His Last Letter

by Jeane Westin

  “Come, my good Lord Leicester,” the queen called, in full voice from her morning gallop with Raleigh and still pink faced from exercise, putting a glow to her mask. “We need you by our side.” She waved at him a large sprig of thyme she carried as a pomander and then returned it to her nose.

  He bowed and moved to her side. “Majesty,” he said softly in a voice that held all that he couldn’t say to her aloud, “I am gladdened that you would still have need of your old Eyes.”

  She pinched his arm, her playful signal that she was happy to greet him. “Rob, why the gloomy face?” She tapped his chest with the thyme. “Are you angry that I did not ride out with you?”

  He stiffened. “I would never criticize my queen for riding with any man she pleases.”

  She laughed and slipped her hand into his. “Then you have changed, my lord.”

  “I am older and wiser.”

  She tightened her hold on him, though she continued to nod to those bowing to her along the way. “I think I liked my young, very unwise Robin much better.”

  It seemed a good time to broach the open question that hung between them. “Bess, I have been waiting weeks for you to decide on the Netherlands matter and appoint me as your—”

  Pup! Pup! She made her usual sounds of annoyance. “And you will wait, my lord of Leicester. You have truly changed, and much for the worse, if you do not like the company of your queen.”

  “Bess, you know that is not true, never true,” he reassured her, as she needed him to do. And as he needed to do.

  “I must have time to think of what sending an army to the northern Holland provinces would cost. There are heavy calls on my treasury to build more ships at Deptford. King Philip is gathering a huge fleet in Spanish ports to come against me. His Great Enterprise of England, he calls it. His ambassador reproached me—reproached me, a queen—for what a few pirates have taken from him. Philip blames me when, as all know . . .”

  All did know at that. Elizabeth sent her sea dogs out to capture Spanish treasure, although she swore she did not.

  Her voice was amused as it always was when she spoke of the Spanish king, once her brother-in-law and later a suitor for her hand. She had kept him dangling for several years.

  Robert tried to control his anger as she avoided the issue at hand, and he gained control with sarcasm. “Of course, let us wait, Your Majesty. So a few town walls are overthrown and a few Protestant burghers, who look to the channel for us in vain, are becoming smoke for their religion—”

  Behind her white Mask of Youth, he knew her face now reddened with anger. “Enough, my lord Leicester! Do not think because we raised you from the dust that we cannot return you there!”

  She pulled her arm violently from his at the door to the presence chamber and he watched her stalk between rows of bowing petitioners and members of her court. They looked from her angry face to his wounded one and, having heard the hateful words, as she had intended, they were pleased at the queen’s all too apparent fury. Few of them would not welcome an earl’s downfall and the redistribution of his estates, where they might hope to catch some falling crumbs of wealth. Many tried to think of a way to sympathize with the queen’s travails and see that it reached her ears. After a lifetime at Tudor courts, Robert knew exactly what was going through their ever-busy little minds, ready to grasp at all opportunity.

  William Cecil moved up to stand by Robert, resting his gouty leg against his walking stick. “Good morrow, my lord,” he said as Robert matched his stride to Cecil’s halting steps. “I trust you do well.”

  “Well enough, Cecil,” Leicester grumbled.

  “Do not despair. The queen is slowly coming to see that she must keep the Hollanders from being overrun by Spain, or have England surrounded by a papist Europe that longs to come against us.”

  “I am happy to hear it, my Lord Treasurer, though I long to hear it from Her Majesty’s lips,” Robert said. “I pray it’s not too late to save the Hollanders.” After they’d been early antagonists because of Cecil’s fear that Elizabeth would marry her Eyes, their long years of working together on the council had made them into cordial enemies and—in late years, after all hope of their marriage had passed—collaborators for the queen’s good. Although there was one slight difference remaining: Cecil did what was for England’s good, and Robert what was good for Elizabeth. Sometimes, as now with the Dutch question, the two coincided.

  “And, my lord,” Cecil added, moving slowly away toward his place near the throne, “do not be disturbed by the ugly gossip about court.”

  “My lord, if I know names, I will call out the blackguards.”

  “Have a care, my lord Leicester; you know the queen’s mind about dueling.”

  “I’ll risk the Tower to protect the honor of my name.”

  Cecil was now out of hearing, but Dr. Dee heard him and moved near him until his philosopher’s black gown with its huge hanging sleeves, covered in stars and signs of the heavens, touched Leicester’s boots. “My lord,” the doctor said, “remember that you and the queen were born under the same sign of the Virgin, which is ruled by the planet Mercury.”

  Robert looked grim. “The same god Mercury who had wings on his feet.”

  “Just so, my lord.”

  Robert had to suppress a raucous laugh. “Doctor, I think Her Majesty’s wings might have been clipped.”

  “Remember the Virgin’s sign also puts great study and detail into her understanding before she acts on her duty.”

  “But I am not so, and we were born under the same stars, as you say.”

  “Aye, my lord, but the male is urged on by his natural essence of manly combat. His wings are not clipped.”

  Robert smiled, somewhat rueful. “Except by a virgin queen.”

  “We will look into my scrying glass, my lord, and call a spirit to tell us what your future holds.”

  “I will have naught to do with sorcery.”

  “No sorcery, my lord.”

  Robert’s tight mouth relaxed. “Then I thank you, Doctor.”

  “Come to me in the third hour after twelve of the clock.” Dee moved away, his once-grand velvet gown a little frayed from sweeping the floor behind him.

  The presence chamber was full of petitioners and foreign ambassadors seeking recognition for the gifts they presented. Today’s pearls, emeralds and tiny skeletons of curious horse-headed sea creatures were notably ordinary, since the queen scarcely gave them a second look.

  Raleigh approached with a string of pearls of modest size, but lustrous. He did not mount to the throne, and instead handed his gift to one of the queen’s ladies. “Majesty, fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.”

  He thinks to get an invitation before the court, Robert thought.

  Elizabeth looked at Raleigh, amused. “If thy heart fail thee, sir, do not climb at all.”

  The court laughed and Raleigh bowed to hide his consternation.

  Satisfied, Robert motioned a servant to him and then stepped forward and knelt before the canopied throne with Elizabeth’s motto, video et taceo, written behind in gilt letters. He offered a rare unicorn’s horn on a purple-and-gold-tasseled velvet pillow and raised his eyes to the queen. “Majesty, it is said that the horn of the unicorn protects against poisoning. While I am away from you in Holland, it will shield you from ill. If you take a small amount ground into milk or oil before eating any food, or drinking any wine, its magical properties will surely protect you from evildoers and thereby comfort my heart as I lead your army.” There, that should halt any evil whisperers, who always thought he sought the throne, a dream he had forsaken to keep Bess’s love.

  Robert could see that the queen was pleased that he had a thought for her life, but was less pleased he took his appointment as lieutenant general of her army for granted. “Your life is precious to all England,” he added, his eyes on her face, seeing her as he always saw her, young and beautiful and ready for his kiss, never to change, God willing.

  “My l
ord, we thank you for having such care for us. We have made no decision about the Dutch Protestants, but when we do, we are more certain than ever that we would make a right choice in you.” She motioned for him to stand, which he did gladly to spare his knees from the unyielding marble floor.

  Robert refused to allow his heart to beat faster, or his hopes to rise, to even think that she had finally decided to name him head of her army. He had not been on the battlefield since he was a young man. He must prove to Bess, and perhaps to himself, that the Earl of Leicester could lead an army to victory as well as a Devon country knight could sail an ocean to Virginia.

  The queen motioned to Sir Francis Walsingham, her spymaster, and he stepped forward from the crowd of councilors. “Your Grace, my lords and gentlemen,” he began, “we have received sad news that Antwerp has fallen to the Duke of Parma’s Spanish army. The situation in Holland is now dire.”

  So the trouble had not fixed itself, as Bess had hoped and probably prayed. Above the murmurings of the court, Robert raised his voice. “I beg Your Majesty, there is time for no more delay, or the northern provinces of the Dutch will be past any remedy an English army can bring.”

  “Surely God will be moved to help them,” the queen said, but she no longer seemed convinced by her own words. Everyone in the presence chamber looked to Elizabeth for her resolution, and with a great sigh she raised her hand to stop Robert from proceeding. “I see that there is no other assistance for this. We must be drawn into their fight, but it will be on my terms, my lord. Come to me in my privy chamber later, my lord of Leicester.”

  “When, Majesty?”

  Her white shoulders rose and fell, anxiety plain on her face. “We will send for you.”

  Is this yet another delay? He feared so when hours passed and her call did not come; indeed, the queen was said to be distracted by a gaggle of country dancers.

  In the third hour after noon, he went to Dr. Dee’s library and chambers. “I must know what the future holds, Doctor, or else I shall go mad waiting.”

  Dee smiled. “Her Majesty keeps you here because she thrives with you beside her and fails when you are gone from her.”

  Robert hoped that was true, but he also knew that Bess desired to keep him from his wife. Which was more true?

  “Come with me,” Dee said, and led the way into his library, said to hold the rarest books in the world, including a copy of Guillaume Postel’s De Originibus, which revealed through the medium of an Ethiopian priest the language God had taught to Adam in the Garden of Eden. Dee had been trying to decipher it for years, but so far had failed.

  The doctor sent his servants from the room after one poured two cups of wine.

  When the doors had closed, Dee locked them. “What I am about to show you, my lord, is often misunderstood. Ignorant people think I call upon devils.”

  Robert did not speak, but he was uncomfortable. Taking part in magical séances was against the church’s teaching. There were departures from scripture that even an earl should not make, and this was one. Still, his need to see his future was the greater need.

  “Sit here, my lord,” Dee said after they finished their wine, patting the back of a chair set square in front of a viewing glass the size of a large open book. It rested on a stand placed upon a small table made of various light and dark woods and much carved. The doctor lit a candle in front of the glass. One by one, Dee snuffed out every other light in the room, but the room continued as bright as before. It seemed that a hundred candles were reflected in Dee’s scrying glass, each candle growing smaller until the last was but a dot of light with nothing but darkness beyond.

  “What now, Doctor?”

  Dee bent over Leicester’s shoulder and called: “Uriel, I have need of you.”

  Robert half rose. “Are you calling your spirit familiar?”

  “Quiet yourself, my lord. In order to see and hear, you must look into the light without wavering.”

  “I see nothing.”

  “My lord, I will call again upon the angel Uriel, who will deliver your message.” He took a deep breath. “Uriel!”

  Again, Robert almost stood in alarm until he felt Dee’s hand hard on his shoulder.

  “Do not be uneasy,” Dee said again. “Uriel is an angel of God, not an imp of Satan. First, we must pray for God’s guidance.”

  Robert prayed for a release of tension, to know whether Bess trusted him with the Dutch mission, even if the knowing was not to his liking. His body tensed to escape if a horned devil appeared in the mirror with an answer.

  Dee, his hands still prayerful, called again on Uriel to appear.

  “I yet see nothing,” Robert said, and though the doctor had cast his horoscope and Elizabeth’s, he thought perhaps Dee was going too far into witchery with his scrying glass.

  “You must look deeper into your heart, repeating your question again and again. Let your body float. Allow Uriel to be your guide into the light.”

  For long minutes, Robert tried to relax his tense body with no success, but gradually Dee’s soft, resonant, insistent voice crept into his head and he felt a kind of floating numbness, like a too-large draft of brandy flooding his empty stomach. As he stared into the candle’s many reflections, he felt as if he were taken by a hand and led into the light and sensed that he was following the light.

  An unearthly voice echoed through his mind. “I am the angel Uriel. I stand in front of God’s throne with the archangels. What do you wish to know?”

  Robert gripped the table, fearing to be pulled into the mirror. He feared nothing that was earthbound, but this! Yet he had come for an answer and he must not cower. “Will the queen appoint me to lead her army to save the Dutch, or will she choose some other man? A certain Walter Raleigh?”

  No answer came for some time. Finally, the voice echoed again: “Death will come to the cursed.”

  Robert drew back, breaking his sight line. Was he cursed?

  Dee’s hand was on his shoulder. “Steady, my lord. Uriel has not finished.”

  Robert looked into the light again, though only the most distant light still shone bright.

  He heard the spirit voice, faintly now. “She will live long, but so cursed, she will lose all.”

  “Who?” Robert demanded. “Not Elizabeth.”

  “No, the other,” Uriel said from beyond the last candle, which went out, leaving the glass dark except for Robert’s own faint reflections.

  Robert shook himself. “I don’t understand. If not the queen, who is the other?”

  Dr. Dee went round the room relighting all the candles, then returned to Robert and sat in a near chair. “My lord, I have found that these things come clear when we pray about them.”

  Robert shook his head, stood and walked about the room, even behind the glass, suspicious and still only half believing. He was relieved that no smell of brimstone filled his nose.

  “The answer will come, my lord.”

  “I yet do not have an answer to what I asked.”

  Dee bowed his head and plucked at a loose star on his robe. “I have also found, my lord, that it is usually the answers we are afraid to hear that are slowest to reveal themselves.”

  At that moment there came a cry at the hall door. “Make way for the queen.”

  The door was unlocked and opened. Robert and Dr. Dee both bowed as Queen Elizabeth swept in, motioning her ladies to remain in the hall.

  “Majesty,” Dee said, and Robert heard the doctor’s voice shake.

  Robert bowed again to hide the dozen thoughts that must show on his face, his mind thinking of several possibilities, all of them not in his favor. Is Dee in league with Raleigh and this a trap to accuse me of consorting with Satan? Calling demons?

  “Robin,” the queen said, her voice private and petulant, as if Dr. Dee were not in the room. “My lord Leicester, I called for you and you were not in the castle. My pensioners looked everywhere. I thought you gone to your manor of Wanstead against my orders.”

  Robe
rt felt worry leave his face, because it was clear by Elizabeth’s expression that she was both jealous and relieved to find him. “As you see, most gracious Majesty, I am in the palace. Wherever I am, I am always near to you,” he added, looking into her eyes, which were now growing bluer.

  Elizabeth’s face relaxed. It was the answer she needed. “You will not find my decisions in my good philosopher’s glass. Not even Dee’s angel knows my mind. Come,” she added, taking his arm with a tug of authority, “we’ll have supper together in my chambers.”

  “A great honor, Your Grace,” Robert said. And it was. Very few people were invited to dine with Elizabeth. She preferred to eat alone and in private except for state banquets honoring some foreign ambassador or suitor, although there were no suitors left now that she had passed childbearing age. Praise be to God. He would no longer have to fear losing her to a foreign prince who would see that he was dismissed from all his posts of influence near Elizabeth. Or have him murdered.

  Even a queen regnant had to obey a husband, since it was God’s will that women, no matter how high, obey their masters. It was the order of things that God Himself had created, and so it would have been had Bess married him . . . as she had known.

  Their supper was regally served, but finally the queen’s attendants were dismissed. He was alone with Bess in the room that held many of their life’s memories. In this room he had hoped to make her his wife, coming close, many times . . . so close. And in this room she had refused him until it was too late. After that glorious summer at Kenilworth ten years earlier, he had accepted that she would never marry him and had rushed to marry Lettice for his last chance at an heir, hoping to love her enough to find some happiness.

  The queen’s privy chamber was lit by the fireplace and a many-stemmed candelabra on the table, the light dancing over the queen’s face as she nibbled at her food. When he was honest, he had to admit that she had lost her soft, youthful beauty, but the remarkable woman beside him had taken the girl’s place. God help him! He loved both, the young princess with the love of a youth, aching heart and stiffened cock, and the woman and queen he knelt to and served with his heart and all of his body, mind and soul.