John did write to James I’s eldest son, Prince Henry, giving details about John’s early life. He described how, during the reign of Mary I, his father, John Harington Senior, was sent to the Tower for 11 months just for taking a letter to Princess Elizabeth and that his mother, Isabella Markham (his parents were not yet married at the time), was removed from the princess’s service. His father’s first wife, Etheldreda Malte, was one of the ladies who attended Elizabeth in the Tower.
In another rather more famous letter, dated June 1608, John wrote to Prince Henry (then aged 14) about the wit and wisdom of his dog Bungey. He reported that on one occasion, Bungey ran from Kelston to Greenwich Palace to deliver to the Queen a message placed in his collar. He lauded this rare messenger that never ‘blabbed’ a word about what he carried. On another delivery, he carried two bottles of wine strapped to his sides from Bath to Kelston. John was clearly very fond of Bungey. He had once almost lost him when he was dognapped by some duck hunters who sold him to the Spanish Ambassador. It took John some weeks to find his pet and arrange his return. Bungey had made himself quite at home with the Spaniards, and it was only when John coaxed the dog to do his tricks that they agreed to release him.
Despite their ups and downs, the friendship between John and Robert Cecil endured. One indication of that friendship may be seen in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Two of those involved, Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham, and his brother George Brooke, were Cecil’s brothers-in-law. Both were found guilty, and although Henry Brooke was reprieved, George Brooke was executed. Another of the plotters, however, was John’s eternally plotting cousin, Sir Griffin Markham, who was found guilty, but sent into exile, where he became an excellent spy for the King’s secret service.
As with many men in a position of unassailable authority, Cecil was heartily disliked by many factions. He remained close to John, however. In 1612, Cecil, ill with advanced scurvy and skin cancer, came to Bath to take the waters that it was believed might help him, and to be near the one man he trusted. John, himself ‘sick of a dead palsy’, hurried to Bath to attend his friend. Theirs was a lifelong friendship that lightened the life of the shy and overworked Cecil, who died on 24 May 1612 at the age of 49, after returning home from Bath. John himself died at Kelston on 20 November at the age of 51.
If John was Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley’s illegitimate son, there is no evidence that he knew this secret. If anyone other than his real and foster parents knew about his parentage, it would have been William Cecil, who may have passed the knowledge to his favourite and trusted son, requesting Robert to keep an eye on John. He certainly had a number of prominent well-wishers throughout his life, despite the vagaries of his fortunes.
Although some historians have identified Devereux as the Queen’s illegitimate son, is it likely? Elizabeth, after all, ended up having him arrested, imprisoned and executed, hardly the kind of treatment one would expect a mother to give her son, even an unacknowledged one. Yet John, who was also involved in Devereux’s Irish fiasco, was spared – against all expectations.
Granted, John’s infractions were far less serious than his commander’s, but it seems that Elizabeth had, in the end, more trust in John than in Devereux. Why though? The latter had spent many years in Elizabeth’s favour, it is true, but he was self-centred, rude, arrogant and hot-headed, whereas John was loyal, apologetic, calm and funny. Is it more likely that John, rather than Devereux, was related to the Queen by blood? Perhaps tellingly, a portrait painted of Sir John Harington was thought to look so like Robert Dudley that it was mistakenly titled ‘Portrait of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester’. But is this proof enough?
13
The Case of Robert Devereux
And so to Robert Devereux. How likely is it that he was the reported child of Robert Dudley and Elizabeth? The birth of Robert Devereux was recorded as 10 November 1566 by his father, Walter Devereux, who would later become 1st Earl of Essex, and his mother Lettice Knollys. When his son was born, the father arranged to have horoscope charts made for the boy. The place of birth is thought to be Netherwood, Herefordshire, although one researcher, using the details on the horoscope chart, puts it in the southwest of London, possibly in the region of Nonsuch Palace.
Wherever the young Devereux put in his first appearance, Walter, an English nobleman serving under Elizabeth I, certainly acknowledged the new baby as his. In September 1576, as he lay dying in Dublin, where he had recently arrived as Earl Marshal of Ireland, Walter Devereux wrote a last letter to Elizabeth asking her to do what she could for the fortunes of his eldest son, then 10 years old, as he had no riches to pass to his children:
Mine eldest son, upon whom the continuance of my house remaineth, shall lead a life far unworthy his calling and most obscurely, if it be not holpen [helped] by your Majesty’s bounty … I dare not wish him mine office of Earl Marshal here, lest your Majesty should not think him worthy … But he is my son, and may more fit in his life than his unfortunate father hath in his possession at his death.1
Elizabeth would help his son, who would, in turn, become a royal favourite.
The young Devereux was in fact a cousin of the Queen, by his maternal grandmother, who was Anne Boleyn’s sister. When his father died, the boy took the title 2nd Earl of Essex and was made a ward of William Cecil, now 1st Baron Burghley. He was sent to Cambridge for his education, where the Queen sent him clothes and some silver plate. For Christmas and New Year 1577–78, the boy was invited to Court for the festivities. A report of the visit stated:
On his coming, the Queen meeting with him, offered to kiss him, which he humbly altogether refused. Upon her Majesty bringing him through the Great Chamber into the Chamber of Presence, her Majesty would have him put on his hat, which no wise he would, offering himself in all things at her Majesty’s commandment; she then replied that if he would be at her commandment, he should put on his hat.2
As no one but a fellow monarch should wear his hat in the presence of the Queen, yet any good subject should obey the Queen in all things, Elizabeth had presented the little chap with a knotty problem – he couldn’t win either way. It may have been his refusal to allow her to kiss him that triggered Elizabeth’s desire to tease and try to fluster him.
In September 1578, Devereux’s mother secretly married his godfather, Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester. As Dudley had had an affair with Lettice previously and her 35-year-old husband died rather abruptly, reportedly of dysentery, there were rumours that Robert Dudley had poisoned him. These appear to be unfounded, although Robert may have been instrumental in making sure Walter Devereux was out of the picture as he supported sending him to Ireland. Elizabeth was angry about the secret marriage and made both Robert and Lettice pay for it in many ways over the years, although she remained fond of her old favourite. Robert was very attached to his wife, and would be a devoted husband and father to his four stepchildren.
In 1581, aged around 14, Devereux took his degree and was permitted to go to the Netherlands with his stepfather, where he fought at the battles of Zutphen and Sluys and distinguished himself with his military service. On his return, he was rarely away from the Royal Court and began his rise as the Queen’s favourite. The young man had a lively mind and was also a bit of a showman. When Robert Dudley died in September 1588, Devereux seemed to fill the space left in Elizabeth’s emotional life by his death. He also took over some of his roles, replacing his stepfather as the Queen’s Master of the Horse and receiving Robert’s monopoly on sweet wines (he received a fee for all sweet wine imported into England for sale). Perhaps Devereux even looked a little like Robert Dudley, which may have accounted for why he found favour with Elizabeth. Unfortunately, Devereux lacked many of the characteristics that had made Robert so perfect a partner and foil to Elizabeth. He was somewhat arrogant and did not always show proper respect for the Queen.
Historian Lucy Aikin describes him as lacking ‘… the profound dissimulation, the exquisite address and especially the wary cooln
ess, by which his predecessor [Robert Dudley] well knew how to accomplish his ends … His character was impetuous, his natural disposition frank; and experience had not yet taught him to distrust either himself or others.’3
Francis Bacon also noted the young man’s tendency towards self-destruction. He recorded a conversation between friends discussing Devereux: ‘I know but one friend and one enemy my lord hath; and that one friend is the Queen, and that one enemy is himself.’4
Despite this, Elizabeth appeared to be besotted. Anthony Bagot, Devereux’s steward remarked on how much time the couple spent together, writing: ‘At night my lord is at cards, or one game and another with her, that he cometh not to his own lodgings until birds sing in the morning.’5
Rumours, of course, circulated that the pair got up to more than card games in those long nights, but the age difference between them was 33 years, and Devereux was still rather childish. He often acted more like a spoiled child than the Queen’s lover. He was disdainful and insolent towards Elizabeth’s most trusted and honoured courtiers. He even got into a fight with Sir Walter Raleigh, about which the Queen spoke sharply to him. Devereux tried to run off to join the army in the Netherlands, but Elizabeth ordered him back.
He was jealous of the Queen’s attention of the young and good-looking Charles Blount, son of Lord Mountjoy, who fought well in the tiltyard. When Elizabeth gave Blount a gold chess queen as a reward, he wore it tied to his arm as a tilting favour. Devereux sniped at him ‘every fool must have a favour’.6 Blount then challenged him to a duel and wounded Devereux in the leg, but Elizabeth was not overly worried: ‘By God’s death, it is fit that someone or other should take him down and teach him better manners, otherwise there would be no rule with him.’7 She sent the two away from Court until they made friends again, which they eventually did, though a few weeks later she had to stop a duel between Devereux and Raleigh.
In the meantime, the Anglo-Spanish War (1585–1604) had broken out. In 1589, Sir Francis Drake (a hero for his recent plundering of the Spanish treasure fleet and raid of Cadiz harbour, which destroyed some of the ships that would otherwise have swelled the Armada in 1588) was planning a force to invade Portugal, followed by a trip to the Azores to waylay another Spanish treasure fleet. Devereux, like many young noblemen who were short of money, yearned to go with Drake. The Queen told him not to go, but he and his followers slipped aboard the Swiftsure to follow Drake. He wrote to Thomas Heneage about his financial difficulties:
What my state now is I will tell you. My revenue is no greater than when I sued my livery, my debts at least two or three and twenty thousand pounds. Her Majesty’s goodness has been so great I could not ask her for more; no way left to repair myself but mine own adventure, which I had much rather undertake than offend her Majesty with suits, as I have done. If I speed well, I will adventure to be rich; if not, I will not live to see the end of my poverty.8
The Queen, having previously invested in the enterprise, now refused to support the plan. She sent an angry peremptory note to Devereux, stating:
Your sudden and undutiful departure from our presence and your place of attendance, you may easily conceive how offensive it is, and ought to be unto us … We do therefore charge and command you forthwith … to make your present and immediate repair … Whereof see you fail not, as you will be loth to incur our indignation, and will answer for the contrary at your uttermost peril.9
Devereux did not heed this warning, however, and only returned to England after the forces were overtaken with illness and defeat and failed to take Lisbon. Elizabeth, though displeased, did not follow through on her threats.
The following year, in 1590, Devereux secretly married Frances Walsingham, the only child of Francis Walsingham and his wife. She was the widow of the legendary, heroic soldier and poet Sir Philip Sidney, who had been killed in the Battle of Zutphen in the Netherlands in which Devereux himself had fought. Devereux did not reveal their marriage to the Queen until Frances became pregnant. Elizabeth was annoyed, but allowed Devereux to remain at Court with the proviso that his wife should retire to her mother’s house in the country.
A year later, Devereux begged to be allowed to fight in France for Henri de Navarre at the siege of Rouen. France was split into factions; the Protestant Henri de Navarre, now Henri IV (King of France 1589–1610), was the uncrowned King, besieged by armies of Catholic loyalists supported by Spain. Elizabeth sent Devereux and his troops to support Henri IV. Devereux led a small force to attack an outer fort at Rouen, where his younger brother was killed in the fighting. When the Queen decided that Henri IV was mismanaging his armies, she ordered Devereux home. Henri IV would take the throne in July 1593 when he converted to Catholicism to win his country.
Back in England, Devereux continued his military career. In 1596, Elizabeth sent a fleet of 120 ships under the joint command of Devereux, Charles Howard (Lord Howard of Effingham) and Sir Walter Raleigh, first to assist Henri IV in repulsing a Spanish naval assault on Calais, and then to move on to capture Cadiz. Elizabeth wrote to Devereux her wishes that he keep from harm and that God bless his journey and make it successful.10
On 15 April, Calais surrendered to the Spanish. When Henri IV refused England permission to try to retake the city, Devereux and Howard went on to their secondary target, destroyed the galleons guarding the harbour and captured Cadiz. Devereux was lauded for allowing the women and children to gather up their possessions and leave the town before it was sacked, a noble and unusual gesture. Elizabeth was pleased to write to her commanders, ‘You have made me famous, dreadful and renowned not more for your Victory than for your Courage, nor more for either than for such plentiful life [there were minimal casualties], nor of mercy which may well match the better of the two.’11
Devereux wanted to hold Cadiz and wait for a treasure fleet due in from America, but he was overruled by Howard and Raleigh. The ships left for England about 48 hours before the treasure fleet arrived. Elizabeth wanted the war to end; Spain was in no position to mount a counteroffensive.
Flushed with his success, Devereux was enjoying his status with young adventurers who looked to him for danger, excitement and loot. On his return, he found himself very popular and imagined the Queen would reward him and his friends. He expected his supporters to receive posts from the Queen, but she did not comply. Elizabeth made Charles Howard 1st Earl of Nottingham in 1597, partly due to his service at Cadiz, which made the arrogant Devereux furious even though she made him Earl Marshal of England. When news filtered through that Philip II, up in arms over the last raid on Cadiz, was once again assembling a fleet to attack England, Devereux was determined to force the Queen to give him command of the defence. According to a letter from Rowland Whyte, a postmaster of the Court and steward of Sir Robert Sidney, ‘Her Majesty, as I heard, resolved to break [Devereux] of his will and to pull down his great heart; who found it a thing impossible and says he holds it from the mother’s side; but all is well again, and no doubt he will grow a mighty man of our state.’12
Eventually, later in 1597, Devereux was given command of a small fleet with the mission of seeking out and destroying Spanish ships and then moving on to the Azores to try to intercept and capture a treasure fleet. Elizabeth’s coffers, like Philip II’s, were desperately short of money and both monarchs needed the arrival of such a vast fortune. However, the mission went wrong from the beginning, when bad weather kept the fleet in port, using up their supplies. They were finally able to sail in July, but due to adverse winds and wasted time, the ships headed straight for the Azores to try to intercept the treasure ships.
There was dissension on board from the start, with Devereux arguing with his deputies, Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Thomas Howard. Through his lack of experience, Devereux fatally moved his ships at a critical moment and the Spanish fleet slipped into port behind them. He had missed his prize by only a couple of hours. The fleet was forced to return home.
Devereux’s welcome consisted of a scolding; he had was
ted the Queen’s precious resources and had neither incapacitated the enemy nor provided the treasury with much-needed gold and silver. Elizabeth wrote him a letter, endorsed by William Cecil, that summed up his character faults, beginning, ‘Eyes of youth have sharp sights, but commonly not so deep as those of elder age, which makes me marvel less at rash attempts and headstrong counsels which gives not leisure to judgement’s warning, nor heeds advice, but makes a laughter of the one and despises with scorn the last …’13
Devereux also drew the Queen’s displeasure with his dalliances at Court. Although happily married, he was a remarkably handsome man and attracted the interest of certain ladies. He tried to keep his affairs secret, but rumours were hard to quell. In 1597, John Harington received a letter bringing him up to date with Court gossip, hinting at a flirtation between Devereux and one of the Queen’s servants: ‘… [Elizabeth] swore she would no more show her [Lady Marie Howard] any more countenance, but out with all such ungracious flouting wenches; because, forsooth, she hath much favour and marks of love from the young earl [Devereux], which is not so pleasing to the Queen.’14 The advice of Harington’s correspondent was that someone should impress on the young lady the need for discretion, that she should carry out her duties modestly and not keep absenting herself, which in itself made the Queen suspicious. She should dress more circumspectly and, above all, she should keep well away from Devereux.
By the end of the 1590s, the Nine Years War (1595–1603) between Irish chieftains and English forces was at a bitter and bloody stalemate and Elizabeth and her ministers were discussing who to select as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to try to get the upper hand. Devereux put forward Sir George Carew, but Elizabeth chose Sir William Knollys, Devereux’s uncle. Devereux argued about the decision and turned his back on the Queen in a temper – a terrible insult. She smacked him round the ear and spat out, ‘Go and be hanged,’ at which he put his hand to his sword as if he would draw it. It was treason, punishable by death, to draw a weapon in the presence of the Queen. Charles Howard had to come between them, and Devereux stormed off. Elizabeth had had enough; he must apologize and learn to react with a cool head: ‘he hath played long enough upon me and now I mean to play awhile with him and stand as much upon my greatness as he hath upon his stomach.’15
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