by G Lawrence
“Drink!” he ordered in his guttural English, thrusting a potion into my hands. I could not take the cup; it slid from my feeble grasp. Kat caught it and fed it to me, little by little. Within an hour, the awful wheals and pimples of smallpox rose upon my white skin. I recoiled from them in horror. To my fevered mind, I had become one of the scaly devils of my nightmares. Mary Sidney, too, gazed at me in dismay. Even if one recovered from smallpox, its spots often left disfiguring marks on the skin, marring beauty and making even the most striking of people into fearsome demons. Mary Sidney put a cloth to my head as I sweated before the fire, weeping half for fear of dying, and half for the loss of any beauty I may once have had. “I am a monster,” I mourned, my mouth slack, dribble melding with the tears running down my face. “I am a monster.”
“The sickness must be drawn out of the body,” Burnet said, regarding my distress with calm control. “Inside the body, it is more dangerous. Now we can see it, Majesty, we can fight it.”
But even if the sickness had shown itself, I was still dangerously ill. I hovered between life and death for several days, and eventually, fearing that I was to die, my men came again, gathering about the bed to hear my commands for my realm after my death.
“Lord Robert Dudley will be appointed Lord Protector of England until such a time as a new monarch is chosen by God,” I muttered. I was only half conscious, but in the darkness of my dreams, there had been only one man I believed I could trust to act as I would have done for England. Cecil would make my country into a state only for Protestants. He would put Katherine Grey or her son on my throne. The others were not qualified to lead as I knew Robin could, if he were given the chance. Even in my delirium, I knew none but Norfolk would accept Mary of Scots.
“Lord Robin Dudley will govern this realm when I am dead. And I would have all know that whilst I love and admire Lord Robin as I do no other, nothing unseemly has ever passed between us. He will act as I would for the good of England. He will cherish and nurture my people, with you, my lords, at his side to advise him.” My lips burbled. I hardly heard what I was saying.
There was shocked silence. Cecil was lost for words. They agreed to honour my wishes, perhaps because no one wanted to distress me further in my perilous state. When my men left and Burcot returned, he found me trying to focus my hazy eyes on my skin. When I let out another sob, he grew angry. “God’s pestilence!” the man exploded. “Which is better? To have a pox on the hands or in the face, or in the heart where it will fester and kill the whole body? Think not on vanity, Majesty, but of the wellness of your body!”
Sensible advice. But I was not really listening. I stared blankly at him and then sank into the bedcovers to sleep. When I awoke, Burcot was shouting at Cecil instead of me. “The spots are a good sign!” Burcot ran his hands through his hair. “They show the worst is over. The pustules will dry and fall off, and with them this fever will fall from the Queen’s blood.”
“You mean… the Queen will recover?” Cecil’s voice was desperate. He did not want to hand England over to Robin.
“If there are no complications and if the patient will listen to her doctor!”
But no matter his exasperation with me, Burcot’s methods worked. The next day my head felt clearer. I took some broth and drank a great deal of watered ale. The day after that I could sit up in bed, inspecting the spots which covered my skin with anxious horror. Within a week, my fever had broken. The hideous dreams ceased to plague me. When I slept, it was dreamless and peaceful. My headache drifted away as did the pain in my belly. Within a week, I was almost myself again.
And the spots did as Burcot said they would; dried, scabbed and fell away. He bound cloth about my hands to keep me from scratching at the itchy sores, and doused me all over with a thick camomile balm. As they healed, I noted with great relief that few had left scars. There were some marks, here and there on my body, but those would be covered by my clothing. There were some light scars on my neck, and a few on my face, but Burcot assured me I was lucky, and he would give me an ointment to apply to my skin which would cause the marks to fade if I used it each night.
“You are fortunate to be alive,” he muttered after telling my ladies all they could do to help my skin heal. “Your Majesty should be grateful for that!”
“I am grateful for you, good doctor,” I said. “Without you I would have died. You were generous enough to return even after I insulted you. I am sorry for what I said. I should not have treated you so rudely. Anything you wish of me, you shall have.”
The good doctor looked pacified, and even chuckled. “Never have I had a more difficult patient,” he admitted. “And never have I been brought to the bed of a patient by the sharp point of a dagger! But at least it shows, Majesty, how deeply your men love you. Lord Hunsdon was ready to kill me if I refused.”
“Then I will reward him even as I reward you.” I smiled weakly. “And you will become a court physician, doctor, with a pension, if you will accept it. I owe you my life.”
“Well,” he said, a becoming cherry blush spreading over his wide cheekbones. “It is pleasing to know I did some good, Majesty.”
I only allowed Robin and Cecil to visit me as I recovered from the pox as I did not want rumours to grow that I was unsightly, and I knew I could trust these two to guard the reputation of my appearance.
“Am I repulsive, Robin?” I asked as I glanced at the healing scabs on my face using a hand glass.
“You are beautiful, my love,” he said, coming to sit on the bed.
“And you are a liar,” I laughed. “Look at this face, Robin! I am covered in horrible, scabby sores! You cannot look on me now and say I am a beauty.”
He kissed my hand, his expression warm and loving. “I look on you with the eyes of love, Elizabeth, and I am glad that you are here, alive, and with me still. I care not for some flaking skin and itching flesh. I care only for you and your happiness.”
“At least you admit to the existence of these unsightly sores, Robin, or else I might have thought those eyes of love had rendered you blind!” I sighed, putting the glass to one side and resisting the impulse to scratch. “The Council were surprised when I made you Lord Protector?”
Robin chuckled. “I think surprised is too weak a word, Majesty,” he grinned ruefully. “Cecil told everyone that you were in a fever and you had clearly lost your mind.”
“I was in a fever,” I agreed. “But my mind was clear. Whatever has passed between us, Robin, I know you love England as I do. I know that had you been offered the position, you would have made a good Protector.”
“Then I am as flattered by your fevered assessment of me as by your calm one,” he replied. “But I would not want that position, Majesty, for it would mean I had lost you. Coming so close to losing you, Elizabeth… It put so many of our late troubles into clear relief. I have been a fool. I treated you badly. Mistress Ashley was quick to point out that I should have been consoling you rather than opposed to you after you lost Parry. She pointed out a great deal, in her anguish. Much I did not want to hear, but that I needed to. I have been a fool, Elizabeth… I wonder that you have had the patience you have shown when dealing with me.”
“You are my fool, Robert Dudley.” I smiled, leaning forward to put my cloth-bound hands against his face. I felt my love for him might suffocate me. If I had to go through another illness, another brush with Death, I would have done so happily to bring my Robin back to me.
“Do not seek to make me Lord Protector again.” He kissed my palm, sending shivers down my spine. “I would be lost and alone in the darkness, without you.”
We sat and played at cards and chess on my bed as I recovered. Robin told me tales of what went on at court, and danced with my ladies to entertain me. I was a few weeks in my bed, and my Privy Council had to be brought to me. My ladies were diligent, and in my weakened state I had no chance to escape Kat and Blanche as they constantly, relentlessly, pushed food down my throat. I gave in. It was, in truth, plea
sing to have them all show how much they loved me. I ate better in the weeks after I escaped Death than I had done for over a year.
But even as we rejoiced that I was well, Mary Sidney, Robin’s sister, fell ill with smallpox. She had caught it from me after refusing to leave my side during my illness. She suffered now for her loyalty to me. When I was well enough to walk, I went to her. My men were not at all happy, thinking I might catch the illness again, but Burcot assured me that now I had had the sickness, I would not suffer from it again.
Mary’s chambers were in almost complete darkness as I entered. I sat at the side of her bed and as she looked up, I had trouble controlling my face. I stared at the vision before me in dumb horror. Mary’s fever had broken, she was out of danger, but her beautiful face had been ravaged. By the light of one candle I saw the edge of one of her upper eye lids was folded down and pinned to her cheek. Her once-clear skin was torn by silver-red scars. Her face was a mottled crater where red blood mingled with glaring white chalk. She smiled sadly. “Worry not, Majesty,” she whispered. “I have seen what it has done to me.”
“Oh, Mary…” I dissolved into tears. To see her made so frightful, when once she had been so very beautiful was horrific, and she had caught this in caring for me, in serving me! “I am so sorry, Mary.”
“When Phillip returns from his mission abroad,” she whispered, “I will not let him see me without a veil. I would have him remember me as I was, not as I am now.”
“You are still beautiful.” I pressed my hands about hers and kissed her warm skin. “For the light which shines from your soul has no comparison.”
We sat together for some time. She wanted to leave court, but I persuaded her to remain, for I did not want to lose her. She gave in to my demands somewhat, but spent a lot of time away from court in the years that followed. She could not bear the staring eyes of those who tried to glimpse the monster hidden under her veil. For the rest of her days, Mary Sidney wore a deep, dark veil over her maimed face, but she continued to serve me loyally and faithfully. I made a promise to myself that I would never forget her sacrifice. Unfortunately, and to my deep shame, over the years that followed I would not always treat this dear woman as she deserved.
When I recovered, I gave Robin a permanent place on my Privy Council. He had sent Hudson to Burcot, and that had saved my life. No one put up too much of a protest. They were evidently so relieved I was alive that I could have ordered anything at that time and got away with it.
The pox marks on my face faded, but scars remained. From then on I had to wear a thicker layer of the cosmetics I used on my skin; powder of alabaster, puffed over a paste of almond milk, egg and white lead, hid most of my scars. I hardly wanted anyone to look on the marks of smallpox and believe I was instead marred by sores of syphilis. I had enough ambassadors and princes willing to make trouble for me without adding a question over my reputation. With my face covered in paint, my thinning hair concealed by wigs, my lithe body presented in marvellous gowns, and my lips painted red with crushed rose petals, I could appear as though I were still a girl of eighteen, rather than a woman nearing thirty years of age.
It was trickery, of course it was, but a queen must be magnificent before her people. I needed no further rumour of my death to surface. My people were wild with joy to hear that I had triumphed over Death. They had feared what would come if I died, and my salvation from Death was heralded as a direct intervention from God. It was good that I had their love and devotion, for I had enough problems, and they were not over yet.
My cousin Katherine had prepared a surprise for me. It was not a welcome one.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Whitehall Palace
Autumn - Winter 1562
Whilst I lay sick unto death, three men were discovered plotting against me. Discovered in their treachery, they tried to make for France, but were captured and put in the Tower. Planning to depose me, and place Mary of Scots on my throne, Arthur and Edmund Pole, and their brother-in-law, Anthony Fortescue, were charged with treason. When questioned, they revealed that the Catholic Guise, Ambassador de Quadra and Phillip of Spain were all involved. When I recovered, and Cecil informed me of this, I wrote to Phillip, telling him that should his ambassador interfere with English affairs again, I would send him back to Spain in disgrace.
Whilst they had been laying their plans for some time, these plotters had been spurred to action by my illness. Thinking I was about to die, they had revealed themselves and Cecil moved on them. Under interrogation they swore they only intended to bring an army into England when I died. They had been taking the advice of a Catholic necromancer and alchemist who told them I would be long dead before their plans came to fruition.
“They will face trial, Cecil,” I said. “And I will consider what is to be done with them when the verdict comes back.”
“They should be executed, Majesty,” said Cecil. “They were set to bring a foreign army into England and put your cousin on the throne.”
“I know what they did, Cecil,” I said, waving him away.
Whatever else I experienced from this ill news, it made me less regretful about intervening in France. If I could give the Duke of Guise any trouble, then I was glad of it.
A few days later, all gladness was ripped from my soul.
*
“What do you mean, the Lady Katherine Grey is with child again?” I screamed at Cecil. “How has this happened when she is locked in the Tower and away from her husband? Tell me, Cecil, is this a miracle birth? Has an angel visited her?”
Cecil blanched at my blasphemy, but he did not confront me about it. He could see this was a dangerous moment. I could not believe what I was hearing. My cousin Katherine Grey was once more with child! How had this happened? She was a prisoner in the Tower still, as was her Ned… Had she played the jade with her jailers, then?
“It would seem, Majesty, her gaolers took pity on the couple and allowed them to meet on some evenings… and without a guard.” Cecil took a step backwards as he watched my face turn purple.
“It is Hertford’s child?”
“Apparently so, Your Majesty.”
I had to try hard… very hard… not to fly at Cecil and unleash my anger on him. “What am I to say to that?” I asked him. “Who allowed this to happen?”
“Sir Edward Warner, Lieutenant of the Tower,” Cecil answered. “I assure Your Majesty he is being dealt with most seriously.”
“He will be dismissed of his post, immediately,” I commanded. “And Hertford will stand trial before the Court of the Star Chamber. Their marriage was found to be null and void. He has therefore not only deflowered a virgin of the royal blood once, but now twice! You will set up new officers in the Tower, Cecil. I will not have those two meeting again, ever. And someone tell that girl I am seriously considering changing the laws surrounding the execution of pregnant women!”
“Majesty,” Cecil agreed, removing himself from my presence as swiftly as he could.
For days I was almost insensible with rage. I paced about my chambers and on my early morning walks in the gardens, my face and form filled with wrath. Not only could I not believe that my own guards, my own Lieutenant of the Tower, had disobeyed my orders with such breathtaking arrogance, but I could not believe Katherine had succeeded in flouting me again! Pregnant! Again! Another bastard to add to her growing collection! Another child to throw in my face and taunt me with!
I ordered that Hertford and Katherine were never to see one another again, and this time I was going to be sure this was done. I would not have two prisoners defy me so openly. It made a mockery of my authority. And yet, I could not throw the girl into a cell as I wanted. I could not order her death, even though I could have arranged something once her child was born. Katherine would remain a prisoner for the rest of her life, and her children would suffer with her. No more would I allow visitations. Hertford would not see this child he and Katherine had made. Let that be his punishment for disobeying me! Let the cou
ple ever be apart now they had defied me once more!
That November, I released the Lennoxes from prison and returned them to liberty and favour. Tensions were high, and Catholics were much suspected. Although they attended the Protestant Mass for the sake of appearances, Margaret and her sons were known Catholics. I believed setting them free might help to reassure Catholics hidden in my realm I was not after them all. This was my first reason. The second was that I could not stand to receive another letter of complaint from that damned, screeching harpy! I had given Margaret permission to write to me, for when I was in a similar situation and that right had been denied to me I had keenly resented it. I had not foreseen, however, that in giving this right to my cousin I would be bombarded by missives every dawn, noon, dusk and every hour in between. Margaret must have sent hundreds of letters. I could have used them to light every fire in every palace in England for a hundred years and still have enough to stuff a mattress. I could stand no more.
I had one final reason for releasing Margaret. With Katherine Grey pregnant once more, I wanted another English heir at liberty so that those who might think to support Katherine would have another to focus upon. It was true that Catholics tended to favour Margaret, and Protestants Katherine, but the claims of English blood held much sway, and I knew that in releasing Margaret I would add confusion to the succession discussion, and thereby, hopefully, split some of Katherine’s supporters.