Elizabeth I

by Margaret George

  “Why is he here at all, if not to overthrow the throne?” said Knollys ominously.

  “To rescue me from evil advisers, so he hints, who he assumes have poisoned my mind against him,” I said. “He does not realize—he cannot grasp—that he is his own evil adviser.”

  “We will withdraw now and busy ourselves preparing a proper welcome for him,” said Knollys grimly. “One in accordance with his importance.”

  “Is there anyone of note with him?” Carey asked.

  “My guards recognized the Earls of Southampton, Rutland, and Bedford, Lord Rich, and Sir Christopher Blount, but nobody else.” I took a deep breath. “Southampton again, to plague me! And the feckless Earls of Rutland and Bedford. And Lettice’s husband. A pack of worthless hounds.”

  “No one of character would follow him, Your Majesty. He attracts only the wastrels and the malcontents,” said Cecil.

  “The common people exalt him,” I said.

  “That’s because they only know him from afar. Up close, he draws only the court leavings.”

  “He will soon be back! Get you gone, and set the trap, ready to spring. I myself must be the bait, to lure and lull him.”

  Hurriedly they left the room.

  “Catherine, you have an outstanding memory,” I said. “Try to remember everything that passes between Essex and me, for later questioning.”

  “Your Majesty is renowned for her own memory,” said Catherine.

  “For something this important, we need two memories. You, Helena, study his face and expressions—you, who are so good at reading character.”

  “I think we know his character by now,” she said.

  “He is many characters,” I said. “Which one, pray tell, will he be wearing when he returns?”

  I would pass the time calmly with him until dinner. Then we would be joined by the rest of the people attending me. By the time the meal was done, help from London should have arrived. My siege would end.

  There was a smart knock on the door. This time my head guard properly announced, “The Earl of Essex to see Her Majesty the Queen.”

  “Admit the earl.”

  The guard stepped back, and Essex strode in. He still wore the same clothes, but he had washed the mud off his face and hands and combed his hair and beard. He fell to his knees, almost sliding across the floor to where I stood.

  “Forgive me for my wretched garb,” he said, “but I was in such a hurry to reach you I took nothing with me, not even fresh clothes. Nothing mattered but getting here.”

  I fluttered my hand, signaling him to arise. “You have worn these clothes for—how many days?”

  “I left Ireland on September 24. It is now the twenty-eighth.”

  I burned to say, Three weeks after you parleyed with The O’Neill. What were you doing in the meantime? But looking meaningfully at Helena and Catherine, I said, “Ah, you must be tired, my lord. Only Mercury himself could have traveled such distances so swiftly.”

  “If I became, temporarily, a god, it was only to fly to the feet of the great goddess herself, the Faerie Queen, there to serve her.”

  “We must refresh you,” I said. “Here is some good English cider and fresh Kentish apples and cheese from Devon. It will welcome you back to your native land, after a half year of Irish fare. Pray you, have some.” One of the chamberers poured him a cup and handed it to him; another held out a tray of the apples and cheese, cut and ready. He bolted the drink and gobbled the food. He was clearly famished. It reminded me of a lapping dog. My women and I stood politely by, abstaining.

  “Now tell me, dear Robert, why you felt you must come now? What had troubled you so?” The syrupy words almost stuck in my throat.

  Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, he sighed. “When I received your last letter, so cruel, so hard, I knew it could not be truly yours.”

  “How did you discern that?”

  “The stinging rebukes! This sentence alone: ‘We know you cannot fail so much in judgment as not to understand that all the world sees how time is dallied.’ And these: ‘We must therefore let you know that, as it cannot be ignorance, so it cannot be want of means, for you had your asking. You had choice of times, you had power and authority more ample than any ever had or ever shall have.’”

  “I am sorry that they wounded you. Perhaps I did not understand, fully, what you were going through.” I kept my tone sweetly solicitous.

  “Even so, such hard-heartedness has never been in my queenly mistress’s nature. They have dictated the letter. It has their tone!”

  “And which ‘they,’ my good man, do you mean?”

  “The Privy Council! Cecil in particular! He is in back of all the maneuverings to discredit me. And since I left in March, he has had ample opportunity to plant the black poison of suspicion in your mind about me. While I have been risking my life in service to England, he has been lurking here, living warmly and comfortably. He’s poised like a spider, spinning his webs to trap the innocent. He even looks like one, with his hunchback.”

  That was more than I could let pass. “He does not have a hunchback,” I said. “And he has never yet entrapped an innocent man, like you did with Dr. Lopez!”

  His face clouded and his eyes narrowed for an instant. “This just proves my point,” he said. “He has utterly won you over. But”—he waved his hand expansively—“all the more reason why I needed to come posthaste to speak directly to you. The last letter said, ‘We look to hear from you how you think the remainder of the year shall be employed—in what kind of war, and where, and with what numbers—which, being done and sent us hither in writing with all expedition, you shall then understand our pleasure in all things fit for our service.’ And you ended with, ‘And thus, expecting your answer, we end, at our manor of Nonsuch in the forty-first year of our reign, 1599.’ Here is your answer, Glorious Majesty, in the flesh.”

  “I see that full well.”

  “It is too complicated to explain in a letter. You are right to expect to know everything, but if it were written it would take months. I can explain it all now.”

  And he proceeded to do so, in whining, self-exonerating tedium. He had suffered. He had been misled. The conditions in Ireland were inhuman. He felt unappreciated at home. Furthermore, he had achieved a glorious settlement from O’Neill. A truce!

  “You were not sent to conclude a truce,” I said, “but a victory. I did not finance this huge army, the largest I have sent anywhere in my reign, to make a truce.”

  He bristled. Yet agreeing with all his drivel was almost beyond me. I checked myself. “Well, time will tell if the truce will hold. In the meantime, have you word of whether you have a new son or daughter?” I knew Frances was expecting.

  “No—no—I haven’t been home yet. I came straight here. You—you are above everyone else in my life.”

  “That is touching, but do not tell your wife that.”

  “She knows. It is impossible not to know!”

  “I hope all goes well with her delivery. Her daughter with Sir Philip Sidney is my goddaughter, you know. She is almost a young lady now.”

  “Fourteen, Your Majesty.”

  “A magic age.”

  “It depends on who you are.”

  True. I turned fourteen the year my father died, and there was little magic for me on that birthday. “Quite right. But I hope Elizabeth Sidney’s life is touched with good things, including her new sibling.”

  Mercifully, I saw the table clock’s hands almost at noon. This torture was over. Then the courtyard clock began chiming on the hour. Just then the steward announced, “Dinner, Your Majesty.”

  I beamed at Essex. “Shall we, my lord?”

  The tables were laid in the watching chamber. The elaborate ceremony readying my place for me, which involved tasters and ceremonial rods, had already been performed. No poison had been found. I had invited Essex’s companions to join us. He thought it was for courtesy. I meant it so I could have them under my eye. Now, stretching down the
length of the table, were the greatest debtors in England: Roger Manners, the Earl of Rutland; Edward Russell, the Earl of Bedford; Henry Wriothesley, the Earl of Southampton. All had frolicked and gamboled, as well as gambled, across Europe and home. And then there was Christopher Blount. I watched him as much as I could without being obvious. What sort of a man was it who was content to take orders and follow in the wake of his stepson? He had served under him in Cádiz, done blind obeisance to him in the Azores, and now trotted after him, first to Ireland, and then back, straight into the eye of a certain storm. For that matter, what sort of man wanted to marry Lettice? The termagant must make his life hell. He was alluring, if your taste ran to dark looks and wide shoulders. Like Leicester before him, he could have been nicknamed “the Gypsy.” Obviously Lettice liked that sort. Of course, she liked any sort.

  Farther down the table were the rest of Essex’s stalwart followers. I spotted Henry Cuffe, and there were several others who looked familiar. I must have seen them in passing at court, but none of them were talented enough to merit an appointment.

  The courtiers who had accompanied me to Nonsuch were eager to press Essex and his companions for details of the Irish campaign, as if they were hearing exploits from the Trojan war.

  Cecil, Knollys, and Hunsdon kept to themselves at one side of the table, eating quietly and only looking at the intruders from the corners of their eyes. The chatter rose; my relative silence did not call attention to itself.

  “Ah, how blessed to taste English meat again!” said Southampton. “What they called lamb in Ireland was boiled army boots.”

  “What they called bread was stale coffin wood!”

  “What they called ale was horse’s piss!”

  They laughed uproariously at their wit. All the while I was listening for the sound of horses and the tramp of feet in the courtyard, signaling the arrival of support from London.

  “You met with Hugh O’Neill?” asked one of my lower-ranking chamber-women. “What was he like? Is he handsome? Fearsome?”

  Essex leaned back, lifting his chin as if he needed to think. “He’s like an old hunting beast sporting many scars. Shaggy like a bear. But sweet spoken, full of that Irish charm. Fearsome? You wouldn’t know to look at him he’s killed so many.”

  “Would you want your daughter to marry him?” the questioner giggled.

  “No, my daughter’s to marry Roger here,” said Essex, turning to Rutland. “We are to be brothers-in-law!”

  I broke in. “Your stepdaughter Elizabeth Sidney? She’s not yet fifteen. Why, my lord, did you keep this from me when we spoke of her?”

  “It is—the details are not settled yet, so I thought it premature to make an announcement.”

  “Premature indeed,” I said. “She’s but a child.” I fastened my glance on Rutland. “If you think to repair your debts by marrying a rich man’s daughter, you are chasing the wrong quarry. A debtor’s daughter married to a debtor will never have wherewithal to live.”

  Essex turned red at having his financial straits exposed. But he held his tongue. What else could he do? All his living came from my generosity, and if that did not stretch far enough, he had only himself to blame.

  “Merrily, merrily,” said Blount. “Anyone who marries for money earns it the hardest way.”

  “Anyone who marries for love will mostly likely wish to swap places after a year,” said Bedford, laughing.

  “What would the poets say?” asked one of the ladies. “You wrong them to belittle love.”

  “Poets are for sale like the rest of us. Else they would not hawk their books at St. Paul’s bookstalls.”

  After more of this inane banter, at long last the meal ended. I rose and left the hall. As I passed through the gallery, I saw that the two courtyards were still empty.

  I retired to my chamber, as if to rest in the midday. But inside, I paced. As every hour passed, it became clearer that Essex had not brought his army with him, or even part of it. He had drunk with his fellows at table and basked in the attention from the stay-at-homes, who he thought envied him. He had had his reward. Now I would call him back again and bring him to heel.

  He came promptly, all smiles. But the time for smiles was over. I aimed hard questions at him and demanded direct answers. Why had he mangled his mission so badly in Ireland? Had he gone without the intention of carrying out my orders? Why had he obeyed the urgings of the Irish Council instead of me? Why had he deserted his post, disobeyed my explicit orders against returning, and flouted all authority?

  He seemed stunned, and stammered something about my sweet majesty’s temper being so changed toward her Robert.

  “The Robert I knew is gone,” I said. “The Robert who swore he loved me, as his sovereign and his cousin, would never have betrayed me this way. Now answer my charges.”

  The color flared across his face, red chasing white. “I am ever your Robert,” he said. “But I like not this manner toward me.”

  “Like me no likings, but explain yourself or suffer the consequences. It is not for you to like or dislike what I do. It is the privilege of majesty to do as it will and for you to suffer it.” I had dropped the false sweetness and now spoke plainly the disgust I felt.

  “I—I had no thought of disobeying, I—The conditions there changed everything! All we had planned, here in England, was different in reality.”

  “Bah. How is sixteen thousand soldiers different on Irish soil than English? You seek lame excuses, when the reason for failure lies in your very person. I knew you were not the man for this task, for all your titles, plumes, and pompous display. Knollys would have been better. Mountjoy would have been better. Anyone would have been better!”

  “Anyone?” he said. “Anyone?” he yelled. “I will not permit such an insult!”

  “I decide what you will or will not permit. With the collapse of your Irish command, you have surrendered all power over your own person. I dismiss you, sir. You will be sent for later, to answer these questions, for, by God, you will answer them!”

  His hand twitched, as if he would strike me. But he knew better this time. Instead, he drew himself up and bowed stiffly. “If my Queen commands, I must obey.”

  “You have learned this truth too late to help you.”

  An ache like a smarting slap spread from my chest to my shoulders and then through all of me. In absolute clarity, I saw him for what he was: a man without any of the qualities I had endowed him with—whose bluster and beauty had been convincing for a while. But no more. The door closed and he was gone. It was not only the Irish campaign that had collapsed.

  69

  That evening, at my request, the three members of the Privy Council examined Essex for several hours. In answer to their questions, he repeated his excuses and self-justifications. They were not convinced and were deeply suspicious of his motives. At eleven that night they sent their recommendation to me that he be arrested. I gave orders that he be confined to his room. In the meantime, guards and soldiers had arrived from London.

  Bidding Catherine and Helena a restful night, I knew there would be none for me. Between dawn and midnight the entire landscape of my court had changed, and in a monstrous way. I was left with an unfinished war, a leaderless army, and an empty place at the table of councillors.

  I could not escape the thought that I was partly responsible for what Essex had become. He was a man of outsized charm and talent. Those dazzled my mind. Like a foolish parent, I had petted him and looked the other way when he disobeyed. Any punishment I gave him was light and passing, soon forgotten. And so, like a headstrong horse, he now ran unchecked.

  The rest of the Privy Council arrived the next morning, having ridden almost all night. After learning that Essex was under house arrest and studying the notes from the initial questioning the day before, they ordered him brought before them for a formal hearing.

  In the hall where hunters were wont to recount their exploits under the hewn-oak beams of the high ceiling, the Earl of Essex wa
s brought out to stand bareheaded before all eight of his erstwhile peers in the Privy Council. He was ordered to answer six charges:

  First, that he had been contemptuously disobedient to the Queen’s instructions expressly forbidding his return to England.

  Second, that many of his reports from Ireland had been presumptuous.

  Third, that once he was in Ireland he had disregarded his instructions for his mission and substituted others of his own liking.

  Fourth, that his sudden departure from Ireland was irresponsible and dangerous in light of the situation there.

  Fifth, that he had broken all protocol in breaching Her Majesty’s privacy.

  Sixth, that he had abused his privilege of awarding knighthoods in Ireland by bestowing them on unworthy men.

  The hearing went on for five hours. It took them only fifteen minutes to reach a conclusion, which they recorded and sent to me.

  The Earl of Essex had transgressed in all six of these charges. His explanations were not satisfactory. They all awaited my verdict.

  The next day was Sunday. Archbishop Whitgift conducted morning prayer in the chapel, and I was thankful to lose myself there. After the service I took a quiet dinner in my private rooms and asked Catherine and Helena to come on a walk with me.

  We left the palace and walked across the inner courtyard, with its gleaming gold panels set in ivory white stucco and the huge statue of my father and my brother watching over it all.

  What would you do? I asked them. Father, would you ever have let Essex grow as big as he has? Edward, be thankful you did not live to detect the treachery that surrounded you.

  It was a perfect autumn day, the sort that Nonsuch was built to celebrate. Swirls of golden leaves drifted down, surrounding us. Some landed on the trimmed topiary like badges of honor, yellow against the green uniforms. Beyond the formal grounds, we walked toward the grove of Diana, its wooded lanes opening before us. There she still stood, creamy and white against the foliage, the splashing waters of her bath lapping at her feet. Her hands were crossed to shield herself from the eyes of the hapless Actaeon. He had come upon her in her nakedness, and for that he must die.