by G Lawrence
“Why were you housed in the gatehouse?” Robin asked, drawing his horse close to mine.
“The palace was then in a sorry state,” I said, pointing at the new repairs. I was not overly fond of Woodstock, since it had been my prison, but I had ordered some work so it did not crumble to the ground. “When I came here, as a prisoner, the roof leaked and the walls were crumbling. Bedingfield was terrified to keep me here. Parry and others had come to meet me when we left London, and they tailed us all the way here. Bedingfield could not send them away, for he knew he had not the skill to care for my financial affairs, and there were only three locks in the whole house that worked. Two of them in the gatehouse.” I chuckled. “That is why he kept us there.” I pointed to the old, small gatehouse. “But locks meant nothing to Parry. Even had there been a thousand, he would have found ways to reach me.”
I paused, feeling sadness creep over me. “Parry kept me a part of the world, then,” I said softly. “He was my eyes, he was my ears. There was nothing that went on I did not hear of, nothing of import which was kept from me, despite my sister’s best efforts.” I smiled sadly. “How I wish that good man was still here. I have much cause to despise Death for stealing him, and so many others, from me.” Robin was a little quiet as we entered the courtyard. He seemed lost in thought.
“Will you come to your rooms to wash, my lady?” Blanche asked as we dismounted.
“I will be there shortly, Blanche, you and the others go ahead.” I looked at Robin. “Would you come with me, to see my old prison, Robin?”
“If you wish me to,” he replied. His face was gentle, thoughts I could not read swimming in his mind. I put my hand into his and nodded to my guardsmen to follow me.
“I do wish you to,” I said as we walked to the gatehouse. “There is something I would show you.”
We climbed the old, creaking stairs. As we passed through each small room, and there were only four, I told Robin of the days, nights, weeks and months I had been imprisoned here. Of how Parry and I had driven Bedingfield mad with suspicion; how Parry had got his men to steal Bedingfield’s diary from his room so I could read it. “Bedingfield called me this great lady,” I said, affecting a pompous tone and making Robin laugh. “And he believed I was the Devil in a damask gown.” I stopped, looking about the chamber where I had spent most of my days. “I felt cut off here, Robin. I felt as though the world might forget me. Parry made me believe this was not the truth. He kept me a part of the world. I can never thank him for all he did for me.”
“Did you not have Blanche and Kat, too, though?” Robin asked, gazing with disapproval at the fireplace which was full of mouldy leaves. “They must have been of comfort to you?”
Kat’s name struck a dart into my belly. I shook my head. “Kat was not with me here,” I said. “One of the few places, perhaps, left to me where there are no memories of her to haunt me. She was under house arrest with her kin. My sister did not want her near me for she believed Kat was an ill influence.” I sighed, tracing a hand over one of the broken shutters. “And yet, perhaps here I feel there is a link, too, to the past… to Kat. When I was here, without her, I missed her so much. And I am here again, and I miss her now. Where then, I knew she was safe and alive, now I know she is lost to me.”
I swallowed hard and glanced out of the window. My eyes filled with tears. My God, how I missed her! I looked up as I felt a hand near my face. I blinked, and Robin took a tear from my cheek. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed it. He reached out and stroked my face. “You grieve for her still, do you not?” he asked gently.
“I don’t believe I will ever stop grieving for her,” I confessed. “There was a part of me which died in that room with her, Robin. She was as my own mother, and I knew her better than any soul. There is none who could ever take her place.”
Even as the words left my mouth, I feared this would bring that stranger back; that hearing me speak of my love for another would make him react with jealousy and selfishness. But it did not. He put his arm about my shoulder and drew me to him. “I have had much cause of late,” he said. “To consider my actions over these years that have passed since Amy died.” He heaved a sigh. “And to think ill of them in so many ways… I know that you lied to me, Elizabeth. You told me there was hope we might marry, but you did not believe it. You were lying to me, were you not?”
I swallowed. “I could not bear to lose you,” I said quietly. “I thought that if I told you the truth, then you would find another to love, that you would forget me.”
He turned me to face him. “There could never be another for me,” he said. “You are all I have wanted, for so long now, that it sometimes feels as though you are a part of my own self.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” I said. “But if we were to marry, Robin, it would confirm to all our enemies that you killed Amy, and I helped you do so. I could never place you in such danger. And yet, I was too selfish to let you go.”
“Where would I go?” he asked, and smiled. “My place is with you.”
I put my hands over his, on my shoulders, savouring their warmth. “I cannot do without you, Robin,” I whispered. “When you left court, when you were with others… I lost all the fire I had left, all the courage left within me.”
“I felt the same,” he said. “I did not eat, I could not sleep. I was lost, Elizabeth, alone in a barren and empty world.”
“And I the same,” I murmured.
“I have not been a good friend to you, these years past,” he said. “And whilst I know that some measure of the fault was yours too, I did you much ill. I think I have begun to understand what you meant when you said I was not being a true friend. At the time, I could only see that you were putting obstacles in the way of us marrying. I thought you were afraid, or at times, that you no longer loved me. And then I would hope anew, and lose that hope again…” He shook his head. “But I should have been a better friend. That will not happen again. I love you too much to see you in such pain. And if I can never replace the likes of Thomas Parry, or Kat Ashley, I can at least be at your side, when you have need of me.” He paused. “When Kat died… I was jealous, Elizabeth. It is hard for me to admit now. It sounds so petty, so stupid, but seeing you then… seeing how much you loved her, fearing you loved me no more… I was jealous. I wanted to strike out at you, and so I did.”
I choked on my tears. “You had no need to be envious of Kat, Robin. You have no need to try to take their place,” I said. “I loved Kat. I will never stop missing her, but there will never be another who I love, as I love you.”
“Then let that be enough for me,” he said. For a moment, I heard his words as a ghostly echo of Kat’s. That must be enough for anyone, she had said.
“So you give up, my lord, in trying to force me to marry you?” I smiled through my tears.
“I will never give up trying to convince you to be my wife, Elizabeth,” he said. “But I will wait. If you wish to marry me, then I am yours. If you never do, I will satisfy my heart’s jealousy and pleading by reminding it of all you have said this day. I love you, and I know I am loved by you. I will try to make peace with that, whatever may come.”
I nodded. Too overcome to find words to speak, for I believed him. There was a naked honesty in his words. Robin had never been good at lying, and I knew he was now, finally, telling the truth… Just as I was.
“Now,” he said, his voice catching. “What was it you wanted me to see?”
I squeezed his hands and he released me. I led him to the window and pointed at the broken shutter where, as a captive princess, I had scribbled a poem, and then at the window where I had etched it into the pane with a diamond. “Much suspected of me, nothing proved can be,” he read and turned to me with a grin. “Typically Elizabeth.”
“In what way, Robin?” I asked.
“Saying much yet revealing nothing.” He chuckled as I swiped a hand at him. “It is naught but the truth, my lady!” he protested, pointing at the poem. “See? Nothing p
roved can be? This is no clear statement of innocence. It is a message of defiance. It is not a protestation of blamelessness; it is a taunt.”
“See it however you wish, Robin,” I said, grinning mischievously and turning for the door. He ran to my side.
“Come now,” he protested, “you must tell me the truth. Were you involved with Wyatt and the other rebels?”
“You seem to have made up your mind to believe I was,” I said evasively. “And so what can be done to protest otherwise?”
We walked to the palace with Robin capering at my side, trying to get me to reveal my secrets. I chuckled at him. I had not actually been much involved with Wyatt, of course, but this new game we were playing was so much more enjoyable than all the other, so much more painful ones, that I did not want to give it up.
It was a merry night. We danced in the great hall, and feasted with the court. My feet were as light as my heart. We had found honesty, at last, and after so many years. Robin and I had emerged from a terrible darkness. We had been lost in the fog, and had found each other. I hoped, hoped with all my soul, this was indeed the truth.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Oxford
Summer 1566
We left Woodstock and made for Oxford. I rode in a silver litter draped with the Tudor colours of green and white as we went to meet the dons. The whole city turned out to meet us. The cries of “God Save the Queen!” and “Bless our Bess!” were thunderous. There were welcome speeches, in Greek and Latin, which I responded to in those same ancient languages, much to the delight of the scholars, and we undertook a packed schedule, visiting all the colleges. I delighted in it for seeing England’s universities so full of eager minds was a great joy.
We went to talks, lectures and debates held by the students, scholars and masters. Then there were plays and lighter entertainments. I was enjoying one piece in particular when a part of the temporary stage collapsed, injuring several people and killing three. I sent my doctors to aid them. Despite the terrible accident, the organisers wanted to go ahead with the rest of the performance, but I had them postpone until the next day. Their eagerness to please me was clear, but I had no wish for more people to die or become injured, simply for my pleasure. I sent bags of coin to those who suffered injury and to the families who had lost loved ones, and asked Robin to help with repairs. It was a sad event in an otherwise lovely visit.
We visited St John’s College, where Robin was Chancellor, and Master Edmund Campion gave a talk where he told me “there is a God who serves Your Majesty, in all you do, in all you advise.”
I turned to Robin. “He means you, my lord,” I whispered. Robin was barely able to keep a straight face. Campion was less pleased with me.
On the last public event of the visit, I gave a speech where I talked of the glories of learning and education. “It is my great wish that learning should prosper in my realm,” I said in Latin. “For there is no greater grace that the accumulation of knowledge and the pursuit of wisdom. I see you here, gentlemen, and my heart is warmed to know you do God’s work. If I have one sliver of advice, it would be to make the most of every moment you have here; immerse yourselves in learning, drown in books, glory in the grace you have been offered and never forget, that no matter how old, how accomplished, or how wise we believe ourselves to be, we are always students, we are always scholars. The wisest amongst you will never sorrow for this state; for to be a scholar, to be a student, means you are always open to wisdom. Seek the truth. Embrace your role, and be glad of it. Keep your minds, your ears and eyes ever open. God will give you more and more to learn, for that is His gift to us, and one that should never be set aside.”
The hall erupted into cheering. Even the stoical, usually calm dons and masters threw their hats into the air. As we left the hall, many of them gathered about us, trying to force their ways through the crowds to kiss the train of my gown, or shout their blessings. When we left Oxford, the scholars and officials of the colleges ran beside my litter for two miles, to give me a grand send-off.
“These wonderful, masterful, silly men,” I laughed as I leaned out of my litter watching them. Seeing my face appear, many of them redoubled their efforts, panting and puffing, but never giving up the chase.
“Fools for love, Majesty,” said Robin from his horse which rode beside my litter. “You made quite an impression.”
“As they did on me,” I noted. “Had I not been intended for the throne, I would have wished myself a man, so I could go to one of these great universities, and lose myself in the pursuit of knowledge.”
“I am sure, although they do not admit women, a concession would have been made for you, Majesty,” Robin said.
“Even had it not, Rob, I would have shaved my head, bound my breasts and donned britches and a tunic to possess such a life as they have.”
*
We were supposed to visit Robin’s new seat of Kenilworth Castle next, but news of this intended visit sparked off fresh rumour I was to marry him, making me pause to think better of it. I had only just reconciled with Robin, I did not want him tempted into becoming that other man I hated so. But when he heard I was thinking of bypassing his house, he was downcast. “I have made so many improvements, Majesty,” he said. “I wanted to show them to you.”
I gazed at him with wary eyes, but I allowed the visit. Robin’s castle was still undergoing a great deal of work, but the sections which were habitable were glorious. I was housed in a set of apartments which were supposed to be Robin’s. He took me to see the work going on to transform other parts of the castle into permanent royal rooms. “These will be yours, Majesty,” he said as he showed me his plans. “Held for you, and only for you, so you will always have somewhere to stay in my house.” He gazed about him with a critical eye. “I just wish they were ready now.”
“The chambers you have given me are more then adequate, my Eyes,” I said. “And Cecil is delighted with his. Could you have stuffed any more maps in his rooms? I believe we will not see him for days, for he will be lost in his imagination, traversing the hills of Africa, or plodding through the forests of China!”
Robin smiled slowly, a naughty expression emerging on his face. “You did it on purpose!” I exclaimed, laughing. “Robin, you cunning imp! You gave Cecil all those maps to keep him occupied!”
“Whenever you and your Secretary come here, Majesty, you may be assured that state business will be set to one side so you can enjoy yourself. Cecil will be happy, lost in his maps, and you and I can take to the parks.”
“Sly sprite!” I batted him with my fan, feeling more pleased than I could say.
*
As we were travelling back to London, Thomas Dannett caught up with our party, with news from Vienna and the Archduke. Ambassador Dannett was at a loss to know what to do about the Hapsburg negotiations, which had reached an impasse. The Archduke would not change his religion and he had no wish to come to England if I would not pay for his stay. Dannett also said there were many rumours that my reluctance to marry was because I loved Robin.
“This is not the case, ambassador,” I said to Dannett. “No other of my court is as addicted to this match as the Earl of Leicester is. He solicits me often to take the match. The problems you have described are between the Archduke and me alone. I have said I will have him come to England, so we may finally meet, but for a lady to have to pay a man to come a-wooing her…? Surely he can see what a grievous insult this would be? And the terms on religion are not my concerns, but those of my men… If the Archduke will make no concessions to my requests, then we are indeed stuck.”
Seeing Norfolk and Sussex were disgruntled, I beckoned Sussex forward. “Master Dannett, when you return to Vienna, tell the Emperor that Lord Sussex will be close on your heel. I will invest the Emperor with the Order of the Garter, our most prestigious English knighthood, and my lord Sussex will be my envoy to grant him this honour. Let it be seen, then, by the Emperor and by all others, that I only wish to bring honour to his
country and to the Archduke. I would ask he takes this honour, sees the friendship in my heart, and may come to reconsider his thoughts on the match.”
This mollified Norfolk and Sussex, but did nothing to convince Cecil I was at all serious. “Your demands about the ‘dowry’ of the Archduke are upsetting the Emperor, Majesty,” Cecil informed me. “He says it is outlandish for you to expect the Archduke to provide a dowry, as though he were the bride and you the groom.”
“I am the greater prince, Cecil,” I said to him. “Am I not? I am a queen. The Archduke is not a king, nor emperor. If he wishes to be raised up in title, by marriage to me, then he must play the part of the female here, and I the male.”
“The Emperor will never understand that, Majesty.” Cecil looked faintly amused at my reasoning, but he was not about to dispute it. England was ever in need of money. If I decided to ever marry, I was not about to hand a dowry over to a husband and impoverish England. England was a great prize, of strategic importance. Any man who wanted to become king consort would have to pay for the honour.