This was an ugly summer, the third in a row. Scorching, oppressive sunshine continued to alternate with floods and downpours. The crops no sooner started to flourish than they were drowned. Food supplies would be crucial this autumn; any leftover stores would, after three years, be depleted. I must, somehow, secure extra rations. But from where? The entire Catholic world would be delighted to see us starve. So I could only hope to buy grain from fellow Protestant lands like Germany and Sweden, and word was that they had little to sell. I sent requests, even offering to supply the transport ships, but so far had had no response.
Awaking one morning and hearing the rain drumming—again—outside, I felt despair. The faces of the dying Knollys and Hunsdon kept playing in my mind, weighing me down with a sense of hopelessness. Leicester, Walsingham, Drake, Hawkins—they who had helped shoulder the cares of the kingdom with me had departed, and I was staggering beneath the weight.
Then, suddenly, words from the Book of Samuel whispered in my mind. “How long wilt thou mourn for Saul, seeing I have rejected him from reigning over Israel? Fill thine horn with oil, and go, I will send thee to Jesse the Bethlehemite: for I have provided me a king among his sons.”
How long would I mourn those names? I must stop. God always provided another from among someone’s sons. There was always another king, hence the shout “The king is dead. Long live the king.” Today I would move. It was time, long past time, to fill Walsingham’s place, empty these six years. I would have a new principal secretary.
Robert Cecil strode into the room, his short legs requiring many steps. He made up for his lack of stature by always being exquisitely groomed. His dark, pointed beard fairly shone, and his cloaks and doublets were cut to disguise the twist in his back. All in all he was a completely respectable representative; if foreign ambassadors had to look at the top of his head, soon enough they would be impressed by what was inside it. And there was an advantage in having your adversary underestimate you. I knew that only too well—although it had been years since I had had that experience. There was no one left who did not understand what they dealt with when they dealt with me.
“Ah, Robert, thank you for coming so quickly.” He always did, but the habits I wanted to continue I made sure to praise. “You always answer my calls so diligently.”
“It is my privilege to be called,” he said.
“How is your dear father?”
“Tired,” he said. “His gout is particularly bothersome this summer, and it tries his patience.”
“May God send him relief. The pressing business of the realm has slackened of late, during the summer lull, which must be of some comfort.” The niceties over—although I could have bantered with him all morning, enjoying as always his smooth, modulated voice and sharp wit—I said, “Essex and his boys are upon the seas, doing what they do best. You are here, doing what you do better than anyone else, save your father. It is time you captained your own ship, as Essex and Raleigh captain theirs. The name of yours is: principal secretary.”
He looked first puzzled, then hesitant. God’s breath, was he going to refuse it, as Hunsdon had refused the earlship? Were my gifts to be so spurned?
“I am honored,” he finally said. “But I would not be the cause of anyone’s breaking of a vow, even for my own advancement.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know that you promised Essex that in his absence you would not make any major appointments, and especially none to me.”
“That is not true! No, it is more than not true: It is a self-serving lie. How dare he? Do you swear that he claimed that?”
“I swear it, upon all that I hold dear. The man said it twice, in case I was hard of hearing.”
“What were his exact words?” I was stunned at the assumption of power and the duplicity on Essex’s part.
Cecil put his hand on his chin, as always when he was pondering. Then he took on the bearing and the posture of Essex—he had a wicked sense of mimicry. “ ‘I must inform you, little man, that there will be no important appointments without my knowledge, so while I am away do not look for any advancement. I have it on Her Majesty’s own word. She has assured me I may set my mind at ease while I am away on that behalf.’ ”
“He said ‘without my knowledge’?”
“Or consent, perhaps. I do not recall the precise word.”
“God’s wounds! So he thinks he must consent to my appointments? That I must inform him of my decisions, so he can approve or disapprove of them? Does he make himself Parliament, yea, more than Parliament?”
“I must confess, I was most surprised to hear it, for it did not sound like you.”
“It did not sound like me because I never said, nor ever would say, such a thing! My words to Robert Dudley long ago still stand, and have grown stronger through the years: We shall have here but one mistress and no master.”
“Well I am aware of that, Your Majesty.”
“And because you are aware of it, and accept it, you will be my principal secretary, and we shall work well together. As for him, when he returns, he’ll have a surprise.”
“I would not be the cause of a quarrel between you,” he said, politely, happy to be just that.
“Oh, in that case, I must withdraw my offer of the position.” I watched the horror on his face. “For that, after all, is the only way to avoid it.”
“As Your Majesty wishes. My only desire is to be of service to you, either by filling a position, or, in this case, by not filling it.”
How quickly he had recovered his stride. How well he smothered his feelings. “Enough jesting, dear Robert. The place is yours. It could belong to no one else. It has been waiting for you to grow into it. The time is here.” He had just proved it.
I had been hasty when I told myself that there was nobody left who did not know what they dealt with in dealing with me. Someone too young to have learned the lessons of his elders did not know. But Essex would find out. Oh, that he would.
40
Having seen John Dee at Hunsdon’s funeral, I thought more and more of paying him a visit. He was mostly in Manchester these days, filling the position I had obtained for him—warden of Christ’s College, an old college of priests converted to a Protestant institution. It was not ideal for him, but it was the best I could provide. He had ruined himself by his years on the Continent, engaging in bizarre spiritual quests that involved talking to angels and dabbling in the supernatural and ended, as often with these things, in an all-too-earthly, sordid wife exchange with his partner, supposedly ordered by the angel Uriel. Disillusioned, discouraged, and poor, he had returned to England to find his reputation as low as a turtle’s underside.
But he was not the first man to follow a foolish quest, and he should not be treated like a criminal. He had hurt only himself and his own family. He had not squandered the public purse or stolen from the treasury. Surely he deserved credit for his wide knowledge and prior service to me. And so I would continue to support him as best I could.
I ordered the royal barge to make for Mortlake, after sending a message ahead to warn him. I knew surprise royal visits were unwelcome, however much people later treasured the honor, preserving the chair I had sat on and the cup I had held. None of us likes to be taken unawares.
As the barge made its way upstream, parting the water, I saw the debris and scum in the wake behind us. The smell from the dead fish was as bad as ever, and I kept my pomander close under my nose. A few swans were circling near one shore, their pure white feathers smudged with the green scum. There were far fewer of them than usual; I wondered if the rest had died, or flown elsewhere.
There were also fewer boats out upon the river. Business had slowed with the ongoing conflict in the Netherlands and slowed further with the turmoil in northern France and the Spanish attempt to capture Calais. The Spanish did not accept Henri IV’s conversion and continued to besiege France. Wars were ruinous for business. When I thought of Antwerp, the former banking and merca
ntile center of Europe and the vital Continental wool trade, all disrupted and destroyed by these conflicts, I was furious. When would it end, and we could resume normal life? The sheep farmers who could not export their wool, the tailors who could not import finished cloth, the merchants who could not get European loans, all this weakened England.
The Cádiz mission must have been completed by now. It was no sure thing, but if it had succeeded, I would sing its praises. We needed a victory, something to celebrate. It had been almost a decade since the Armada. Memories were short, and the mood of the country was morose.
The boat bumped against the landing, and we were at Mortlake. I stepped out, onto the familiar ground of the little village, the church with its little cluster of houses around it, the big oaks shading the lanes. As I walked, though, I saw green leaves littering the ground and, looking up, noticed how sparse the leaf canopy was. The trees were dropping their leaves well before time, damaged by all the rain.
John Dee was waiting for me in his doorway, a tender smile on his face.
“You are back where you belong, I see,” I said, noting his long beard, as white as milk, and his magus’s gown with voluminous hanging sleeves and celestial symbols embroidered on it. “Here, in Mortlake.”
He bowed and kissed my hand. “I know now where I belong. Sometimes one finds out only by living elsewhere.”
Behind him his wife peered out. Unlike Dee, she had changed, looking older and fretful. No wonder, after her experience with enforced unchastity. She was probably more grateful to be back than her husband.
I stepped into the library and saw immediately that it was different. The walls were bare and the sagging shelves of books stripped. The shelves still sagged, but only in memory of the lost books.
“I returned to Mortlake to find my library ransacked and plundered, with many of my most precious volumes stolen,” he said. “I once had the largest library in England—over four thousand books. Now”—he spread his hands—“this is what remains.”
He had had rare scientific books, gathered from the suppressed monasteries before they were destroyed. “And what remains in your head,” I said.
“That is only a fraction of the knowledge that was on these shelves,” he lamented. “Many instruments were taken as well.”
“Oh, John,” I said. He had had navigational instruments, globes, and maps, as well as his alchemy equipment and astrological and astronomical charts.
“All is not gone,” he assured me. “They were not interested in my charts, maps, or globes. Their appetite was for the alchemy equipment. I was rumored to have discovered how to transform tin into gold, so they took what they thought would do that. How stupid can someone be? If I had known how to make tin into gold, would I have been in the state I am in?”
“People believe what they wish to, John.” God knows I had found that out. I smiled, remembering the day I had brought François here. The Frog ... How we had laughed and played. Long ago, until Dee’s reading of his future had silenced my laughter.
Suddenly I realized why I had come. “Do you still have your seeing crystal?”
“My shew stone? Yes, it’s still here.” He lifted a tasseled cover, revealing a round crystal about the size of an orange resting on a wax seal. He blew on it, clouding it over and waiting for it to clear. “You want to know about Cádiz,” he said. It was not a question.
“Yes. They have been gone weeks now. The action is complete. I cannot bear not knowing what has happened! And—if it is bad, I need to know before they return, if they return.”
“A complicated campaign is hard to discern in this little glass.”
“Look for the town! See if it still stands!”
He tried to coax the image of Cádiz out of the depths of the ball. “I see smoke and blackness,” he finally said. “It looks as if ... Many piles of stones. The defenses are thrown down.”
Excitement coursed through me, but caution reined me in. “What of the harbor? What ships do you see?”
He sighed. “Ma’am, that is almost impossible to make out.”
“Try! Try!”
“The city, as you know, is like a fingernail at the end of a six-mile piece of land that curls up like a beckoning finger from the mainland into the sea. At the place where the finger joins the palm is a smaller city and another harbor. It looks as though there is a fire in the inner city’s harbor. A big one. But I cannot tell what is burning.”
“Are there ships outside the harbor?”
“I think so.”
“Big ones? Unharmed?”
“Yes.”
“Our ships! We had fifty men-of-war.”
“I am not sure I see fifty. But this is a small glass.”
“What men do you see?”
“I will have to coax the ball,” he said, blowing on it again. Squinting, he peered at it from several angles. “Now ...” He gazed intently for several moments. “I see men, but I do not know who they are. It has been a long time since I was at court.”
“Let me try.” I moved over and stood in his place. The depths of the ball showed colors and some wavy lines, but I could make out nothing. “I have not the skill in reading it,” I had to admit. I was frustrated beyond words. He could see, but not identify, and I could identify but not see. “God’s wounds! What a plight is this!”
“We saw the completed event,” he said, “so the fleet must be on its way home. We will know soon enough. At least we know that they succeeded in sacking Cádiz, and that everyone has survived. Is that not what you sought to learn?”
“I’d like to know about the treasure. Was there any? Did they capture it?”
“I cannot imagine that they did not, Your Majesty. And ... if I may so humbly request, would you remember your old servant when you come into it?”
“John, I have already provided a living for you with the position in Manchester, and do not forget, I gave you two thousand pounds when first I heard of the theft here.” Did the man think I had money to spare?
“Yes, Ma’am, yes, I do not forget and am grateful, so grateful. But the post at Manchester—although I am grateful!—has unpleasant aspects. The other Fellows there do not like me. In fact, they make my life hell!”
“Small people always do, John. You must learn to make your peace with them. Not everyone can have your intellect; you must forgive them for that. Perhaps if you forgave them for their lacks, they would forgive you your talents. Envy can only be defanged; it does not die on its own.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He straightened up, embarrassed by his begging. “I understand that your ventures to the New World, while I was away, have been unsuccessful?”
“Both were Raleigh’s, and both failed,” I said. “The colony in Virginia did not survive. His expedition to the Orinoco in South America discovered nothing of value. He returned empty-handed, except for a few souvenirs, including a most personable savage and some ores that turned out to be worthless—fool’s gold.” His part in the Cádiz venture should have gone better, or, by God, he would never set sail under my patronage again.
“Do not abandon the New World,” Dee said. “That is where your future lies, not in Europe. To the devil with Cádiz, the Spanish, the French, the Dutch. Your destiny is to rule a British empire, stretching all across North America. Look that way, not to tired old Europe.”
“Two failures do not encourage me.”
“Two failures! And how many have you had in Europe?”
“My dear Dee, your vision is too big for reality. I daresay I supported the two missions because of your beguiling vision. But I cannot see that it is going anywhere.”
“Patience! Keep sending out explorers. Let them plant the English flag. Drake did it on the west coast of America, Raleigh on the east. Send more!”
“I cannot afford it,” I said flatly. “If this Cádiz mission does not bring back lots of treasure, it must be my last.”
“Never. Never! I tell you, I see the scepter of Britain from shore to shore there
. I see your seal, as empress!”
“Since I can see none of them, I suspect that sometimes your inner vision paints over what you actually see in that ball.” I pointed to it. “Let us draw the cover over it and let it be, old friend.”
I moved to Windsor for the remainder of the summer to escape the stinking city and river. Here the Thames had shrunk to a country stream, pleasant and sweetly rippling. In any case, the castle of Windsor was high enough above it, some hundred feet, to protect us from any wayward scents or noise. Looking out across the fields and meadows from its heights made me feel like the commander of a great battleship. Below me was the ribbon of river, and stretching as far as the eye could see were hedgerows, rolling fields, and woodlands. Not far away was the water meadow of Runnymede, where King John had been forced to sign the Magna Carta by stubborn barons. Ah, well, I must guard against being forced to sign away any of my Crown’s rights. One Magna Carta was enough.
I always enjoyed Windsor in the summer; in the winter it was too drafty, and no wonder. Anything dating from the time of William the Conqueror would hardly be snug and modern. He had selected the site for its strategic location on a cliff and at the edge of a Saxon forest, to guard the western approach to London, as the Tower guarded the eastern.
As I said these words to myself, I suddenly realized how strange it was that my mother’s grave was at one site and my father’s at the other—as if they were guarding London, protecting it. My mother lay in the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula in the Tower, and my father in the chapel of St. George here.
I was anxiously awaiting confirmed news about the Cádiz expedition. The placid countryside soothed me but did not calm me. Oh, when would they come? When would we know?
Young Cecil attended me every day, and in the quiet and privacy of the lull we were able to get much business done—the neglected sort, the things one always sets aside because they are not urgent, but left untended pile up and choke like unruly vines. Plans for the town of Deptford as it encroached upon Greenwich. Improved lists for mustering local militias. Testing of the weights and measures used in the markets. Repair to some stretches of the Wall of London. The unglamorous work of a monarch, which must go on when the robes and crowns are set aside, and woe to the monarch who omits it.
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