by G Lawrence
De Spes had just been to see me, out of his mind with wrath, and I had found the high colour and choler of the ambassador most amusing. I had told de Spes Cecil had taken possession of the bullion as it was at risk from the notorious Captain de Sores, but de Spes left unconvinced. In actual fact, I was unsure what Cecil was up to. Whatever reason he had for pinching the treasure, it was clearly not honest… but that did not mean it was unworthy.
I beckoned to Cecil, leading him from the gallery to the gardens by means of a private staircase. The scent of herbs, being gathered by kitchen maids, floated on the breeze as we descended, followed by the slightest hint of rank, river mud. Sunlight valiantly attempted to invade the dark staircase, without success, but as we stepped into the light, I breathed in with satisfaction.
I loved my gardens. I adored the fresh air, and being removed from spying eyes. In my gardens at Hampton there were painted columns on which heraldic beasts sat, baring fearsome teeth and sparkling under the sun. Sundials were strewn liberally through the grounds, their dials flashing when the clouds allowed the sun to peek through. Flowerbeds and lawns were divided by open patches of ground where my arms were drawn in coloured sand, and the windows overlooking the ponds from the palace were shuttered, so I could walk in my gardens without anyone watching.
Remembering a time when I had stood in a garden as a girl, my dress torn from me by the hands and knife of my stepfather as all my servants watched, I did not like to feel prying eyes upon me. Besides, it was easier to speak to my men if we had a little privacy.
Warm, red, brick walls enclosed sections of the garden, allowing the heat and light of the sun to reflect upon raised beds of flowers and herbs. Poles painted in stripes of green and white, my Tudor colours, rose as trees from the earth. Seats crafted from grassy mounds, or marble, were laced here and there, and the scent of herbs filled the air. Autumn had brought stunning hues to the trees, and although the paths were often rendered soggy, I always came each day to walk.
I loved my gardens, but Hampton Court was not my favourite palace. I preferred to be close to London, at Richmond or Greenwich… and besides, Hampton had been the place I had almost died of smallpox. I disliked the Tower for the same reason. I did not wish to confront my mortality in my own home.
We cleared the palace and strode into the grounds, the cork heels on my flat-toed leather shoes emitting a muffled clicking on the path and my shoe ribbons fluttering against my ankles.
“So, Cecil? Have you become a pirate?”
“Many times, Majesty, I have considered a life at sea might be peaceful compared to court.”
“What is in your thoughts, old friend?” I asked. “De Spes thinks you have lost your mind, but I think it very much in your possession.”
“I have confiscated the wealth, Majesty,” he said. “And the blame for this can be laid at my door. If you decide to keep it, and perhaps repay Phillip of Spain over some years, he can hardly protest.”
“I think he could,” I said, laughing. “You want to disrupt Phillip’s plans in the Low Countries, do you not?”
“Indeed. But the extra income could be used for the Crown, Majesty.”
“Wily tempter,” I scolded, only half-serious. “You jingle a fat purse, trying to get me to become part of your ruse. I cannot send men to the Netherlands, Cecil, there is too much danger.”
“But you can ensure Alba’s men are not paid, Majesty,” said Cecil, a crafty twinkle in his eyes. “And unpaid soldiers are unhappy soldiers. Phillip is relying heavily on mercenaries, and their loyalty depends on being paid. This will aid Protestants in the Low Countries.”
“Very well,” I said. “I will think of a reason to offer to de Spes, but consider asking me next time before you do something that might be considered an act of war.”
“Phillip will not open another front, Majesty,” Cecil said, smoothing his dark doublet. “He is busy enough with the Low Countries and the Turks.”
Publicly, I announced I was shocked by Cecil’s actions, and assured de Spes I would investigate. That investigation did not get far, nor was it swift. Arundel and Norfolk, enraged and frightened by the broadening gulf with Spain, blamed Cecil, expecting each day he would be arrested. They were fools to think I would part with Cecil. Fools only more to think I knew nothing of what was going on, and why.
France and the Netherlands were consumed by rebellion. I did not want to become directly involved in either war, but Cecil’s neat trick with the ships was another matter. We could intervene to aid our brothers in religion, and gain from it as well, without committing men. An ideal situation.
Phillip was having quite enough trouble with the Sea Beggars. I was determined to keep it that way, and had issued commissions for Englishmen to sail with them. We might be a small nation, but I was going to teach Phillip that if he got on the wrong side of England we could make endless trouble for him. He was trying to disrupt my plans in his plantations. Phillip wanted to stop honest merchants trading, as well as preventing my less honest pirates from stealing away his slaves.
There was word that a battle had been fought in New Spain, but we had spare details. Phillip thought my men were interlopers in any trade in the New World, and Spain was hostile towards English merchants, to their own detriment. Spanish authorities declined to trade with Protestant merchants because they were heretics, and with English Catholics because they had accepted me as Queen. Spanish merchants and those who produced goods protested, as they were losing more than they gained from this embargo. But the Inquisition and Spanish authorities would not hear them. Phillip could, at times, be a remarkably short-sighted man.
With this in mind, I was not about to hand Phillip his coin, and nothing I did was an overtly hostile act. I pretended to know nothing of crimes committed at sea, and he could hardly accuse me of lying, not openly.
De Spes rushed about court like a mood-mad chicken, but I denied him audience, saying I was too busy with the trial. It was partly the truth, although the trial was, to me, becoming a farce.
But as de Spes chased me about court and the trial went on, something more important than both these considerations occurred.
Catherine Knollys fell dangerously ill.
Chapter Fourteen
Hampton Court
Winter 1568
I tended to Catherine myself, had her set up in good chambers, with women to attend to her, and doctors too. No expense was spared. Catherine was my cousin, my friend, my loyal woman… but there was also more than a slim possibility she was my sister. Family, although it had brought me much trouble, was not something to be abandoned.
I went to Catherine each night, before Cecil arrived with news of the day, and Council meetings I did not attend, knowing that with Mary on all lips, they would ask me to marry or choose an heir to secure the succession. Cecil was more than capable of leading the Council. I trusted him to maintain my affairs, as I went on with worrying about my many cousins. In the dim evenings, as winter started to make his power known, I went to Catherine.
She was weak and ill. The fever that claimed her in the summer had returned, and she felt sick when she ate. I sat at her bedside and read to her, selecting old tales of romance to lull her into slumber.
Catherine often muttered the name of her husband in her sleep, causing me unbounded anxiety about my decision to keep him in the north. I wanted to replace him, but Shrewsbury had yet to be approached and I thought it unwise to switch gaolers during Mary’s trial. More than anything I wanted to permit Catherine the comfort of her husband, but this was the wish of my heart. My head had to lead.
Mary Stewart sent pretty gifts to Catherine, as a mark of honour for Knollys’ good treatment of her. One was a chain of pomander beads laced with gold wire. During a time when she was a little better, Catherine received these gifts. She did so in silence.
I understood the cause.
There were ugly rumours. Some said that Francis’ affection for Mary was causing him to be too lenient, and adding f
uel to this, Mary began calling him her “schoolmaster”, saying that he had taught her much of English custom. She did, however, ignore his attempts to convert her to Protestantism. There was a great deal of muttering about their relationship, but I wished to trust that even if Knollys had become infatuated, he would do his duty. There was another reason I could not dismiss him at this time; it would do harm to his reputation. If I recalled him at this moment, with scandal hovering about him, everyone would believe I thought him disloyal.
I tried to explain this to Catherine in her more lucid moments, and she agreed, but I could see the hunger of her soul for her husband.
Death was busy that winter. He not only threatened my kinswoman, but took another to the grave. On the 10th of December, Lord Sheffield departed this world, having only spent thirty years in it, leaving Douglas, his wife, a widow. Douglas was a pretty woman with a beguiling nature many men found attractive. She needed others, drawing many a man into thinking she could not do without him. Such need appeals to the masculine sense of protectiveness, and feeds the notion they are masters of the world. Since they are brought up to expect this, I do not think ill of men who believe this fiction, nor the women who uphold it. We all are products of our time and culture.
Upon Sheffield’s death, I appointed Douglas a Gentlewoman Extraordinary of my bedchamber, one of my lesser ladies in waiting. It was a stand-in post. Douglas was to be brought to court when regular ladies were absent, or unable to perform their duties. She came that winter as a replacement for Catherine Knollys. Douglas was twenty years old, and a Howard by birth, the younger sister of Charles, the Earl of Nottingham. Her unusual name had been created to honour my cousin, Margaret Lennox, nee Douglas. The odd name, combined with her gentle, pliable nature, made Douglas stand out at court. Many men wanted her as a mistress. Robin included.
And Douglas was taken with Robin. What woman would not be? Despite a slight portliness developing about his middle, due to his adoration of fine wine and food, he was still a muscular, handsome, charming man. Dark as a gypsy and with something of that wily, wild nature in his cheeky ways, Robin was one of the brightest stars of court. He knew it, of course, which only added to his charm. Confidence, in a world where so many are mired in sticky pools of lack of self-belief, is always admired. There had been gossip about Douglas and Robin whilst her husband had been alive, for Robin and she, like so many at court, had danced and flirted together. Some even claimed Robin had done away with Sheffield in order to claim Douglas as his mistress, but that, like so many other rumours about men of power, was fiction.
I saw the way they stole glances at each other, and I looked the other way. It would always hurt me when Robin granted affection to another, but he was human, and men have needs. I, too, had other favourites, like Hatton, Oxford and Black Tom, so it would have been hypocritical to censure Robin. I had no objection to him taking Douglas, a woman who had already married once and was therefore no innocent maid who did not understand the risks she took for love, as his mistress, as long as I did not have to witness their affections.
Whilst I objected to unmarried women dallying with court gallants, I had fewer objections to a widow or widower taking a lover, as long as it was kept quiet, and no pregnancies resulted. This was for the sake of the women, since they were the only ones to receive censure for taking a lover. Unwed girls dallying with men I did object to. Much as I would wish the world other than it was, if their liaisons became known the women would be tarnished and it would affect their future prosperity and reputations. The men, naturally, would only be congratulated. That is the way it was. As Queen, I was also the effective, legal guardian of women at court. If they engaged in scandal and were discovered, my reputation suffered too. There were quite enough rumours dreamed up by my enemies to defame my name. I hardly needed my ladies adding fuel to the fire.
But I understood we all have needs… although many forgot this about me.
People thought me an unnatural creature for not wanting to marry. There was a strong belief that women who remained maids grew ill from not having their lusts fulfilled by a husband. From what I had heard, women were fortunate if their desires were fulfilled at all, for many men seemed to think their end was the only one that mattered, and a woman’s parts, apparently so mysterious to men, largely because they spent no time wondering how to make them work, flummoxed them.
But I knew how to please myself. Are you shocked? You should not be so innocent, nor blush to think of the great Queen of England occasionally stretching her long fingers to procure female easement. I only did so if my ladies were all sleeping on the floor, rather than in bed with me, of course, but I was no saint. There were times when I sat on my throne, watching the handsome men and beautiful women of court dance, and my blood became so heated I thought I would ignite.
Yes… I had learned how to please myself. It was a necessity. If I was to live without intimacy there had to be ways to ease the strain, so I could focus my mind, and pay attention to matters of state, rather than lingering like a hawk on the fine, strong legs of a gallant, or the pretty lips of a woman.
I understood Robin’s need. Were I a king, I might have done the same. We had come to a new time in our relationship, Robin and I. Like an old married couple, we had settled down, and where parts of our relationship were missing, we found them in others.
I knew I was the only one in his heart, and as long as that remained true, there was nothing to fear from other women. It did not stop me being jealous, of course, occasionally flirting with Hatton in front of Robin, so my Eyes might remember his deep feelings for me, but all the same, we were in a different place, a more secure setting.
The heart is more important than the loins, in any case. Lust is fleeting, no matter how powerful it feels at first. I harboured lust for Robin, but my love was deeper, older, eternal and binding. It was a creature of endurance. It could withstand war, wounds and weariness, and still rise, its head held higher with every year that passed.
My love was a survivor, like me.
Chapter Fifteen
Hampton Court
Winter 1568
As December winds brought early flurries of drifting snow to England, and children donned shoes with skates made of bone to race each other across frozen sections of the Thames, two events happened. The first was that a ship landed in La Rochelle, apparently to escort the annual wine convey to Bordeaux. In reality, my men landed in La Rochelle, stronghold of the Huguenot forces, to deliver arms and ammunition. I was not entirely sure how aware the French Crown was that we were supporting their enemies, but at present my aid for the Huguenots appeared to go largely unnoticed.
The second event was a journey. Mary was taken to Bolton Castle. Lord Scrope, who was to work with Knollys, was often away, busy with the troublesome borders, and Lady Scrope took on my cousin’s care. Lady Scrope was Norfolk’s sister, another secret Catholic, so Mary and she were united in religion. Cecil did not like the situation, not only because the Scropes were of the wrong faith, but also because Bolton Castle was close to the sea. I assured Cecil it was only temporary. I had decided it was time for Knollys to come home, for the sake of his wife, and had already spoken to Shrewsbury about taking on Mary’s care. Although he was a touch daunted by the ominous responsibility, Shrewsbury was grateful for my trust. His new position also came with the promise of a seat on the Council; payment for future services which were unlikely to be easy.
Despite her many complaints that Bolton Castle was ancient, crumbling and inadequate for a queen, Mary was kept well. Much to Cecil’s horror, I permitted her to hunt, ride and gamble, but she was constantly guarded. Knollys wrote that whilst he admired the Queen, he was finding her constant weeping trying, and her tantrums frankly unaccountable. I wondered whether he was censuring Mary as a means to wash away the rumours that he was too attached to his charge.
Knollys was not the only one finding my royal cousin vexing. Even at a distance, Cecil was worried by Mary and annoyed at her. R
eports came from one of his agents in Paris that France and Spain were secretly plotting to upset our security and that the motives were Mary and religion. Cecil believed this without question, but to my mind, religion is often used by men for their own purposes. Phillip was as insecure in his faith as any man who must make noise about it wherever he goes. I had no doubt the notion of a heretic on another throne did upset him, but that was not the true reason France and Spain wanted to work against me. Religion was merely the excuse; a chance to appear noble, God-fearing and righteous. The true reason was power.
And England, although not as rich in resources or men as France or Spain, was powerful in its own way. Our wool exports were superb, our men were skilled fishermen, sailors, and when the need came, talented pirates. Merchants grew rich in London, York and Bristol, and we had been at peace longer than either France or Spain, meaning my coffers, although always in a delicate state of health, were not drained continuously by war and conquest. Our position between France and Spain, floating free in the oceans, was also advantageous. Neither King liked that, nor did they like the notion that a woman controlled England. It upset their notion of the proper order of the world.
