by Caro, Jane;
‘God’s death, my lord, it seems I am paying the Earl of Essex a thousand pounds a day to go on progress!’
I threw the latest letter from my erstwhile general in Ireland as hard as I could towards the blazing fire. As I had failed to screw it tightly enough into a ball, the air caught it and it floated gently to the floor unscathed. Still as angry as I can ever remember being, I stamped my foot upon the loathsome thing and ground it as hard as I could with my boot so that it was muddied and filthy.
‘Indeed, it has been fully three months since the earl departed.’
‘And he has still not engaged with the enemy! I did not send him to Ireland for his health! I sent him to teach that scoundrel Tyrone what fate awaits those who would rebel against the Queen of England. Instead, all they have learnt is that my army will leave them alone to do as they wish, while my general rides about the countryside hunting deer with his new master of horse!’
I had stepped off the Earl of Essex’s latest report in my agitation and was now pacing up and down the chamber. Robert Cecil took the opportunity to kneel and pick up the dirty parchment. He began to try and smooth it out so that it would once again be readable. I was pleased to see the heels of my boots had ripped a number of holes in it.
‘May I read the report, Your Grace?’
‘Read it at your leisure. You will find that it says nothing to give you any satisfaction. I want him recalled, and a more reliable man sent in his place.’
‘Of course, but that will take some time. Perhaps we should give the earl one last chance to tackle the Irish rebels. He has the loyalty of his men and they will not take kindly to his replacement.’
‘He must ride towards the enemy today – this instant, this second! I cannot allow my treasury to bleed money for no result. I cannot allow the Earl of Tyrone to get away with treason and insurrection any longer. Essex wrote and said he could not proceed until he had two thousand more men, and we sent them and more besides, but still he does nothing. Instead he whines that he now does not have enough food to feed the extra soldiers. God’s death, did he not anticipate that two thousand more mouths to feed would require extra victuals! Is he a fool as well as a knave?’
‘I will write him to that effect.’
‘No, my lord, I will write to him myself.’ I picked up my pen and snapped my fingers. Paper was brought.
‘Let him tremble at my words. He presumes too much on my good opinion. He will find out soon enough that my continued favour depends on actions, not on honeyed words!’
I poured my fury and my scorn onto the paper, writing out my frustration at the Earl of Essex’s insurrection, his incompetence and his arrogance. I listed all his equivocations. In the end, I could not resist a final blast from my pen about the myriad of excuses he had used to explain his complete lack of action, most of which had involved the weather. It seemed it was always either too hot, too cold, too wet or too dry to make war in Ireland.
‘Surely we must conclude that none of the four quarters of the year will be in season for you.’
Perhaps this last finally convinced Essex that I meant what I said, because after receiving my letter, he finally set out to tackle the man I had sent him to fight. Or so I thought.
What compounded my fury was that the Earl of Essex had persuaded me to make him my general in Ireland against my better judgment. I had excluded him from my court for months following his public fit of temper. While I did not really believe that he had seriously meant to do me physical harm when he put his hand on his scabbard in my presence, I had not forgotten his lapse. No, nor his insult. I was aware that it was my sex that made it easier for him to disregard his sovereign’s commands and that he grew braver the further away from my – what did he call them, petticoats? – he became. He was adept at flattering me, but he did not respect me.
Once, his spontaneity had been endearing. In his swagger he was like a small boy, charming in his transparency. For someone who was surrounded by the mask of diplomacy, such unguardedness was like a cold drink of water after a lifetime of hot milk. It cleared my head and refreshed me.
Now I was becoming wary of the very thing that had originally attracted me. I dreaded where his impetuous nature might lead.
Nevertheless, seeing Essex so grief-stricken at Cecil’s funeral had softened my heart towards him. When next he attempted to gain my favour I allowed my guard to drop. God forgive me, I allowed myself to be amused, even flattered, by his persistence. As he tried to minimise his sin, he swivelled from charm to petulance, from argument to flattery. The dizzying array of his mercurial feelings was disarming. And he reminded me so much of my beloved cousin. His blue eyes were like hers and the auburn tinge to his hair. His cheek and his charm reminded me of Catherine, when she was young and full of life. He made me laugh as she had done.
‘Why so gloomy, Elizabeth?’ Catherine and I were together at Hatfield. It was during the reign of my brother, when we were both young and carefree. She was engaged to Francis Knollys, but not yet married to him. I was third in line to the throne and of little importance to anyone, so we were mostly left to our own devices.
‘I am sick of the rain. I am bored with being trapped inside.’
‘What?’ She spoke with exaggerated surprise, delighted to have the opportunity to tease me. ‘You have become tired of reading great tomes in Latin? Or of translating from the Spanish into Greek or the Greek into Hottentot?’
‘I don’t speak Hottentot, silly.’
‘There remains a language you do not speak or read? We must correct this oversight immediately. Quick, sirrah …’ And she clapped her hands imperiously for an attendant. ‘Fetch the best teacher of Hottentot in the kingdom and send him to the Lady Elizabeth!’
The man’s face as he looked at my cousin was so comically bemused we both burst out laughing, which only made his confusion worse.
‘It is all right, my good fellow,’ I said soothingly, taking pity upon him. ‘Mistress Carey is teasing me. We do not need any teacher. You may go about your usual business.’ The relief on his face was also comical and again we found ourselves in gales of laughter, fortunately after the poor man had left the room.
‘Hottentot! You are ridiculous, Catherine.’
But her silliness had done its work and my melancholy had passed.
Her grandson was not much disposed to be silly, he was far too careful of his dignity for that, but he was theatrical, as she had been, and broke through the stuffiness of being with a queen, just as she had done. And I so longed to drop the mantle of monarchy sometimes …
The earl’s determination to return to my favour flattered me and I gave in. Despite my misgivings and those of many around me, I let him return.
No sooner did he feel himself once again safe in my estimation than he began pressing me to let him command the army I was planning to send to fight the rebel Tyrone in Ireland. I was reluctant, very reluctant, to give him the position. I had wanted to send William Knollys or Baron Mountjoy to fight the Irish, but Essex was determined to have the appointment and went into a terrific sulk. He believed I owed it to him as a reward for his remorse. After all, our quarrel had been over the appointment of Knollys as Lord Lieutenant in the first place. Perhaps his unpredictable flashes of temper had fulfilled their purpose. I did not want to face another tantrum. Worse, when the earl’s mood darkened, all his charm disappeared. I reassured myself that he had proven himself as a soldier many times over in my service and that he was a man of action and so the decision was a good one. Moreover, he would be in Ireland and could pose no threat to me from there.
‘They have done what, my lord?’ I was standing with my back towards Cecil, leaning forward, resting my weight on my hands, which, in their turn, rested heavily on my writing table. I looked down at the coronation ring I always wore on my finger, the one that contained the picture of my mother. I looked up at the tapestry in front of me. It
was my old favourite of the women engineers, architects and joiners building the stout wall around the City of the Ladies. Would that I could have found a woman general to lead my troops! Not even the most hysterical female could have led me on as much of a dance as my Lord Essex.
In contrast to the last time Cecil and I had spoken about the debacle in Ireland, my voice was low and steady. I had passed from a hot fury into a cold and deadly contempt.
‘The Earl of Essex and the Earl of Tyrone have made parly on the banks of the River Lagan, Your Grace, and have come to terms.’
‘Have they indeed?’ And with this I turned to face my advisor. He was, as always, in the enveloping black robes of the puritan, his small face made even smaller by the volume of the white starched ruff that surrounded it. Now my back leant against the desk, my fingers behind me on its edge. I could feel a small nick in the wood and rubbed my thumb against it as we spoke.
‘Aye, madam, they have arranged a truce.’
‘So, Robert Devereux and Hugh O’Neill have decided what the fate of their two kingdoms shall be. How noble of them. And tell me, my Pygmy’ – (I am afraid once again I gave undue emphasis to the nickname he so disliked the better to make my point) – ‘what terms have they come to?’
‘It is a truce very favourable to the Earl of Tyrone.’
‘I see. Please, my lord, perhaps you can answer this question for me?’ Poor Cecil, he had done nothing wrong, but such was the venom in my voice he could not help shrinking away from me just a little. I stuck my fingernail into the groove in the wood and dug at it.
‘I will do my best.’
‘If I had simply intended to give Ireland to the Earl of Tyrone, what need did I have to send the Earl of Essex there? Not to mention an army? What need did I have to lavish funds from my treasury upon an expedition that would do no more than leave things as they are?’
By this time, I was speaking to Cecil through gritted teeth, spitting each word out as if I was just resisting the temptation to sink my teeth into something or someone and draw blood.
Cecil, understandably, took another small step backwards. ‘You make a very reasonable point.’
‘They have not shot a bullet in anger?’
‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Nor fired an arrow – except at deer?’
‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Nor raised a sword, pike or hatchet?’
Cecil took another small step away from me. I stood silently, no longer leaning my weight against the table. It came to me suddenly that I hated the Earl of Essex. The strength of my feeling frightened me.
‘The Earl of Essex asks to return to court, now that his mission is accomplished.’
‘His mission is accomplished? It has not even begun! Command the earl to remain at his post and continue to prosecute his commission, which is to defeat and destroy Tyrone and his rebels, not come to terms with them.’
‘He will object to breaking the truce.’
‘And what is that to me? He had no right to make any truce and I am under no obligation to abide by it. He is my general. I am his queen – petticoats or no!’ I turned my back on Cecil. I looked down at the desk. I had dug a great splinter of wood from its carved edge with my fingernail.
This time I would not be placated. This time there would be no return to my favour. The scales had finally fallen from my foolish, sentimental eyes. The earl was not his grandmother. He was not his stepfather. He had not one whit of their intelligence, maturity, humility or – and this was the greatest deficiency of all – loyalty.
‘Tell the earl to fight, my lord, or else he must answer to me.’
The earl did not listen. When did he ever listen?
It was scarce ten o’clock in the morning and I was seated at my dressing table, my wig rested on its stand in front of me and my cropped grey hair, unbrushed and unkempt, was in disarray. Suddenly I heard scuffling outside my door. My attendants and I turned as one to the source of this sound. Then, before we had a chance to register what was happening, the door burst open and a filthy, sweating Earl of Essex flung himself into the room. My hairdresser just had time to step out of the way before the man launched himself at me. I recoiled, terrified, but the earl merely fell to his knees and grasped my hands, covering them with kisses.
His face and clothes were marked with splashes of Thames mud. Such was his haste that he had not even attempted to wipe the muck from his person before he hurried to the Presence Chamber, and, when I was not there, on to the Privy Chamber and from thence, without permission and despite the efforts of my guards, into my bedchamber.
Breathing heavily, he remained at my feet with his head bowed. This gave me a moment to compose myself. When he hurled himself into my presence my first response was blind panic. The earl headed my army, and people never ceased to tell me how beloved he was by his men. My first terrified thought was about who would follow the earl into my most private chamber. Did he bring with him armed men who meant to have my throne out from under me? Or, did he mean to keep me on my throne, but as a figurehead only, forced to do his bidding at gunpoint? I knew better than anyone how impetuous and arrogant he was.
I was profoundly afraid, but I knew this was not the time to try to impose my authority. Instead, I put my hand on his auburn curls and stroked them, with every appearance of affection. The pungent odour of the Thames assailed my nostrils, but I did not recoil again. I knew I needed to buy time. My ladies had stepped back from us in horror. But, as the seconds passed, it became clear that there was no army outside my door and I relaxed slightly. The earl was here at Nonesuch instead of there in Ireland, that was clear enough, but it seemed he was in my palace with only a few lieutenants at his back. This was not, it seemed, a full-scale rebellion. I saw my own guards appear at the door and their presence calmed me, but the earl was armed, and he had already shown how little control he had when he was in the grip of fierce emotion. I had to tread carefully. ‘My Lord Essex, how is it that you are here and not in Ireland?’
‘I knew that I had to come and put my case to you in person.’
‘Yet I did order you to stay?’ This I said gently, tentatively. Not for a moment did I want to upset this man. He lifted his face and I could see tears glistening in his eyes. His face (it still hurts me to remember this) was shining with hope.
‘Aye, you did, and I apologise for my disobedience, but when you hear why I have come, you will understand. I knew from your letters that my enemies were filling your ears with lies and I knew that I had to come and put my case in person.’
‘Indeed, I would like nothing better than to hear your explanation. You and I have always been good friends, have we not? It seems a shame to let misunderstanding come between us.’
I could see the relief on his face. I almost felt sorry for him despite my fright. He was so easy to read and so fatally easy to convince. I have observed this in many men with a high regard for themselves – what they wish to be true they easily believe.
‘You see, my lords …’ He had turned towards the equally travel-stained men who accompanied him. I recognised Sir Christopher St Lawrence. ‘I told you that once I talked to the queen in person’ – still holding my hands, he turned back to me – ‘this great queen, this Gloriana’ – he kissed my hands again – ‘would understand everything and, as you see, she does!’
I listened to the earl with a smile upon my lips, but I grasped the opportunity to get him out of my chamber.
‘But, my lord, as you may also see, I am in no fit state to receive you or to hear your news. You must withdraw now and leave me to my toilette. Indeed, good gentlemen’ – I turned now to his attendants, who were also on their knees – ‘allow me to have hot water brought and clean linens so that you can wash the dust of your journey from your persons, and then we can meet and talk at our leisure. You can tell me your story, then, my Lord Essex.’ Gently, I extricated my
hands from his grip. ‘Without assaulting my nostrils.’
They laughed, and the tension was broken. As they left the chamber I heard Essex speak to his companions. ‘I thank God that although I have suffered many storms and much trouble abroad, I have found sweet calm at home.’
Foolish, heedless little man. He was not at home, not in my presence, not ever again.
‘You have disobeyed my command.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, I know, but I had no—’
I held up my hand to silence him, but it was with great difficulty that the Earl of Essex held his tongue. Many hours had passed since he burst into my bedchamber. He and his companions had washed and changed their clothes as I instructed them, then I made them cool their heels. I worked at my desk with Robert Cecil as I did every day. I had dined with selected members of my court as was also my habit. We had not hurried our meal or curtailed our pleasure at the amusements provided by my fool and my musicians. Food had been provided to the earl and his friends, but they had not been invited to join me at my table.
I was quite calm as I went about my day. Previously when the earl disobeyed me or behaved badly, I had felt torn between fury and pity. Now I felt neither – just a clarity that I had not experienced before.
This friendship was destructive. It was at an end.
I performed my duties with particular care. I pointedly did not make mention of the unusual start to my day. If any of my attendants attempted to do so, I silenced them and, recognising my seriousness, they obeyed. My tactics and my silence were deliberate. I wanted the earl to come into my presence unsettled and uneasy. I was determined to control this interview. I was sick of him appearing unannounced and uninvited. He took advantage by being unpredictable; I would counter it by being slow and deliberate.
After we had eaten every course of my leisurely meal, including the fruit and sweetmeats, I finally allowed the earl to enter my presence. The remains of our repast were scattered across the table. The message about whose side I was on could not have been any clearer.
