The Tudor Heritage

by Lynda M Andrews

  At last she motioned them to draw close and they came hesitantly and knelt before her. The blue eyes were as cold as ice and their hearts sank still further.

  “So, my gallant captains have returned from their glorious expedition, bearing with them… what indeed, My Lords, have you brought back, apart from your worthless selves?” she asked cuttingly as two tiny points of fire blazed within her frosty eyes.

  “Dearest madam, what can we say…” Essex began.

  She cut him short. “What indeed, sir? There is nothing to say! For that is the sum total of what has been achieved—Nothing! God’s Death! If I had searched Christendom I could not have found three greater fools! The whole world will laugh itself into a stupor for is it not the greatest joke? Mayhap His Majesty of Spain will die laughing! You incompetent fools! To let them slip past you. You have achieved nothing, nothing!” Her voice rose almost to a scream.

  “What of the great fortune that I was assured of when

  you came to me begging for money to fit out this

  madcap scheme? What of that, My Lords? Thousands

  of guineas which the Treasury can ill afford, wasted!

  Poured into the sea to enable you to go junketing

  aimlessly about the Azores leaving this realm unprotected

  and open to attack from any quarter. A fine mess

  we should have been in had not God in His Wisdom

  seen fit to drive the Spaniards back. I thank Him for His

  Mercy for I have little to thank you for! But it is the last

  time that the fleet shall leave these waters to chase after

  Fool’s Gold, I promise you that!”

  Essex was smarting visibly from the lash of her tongue.

  His face was crimson with suppressed rage and injured

  pride.

  “Madam, God did not see fit to favour us for it was bad

  weather which bedevilled the expedition from the outset,”

  he replied sullenly.

  She stared at him incredulously and then exploded into a

  tirade of wrath. “You insolent pup! I will break you of your

  will! I must have been insane to put you in command!

  God’s Wounds! You are not fit to command a baggage train!”

  Essex was struggling violently to control himself.

  “Madam,” he choked, “I beg leave to retire from Court. As

  you consider me little better than an idiot I am sure my

  absence will not be a great loss.”

  Her face contorted and her eyes bulged and for a moment

  the three men thought she would swoon. “Get you gone!

  Get out, all of you! Go as far from this place as is humanly

  possible or before God I will not be responsible for your

  safety!” she roared.

  They hastily made their obeisance and withdrew, Lord Howard half dragging the Earl of Essex who was almost as beside himself with rage as was his Royal Mistress.

  Determinedly they pushed through the crowd of smirking, questioning courtiers who filled the ante-chamber. Once through the throng Essex shook himself free of Lord Howard’s restraining grip.

  “By God! I will not be treated thus!” he raged. “To be berated like a foolish schoolboy. By God, I'll not stand for it!”

  “In the Name of Heaven! Lower your voice!” Howard implored him.

  Essex was beyond all caution. “To be treated thus by a woman and a woman whose purposes are as crooked as her carcase!”

  Howard was shocked into silence.

  “A woman who is a great Queen and your Sovereign,” Raleigh remarked coldly. “In whose power it is to take away a man's life should she so wish.”

  Essex glared at him defiantly before storming away to make ready his immediate departure to his estates.

  The two men watched him go. One with sincere concern, the other with a certain amount of malicious pleasure for one thing was crystal clear in the mind of Sir Walter Raleigh. One day My Lord of Essex would go too far—of that he was certain—and then he would walk the short road that led to the scaffold on Tower Green.

  Sixteen

  The feud between Raleigh and Essex grew during the following years as Essex became more arrogant and insufferable.

  Unaccountably, he had won the hearts of the citizens of London as well as that of his Sovereign and his outbursts of temper, his petulance and his arrogance were smiled upon with benign affection by Queen and subjects alike.

  He violently objected to the creation of every new Peer and the elevation to the higher posts in the Council of almost every candidate put forward and his conduct in these affairs grew outrageous.

  He fretted and fumed when Robert Cecil was made Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and when Lord Howard was created Earl of Nottingham, choosing to ignore that fact that Lord Howard had rendered long and faithful service to his Queen.

  He resorted to childish tactics. Withdrawing from court upon the pretext of illness thereby hoping to cajole Elizabeth into a show of affection and esteem.

  Sometimes his tactic worked but at others they did not. When she refused to become the object of his emotional blackmail the whole court suffered from her depression and short temper. Her Maids of Honour frequently bore the brunt of her ill temper for they had to put up with violent outbursts provoked by the slightest, imagined fault and frequently the poor, browbeaten ladies were reduced to tears.

  The Lady Mary Howard was the object of one such outburst. She had the temerity (in Elizabeth’s opinion) to appear one day in a very lovely gown of crimson velvet bordered with goldsmith’s work and pearls. A gown the richness of which her Mistress took violent exception to. Elizabeth had the offending gown removed from Lady Mary’s wardrobe and to the astonishment of all, appeared that evening wearing it. Elizabeth was tall and the gown fell short of her ankles.

  “Well, ladies, how like you my new-fancied suit?” she asked sarcastically, revolving slowly to emphasise her point.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  Lady Howard’s face was a picture of humiliation as Elizabeth stopped in front of her.

  “Ah, and what think you? Is not this dress too short and ill-becoming?”

  “Yes… yes, madam,” the unfortunate Lady Howard stammered.

  “Why then, if it become not me, as being too short, I am minded it shall never become thee, as being too fine: so it fitteth neither well!” was the shrewish reply as with a triumphant gleam in her eyes Elizabeth stalked out.

  Such was the treatment meted out to her unfortunate ladies upon such occasions.

  Another bone of contention between Essex and his Queen was his mother—Lettice Knollys. She was related to the Queen through her descent from Mary Boleyn but Elizabeth detested her for she had had the audacity to marry Robert Dudley, secretly. For that Elizabeth had never forgiven her.

  Essex begged her to reconsider her decision and time and again she relented, agreeing to see Lady Leicester and then at the last minute changing her mind. Lady Leicester was to know many a humiliating occasion where she waited in vain to be accepted once more into the Royal Favour. At last the day came when Essex prevailed and the two women met and formally embraced but the old bitterness and dislike still flashed between them for in both appearance and temperament they were very alike.

  * * *

  It was Ireland that proved to be the quagmire into which Essex sank, as had many a man before him.

  The first occasion came about through the sudden death of the Lord Deputy Borough which threw Dublin into utter confusion and gave the Earl of Tyrone—the rebel Ulster leader—the God-sent opportunity of laying siege to the fort on the Blackwater.

  The position grew desperate and Elizabeth hastily summoned the Council to choose a new Lord Deputy.

  The battle raged within the Council chamber as Essex and Lord Burghley violently opposed each other, while Elizabeth, as usual, veered from one to the other.

  Lord Burghley after
one particularly vicious outburst produced a prayer book which he opened at the fifty-fifth psalm. “Bloodthirsty and deceitful men will not live out half of their days!” he quoted to Essex but the head-strong Earl refused to heed the warning and a few days later perpetuated the most terrible outrage of his career to date.

  Elizabeth had finally decided that Sir William Knollys should have the post. Lord Howard, Robert Cecil, Essex and Thomas Windebank (Clerk of the Signet) were present at this meeting. Once again Essex objected to the choice and proposed Sir George Carew. Elizabeth refused to listen to him and tempers flared and protests flew back and forth between Queen and favourite until at last Elizabeth finally bellowed that Knollys should indeed go!

  To the horror of everyone in the room, Essex with a look of unconcealed contempt deliberately turned his back upon her.

  She flew at him. “Go to the Devil!” she cried and thereupon soundly boxed his ears.

  The whole company was then electrified with shock as Essex did the thing that no subject had ever done before to his Sovereign—and lived.

  “This is an outrage that I will not put up with!” he screamed, beside himself with rage. His hand closed upon the hilt of his sword and he drew it half from its scabbard as he shouted in her face, “I would not have borne it from your father’s hands!”

  Instantly Lord Howard seized him by the shoulders and dragged him forcibly back.

  Elizabeth stood as though she had been turned to stone as with a final cry of rage, Essex rushed from the chamber.

  The whole court buzzed with the tale and it was voiced abroad throughout the City.

  Edward Allgrave related it to Jane as they sat together in the small dining room overlooking the river.

  When he had finished Jane was horrified. She laid down her knife and stared, thunderstruck, at her husband. “He said that to Her Majesty?” she gasped.

  Edward nodded. “There is more,” he continued.

  “More?”

  “Had Lord Howard not had the presence of mind to stop him I dread to think of the consequences.”

  “The consequences of what?” Jane cried.

  “The arrogant, young poppinjay drew his sword!”

  Jane’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a soundless “Oh!” When she at last found her voice she asked. “Did he intend… do you think he would have…?”

  “Attacked the Queen?” Edward finished. “That I do not know, Jane. Lord Howard assured me he was quite beside himself with rage.” Edward’s voice grew harsh with anger as he continued. “To think of the lands, titles, money and position she has showered upon his ungrateful head! It makes my blood boil! He came to court with nothing but a title, a handsome face and a ready tongue and has had the riches of the kingdom poured into his lap and in return he flings insults and arrogance in her face! God’s Wounds! If he were my son I would horsewhip him!”

  Jane stared at him in silence, thinking of the Queen. How humiliated she must feel! As a woman she could understand the fear of old age and rapidly fading charms that Elizabeth sought desperately to keep at bay by surrounding herself with young men who lied to her about her age and beauty. A pretence Elizabeth pathetically believed, demanding more and more adulation with each passing year.

  “What will become of him?” she finally asked.

  “The Lord alone knows, for she dotes upon him!”

  “Surely this time he has gone too far? The Tower… or worse?”

  “It is impossible to foretell. She is the most unpredictable woman in the world but I am certain that this time he has opened her eyes to what lies beneath that handsome face and sweet voice—a self-willed, self-centred ingrate! There will be a reprisal this time, Jane, of that I am certain!”

  * * *

  To his astonishment and that of the entire Court, the expected reprisal did not come.

  Essex retired to his house at Wanstead and Elizabeth maintained a dignified silence upon the subject.

  Speculation was rife! Did this mean that she would forgive him anything, even so monstrous an act, or was she silently biding her time for revenge?

  She did not enlighten them for beneath the dignified facade she hid a mortally wounded heart. She had begun to realise that Essex’s affection for her was not sincere. His heart was too full of ambition and puffed-up pride. His honeyed words of affection were only a means to an end—his own advancement. She had heard of his outburst against her after the Islands Voyage and the words “crooked carcase” had cut her to the heart.

  Despite the hurt she felt she still held him in great affection. He was a spoilt child thwarted of a toy who lashes out at his mother in blind fury, she thought. Well, once more the mother would forgive. The Queen, however, would not forget. Shortly from Wanstead came pathetic letters declaring his devotion to her and in time the mother forgave him and he returned to court.

  Ireland was once more in a state of confusion and after some heated arguments, Essex finally convinced Elizabeth that he was the man who could pacify that violent land.

  As with his other expeditions it was a complete and utter failure. Instead of immediately setting out to seek and destroy Tyrone and his rebels, Essex dallied too long in Dublin. The strange, magical qualities that abound in that fey country caught him in their spell until he found that vital time had slipped away.

  His army had dwindled from 16,000 men to 4,000 and he wrote complaining to his Queen. She sent him 2,000 men and more money—realising that once again she had made a rash judgement in giving him the command. She also wrote demanding to know the reasons for his indolence.

  Finally he rode out to meet Tyrone who sent him a message asking for a truce.

  Essex agreed.

  Too late he realised his mistakes. Too late he recalled her vituperative denunciations of his incompetence on the Islands Voyage. In desperation he decided that the only course open to him was to leave Ireland, thereby deserting his post, and to throw himself upon her mercy to try to explain to her personally.

  The Court was at Nonesuch when he arrived at ten o’clock on the 28th September, 1599, with his clothes spattered with mud, his riding boots caked with dirt. He ran up the main staircase, through the Presence Chamber, the Privy Chamber and finally burst into her Bedchamber.

  She stared at him with horror as she sat surrounded by her women, dressed in a faded brocade dressing robe, her face devoid of its paint and with no wig to cover the grey hair that straggled untidily about her shoulders.

  With great presence of mind she quickly pulled herself together and light-heartedly told him to go and change his clothes whilst she finished dressing. She would see him within the half hour.

  As the door closed behind him the mask slipped and she was overcome with bitter mortification. No man had ever seen her without her magnificent clothes, her wig or her face paint. He had shattered the illusion. He had torn away the cataracts of self-delusion from her eyes, leaving her forced to face the reality.

  What need had she of a looking glass now? The hideous image was stamped upon her mind and for that she would never forgive him!

  The following day he was taken to York House and confined under the wardenship of the Lord Keeper Edgerton upon the pretext of deserting his command and his mismanagement of affairs in Ireland. He was to remain there for a year while Lord Mountjoy was despatched to Ireland, followed in the Spring of 1600 by the Earl of Southampton. Mountjoy found his vocation in life and proceeded to bring law and order to the seething, barbarous provinces.

  For the previous three years Essex had been involved in secret and dangerous correspondence with James of Scotland—Elizabeth’s undutiful nephew—and mad schemes now fomented within the mind of Essex, namely that the army in Ireland might be brought back to England and (with the help of James) to take control of the government of the country with Essex at its head. James Stuart—wise beyond his years, always one move ahead of his devious subjects—refused to commit himself. In later years, as James the First of England, he was to become known as �
�the wisest fool in Christendom.”

  Elizabeth, unaware of these goings on, summoned Essex to give an account of himself in the Star Chamber on the 5th June, 1600. The proceedings lasted for almost eleven hours and at the end of the day Essex was informed that he could retire to Wanstead and await Her Majesty’s instructions.

  It was the worst possible thing that could have happened to him for at Wanstead he was surrounded by loyal but foolish members of his family. His mother, Lady Leicester; his sister, Lady Penelope Riche; his wife, Lady Essex; Sir Christopher Blount, his second stepfather with Henry Cuffe and other friends all of whom stirred up his resentment and bolstered his injured pride.

  At the instigation of his mother and sister he wrote once more to King James and this time James agreed to send the Earl of Mar. He also sent a letter which Essex wore concealed about his person—so treasonable were its contents.

  Essex House was a hornet’s nest of intrigue and the tension amongst the Earl’s followers mounted. They took to spreading wild rumours throughout the City. The Queen was in danger for Secretary Cecil and his faction were plotting with the Spaniards to put the Infanta upon the throne of England! Raleigh had sworn to kill the Earl with his own two hands! So the rumours ran.

  The insurgents were divided—some wished to attack the Court, others urged gaining the support of the City first. Essex could not make up his mind.

  Robert Cecil was his father’s son. He kept his ear close to the ground and was well aware of what was going on at Wanstead and now decided that the time had come to act.

  Elizabeth was informed of the treasonable activities taking place and on Saturday 7th February, 1601 the Earl of Essex received a message summoning him to appear before the Council.

  He panicked, fearing he would be seized and sent to the Tower. He pleaded illness but Elizabeth had used that excuse herself in the past and was not deceived.

  On Sunday morning the guard at Whitehall was increased. The Lord Keeper, Sir William Knollys, the Lord Chief Justice and the Earl of Worcester arrived at Essex House and were subsequently submitted to the indignity of being locked in the library by the insurgents.