by G Lawrence
“You are too proud, Robin,” I said. “It does nothing to aid you. Pembroke, Arundel and Norfolk… they are becoming your enemies, and I will have no more of this unruly behaviour at my court!”
“I was not involved in the fight, Majesty.” Robin spread his hands as though he were entirely innocent. “As I am sure you have been informed.”
“And yet you were involved!” I cried, throwing my hands into the air. “As well you know, Robin.” It was hard to take him to task, for his enemies hated him because I loved him. Taking his arm, we walked about the chamber. “I can do much, as Queen, but I cannot alter men’s hearts. That is something you must take responsibility for, Robin. Make peace, for my sake, as well as for yours. Moderate your boldness and in time they will accept you as a friend.”
“I will try, Majesty,” he agreed and then his hand pressed on mine. “Have you thought about our matter, Elizabeth?” he whispered. “Enough time has passed now since my wife died, and you said you would consider my offer of marriage.” We ceased to walk. My heart stopped along with my feet.
“It is too soon to consider anything of the sort,” I said quietly. “Still people talk of Amy’s death, Robin, and still they accuse you, as I have already told you of late.” I shook my head. “It is too soon.” My heart started beating again. I hoped I had put him off.
“I feared you would feel that way. But my desire to marry you grows only stronger by the day, Elizabeth. I love you. I am desperate to know myself separated from you, even as I stand daily by your side.”
His voice was low, but passionate, and every word stung my raw heart. I swallowed my truths, and offered him more lies. “In time, Robin,” I said. “Give me time.”
“Do you still love me?” His voice was at once shy and bold.
“I will never love another, as I love you, Robin.” His face brightened, and I was made miserable to see it. We walked on.
Just as we were turning to come about the chamber again, a white-faced boy arrived with a message. “It is urgent, my lady,” he said to Kat. Kat opened the parchment. As she read, her face drained.
“What is it, Kat?” I asked, thinking it was a missive from Cecil with further news from France.
She stared at me, her face drawn. Her skin was bloodless. “It is Parry… my lady.”
“What of Parry?”
Kat stared at me, her face ghostly. “He… he is dead.”
Chapter Nine
Westminster Palace
Winter 1560
I stared with blank and unseeing eyes at Kat.
The air had gone from my lungs. I could not form words. My head spun and I thought I might fall. Parry… Parry? How could Parry be dead? He had been ill of late but he had assured me it was nothing serious. I had seen him only days ago. How could this be? My knees buckled. I staggered and thought for a moment I might faint, but Robin caught me. He held me up, leading me to a chair. I sat down with a great thump, as though I were a sack of grain and stared up at Kat with bleak eyes. “Dead?” The word croaked from my throat. “How? When?” There was not enough air. I pulled at the ruff about my neck. My gown was too tight. Black spots danced before my eyes.
Kat tried to read the missive, but her eyes swam with tears, blinding her. Silently, Robin took the parchment from her. “This morning, of the fifteenth of December 1560…” Robin read aloud. His words warped and distorted in my ears. I had to concentrate to hear him… to understand. “… Sir Thomas Parry was taken with a convulsion of the limbs and a fell pain in his arm. He was taken to his bed in his London house and nursed by his wife, but after an hour, he received the last rites and left this life for God’s Kingdom.” Robin ducked to one knee, his face clouded with concern. “Majesty, are you alright?”
There was no blood in my face. My hands trembled. I shook my head and it drooped upon my neck, my eyes staring impotently at my lap. Parry, dead? How could this come so swift, so sudden? How could a man of such strength fall so fast? This man who had endured torture for my sake… This good man who had followed my footsteps into captivity in Woodstock… This man who had become my eyes and ears about England when my sister held me prisoner? Parry had raised an army of supporters to aid me then… How could a man of such vital energy simply die? Parry had been with me since I was a girl and had supported me in all events, and in all matters. He had been the only one, before the death of Amy Dudley, to tell me he would support me, should I choose to marry Robin. He had at all times, and in all matters been my man, my true servant… my good friend.
I put my hands to my face and buried my eyes there. Shock and disbelief resounded through my belly, through my heart. Kat’s arms reached around me, but I did not, could not, move into her embrace. I was frozen by the sudden shock. I bowed my head over my legs, tears running down the paint on my face, running in rivulets through the powder of alabaster. I sought to gather my breath. I tried to find my thoughts, but they had all abandoned me, save one. Abruptly I stood, making everyone start, stand back and stare at me; their Queen, her face a ruptured mask of tears and powder and paint.
“Order my horse.” My words shook as they dropped from my lips.
“Majesty?” Robin asked. “You are not well, you should rest.”
“You are my Master of Horse!” I shouted. I hated being told what to do. “Do as I say! Order my horse, assemble my guard and come with me.”
“To where, Majesty?” Robin’s face was grey with concern. Clearly he thought I had lost my senses with grief.
“To the house of Mistress Parry,” I said. “I have to visit with her… I have to tell her… tell her what her husband meant to me. I have to tell her Parry was a good man. I have to tell her that I loved him.” I knew I was making little sense, but I had to go to Parry’s widow. I had to share her grief and join it to mine. If I could not ever again tell Parry what he had meant to me, I had to tell her. “I have to go, now, Robin. Assemble my guards and bring my horse.”
He hurried away, knowing it was no use arguing with me when I had set my mind to something. I pressed Kat’s hand. “Will you come?” I whispered. Kat nodded, lacing her fingers through mine.
“I will be with you, Elizabeth,” she whispered. “For as long as you need me.”
Tears dripped from my eyes. My face was dirty with mottled cosmetics and grief. “Wipe this off me,” I said quietly. “I cannot go to Parry’s widow with anything but my own face at such a time.”
I rode out that hour to Parry’s house in town. When my men knocked on the door, a surprised servant escorted me into the small courtyard, and there I met Anne, Parry’s wife. She went to curtsey, but I grasped her hands and roughly pulled her to me. Against my shoulder she broke into tears. I held her to me, so tight I thought we both might cease to breathe.
“I will make sure you have all that you need, Anne,” I whispered. “All that you and your family need… You will want for nothing, for the love I had for your husband. Parry was my good man, Anne… He… ” Words failed me. All the noble sentiments I had wanted to say to Anne washed away. Fresh tears tumbled from my eyes and I buried my face into her dark gown.
“He loved you, Majesty,” she said against my shoulder. “He loved you so much. You were his every care, and hope. He admired you greatly. There was none he spoke of higher. He was ever your man, and devoted servant.”
“I loved him too, Anne.” I could say no more, but drew back, and took her hand. We two women, bound together in grief, gazed at each other. In that moment, we both knew there was nothing more to say. Loss cannot be expressed in words. It can only be felt. “Can I see him?” I asked.
Anne nodded. “He did not suffer, Majesty,” she said. “If that brings you consolation… It was quick.”
I cast my eyes away and swallowed hard. I squeezed her fingers and nodded by way of an answer. Parry’s eldest son, a young man of only nineteen, named Thomas for his father, led me up the creaking stairs of their smart townhouse and into Parry’s room. Parry had been laid out, his face and body w
ashed. He had been dressed in a simple gown of white linen.
“Can I sit with him, alone, for a moment?” I asked Thomas.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” The young man left. I heard his footsteps creak down the stairs. In the silence of this house of death, the sound of his steps was a groan of pain.
I sat at Parry’s side and gazed on his face. Until this moment I had wanted to believe that all of this was a trick, a lie, or a falsehood. I had wanted someone to spring out to announce it was all a jest… That I had not lost Parry… That life was still within his breast… But when one looks into the face of Death, there is no denying His power. I reached out and clutched his cold hand. Parry had been so warm. He had always been the first to remove a cloak even when others shivered, and it was not only his flesh that had been warm; his humour, his wit, his love of life… But now his skin was cold, damp; like the flesh of a toad.
I entwined my fingers into his stiff, cold ones and felt my chin and jaw contract. “Parry…” I whispered. “This is not how it was supposed to be, old friend. You should have told me, sent word that you were ill, and I would have moved heaven and earth to save you… Did you not know that? Did you not know how important you were to me? Did I never show it as I should have done?”
I blinked. Tears fell upon my skirts; blossoming, wet flowers of grief. “You were my good servant, Parry, were you not? You were my master of spies… The cunning fox in the shadows. You swore to be ever at my side, Parry. I am not yet done with my need for you.”
I put my head to his hand and kissed it. “In the face of Death all my powers are proved useless.” I did not want to stop talking and leave, for then, somehow, he truly would be dead. “I can no longer command you to rise. I can no longer command you to protect me, watch over me, advise me. What will I do without you?”
There was no answer, and there never would be. I had lost my friend.
“Go with God, good Master Parry,” I whispered to his corpse. “And when you reach Heaven, tell God that you served your Queen well and faithfully. That she listened ever to your counsel, even when she had not the wit to take it. That you had a place in her heart which will never be filled again… Tell Him that you were not only her servant but her dear friend. That she will never cease to sorrow that you chose to go on ahead, to see the lie of the land.”
I shook my head. “You always were one step ahead of me, Parry… Make sure that the path is good, and the chests are packed, old friend, for one day I will join you. Together, we will sit under the light of God and talk of the old days… The days at Woodstock, Parry, do you remember? When we made old Bedingfield dance for us? The days when you spun a web of secrecy about me? The days when Bedingfield suspected us, and searched even fish sent for my dinner for clues and codes?”
I smiled, despite myself and then my smile fell, taking the corners of my mouth downwards, into a twisted grimace. “This was not how it was meant to be, old friend,” I whispered again. “You have left too soon.” I slid my fingers tight into his, wanting to feel his skin against mine, if only for a short while longer. I ceased to talk. I put my head upon the bed, and laid it there for some time, allowing my tears to fall upon his cold skin.
My friend was gone.
Chapter Ten
Richmond Palace
February 1603
Subtle trickster: Death.
You steal so soft and silent into the halls of life. You rob us of friends. You prance into the light of day and bring the deep dark of night into our hearts. You come when we have had no time to prepare. You attack us when we have our guard down.
Are any of us ever prepared to hear that one we love has died? Even in long-suffering sickness, even under the shroud of old age, we are never prepared. Death is the most cunning of all thieves.
There is nothing like losing one we love. The air becomes too thin to breathe, the light too bright to see. We feel our hearts contract as they shrink within us, withered by the acid of loss. Our souls become broken like the backs of old gossips. Our bellies know hunger no more, for in hunger and thirst there are the wants of life. Death steals this from us. It is not only the life of the deceased Death takes when He comes to call…
How can it be He still takes us by surprise? When all men know they are mortal… When we all know we have but limited time with those we love? The secret is, because we hide this truth from ourselves. In order to live, in order to love, we hide the fact that we are mortal. We do not care to look upon Death as we live, and so He ever comes as a shock.
He lifts His hand, and takes the souls of those we love. And with them, a small shard of our spirit is broken off, too. It takes flight with the soul of the dead, leaving us with an empty space in our hearts.
Subtle trickster: Death.
You stole much from me that day.
Chapter Eleven
Westminster Palace
Winter 1560
Sir Thomas Parry was buried in Westminster Abbey with full honours accorded to his rank. I paid for his funeral myself, and made provision for his widow and children. I offered Anne a post in my household, as a lady-in-waiting, and made sure that Parry’s two sons and two daughters were taken care of as well. I gave Parry’s post of Master of the Wards to Cecil. Robin had wanted the post, but I offered it to my Spirit instead.
“Remuneration for your losses in Scotland, Spirit,” I murmured. Putting together the Treaty of Edinburgh had cost Cecil dear from his own pocket for lodgings and food. This was a way to repair some of the damage.
Cecil glanced up with sad eyes. “I would rather that I still had my old friend, Majesty,” he said. “But I thank you for thinking of me.”
“I miss him too, Cecil.” My voice broke over the words like waves crashing over rocks in the sea. “He was the best of men.”
“I find myself looking about, thinking I have lost something,” Cecil said. “And then realising the reason I feel this is because I can no longer find Parry… No more shake his hand, or call at his house to share a cup of ale with him at his fire.”
“Please, Cecil.” Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. They were already sore and angry from crying. “I can think no more on this… it brings me too much pain.”
Cecil crossed the room and put his hand on my shoulder. “He would not want you to grieve, Majesty,” he said. “Parry was committed to you and to England. One day, we will all meet again. Parry was one of the faithful. He will be waiting for us in Heaven.”
“I know it, Spirit,” I blinked back my tears. “It is just that I have the rest of this life to go through, without him in it. My heart is torn and my soul is heavy. It is as though Parry took all the lightness and happiness with him as he left us.”
Days passed. The court was in mourning for Parry and yet from outside my chambers I could hear young people talking and laughing. I bristled to hear sounds of joy in my time of misery… but then, they had not known Parry. They had not lost a friend. Should I wish for all happiness to leave the world, because of the grief in my soul? I struggled with my sorrow. I went about my business like a lost child. Sometimes, when I could not sleep, I would lie in bed thinking of him, missing him.
As I struggled on, we had further news from France. Mary had passed into the traditional period of isolation for royal French widows, into a private chamber, lit only by candles, where none were allowed to visit. For two weeks Mary was removed from the court, and during that time Catherine de Medici rose and was confirmed as Regent. Mary’s uncles, the Guise, fell back. Some suggested Mary should marry her ten year-old brother-in-law, the new King, Charles, but that idea did not find favour with his mother. Catherine also rebuffed a proposal to wed Mary to Don Carlos, the insane son of Phillip of Spain. Catherine knew that if Mary was raised to fresh power, then the Guise would rise with her. Catherine did not want the Guise holding such power again, anywhere, through their niece. Catherine wanted Mary gone, and made open remarks that her daughter-in-law was to return to Scotland.
What my cousin heard o
r thought of this, I know not. I believe it was likely to come as a shock. Mary had not seen the land of her birth for many years, having left Scotland’s shores when she was five years old. France was the only home she had known, but Scotland was still her kingdom, and despite the rise of the Protestant nobles who governed there under a Regency Council, she was still Queen. We had reports that feelings in Scotland were mixed about her return. Some wanted their Queen back, but many feared Mary for her faith, and worried that she might try to impose Catholicism on her people. Not all her Protestant subjects were opposed to her return, however; if men such as the influential Calvinist preacher, John Knox, were unenthused, there were others willing to see how she would fare as Queen before proclaiming her to be a sprite bent on leading them astray.