by G Lawrence
Her illegitimate brother, Lord James Stewart, arranged to go to France to meet her, and secure terms for her homecoming. For me, the return of Mary to Scotland was far from ideal. Although I believed the throne of Scotland was hers by God-given right, I had small wish to have her so close to my borders. Another queen, another ruler, and a Catholic one so close to me was likely to bring me little rest, especially if Mary retained the belief that she should be Queen of England instead of me… There was also the worrying fact that every man she met seemed to fall instantly in love with her. This was an annoyance in any case, as no woman wishes to be outmatched by another, but I little needed the men of England falling for the charms of a younger, and most beautiful queen. They might start to have ideas about replacing their old plaything with a new, shiny toy…
As Christmas drew near, however, it was not only fears about my cousin of Scots which were gnawing at my nerves. It was Robin. I was becoming more than a little annoyed with my Master of Horse. Quite apart from the fact that he would not set aside talk of marriage, even though I had told him it was too soon many times, he had been badgering me to elevate him as a sign of my trust. Robin wanted advancement. He wanted to be an earl, or even better, a duke. It was natural for him to want this, but I was not sure this was the right time. Robin already had enemies at court, and my love for him was a large part of the reason they despised him, although his pride and arrogance did not help either. I worried my people would not look favourably on such an act so soon after the mysterious death of his wife. I believed this request might place him in greater danger than he was already in, and it might endanger my people’s love for me.
But Robin did not see as I did. His vision had become limited. He saw only what might bring him closer to his goal to marry me. He attended upon me daily, and managed to slip his request into every conversation. It was wearying, and grating. Robin was also oblivious to my sorrow. Once Parry was buried, Robin appeared to think I had forgotten about him. He did not see my heart hanging, bloody and torn within my frail chest. He did not note the dullness of my spirits. Robin was becoming blind to all but his ambitions. Once, he would have seen this change in me in an instant, and sought to cheer or console me. Now, he did not. I was hurt by Robin’s lack of empathy and felt this constant insistence on being made an earl was unfeeling. He knew only his own troubles, and had ceased to care for mine. I did not say so to Robin for I hoped he might notice by himself. A fool’s hope, as it transpired.
“It would show the people that you had the utmost regard for my talents and skills, Majesty,” he said as we played cards one wet afternoon. I glanced up at him and arched an eyebrow without speaking. He had already raised the subject earlier that day and I had already told him I would think on it.
What had happened to my Robin? Was this where his ambition would take him? To lose all the sweetness and kindness I had loved, and to replace those qualities with ruthlessness, selfishness and greed? At such times he did not appear at all like the man I loved. He was a stranger, and one I was not best pleased to keep company with. Was this what his thirst for the throne would do to him? Was this what he might have become, even faster, had I agreed to marry him? When I saw the ugliness his character was capable of I had no regrets about my decision. In some ways, I was relieved to have refused him.
Eventually, noting my silence, Robin glanced up from his cards and chuckled at my baleful expression. “Am I becoming annoying, Majesty?”
“You are, my lord,” I agreed. “And it would better suit your purpose to still your lips long enough to allow me to think. It is a bold request, my lord, no matter how dear you are to me… No other lord would dare to ask, and ask so often, for their monarch to elevate them. It is supposed to be something for the monarch to decide themselves.”
“But in such times as these when I have enemies crowding about me and rumours at my back…” Robin rearranged his cards, as though he was even slightly interested in the game, which I knew he was not, for his mind was afire with this new plan. “… It would show your trust in me.”
“As you have said, several times today already, Robin.” My tone grew fractious. I was on the verge of losing my temper. I needed no parrot to repeat the same words over and over and over. What I needed was my friend. “I grow weary and annoyed when people repeat themselves. I have enough of that on the matter of my marriage, and on the succession, from my own Council. Cecil talks about Katherine Grey as though she is the only hope for the future of England. I don’t need you to bleat at me continuously too.”
“Then I will still my tongue.”
“Do.”
We played on, and he said nothing further, but the subject was brought up often in my chambers, and not always by Robin. Although I loved Robin, and knew he had many good qualities, he was often not the most subtle of men. Clearly he had drawn his sister into his plan to scuttle me into granting him an earldom, for soon enough, it was all of which Mary Sidney could talk.
“God’s Death!” I swore at her after she ‘happened’ to mention that more lords who were entirely loyal to me would be a fine thing for England. “What business is it of yours, Lady Sidney, if there is not one Duke or Earl who loves their Queen as they should? Are you the captain of the guards? Have you become my minister for security of the realm? Or should I call you not Mary Sidney today, but Mary Dudley? For it is clear that today your loyalties are firmly with your brother!” I walked out, leaving Mary white-faced and stunned.
“They all want to push me and pull me until I am naught but their puppet!” I announced to Kat as I stormed into the Bedchamber, not bothering to explain the history of my outburst.
Kat handed me a cup of small ale. “Then you must cut the strings, Majesty.”
“Hah!” I exclaimed and then sipped at the ale. It was refreshing and favoured with herbs; rich rosemary and fragrant thyme. “If I could do that, Kat, I would be running free by now!” I beckoned her closer. “What would you say if I told you Robin was asking to be made an earl?”
Kat cocked her head to one side. “I would say it is for Your Majesty to decide on whomsoever you believe to be suited to a post or title, rather than for someone to ask for it.”
I nodded in agreement. “My thoughts were the same, but I do not wish to make it appear as though I do not trust him, Kat. It is important for Robin to have my support at the moment.”
“Your Majesty has given him your support,” Kat protested. “Did you not welcome him at court immediately after the investigation into Lady Dudley’s death? Did you not make all efforts possible on his behalf? You allowed him to keep his positions, and made no secret of your belief in his innocence. You have been a good friend to Robin Dudley.” Kat crossed her arms over her generous bosom, her brow dark with disapproval. “Surely, that should be enough for any man, should it not?”
“Sometimes I think too much is not enough for most men, Kat.”
“I believe, Majesty, Lord Robin would be better suited, at this time, to offer friendship and comfort to you rather than begging for favours, especially in light of the great loss you have endured.”
“He will not talk on another subject. I find myself dreading his step upon my chamber floor.”
Kat’s nostrils flared with anger. Of all the things that riled her, someone mistreating me was the worst of all offences. “Rather than seeking to advance his own ambitions, Lord Dudley should be thinking of you, Majesty… He should be returning the many kindnesses you have showed him. I know that he is close to you, Majesty, but I must question the depth of his friendship if he does not offer consolation to you in your time of need. Should he not wish to reciprocate? Friendship is not a street where carts pass only one way, Majesty. Friends are there when they are needed. They should want to be there. It should be their first thought… to put an arm about their friend when they are felled by sorrow, and offer solace. To my mind, Lord Robin needs to remember what his duties are as a friend and now more so than ever.”
Kat echoed my own
thoughts. Robin should be acting as a friend. Had I not, only recently, done all I could to aid him, to protect him? Perhaps Robin had become too used to being the one who received rather than gave in our relationship. But Kat was right. He was not doing his part. Was my friendship with Robin, was his love for me, not true, then? His behaviour was giving me cause to question him, and this increased the sorrow within me… making me feel isolated and alone.
Despite my annoyance at Robin and all the members of his family he trooped out to cheer on his cause, I decided I would still consider his elevation as promised. I spoke with some of my ladies-in-waiting, to allow the information to leak out into the court. I would test the reaction of the nobles, and of my people, and weigh up what dangers elevating Robin might create. The reactions were not favourable. Norfolk, in particular, was incensed at the idea.
That night, I went to my private chapel, and said a prayer for Parry. I did not believe, as Catholics did, that Parry had need of my prayers to help him into Heaven. Such a man as he would be welcomed by God with open arms. I just wanted Parry to know I was thinking of him, missing him, as the world continued on in such a blithe and unconcerned manner, after he had left it.
“You would have supported Robin, would you not, old friend?” I whispered into the incense-filled dim light of the chapel as I rested on my knees. “And perhaps you would have been right to think he should be elevated. He has done much for me in the past. I just wish he could look into my heart, as once he did with such ease, and see there is little there but the space you have left.”
As I rose to leave, I kissed my fingers and laid them on the altar. “Rest well, Parry,” I murmured. “You have earned it, for ever did you serve me well.”
Chapter Twelve
Greenwich Palace
Christmas 1560
As Advent drew to a close, and the traditional period of fasting ended, everyone was looking forward to the great feast of Christmas Day. After a last austere meal on Christmas Eve, where no eggs, milk, cheese, or meat were allowed, to finish the fast of Advent, all at court were ready for a fine meal, and a good dance. I had not found the fast a trial this year. I was not averse to a period where I was expected to refrain from food. It gave me excuses to offer to Kat and Blanche when they tried to feed me. Kat was most displeased at my frail appetite. She worried for this habit, which grew only stronger over the years, to abstain from food in times of trial. But it was not a conscious choice, not exactly. It was just how I reacted to pain, strife and trouble.
On Christmas Eve, my servants went out into the parks and cut boughs of green box, laurel and scented yew, along with bushels of shining holly, clambering ivy and clustered mistletoe to decorate the halls of court. Yule logs were brought in for the fires. On Christmas morning, a piece of last year’s fire, saved for this purpose, would be put under the Yule log, so the coming year was kindled from the flames of the year past.
Around the city, and throughout the towns of England, Christmas Eve was a night for wandering players and performers to roam, seeking a coin or an offering of food from the houses and doorways where they performed. The sound of voices rose, singing, from the dark streets of snow-bound London. On the air, too, were the scents of roasting meat, spices sizzling in butter, and the smell of baking bread. All over the country, farmers and yeomen offered more fodder to their animals on Christmas Eve, in part because it was traditional, and we cling to our traditions, and in part to save them from having to attend to their beasts in their stables much the next day, when they wanted to be in their homes, celebrating with their families. There was a long-held belief that as Christmas Eve turned to Christmas morn, cattle and sheep would lift their heads and cry out to mark the birth of Jesus Christ. Perhaps, seeing as their ancestors had been amongst the first to see the coming of the Christ child, this was only to be expected.
Before the fire, in my chambers on Christmas Eve, I gathered with my ladies, each of us clasping full cups of wine, or small ale, listening to the stories of old. Although my Privy Council and many of my more zealous Protestant subjects did not approve of such pagan practices, I loved to hear the ancient tales. They are a link to our past, to our ancestors, through the power of stories. Kat and Blanche were masters at this sport. Tales of fairies, witches, hobgoblins and the Devil Himself dripped from their lips to terrify and enthral my household.
Their backs to the bright fire, Kat and Blanche would tell a tale together, each playing different parts of the story. Their faces twisted into the fearsome visage of demons, and drooped into the idiotic faces of fools. They held us spellbound. They told the tale of St Nicholas, saving sweet virgin sisters from marriage to boorish old men; they spoke of fairies who stole children in the dead of night and replaced them with changelings; they told of ghosts, souls who haunted the places of their deaths, in times of evil men and evil deeds. As Kat and Blanche danced about each other, their faces shadowed, then illuminated by the crackling flames, the eyes of my young maids would grow wild and white. My ladies leant forward, their breath caught in their throats, as Kat and Blanche reached the climax of a tale.
“And then…” Blanche leaned forward, folding her back like an old, broken witch, creeping towards my ladies with her hands outstretched like claws. “…They opened their door…” Blanche paused, her hands reaching slowly forwards, close to the faces of the youngest maids who cringed from her. Blanche’s face was bound in shadow. There was not a sound, as we all held our breath. Her voice fell to a whisper. “The door creaked open… slowly… slowly… they stepped outside…”
“And the Devil swooped upon them and carried them all to hell!” shrieked Kat, leaping in front of the fire from her hiding place in the corner. My women jumped, screeched loud with terror, and then dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, leaning against one another, holding their sides in pain.
“Enough!” I announced when I had recovered the strength to speak. I had not laughed so hard since Parry had died. “Enough, you wicked sirens! Or my Yeomen will break down the doors, thinking we are under attack!”
We made for our beds, the sound of laughter trickling along the hallways as my maids departed for their shared rooms. I asked Kat and Blanche to sleep in my bed that night. I always had at least one lady with me, and often several on pallet beds on the floor, but there was something about Christmas Eve which told me to gather family about me. Kat and Blanche were the closest I had to family. In many ways, since they had raised me in the absence of my mother, they were closer to me than my own kin had ever been. Perhaps such a thought should have been sorrowful, but I did not think of it in this way. If I was unfortunate to have lost my mother so young, I was equally as fortunate to have her replaced with such good, loving women.
At least I have them, I thought. There are many in this world who have no one.
We lay in the bed that night, under the scented bed sheets and thick covers of good English wool. I listened to Kat’s gentle snores, and Blanche’s steady breathing. I smelled Kat’s soft perfume of lavender rising from the warmth of her body and I felt at peace. It was true that my life was far from perfect. The humblest man may look at a queen and believe she has all she would ever need; all the wealth, all the freedom, all the privilege he does not… and whilst much of this is true, it is also true that I was more bound, less free, and less able to do with my life as I wanted than the poorest man of my stables.
But at times such as this, I understood I was fortunate. I had friends, and they loved me. Such gifts, when we remember to be grateful for them, count as the best of blessings.
*
As Christmas Day peeked over the pink and blue striped dawn skies, I rose, danced six galliards with my ladies and then walked the paths of my gardens, hearing thin ice crack under my feet and the ringing of bells pealing all over London, calling people to Mass. William St Loe walked quietly behind me. His presence was reassuring, familiar, and made me feel safe. I returned refreshed. Before the fire, where juniper wood burnt, releasing a heavenly sce
nt into the chamber, my ladies washed and dressed me.
I bathed regularly, much more so than many of my court, for I could not stand ill smells, especially upon my own skin. Myrrh-scented water was poured over my hands, and I used Spanish soap, a mixture of salted wood ash, oil and scents, to cleanse my skin. Upon my clean skin were placed undergarments of linen, and over them, a stiff whalebone farthingale to hold up my skirts. I liked farthingales for they made my waist appear even slimmer than it was by accentuating my hips. Kat rolled silk stockings up my legs, the ones Robin had bought me. About my neck was a small ruff of white lace, starched with the sap of a wild plant. That plant had earned a new name amongst the common people as the ruff became popular at court. The plant was now called Lords and Ladies for it was only nobility who could afford such pretty, useless and high-maintenance items of dress such as a ruff. My gown and sleeves were embroidered with patterns of roses, honeysuckle, and snakes, for my lineage, purity and wisdom. Pearls clung to the edges of the gown along my chest, glimmering against the clear skin of my breasts.
A mixture of egg white and alum was spread lightly upon my face, and then powdered over with alabaster, so that my skin shone and sparkled. I did not like to paint myself too heavily, but a little embellishment does no harm. My cheeks and lips were painted delicately with colouring made from crushed red rose petals. My long, elegant fingers were afire with rings of gold, bearing stones of emerald and sapphire. Since the sapphire was supposed to hold the power to dispel discord, I thought it might be appropriate for court that season… for it seemed that Arundel and Norfolk were determined to make war upon Robin.