by G Lawrence
And yes, in saying all this, of course I understood that they wanted to secure their future. But there were always other options for the throne; my people just had to be willing to see them. I did not believe that if I died childless the realm would fall into chaos.
When the petitions arrived for me to look over, I found them replete with warnings under their civility: reminders of the horrors of civil war; the meddling of foreign lords into an unstable England; the destruction of noble houses and the slaughter of my people… All of which would apparently absolutely occur unless I gave in. What did these people believe marriage was? A magic talisman against evil? It was ludicrous. But there was a later passage which made me more nervous.
“We fear a faction of heretics in your realm, contentious and malicious Papists. From the Conquest to the present day, the realm was never left as it is now without a certain heir. If Your Highness could conceive or imagine the comfort, surety and delight that should happen to yourself by beholding a child of your own, it would sufficiently satisfy all manner of impediments and scruples.”
I did not like the constant emphasis on the supposed evil of Catholics. More than that, I did not like the idea my men believed I had only to hold a child in my arms and I would be made whole. Was I not a whole person without a babe dribbling upon my arm? Was the worth of a woman not measured on any scale other than how many brats she could squeeze from her quinny? Was I never to be recognised as worth something on my own, without a child?
And quite aside from my natural impulses and fears of marriage… What if I could not breed as other women could? I did not want a child. I did not yearn for one. But even if I did, was I capable? My mother had suffered failed pregnancies, and my sister had grown only ghosts in her belly. My father had had six wives and many mistresses, and yet his offspring had hardly been numerous. What if there was a fault in the fertility of my line? If I subjected myself to marriage, what if then I could not bear children? I would be humiliated. And since it was commonly held that women were always the ones at fault in matters of fertility, my people would blame me if I failed, just as they had blamed my mother, and my sister.
No, it was better to remain true to the natural impulses of my own heart and soul. I would rule as a woman, alone. I would show my Council and my people that a woman needs neither man nor child to make her whole. She is a person in her own right. She is a woman without the presence of a husband or child. She is whole, by her own self. She is a person.
But I could hardly be honest about these thoughts. I would have to find ways to pacify, distract and confuse them… Business as usual, then, for this last Queen of the Tudor line.
I was also far from pleased when Katherine Knollys informed me that the speech given by the Dean at the opening or Parliament had been encouraged, and part written, by none other than Robin. So much for his protestations after I recovered from illness that all he wanted was my happiness! And after I had protected him as best I could from the de Quadra scandal, too… Ungrateful, scheming wretch! Revenge on Robin would, unfortunately, have to wait. I had to deal with my Parliament first. Both Houses wanted me to marry, and in the meantime, to name a successor. I would do neither, but with the war in France, and our troops supporting the French Huguenots, I needed money. The fastest way for a prince to get money is through Parliament, so I could not dismiss them, nor openly refuse their petitions.
At the end of January, with the Speaker of the Commons on his knees to present the House’s petition, I assured my men that the matter of the succession had also been on my mind. “When Death possessed every joint of me,” I said loudly. “I know now, as well as I did before, that I am mortal. I know also that I must one day seek to discharge myself of the great burden that God has laid upon me. But this matter is no light subject, good Masters. I must be given the time to think on it with all seriousness, both for the good of my realm and the good of my people.”
That bought me space to breathe, but it was not enough to silence them. A few days later, the petition of the Lords arrived and it was much the same as that of the Commons. They would not let the matter lie. Since I had already said to my Parliament I would give serious thought to the matter, I was angered when they continued to harass me.
“Think you these marks upon my face are wrinkles of old age, my lords?” I snarled at the Lords. “They are none such! I am marked by the illness which I lately recovered from, and not by the stains of age. And although I may be older than I was when first I came to this glorious throne, I am not so old that I may not bear fruit yet of my womb. God could still send to me an heir, my lords, just as He did with Saint Elizabeth!”
They were none too pleased at my statement, and rankled at my obvious anger, but they waited for me to agree to marry, and to agree upon an heir.
The succession was not the only business of my Parliament that year. They discussed further measures to ensure my safety from Catholic plots and talked over our intervention in France. They discussed furthering the religious settlement I had made when first I came to the throne, as well as new ways to enforce it. The Oath of Supremacy was to be widened to include any who held public office. I agreed to this bill, but made sure my Archbishop of Canterbury knew not to tender the act a second time, as I had no intention of making nobles swear the oath and force Catholics amongst them to choose allegiance between me and the Pope. There were other matters too; the plot which had been uncovered as I lay ill was brought to the attention of Parliament. A new act against sorcery and witchcraft, when used for harmful purposes, was passed, which also included a ban on the use of prophesy to foretell my death. Anyone indulging in the magical arts for malicious purposes would be fined and imprisoned. A second offence would mean life imprisonment, or execution, and the forfeiture of their goods.
My attempts to avoid naming an heir were compounded when the odious Katherine Grey gave birth to a second male child in February. My twenty-two-year-old traitorous, brainless cousin now had two male heirs. This hardly helped me as I tried to dodge and duck Parliament. That girl was set on making trouble for me, I could feel it. I just had to hold out until Parliament had voted through the funds I needed, and I turned to my greatest weapon, to words, to stall them.
“If any here doubt that I am bent never to trade that way of life, and by that I mean to remain an unwed woman, let them put that kind of heresy from their thoughts. Your belief, if it tends that way, is awry. For although I think the unwed state is best for a private woman, yet I do strive to believe it is not best for a prince. And if I can bend my liking to your need, I will not resist such a thought. I hope I shall die in quiet, with Nunc Dimittis, the Song of Simon, in my ears. But think not that I do not understand your need to know whom you will follow after my graved bones are laid to rest. I hear you, my lords, and I will attempt to bend my will to that of yours.”
That was all I said. Parliament, happy to hear I was disposed to bend my will to theirs, even though I had not said when or how much, granted me the funds I required. I dissolved Parliament amidst some general sense of confusion in the Commons and the Lords, who had expected a further, clearer answer from me on both the matter of my marriage and the succession.
They should have learned by now not to grant me what I wanted before receiving the answers they desired.
I was never one to give a clear answer when it was much more to my advantage to offer a confusing one.
Chapter Forty-Two
Windsor Castle
Spring 1563
I was not best pleased with Robin.
Having discovered his involvement with my rebellious Parliament, I found myself often sharp, hard and vexed with him. When we rode into Windsor Park, when it was allowed, due to the still lingering plague, I said few words to him. When I was in my chambers I did not call for him, and when he was present, I brushed past him as though he were nothing more than a candlestick upon my fireplace. Robin did not react well to being treated thus, and acted confused, hurt and petulant. He did not know I
had uncovered this most recent betrayal. He did not understand why I had grown cold.
Robin was playing the part of the cold wind in the fables of Aesop. If you do not know the tale, I shall tell it to you. One day, having little else to do, the wind turned to the sun and laid down a challenge. They will see who can make a lonely walker travelling over the hills remove his heavy cloak. The bold wind decides to try first. He blows and blows into the man’s face, whips his body, and batters him with his cold breath trying to force him to remove the coat. Chilled by the wind, the man pulls his heavy cloak only tighter about him and struggles on. The sun smiles. She flies into the heavens and burns brilliant and bright in the sky above. She rains down gentle warmth. The man basks in the lovely sunshine, and suddenly finds his cloak is too hot. He takes it off and hangs it over his arm, continuing on his journey with the warmth of the soothing sun upon his shoulders.
Robin was making me pull my cloak tight about me. There was no gentle sun in my life.
And it was not only I who was having trouble with certain men who believed their desires were more important than another’s choices. A young man, named Pierre de Boscosel, the Seigneur de Chastelard, was found hiding in my cousin of Scots’ bedchamber. Apparently infatuated with Mary, the young man had hidden himself under her bed. He thought to wait for her servants to depart, and to make love to the Queen when she got into her bed. Many dullards found this tale highly romantic. The fact that Chastelard was armed with a dagger and a sword hardly made the story sound like a romance to me… What was he planning to do? Take my cousin by force if she would not submit? The thought must have occurred to him, otherwise why bring weapons? I am sure if you ask any woman, the idea of a stranger leaping out from under one’s bed, heavily armed and with rape in mind, is not something to light sparks of love in one’s heart…
Luckily for my poor cousin, Chastelard was discovered during the nightly search of her rooms, and despite his ludicrous claim that he was only there because he had had nowhere else to sleep, he was not believed. Nowhere else to sleep! What a feeble-minded excuse for attempting to rape my cousin! Mary was so scared by the incident that she never slept alone again. When later questioned, Chastelard revealed that the plot went even deeper. Sent, apparently, by Huguenots in France, who had been angered by Mary’s support for the Guise, Chastelard had been ordered to infiltrate Mary’s chambers and find a method to defame the Queen. He was to sully her honour in the eyes of her people, playing upon the idea, of course, that should a man rape a woman, she is to blame, and not him.
What a convenient myth that was for men who wanted to assault women! To my mind, it was as insulting to men as it was to women. It was a slight to every man who would never dream of doing such a hideous act just as it was an insult that women were often accused of having encouraged men to rape them; by smiling at them, by wearing a certain dress, by talking to them, or even by showing no interest at all. I did not believe the myth. It was created and used to excuse rapists. It was maintained by those who sought to place the blame onto the shoulders of women. That was what was behind this event. It would not be the morals of Chastelard that were called into question had he achieved his revolting aim; it would be those of Mary.
I wonder if this will ever change? That one day, people will hear of a woman assaulted, and blame her attacker rather than first looking to see what she must have done to deserve her attack? When we hear of people who have been stolen from, we do not say they should not have had anything worth stealing. When we hear of a murder, we do not say the victim must have beckoned Death. Why then do we maintain that a woman must be guilty when she is raped? Why do we maintain this lie, allowing it to survive, generation after generation? All those who maintain this myth maintain evil. They allow rapists to continue to spread fear, misery… to steal a part of a woman’s life, by excusing her attacker.
Chastelard was beheaded. Knox took the opportunity to blame Mary for the incident, saying that she had led Chastelard on by choosing to dance with him at court. Another perpetrator of evil.
I made it clear to my court that I wanted no slander on the character or virtue of my cousin to be spoken in my hearing. I could not stop the rumours altogether, especially from those who would use this incident against my Catholic cousin, but I wanted it made clear that I saw she was not to blame. It was the man himself who should be seen as culpable, not her.
*
In February, the conspirators Arthur Pole and his brother Edmund were tried for high treason. Under the new laws against sorcery and witchcraft brought forth by Parliament, they were sentenced to death, but I commuted their sentences to life imprisonment, showing mercy they little deserved.
The involvement of the Guise and Phillip of Spain in this plot was disconcerting. They had been prepared to send men into England to capture my throne once I was dead, and replace me with my Scottish cousin. Randolph said that as far as he was aware, Mary had known nothing of this plot. I wanted to believe him. Many times when I was a princess I had been used by intriguers without my knowledge. I hoped this was the case now, with my cousin. Under interrogation, de Quadra’s name had been mentioned, yet again. Were that man a subject of mine, his head would have spun from his neck long before now. I wrote to Phillip, asking him to cease to meddle in England’s affairs, and to make it clear that should de Quadra be found to be involved in one more plot he would be sent home in disgrace, or worse. In the meantime, the Spanish ambassador was put under house arrest. It was vastly unhelpful for international relations to do so, but what choice had the man left me? De Quadra was a liability, and it was clear I could not leave him at liberty in England. Cecil and many others wanted me to execute the conspirators, but I would not make sacred martyrs from foolish mortals. In the same way, I would not move further against de Quadra. It occurred to me de Quadra might even want me to move against him, in order to start a war he knew I could not win. I was not going to give him that satisfaction.
A welcome distraction came in the shape of letters from Doctor John Dee. Now studying at Antwerp, he had begun work on the mystery of ciphers, was still adding to his growing library of learned books, and was also studying the mystical arts of the Cabala. The Cabala was a combination of language, mathematics and mystery, based on ancient Hebrew texts. Interest in Hebrew had grown apace over the years, as it was believed that its study could release certain secrets and knowledge hidden in ancient texts and Biblical works. Scholars were searching for numerical patterns in texts using Gematria; where numbers are substituted for letters of the Hebrew alphabet. They were trying to demonstrate a mathematical relationship was underlying the language, and reveal hidden secrets. Cabalism also had a magical and practical side; incantations could be used to summon spirits, angels and even to influence events. Dee assured me he was not studying the Cabala for this purpose, for it could be viewed as a use of the dark arts, and if used for ill-purpose, would be illegal in England, but he spoke warmly on the mathematical pleasures he found in his studies, and on the delights of Antwerp.
“Antwerp is a lively and marvellous city, Your Majesty,” he wrote to me. “Filled with the rattle and clank of printing presses, where thousands of pamphlets and books are made on the study of humanism and Christian faith. Where the streets are filled with scholars, and the inns are made lively with talk of mathematics, cosmology and science. Knowing that you, my Queen, are so avid and devoted a pupil to all new learning which comes your way, I can only mourn that your duties bind you to England. But I promise that I will return with many wonders to delight and tickle your imagination and your mind.”
Dee sent maps for Cecil and books for me, delighting us both. It was good to have a distraction, especially since I swiftly had to deal with another act of treachery from de Quadra. Cecil had long had the Spanish embassy at Durham House in London under his watchful eye, so when it was reported that a disturbance had broken out inside, Cecil’s men investigated. It turned out that two Italians had broken into an argument, but as this brawl was
investigated, more secrets came to light. De Quadra was allowed to hear the Catholic Mass in his house. It was his right as a foreign ambassador, but my men found he was advertising this to my subjects, inviting them to come to Mass, and breaking my laws by doing so. Even under house arrest, the Spanish ambassador was apparently unable to do anything unless it was to my detriment.
“Who do you have inside the house, Cecil?”
“Several members of de Quadra’s household are my secret servants,” was his quick answer. Cecil had many eyes and ears about England.
“He will abuse his diplomatic privilege no longer,” I sniffed. “Have the locks changed on his house and give the keys to a new custodian in your pay. We shall let the ambassador know that he cannot flout my laws.” I stretched my shoulders back and cracked my fingers. “If only he were an Englishman, Cecil… How I would like to see his irksome head tumble from his neck.”