Blood of my Blood

by G Lawrence

  People say that when the one we loves hurts us we become heartbroken. I understand this, but it is a lazy expression. What I felt then was not a tearing of an organ. It was a hole, a gaping maw opening inside me, pulling all that was once me and mine into it. I drowned in black, endless depths.

  Perhaps broken is a good epitaph, but it was not only my heart, it was all of me. My lungs could not breathe, blood could not flow. Night after night I lay awake, knowing everything I had once cherished, every memory, every thought, every moment of intimacy, was poisoned.

  Robin not only broke my heart, but ruined everything I had adored, everything I had drawn strength from for years. All memories of him, which should have been mine to comfort me, were not only not mine anymore. He robbed me of them, stole the happiness of my past, present and future. I could not think about him without wishing him ill. I could not think about Lettice without wanting her dead.

  “I told myself I was the pelican, bound to open its chest and pour out blood for its children, but then, I felt I was no more than a withered shell. One man had taken my blood, drained my body. I thought then there was not enough of me left to do my duty.”

  I smile. “What I should have remembered was I was not one bird alone, but two.”

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Kenninghall Palace and Norwich

  Summer 1578

  We stopped for a few days at Kenninghall Palace, and all that anyone spoke of was Rookwood. Some said he had been set up by Topcliffe, and therefore possibly by Cecil, as a means to persuade me to become harsher with recusants. I was glad I had asked for light sentences. If Cecil was up to devious tricks, it was good I had passed this test.

  At Kenninghall, Robin and I tried to pretend that nothing had happened. No one fell for our ruse. We left and went to Norwich, the second largest city in my kingdom. We reached the city boundaries one afternoon in the middle of August, and were met by a huge number of dignitaries, officials and commoners.

  They had made great preparations. Roads had been not only swept but widened, houses had been repaired and painted, privies had been emptied so there was a sweet smell upon the wind, chimneys had been swept, and the city had been cleared of livestock and waste. The market cross had been repainted, and the pillory and cage, there to punish minor infractions, had been taken away.

  We processed through the city, heading for the cathedral and my way was lined with hordes of cheering people. “God Bless our Sweet Bess!” they shouted, lifting their hands to wave and throw flowers. “God Bless our Good Queen Elizabeth!”

  Another cry I heard taken up was, “God Bless our Holy virgin Queen!”

  I like that, I thought. Although it might be idolatrous to be compared with the Mother of God, it was certainly useful. If I could replace the icons Catholics wielded, embedding myself in minds as a holy symbol, it could be most beneficial.

  For the first time in weeks, my heart lifted. Cecil had been right. If I had remained single for myself, I had done it also for my people. Their love reminded me why I had turned Robin down the first time, and every occasion after.

  How could I have forced an unwanted King upon them, one they suspected of murder? I would have brought war upon England, just as my cousin of Scots had when she had married Bothwell. For all I had suffered, I could not have forced them to choose between loyalty to me and their consciences.

  In the ashes of my heart, a spark awoke. The phoenix was not ready to fly, but she had returned to life.

  *

  “What?”

  My whisper was almost a scream. Priests and courtiers glanced about, thinking to hush the one who made such an indelicate noise in the House of God. Seeing it was me, they pretended they had heard nothing.

  Whilst touring the cathedral, Sussex had come with an urgent dispatch. Anjou had invaded the Netherlands and concluded a treaty with the States General, who had welcomed him as their governor. They had conferred upon him the title of Defender of the Liberties of the Low Countries against Spanish Tyranny.

  I cursed myself. That sneaky young man had been keeping me talking, whilst heading out to do just what I did not want him to! I was enraged and questioned Sussex so sharply it must have seemed I blamed him for Anjou’s actions. As soon as he could, the Earl fled.

  “You could have stopped this, had you listened to me,” Robin said, displaying a staggering lack of regard for his personal welfare.

  “Be silent,” I said, a command that was becoming habitual when he was near. “I need no jackasses braying in my ear.”

  With Cecil, I marched down the cathedral halls, pretending to stop and admire aspects, but in truth whispering frantic commands. “Send a message of support to Phillip,” I said. “And to Anjou say I am set on marriage.”

  Later, in my chambers at the Bishop’s Palace, I unleashed wrath and it fell upon my men, Robin in particular. “All of you allowed this to happen!” I screamed, ignoring the fact that if this was anyone’s fault, it was mine.

  “Majesty… all of us said something had to be done about Anjou,” Cecil said.

  “I was doing something!” I screeched. “I was the only one doing something that would stop Anjou without placing England in peril!”

  They could not reason with me. I was lost to anger. In truth, it was an explosion of all the rage I had felt about Robin and Lettice, let loose because of another lying suitor.

  “Send fresh word of my eagerness to marry!” I shouted. “We will yank the French Prince from the Netherlands!”

  “You will not really marry him,” Robin said when the others left.

  “What are you still doing here?” I snapped. “And what makes you think I will not?”

  “You have never wanted marriage.”

  “People change, my lord Earl. You taught me that.”

  Robin stared. “I do not know if you are serious. I feel I cannot read you anymore, you are so distant.”

  “I am not the one who made this distance. And clearly you and I do not know each other as well as once we thought.”

  I left him standing in that room, a haunted look of regret, confusion and pain on his face.

  *

  “And you think this explains my recent pains?” I asked Cecil.

  Spirit made a face. “I am reticent to believe fulsomely in the guilt of any person accused of being an evil witch,” he said. “So often, it is all about quarrels between neighbours, and the accusation is false, but this time…”

  Word had come from London. Under a dunghill in Islington, three wax images had been found. These poppets were the tools of witches. Sometimes they were used to cast love spells, and sometimes they were used to harm.

  One poppet was dressed like me, complete with real red hair, carrying the brand ‘Elizabeth ’ on its forehead. The other two were dressed up as men, one clearly meant to be Cecil, but the other no one was entirely sure of. It might have been anyone. The poppets had been impaled with hog bristles, with intent to cause harm, pain… even death.

  Sussex had leapt upon this evidence, declaring this was the reason for the torment I had suffered in my mouth for the past few months. Although I, like Cecil, thought accusations of witchcraft used for harmful purposes were more often about private disputes, this was evidence of wicked magic used to harm me and my men.

  And it was not only the bristles that had caused concern. Dung heaps were hot. The figures had been placed inside to make the wax bodies melt slowly, bringing death.

  “Who would meddle with the dark arts to bring about my death?” I asked.

  “There is word it is a Catholic plot, my lady.”

  “Catholics have no more affection for evil witches than Protestants, Cecil.”

  “In desperation, madam, men turn to many things.”

  “That is true enough.”

  I did wonder if this was another trick to nudge me into paranoia and start persecuting Catholics, but measures had to be taken to prevent this spell working ill against me. We sent for Dee, and he was soon at Norwi
ch performing a counter-spell. The only man brave enough to watch was my junior Secretary, Thomas Wilson, and he told me of the spell Dee had cast.

  “He called upon the angels of God,” Wilson said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, “and using candles, mirrors and crystals of strange origin, he spoke backwards in Latin and fell into a trance.” The man shivered. “It was as though I felt the presence of the Dark One, Majesty, and felt the spirits of light Dee unleashed to battle Him.”

  “I wish I could have been there.”

  “It is better you were not, Majesty. What if the Devil had recognised you?”

  “I am sure the Devil knows me, Wilson,” I said. “Just as I am sure God protects me.”

  “I want you to go to London and assist in finding the person or persons who worked this magic against me,” I said to Dee, after thanking him for all he had done. “I am sending you not only because you understand magic, but also because I know you hold the same views of moderation and peace as I nurture in my heart. I want no hysterical mobs dragging innocent old women to death, nor do I want Catholics persecuted. I trust you to report to me and keep the peace.”

  “I will do my utmost, Majesty.”

  “See that you do. Enough men have let me down of late.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Norwich

  Summer 1578

  Despite Anjou becoming the saviour of the Low Countries and witches working ill, the rest of the week went as planned. We attended plays and performances, masques and dances and feasted with different lords each night.

  I forced my men to make time in my busy schedule so I might watch a pageant performed by local children in the market place. Since Robin’s marriage, I had become drawn to children only more, as though I was seeking in my people what I had sacrificed in my personal life. When they lauded me as “the Pearl of Grace, the Jewel of the World, her People’s Whole Delight, the Paragon of Present Time and Prince of Earthly Might,” I was almost in tears.

  “It was beautiful,” I said, coming to each of them as they stood in a line afterwards. “Mere words are not enough to tell you all your play meant to me. I will treasure it in my heart for the rest of my life.”

  Their little faces went away beaming.

  There were more entertainments. One was a farce about fairies, which actually managed to make me smile for the first time in what felt like eons. One play boasted magical special effects and underground music, which distracted me so well from woe that I sent a gilt cup to the playwright. Before the end, to my great dismay, rain started to fall. At first it was gentle, but soon it transformed into a deluge, and we had to race for cover. With regret, on the 22nd of August, I took my leave of Norwich.

  “I have laid upon my breast such good will, as I shall never forget Norwich,” I cried to my people. My breast has been opened, I thought. Drink deep, my people. Let my blood feed your happiness and life, so my suffering is not in vain.

  Taking up my riding whip, I stood with tears in my eyes. “Farewell,” I said. “Farewell, Norwich!”

  As I left, I saw a commotion on another street. “What is that?” I asked Cecil who was travelling in the coach at my side.

  “Recusants, Majesty,” he said, “twenty-two of them, being taken to jail.”

  “Some are loyal, some not,” I said. “It is hard to know which is which.” With that comment, my eyes went to Robin, sitting on his horse and looking annoyingly handsome. “Even the ones we think we know best,” I added, urging my horse along the road.

  *

  “Fine,” I said, not meeting Robin’s eyes. “Ride ahead. We will meet you at Wanstead.

  Robin wanted to go to his Wanstead estates to prepare the house for me, or so he said. There was something febrile in his eyes, but I could not tell if he was eager to make a good impression and rebuild our damaged relationship, or if something else was going on. I was not sure I cared if there was. When he was with me, I wanted him gone. When gone, I wanted him back. Neither satisfied me. The truth was, I wanted us both to go back in time, to return to a moment when I had believed in love.

  “News, madam,” Cecil said, entering and brandishing a bit of parchment as a sword. “A man has been arrested with regards to the wax idols found in London.”

  “Dee works fast,” I said, taking the letter. “And it is certain this man… Blower… is the culprit?”

  “What is sure is that he was embroiled,” Cecil said. “But Dee thinks there are others. They want permission to take Blower to the Tower and use torture.”

  I sighed. I had no faith in torture. A man would say anything to prevent pain.

  “It must be done, Majesty,” said Cecil. “This is a serious case. Remember the Italian who was suspected of making images of King Charles of France?”

  I did indeed. Cosmo Ruggieri had been arrested in France for making waxen images of the King and sticking them with pins. The Florentine had only come to further grief when Charles had died. I remembered his name well, for that was the plot in which de la Mole had lost his life. It was said Ruggieri had made the poppet for de la Mole, but whilst Ruggieri had escaped death, being a favourite of the Medici snake, de la Mole had died.

  “The claim then was that the Florentine was a Protestant sorcerer,” said Cecil. “In this case, we must suspect Catholics.”

  “Why? Surely many men want me dead, not all of them Catholic.”

  “But the evidence…”

  “What evidence? Until this Blower confesses he is a Catholic agent, or others he worked with are, there is no evidence.” I scowled at Cecil, pressing a hand to my swollen, painful mouth. “Leap not into the traps enemies plant for us, Cecil.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Wanstead

  Autumn 1578

  Something is going on, I thought, looking at Robin.

  We had been at his house in Wanstead only a day, and I knew something had happened. Robin was hiding something. I suspected it had to do with the absent Countess.

  Robin had sent Lettice away when I came, a sensible precaution. Were we to meet, I might well kill her.

  Robin disappeared for a day or two to take care of business on his estates, and I was left with Phillip Sidney to entertain me. The young man had written a pageant for me, called “A Contention between a Forester and a Shepherd for The May-Lady.” It was a surprise. I was wandering the woods when players popped out of the shrubs about a glade to perform for me. The tale was of a woman having to choose between two suitors, and although written by Sidney, I felt Robin’s hand behind it. It was his way of telling me how his choice between Lettice and me had been made. When I was asked to choose which one the Lady should marry, I emitted a hollow chuckle.

  “I think it matters less whom she should wed, but more who loved her the longest,” I said. “The Lady of May protests she adored one man her whole life, but when she was offered another, changed her mind. The lady is false, and the men should abandon her. Constancy should be rewarded and inconstancy should come with disgrace.”

  Robin was less than pleased when he learned about my reaction. He was doing his best, so he thought, to repair our rift. I was ripping open all the patches he made. He thought grand gestures would win me over, but they would not. What I needed was honesty, and an apology, rather than these constant excuses for his behaviour.

  It would be a long time before I would be capable of trusting him again. You will feel some of my pain, I thought as I watched him skulk off to converse with Topcliffe. You will know what I endure.

  *

  “Walsingham is growing disheartened by your letters, madam,” Cecil said as we read over reports sent from the Netherlands by my emissaries.

  “I become the same. I grow tired of him reporting the same thing.” I gazed from the window, watching maids gather bilberries on the heather-rich hills.

  I was right to have named Walsingham my Moor for his constancy. A month or more in the Low Countries and Walsingham had not altered his opinion an inch. He remained a dis
believer in peace, impressed by Orange, profoundly unimpressed by Anjou, and wanted me to join in with the war. He did admit he found Don John impressive, but urged me to send on the loans I had promised, and wrote that I would never again have the opportunity to do others so much good.

  “You should listen, Majesty,” Cecil said. “Walsingham is in the Low Countries. He can see what you cannot.”

  “I think that truer than you know, Cecil. He can indeed not see what I see.”

  “That was not my meaning, madam.”

  “Yet a pertinent point all the same. Walsingham simply sends the same information, and he has not even had a personal interview with Anjou, so why he criticizes the young man so, I know not. Has Walsingham developed foresight, so he may see what the Duc will become? I think not. I sent him to Antwerp to gain fresh perspective, but Walsingham is merely using the same spectacles as before.”