Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  Kat and Blanche united to save me. I ate enough to keep from fainting, but I was not a well woman. I had ceased to dance my six galliards of a morning, something which had never happened before, for I found I had neither energy nor spirit for such exercise. Robin was distant with me and the affair with the book dragged on, compounding my misery. Eventually an order went out for Sacconay to “alter the offensive passages” in his text, but I demanded that the books be seized, destroyed, and the author punished. Finally, this happened, but the damage was done. I was furious with Catherine de Medici and with France. When the French ambassador commented that I should send a note of thanks to King Charles and his mother, I walked straight past him without answer or acknowledgement, causing high offence. I cared not. They had been trying to hurt me. If I could retaliate, I would.

  One night, when I was sat in my chambers, filled with gnawing loneliness, I asked Kat to call for my jewel-maker. I ordered a new ring. One made of gold and mother of pearl with my initials ER on the front. But the ring held a secret, which I asked my jewel-maker and Kat to keep. The ring was crafted so that the front opened to reveal two portraits hidden inside. One was of me, and the other was based on the few likenesses of my mother I had. After her fall my father had purged the palaces of her portraits. The one I used was brought from Hever Castle to be copied. When the ring was finished, I opened the front and gazed upon the beautiful face of my mother. She looked so young, so striking. Her dark hair covered by a French hood and tiny pearls glimmering against her white skin. I remembered the last day I had seen her alive, when she had held me out to my father as though I could protect her from all the horror that was to follow. I remembered her soft hands and the scent of rose perfume which rose from her warm skin. I wept over my new treasure, but the ring brought me courage. My mother would always be here, upon my hand, as I ruled. It made me feel less alone to know I could open the ring and see her face whenever I had need of her… Need of her memory… Need of her strength… Need of her love.

  She had been slandered and defamed but she would be with me now every day, in the highest position I could grant her at my court. For if to be at the side or in the company of the Queen is a place of honour, then to be upon her very skin is the highest of all positions. I could not honour my mother publicly for my enemies would use her against me. I had not the power to restore her reputation, nor could I ever make amends for the horrors she had faced, but I would honour her in my heart, in my soul, and carry her memory with me, always.

  *

  That autumn, Mary’s ambassador, William Maitland, arrived. He came with a clear brief from his Queen; to get me to name Mary as my heir, and bring about peace between our nations. With all that had been happening lately I welcomed the idea of peace, although I was not about to agree to the other request.

  I was still not hale. I suffered constant headaches and was low and despondent. Much as it had fallen out when Amy Dudley died, my hair resumed its desire to part company with my head. I had taken to wearing false sections of hair, yet another action which reminded me troublingly of my sister. When I watched hair falling from my head with every stroke of Kat’s ivory comb, I wanted to cry. My hair had been something I was proud of and loved to display. I knew well enough that I was striking rather than beautiful, but my hair had made me more attractive, and now it was leaving me. I wore wigs to cover my thinning hair, but this was not the only suffering I endured.

  My doctors pressed me with bitter herbs to rouse my appetite and potions to make me sleep, but sleep I could not find and I simply did not want to eat. It was not as though I was not hungry. The urge to eat was there in my belly, but its commands did not travel to my mind. There was something within me which called out for control… Control over my own body, if I could not control what was going on about me. It was this impulse which spoke to my stomach, telling it that it needed no sustenance to survive. I found roasted meat repulsive, and vegetables disgusted me. I picked at comfits, quince jelly and bread, but ate only to appease my ladies. I felt I was losing control of everyone and everything in my life. I think I was lost. For the first time in my life, I had lost my sense of myself.

  Hertford arrived back in England and I had him taken to the Tower. He supported Katherine’s story, which meant that my cousin was not a jade, but both of them were traitors for marrying without my knowledge or permission. They were also conflicted and unsure on many questions regarding their marriage. Neither could remember the date on which this happy event had occurred, Hertford could not remember what money he had assigned to Katherine as her dower, and Katherine seemed to frequently be at a loss to remember anything at all. Hertford confessed that they had lain together many times, whereas Katherine maintained they had been together as man and wife only once, on the first day they were married. Katherine said she had received no letters from Hertford, whereas the young man declared he had sent several during his time in France. The inconsistencies went on and on and on, and I became doubtful that either was telling the truth about anything.

  I toyed with the idea of condemning them by Act of Attainder, but was unsure of public reaction. I wanted an investigation into the marriage, and I wanted the priest found, for if the priest had indeed performed a Catholic ceremony then Katherine would soon discover she was not in fact legally married to Hertford and the child she was close to delivering was a bastard! I had no intention of releasing either one of them, although I had allowed Bess St Loe to leave the Tower after a few days. Although I was convinced Bess was innocent, and had merely had the unfortunate fate of being the first Katherine took her ill news to, I was disappointed Bess had not come to me with this information. I had to trust those about me, my women most of all. I removed Bess from her posts, although I assured her husband that, in time, I would let her return. If I was convinced of Bess’s innocence, however, I was not at all convinced of Hertford’s or Katherine’s. The investigation into their marriage began.

  When Ambassador William Maitland arrived, therefore, he found me in a frame of mind that switched easily from paranoid fury to pensive contemplation. But he also found a woman who was willing to open talks with her nearest royal relative. I was in need of friends. Mary had been my enemy in the past, but I was starting to believe, to hope, that she might be a future ally. I also wanted to offer her reassurance that I was not about to recognise Katherine’s unborn babe as my heir. Mary Stewart was a far greater threat to England than Katherine Grey was. I scarcely needed my Scots cousin taking offence if another was recognised in her place as the heir to England’s crown.

  Ambassador Maitland had a long face which made him look rather like a handsome horse. He wore a pointed beard and a long moustache. There was a lazy look to his features, as though he was half-asleep, but he was no dullard. He was Secretary of State in Scotland, a reformist, and seemed to be a man who was ever standing in the middle of all parties, never forming firm alliance with any but his Queen. Loyal to Mary, Maitland was no great friend to Knox and his puritanical followers, but gave the impression that should changing sides suit him, then he might. He was a political pragmatist. It was rumoured that he was in love with one of Mary’s Maries, the one named Fleming, but her devotion to her mistress was such that she was uninterested in marriage, at least for now. I was envious to learn this, for amongst my ladies only my beloved Blanche was as determined as me to remain unwed. Besides, I had had enough trouble of late with the state of matrimony…

  Maitland wasted no time in getting down to the principal reason for his visit. I listened to him politely as he put his case forward, and then responded with disappointment heavy in my tone. “I had looked, my lord, for a message of friendship from the Queen, your sovereign, and an agreement to ratify this treaty left to tarry so long between our peoples,” I said with frustration. “And I tell you now; I will not meddle with the succession. When I am dead, they shall succeed that have the most right. That person shall be decided on not only by the men of England, but by God. If the Queen, your sover
eign, be that person, then I would be satisfied.”

  “So you recognise, Majesty, my Queen is the most worthy person to be chosen as heir for the English throne?” Maitland asked in his rather lulling, pleasing Scot’s accent, trying to press me into a firm answer.

  “Your mistress is a better choice than those of my blood in England,” I spat bitterly, meaning the Greys. “Some of them have made declaration to the world that they are more worthy of the throne than my cousin, or myself, by demonstrating that they are not barren. However all of those who claim such have been excluded from the succession due to their father’s treason and their sister’s usurpation of my sister’s throne.” There was muttering from the crowded Presence Chamber as I spoke. Not a great deal had been said publicly about Katherine and what her recent actions had done to her claim.

  “I have noted,” I continued. “That you have said your Queen is descended of the royal blood of England and I am obliged to love her as being nearest to me in blood than any other… all of which I confess to be true. I here protest to you, in the presence of God, that for my part, I know of no better claimant to be my heir. I myself would prefer her to any other.” The muttering grew to rumbling. Shocked faces stared at each other. I had never openly approved of an heir before. This was no formal declaration, but I wanted everyone to understand Katherine Grey was not an option.

  Maitland looked pleased and I held up a hand. “But,” I continued. “I must avoid a formal declaration, as it could prejudice my security and that of my realm, since plures adorant solem orientem quam occidentem, my lord, more people worship the rising than the setting sun. If your mistress would take from me as a personal, rather than official declaration, and be satisfied with that, then I would have no objection in saying I believe her worthy to become my successor. The terms of my father’s will and the Act of Succession may, however, impede me from making even private promise to my fair cousin. And any claim made by the Queen of Scots would have to be debated in my Parliament.”

  Maitland appeared bemused, as I had intended. If I could offer hope to my cousin, and keep talks with her ongoing, then I lost nothing, and would not have to commit myself to anything, either. I didn’t want Mary getting it into her head that the English throne was hers. There were concessions I wanted from her, and my position would be stronger if she was left unsure, but hopeful.

  “It would perhaps be better for your mistress to attempt first to try to win the love of the English by showing herself a generous and friendly neighbour, rather than make immediate demands of me,” I said. “If my people come to see her as a gracious mistress, one given to peace and charity, then they may become more open to the idea of her becoming my heir.” I smiled at him. “Did not your mistress say that she would be ruled by her people?” Maitland nodded, “and so you see, lord ambassador, the same is true for me.”

  “But it is also true, Your Majesty, that where a sovereign leads, her people follow,” Maitland said. “And if example was set by you, Majesty, then perhaps your people would come to know affection for my mistress and honour her claim.”

  I gazed at him with steady eyes. “The desire is without example, my lord… to require me, in my own life, to set my winding sheet before my eyes. Think you that I could love my own death shroud? Princes cannot like their own children that are to succeed them. How then, shall I like my cousin, if she is declared my heir apparent? And what danger it may bring… For in assuring her of the succession, we might put our present state in doubt.” I breathed in. “I have good experience of being, myself, in the position of the heir in my sister’s time. How desirous men were then that I should be in place, and how earnest to set me up as heir! And how eager others were to use me against my sister, and cause trouble between us. It is hard to bind princes by any security when hope is offered of a kingdom. If it ever became certainly known in the world who was to succeed me, I would never again think myself safe, or secure.”

  I beckoned Kat over and rose to leave. “I am willing to be a friend to your mistress, and will consider all you say, as and when the Treaty of Edinburgh is ratified by her,” I said. “I will send a letter to my cousin this very night, and I will praise your polite efforts on her behalf, my lord. We will talk again.”

  As I walked out with Kat beside me, I started to mutter under my breath. “My cousin demands her rights, and yet forgets they are only rights if I decide they are!”

  “When you have eaten, Majesty, I will offer my opinion,” Kat said briskly, reaching out to brush a speck of coal dust from my sleeve.

  “You seek to force me to do your will by withholding your counsel, Kat?”

  She grinned wolfishly. “I learned the trick from my own Queen, Majesty. If I keep back what others want, they are more likely to do as I please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Islington

  Autumn 1561

  In September, to my utmost irritation, my cousin Katherine Grey gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The girl was apparently doing all she could to vex me! Although it was irrational, and obviously I knew Katherine had no control over the sex of her babe, I was flung into fresh wrath and terror. To many, this child was England’s long-awaited Protestant male heir. To many, this was the answer for which they had been praying. This boy born of a traitor! For days I went about like a roaming thunder cloud.

  The autumn came in flush with golden browns and brilliant reds. The dusk skies were striped cherry pink and brilliant blue. In the woodlands animals gorged themselves on last feasts of fruits and seeds. Spiderlings flew in the air, released from sacks of white silk spun by their mothers, and carried on the breeze to begin new lives. My kitchens stewed quinces, apples, pears and cherries into preserves, making the air sweet with the scent of sugar and spice. In the evenings, the long trailing hoots of owls sounded in the darkness as they floated through the air like ghosts. Rooks cursed at sudden blasts of high winds, and jays shrieked like witches in the trees. Swallows winged above, swooping and diving, heading for warmer climes. England’s storehouses bulged with produce and weary farmers nodded by their hearths at night; warm in the knowledge they were prepared for winter. Wasps, angry and dozy, descended on unwary walkers in the palace grounds, and sent people flying away from autumn picnics. Large black and orange bumblebee queens buzzed from the nests of their birth searching for burrows where they could sleep until winter retreated. I only wished that this Queen, like the bees, could put her head down and sleep until her troubles had passed.

  Katherine named her boy Edward, after his father, and whilst I did not want to offer the pair any reward, I did allow Hertford to see his child once, under supervision, and sent a wet nurse to aid Katherine. By the faith, though! How I would have liked to leave them apart and with no help! But to act spitefully would only set people against me. There was already too much sympathy for Katherine. It was infuriating, but people warmed to this story of these traitors; two lovers separated, and with the princess held in a Tower no less… To many, I was the evil Queen of this fairytale. Their separation and imprisonment was lamented. Since they had dared treason for love that was different, apparently, than defying me for ambition, for religion, or for wealth… Not so in my mind.

  Katherine’s son, little Lord Beauchamp, was baptised in the chapel at the Tower two days after his birth, only a few feet away from the graves of his family members executed during my siblings’ reigns. There was his grandfather, the Protector Seymour; his great uncle, Thomas Seymour; his infamous aunt, Lady Jane Grey, and yet another grandfather, that great fool Henry Grey. What a collection of traitors to be baptised next to! And what a feat for this new Seymour to be born already under arrest… Lord Beauchamp had surpassed his forbears, indeed.

  Throckmorton wrote to defend Hertford, saying the young man had proven himself in France as a diplomat, and was a credit to me. At the same time, Hertford’s mother, the Duchess of Somerset wrote to distance herself from the “wildness of my unruly child,” as she put it, and to apologise in most dra
matic terms for Hertford’s actions, of which the Duchess protested she had known nothing, writing “neither for child nor friend would I willingly neglect the duty of a faithful servant to her mistress.”

  Cecil was finding it hard, given his previous support for Katherine, to distance himself from her scandal, and Robin kept assuring me that my Secretary must have known something. Arundel exchanged hard words with Robin, about this and other issues, and stormed from court, saying he would not return whilst Robin was there.

  Trouble and strife had become my constant companions.

  About me there was a conscious effort, particularly on the part of my Protestant advisors, to free Katherine and set her and her son up as my heirs. Disturbed by my refusal to exclude Mary of Scots from the succession, and emboldened by the arrival of a male in a Protestant branch of the Tudor line, they pressed me to forgive Katherine and accept her son. But I would not. I could not even bear the thought. Reward the girl for her treason and insolence? The thought was not to be borne.