Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  I stared at the parchment as Cecil wordlessly handed it to me. Words jumped out from the creamy parchment. Accusations and recriminations assaulted me. How could they bring this to me now? Could I not be given a moment, just a moment, to try to come to terms with my grief? I was enraged by the petition. Anger was the first new emotion I had experienced since Kat died. Whilst any feeling other than aching blankness or gaping, raw sorrow should have been welcome, anger is not the most helpful of emotions. I threw the parchment into the fire and ran from Cecil. I raged that night, screaming about the uncharitable, unfeeling nature of my subjects. Shouting that they were false, that they cared not, that they loved me not. Blanche brought Robin in to calm me. It did no good.

  “Mistress Ashley would not have wanted you to grieve like this,” he said.

  “Kat is no longer here, Robin, to tell me how she would have me behave,” I said stiffly. “And so I will have to behave as I have a mind to.” I turned away. “Leave me, and do not return until you are sent for, my lord.”

  I was treating Robin badly, but I could not see it then. Blinded by grief, maimed by sorrow, I hobbled on like a wounded stag seeking a place to hide, a place to die. I turned my anger on Robin and used him ill. Robin became my whipping boy, and even if he understood my reasons, he did not welcome such treatment.

  Later that week, I formally rejected the suit of Charles of France. I said that he was too young for me, which he was, but in truth I could not bear the French ambassador speaking to me on the subject any longer.

  “A husband can only be of true use to my country if he is old enough to give me sons,” I said to de Foix, my tone flat, invested with no emotion. “That would be his chief function, to be of any use to England. His Majesty, the King of France, is too young for me, and I too old for him. It is with regret that I say this, but I believe a match is not to be between us.”

  My rejection of Charles led Cecil, Sussex and Norfolk to think it was time to throw the Archduke Charles of Austria at me anew. I pretended interest, and asked Robin to do the same. The only reason I wanted Robin to support the match was because Norfolk did, and I wanted those two to mend their relationship. They would never be friends, but if Norfolk could see Robin for one moment not as an enemy, then peace might be easier at court. And I needed peace. I could not bear to hear raised voices, or feel tension about me. I had not the strength to endure it.

  Robin obeyed, being wary of my temper which was apt to explode without warning. I hovered between dull flatness and sudden outbursts of rage. I had no control. Seeking to appease me, Robin even went so far as to have a public talk with de Silva, saying he was sure I would never marry him. “The Queen has decided to marry a great prince, or to all events, never to marry with a subject of her own,” Robin said, within clear hearing distance of Norfolk. It earned a time of truce between them, but only for a while.

  “This feeling will pass with time,” Robin said as he sat holding my hand one night.

  With time… How many times had I heard that? When I had refused his hand when his wife had died, it seemed that was all anyone could say. What fools they were to believe that Time could counter grief! Time only gave one the chance to get used to heaving grief about; it did not lessen it.

  “I will be well, soon,” I said, lying, my voice as dull as my heart.

  When meeting with Adam Zwetkovich, ambassador of Austria, I told him at one time I was interested in the Archduke, and at another I was unsure. I went through the motions of the old games I played with ambassadors and my men. I did the same as ever I had done, but the enjoyment had gone. I went through the motions of life, and found no joy in it.

  “The House of Hapsburg is determined to suspect me of ill-doings,” I said to him, speaking of rumours of Robin and me which were abroad. “But they will only find I have ever behaved with due decorum.”

  “Of course, Majesty, my masters do not listen to idle rumour and gossip,” the ambassador assured me, lying through his beard. “And if you cannot marry without seeing a suitor, and my master cannot come here for fear of loss of dignity, would you perhaps send an envoy to my master, to view him for you… to be your eyes, if you will?”

  “A state of affairs open to much abuse, my lord ambassador, as any who survived my father’s reign could inform you,” I replied, thinking of the disastrous affair of my father’s marriage to Anne of Cleves, and the heads that had rolled when the lady turned out to be far from my father’s fantasies. “I can trust no other to be my eyes.” I agreed to the Archduke coming to England, and then talks broke down as everyone disagreed over who would pay for his lodgings whilst he was here. Refusing to pay for his keep bought me time. Negotiations continued.

  “I thought I was your eyes,” Robin said to me later.

  “You are.” I put my head against his shoulder and felt his arms fold around me. “But if you are my eyes, Robin, I believe Kat was my heart. For as she is gone, so all love within me has drained away.”

  “Including your love for me?” His arms stiffened.

  I pulled away and stared at him with eyes full of disdain. “Even now… You think only and ever of yourself,” I said. Cold anger poisoned my blood. “Never once do you think of others. Even when that other is me… the one you swore to love more than you loved your own soul.”

  I left his embrace and I left the room. Even now, when all I needed was a friend to comfort me, Robin could not set aside the one thought which was always with him. This was no time for games and tricks. I needed my friend. When he returned to attend on me, I was cold and abrasive. I took my anger at Kat’s death out on him. I could not help myself.

  Margaret Lennox was still under arrest in the Tower for the continued disobedience of her husband and son. I also had her property seized. Since prisoners had to pay for their own incarceration, this meant that Margaret was swiftly running up debts. Even this brought me no pleasure where once I may have skipped with glee to humiliate my cousin as once she had done to me. It caused me more pain than pleasure, in fact, for Margaret started to write to me. Letters arrived thrice daily, all containing the same words and protestations. I read some, I did not read them all. Margaret protested she was innocent and that her son had only done as was his birthright and freedom to do. He could not help who he fell in love with, she argued. He could not help who had fallen in love with him. De Silva took it upon himself to petition for clemency for Margaret, and received a baleful glare from me in response. Being a wise man, de Silva left his requests there for the moment, but in truth, I no longer cared. I acted as though I did. I pretended as though I did, but I cared not. Let my cousin take the fool as a husband! I only wanted to be left alone.

  But solitude is a luxury not granted to queens. I had no choice but to carry on, as every day memories of my most beloved friend haunted my steps.

  *

  There was news from Scotland. Darnley wanted to be crowned King Consort, but this was blocked by ruling members of Mary’s Council. He was styled ‘King Henry’ about her court but it was an empty title. At Cecil’s urging, I sent a small sum of money to Mary’s brother, Moray, to support him. Mary wrote angrily, telling me to meddle no more in Scottish affairs, and then promptly had Throckmorton arrested. The grounds were that safe conduct had not been allowed for her new husband to visit his mother, and I was enraged. Not only was the arrest of Throckmorton, my ambassador, an insult, but I was within my legal rights to offer or refuse conduct through my kingdom! I grew furious at Mary although I doubt my rage would have been so strong had I not been affected by Kat’s loss. My previous affection and hope in my royal cousin drained away. Everyone was failing me. Mary had disappointed me, Kat had dared to leave me, Robin was small comfort and all my Council and people wanted was to talk of marriage. I was alone. My anger was the only thing that gave me energy and so I gave in to it. I let it rage, greeting it, as though it might do me good. It did not. Whenever it left me, I felt only tired, old and lonely.

  In previous times I had thought Ma
ry proven wise and courageous, but with her imprudent marriage to Darnley and subsequent actions, a veil had been lifted from my eyes. What a fool this woman was! I began to think then that Cecil and all the others who had railed against Mary from the start were right; she was no proper successor. Cecil and my Privy Council wanted me to announce Katherine Grey as my heir as my cousin of Scots celebrated her wedding, just to teach Mary a lesson, but even in my confused temper of rage and sorrow, I did not want to do anything so rash.

  De Silva came to me again. He said that Margaret Lennox was in dire need of items of dress and furniture in the Tower.

  “Lady Lennox deceived me,” I replied as he finished. “She and her son. And this is not the first time I have had lies from them. Why should I deal fairly with those who will not do so with me?”

  “Your Majesty has always shown great clemency,” de Silva agreed. “You have always shown a valiant spirit and only the timid are cruel. Your cousin may have betrayed you, but to leave her now without succour would not be in keeping with the greatness of your own spirit.”

  I admit I felt a touch abashed by de Silva. I agreed to send various items of dress and furniture to Margaret from my own Royal Wardrobe. I did, however, insist that Margaret paid for all that was granted to her. I saw no reason why I should reward her for her son’s treachery. Since Margaret was already in financial difficulties, and now had no property to provide her with an income, she was wallowing in debt. As my cousin of Lennox turned fifty, the world must have seemed a rather dull and bleak place to be. She could comfort herself that her son was a king, but she was a prisoner, and I had not quite made up my mind on what was to be done with her.

  *

  Trouble began to break out in Scotland. Moray was proclaimed a rebel for his outspoken hatred of Mary’s marriage. I sent John Thomworth, a man of my Privy Chamber, to reason with Mary about the imprisonment of Throckmorton, but was sent nothing encouraging in response. “Her Majesty lectured me as though I were her pupil!” Thomworth wrote. “She said that a Queen had every right to marry without rendering account to other princes. It had not been her practice, she went on, to enquire what kind of order her good sister observed within her realm, nor did she believe it was the usual custom of princes to interfere so in the internal affairs of neighbouring states. Princes were subject to God alone, she said, which was a sentiment she felt sure Your Majesty would agree with. She ended her speech to me by saying that her heart was her own, and she alone would be master of it.”

  I could do nothing. What was I to do? Invade Scotland? There were some at court who wanted me to do just that. They wanted me to raise an army, to cut off the threat Mary and Darnley posed before it had a chance to grow. I admit, in my anger, there were times I thought most warmly about such a notion. But thankfully, I still had enough intelligence left to curtail the idea.

  Mary had the upper hand, there was no denying that. She was younger than me, more beautiful than me, a queen like me… And now she was married and I was not. People gazed on me with scathing eyes, asking silently why I could not be like Mary and marry. Mary rose in people’s estimations just as I fell. Eyes were on my back and whispers dogged my heels. I hated all who would censure me. I raged in the seclusion of my chambers; against Mary, against Robin, against all who would judge me against my cousin. But in truth, I was raging only for one thing. For Kat.

  And as all about me thought on marriage, as my defiant cousin struggled to control the behaviour of her new husband, a fresh secret emerged.

  Marriage must have been in the air that summer, for another rebellious bride lurking in my midst was about to reveal herself.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Windsor Castle

  Summer’s End 1565

  “I am married, Majesty.” The small voice echoed about the Bedchamber.

  I stared at the bowed head of Mary Grey, dizzy with anger, frustration and disbelief. “What do you mean, you are married?” My voice emerged with more collected calm than was in my soul. I was ready to kill the girl; strangle her with my own hands. Was every Grey a traitor?

  “I have been joined in marriage, with witnesses and in a Protestant ceremony to Master Thomas Keyes of Lewisham, Majesty,” Mary Grey went on, daring, finally to lift her fearful eyes to mine. “We are husband and wife.”

  “Get out.” My tone was clipped and I saw terror stealing over her face. My anger was rising, boiling and bubbling. I could barely hold myself back from striking the girl. “Get out!” I shouted, rising from the chair as she dithered. I stalked towards her. “You prepared your evidence well, did you not, you bold chit? You think yourself safe, do you, Mary? Making sure there were witnesses and a Protestant priest, unlike the wedding of your whore of a sister?”

  Mary rose, stumbling backwards on her awkward legs as I advanced on her. “You are a ward of the Crown!” I screamed. Blanche and Katherine Knollys came running, seeking to hold me back as I towered over the slight girl. “You cannot marry without the permission of your Queen! You think yourself safe because of your priest and witnesses, Mary? Think again!” I spun about. “Arrest her!” I bellowed at my guards. “She will be taken into custody. And then get after this Thomas Keyes and take him to the Fleet Prison! Both of them will remain under guard until I decide what to do with them!”

  “You can keep us apart, but he will be in my heart for all my life, Majesty,” the girl said boldly, and foolishly. “He is my husband, as I am his wife. Only God can separate us.”

  I lost any control I had. I tore my arm from Blanche’s grip. My hand lashed out and cracked against Mary’s cheek, sending her sprawling to the floor. “Do not think to speak to me as though you were my equal, girl!” I screamed. “Think you that you will be kept near to your husband so he can lay a seed in your belly as your sister’s lover did? It will never be so!” The guards helped Mary up and took her from the room.

  “You will never see your lover again!” I screamed at Mary as she was half-carried down the hall. “Never again! My promise to God!”

  As I turned back, I saw my ladies staring at me open-mouthed. I was often loose with my hands, slapping or pinching them if they cut my skin or were too rough combing my hair. But this total loss of control was something they had never witnessed before. I glowered at them and, suddenly, they all found urgent tasks to attend to. “Another Grey set to disobey me and turn traitor at the first chance!” I fumed, to no one in particular. “They all seek to defy me!” I looked at Blanche, since she was the only one who dared meet my eyes. I was shaking. “And who is this Keyes? Who is this man who dares deflower a ward of the Crown?”

  “He is the Sergeant Porter, Majesty.” Blanche tried to calm me, tried to get me to sit down, but I pulled my arms from her grip. “You know him, Majesty… The tall one?”

  I tried to think. It was not easy. I did know him, I realised… to say “good morrow” to at least. Keyes was the tallest man at court; one of my guards and a man of no title or consequence. Mary’s marriage, then, could do me no harm. But that did not mean I was about to forgive her after she had gone behind my back! Was the girl possessed of no wits? She had seen what had happened to her sister, and yet taken the same path!

  “Bring me Cecil!” I stormed back into the Privy Chamber. “Mary goes into custody here, at Windsor, where I can keep an eye on her and Keyes to the Fleet!” I commanded when he arrived and I told him Mary’s news. “And never shall they meet again. Mary knew all too well what would happen if she married without permission. She is even more guilty than Katherine! If I hear that girl is with child, Cecil, after all I have endured with her sister, I swear I shall have Keyes’s head for it! I want to know who those witnesses she spoke of are, and what they thought they were doing attending such a ceremony. And when you find them, they will go to the Tower. They find out what happens when they flaunt the will of their Queen!”

  *

  As troubles dogged me, so, too, they came for my cousin Mary. Over the border, my cousin was struggling to cont
ain rebellion. Incensed by the marriage between her and Darnley, many nobles had taken up with Moray. Afraid that her marriage to this English Catholic, no matter his blood, would mean a shift in religion, they meant to make war on their Queen. Mary took to her troubles with grace, however, and no matter how annoyed I was with her, I will admit my cousin conducted herself as a true and politic Queen. Mary attended a Protestant baptism, ate meat in Lent, and went to the Catholic Mass less frequently… all signs to her people that she had no intention of altering their religion. All well and good, but in secret she was gathering an army as well. But ten days after her ill-thought-out-match with Darnley, Mary had seven thousand troops at her command and was ready to face Moray. At this time also, Mary recalled the Earl of Bothwell to Scotland.

  Bothwell was a formidable adversary for Moray, and Mary knew it. Bothwell was a man of action and of war. A stocky man, of medium height, he had been long in France. Throckmorton, who had by now been released, described him as rash and vainglorious. He was known for fighting duels, and saw himself as a man of honour, although later events would strain that assertion. Resolutely opposed to England, he was the man Mary needed now to stand against her enemies in Scotland and give her hope for the future in any entanglements with England. He had also long been an enemy to Moray, and was more than happy to undertake a mission to destroy this rebel lord. Bothwell had a certain lawlessness to his character, which my cousin believed would work to her advantage, but many of her nobles were not happy Bothwell was coming back. As Mary prepared for war, all in England watched and waited to see what would come of this.