by G Lawrence
“My lord is becoming more questioning,” she admitted. “But the money used was mine, Majesty, from other estates, and my coal mines.”
“When you married, your money became his.”
“I understand, Majesty. But still…”
“I understand too,” I said. “You brought further wealth to a rich man and cannot see why he should grudge you using some.” Inwardly I sighed. Men will never get used to sharing, I thought. They have long been the spoilt, only child in the nursery. “We will see your extravagances justified,” I said. “If I can alter the route and it does not cause much disruption, we will come.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
As it transpired, we could not, and I was not unhappy about it. Whilst a part of me wanted to support Bess, I also felt it was a little too soon for me to be granting such favour to one who had flouted me so openly.
I was feeling pleased as the New Year entered, bringing snow and ice to lash the palace walls. An embassy to Morocco had gone well, securing new trade deals and consignments of saltpetre to make gunpowder, Spain was being forced into talks of peace, and France was busy with her own affairs. I had concerns about what Bess had divulged about Shrewsbury, but we had men in the household of my cousin of Scots, and they had keen eyes upon her.
Naturally, since I was at peace that January, my men decided to annoy me.
“I will act as mediator,” I said to Cecil.
The States-General of the Netherlands had voted to accept Don John as their governor, and had promised to embrace the Catholic faith. In return, they wanted the expulsion of all Spanish troops. It was a reasonable settlement, I thought, but Phillip and Orange were less eager. Orange had rejected the peace and was urging me again into war at his side. Although Cecil was more on my side than Walsingham’s, as Spirit thought the Netherlands too unstable to become true allies, he did not support my wish to act as mediator.
“Errare humanum est,” Cecil said. “Perseverare diabolicum.”
It was a quote from Seneca; to err is human, to persist is diabolical. I scowled at Cecil.
“They do not want a mediator, madam, especially not after the sack of Antwerp. They want you to combine your forces with theirs and crush Spain.”
“We have given them so much already,” I said, “hundreds of thousands of pounds in coin and arms… And you know Phillip will not let go that easily. If we join with Orange, Phillip will send more men. Conflict breeds conflict. They need to start talking.”
“That as may be,” Cecil said. “But the Dutch do not want a mediator, my lady, they want a military leader.”
“I will become no such thing to them.”
“If you do not, someone else may.”
“Do you mean the French?”
Seeing Cecil and Walsingham exchange a weighted glance, I frowned. “Whom?” I asked, although a suspicion was already beginning to form.
“The Earl of Leicester,” said Walsingham, confirming my worst suspicions.
“Robin has offered himself as a general in their campaign?” My voice reached a pitch where only bats and rats could hear me.
“And some of the Dutch are enthused.”
“Just what has he offered?”
“An English army, led by him.”
“What?” My voice headed for the rafters and Cecil and Walsingham cringed.
“Others who know the Earl’s age and military record are less enthused,” Cecil rushed to say. “He has not served as a soldier for over twenty years, and his encroaching age does not inspire Orange with confidence.”
“It is not Robin’s woeful lack of experience that concerns me, Cecil,” I hissed, “but his complete contradiction of my commands.”
“Perhaps the Earl thought that if he led the army, you would not mind,” Walsingham said from his poky corner.
“Would you stand in the light, just once,” I snapped.
Walsingham stepped forward, his face hard, set like cooled iron. “The Earl is taking the steps you should have, Majesty,” he said.
“The Earl is acting against my orders,” I said. “That is sedition, Walsingham. It is not for every man to decide he is King and attempt to act as such… or do you support the Earl?”
“I do not. I think his offer rash.”
“But you support the principle.”
“That, I admit I do.”
I inhaled deeply, struggling to contain my wrath. “I will offer the Dutch more money. If Don John refuses to seek terms I will fund their war, but Robin may not go to the Netherlands, and may not take an army with him.”
It was agreed that Phillip Sidney would go to the Low Countries and offer our terms. He was also to seek opinions on a league between us and Calvinist princes against Spain, as another effort to harry Phillip into agreeing to terms demanded by the States General, but also so that, if it came to war with Spain, England would not stand alone. At the same time, Sidney was to meet with Orange and keep him on our side. Walsingham was reassured by this. He thought more direct action should be taken, but to his way of thinking this was at least a step in the right direction. Cecil, too, was happy. This was not outright war, and a league could become a counterweight to the Catholic league in Europe.
With the possibility of peace underway, I had a foolhardy fantasist to take care of.
“I intended to take volunteers,” Robin said, a childish expression of petulance on his face.
“You will take no one,” I said. “You would defy me, so openly, and attempt to steal away men of England, my lord Earl? It will not be. Set aside these foul ambitions and remain loyal to your Queen!”
“If you will not see sense, others do,” Robin said, his cheeks igniting.
“How dare you!” I screamed. “Take care, my lord Earl. Far have you risen, but you can be cast down as swift as you climbed!”
“Sometimes I wish I had never thought to climb. Sometimes I wish we had never met.”
“Get out!” I shrieked, beside myself with rage.
Robin came to apologise some days later. His position was fragile without my support, and his enemies were already gathering, catching the scent of a raw wound on the air. With rumours about him and Lettice still fresh, he knew how dangerous it was to court my displeasure. I accepted his apology and we continued on, pretending all was well.
It was not. There was a great deal of unspoken friction between us. His ambition was growing, as was my fear of him. Perhaps I had been right to think there was more than one man inside Robin. There was the man I loved, and a stranger who had small respect for me. From one day to the next, I did not know which man I would meet.
But without Robin, I was lost.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Windsor Castle
Spring 1577
“You look wonderful,” I told Paul.
The young man seemed overcome, as well he might. Gifts of cast-off clothes from my royal wardrobe were often granted to my ladies, but I was meaner when it came to my men. Most were sons of noble houses, and I reasoned their fathers could pay for them. My page, who was not of a noble house, had just been presented with a fine Gascon coat of glowing white silk and taffeta, covered with a spider-web of gold tinsel. Decorated with silk ribbons, it was a glorious garment, worth more than his wages for an entire year. And that was not all. There was a matching doublet of white silk with silver buttons, a pair of knitted white stockings and a pair of shoes, also white, bobbing with seed pearls.
The white silk glowed against his handsome black skin, and the gold picked up hidden lights in his eyes. I thought him so striking that I could have happily stood there all day, staring at him.
“I am humbled and pleased, Your Majesty,” he said.
“You earned it.”
Paul was able to enter places my women could not. Some realms of court were off-limits to women, the men’s jakes for one, where lords of court often seemed to discuss business, for some unknown reason. People often ignored him, thinking as a Blackamoor he was present in my
chambers as a mere conversation piece. Nothing could be further from the truth. Paul had ears as keen as Walsingham’s and a sharp mind. Paul had been a valuable spy, one who deserved a reward.
Both Paul and Tomasina, my fool, were overlooked, by all but me; Paul because he hailed from Africa, and Tomasina because of her height. But what fools thought weaknesses were in truth strengths. They were disparaged, looked down on and disregarded, allowing them to slip by and snatch all that they wanted from life.
*
“You would think there would be a more imaginative plot, some day,” I said, a few days later, after listening to Walsingham.
“We humans are not creatures of much originality.”
There was a plot afoot. Don John was apparently not busy enough in the Netherlands. Walsingham’s spies had discovered he had been offering marriage to the captive Queen of Scots, as part of a plot in which he would lead troops to England, depose me, marry Mary and the two would share my throne in happy victory.
The Pope was also interested in Mary’s future marriage. Gregory supported her dynastic claim over mine, of course, and Phillip had taken an interest too. Mary, thinking to court them, had made an addition to her will, handing her claim to the English throne to Phillip in the event of her death.
“She insults her own son,” I said. “The Scots will not look kindly on this.”
“It does say that if James becomes a Catholic, her claim will go to him.”
“James is a Protestant, and will remain that way.” I shook my head. “It means nothing, in any case. Mary is a captive, and has no agreed claim on my throne. This has no basis in reality.”
“But it is intended to impress Phillip, and in that it will succeed.”
“You think she wants Phillip to ride in on a charger and rescue her?”
“Indeed.”
“Phillip would have to abandon the Netherlands to invade England. I think he has not the money to do either. Also, Mary cannot marry without a husband or proxy actually here, and were an invasion fleet to land, she would find herself swiftly without a head.”
“Something Phillip understands, Majesty, which is why he dithers. But the situation is still worth keeping an eye on.”
“Of course, but I think this the stuff of fairy-tales, Walsingham.”
“There is a reason such tales endure, Majesty. People believe in them.”
“That does not make them real. I will no more find Don John in London than I will discover Little Red Riding Hood skipping through Windsor’s forests. Besides, Mary still has a husband, does she not? Bothwell lives.”
“But the Pope is speaking of nullifying the match.”
The disgraced Bishop of Ross, John Leslie, was the author of that unhappy prospect. He had gone to Rome to secure the Pope’s support, but curiously, the Pope seemed unwilling to issue a firm proclamation, perhaps understanding it would endanger Mary. Since he supported her match with Don John, he clearly thought she was free to wed, but he had not issued a decree of nullity.
“Even if the Pope nullifies it, Scotland, where the marriage took place, upholds it and they, like us, are not subject to the decrees of Rome.”
“The Duc of Guise is also involved,” Walsingham said.
“Of course. That man is a butcher. Any chance to dip his hands in blood he will take. Has Mary agreed to this plot?”
“In her usual way. All hyperbole and vague wording.” He stood and stretched his back. “You should take action against her, Majesty.”
“On the basis of a theory? You know what that would bring about, Walsingham. Spain and France would take it as excuse to invade.” Walsingham’s face remained severe and I sighed. “I cannot act on the basis of vague letters. There must be something solid, or the risk is too great.”
“She will never cease, Majesty. She has lost one crown and will not be merry until she has another.”
“Then she will have to remain miserable,” I said, “for I have no intention of taking off my crown and setting it on her head. Don John will not invade. The Low Countries are in a state of ungoverned riot and even former allies are swiftly turning against him. This is a puff of smoke, Walsingham. We will see it dissipate.”
As it transpired, my none-too-subtle threats of aid to the rebels, combined with Dutch rage against Spanish troops, did the work for us. That February, as Sidney went to make terms with our Protestant brothers, Don John signed an Edict of peace with the States General. Dutch rebels sent word to Robin, telling him his military assistance was no longer required. He was mightily depressed.
I watched his face, always slightly red now because of the amount he drank, with sullen annoyance. How was it I could love a man so different to me?
Chapter Fifty-Five
Hampton Court
Easter 1577
Sometimes I wonder if my people think I am a simpleton, I thought as I watched a play performed at court.
It was the night of Shrove Tuesday, and Lettice, seeking my support to increase her jointure, had paid for a company of players to perform. She claimed it was simply for my enjoyment, but since she had never done such a thing before, and was driving my men to distraction with her begging letters, although demanding would more accurate a description, I saw her aims plain as the steeple of a church.
Something else I must see to, I thought. St Paul’s spire had still not been rebuilt. It was embarrassing.
I had chosen Lettice’s players over Robin’s that night, for both had prepared performances, but hearing Robin’s offering was on the subject of war, I had sent for Lettice’s. I was of no mind to listen to another of Robin’s lectures. When the play ended, I applauded heartily, and Lettice came to me. She swiftly got to business.
“I hope, Majesty, you will have time to look again at my suit,” she said, her sloe-eyes dipping to the floor then up to my face.
“Are you so short of money?”
She blinked. “Your Majesty knows I am.”
“Yet you seem to have enough spare coin to pay players,” I said. “They were billed as the Countess of Essex’s Men… which suggests you patronise and pay them regularly.”
“As a noblewoman, and cousin to the Queen, it is my place to support lesser men.”
“But as a widow, one who has spoken often about the dire straits in which she finds herself, I would have thought that money would be saved for your household, and children.”
“But, as your cousin, Majesty…”
“If all my many cousins were to come with hands outstretched, Lettice, I would be a pauper by now. I suggest you moderate your expenditure.”
Lettice looked frankly stunned as I walked away, but my point was valid. The dowager was going to have to become accustomed to her new situation. Unless she married again, her income would remain as it was.
In the end, she was left with what Essex had allocated to her, as well as a further sixty pounds per year from me. I granted her a life interest in one of Essex’s former estates, which gave her a home to settle in and lands to draw income from.
“She will be quite comfortable,” I said to Cecil. “Her heir is to live with you, her other children with Huntingdon, so she has only herself and her household to support and the amounts she has are generous. Many noblewomen do well on half that amount.”
“She will seek to wed again. Although rich, she thinks herself poor. A husband would remedy that.”
“I will want to approve a husband for her. Lettice gets ideas above her station. I do not want her future mate to be of the same ilk.”
Cecil inclined his head. “I admit she sometimes shocks me in the ways she speaks of you, madam.”
“She thinks she is my equal,” I said. “Not an uncommon failing in my kin.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Windsor Castle and Gorhambury
Spring 1577
“One day, Majesty, you too will have to answer to God for your actions.”
The ghastly nasal whine of my rebellious Archbishop irritated me still further
. Grindal had come to court in accordance with my wishes, but was not willing to accommodate my wishes in any other way. He was still refusing to ban Puritan worship.
“As will you, Eminence. I do not fear what the Almighty will see in me, but I wonder if you will quake when His eyes rest upon you… You allow sedition and division to spread, Grindal. You tear my people apart when your task is to bind them together.”