Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  “If you have no more to say, Your Grace, then you can leave,” I continued, inspecting one of my nails. “It is a shame that this prestigious title will not grace your noble house, but if this is the way you feel, I will not attempt to persuade you otherwise. The Earl will have his title, and I will choose another to be elevated in your place.”

  “I will attend the ceremony.” Norfolk’s teeth squeaked against each other as he spoke. I wanted to laugh, but I contained my amusement.

  “Pardon, Your Grace… I did not hear you? What did you say?”

  “I will attend the ceremony and take the honour.” Norfolk looked as though he might explode, so tense had he become.

  “I am glad to hear it, Your Grace,” I purred. Norfolk strode off, muttering about the duplicitous nature of his Queen. I sat back and chuckled.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Westminster Palace

  Winter 1566

  Frost sparkled on the bare tree branches and the air was filled with snow. London was white. Deep drifts of snow blanketed the houses, shops and markets. Smoke plumed through the icy air, meeting soft falling snowflakes, drifting lazily down to join their friends settled upon the earth. Ponds sparkled like diamonds, and the River Thames froze solid. As frosty as it was outside, it had become even more so inside court.

  Robin was losing hope. Although he was pleased I had chosen him to take the Order of St Michael, his true ambition was still far away. When he and Norfolk passed each other at court, ice could have formed in the space between them. Their supporters were equally cold with each other.

  The ceremony of investment came at the end of January. Norfolk and Robin stood side by side, dressed in robes of white and russet velvet, decorated with lace and tassels of gold and silver. The heated chamber was chilled by their mutual resentment. After the ceremony, Norfolk sought Robin out and berated him for continuing to try to become my husband. He asked Robin to give up ideas of marriage with me, and support the suit of the Archduke. “Believe me, Your Grace,” Robin replied within clear hearing distance of me. “I have tried to convince the Queen to wed the Archduke for the good of England, and you can ask her that yourself. But I will admit I believe myself to be the better match for the good of her own happiness.”

  Not an answer that Norfolk wanted to hear…

  This gave Robin another opportunity to inform me I should marry soon, for the good of my country. He pestered me about my promise. “It is not yet Candlemas, my lord,” I reminded him sharply. ”And I do not like to hear the same words spoken over and over as though I am stood in a cave, hearing the echo of that which I already know.” Robin went to his chambers, downcast.

  “He has asked me to marry for the good of my country,” I said to de Silva later in the cold gardens. I was riddled with guilt, and sought to praise Robin more than he deserved because of it. “This, surely, is a sign of the greatness of which he is capable.”

  “My master is unwilling to conform to the stipulations on his faith,” de Silva admitted. “And so a further delay is caused in any case, Majesty.”

  “Are our faiths so different?” I asked my friend. Lately I had asked if the Archduke would be willing to become a Protestant as many of my Privy Council were uncomfortable with the notion of a Catholic King. I knew this would not be well-received by Charles, for he was adamant in his faith. It bought me time, but still, I wanted to press the point. There was so much grief, strife and bloodshed in the world, and much of it because men would not admit that they worshipped the same God. “We believe in the same God, my lord, do we not? There is only one.”

  “I will relay your words, as always, madam,” de Silva promised. “Although I believe this will be a stumbling post for us in negotiations… as I am sure your Majesty is aware.” He flashed a quick, amused look at me, knowing, of course, I had no wish to marry his master. I slipped my hand through his arm.

  “Keep my secrets safe, my friend,” I murmured as we walked on.

  *

  In response to our latest argument, Robin turned to Lettice again and made a grand show of fawning upon her. I could see what Robin was up to, but it still hurt. Not about to let him get away with this, I paid Robin back by flirting outrageously with Heneage and my cousin Black Tom. Gentleness was no more our companion. We lashed each other with spite, jealousy and agony.

  At Twelfth Night, I made Heneage King of the Bean, a position Robin had always taken before. Able to order the court around as a king for the night, Heneage organised games and dances, riddles and jests. Robin was vastly unhappy to be set aside. Noting his sour face, Heneage called upon Robin to ask me a riddle. “You will ask the Queen, which is the more difficult to erase from the mind, my lord? Jealousy, or an evil opinion implanted by a wicked gossip?” Robin glared at Heneage, aware he was toying with him, but asked the question all the same.

  “I would say they were both difficult to get rid of, my lord Earl,” I replied coolly. “But in my opinion, jealousy is the harder to remove, for it festers in the soul and causes noble men to become errant boys.”

  Robin bowed, and removed himself early from the entertainment. I missed him, despite my anger and hurt. Later, Robin sent Heneage a message saying he “would castigate him with a stick” for his impertinence. Heneage responded by saying “this was not punishment for equals, but if my lord came to insult him, he will discover whether his sword could cut and thrust.”

  “The Earl of Leicester claimed I was not his equal, Majesty,” Heneage said, his cheeks on fire and his form looking set to leap into war with Robin. Messages between Robin and Heneage had continued, each more insulting than the last. From once-friends they had become firm enemies. Further conflict at my court was not to my liking. “And that he would save his chastisement of me for a point in the near future,” Heneage went on, itching to be allowed to duel with Robin.

  “I will deal with the Earl, my lord,” I promised Heneage. “You did no wrong in your duties on Twelfth Night. But do not promise your sword against any of my men again. I will have no duels at my court.”

  Heneage reluctantly promised not to duel with Robin. As he left my Privy Chamber, Robin entered. When they crossed each other in the doorway, a hot vapour rose between them as their glowering eyes met. I shook my head. This was getting out of hand.

  “If by my favour you have become insolent, my lord Earl,” I said to Robin. “You should reform your character.”

  “Heneage insulted me, Majesty,” Robin said stiffly. “And I called him to account.”

  “Heneage did nothing other than play the part for which he was chosen by me.” My tone was bitter. “And you should remember, my lord, that just as I have raised you up, I can cast you down. You have disgraced yourself yet again with this foolishness and jealousy.”

  “Just as you have done the same,” Robin retorted.

  “Leave my chambers now, my lord,” I commanded. “And do not return until you have learnt some manners.”

  Robin spent the next four days sulking in his chambers, until my anger abated and I sent for him, but our friendship was frosty, and awkward. Candlemas came and went, and I gave him no answer. I did not see why I should. Robin continued to court Lettice, and I paid him back by showing favour to others. We had found a new game, but it was more hurtful than even his past intrigues with de Quadra and Spain had been. Each time he paid attentions to Lettice, a part of my heart curled up and withered within me. And each time I was hurt, I went out of my way to wound him back in return. Robin and I scrapped and sliced at each other with spiteful claws.

  There were times I hated him.

  I began to believe our love had truly died.

  Chapter Seventy

  Greenwich Palace

  Winter’s End 1566

  Hate spawns hate, as discord breeds discord, or so the old gossips say. In the last days of winter, Mary of Scots held a feast at her court in Holyrood Palace. When all were gathered, she stood before a portrait of me, and announced “there is no Queen in England b
ut myself”.

  Pregnancy had made her bold and confident. That statement could easily have been taken as a declaration of war. Was that what Mary wanted? Did she think England would fall to her as easily as her rebels had?

  “The child has stolen her wits, Spirit,” I said. “My cousin Katherine Knollys has told me that during pregnancy her mind tends to wander and she forgets much. It would seem the Queen of Scots has forgotten who she is as her pregnancy progresses. She thinks she is me.”

  “Randolph had to leave the feast,” Cecil told me. “He said there was a great ruckus caused by the Queen’s affirmation, but he could not stay to witness it. He could hardly sit with Mary after she made that statement.”

  “Poor Randolph.” I shook my head. “What is the girl thinking? Is she so secure in her belly that she thinks to goad me to war?”

  “There is word, too, that she is intent now on bringing Catholicism back into her realm,” Cecil added. “She is mad with the power of this babe. She thinks it can work miracles.”

  “I have seen many babes, Cecil, and found none miraculous. Mary will not convince her nobles, and is going against the agreements put in place when first she came to Scotland. Knox will eat her alive, if Moray does not get there first.”

  “Randolph asks that we burn all further letters from him,” Cecil said. “He fears that should his news become gossip at court then he will find himself imprisoned as Throckmorton was.”

  “We burn nothing, Cecil. We have means to keep the missives from Scotland safe.”

  “I am in agreement, Majesty, but how should we respond?”

  “We will ignore her, for now, Spirit. They say pride comes before a fall. Let us watch to see if she stumbles.”

  “I will ask the border guards to keep watch for any developments, and alert Randolph to be vigilant. I’m afraid there is trouble here too, Majesty. Princess Cecilia has announced she is leaving.”

  “Cecilia is going nowhere until she pays her debts, Cecil,” I said with a sharp edge to my voice. Cecilia had been living a most extravagant lifestyle in London, and owed money everywhere.

  “And what debts they are!” Cecil exclaimed. “She owes thousands, Majesty, and I am told she went to Cornelius Lannoy to ask that he loan her funds as well.”

  “What has Cecilia to do with my alchemist?” Lannoy was still working to produce the Philosopher’s Stone. I little wanted him distracted. The venture was taking enough time as it was.

  “He served at her brother’s court, and so they know each other. Cecilia believes that since the man is working on the production of gold, he must have plenty to loan to her.”

  “Precious little of this fabled gold have we seen, Spirit,” I noted glumly. “Keep an eye on them, will you? I don’t want Lannoy distracted from producing my gold by worrying about Cecilia’s.”

  “I will intercept their messages and place someone in her household,” Cecil said and I smiled. “What is it, Majesty?”

  “It was just… for a moment, Cecil, you sounded like Parry.” The admission brought pain, but it was mingled with pleasure. The pain of Parry’s death was seeping from me, and even though I would always miss him, I found now I could remember him with joy as well as grief in my soul. I only wished the same could be true about Kat.

  “I will admit, there was much I learned from Parry on the intricacies of watching and infiltrating a house,” Cecil said with a sad smile. “I only wish he were still here to check on my work.”

  “You do well enough on your own, Spirit. I have faith in you.”

  Cecilia’s efforts to gain further loans to pay her debts were watched carefully by Cecil. Her husband, believing himself to be in a great deal of trouble for his wife’s reckless spending, tried to escape England and was arrested at Rochester. There were rumours that Cecilia and Lannoy also meant to try to flee. “What a fool!” I exclaimed to Cecil when he told me about Christopher. “You will forbid Lannoy to have further dealings with Cecilia or her husband. I want him concentrating on what wealth he should be bringing to me, not on what he will give to Cecilia!”

  There was another problem with Cecilia leaving, as William Parr came to tell me. If Cecilia left, then she would take Helena with her. “I cannot do without her now that I have found her, Majesty,” said my smitten uncle. “I beg you. There must be a way to keep her in England.”

  I gazed on Parr with gentle eyes. Poor Parr! He had lost his Bess, and now just as he found another to love, was set to lose her too. How hard life can be. “Think not that I do not feel for you, uncle,” I said. “And I, too, enjoy the company of Helena. She is a bright young woman… But what you ask is impossible. She has no family connections in England, and since you have said that you cannot marry her whilst Mistress Bourchier is alive, she has no offer of marriage either. She has no honourable reason to remain in England.”

  Anne Bourchier had been my uncle’s first wife, whom he had divorced many years ago. When he had married Bess they had undergone many years where their marriage was not recognised and had been slandered by many and separated by my sister. It was only when I allowed the marriage to be recognised that this had come to an end, although there were still those who did not recognise it even now. Bess had understood her position, and had been willing to risk her reputation for love of him. But Parr did not wish to subject Helena to the same slander, especially since she was so young, and would be far from home, in a foreign country.

  “Please, Majesty, for all the love and loyalty I have shown for you… For the affection you bore for my beloved sister… Please think of a way to aid us.”

  “I promise to think on it, uncle. That is all I can do for now.”

  Parr left, and I felt terrible for his sad face and slumped shoulders. Bess would have wanted him to be happy. I wanted to do as my friend would have wished, to aid him, but I could not think how. I asked Helena to come to my chambers, so I could speak with her about it. I was increasingly fond of this quiet, calm and self-assured young woman. Her beauty and grace were magical, but her mind was also sharp, her humour merry, and she had a sweet soul. I understood why Parr loved her. I believe I was a little in love with her myself.

  “Majesty,” she said as she made a pretty curtsey. “You asked for me?” Helena was wearing a very good copy of one of my gowns, and her hair was done in a similar style to mine, too. She had taken to copying me, and although many did so thinking to win my favour, she appeared to be aping me out of genuine veneration. I had been informed Helena was often heard praising me. She said to Blanche that she had long admired me, and had only found me more splendid when she finally met me. I was susceptible to flattery. There were many who would say such just to gain advancement, but it did not feel like that with Helena. She was young and the young are easily impressed; they make heroes out of ordinary people… But, I confess I found her admiration almost as intoxicating as her beauty.

  “Your mistress has announced she is ready to leave my country,” I informed her. “I am sure you have heard?”

  “I have, Majesty, to my great sorrow,” Helena said, her face falling. “I would it were not so.”

  “If I could find a way to keep you, would you stay?” I astonished myself. I had wanted to sound Helena out and find out what she thought of leaving or staying, not rush into making her an offer! What was wrong with me? I must have been as smitten as my uncle…

  “If there was any honourable way to stay, Majesty, I would take it,” she breathed, her glorious eyes opening wide. “It is my greatest wish, to remain in England, which I love more than my own homeland. To remain near to you, Majesty, and learn all that I can from you, would be a high honour.”

  “And the Marquis?” I asked with a smile. “He is in your heart, is he not? As you are within his.”

  Helena flushed becomingly. “He has asked me to marry him,” she confessed. “And there is no other man I would rather take as a husband. But he cannot marry me whilst his first wife lives. We love each other, Majesty, and yet cannot be togethe
r.”

  “I could recognise a union between the two of you.”

  “William has said as much, Majesty… But there would still be uncertainty and speculation on the honesty of such a marriage in many quarters. I do not think my family would agree to the idea.”

  “What if you were to take a place in my household?” I asked. “And become a maid of honour to me? That would give you an honourable reason to remain in England, and if my uncle became free, the two of you could marry. Would your family agree to that plan?”

  I had not thought about this much before I made this offer. Most unlike me. It was a dangerous idea in many ways. As the Queen of England, I had sovereignty over my own subjects, not those of other countries. I was interfering in international politics and might well offend Cecilia. But I liked Helena. Perhaps I was a little infatuated. I wanted her to stay and I wanted Parr to be happy. If life and love were what thwarted Death, then Death would I defy by acting for this couple. It was about time I paid Him back. Enough had He stolen from me already.