by G Lawrence
There was, of course, one large disadvantage. I did not wish to lose Robin. I had fought hard to keep him and could not imagine being without him. But offering him thus would give me a chance to test his love, and distract Mary.
Yes… A curious thought, an outlandish one, and it was a gamble, but it was worth further consideration. I doubt I would have ever considered it for a moment had I not been so hurt by Robin’s power games. He had sprung a few surprises on me of late. It might be quite delightful to see how he would react when I unleashed one of my own. And what a surprise I hoped it might be! For him to suddenly discover I was willing to part with him for politics? But first, Robin needed to be lulled, just as he had lulled me, into peaceful, happy slumber before each of his assaults. He needed to think himself secure, just as he had done to me, so I could surprise him properly. Spiteful, yes… but you cannot deny he deserved some payback.
With this in mind, I approved his recent request to alter his crest to include the bear and ragged staff emblems of his family. Since these figures had been present on the arms of his father, the Duke of Northumberland, many took this to mean I intended to elevate Robin, possibly in preparation for marrying him. Robin’s new arms were unveiled at a meeting of the Knights of the Garter on St George’s Day. I had expected some of my lords, Robin’s enemies in particular, to protest, so it came as a vast surprise when it was reported to me that Norfolk stood up and ordered a petition for me to marry Robin!
Norfolk’s bizarre outburst did not receive a good reception. Arundel and the Marquis of Northampton disagreed and abruptly departed, but others agreed to sign. When it was delivered to me, I shook my head in wonder. Robin had bribed Norfolk. There was no other explanation. And Robin must have made some hefty promises to overcome Norfolk’s loathing for him. What had he offered Norfolk to bring this about? A place on my Privy Council? Cecil’s positions? And how much wealth had Robin had to put down as security? Sussex… now Norfolk… No wonder Robin was always in debt, despite his great wealth. These bribes must be decimating his coin chests. And since I had granted him the means to gather such wealth, through lands, estates, positions and liberties with taxes, in essence, I was paying Robin to bribe my men against me!
Oh, Robin, I thought with a wicked smile on my lips. You will get such a surprise when you see what I have planned for you.
Publicly, I expressed joy that so many of my men were keen for me to wed Robin, but I said also I needed to give the matter further consideration. Some, however, could not wait for their Queen to gather her thoughts, for later that week Cecil came rushing to my chambers, with fresh rumour to disclose.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Westminster Palace and Nottingham Castle
Spring- Summer 1562
“So… I am already married to Lord Robin Dudley?” I asked as Cecil revealed this gossip. “And am I pregnant, my lord, do you know? Or just basking in the bliss of newly married life?”
Cecil blinked, not understanding why I was not taking this seriously. It made me chuckle. “I assure you, Cecil, I am not married, am yet a virgin, and likely to remain so…. Do you not see, Spirit? We must laugh at the ridiculous in life for it arms us against the sorrows.” I was not overly concerned about the rumour. Such had been said before, and proven false with time. What would prove the gossip wrong this time, would be when I announced Robin as a candidate for Mary’s hand. I was warming to the idea by the day.
“I am, of course, delighted to hear your Majesty is so amused,” he said, sounding not delighted in the slightest. “But you should also know… the source of this rumour has been traced to de Quadra.”
That was more serious. “Is that stinking weasel ever doing his actual job, Cecil? Or does he spend his all his days plotting against me?”
“You could say that is his job, Majesty. He is an ambassador, after all, and a Catholic. We have no reason to trust Catholics at this time.”
I shook my head. “Not so fast, Cecil, slow those thoughts down. De Quadra is one man. He is not all Catholics, and neither is his master. Do not throw all Catholics in the same pot and make a pottage of paranoia from their bones. I refuse to believe all Catholics in my realm mean me harm. Even less do I believe they are set on slaughtering their countrymen. Tread careful, Cecil. When a bear feels hunted, he turns on those who track him. I will not have my kingdom falling to bits, as France seems poised to, because my men have created an enemy by acting as though Catholics are the enemy.”
“I did not make your cousin of Lennox write to Phillip of Spain, nor the Guise massacre Huguenots in France,” Cecil defended himself. “Nor did I make de Quadra plot against you, Majesty. The threat is here, and it is not just from one man, but rises from many Catholic quarters.”
“I recognise the threat, Spirit. I know well enough how many people despise me and would love nothing better than to see me deposed and dead. But even so, these conspirators do not represent all Catholics. You will make English Catholics into the very enemy you fear, old friend, by treating them as though they are the enemy before they have done anything… by judging them as a whole, rather than as individuals. Do not drive people from me with suspicion. Do not make them feel unwelcome in their own country, and do not make them feel hunted.”
I shivered and stood up, walking to the window. My words felt as though they were coming from another place, another time, as though another Elizabeth looked back on these events and was trying to warn me. “Do not make my people the enemy, Cecil,” I murmured as I looked from the window. “I have enough foes.”
Later that week, as Cecil’s investigation into de Quadra continued, it was found the ambassador had not only been starting rumours, but had taken the time to compose a sonnet about me, and a rather rude one. The sonnet, which I might add was badly written, did not scan with ease, and was packed full of poor insults, was offensive, but was also a poor piece of work. I snorted at the verse when a copy was given to me. “The desiccated rodent could at least have made an effort,” I said to Kat as I set my copy into the fire’s flames. “Why, at one point he tries to rhyme ‘heretic’ with ‘inherited’… a most unwieldy ode.”
Kat laughed. “Your Majesty has not found her new court poet, then?”
“My Majesty has not, indeed.” I watched the flames consume the parchment, turning de Quadra’s words to ash, which was the best use for them. “Does de Quadra think I will be hurt? Wounded that he loves me not? I care not for the opinion of those who hate me. It is only the opinion of those I think well of that matters.”
Cecil’s spy in de Quadra’s household, Borghese Venturini, was de Quadra’s secretary. He revealed not only this latest plot and the terrible sonnet, but other secrets; the full truth of all that had been offered to Robin, all that Robin had promised in return, and many little incidental and insulting trifles de Quadra had said about me over the years. There was also evidence to suggest that de Quadra had been in talks with Margaret Lennox, via letter, and had offered his support to the notion of Henry Darnley marrying Mary of Scots. It was a damning brief, and not only for de Quadra. Cecil gave his findings to the Council and they were appalled. I was worried for Robin. I had worked hard to foil his plot without bringing public shame upon him, but Cecil had the right to disclose this information to the Council. Although it was supposed to be confidential, the truth, of course, leaked out into court, and from there, to my people. Robin was in disgrace, and many of his previous supporters turned from him, particularly Protestants. He knew this information was not news to me, and I assured him I would protect him as best I could. I could not help but think, though, that this might be good for Robin. Perhaps it could do what I seemed unable to; puncture Robin’s pride, and make him aware of the ramifications of his actions.
Lennox was sent to the Tower for his wife’s meddling in the succession, and Margaret’s second son, Charles, was kept in York as I had his mother and her daughters held at Whitehall and then in the Charterhouse at Sheen for questioning. Rumours of witchcraft and a
ccusations of treason accompanied my cousin, and Cecil was keen to have her attainted for high treason. I attempted to have Margaret proved a bastard, but unfortunately there was not enough evidence to support this. Her letters, however, and the evidence of Venturini, showed that Margaret had declared she was my heir and had asked for the support of Phillip of Spain for her claim. This was more than enough to hold her for suspected treason. Fifteen articles were drawn up against her that spring, all of them damning. Margaret had called me a bastard to her intimates, had conspired with soothsayers and witches to predict my death, and had been attempting to marry her son to Mary of Scots. I did not allow my cousin to be informed of the full extent of the charges against her. It was far more satisfying to know she was sweating away in her comfortable prison, wondering what I might do with her.
It was said about court, with the incarceration of the Lennoxes and Katherine Grey that “the prisons will soon be full of the nearest relations to the crown,” and perhaps it was true. But both these cousins had committed treason.
As Margaret wrote to me and to Cecil, proclaiming her endless love for me and her innocence of whatever she was accused, Cecil went to de Quadra’s house accompanied by the Privy Council. They presented their findings and de Quadra squirmed and slimed, trying to deny involvement. He was not believed. How I would have loved to watch as my Council attacked him! Unfortunately, it was not to be. We had agreed that I, as the Queen, could not be seen to insult Phillip’s ambassador and thereby ignite an international incident with Spain. The role of spanking de Quadra was therefore given to my Council, so I could deny knowledge of it should Phillip become enraged. I rolled with laughter when Cecil told me about the meeting, and made him describe in intimate detail de Quadra’s expressions, sweat patterns and excuses. But by the faith! How I would have loved to be there in person to see him wriggle like the worm he was!
I dismissed de Quadra from court, but I was not about to send him home just yet. Everyone knew about Robin’s dealings with de Quadra. Robin needed to understand the consequences of his treachery, but I was not willing to desert him. He was facing a great deal of hostility. Sending de Quadra away would mean the only scapegoat left was Robin and I was not going to serve him to his enemies plucked and ready for roasting. It was not a good time to come under such suspicion, with all that was occurring in France. Robin’s deep unpopularity made his enemies thirst to destroy him, but my protection ensured his safety. Unable to persuade me to move against Robin, his enemies sought to undermine him in other ways. Tales of his wife’s death resurfaced, as did stories of his pride and arrogance, the ills he had done to others, and the nefarious influence he held over me. Had you heard some of the stories circulating about Robin, you might have believed he was a wicked sorcerer, bent on dominating England by possessing its Queen by magical wiles. If Robin were truly capable of witchcraft, however, he and I would have been long married by now.
I kept him close, outwardly showed my support for him, and told all who asked that I believed he had been led astray by de Quadra. Robin and I did not talk about this. There was no need. Robin already knew I had been aware of his plotting with de Quadra, and I had nothing more to say. Robin slipped in and out of court like an eel in the marsh beds of Ely, trying to slither unseen. Fortunately for him, his chambers were close to mine wherever we stayed, and so he could spend most days hidden in my rooms. We played cards and chess, we listened to music together and left the castle quietly to hunt and ride. Robin was grateful; there was a humble air to him at that time. I liked it. It was infinitely preferable to his high-handed arrogance. I hoped he understood what could have happened, had I decided to toss him to the wolves. Robin was wounded, both in his pride, and in his ambition. There were none who would support his suit as my husband. His dreams were thrown to the floor and stamped on. I admit a certain satisfaction in his humiliation; after all, it was deserved, was it not? But I also pitied him. My emotions were rarely straightforward when it came to Robin.
As Robin’s popularity plummeted, mine soared. Despite my support for Robin, I was cheered everywhere I went. Such plots, such danger, such insults thrown at their Queen made my people protective. Their love for me swelled just as their hatred for my enemies deepened. They blamed Robin and Spain for conspiring against me. They believed Robin was an ill-influence, but they also celebrated my loyalty to my friends, seeing virtue in me even in the things they saw as flaws. The last time I was this popular was when first I came to the throne. When I travelled, I was greeted by thousands turning out to call my name, to shout “God Save Good Queen Bess!” and to applaud me everywhere I went. When Robin dared to venture out, he was hissed at and booed. I had done well from this incident, and my triumph made me a little more generous towards Robin.
As spring turned to summer, Margaret Lennox and her husband were still being questioned. Margaret wrote to Cecil and to me proclaiming her devotion to me as a kinswoman, and objecting to the incarceration of her family. I did not believe in her innocence. I did not, however, order their executions. Margaret was Catholic, however much she might pretend otherwise, and I had no wish to further rile Catholics in England by ordering her death.
To further demonstrate my wish for peace with those of Catholic faith, I put on a three-day allegorical masque when visiting Nottingham Castle. It was for the benefit of Mary Stewart. Whether we would be able to meet given the Wassy massacre, I knew not, but I was determined to keep peace alive between us. I little needed her to turn to her Guise relatives, and find French troops entering Scotland again. Besides, despite our differences, Mary was fast becoming the cousin I warmed to the most. All the others were either conspiring fantasists, like Margaret, or traitors, like Katherine.
The first night’s entertainments started with Pallas riding into the hall on a unicorn; a small horse, pure white of coat, with a golden horn attached to his head with gilded ribbons. Flying above Pallas was a standard of two female hands clasped together, set on a background of raging crimson. Behind Pallas came two women, one riding a red lion, and the other a golden lion. The first woman wore an embroidered shawl with the word Temperance upon it, and the other wore one which said Prudence. Both women were crowned and dressed in robes of royalty.
The lions, who were actually men of my household in costume, since I had no wish to see my ladies devoured by the beasts of the Tower menagerie, did very well, I thought. They roared into the great hall, making ladies giggle as they swiped them with their tails.
The next day, Peace was drawn through the hall on a golden chariot, pulled by an elephant. On the back of the elephant (a creature constructed from yet more obliging servants of my household) sat Friendship, waving a white banner of truce. On the last night, a figure called Malice, in the form of a silver snake, was trodden underfoot by Peace, Unity, Prudence and Temperance all working together to stamp him into the ground. Although it was supposed to be a serious allegory, I could not help but chuckle at Malice as he cowered on the floor, trying to protect his head from the stomping feet of his assailants.
The object was, of course, to show how Mary and I could overcome our differences and live in peace as neighbours. All of this was reported to my cousin in Scotland and Mary wrote me a rather gushing letter to express her joy. She was keen for us to meet, but with all that was going on in France I wondered if this was going to be possible. I also was a little unsure as meeting with her would only lead to her petitioning me in person to be named heir. I did not want to insult my cousin to her face by having to refuse.
Mary’s letters though… They seemed so genuine, so innocent in many ways that I pondered seriously about meeting her. I was in need of allies, but perhaps it was more than this… I wanted a friend. Not a friend like Robin, who had damaged my ability to trust him. Not a friend like Cecil, who although I knew to be loyal, would always act as he saw fit. Not even a friend like Kat, who I loved above all others.
Mary was the only person who could understand my position. All others saw my choices,
my deliberations, the strains and pressures upon me from a distance. My cousin of Scots was the only one who understood what it was to be a queen; a sole, unwed, and often lonesome, queen. This notion made me write more openly to Mary than ever I had done before. We began to exchange increasingly personal letters. We wrote each other poems. We wrote in Italian to each other and sent gifts. We exchanged experiences and advise. Some of our missives were almost like love letters. Mary sent me her portrait, made into a miniature to be worn about the waist on a golden chain, and with it came a poem expressing love and devotion to me, as her good friend, and her sister.
It was common to overstate devotion and love in diplomatic letters, but all the same, I began to feel as though I had a new suitor, and this time it was not a prince… it was the Queen of Scotland.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Greenwich Palace
Summer 1562