Widdrington was a rambling edifice with an ancient gothic tower finished with four round turrets, standing on land overlooking Coquet Island. A brook ran to the north and there was a village of the same name nearby. The castle had stood against raiding parties of Scots since the reign of Edward I, and as such it was an appropriate base for the Warden of the Middle Marches. The north of England was divided into three Marches, East, Middle and West, each ruled by a Warden whose job it was to contain the chronic lawlessness of the region. The Scots had proved particularly troublesome during the 1590s, when the cash-strapped James had used violence as a form of blackmail to extract his pension from Elizabeth when she proved slow to give it. Many of the raids were led by Carey’s opposite number, the Warden of the Scottish Middle March, Robert Kerr of Cessford.11 This had stopped, however, in 1600, after Essex’s friends warned James that he might need to bring an army south to take his crown. James had since worked hard to ingratiate himself with border magnates such as the Earls of Northumberland and Cumberland, the northern gentry and Wardens, and Cessford had punished Scottish thieves rather than leading them.
If there was to be trouble now, Carey feared, it would come from English criminal families taking advantage of the interregnum. As Carey dismounted he called his deputies, and gave them the news of Elizabeth’s death and orders for keeping the peace. On Saturday morning he drew up instructions for James to be proclaimed King of England at Morpeth, Alnwick and Berwick. His brother, Sir John Carey, read the proclamation in Berwick that afternoon, one of only three men bold enough to take the risk of proclaiming James without a warrant.12 The second was Henry Hastings, the Mayor of Leicester, the city where the Queen had been pronounced dead two days prematurely. Hastings was of royal Plantagenet descent and had good reason to prove his loyalty, as did the third man, Sir Benjamin Tichborne, the Sheriff of Hampshire and a Catholic.
By about noon Carey had reached the pink sandstone of Norham Castle, a border outpost he held in his right as Warden. He calculated that if he maintained his pace he would be with the King by supper-time, but as he raced on toward Edinburgh he had a fall from his horse, who kicked him in the head. The injury left him bleeding heavily and he had to slow his pace. The country Carey rode through had been notorious for its feuds, but it was now only in the Gaelic-speaking areas of the west that such cycles of revenge posed problems. The linguistic divisions in Scotland reflected a deepening national divide. In the south and northeast, where Middle Scots was spoken, people considered themselves to be Anglo-Saxon and regarded the Gaelic-speakers of the west as lawless savages. James divided them into two sorts: “the one, that dwells in our main land, that are barbarous for the most part, and yet mixed with some show of civility: the other, that dwells in the Isles, that are utterly barbarous, without any sort or show of civility.”13
James intended to see the Highland clans of the mainland assimilated and those in the Isles colonized, a policy he would eventually extend to his new kingdom of Ireland. In the meantime they had recently boasted two bloody massacres: the Glengarry Macdonalds had burned to death a congregation of Mackenzies in a church at Kilchrist on 7 February. Their piper reportedly walked around the building taunting those inside by playing a clan pibroch as they screamed and died. More significantly—since it involved the deaths of a small number of Lowlanders close to the court—a band of up to 200 Colquhouns of Luss was killed in the same month by the Macgregors at Glenfruin, the so-called Glen of Sorrow. The punishment of the Macgregors was decided at a secret meeting at Holyrood eight days later, when the Scots Privy Council proscribed the entire clan, “that the whole persons of that clan should renounce their name and take them some other name, and that they nor none of their posterity should call themselves Gregor or Macgregor thereafter, under pain of death.”1422
It was nearly midnight when Carey reached the city walls of Edinburgh. They were described as built of “little and unpolished stones [that] seem ancient, but are very narrow, and in some places exceeding low, in others, ruined.” The hovels in the south of the city were crowded with the poor but as Carey rode toward the Royal Mile he passed the homes of the gentry, which the “Water Poet,” John Taylor, claimed had stone walls eight or ten feet thick—“exceeding strong, not built for a day, a week, or a month or a year; but from antiquity to posterity, for many ages.” On the Royal Mile were other large houses “of squared stone, five six and seven storeys high,” with wooden galleries offering fine views of the city’s main thoroughfare.15 James had already retired to bed when Carey reached the gates of Holyrood, but he had been expecting him since that morning, when he received the letter sent from Richmond.16 Carey was immediately escorted to James’s chambers. There he fell to his knees before his new king “and saluted him by his title of ‘England, Scotland, France and Ireland.’ ” It was the moment James had waited for all his life, and Carey recalled he gave him his hand to kiss and “bade me welcome.”
After Carey had relayed the details of Elizabeth’s illness and death James asked whether he had letters from the Privy Council. He confessed he did not and described his escape from London with “a blue ring from a fair lady, that I hoped would give him assurance of the truth that I had reported.” James took the ring and, having examined it, said: “It is enough: I know by this you are a true messenger.” He then committed Carey to the care of Lord Home and sent for surgeons to dress his injuries. Carey kissed his hand and James assured him, “I know you have lost a near kinswoman and a mistress; but . . . I will be as good a master to you, and will requite this service with honour and reward.”17 Thanks to Carey, James was now certain Elizabeth was dead, but without papers from the Council he did not yet know whether he had been proclaimed king, if they were demanding conditions, what the public reaction had been, or whether there was any threat of invasion.
After years of fearing the Infanta Isabella, James was confident that there were not going to be any problems with the Netherlands. A week earlier the Archduke Albert’s emissary, Nicholas Scorza, had promised to back James’s efforts to claim the English throne with men and money, should it prove necessary.18 It was possible, however, that his opponents would unite behind some other candidate—one that would be backed by France if not Spain. James spent an anxious night and on Sunday morning, desperate for information, he sent the Abbot of Holyrood to Berwick to find out what was happening there. He had not, however, forgotten Carey. At 10 a.m. he sent Lord Home to tell him that he could name his reward for his endeavors. Carey asked to be admitted as a Gentleman of the Bedchamber. Carey’s sisters had done well from equivalent posts under Elizabeth and he knew that it would guarantee him the most immediate possible access to the King. To his delight James immediately sent word back that “with all his heart” he could have his request.
The Council’s messengers, Percy and Somerset, arrived at Holyrood later that day, carrying furious complaints that Carey had left London “contrary to such commandment as we had power to lay upon him, and to all decency, good manners and respect which he owed to so many persons of our degree.” 19 James, however, was more interested to read that he had been proclaimed King of England at Whitehall and Cheapside without any problems. Overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, he immediately composed a note to Cecil thanking God and his friends for what had passed, adding in his own hand: “How happy I think myself by the conquest of so faithful and so wise a counsellor I reserve to be expressed out of my own mouth to you.”20 The Council had requested settlement of government and James prepared instructions for all Councilors and senior officers to remain in their posts “during the royal pleasure.”21 One immediate break with the past was made, however. A note was sent to Sir John Peyton, the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, instructing him to release the Earl of Southampton. The Earl of Essex was now being openly referred to as James’s “martyr,” a phrase that sat strangely with James’s evident goodwill toward Cecil. Some hoped it meant that Cecil would find himself out of the Council when the King reached London. Other
s, however, had concluded that Cecil had, in fact, convinced James that Essex had really wanted the crown for himself.
The Council’s other messengers were arriving at destinations across the kingdoms of England, Wales and Ireland, carrying copies of the proclamation of James’s accession. In Dublin, the Lord Deputy of Ireland, Lord Mountjoy, decided to keep the news quiet for a while. He had offered the Earl of Tyrone safe conduct to Mellifont Abbey to offer his submission and the Earl was due to arrive at any time. Mountjoy did not want any complications. In England, meanwhile, many town mayors heard that James was to be proclaimed but refused to take action until they received official instructions. In Kingston upon Hull, for example, Lord Clinton and a group of ten gentlemen arrived at the mayor’s house at six that morning and spent several hours trying and failing to convince the mayor to proclaim James. The most the mayor would agree to do was to send a messenger to Cecil’s brother, Lord Burghley, President of the North, to ask for guidance.
The messenger from Hull arrived at Lord Burghley’s house in York at the same time as the Privy Council’s man. Inside, Lord Burghley was having difficulties similar to those Clinton had encountered in Hull: he was insisting that he had heard the news of the Queen’s death from a “secret friend” at court and the mayor of York and his aldermen were refusing to do anything about it. On the delivery of the Council’s papers, however, the mayor agreed to carry out the proclamation. It was read in the market square before a nervous crowd.
York was at the heart of the Catholic north. But there was no earl of the stature of Northumberland’s father willing to lead a rebellion and no call for it among ordinary Catholics: the hopes inspired by James’s promises had prevailed. That night York remained quiet and a greatly relieved Lord Burghley wrote to Cecil, that “the contentment of the people is unspeakable, seeing all things proceed so quietly, whereas they expected in the interim their houses should have been spoiled and sacked.” Sir George Carew, who was on his way to Scotland with personal messages from Cecil, wrote to him from Coventry with similar news to that of Lord Burghley. Everyone was thanking God that “the opinions of the wisest, who for many years past trembled to think of her Majesty’s decease,” had now been proved wrong.
The messenger who had been sent from Hull that morning returned to Lord Clinton with a copy of the York proclamation—one of seven Lord Burghley had ordered to be delivered to local towns. An accompanying letter instructed the mayor that after James was proclaimed the townspeople should express their joy by lighting bonfires and suchlike. Nothing could be left entirely to chance as anti-Scots feeling was not far from the surface. Lord Burghley’s letter to Cecil had included a report that a Scottish woman had been heard saying that “nothing did discontent them more than that their king should be received peaceably,” since it meant they would not be getting their hands on the attainted land of those Englishmen who dared oppose him.22
A little before noon on Monday the twenty-eighth the Mayor, Recorder and aldermen, Lord Clinton and his gentlemen, processed through Kingston upon Hull to the marketplace. James was proclaimed to rolling drums and blasting trumpets; free drink was dutifully given to the crowd, bonfires lit and bells rung. Similar carefully choreographed scenes of celebration were being repeated across England, “whereupon the people both in City and Country finding the just fear of forty years, for want of a known successor, dissolved in a minute did so rejoice, as few wished the Queen alive again,” one courtier recorded in his journal.23 The Abbot of Holyrood assured James that Berwick had welcomed him with the greatest warmth and it was soon apparent that any disorder was going to be criminal rather than political in nature.
Just as Carey had feared, criminal families from the East and West Marches were already looting the countryside, riding in companies of 300–400 men, with their colors displayed. Between Sunday 27 March and 7 April, a period that came to be known as the “Busy Week,” they destroyed an estimated £10,600 worth of goods.24 Carey, still suffering from the injuries he sustained when he fell from his horse and anxious to stay close to James, sent two of his deputies to organize the troops to confront them.
On Thursday the thirty-first, a week to the day after Elizabeth’s death, Carey saw James proclaimed at Edinburgh’s Cross.25 A large crowd gathered for the ceremony, the poorer citizens and country folk in coarse, plaid cloaks, the Scots courtiers in plain English cloth, their servants in rough gray wools and broad, flat hats.26 They were proud that their rich southern neighbor was to be ruled by their king, but an English witness recorded that they were also concerned about what they were to lose. Scotland had become richer and more stable under James’s rule. He was still in the prime of life, with young sons on which to focus their hopes for the future. His leaving meant the future suddenly looked more uncertain, “and such a universal sorrow was amongst them, that some of the meaner sort spoke even distractedly and none, but at his departing expressed such sorrow, as in that nation hath seldom been seen the like.”27 Their shouts of pride mingled with groans as the proclamation of James’s accession was read. That night, however, doubts were put on one side, the bonfires were lit and the town enjoyed a night of feasting.
As the city of Edinburgh celebrated James’s triumph, Sir Robert Carey was sworn in to his new office in the Bedchamber. He was now an English cuckoo in a Scottish nest filled by men who had known James all their lives: They included his old antagonist, Robert Kerr of Cessford. “Now was I to begin a new world,” he recalled. It was not going to be an easy one.
The Puritan MP Peter Wentworth had warned Elizabeth that if she did not name a successor, she would remain unburied at her death. This was not an idle threat. Elizabeth’s officials could keep their wands of office only until her funeral; if she did not name an heir the funeral had to be delayed until a successor was chosen and crowned, something that could take weeks or even months. Elizabeth, however, had laid a plan to force a prompt burial. She left instructions that her body was not to be disemboweled. By tradition her body had to be attended by her ladies, day and night, and Councilors would have to consider the unpleasantness and dangers to them in attending on a rapidly decomposing corpse. The attendants were, after all, their own wives, daughters and granddaughters.
Elizabeth’s order was public knowledge but the reasons for it could only be guessed at. Ben Jonson teasingly suggested that she wished to hide that she “had a membrane on her which made her incapable of man, though for her delight she tried many.” Stories that Elizabeth was physically incapable of sex had been commonplace for years. Harington had repeated the rumors in his tract, and they have since led to all sorts of exotic theories. One medical historian has claimed that Elizabeth represented a case of testicular feminization—that she was in fact a man!28 In 1603 such enjoyable speculation distracted attention from the real problems that Elizabeth’s order posed. James could not be crowned until he had made the long journey to London and it was possible people would begin to question his right before he was safely installed. On the morning of Saturday the 26th the Council was presented with a genealogy drawn up by Sir Robert Cotton (and most likely commissioned by his patron, Henry Howard) “proving” James’s descent from the last British king. In the absence of a strict legal right the Council wanted to reinforce James’s dynastic credentials. They also made the decision that Elizabeth’s funeral would not be held for a month. What then were they going to do about Elizabeth’s rotting body?
Distressing rumors were leaking out that the corpse had been left unguarded at Richmond and that “mean persons” had access to it. It appeared Elizabeth’s body had been forgotten—but there is an explanation for the seeming indifference of the Council. According to Elizabeth’s young Maid of Honor, Elizabeth Southwell, Cecil countermanded Elizabeth’s orders that she was not to be disemboweled. Contravening her instructions had to take place in secret, which explains why Elizabeth’s body was left unguarded and the “mean persons” in all probability were the embalmers. But it proved to be a mistake to leave th
em to work on their own. They were not well paid and without anyone to watch over them they had pocketed some of the money they were given to buy cerecloth. Consequently it was reported that Elizabeth’s body was wrapped “very ill.”29 This was a grim irony when, at the same time, the huge value of Elizabeth’s Wardrobe was the talk of the town. People boasted the late Queen had “made no will, nor gave anything away,” so her successor could inherit a “well-stored jewel house and a rich wardrobe of 2,000 gowns.”30
Elizabeth had her every button, petticoat and fan listed in inventories in 1600: “Item: one gown of black velvet with a broad guard of black velvet embroidered with pearls of silver . . . Item: one jewel of gold like a cross bow garnished with diamonds . . . Item: Buttons of gold each set with . . . pearls and one garnet in the middest.” They recorded 1,900 items of clothing, not far from what the gossips estimated; included was a jeweled heart presented to her by Sir John Harington’s father in the hope of recovering some of the land lost to the family for espousing the cause of Richard III.31
On Saturday night, as Elizabeth’s cousin Sir Robert Carey rode unsteadily into Edinburgh, her body was placed in a simple oak coffin and carried onto a barge draped in black. A small number of Privy Councilors and Ladies of Honor accompanied the coffin for its slow journey down the Thames to Whitehall. Torches lit the way, while other barges filled with pensioners and officers of the Household followed behind. They disembarked at the steps to the palace and Elizabeth’s coffin was carried into the Withdrawing Chamber, where six of her ladies were to wait by it day and night. The Venetian ambassador, Giovanni Scaramelli, was told that her court would carry on until her funeral “with the same ceremony, the same expenditure, down to her very household and table service, as though she were not wrapped in many a fold of cerecloth, and hid in such a heap of lead, of coffin, of pall, but was walking as she used to at this season, about the alleys of her gardens.”32
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