Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  “In that case, madam, I would delay no further, but satisfy Lord Robin at once,” replied de Quadra. “It has been over a year and a half since Lady Amy’s death. Would your people not trust in the judgement of their sovereign?”

  I had actually only brought up Robin as a suitor to steer de Quadra away from the Hapsburg alliance, for in my present mood I was more likely to break something over Robin’s head than offer him my hand. I wondered, however, whether I had uncovered something. Why was de Quadra so supportive of Robin again? Was Robin working again with this man who had been suspected of plotting against me? What had Robin promised to de Quadra this time, to gain Hapsburg support?

  “I would like to know if such a match has the support of your master, my lord ambassador,” I said carefully, wondering if I could get de Quadra to betray Robin. “Would your master be willing to write to me and show such support as you say he offers freely? If I had such support, it might show my people such a union was endorsed by other princes, and was not done merely to satisfy my own feelings, as many might suspect.”

  De Quadra laughed, but it was an awkward sound. He knew Phillip would never agree to put such sentiments in writing. “Your Majesty should rest assured, I am the mouthpiece of my lord and emperor,” he gushed evasively. “And you, Majesty, should go ahead with what you decide is best for the realm, but if your choice did fall on the fortunate head of Lord Dudley, I know my master would be pleased.”

  De Quadra was well aware that in marrying Robin I would add nothing to my country, nor station and would most likely alienate my people. He believed, eventually, as weak woman, ruled by her emotions, I must give in to the passions of my heart and scupper my own boat. Was this the only reason he supported Robin, though? Or was there something deeper to discover here? I wanted de Quadra to think I might well destroy myself, but I also wanted to know if Robin was conspiring with my enemies again. That winter, I restored lands to Robin which had been lost upon his father’s fall and gave him a licence to export wool free of tax.

  “My ladies ask me, my lord ambassador, if they should kiss my Lord Robin’s hand as well as mine these days,” I said to de Quadra, adding a girlish giggle as I implied Robin might soon be of the same status as I. De Quadra smiled at me as though I was a fattened calf ready for slaughter. Rumours murmured from the wood and plaster of my palaces, all saying I was on the verge of announcing my engagement to Robin.

  But when Robin pestered, I just said the same thing. “Not this year, Robin. Not this year…”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Westminster Palace

  Winter - Spring 1562

  Sympathy was strong about England for my cousin, Katherine, and her babe, still prisoners of the Tower. None dared come and say so to my face, knowing the mere mention of Katherine’s name was enough to oust a man from favour… but I heard the rumours well and true through Kat and Blanche. I could not understand why Katherine had so many supporters, but then, people are ever wont to support an underdog. I was troubled and had no intention of releasing her when she had so many supporters. Would they revolt, and attempt to place this dim witted girl on the throne in my place? I could never be sure of some of my men.

  I was about court a great deal that winter; milling, conversing, showing myself to my people. I wanted to remind my nobles of all I had done for England. The country was growing stable in terms of trade and we had been involved in no conflicts of late, which had been good for England’s recovery from the past few turbulent years. I also talked often about the Hapsburg alliance, and about Erik of Sweden. My level of enthusiasm for each match depended on to whom I was speaking. To Protestants I hailed Erik as a fine match, and to Catholics I praised the Archduke Charles. I wanted them all to hope I was about to marry and provide an heir, so they would cease to look to my cousin and her child. At one such gathering in my Presence Chamber, as I flittered like a butterfly from group to group, Cecil wandered to my side. He wanted to point out a promising man who had just been elected to Parliament. His name was Francis Walsingham and Cecil believed he could be useful.

  “He is a loyal Protestant, and shows an emerging talent for the type of work Parry was skilled at, Majesty,” Cecil said, nodding to the dark-clothed man who bowed in response. At the sound of Parry’s name, grief stuck his fingers into my belly and twisted. A little over a year without him, and still the pain was raw when it struck unexpectedly. Cecil, blithely unaware of my feelings, continued. “And he is kin to Mistress Ashley,” he went on, “for his mother was of the Denny line and his stepfather was a Carey.”

  Cecil thought he was being subtle, but I knew what he was up to. I had ever shown preference for promoting kin, and in mentioning Walsingham’s connections to my family, and to those I trusted, Cecil hoped to win my favour for this dark-robed man with watchful eyes.

  “Well, if you trust him, Cecil, keep an eye for any appointments for which you think he would be suited,” I said and then moved on. Walsingham’s dark, almost black, eyes followed me as I moved about the chamber.

  *

  That March, pigeons came in flocks to assault the spring vegetable gardens. My garden maids and servants ran an ongoing battle against these feathered foes, trying to keep them at bay with nets, traps, prowling cats and when those defences failed, they would charge out from the kitchens, waving aprons and swiping at their winged opponents with brooms. Since everyone at court was always looking for something new to wager on, this became a spectacle my courtiers turned out to watch each day. The Battle of the Vegetable Patch, as it became known, was very popular for a while. We ate a good deal of pigeon that spring, their gamey flesh sweet and plump from the tips and buds of the plants they had pilfered.

  Other birds were busy too; sparrows took dust baths along the garden paths and jackdaws sought chimneys to make nests in. The air was restless with song and chatter. Nests were being made, and partners being courted. There was a sense of expectation in the air as spring fought to banish the last lingering strands of winter from her domain. As we basked in the hope and joys of spring, however, we received horrifying news from France.

  On the 11th of that month, the Duke of Guise was travelling from his palace at Joinville when he heard bells ringing in the streets of a small town. Stopping to ask what was going on, and thinking he might attend Mass in the church, he was informed the town’s Huguenots were going to their Sunday service in a barn. Guise was affronted. These lands belonged to his niece, Mary of Scots, as part of her dower lands and therefore he felt he had a responsibility for them. The Duke of Guise despised Protestants at the best of times, but recent talks had agreed that Huguenots were supposed to hold services only outside of towns. Enraged, the Duke went to the barn, apparently to admonish them for flouting the law. When the frightened people inside denied him entrance, Guise’s men broke down the doors. They fell upon the crowds in unbounded fury, slaughtering many, and destroying their place of worship with fire.

  It was a massacre. The Huguenots bore no weapons, and had hardly expected to be put to the sword as they worshipped. It was no fair fight. Sixty-three people were killed, and hundreds injured. For France, this was a disaster. Existing fear and tension between Huguenots and Catholics reached a fever pitch, even after an investigation was launched by a deeply troubled Catherine de Medici. Leading Huguenots wanted revenge for their slain and leading Catholics wanted the Huguenots crushed for their disobedience. For England, too, there were repercussions. Protestants had been slaughtered by a Catholic power; this led to suspicion and terror creeping through England the like of which had not been seen since my sister’s reign. Suddenly, all known Catholics in England were being looked upon as the enemy. Catholics in turn became suspicious of their Protestant neighbours, fearing reprisals. And so the circle of violence began.

  It terrified me to see how swiftly my people could be torn apart. And there was another consequence. These lands comprised part of the dowry of my cousin of Scots, and her Guise uncle had acted in her name. This put me in
a difficult situation with Mary. What was I to do? Continue talks of meeting her whilst people of my own faith were slaughtered, in her name, and by her own uncle? The news spread like fire through ripe barley. It was all anyone at court could talk of and there were rumours that Protestants in England wanted to avenge the deaths of the slaughtered Huguenots. The massacre troubled me and would not leave my thoughts at rest. Visions of those poor, desperate people trapped in that barn as it was set alight haunted me. I could not believe this was an accident, as the Duke of Guise so casually tried to pass it off as in dispatches. The Guise had long been opponents of the Protestant faith and this slaughter was a symptom of that disease. Besides, how does one accidentally massacre a barn full of people? But despite my misgivings about the incident, I was cautious. England was surrounded by Catholic nations. We could not risk open war coming to England’s shores.

  The massacre at Wassy fired up Cecil and many other members of my Privy Council to lecture me anew on the importance of marrying, bearing an heir, or naming one to follow me. They said my refusal to name an heir left the realm open to the threat Catholics so clearly posed to Protestants. My head aching with their constant protests, I said goodbye to Nils, the Chancellor of Sweden as he left for his homeland. I had tried to delay him for as long as possible, thinking he might head straight to Scotland and offer my cousin the place in Erik of Sweden’s bed I had lately said I could not accept at the moment, but Nils was determined to leave.

  “I am sad to lose you, ambassador,” I said with genuine sorrow. “You have been a balm to my spirits these past months.”

  “And I am no less grieved to lose your company, my lady,” he replied. “But, if I may be so bold, Majesty, I would offer one small token of advice for your future.”

  “What is that, my lord?” I asked, sure he was about to tell me to marry, or name Katherine Grey my heir, probably as a result of being bribed by Robin, or Cecil.

  “That you act ever as I have seen you do, Majesty. Act true to your conscience. No greater master can a person have than an active and loyal conscience, such as you possess. When troubles come or when peace prevails, I urge you to listen to the voice within your own soul, and you will be well. I counsel you to be true to yourself. Knowing your good heart and wise soul is leading them, the good men and women of England may rest gentle in their beds.”

  I gazed at him with startled eyes and then smiled sadly. “Thank you, my lord ambassador… I will ever attempt to do as you have instructed.”

  At least there is one man who understands me, I thought as I watched him leave. More the pity, though, he is a foreign lord, and not one of my own men.

  *

  There were increasing signs of unrest in France.

  The Prince de Conde, claiming he and others were liberating their King from the influence of “evil”, meaning the Guise, of course, started to send men to protect Huguenot places of worship, and take control of towns of strategic importance along the Loire Valley. Catholic lords started to make ready, too, and from the deluge of furiously written reports coming from Throckmorton, it seemed civil war was about to break out in France. We watched nervously as events unfolded. Some Huguenots took the opportunity to leave France. They flooded into England, arriving in London, Bristol and other cities.

  “We should support the Huguenots and send troops to France,” Cecil announced when he arrived to talk with me in private.

  “We can do nothing of the sort at this moment, as you are well aware, Cecil,” I said with patience. “It is too soon to become involved, if England should even become involved in the civil war of another state. The Dowager is arranging talks of peace. Perhaps it will be over soon enough.”

  “They are determined to exterminate us,” Cecil muttered, smoothing his long beard.

  “Who, my lord? The Guise? You think they are bound for England, intent on murdering you, do you? Perhaps it would be better if you took some time to think on the poor people in that barn who but went to worship in peace, before deciding all of this was a plot to remove me from the throne, or attack you personally!” I strode out of the room, leaving him gaping. I did not want England to become involved in France’s inner turmoil, but others did not think the same. England had intervened before in another country’s civil unrest, in Scotland. We had sent troops to support Protestant rebels there against Mary of Guise. This led many to believe I would leap at the opportunity to aid French Protestants. But our intervention then had been about maintaining the security of England, by removing French influence over Scotland, rather than about aiding those of our faith.

  I could not risk England in every dispute about faith in Europe. England could not become the shining knight of all Protestant causes in the world. We had enough enemies… I had enough enemies. I had worked hard to maintain peace with our Catholic neighbours, many of whom had more resources, more men, and more wealth to use than England if we faced them in war. When I first came to the throne, I had said I meant to live in peace with our Catholic neighbours, as long as they reciprocated. To charge into this looming conflict in France was not only premature, but potentially perilous. It could unite Catholic states against us, causing them to strike at England in retaliation, or simply decide to remove us as a threat before we truly became one. Besides, I did not like war. I wanted France to solve her problems through talk and diplomacy, not through fire and sword. War brought strife and terror and it was always the common man who suffered most. I did not want my people exposed to such horrors. But my Council were keen that England should become involved. They jabbed me with their arguments and I rebuffed them with a shield of words. I was uneasy, often lost in thought, and disturbed by anti-Catholic sentiments I heard about court.

  Perhaps it was the wildness of the times, perhaps it was the strangeness of the events, but a thought came and would not leave.

  I had been thinking on Mary of Scots, and considering what I would write to her about the Wassy massacre. Such delicate, inflammatory events require some thought before quill is put to paper. We had entered a time of fragile harmony, and I had no wish to see it crumble. I had also been thinking about Mary’s suitors. She was eager to marry Don Carlos, and I was just as eager that such an event should never happen. In truth, I little liked the idea of her marrying any foreign power. They would arrive with their own ambitions, and should they be Catholic, there was a good chance one of those ambitions would be taking me off England’s throne and replacing me with Mary. I hardly wanted my cousin to resume her old stance, and decide she was the true Queen of England. My cousin of Lennox had not given up her old ambition to wed her eldest son to Mary either, and Cecil’s men had found many a letter wending its way to Scotland that winter in praise of the match of which I had not approved… Margaret was apparently unaware that she was under surveillance, and that perhaps accounted for her idiotic brashness. Cecil was already asking for more men to investigate the foolish Countess, and I had allowed him free rein to burrow into her affairs. I had Lennox in London, but Margaret still tarried in the country, leading to me order the ports closed in case she and her sons might think of escape. I sent men to bring her to London.

  Unfortunately, the elder son, Henry Darnley, got wind of our plans and managed to flee to France before my guards arrived to tear Margaret’s house apart. The remaining Lennoxes were arrested and escorted to London as my men ransacked Margaret’s house for further evidence. Note, please, that this angelic son who rode so high in his mother’s estimations did not think to warn the rest of his family they were about to be arrested. Oh no… Henry Darnley was a selfish creature; that was the way he was born, and the way he ever was through life. Some beasts simply never change.

  My cousin Mary was unlikely to accept Darnley, knowing how many enemies his father had in Scotland, but what if Mary married an English nobleman of my choosing? One whom I knew would be a friend to England? What if she took a husband who was one of my supporters?

  What if, in fact… I offered Robin to my cousin?


  You perhaps think at this juncture that I had run mad in the spring sunshine, but it was not so. There were advantages to this odd plan. The thought of losing Robin was abhorrent. No matter what he did, my love for him remained… But how strong were his feelings for me? I had suspected his love had waned as his ambition to become King grew. Would this not be a way to discover the truth? If I offered Robin to Mary, he could have all his ambition desired. He could become a king, rule a country, and his children would be heirs not only to the Scottish crown, but potentially to England’s as well. Mary was an enticing woman; beautiful, powerful, learned, graceful and charming. Would she not prove tempting to any man? And if he was tempted by her, and her crown, I would finally know that he loved me no more. If he chose to reject the proposal, however, I would know his love was true, for he would be willing to abandon such an alluring prospect for me.

  An interesting experiment, indeed.

  There were, too, other advantages. I doubted that Mary would accept Robin, but if she did then I would have a friend and ally on the Scottish throne. For all his dealings with Spain, I knew Robin loved England too well to ever actually work against her interests. And even if Mary only considered Robin for a while, it would postpone her securing a match with a foreign power. It might make Robin’s enemies less fearful of him if they thought he meant little to me. It might allow my people to finally understand I did not intend to marry him, and therefore remove the lingering suspicion they held about his wife’s death. And, for Robin to be considered a worthy husband for a queen, he would have to have greater titles than he presently held. This could allow me to elevate him without everyone thinking I was doing so in order to wed him myself.