by Sandra Byrd
There were a hundred or more courtiers already downstairs; our servants had made them welcome and I took time to greet each one once I made my arrival. As we were seated, Sofia made her way down the stairs, and I will admit that all male eyes were upon her for a time, but she had eyes for only one person present, the eighteen-year-old Earl of Essex.
“Who is he?” she asked me after dinner, before the entertainments were to begin.
“He’s the son of the queen’s enemy,” I said with a smile, “who is forever banished from court. Essex is also one of her current favorites, along with Walter Raleigh.” I nodded in the adventurer’s direction.
“Ooh, that makes Essex ever more interesting,” she replied mischievously in German. She’d taken to speaking German to me when she wanted to keep our conversations private. This was fine, but I knew that there were others at court who had a smattering of German and may be able to understand us, and they’d certainly understand the name Essex.
“Be careful not to be too loose in your speech,” I said. She nodded but would have rolled her eyes, I knew, if she could have.
I took time to explain to her that Essex was the son of Lettice Knollys and her first husband, the Earl of Essex. “My first husband, William, was also the Earl of Essex,” I said, “before he died.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we each married an Earl of Essex?” she said.
At that I stopped cold. I needed to return to my guests, but she had to understand that Essex was a high-flown young man; Lord Robert, his stepfather, was placing him very carefully at court, for Lord Robert’s benefit as well as Essex’s.
“He’s not within your reach,” I said softly.
“ ‘Who shoots at the midday sun, though he be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure he is he shall shoot higher than who aims but at a bush,’ ” she answered. “Sir Philip Sidney’s Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.”
“Where did you read that?” I demanded.
“Thomas was sharing some of the court poetry with me,” she said a bit saucily before moving on.
Thomas? My senses were alerted.
The Queen’s Men were duly assembled. Although Thomas had initially seemed displeased, once they were at court, or here at Sheen, with splendid sets and costumes, he was proud of his work, and I of him. Courtiers had long had their own troupes, the Earl of Sussex’s men, of course, and the Earl of Leicester’s men, but for the Queen’s Men to have been formed and perform regularly for Her Majesty meant that the stain of disapproval was removed from actors. Not only had she sworn them to her service; she allowed them to wear her livery, a high honor indeed. In so doing, she had made actors, before known as ne’er-do-wells if not outright cutpurses, into honorable entertainers. Playwriting, formerly looked down upon, became another high form of artistic expression, and lads, and some ladies, from the lowborn through the young Countess of Pembroke, took up their pens in new manners. Elizabeth was perhaps destined to be known as the Queen of Revels.
The play Thomas had chosen for them to perform that evening was another by his favorite, Lyly, who also was well thought of by the queen. This play, Campaspe, spoke of Alexander, who had traveled to Athens and fallen in love, unexpectedly, with a young woman. He loved her well and commissioned her portrait be painted, but the artist, too, fell in love with the charming young woman. He was so reluctant to let her go that he continued to mar his own painting day after day so that she would be forced to sit with him, continually, as he never finished his work.
The play was well under way and still Thomas had not made his way to sit next to me. I worried. Where could he be? The queen, justly proud of her men, was riveted by the tale of romance. Lord Robert, reinstated into her high favor, sat next to her. They still had an easy companionship and teasingly deep affections, but I sensed none of the sexual undercurrent of their earlier life; I credited this to Her Majesty as well as Lord Robert. She still loved him, but both recognized he was another woman’s husband.
In the end, Alexander declared his love to be immortal and everlasting but came forward to set the young woman, his own true heart, free, so she may live with the artist with whom she had fallen in love. At this, young Bess Throckmorton turned to look at handsome Walter Raleigh, who shot a wicked smirk back in her direction.
Ah, Bess, it has not been long enough since your cousin badly handled the queen for you to be thinking of Raleigh, I thought.
As soon as the main player came near to the front of the stage, I could see who it was. Thomas! How had I not recognized him behind the paint and mask? I sighed with relief, reassured. ’Twas not that he was avoiding me; he had taken up a place as an actor. When he took his mask off along with the other players, everyone stood and applauded and he glowed in the triumph of having fooled them, for the moment, with his performance. Several glanced at me to see if I had been surprised, as indeed I had been!
Applauding loudly, too, but looking at Essex, was Sofia. She would not meet my eye, but instead made her way to the charming, handsome earl, who was not only the queen’s darling but, owing to the tragic situation of his mother, which brought sympathy from all but the queen, the rest of the courtiers. He spoke with her kindly, but it was clear she was more interested in him than he in her. The queen caught my eye with a sharp, warning look. I would have to speak with Sofia again.
The second night, we had arranged for one of the Queen’s Men to please her with a comedy, which she loved nearly as much as romance. Richard Tarleton, a witty jester, was one of Thomas’s greatest discoveries. Tarleton mimicked and mocked and strolled and charmed. When someone from the audience threw a phrase out at him, he was able to twist it to both tease the shouter and please the queen with his banter. From the second he poked his head round the curtain, the audience began to laugh.
Midway through the performance, the queen’s little dog escaped her grasp and ran upon the stage. Tarleton shrieked as the tiny spaniel came toward him, bewildered. “Majesty, Majesty!” Tarleton called out. “Please call off your mastiff or I am undone!”
Elizabeth laughed until she had tears, and at the end of his performance she said, “Take away this knave, lest he continue to force us to laugh in such an unregal manner!”
That night, after the guests had retired, I rubbed ointment into my husband’s back and told him he had done a fine job. “I should not but wonder that she does knight you for plays and jesting,” I said. “And that is not a bad service to offer to someone who is so often weighed down.”
“Perhaps not,” he said. “I know it is the way of things, but to see young Essex swaggering in his earldom does not sit well with me.”
I was weary of his complaints and I did not hide that. He was weary of entertaining the court, and he did not hide that, either. We kissed perfunctorily and separated for sleep.
• • •
Shortly after our entertainments at Sheen, our good friend Thomas Radcliffe, the Earl of Sussex, died.
I made my way to Mary Radcliffe’s chambers before I took my leave to prepare for my lying-in. I greeted her, both of us wearing black, with a long embrace.
“I am sorry for the loss of your brother, my friend. The queen has so few good councilors, those who loved her long, and well, and put her interests above their own,” I said. “I shall send a heartfelt letter to Lady Sussex before I leave court and keep you in my prayers.”
Mary embraced me in return; though we were the same age, she looked older than I. Perhaps it was the loss of her brother, or the fact that she had no husband to comfort her in her sorrows. “She has spoken to me of his constancy,” she said. “As, one by one, her trusted friends and councilors grow old, and infirm, she will rely yet more upon those of us who remain.”
I took my box of herbal preparations with me and placed the queen’s jewelry into the close care of the Countess of Nottingham.
“They’ll be fine, Helena, don’t fuss so,” she said.
I thought upon who would carry the queen’s train in my absence;
who would have to decide who could enter the queen’s Privy and Presence Chambers. In a very real way, I controlled access to the sovereign. Although I looked forward to going home, it would be untrue to say that I would not miss court, or my high place there, for the few weeks I was gone. I’d grown accustomed to, and enjoyed, being the second highest lady in the land, and the closeness to the queen.
The day before I left court came word that Prince William of Orange, in the Netherlands, had been betrayed by one of his servants on behalf of the Spanish and had been foully murdered. The Netherlands were engaged in their own struggle to free their Protestant nation from the grip of the Spaniards, and Philip of Spain had put a large bounty on William’s head. The fact that access had been gained by someone close to the prince filled me with foreboding for my own sovereign.
The murderer was meted out a terrible penalty: burned with a hot iron, flesh torn from his bones, quartered and disemboweled while still alive, and finally beheaded, proving that neither side heeded the Lord Jesus’ words: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
I returned to my home to rest, attend to my family, and bear my child.
The second day at Sheen, I slept late before rising to spend time with my children and prepare for the birth of my child. The midwife was already in attendance, so I hoped to have some time to consider candidates for governess. I had already dismissed my children’s current governess, who was not as well educated as I would have liked and tended to bend to my daughter Elizabeth’s will, which would not do.
I sat in the front room, by the fire, writing a list of potential governesses and making note to ask the current nurse if she might recommend another, as we would need several new servants in the children’s household with the addition of a new babe. I glanced up and saw, riding across the lawn and toward the stable, Thomas, with Sofia riding pillion behind him on the same horse, his bow tied behind them.
I had never seen anyone ride pillion with Thomas save myself.
I had not been able to hunt or ride with Thomas for some months due to my pregnancy, and though we’d enjoyed bow hunting in the past, we’d not had much time for that due to our court duties. I’d been surprised, actually, that he’d returned from the north so early in the week, but he said he’d wanted to be here for the babe’s birth.
The two of them walked toward our house, and when they arrived, Sofia glanced at me, quickly, through her lashes and then retired to her room to ready herself for her instructor, who would arrive presently.
Thomas came and kissed me on both cheeks then placed his hands on my stomach, and our child. “Are you well?” he asked.
I nodded. “The babe will be here soon.” I let a moment slip by. “I saw that you were hunting with Sofia this morning.”
“Yes,” he said. “She’d indicated she’d like to learn how, and I offered a first lesson as I was home this day. Is that all right?”
What could I answer? It was innocent enough, and she was given to my care. “You rode pillion?” I asked.
“Once we arrived at the park, she said her horse was not tame enough for her,” he said. “I left him tied up and sent a servant for him afterward.”
“Be that as it may,” I said, “I shouldn’t like to see that again.”
He shrugged, and I went to speak with my cousin. “I see you went hunting with Thomas this morning,” I said.
“Yes, it was very kind of him to take me,” she responded, never averting her gaze.
“It’s not appropriate for an unmarried woman to accompany a married man without escort,” I said.
“Oh, surely I am safe with your husband!” She neatly turned responsibility from herself to Thomas, though I supposed there was blame to divide. Her eyes were wide and her smile well drawn, and I felt like a foolish matron striking out in unearned jealousy, though my heart told me otherwise.
Three nights hence my pangs grew closer and I knew our child was about to be born. I was a practiced mother by this time, and until the very end I was able to think upon other matters. Near the babe’s birth, I made a decision to set about, with purpose, finding a husband for Sofia. Once I’d decided upon that, I felt peace and calm until I was engulfed in the pain of pushing my child into the world.
She arrived in silence, and for a moment, I thought that perhaps she did not live. But she did. The midwife brought her to me and she looked at me with adoring eyes, and a silent smile. I named her Bridget after the truest friend I’d ever had, and Thomas agreed.
A month or so after Bridget was born, I engaged new nurses and a governess and then returned to court. Thomas was sent to Ireland on behalf of the crown; by now, preparing him to journey was a well-trod path. When he returned in November, I told him that we had been invited to Wilton, in Salisbury, the home of the Earl of Pembroke, just after the new year. The Wiltshire Nobility and gentry was holding a charity horse race; the home Thomas had purchased so long ago, Langford House, was just south of the city of Salisbury, eight miles from Wilton House. We were both fond of the Pembrokes; Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was the son of Anne Parr, William’s sister. His wife, Mary Sidney Herbert, countess of Pembroke, was a niece of Robert Dudley. She was also the sister of Philip Sidney, the poet Sofia had quoted to me.
“I shall look forward to that!” he said, and took my hand. Pembroke’s father-in-law, Sir Henry Sidney, was Lord President of Wales and an especially trustworthy friend to the queen. I thought perhaps Sofia would like to meet the poet himself, and the Pembrokes’ Welsh friends and relatives were certain to be visiting Wilton for the event.
I wrote ahead and accepted the invitation, and added a personal, private postscript to Mary Sidney Herbert, who was a friend as well as a niece of sorts.
• • •
We both rode and took litters to Wiltshire. It was a long day, but we’d left the children at home, of course, with their nurses and attendants. It was difficult to pry myself from Bridget each time I left as she still yearned for me. The others kissed me each time I arrived and left and dutifully shared their lessons and devotions with me, but there was only premeditated affection. I wondered if I were as a specter to them, in and out, mostly at night and other unusual times, someone they knew but who had no substance or presence to them. How very unlike my own mother, who had been close to us all the days of our young lives.
I spurred on my horse, proud of my horsemanship, and caught up with my husband, who rode in the lead. Our servants and Sofia rode behind us.
“I should like to visit Langford while we are here,” I said, and at that, his eyes twinkled, something I had not seen for some time. “And hear of your plans for it.” He smiled at me and put his gloved hands to his lips and then extended them toward me in a sort of kiss. I returned the measure and felt, for the first time in some while, a sense of affection between us.
When we arrived at Wilton, which I had never yet visited, I was stunned by its magnificence and beauty. I pulled my horse to a stop, and Thomas did likewise. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?” he asked.
I nodded. William’s properties had been large and well staffed and gardened, but this house dominated the entire landscape. “I believe William’s sister and her husband tore down the entire abbey and rebuilt the property from the ground up,” I said. At the mention of my first husband, Thomas’s face crumpled a little. I began to be irritated; he knew I’d been married but for a short time and that my heart now belonged wholly to him.
Didn’t he?
Mary Herbert greeted us in her stately hall and found well-appointed chambers for each of us. “I shall speak with you later on the other matter,” she whispered into my ear. I nodded and gave her another quick embrace.
It was a mark of honor and respect that they had assigned individual chambers for Thomas and myself, but I could not help but be a bit disheartened by that. We saw each other but little and I had hoped this would provide a time for us to rekindle our passion for one another, our heartfelt intimacy, and not simply attend to th
e pressing matters of the day.
The musicians were skilled and the banquet of a hundred courses competed with those at court in their splendor. We were not often in Wiltshire, though it were but one long day’s journey from London, and it was pleasant to better know other neighboring gentry and noble families, most of whom I’d seen only in passing at court.
Sofia sat near the Welsh squire Mary Herbert had spoken to me of. “He’s a good man from a good family,” Mary had whispered, “but has a bit of spirit himself, so perhaps he is up to the task you’ve mentioned. His family, I believe, would welcome some interest. He’s a middle son, so he won’t inherit a title, but will have some wealth to speak of. And,” she added, “like any man, he shall have to prove himself.”
After dinner, Mary introduced me to the young man in question. “Aeron Upjohn, may I present Lady Northampton?”
He bowed and then met my gaze. “It’s a delight, my lady. I trust it was your cousin who kept me in such fine company at dinner this evening?”
I was about to jest that if it had been fine company, perhaps it had not been my cousin after all, but that was unfair; Sofia was a fine companion when she was in a mind to be. “Yes, yes, it was. And I hope you found her amusing.”
He smiled and winked. “I did. When I could keep her attention.”
At that, I smiled back. He was clearly able to survey the land and had the wit to understand what he’d be up against if things progressed. But I liked him well, thus far. I wondered if Sofia did.
That night, I stayed up chatting with Lady Mary by the fire, and when I returned to my chamber, I’d hoped to find Thomas there, as I’d invited him to stay with me. But he was not there, and after some time, I allowed myself to fall asleep rather than hope that he would soon appear; hoping pained me too much.
The second day we rode out to the race Pembroke had set up. Each of the gentry and nobility had sponsored a horse in the race and bets had been placed. The winnings, and a silver trophy worth £50, would be awarded by Pembroke to the mayor who would then distribute it to the local poor. Thomas and I bet heavily, though we did not usually gamble much, knowing that the proceeds would help the area. Afterward, we planned to ride to Langford, which was just south of Salisbury.
