by G Lawrence
It was in this irritated frame of mind that I wrote to my cousin in Scotland and demanded she ratify the treaty. I admit, it was not the most polite letter I had ever penned, but I was feeling increasingly alone, frightened and imposed upon by others. If only my cousin would ratify this damned treaty, then something would be going well for me! But when Maitland heard of the letter, he came to me in a hostile frame of mind. “If my Queen is not named heir to your throne, Majesty, then she may consider acting with force where words do not prevail,” he said, his droopy eyes bright with defiance.
“Are you threatening me with invasion, my lord ambassador?” I asked, lifting my eyebrows.
“Although your Majesty takes your claim to be lawful,” the sneaky Scot went on. “Yet you are not always recognised so in the world.”
Usually, such a stark and bold threat would have brought forth a furious response from me, but I was exhausted in mind and body, and growing increasingly afraid of Katherine’s boy. Maitland’s words were true enough; there were many who did not recognise my claim. I could not afford the threat of war. “I will consider reviewing the terms of the treaty,” I replied, miserable to have been brought to such a low state by the Greys and Hertford.
“We should not review or change a single clause!” Cecil exploded later. The treaty had, after all, been his work. “Your Majesty should have stood firm!”
“Lift your voice just one more octave, Cecil, and you will not like the reaction you will get,” I warned and then exhaled noisily. “I know, Spirit, I know… But what am I to do? Mary demands her rights, as she sees them, and I cannot risk war by refusing. What is to be done when everyone demands that I name this one or that one my heir and I have said I will not name one in my lifetime?”
“Name an heir, Majesty,” Cecil replied. “And have done with the matter.”
“And you would have me name a traitor held in my own prison? Or her bastard babe, perhaps?”
Cecil was silent, but I believed this was what he wanted. Although he disapproved of Katherine and her illicit pregnancy, she had improved in his eyes by bearing a son. No matter Cecil’s loyalties to me, he believed much the same as my other men; that the world was meant to be ruled by men. The prospect of a Protestant, male, heir for England was worth putting up with an unsuitable mother, in his mind, and in the thoughts of many others.
That night, I stared listlessly into my mirror as Kat combed my hair. As more hair fell from my head, as I gazed upon my wasted face, and my hoary skin, I felt as though I was staring into a looking glass where my own death was foretold. I shivered and looked away.
Perhaps it was all this talk of the succession, talk which although was ever politic and polite, was talk of my demise. Everyone was thinking about it, and concentrating more on what would happen when I was dead, than on what I might do whilst still alive.
I felt cold, ill, alone and old.
I was only twenty-eight years old, but the strands of my winding cloth were already gathering about me, clinging to my skin, leeching the life from me, whilst I still lived.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
St James’s Palace
London
Autumn 1561
In September, the court arrived back in London and made for St James’s Palace. When I arrived, with my mind on other matters, it made my heart sing to find ten thousand Londoners had turned out to welcome me home. The streets were full; their heated cobbles beaten upon by the thump of thousands of shoes and boots and slippers. As I rode up on my palfrey, with Robin at my side, I paused for a moment, looking upon the crowds. My heart swelled within me and my spirit soared. As the crowds caught sight of me they exploded into rampant cheering. They surged forwards, and were only held back from crushing me with their love by my guards. Happy faces beamed up at me and shouts of welcome rang through the air. I had not expected this. My people, the good people of England, had heard the sorrowful cries of my heart upon the wind, and had rushed to console me. I stopped my horse often to talk to people, or to take the small gifts they offered. I was overcome.
“Your people adore you, Majesty,” Robin said, shaking his head with amazement at the sheer number of people gathered.
“As I love them.” How had they known? How had they known how much I needed them?
“I thank you, good people, for coming to welcome me home,” I called to them, turning my horse to face the milling masses. “There is no prince, in all the world, as fortunate as I. For I am blessed by you. No other ruler has subjects like the loyal, loving people of England and in return for the sweet blessing of your love I will ever strive to make myself worthy of your affections.”
A wild cry rose from the ten thousand people gathered. Flowers were thrown to mark my path to the palace. Wagons trailing behind me were stuffed full of gifts of freshly baked bread, cakes, posies, small lengths of silk, ribbon and wool, and mounds of flowers. I slept better that night than I had done for months, years perhaps. I was rocked into slumber by the warmth of my people and lulled into happiness by the outpouring of their love. I woke refreshed, and began to think that my dark thoughts of death, of being replaced, were groundless. My Council, my advisors might be looking at the future, might be thinking about my death, but my people were not. They, like me, preferred to live in the present. My people reminded me that day I was not alone. As long as I had their love, I had all the company I needed.
*
My happiness managed to last several days before something arrived to cut it short. And when it came, I was flung once more into thoughts of my own death. Never a subject to cheer someone’s spirits…
Throckmorton wrote of a plot to assassinate me. An Italian called Jean Baptista Beltran had informed Throckmorton that a Greek named Maniola de Corfeu had been instructed to come to England and poison me. Ambassador de Quadra was implicated. It was suggested, but never confirmed, that the assassin was to gain access to my person through de Quadra. Beltran offered to intercept the would-be assassin in France, come to England with him, and turn him over to my men. If caught within my kingdom, the assassin would be subject to English law, and could therefore be punished accordingly. Although Throckmorton had told Beltran to go ahead with the plan, the assassin, Corfeu, left secretly and was spotted heading for Dieppe to gain passage to England. Cecil sent men to all ports with the description we had of Corfeu, but he was not discovered. Cecil informed me he was going to place more men and women to spy for us in de Quadra’s household, as well as increasing my guards.
“Any more men walking at my heel, Cecil, and people will begin to gather thinking I am a parade!” I complained. My freedom was already restricted, and I hated giving away more.
“You need men to protect you, Majesty, you are the Queen of England and we must preserve your life.”
“Fine,” I agreed with poor grace. “Now what of de Quadra?”
“This is the second time that the ambassador has been implicated in a plot against you, Majesty,” Cecil warned. “We have to believe he is indeed an enemy, rather than a potential friend.”
“I have never believed him to be a friend, in any case, Cecil. The man despises me and all for which I stand. I am not in the least surprised he might be involved with a plot on my life. God in Heaven knows, I have often believed the ambassador might be pondering with delight upon my demise when he comes to talk with me at court.”
“Take no presents of gloves, foods, perfume or anything else which may contain poison, Majesty,” Cecil went on as though I had not spoken.
“I know the rules, Cecil, fear not.” I tapped on the table in front of him, making him look up. His face was drawn. “Fear not, old friend,” I said again, gazing into his eyes. “We are used to this, are we not? Who in Europe, aside from the glorious poet, Erik of Sweden, does not want to murder me?”
Cecil’s lips bunched together. He did not like my japes on such a grave matter, but what was I supposed to do? Hide under my bed every time there was a threat to my life? “Your Majesty should tak
e this seriously,” he admonished.
“My Majesty takes it most seriously.”
Cecil grimaced. “Lord Dudley has also been informed and is aware of what precautions to take when you are out riding or hunting,” he went on. “Although it would be safer for you to remain inside.”
“I must be allowed to ride and hunt, Cecil,” I protested. “Send all the men you want to follow me, but I will not lose all freedom for fear of death. What is the point of living, if all enjoyment of life is stolen from me?”
“Then I will order many guards to ride with you, Majesty,” he said, shaking his head at my resolve. Cecil plunged into detailed descriptions of the security measures he was to impose on my household. I ceased to listen after a while, but I allowed him to go on, listing all his plans. It made him feel better. Cecil liked lists. He had stacks of them everywhere. Since he was involved with all matters of my kingdom, I have no doubt he needed them, but I also saw he used them as a crutch in times of trouble.
I tried to make light of it, but I was unnerved. I jumped at shadows and started at odd noises. My bedroom was searched three times daily, and I was constantly surrounded by armed guards. I became paranoid. Combined with my lack of sleep, I started to believe everyone and everything was out to get me. My ladies were my greatest consolation. They tested my food, at great risk to their own lives, ensured I was always surrounded, and they tried to calm me, when I was made restless with fear. I was grateful to them, especially since Robin was no help at all. He was affronted by my dismissal of him during the summer, and hardly seemed to understand why I had become so worried, and so very tired.
I could not afford another enemy. I had to keep Mary as an ally. Maitland returned for another audience to press me again about altering the Treaty of Edinburgh and I decided to try a new tactic to distract him from talk of the succession, or invasion. “I think your mistress and I should meet in person, my lord ambassador,” I announced. “Will you put the idea to her?”
“I am sure nothing would give my Queen more pleasure than to meet with her royal sister,” Maitland said, his slack eyes opening a touch wider. “But would you go to Scotland, Majesty, or do you invite my Queen to your court?”
“The details can be worked on in due course.” I waved my fingers at him. “I would like first to know my cousin’s thoughts on such a meeting. If she is willing, it would please me greatly to see her in the flesh and talk of peace between our nations.” I paused and smiled at the ambassador. “It is strange for me to think, at times, that we have not met, considering our closeness in age, sex and blood. You must tell me more of her. Does she look like my aunt, Margaret Tudor? Or does she favour her mother?”
Maitland launched into a description of his tall, beautiful and learned mistress as I sat back, happy to see his present distraction. Mary was likely to be interested in meeting me, since then she could put her case for the succession to me in person. If she thought such a meeting might happen, she would be less inclined to consider war against England. Offering her this would divert her, and likely for a long time as all the details were worked out.
“Your mistress sounds like a woman after my own heart,” I said as he finished, eventually. “We have such similar tastes. Were I a man, I believe she could win my heart and we two could marry, uniting England and Scotland.”
Maitland looked frankly astonished at the idea of me marrying his Queen, but took the opportunity to press for his mistress’s rights. When he came to the subject of the use of the arms of England, I interrupted him. “I am willing to discuss the right of your Queen to use the arms of England,” I said. “But I would ask that she would not think to do so during my own lifetime. After all, she can hold a right to something, and yet choose not to use it, can she not?”
“Indeed, Majesty, although if named heir to the throne, she could use them without offence.”
“I will not make the Queen of Scotland my heir through act of Parliament, my lord, not at this time. There may be too many who would seek to use this against me and place her in danger as well. Let us end this meeting now, in high spirits. You will write to your mistress suggesting that we meet. This is a noble task, Maitland. Imagine if you could bring us together? It would be a glorious meeting, and one that would be talked of for all time.”
Nils Goransson Gyllenstierna, ambassador to King Erik of Sweden, was lingering at the edges of the Presence Chamber, eager to further his King’s suit, so I waved Maitland away. “We will talk more, my lord ambassador,” I said as he bowed and left. As Nils approached, I smiled with genuine affection. I always enjoyed talking with him. The man was a born flatterer.
“My lord,” I said. “How are you?”
“Not as well as you, obviously, my lady,” he gushed. “For you shine at the head of your country. The rest of us are but dull marsh lights to your blazing sun.”
I breathed out and leaned back in my chair. No matter if I was never going to accept his master as a husband, I did so enjoy these little visits from Nils.
Chapter Thirty
Whitehall Palace
Autumn 1561
On a bright November morning, I went to watch Robin shoot in a match arranged between him and Pembroke. Both were fine shots with the musket and I had been looking forward to attending as wagers had been laid on the contest throughout court and all were talking of it. The tension, however, between Robin and Pembroke, Arundel, and Norfolk was growing. I did not want to be seen supporting Robin over Pembroke, and cause only more division, so I devised a plan. Disguised as a maid, and following Lady Clinton, my Fair Geraldine, I slipped out of Whitehall by a back entrance, and joined Lady Clinton’s servants. It was enormously liberating. I hardly remembered a time when I entered a room, or in this case, walked out on a green, and did not have everyone staring at me. Disguised and hidden amongst her servants, I was anonymous. It was a heady sensation, and a startling revelation to understand that there could be such freedom in anonymity. I walked behind Lady Clinton with a cowl over my head to disguise my features. It did not, however, take long for Robin to recognise me.
“I see you have a new maid, Lady Clinton,” he said, coming to take a drink from the table set up with refreshments. The match was going in his favour. He and Pembroke had been taking turns to shoot at various articles pinned to the targets. Some were stationary, and others, such as a length of ribbon, moved in the wind, challenging their skill. Pembroke was a fine shot, but Robin was both skilled and deeply competitive. Coming in second was not in his nature and he looked set to win.
My Fair Geraldine dipped her head. “A cousin of my husband’s, my lord,” she replied. “Visiting from the country. But she is shy, so I would beg of you not to importune her. Her father is also very strict and would not approve of her dallying with men of the court.”
Robin grinned, casting an amused glance in my direction. “I would never importune a lady who was unwilling.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Geraldine moved in front of me, thinking my identity was still a secret from my favourite. I knew it was not. Just as I could pick Robin from a score of disguised courtiers in a masque, so he could recognise me where others would fail to.
The match went on, and Robin won, of course. Arundel and Norfolk were not best pleased, but Pembroke lost with grace, shaking Robin’s hand, even though there was no love lost between them. As we walked back to the palace, Robin hung back, and fell into step with me. “Are you so displeased with the governance of the realm, then, that you have chosen instead to become a housemaid, my lady?” he whispered.
“I understand you not, my lord,” I said, drawing the hood closer and feeling a tingle of elation tickle my spine. “Perhaps you have lingered too long in the sun and have started to imagine things?”
“Perhaps I have… for I see the face of the one I love wherever I turn.”
“I pity the lady, then, my lord. Do you think her so commonplace that you see her in every face of every woman? A lady likes to feel special, not ordinary.”
“My love is no ordinary woman at all.” Robin plucked a wild flower from the hedge, and offered it to me. “But perhaps it is because I long so to see her, that I recognise her spirit in others.”
I took the flower. The sun shone down on its pink petals, and a lump grew in my throat. I had been so alone of late, without his friendship. It had been long since I had felt this way… special, free, loved… beautiful. There was a pathetic need in my heart then… I yearned to be loved. “If you long to see your lady, as you protest so passionately, then perhaps you should spend more time with her, my lord,” I noted, twirling the flower in my fingertips. “And less with the men of court.”
The main party had walked ahead of us as we talked. Robin took my arm, and led me into a bower where we were shaded from view. In the darkness of those shadows, my heart skipped as he drew me near. “Elizabeth,” he whispered against my cheek. “How I have longed to have you close.”
“I am not Elizabeth,” I murmured, lifting my arms about his neck. “As you are not Lord Dudley… For a moment, my love, let me believe I am someone else. Let me be free to do as I will.”