  Cecil and Robert exchanged worried glances. The queen’s Summer Progress had only just begun. How were they to protect her once the sentence of excommunication became public knowledge?

  Had Elizabeth been in one of her own castles or palaces, the crockery would have suffered for it; but she was in Lady Mary’s home, and must curb her temper. But, oh, the urge to smash something, anything, was almost unbearable. She took refuge in pacing and limping the length of the room to expend her anger.

  “I have never visited punishment upon any of my subjects for the beliefs of their conscience, have I? Have I not always said that I wish to make no windows into men’s souls? When a man meets his maker, he must do it alone! What has that to do with me? We have our Book of Common Prayer and our English Bible; we have our Sunday services. Beyond that, what a man does is his own affair! God’s teeth, there has been no fearful stake in England these past twelve years! Am I my sister, who persecuted and burnt hundreds because they believed one thing and she another? I say, I am not! Stupid, stupid man, to upset apple carts here in England, all the way from Rome!” She had always cherished the notion that with time and gentle handling, the Catholic faith in England would wither and die of its own accord. Now that dream was dead.

  The pain in her leg would not be ignored, and she threw herself into a chair. Lady Mary unobtrusively placed a mug of ale on the table within reach of Elizabeth’s hand. She insisted upon drinking local brews as she travelled; and the ales around Kent, where the best hops were grown, were always superior. She picked up the mug, drained it, and set it down with a bang on the table. She would like to have thrown it across the room.

  “My poor Lady Mary!” she said, extending a hand to Robert’s sister. “I am sorry to have spolit your welcome, my dear!”

  “You have not done so, Your Grace,” said Lady Mary graciously. “The problem is grave. What shall be done?”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “We shall do nothing,” she said. “We shall make no reply. We shall simply ignore it. Least said is soonest mended.”

  Cecil rubbed his chin. “An excellent notion,” he said. “Yes, that might be best after all.”

  “My subjects love their queen,” said Elizabeth. “Have I not just had ample proof of that on the village green? I will not go about like a thief in the night. I will trust to the love of my people and Walsingham’s spies. And Cecil’s!” She smiled at Cecil and reached out a hand to Robert. “Come,” she said. “Do not let us spoil our holiday. Look at this,” she said, reaching out her other hand to Cecil for the scroll. “See here? This is dated February. And we are just finding out about it now. Hardly news that has spread like wildfire! This edict has come too late to be of any assistance to the northern Catholics, and my faithful Catholics, and as you say, there are many, will find a way to be good Englishmen whilst still satisfying their consciences. If they do not, it will not be my fault. But I tell you this.” She eyed Cecil and Robert levelly. “I am now disposed to end this charade with the Protestant Lords of the Congregation in Scotland. For months we have dragged out the talks pursuant to restoring my cousin of Scotland to her throne. France and Spain have been placated; enough so that this,” she tapped the scroll, “has not caused any concern that we know about. Cecil, you will go personally to the Queen of Scots and tell her that because of the Bishop of Rome’s rash action in issuing this excommunication, we can no longer countenance a Catholic queen in a neighboring country. Scotland has been without a regent all this while; I have suggested the Earl of Lennox to the Lords of the Congregation. He is Catholic, so that will continue to appease the Continental powers, and even Pius, if he not a complete fool. Lennox is no politician; the Lords should be able to control him. Tell Her Grace that she will not be restored to her throne; tell her that the Scots refuse to have her. You will inform her that she is to ratify her abdication and endorse Lennox’s regency. He is Prince James’s grandfather; she can hardly object to that. And tell Shrewsbury that Her Grace is to be removed to Sheffield Castle and her guard doubled.”

  Cecil bowed. “With the utmost pleasure, Your Grace.” He, Walsingham and Robert had formed a secret cabal aimed at bringing down the Queen of Scots. All three were convinced that Elizabeth was in danger as long as Mary Stuart had her head on her shoulders. The dilemma was twofold; they did not want the Queen of Scots on English soil, and yet they could not trust anyone else to keep her in check. There was danger no matter what they did…as long as she was alive. They must find a way to rid the world of this Pandora with her seductive charm. Just as Pandora had done, Mary Stuart had released a spate of evils that, once loose, could not be contained. How many men had died because of her? How many more would meet such a fate? Just as Pandora had left only one item in the box…hope…Cecil, Robert and Walsingham hoped that they could somehow find a way to effect the demise of Mary Stuart.

  Sheffield Manor, South Yorkshire, August 1570

  Mary was uncertain about where best to hold her first interview with Sir William Cecil. The meeting, to her, was extremely important. She was to be restored to her throne, and this, finally, must be the first step; Cecil was Elizabeth’s closest advisor, and was her envoy. But it was more than that; she felt certain that a great many of the woes she had suffered since she came to England were due to him. If he could be charmed as she had charmed so many others, she would at last have at least one very personal triumph over her haughty cousin.

  Had they still been at beautiful Chatsworth, she would have chosen the arbor of roses in the garden there. But they were at Sheffield Manor, whose gardens were not quite as magnificent. Perhaps she should hold the audience in the Great Hall, under her canopy of state? No, that was too formal; she wanted a more intimate setting. In her apartments, then? No, that was too intimate for a first meeting.

  At least they were at the manor house instead of the castle; Sheffield Castle was gloomy and uninviting. The timing was unfortunate, but dwellings must be sweetened, and so they had decamped to Sheffield Manor from Chatsworth. Thank heaven Bess had chosen the Manor House instead of the castle! The manor house was newly built, and was in the deer park. The sun was high in the sky; she must decide soon what to do. Cecil’s outrider had arrived not an hour since, and the man himself would likely arrive at any moment. He would wish to refresh himself after his journey, and then he would seek her out. She must be ready.

  She turned to Seton, who had been following her as she walked through the house and grounds. “The garden, I think,” she said. “I shall stay here. Bring him when he is ready.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Seton with a curtsey. The garden would have been her own choice; the afternoon was warm but not overly so, and the light breeze was delightful. She found the garden at Sheffield Manor much more inviting than the grand parterres and fountains of Chatsworth. This garden was smaller, less meticulously kept, and somehow friendlier.

  Seton departed in a rustle of skirts and Mary sat on the stone bench at the end of the garden walk. Sheffield Manor was set high on a hill, overlooking a valley. The view from the bench resembled a tapestry in the variety and richness of the colors of the valley floor; the patterns formed by the confluence of the two shining blue ribbons that were the rivers between which the castle lay, and all the farms and sheep runs with their hedgerows, delighted the eye.

  After what seemed like a very long time, she heard a step behind her; she arose and turned to face her destiny.

  ###

  Cecil often wondered why Elizabeth had chosen him to be the bearer of news that the Queen of Scots was bound to view as injurious to herself. But now he knew why, and every time he thought about it, his confidence soared. He had at first believed this to be a test of some sort, and in that he was not far wrong. But he had given the matter only passing thought until the very d
ay of his departure.

  On the morning he was to depart for the north and to Sheffield, he had paid the expected visit to the queen of a diplomat departing the court to fulfill a commission for the crown. At first the interview proceeded normally; all was routine. There was the review of the points to be covered with Her Grace of Scotland; various arguments and justifications to be presented; instructions for Shrewsbury, as Her Grace of Scotland’s gaoler.

  But just as he was about to take his leave, Elizabeth’s face crumpled and suddenly she burst into tears. Taken aback by the violence of her emotion, but accustomed to the queen’s tantrums and tirades, he said nothing and waited for the storm to pass. But he soon realized that this was no ordinary burst of temper.

  “You will fall in love with her, as they have all done!” sobbed Elizabeth. “I shall lose you to the evil spell she casts upon all who come into contact with her! Why, think you, that I have never surrendered to my own curiosity about my cousin? Why think you that I have avoided meeting her, and refused all of her requests to do so? There are men who have lost everything in her wake, Cecil! Men have died for her! I am afraid, Cecil, truly afraid! I am the only safeguard, the only bulwark, that stands between England and disaster! If I were to succumb to my cousin’s siren song, what would become of England? And now you will go, you will see her, speak with her, and you shall be lost to me! I cannot bear it, Cecil, I cannot bear it!” The tears flowed from her eyes, her nose ran, and she gulped for air after her outburst. She pulled a linen square from her sleeve, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes, her chest heaving.

  Shocked, but realizing some response was required, Cecil said quietly, “Your Grace, I realize that it is not at all fashionable, but I love my wife. She is all to me, and irreplaceable. No other woman can possibly replace her in my esteem, or in my heart. Only the love I bear Your Grace as my sovereign lady equals my great affection for Lady Mildred. I am safe with my wife and my queen in my heart from the malignant influence of evil, in any form. And God will protect me.” This calm speech soothed her, and Elizabeth had rewarded him with a grateful smile through her tears; she even made shift to bid him a cheerful goodbye.