by G Lawrence
“My lady’s stables are never unprepared,” Robin protested, but agreed to leave. I found it hard to believe I had ever been angry with him… How quickly we forget ill deeds and times, when we reconcile with the one we love.
*
Before the sun rose, the court left for Cambridge. We stayed there for five days and it was a goodly time, only made more pleasurable by my reconciliation with Robin. Wearing a gown of black velvet, slashed with a delicate underlay of rose-coloured silk, and with a jewelled cap upon my head, I entered the city to grand acclaim.
As we entered the city, cannons fired from the walls, trumpets blew and crowds cheered. The streets were packed. Young maids carrying hot baked pies and ale drifted through the crowds selling their wares. Merchants brayed at passing folk trying to entice them to stalls laden with silk, ribbons and spices. The scent of the hot summer and my people’s sweat was cloying, but I minded not. To see so many turned out to welcome me was joyous. People jostled in the streets and hung from windows and balconies above. The sound of a thousand voices surrounded us, along with the glorious sight of their waving hands and beaming faces. Cecil greeted us at the University, for one of his many titles was Chancellor of Cambridge University, and, surrounded by dark-robed scholars, crying “Vivat Regina!” we were ushered into its beautiful halls.
Robin arranged all the entertainments, and there were many. Not just feasting and dancing as was normal on such visits, but many scholarly diversions, too. I visited all the colleges, many of them founded by my forbears, attended lectures, watched plays in Latin, and gave speeches in that same language. Gifts of books, gloves, sweetmeats and flowers were piled on me and each day my ladies and menservants staggered back to my chambers with stacks of lovely presents.
“Have a special care with the books, Kat,” I reminded her as she gazed about the spectacular chaos of my ante-chamber and attempted to bring order. I had been given so many presents that Kat believed we might need to hire three extra wagons to carry them all back to London. “I shall want my books preserved against the weather and the dust of the journey.”
“Have I ever allowed one of your books to come to harm, Majesty?” she asked in an acidic tone. I said nothing and eventually she turned to look at me, letting out a sigh when she saw my raised eyebrows. “I am sorry, Majesty,” she apologised. “I have had a pain in my head these last few days and it robs me of my patience.”
“If you need to rest, old friend, then do so,” I said, touching her shoulder with concern. “There are other servants who could organise my packing.”
“And have everything arrive in London in a great mess?” she exclaimed, aghast at the notion. “The flowers put in with the books and the gloves with the comfits?” Kat shook her head. “The only other person who could be trusted with this is Blanche, Majesty. The others would not know where to start.”
I smiled at her proud manner, but it was true Kat had a particular talent for packing and organising. She was always in charge, and since that had always been her role she was unwilling to give it up. “Well, you continue to organise this mess, then,” I agreed. “But have my doctors give you something for that head, Kat.”
“I am getting old, Majesty, that is all,” Kat said. I frowned at her. Kat never seemed old to me, but she was over sixty now. “And with age, so come more ailments.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at the mess as though she meant to frighten it into submission. “I will be fine, Majesty.”
*
The end of our stay in Cambridge came with more speeches, and one by the Public Orator surprised me. Taking an entirely different point of view from every other man in my realm, he openly praised my virginity and status as an unmarried Queen. “There are some who mourn our Queen’s unmarried state,” he said. “But I say to them, do not mourn; celebrate such a happy event! Our Queen, unlike all others in this world, hath given herself completely to the service of her people. She has chosen us over the claims of blood, children and family. We are fortunate, good people, to have such a Queen. We are her children and England is her husband. With her ruling over us, we have our eternal mother; a maiden as devoted to her duty as the Holy Virgin herself was.”
His words caught me off-guard. In a moment of uncharacteristic embarrassment, I flushed red as tears sprang into my eyes. Biting my lips and playing with my fingers, I spoke. “God’s blessing on your heart,” I said softly, deeply touched by his words.
The Orator went on, extolling my virtues and reducing me to such a state that I thought I might weep in public like my cousin of Scots. It was so surprising to hear a public exultation of my unwed state. So many thought it unnatural, bizarre, and bad for England, so to hear someone talk on the virtues, rather than the sins, of my status was almost unprecedented. I was grateful to know that at least some of my subjects understood me.
We left Cambridge, making for London, only to find fresh rumour of my marriage to Archduke Charles had broken out. I had no idea where this new rumour came from… We had re-started talks, yes, but that was no new event. Perhaps it was a quiet season in London, and people were desperate for gossip. Before it could reach a fever-pitch however, Ferdinand of Austria died, bringing talks of marriage to his son to an end for a while. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Death for his visit to the Emperor.
Soon enough, I was to thank Death no more.
*
As we returned to London, Dee and Bess returned from Antwerp. Sadly, the physicians there had found there was nothing they could do for her condition, but Bess was not willing to admit defeat. “I will be consulting with your doctors, as you have so kindly offered, Majesty,” she said. She was pale and gaunt. My spirits trembled to see her this way. “And there is a cunning woman in one of the villages on our estates who I have turned to before for advice. I mean to speak with her and her son, who is training as her apprentice, when William and I return to our lands.”
“Often there is more wisdom in the minds of such women than in the words of trained doctors,” I agreed. I rose and walked to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Rest often, though, Bess. Tiredness can be dangerous to any condition. Do not wear yourself out.”
“I do hope my good wife listens to you, Majesty,” William Parr interjected before Bess could answer. “For she listens not to me.”
Bess smiled and leaned in to whisper to my ear. “My husband would wrap me in fleece, Your Majesty, and lock me in a cupboard along with his stores of sugar to keep me safe.”
I gazed with affection at my good uncle. “He loves you, Bess,” I replied. “And if you will not listen to him, I shall make my request into a royal command. If I hear from my uncle you are exhausting yourself, I shall put you in the Tower, where I may keep an eye on you.”
Bess and Parr laughed. They left for their country seat later that day, and I made Bess promise to write to me often, especially with regards to her health.
With Bess, Dee returned, his bags and trunks stuffed with books and his mind afire with new thoughts. He showed me his newest work, called the Monas, a most interesting study filled with magical ideas and notions many considered pagan, and therefore heretical, on numerology, cosmology and mathematics. It was also clearly influenced by his study of the Cabala. Since it was a potentially inflammatory work, Dee chose not to dedicate it to me, but to the newly crowned Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian II. His caution was understandable and I praised him for his forethought. I had no wish to be accused of heresy by either Catholics or Protestants, who were both likely to object to this work. There were enough people in the world who believed me to be a heretic queen as it was.
“I admit myself somewhat baffled by much in this text,” I confessed to Dee when I had read it. “Much of this theory is beyond my scope of knowledge.”
“Only because you have no grounding in it, Your Majesty,” he flattered. “Remember, I have worked for many years on these studies. It is easy for anyone to believe they have no understanding of a subject, when they first start to stu
dy it. That is where many people give up. The trick is to plough on, and engage the mind.”
“I believe your idea is that you believe astrological symbols to be part of a lost language, Doctor Dee,” I went on. “And wish to test this hypothesis?”
“You have the main thrust entirely, Majesty,” he said, looking impressed.
“Would you come to court, and instruct me so I might better understand your theories?” I asked. “It has been some time since I was a pupil. I would love to learn at your side, Doctor, if you were willing to tutor me.”
“I would be honoured, Majesty,” Dee said, with an expression of clear astonishment and interest on his face. “And it would aid me also.”
“In what manner would my becoming your pupil help you?”
Dee smiled. “When a scholar becomes a teacher, Majesty, he understands his subject all the clearer for having to explain it to another person.”
Dee was a good, wise man. There were many who suspected him and his work, thinking he was exploring pagan, ungodly studies. But I saw him for what he was; a seeker of truth. He was a talented scholar, often apt to become so lost in his work he forgot to eat or sleep. Dee took a house in London, and I promised him I would become a patron of his work, if he would share all he found with me. There were many who would have liked to see me arrest him, and search his house, fearing he might be practising dark arts. But there are always those who fear others with more knowledge than they. This is the way of the world. Often, those who seek truth and knowledge become suspected by those who dwell in ignorance and fear. But the way of truth is the way of light, just as the path of ignorance is bound in shadow.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Windsor Castle
Autumn 1564
In September as farmers in the fields were busy gathering in the last of the crops, as England was filled with the steady refrain of singing workers harvesting barley, hay, hops and wheat, the Count of Lennox rode for Scotland. He left alone, despite Cecil’s notion to send Darnley. I was still wavering on the idea, but if a time came when a match with Spain or France was on the horizon, I would consider sending Darnley.
As Lennox rode for Scotland, Ambassador Melville arrived in England. Having heard little from my cousin that summer, I was determined to catch up on news from our neighbour. I greeted him, and later called him to my apartments to view my collection of miniature portraits. When he arrived, I was gazing on one of Robin, thinking of the days when I had promised him my heart… how happy I had been then in my innocence.
“You are most fond of Lord Dudley, Majesty,” Melville noted, regarding the inscription on the bottom of the portrait. It read “My Lord’s picture”; a rather personal inscription.
I brushed a finger over the soft paper which held the portrait safe and smiled. “No other man has my regard as he does,” I confessed. “And I can think of no other man I would be willing to offer as a consort to my good sister in Scotland.”
“I wonder that you would wish to be parted from him, Majesty,” Melville said, narrowing his eyes. “For surely, his loss would cause you pain?”
“As it would bring pleasure and comfort to my sister,” I said, setting the portrait down. “And for such grace, I would be willing to give up a great deal.” I gestured to a picture of Mary on the table. “I gaze often on the face of my cousin, wondering on her,” I told him. “Is it a good likeness?”
Melville stood over it and considered the portrait. “It is a fair likeness, Majesty, although I would say it does not do due justice to my Queen’s beauty.”
I nodded. “Then I have to meet with her, do you see, my lord? For how can we ever truly see or know each other without meeting?”
Melville glanced back to the portrait of Robin. “Would your Majesty allow me to take this portrait of Lord Dudley back to Scotland?” he asked. “I believe my Queen would be interested to see the face of the man you wish her to marry.”
“I have but one miniature of my lord,” I protested, holding Robin’s portrait to me as though Maitland were about to snatch it away. “I cannot part with it.”
“But your Majesty has the original in her keeping,” Melville said with a short smile.
“For now, my lord… but all the same, I would not wish to lose this picture.”
“Then will your Majesty send another token to my Queen?” he went on. “Perhaps the ruby you showed to me earlier?”
The gem he spoke of was in my private collection. It was a large jewel, big as a tennis ball… I had no wish to give it to my cousin. “I will send my cousin a diamond,” I said, noting his disappointment. “For the diamond signifies purity and wisdom, and those are qualities I believe both I and my dear cousin possess.” Asking Kat to clear the portraits away, I took the ambassador’s arm. “Will you tell me about my good sister?” I asked.
“What would you know, Majesty?”
“Everything!” I cried, leading him into the gardens. “Everything there is to know. Tell me of her face and her character. Tell me of her wishes and aspirations. I would become close to my good sister in Scotland, and you, my lord, are my means of so doing.”
The gardens were glorious. The last of the summer warmth held on tight as autumn strove to usurp her throne. Aromatic herbs puffed forth delicate scents on the warm breeze, and flowers planted in rows and geometric patterns made the grounds bright and gay. Marble statues were dotted through the gardens, rising up from grassy avenues and fountains whose waters sang like delicate music. We walked to the centre of the gardens where a sundial counted the hours, and a fountain shot water up, sparkling in the sunshine, as it fell into a pond. “Talk to me of my cousin,” I insisted.
Melville did as I asked. As he rambled on and on about Mary, I allowed my thoughts to roam, thinking on other matters as he was distracted by speaking of her. “I am tired now, ambassador,” I said as he ended his praises. “We will talk again later in the week.”
I held Melville at bay, for I knew he wanted to press me about the succession. Every time he came to me I asked him about my cousin. He found he had to embark on answering many pointless questions, rather than getting to the one point he wanted to speak on. I diverted him with my apparent obsession with my cousin’s looks. “Which of us is the fairer?” I asked of him, smoothing the front of my gown of gold and crimson velvet, allowing him to see the whiteness of my own hands.
“Each of you is the fairest within your own kingdoms, Majesty,” Melville replied with great tact. “Although I will allow that your Majesty has the whiter complexion… But my Queen is equal to you in loveliness just as she is equal in blood.”
He was trying to steer me towards the succession again, but he would be thwarted! “Which of us is the taller, then?” I asked.
“My Queen is taller, Majesty,” he said. “She is five feet and eleven inches, and stands taller than many men of the court.”
“Then she is too tall,” I said, pretending to pout. “For men say that I am neither too high nor too low, and that is the perfect height, is it not, my lord?” Before Melville could answer, I continued. “Does my cousin like to hunt… or perhaps she favours reading as a pastime?”
“My mistress enjoys the hunt, and loves to ride, as I believe Your Majesty does,” the poor fellow went on, seemingly baffled as to why I would have more interest in Mary as a person than as a successor.
“And does she like music?” I asked.
“My Queen is… reasonably accomplished as a musician, Majesty,” said the man. “But she has a fine, sweet voice.”
That evening Kat took Melville to a gallery which overlooked one of Windsor’s chambers, and I told her to have him stand there so I could impress him with my skill on the virginals. I loved music. I practised my skills daily, and I knew that in this I could outshine my younger, more beautiful cousin. After listening to me play, Melville was forced to admit I was indeed the better musician.
Some of this show was of course vanity. I was vain. I have no call to deny it. Knowing myself to be
not as beautiful or as young as many other women, I had to find ways to satisfy my thirst for admiration. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I had known myself unwanted as a child. My father had wanted a boy, my mother had scarce had time to show affection for me before her head was sliced off, and I had lived a rather neglected youth. My father had thrust all his adoration and ambition into my brother, and even though I knew he had loved me, I had still felt unwanted, unimportant at times. As I had grown, I had known what it was to be outshone by other women. Striking, I was, but beauty is not the same beast. So, yes… I craved admiration. We all want what we do not have. To be admired for grace and skill was almost as good as being admired for beauty. I took admiration where I could and was not averse to demonstrating my skills to earn more esteem.