by Laura Dowers
Mary shook her head in disgust. ‘She should have sent something to your wife.’
‘No, not her. Even a mother’s grief wouldn’t soften that hard heart.’
‘You sound so bitter against her.’
‘I am. I have had to endure her scorn and public humiliation, time without number. I tell you, if I don’t go back to Court, I shall not miss that.’
‘But what else would you do? You tried your hand once at being a country gentlemen and that nearly drove you mad.’
‘I was younger then. And lustier. I did not have this belly when I was twenty.’
She rubbed at his stomach. ‘Does it still pain you?’
‘Now and again. It’s nothing I can’t endure. If I can endure losing my son…’ He began to cry again.
Mary pulled a chair alongside her brother and, once more, laid his head against her breast.
16
Whitehall Palace, London, August 1584
‘Has Leicester returned yet?’ Hatton asked, stopping Walsingham in the corridor.
‘He’s arriving this afternoon. I’ve just had a letter from him.’
‘How does he sound?’
‘Melancholy,’ Walsingham said succinctly. ‘And who can blame him?’
‘Indeed.’
‘And I curse the Papists who put this together,’ Walsingham held up a green book. ‘A libel,’ he explained. ‘Against Leicester. A vile and malicious slander. Coming on the heels of the death of his son, I dread having to show it to him.’
‘Must you, then?’
Walsingham sighed. ‘I fear I must. It should be repudiated publicly. It will, no doubt, have a wide distribution by Catholic agents.’
‘Can I read it?’ Hatton asked eagerly.
Walsingham stiffened. He often found Sir Christopher Hatton’s appetite for gossip distasteful. ‘I have only this copy upon me at present.’
‘Oh, well, I shall read it in council, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, well, if you will excuse me, Sir Christopher.’
‘Of course. I shall see you soon.’
Walsingham continued on his way. He liked Hatton, who had not a vicious bone in his body, but Walsingham did not want the contents of the book spread before Robert had read it himself. He whiled away a few constructive hours with his secretaries, who had intercepted at least half a dozen letters sent to the Spanish Ambassador and were busily decoding their contents. The room grew dark and Walsingham reasoned that by now Robert would have arrived at Court. He picked up the book and made for Robert’s apartments.
‘Am I disturbing you, my lord?’
Robert, dressed head to toe in black mourning, managed a smile in greeting. ‘Not at all, Walsingham. Come in.’
‘I thank you. Are you well? And your wife?’
‘Well enough. Thank you for your letter, Francis. It was most kind.’
Walsingham nodded awkwardly. ‘I should really have waited until you are settled,’ he waved at the trunks being unpacked.
‘Oh, no, not at all. This won’t take long. It’s just some mourning clothes. But you need me for something?’ he asked, almost hopefully.
‘Yes. This.’ Walsingham proffered the book.
‘What is it?’ Robert asked, taking it and opening it to the flyleaf. ‘‘The Copy of a Letter written by a Master of Art of Cambridge to his friend in London, concerning some talk passed of late between two worshipful and grave men about the present state, and some proceeding of the Earl of Leicester and his friends in England’.’
‘A rather cumbersome title. I must warn you, my lord, it is not complimentary.’
‘And it’s about me?’
‘Indeed.’
‘I fill up a whole book?’ Robert cried incredulously.
‘The writer had a lot to say about you. I can give you the main points, if you wish, though I find them embarrassing to repeat.’
‘Never mind the embarrassment,’ Robert said, flicking through the pages as they both took a seat. ‘Leave that till later,’ he said to a servant, who was unpacking. ‘Go and get your dinner.’
‘The main points are,’ Walsingham began when they were alone, ‘that you have arranged the murder of the following; your first wife, your present wife’s former husband, the husband of Douglass Sheffield, the Cardinal de Chatillon, Lady Lennox, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton and the attempted murder of Jean de Simier. Shall I continue?’ he asked as he noticed Robert’s shocked expression. Robert nodded, open-mouthed. ‘That none of Her Majesty’s gentlewomen are safe from your lust, that you are the sole reason why the queen has never married-’
‘Enough,’ Robert snapped, his face as red as Walsingham’s. ‘I cannot believe it.’
‘My lord, the people who write this filth, do not know you.’
‘Safe from my lust? I am probably one of the chastest men at Court.’
‘As I said, my lord, scurrilous filth.’
‘It must be suppressed. How many copies do you think are in the country?’
Walsingham shook his head. ‘It’s difficult to say.’
‘You are having the usual entry points watched?’
‘Of course. But some copies are bound to get through. I can’t stop them all.’
‘Why am I so hated, Francis?’
Walsingham hesitated. ‘It’s not just you, my lord. All of us come under attack from time to time. Why, I had to suppress a similar pamphlet about Cecil only last month.’
‘Was it as bad as this?’
‘No,’ Walsingham admitted, ‘this is the worse I have seen.’
‘Does the queen know of this?’
‘I have not yet informed her of it, but she will need to know if we are to issue a proclamation.’
‘Let me read it first.’
Walsingham nodded. He looked at Robert for a moment. ‘Have you seen the queen yet?’
Robert snapped the book shut and met Walsingham’s eye. ‘No.’
‘Oh. Do you not think you should?’
‘I suppose so. Has she asked after me?’
‘Only to ask if I had heard from you.’
Robert nodded, as if that was the answer he had expected. ‘Will you dine with me?’
‘I would like to, my lord, but I expect the queen will want you to dine with her.’ He got to his feet. ‘Shall I see you in council tomorrow?’
Robert sighed. ‘Yes, Francis. Tomorrow.’
Walsingham left, and Robert began to read.
‘How long have you been back at Court?’ Elizabeth demanded as Robert was shown into her chamber.
‘A few hours.’
‘Hours?’ she stamped her foot petulantly. ‘How dare you not present yourself sooner? I have to send someone for you-’
‘Forgive me, madam,’ Robert stopped her before she could really get started. He was in no mood for a display of her temper.
She glared at him, then noted the sombre blackness of his clothes and suppressed her irritation. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Reading. Walsingham gave me a book.’
‘Something special about it?’
‘He thinks we need to suppress it. And I agree with him. If I may sit down?’
‘What is it?’ she said, also taking a seat.
‘A libel about me.’
‘Another?’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘Suppress it, like all the others.’
‘It is rather more virulent than the others. I am used to being disliked but this goes past all bounds.’
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does it say anything about me?’
‘Only by association. It’s me who comes in for the filth.’
‘Well, let us eat. I shall see Walsingham about it later. Now, tell me how you are.’
‘Well enough.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I believe you,’ he said, fidgeting with his doublet. ‘But would it have hurt you to say as much to my wife?’
‘I wrote,’ she said testily.
‘You wrote to me, and whilst I am gratefu
l for the letter, it hurt me that even a mother’s grief had not softened your heart towards Lettice.’
‘She has my sympathy, Robin. That’s enough.’
He nodded and cut a wing off a chicken. ‘I see it will have to be.’
Elizabeth watched him eat. He still had an appetite, that was good. And the wine was disappearing fast enough. His belly was getting big, and she remembered Mary writing that it pained him sometimes. She wished he would talk to her, really talk, and not just pass barbed comments. She wanted him to talk of his son, tell her how he felt. But no doubt he kept that for his wife. Oh yes, Lettice had all the confidences, all his words. Well, Lettice would have to grieve alone. Robert was back at Court, and he was staying.
17
Hampton Court Palace, Surrey, December 1584
‘Who is this fellow?’ Robert gestured at the tall, handsome man with the country accent, who was talking with the queen.
‘Walter Raleigh,’ Hatton said.
‘I know his name,’ Robert said irritably. ‘I mean, who is he? What is his background?’
‘A Devon man, a respectable though poor family. I believe there is some family connection to Her Majesty’s late mistress, Katherine Ashley. Perhaps that is why he is favoured by the queen.’
‘He’s in favour because he’s handsome and has a pleasing wit,’ Robert said bitterly. ‘It was ever so with her. Francis,’ he reached out and touched Walsingham’s arm as he passed. ‘Have you got that information I asked for?’
‘On the Netherlands? Yes.’
‘Excellent,’ Robert said. ‘Hatton, please excuse me. Well, Francis, what can you tell me?’
Walsingham moved closer and lowered his voice. ‘We should expect an embassy from the States, offering a crown.’
‘They are willing to cede their sovereignty to us?’ Robert asked in surprise.
‘It seems so.’
‘Will the queen accept?’
Walsingham raised his eyebrows. ‘She will not turn down a crown, surely?’
‘She would,’ Robert said, ‘if it meant war with Spain. You know how she dislikes the very idea.’
‘But it’s a war we should be fighting,’ Walsingham said passionately.
‘You and I and a hundred other people in this Court know that, but every time I broach the subject, she refuses to listen.’
‘The queen was ever wont to heed your words, my lord.’
‘I know it,’ Robert said grimly, ‘but now, she has other things to occupy her.’ He cocked his head in Raleigh’s direction.
‘He has found great favour with the queen,’ Walsingham agreed.
Robert’s lips curled in distaste. ‘Well, I’m not staying here to watch her fawn over him. I’m going home to Leicester House in the morning.’
‘Then I shall bid you good day, my lord.’
‘And you, Francis. Send me any further news you have.’
Leicester House, London
‘Rob, what is the matter?’
He had been staring at his book for the last half hour, never once turning the page. ‘Hmm? Oh, nothing, my sweet.’
‘Very well,’ she said huffily, ‘don’t tell me.’
‘It’s Raleigh,’ he said grumpily.
‘Bess has taken a fancy to him, has she?’ Lettice laughed. ‘Well, I cannot say I am surprised. He is very handsome.’
‘And when have you seen him to know that?’ Robert demanded.
‘I have passed him on the river, husband. Do not raise your voice to me because you are in a temper.’
‘And is his pretty face reason enough to turn a blind eye to the plight of the Netherlanders?’
‘If I remember rightly, your pretty face distracted her from policy in your time.’
‘That’s not true,’ he said emphatically. ‘She never neglected government. But this Raleigh.’
‘Is he really that dangerous?’
‘Dangerous? No, I don’t think he is-’
‘I meant,’ Lettice interrupted impatiently, ‘dangerous to our interests.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Then check him.’
‘How?’
‘By providing her with another distraction. One of your own choosing, who will serve your interests and not his. Give her my son.’
‘Give her Essex?’
‘Why not? He’s as handsome as Raleigh, and as charming, I have no doubt. And it is your duty to advance him.’
‘I know that,’ he said irritably.
‘Then why object?’
‘I don’t object to taking him to court. I am just doubtful of his reception. Lettice. He is your son.’
Lettice glared at him. ‘He is also his father’s son, and she always claimed a fondness for Walter. Take him to her and see, but don’t palm me off with feeble excuses, Robert. If she rejects him, then at least you will have tried. But if she does, she is a greater fool than I think her already.’
18
Whitehall Palace, London, April 1585
‘Your Majesty, may I introduce my stepson, the Earl of Essex to you.’
Elizabeth squinted down at the young man and looked him over critically. She had known the She-Wolf’s cub would turn up at Court one day, and she had resolved not to favour him. But when she had made that decision, she had not expected him to be so handsome.
‘Young Robert Devereux,’ she said. ‘Come nearer, my lord. Why, how like your father you are. Dear Walter.’
Robert rolled his eyes, causing Hatton to smile. She had never called Walter Devereux ‘dear’ when he had been alive. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raleigh stiffen as the queen smiled on the new boy.
‘You are most welcome to Court, my lord,’ Elizabeth said, evidently having made up her mind to be friendly.
The young man beamed, turned and grinned again at his stepfather. Robert nodded and smiled, surprised at how easy it had been.
‘What did the queen speak about with you?’ Robert questioned when his stepson returned to his chambers after spending the afternoon with the queen.
‘Oh, many things,’ came the answer, as the young Robert helped himself to some wine from the jug and propped his tall body in the window seat. ‘I must confess, I had thought I would not care for her, after what Mother has told me.’
‘You shouldn’t heed everything your mother says about the queen. She has cause to resent her, you do not. Now, I want you to listen, my boy. I’ve brought you to Court, because it is my duty to do so. But I’m not going to allow you to waste your time here. I shall be honest with you. I need you.’
‘You need me, sir?’ Essex shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that.’
‘Believe it. The queen does not like to be reminded of the passage of time. Entertain her, take her mind off such things. She likes young people about her. I remind her of growing old.’
‘She doesn’t seem old to me.’
Robert eyed him curiously. ‘It’s good you think so. It should make your flattery to her all the more convincing. Anyway, your role here is to take some of the attention away from that Raleigh fellow. You understand?’
Essex nodded. ‘Completely.’
‘Good. I’m relying on you, my boy.’
19
Whitehall Palace, London, July 1584
‘His Highness, William of Orange, has been shot dead in the Prinsenhof. By a Catholic.’ Robert calmly folded the letter he had been reading from and resumed his seat at the council table.
‘Shot dead?’ Sussex repeated incredulously. Robert nodded.
‘The Catholics.’ Walsingham shook his head as if he expected nothing less.
‘This changes things,’ Robert said, blinking away tears. He was genuinely upset at the death of the sovereign of the Netherlands. He had met the duke and they had formed an immediate friendship, maintained by family ties. Robert’s nephew, Philip Sidney, had been acting as an unofficial ambassador for the queen and a conduit of information and contact-making for Robert.
‘I don’t see how,’ C
ecil said.
‘Of course it changes things,’ Robert said. ‘A Catholic has assassinated a Protestant leader, a long-standing ally of England, whose country is being overrun by Spaniards.’
Cecil waved his hand in an understanding gesture. ‘Yes, yes, but we don’t want to start a crusade over the death of one man.’
‘I’m not speaking of a crusade,’ Robert said impatiently. ‘Too long have we sat back and watched, done nothing, while the king of Spain’s forces conquer that which we should defend.’
‘The Netherlands are not England’s problem,’ Cecil said.
‘Then they should be. What are we without them?’ Robert demanded, looking appealingly to his colleagues. ‘Without them, who do we trade with? The Spanish have all the other trade routes and ports under their dominion.’
‘That is not strictly true.’ Cecil pulled out a letter from his sheaf of papers. ‘Drake has sailed right through Spain’s supposed rights of way, and is coming back with a shipload of treasure. He anticipates there will be profit in the thousands for the queen and those who invested in his venture,’ he finished, looking pointedly at Robert.
‘I, too, have had a letter from Drake, Cecil. He has managed to get through this time, I grant you, but King Philip’s ambassador, Mendoza, is already insisting on punishment and restitution. Drake shall not do so well again. Besides, this is more than a mere financial argument.’
‘I disagree,’ Cecil snapped his folder shut, indicating he had said all he intended.
Robert raised his chin higher. ‘Then I shall take this to the queen.’
‘I advise you not to trouble the queen with this, Leicester.’
‘I shall do as I think best, Cecil.’
‘As you wish, my lord, but I doubt you will hear what you want.’
It was some hours before Robert was granted an audience with the queen, and it soon became obvious that Cecil had got to her first.
Elizabeth was at her desk, reading, when Robert entered. He glanced at the book over her shoulder. ‘Ah, Spenser. He’s one of my secretaries, you know. Good fellow. He gets on very well with my nephew, Philip.’
