Blood of my Blood

by G Lawrence

  “But she does not grudge her place. Some women would resent it, madam, but she does not. She guides the younger girls. There is a motherly spirit to her.”

  “As long as she gets no more ideas about becoming a wife and mother.”

  I turned to Blanche after a few moments of silence to see a disapproving expression on my oldest friend’s face. “You are right,” I said. “That was unfair.”

  Blanche smiled. “But at least you see that, my lady.”

  “I have you here to keep me honest and genial,” I said, tucking my arm into hers and leading her to take a walk in the long gallery.

  *

  As Lettice said goodbye to her daughters, who were on their way to the house of Huntingdon, we heard that Rome had received a present, apparently from the Lord Himself.

  Catacombs had been unearthed beneath the city and all of Rome celebrated, declaring these skeletons were early Christian martyrs, and their discovery beneath Rome was proof that the citizens were their direct descendants.

  “Or,” I said. “They are the bones of all the people the popes have murdered over the years.”

  The skeletons were catalogued, dressed up and shipped out to Catholic countries. The Church was not allowed to charge for them, but it was understood a donation had to be made. The Catholic Church needed these dusty bones, truth be told, for over the years many relics had been destroyed by Protestants. This was their way of rejuvenating their places of worship.

  “And of lining the papal pocket,” I said to Robin.

  When he failed to chuckle, or answer me, I glanced up, only to see him hastily tucking a letter into his sleeve.

  From Lettice? I wondered.

  *

  “They are destroyed, madam,” said Walsingham, a note of pain in his voice.

  “Fear not. Many times the rebels have seemed sure to fall, but they rise to stand each time.”

  Don John had inflicted a terrible defeat on the rebels under Orange’s command. Whilst I feared this would lead to Spain gaining back the Netherlands, and not having anything to distract them from meddling with England anymore, I did take a moment to point out to my men that my caution had been correct. Had we rushed into war, this defeat would have been ours, too.

  “Send word to Phillip again that I will act as mediator between him and the Dutch,” I told my Council, “and send word to Orange too. With this defeat in mind, the rebels may be more willing to speak to Spain.”

  “We can try, Majesty,” said Walsingham, “but Phillip is displeased about English privateers in his seas, and our aid to the rebels. I doubt he is of a mind to listen.”

  “The seas are not Phillip’s. The King of Spain must abandon this ridiculous idea that he commands all water upon the world. England will have its share.”

  “As you say, madam.”

  We discussed a further loan for the rebels, which I was loath to send, and then turned to another worry.

  I inhaled deeply. “I am concerned about the Duc d’Anjou,” I said. “I do not think this is the time for a French agent to march into the Netherlands, and no one truly knows his loyalties. If he goes on behalf of Spain, the rebels will lose, if France, we lose, and if on the side of the rebels, I think he will be assassinated.”

  “You fear for his life?” Cecil asked.

  “I fear he will disrupt any chance for a peaceful settlement. We need to use this time to secure safety and prosperity for England. The last thing we need is a French military presence in the Low Countries. Even were it to unseat Spain, it would only replace one evil with another.”

  “It would appear he is acting without the support of the French government,” Walsingham said. “His brother appears most put out with him.”

  “Even so,” I said. “He is a risk in the Low Countries, and this time is delicate.”

  “What do you suggest, madam?”

  “I suggest we resurrect marriage negotiations,” I said and smiled as I watched amazement flood the faces of my men.

  Anjou had, in fact, recently written to me. I had grasped the workings of his mind.

  Anjou understood he had little chance at the French Court for the glory and fame he sought. His brother was determined to keep him away from power, and his mother, frantic to support her beloved Henri, had no time for him. Anjou sought military glory in the Netherlands because that was a path by which he thought he might shine.

  But his letter had interested me. Anjou was a tricky man to understand and something in me admired that. Like calls to like, they say, and the sneakiness in his soul cried out to mine. He was a third son in the French succession, as I had been the third child in England’s, and I understood the ways such a person might rise and the trials they faced in doing so. There was also a chance, if we were careful, to use him to disrupt Phillip’s plans in the Netherlands. If we worked through him, I would not be directly implicated.

  And he was interested in marriage. I was older now, that was true, but as Walsingham had once said I was, “still the best match in the parish.” Simply becoming my official suitor would bring benefits he would not gain otherwise. He saw me as a means to finance his military plans.

  I knew all this because when he had secretly written to me, I had replied.

  “It is true I do not relish the idea of marriage,” I said. “And I think I am too old now to bring a child into the world without dying in the attempt, but that does not mean I will not consider it. Once, the French were considering offering us Calais, gentlemen. We need that territory now more than ever. If negotiations begin, we can keep Anjou and France out of trouble in the Netherlands, and bargain for Calais.”

  News spread quickly, and soon, Anjou was writing to me in terms of such devotion and sweetness that I looked forward to his letters. These were not pages of poor verse, as Eric of Sweden had written, nor were they the beautiful letters Hatton had penned. Anjou had his own style, and it felt honest although I knew it to be false. Of course he did not love me, that would have been impossible, but he was willing to woo, which pleased me. With me as his wife, and England at his back, Anjou might well gain all he needed to achieve acclaim, fame and coin, but I would win much from this period of courting too; time to stall my men, prevent uproar in the Netherlands, and the enjoyment of being wooed once more, by an eager man.

  Walsingham was amongst those unconvinced by the Duc. He thought Anjou was using me, trying to get me to offer money to fund his dreams.

  “Inform Mr Secretary I am not the least surprised that the Duc should be in love with me,” I said to Robin when he told me Walsingham had said I would be “abused” by Anjou. “The Duc is only going to the Netherlands so he might gain a better step over here, to me.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Hampton Court

  Winter 1578

  There were many people with warnings on their lips as fate stretched nimble fingers into the year of our Lord 1578.

  “She is drowning in debt,” Robin warned of Lettice.

  “Don John wants to wed Mary of Scots,” warned Cecil.

  “Follow your hearts in religion and Queen in duty,” Walsingham warned his secretaries.

  What could I do about John of Austria becoming the latest man to think marrying Mary would get him all he wanted? Little more than keep an eye on her could I do. What was I to do for Lettice? I had already given her more money to supplement her income. I had done enough.

  But in the last, I took heart. To hear Walsingham had instructed his often over-zealous men in moderation was a heartening thing. I found myself thinking of Christ. “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is His,” he had said. Walsingham was counselling his men to do the same.

  Walsingham drew a solid line between private and public morality, and had no qualms about putting others in their place when they crossed it, especially his own men. Committed though he was to advancing the Protestant cause, and strict as he was in religion, Walsingham told his men to cease fighting my bishops in public, and me at court. Som
e of them had fallen into trouble, speaking in defiance of my methods and saying I should enact more reform, but Walsingham, to my surprise, cut them short.

  I was only further surprised to hear that when Walsingham had learned English merchants in other countries were following religious services not in the English Prayer Book, he had written personally, telling them not to flout my will, and to follow the law of England.

  There are some men who never surprise you, not even if they leap from a closet wearing a lady’s dress with the head of a donkey on their shoulders. Then there are some men who never cease to surprise, in the most mundane of areas. Walsingham was one of the latter.

  “I picked the right name, my Moor,” I said with affection after calling him to me to thank him.

  “You said you granted it to me for my constancy, yet you say I always amaze you.”

  “You are consistent in all things, I come to think,” I said. “Constantly surprising.”

  *

  That March, Dee went to the Tower of London to witness a final, and hopefully definitive, test of Frobisher’s ore. Schutz had reduced two hundredweight of the stone to dust, by grinding, heating, and in the process creating great plumes of ash and smoke… of which my Lieutenant of the Tower was complaining bitterly.

  “I would estimate there came perhaps five shilling’s worth of silver and three of gold from that weight of stone, Majesty,” said Dee.

  It was a disappointing result, and Phillip, who had by that time heard of our English jaunt into untested waters, mocked the outcome. Frobisher, however, remained undaunted and positive.

  “Its worth is twenty-eight pounds per ton,” Frobisher said. “And it could be mined and transported back for as little as eight pounds per ton, yielding a good profit, Majesty.”

  “But it would still require some coin to extract metal from stone.” I watched as Frobisher tried to hide the fact that he hoped I had missed that truth.

  “Schutz says it would cost perhaps ten pounds per ton to extract,” Dee chimed in. “Which still leaves a clear profit of ten pounds per ton.”

  “As long as all rocks hold the same weight of metal,” I pointed out.

  “Some may well hold more, Majesty,” said Frobisher.

  “And some less,” I said.

  “The French have heard of our expedition, Your Majesty,” Frobisher said. “And are equipping ships even as I speak to head to the Jackson Sound and claim that wealth for themselves.”

  I granted permission for another voyage, but was concerned as to how Phillip had knowledge of the results of the ore.

  “We think he has a man placed amongst the assayers of the Muscovy Company,” Cecil said.

  “And you have done nothing about it?”

  “As yet, we remain unsure of the identity of his spy. But there is word it may be Robert Denham.”

  “Frobisher’s chief assayer?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What are you and Walsingham doing about this?”

  “At present, madam, little. We want to keep an eye on letters heading to Spain from the Muscovy Company, and in opening them, glean an idea of what Phillip wants with this information.”

  “I see.”

  “Mendoza has been stealing from the Tower, too,” Cecil went on. “He got his hands on a segment of the ore and shipped it to Spain.”

  “I will trust you and Walsingham to do what is needed. But do not allow Phillip to become too complacent.”

  “Never, madam,” said Cecil.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Greenwich Palace

  Late Winter 1578

  “I despise my teeth!” I said, holding my cheek and screwing up my eyes in an effort to assail the pain. “And my gums too. The Devil take them!”

  Despite brushing each night with a compound of salt and soot, and rubbing my teeth with honey as advised by my doctors, I was in agony. My physicians were at a loss. The usual cure was to pull the tooth, but knowing I would not hear of such an operation, they knew not what to do.

  Blanche made Welsh remedies, burning a rosemary stalk to hold it to the gum, but it did no good. And the infernal tooth was ensuring that I had to call for my physicians, something I did not like. I hated to admit to illness, knowing the panic it caused, and I distrusted doctors… for good reason. Doctors were learned in the natural sciences, and each time a new thought came they wanted to try it, even using their own Queen as a test subject.

  I preferred my own cures. My father had been famed for his, somewhat erratic, skill with medicines, and I had taken an interest too. I pressed courtiers to try my batches and mixtures, and many swore they were better than those concocted by doctors. Some of this may, naturally, have been flattery, but I liked to think quite a few of my cures were good. They certainly worked on me.

  One, which was particularly effective, was a cure for deafness, but only deafness of a certain kind. I could do nothing for those born deaf, but there was another, more common type. People were not much given to bathing. Doctors said cold water was perilous as chills would enter the body, and hot because it opened the pores, leading to wandering spirits of mischief sneaking into the flesh. Since bathing was a complicated business, as not many aside from nobles had running water, and had to use tubs fed by barrels brought from their kitchens, most people only washed hands and faces, which led to wax building up in their ears.

  My cure was to bake a loaf of bean flour, and whilst hot, cut it into halves. Into each part four spoonfuls of bitter almonds were put, and the two halves were clamped to the ears before bed. A warm towel was put about the head, and the person was to sleep at the fireside. Whilst the patient slept, wax in their ears melted and seeped into the bread.

  Unfortunately, I had no cure for toothache.

  I could not surrender to illness, particularly minor ones. “In another body, illness is no great a matter,” I said to Cecil. “But it is much greater in the forms of princes.”

  If I became ill, people would see I was out of control of my own body. It was, in effect, rebelling against me. A queen can brook no treason, not even from her own form.

  Illness threatened, too, the fiction of eternal youth. If everyone understood I was growing old, they would start thinking about my successor. Maintaining the notion I was blessed with eternal youth was about preserving my life, throne and power… although many took it for simple vanity.

  I was therefore left with one option. I had to soldier on, attempting to ignore my rebellious teeth.

  *

  “Another Scottish coup,” I said with distaste.

  Regent Morton had fallen. Lords about him had staged a coup and taken the throne for King James. The young King was now almost twelve, and his men thought that an age to rule. Under Morton, Scotland had known stability. That might now come under danger.

  “Morton retains some power, for now,” Cecil said. “But there are worrying men rising who may cause problems.”

  “At least Morton was not murdered,” I said. “And who are these men?”

  “There is Esme Stuart,” said Cecil. “He is James’ cousin, a native of France, and Lord of Aubigny. At present he is in France, but it looks as though he will be invited to court.”

  “A pro-French lord is not desirable. He will support Mary’s restoration, will he not?”

  “At the moment, we remain unsure of his loyalties. But that is a distinct possibility.”

  “And the other?”

  “A Captain James Stewart, another distant cousin. He is a mercenary, at present, but he is about the King a great deal, and is an advocate of seeking revenge upon the men who killed the King’s father.”

  “Will Darnley never cease to make trouble?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Even in death, all he causes is disruption. Will James move to take vengeance on the men who killed his father? And what of those responsible for the deaths of his grandfather, Lennox, and uncle, Moray?”

  “The King is young. Young men are often reckless.”

  �
�If James seeks revenge on all men who have murdered a member of his family, Scotland will find its population halved.”

  “Or cause another civil war.”

  “And if this French Stuart goes to Scotland he may well convince the King to ask for his mother back. Or bring James under the control of the Guise. We little need a Catholic party gaining power in Scotland.”

  “But if there was a chance to send Mary of Scots out of England, madam, should we not take it?”

  “If we do that, Cecil, she will do us ill. You know that. She will set James against us. His lords might consider him a man, but James is a child. The return of his mother will influence him in ways too numerous to count.”