Life of Elizabeth I

by Alison Weir

  Worse tidings were to come. Protestant communities in Europe were shocked shortly afterwards at the news that William of Orange had been assassinated on 10 July at Delft. It was obvious that Philip of Spain had been behind the killing, and this boded ill for Elizabeth, whose subjects were terrified that she might be next. Nothing stood now between her and Parma's great army in the Netherlands: the degenerate Henry III was too preoccupied in keeping the factions at his court from each other's throats, and Anjou was dead. Parma was advancing steadily, taking city after city, and Elizabeth believed that, once the Netherlands were subdued, as they would be if no leader could be found to replace William of Orange, Philip would set his sights on England. Something must therefore be done urgently to curb the activities of the Queen of Scots.

  Mary Stuart was now forty-two, and sixteen years of captivity had had their effect on her former beauty and her health. Her hair was grey, she had put on weight, and she was plagued by rheumatism and a chronic pain in her side. Although she had been allowed to go several times to Buxton to bathe in the waters, this had not improved her symptoms.

  In 1584, Mary's principal residence was Sheffield Castle, where she still lived under the guardianship of the Earl of Shrewsbury. From time to time she stayed at his other houses whilst Sheffield was cleansed. The Earl scrutinised all her correspondence, and whenever she went out to take the air, as she was permitted to do, he and a troop of guards accompanied her. In fact, there were guards everywhere, both inside and outside the castle, while at night, a watch was set in the surrounding town and villages. Every traveller was questioned as to his business in the district, and no one was allowed to enter the castle or communicate with Mary without written authorisation from the Council. She might only receive visitors under supervision.

  Mary bitterly resented these restrictions, but she was nevertheless treated with the honour and deference due to a queen. She maintained her own household of forty-eight persons, selected her servants and paid their wages, Elizabeth defraying her food and fuel bills, which often amounted to over jfiooo per annum, and she dined under a canopy of estate, being served two courses of sixteen dishes each at every main meal. She was allowed to indulge her passion for hunting, but rheumatism often prevented her from doing so; instead she worked with her ladies on exquisite embroideries, or played with her numerous lapdogs and caged birds. She would never leave her prison, she told her friends, unless it was as Queen of England, and despite the risks, she continually intrigued to attain that, unheeding of the eyes that watched her every move. Over the years, it had become more and more difficult to correspond with her friends abroad, and now she had to rely on those members of her household who might be able to evade Walsingham's vigilance.

  In August 1584, Walsingham decided to tighten the security net surrounding Mary; Shrewsbury had borne the burden of guarding her for many years and was inclined to be too lenient with her, and she was now transferred into the temporary care of Sir Ralph Sadler. The following month, after Walsingham had shown Elizabeth a letter which proved that her cousin was still plotting to depose her, Mary was removed from Sheffield to Wingfield in Staffordshire, and then, in January 1585, to the forbidding fortress of Tutbury. There would be fewer hunting jaunts there, and it would be far more difficult for her to smuggle out letters. However, she would still be able to retain her household, and although she protested at the move and complained that the castle was damp and cold, the accounts show that she was plentifully provided with food and fuel. Nor, it was pointed out to her, had she been 'so well entertained when she lived at her own will in her own country', where standards of living were far lower than in England.

  But all this was not enough to ensure Elizabeth's safety, and by the autumn of 1584, public concern prompted the emergence of a movement among the English gentry and nobility to take more stringent precautions against threats to her throne. There was further alarm and indignation when a Jesuit, Father Creighton, was arrested by the Dutch authorities and found to be carrying a paper describing in detail plans for Philip's now notorious Enterprise of England.

  Leicester, backed by several other privy councillors and probably the Queen, although she would later deny it, suggested the formation of a league of Protestant gentlemen, who would all swear an oath of association to take up arms on the Queen's behalf and destroy the Queen of Scots if she became involved, even unknowingly, in any plot against Her Majesty's life. This oath was to be called the Bond of Association, and when the idea was made public that October it so captured the public imagination that there was a huge response from thousands of gentlemen throughout the country, all clamouring to subscribe to the Bond and take the oath. They cared little whether or not they offended their Catholic neighbours, declaring that they would rather engage in a civil war than accept a papist monarch. At Burghley's instigation, the Bond of Association was shown to Mary Stuart, and it was thus made very clear to her that, if she continued her intrigues, her life would be in the gravest danger.

  Mary, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, protested that she knew nothing of any conspiracies against Elizabeth, and even added her signature to the Bond of Association; only two days later, however, she was writing to Philip of Spain urging him to press ahead with the Enterprise, even at the risk of peril to herself.

  Elizabeth herself had an alarmingly careless attitude towards her own safety, and her male advisers could only deplore her feminine aversion to shedding blood in her own interests. Although she was immeasurably heartened by these new demonstrations of loyalty and affection, she was reluctant to sanction what amounted to lynch law, and declared she would not have anyone put to death 'for the fault of another' nor permit any legislation that would offend the consciences of her good subjects. Parliament took the same view, and insisted upon modifying the terms of the Bond of Association before enshrining it in law. Henceforth, any 'wicked person' suspected of plotting treason was to be put on trial before being 'pursued to death'.

  In order to avoid the likelihood of having to bring Mary to trial under this new law, Elizabeth tried again to persuade James VI to agree to share his throne with his mother, but although the Scots King was anxious to ally himself with England, he made it very plain that he did not want his mother in Scotland stirring up trouble. Elizabeth saw to it that Mary was kept in ignorance of his betrayal for months to come.

  In October, Leicester was viciously attacked in a pamphlet entitled Leycester's Commonwealth, which was widely circulated, and repeated every scurrilous and defamatory piece of gossip about him, past and present. It also made even more serious allegations that he was a serial murderer, extortioner and criminal. It was in fact such a masterpiece of character assassination, and so brilliantly written, that many people were convinced of its veracity. The Earl had never been popular, and the only people to speak out in his defence were Sir Philip Sidney and the Queen. Elizabeth banned the pamphlet, declaring that 'only the Devil himself would believe such malicious lies, and writing to the Lord Mayor of London commending Leicester's 'good service, sincerity of religion and all other faithful dealings' and saying she took 'the abuse to be offered to her own self.

  Leycester's Commonwealth was almost certainly a piece of Jesuit propaganda, printed in Antwerp or Paris, but it differed from most such efforts in that it contained apparently authentic details. This lent it weight, and many believed it had been suppressed because it contained the truth. This fiction was maintained for the next three centuries, during which Leicester was vilified by most historians as an unscrupulous adventurer and wife-murderer, and it is only in our own time that the flaws in Leycester's Commonwealth have been exposed, revealing the Earl to have been a loyal servant of the Queen.

  Leicester's enemies also suspected him of intending to play the part of his father Lord Protector Northumberland to Arbella Stewart's Lady Jane Grey, as a result of his plan to marry Arbella to his son.* Mary

  *The son in question was now his heir, Lord Denbigh, since he had abandoned th
e idea of his base son as her putative husband. This arrangement suited Bess of Hardwick very well, a legitimate heir being far more desirable than a bastard.

  Stuart thought that Bess of Hardwick's scheme to 'settle the crown of England on her little girl Arbella' was a 'vain hope', and wrote asking the French ambassador to ensure that Elizabeth knew what was afoot. Leicester, however, managed to convince the Queen that his prime motive for the match was to help cement good relations with Arbella's cousin, James VI.

  Leicester and Elizabeth had reached the point in their relationship where they no longer regarded or wrote to each other as lovers, but as old friends, bound together by a quarter-century of shared experience and affection. Religion was a common bond, and was the dominant theme in many of Leicester's letters, such as this one, dated 1583, in which he sent the Queen

  thanks for your gracious remembrance. Your poor Eyes has no other way but prayer to offer for recompense, and that is that God will long, safely, healthfully and most happily preserve you here among us. This is the goodness of God, my sweet lady, that hath thus saved you against so many devils. Your Majesty only has been the maintainer and setter forth of His true religion against all policy and counsel of man, yet you see how He has served and kept you thereby. God grant you ever to cleave fast thereto.

  They still quarrelled, though, and on one occasion Leicester told Hatton that he would not be attending a Council meeting because 'so many eyes are witnesses of my open and great disgrace delivered from Her Majesty's mouth'. Even after all these years, her verbal barbs could hurt him deeply, but he invariably forgave and forgot, and sometimes Elizabeth even apologised.

  During 1584, Leicester brought his stepson, the eighteen-year-old Earl of Essex, to court, where almost immediately his 'goodly person, urbanity and innate courtesy won him the hearts of both Queen and people'. This was gratifying to the Earl, who hoped that Essex would supplant the insufferable Raleigh in the Queen's affections, but it would be some time before Elizabeth came to regard Essex as more than just a handsome and accomplished boy.

  At the end of the year, yet another plot against Elizabeth was uncovered. A Welsh MP, Dr William Parry, hid in her garden at Richmond with the intention of assassinating her as she took the air, but when the Queen eventually appeared, he 'was so daunted with the majesty of her presence, in which he saw the image of her father, King Henry VIII, that his heart would not suffer his hand to execute that which he had resolved'.

  There is some mystery as to his motive: Parry had travelled in Europe, and the Pope certainly believed that he was acting on Mary's behalf, as did her agent in Paris; yet Parry was also an English spy, working for Burghley, and on his return had told Elizabeth that he had posed as a would-be regicide in order to infiltrate papist circles. She rewarded him with a pension, but then Parry asked an associate if he would indeed be prepared to murder the Queen, and attracted attention by acting suspiciously before the abortive attempt on her life. He may, like John Somerville the previous year, have been unbalanced, yet, put on trial, he vigorously denied any evil intent.

  The attempt provoked outrage, and the government were in no mood to give Parry the benefit of the doubt. 'It makes all my joints to tremble when I consider the loss of such a jewel,' wrote one MP. The Commons urged the Queen to let them devise some worse penalty than the terrible death already meted out to traitors, and there were more calls for Mary to be brought to justice. Elizabeth refused to take either course, although in February 1585 she agreed to send Parry to the gallows. Parliament passed a new law ordering all seminary priests to leave England within forty days or suffer the penalty for high treason, and Walsingham was paid to recruit more secret agents.

  Although she thanked Parliament for its 'safe-keeping of my life, for which your care appears so manifest', Elizabeth remained apparently impervious to the danger of her isolated position and the threat of further assassination attempts. 'They are seeking to take my life', she told a delegation from the English colony in Newfoundland which had been founded in 1583, 'but it troubles me not. He who is on high has defended me until this hour, and will keep me still, for in Him I do trust.'

  She would not modify her lifestyle, nor allow herself to be restricted by the greater security measures that were urged upon her. She showed herself in public as often as before, and when she went for country strolls with her courtiers, she would only permit the gentlemen to be 'slenderly weaponed'. And she would not listen to Leicester's suggestion that anyone with papist leanings be forbidden access to the court. Her councillors therefore existed in a state of permanent anxiety for her safety, although they could not but be impressed by her courage.

  In March, James VI wrote to tell his mother that it would be impossible to ally himself with someone who was 'captive in a desert'. Mary was devastated by her son's betrayal, and anguished by the realisation that her last hope-of negotiated freedom through diplomatic channels had gone. 'Alas!' she wailed in an emotional letter to Elizabeth. 'Was ever a sight so detestable and impious before God and man, as an only child despoiling his mother of her crown and royal estate?' She vowed she would abandon James. 'In all Christendom, I shall find enough of heirs who will have talons strong enough to grasp what I may put in their hand.' Yet in case her cousin took this to mean that Mary had designs on her throne, the Scots Queen hastened to reassure her that she abhorred 'more than any other in Christendom such detestable practices and horrible acts'. Privately, though, she had decided to bequeath her crown and her claim to the English succession to Philip of Spain.

  Demands for Mary to be kept under stricter surveillance were met in April when Sir Amyas Paulet was appointed her new custodian. Paulet was nearing fifty, a staunch disciplinarian who was notorious for his strong Puritan views; when Mary learned of his appointment, she protested vehemently against it, not only because he was of 'no higher quality than a knight', but also on the grounds that he would be less tolerant than most of her religion, having treated her agents in Paris harshly during his time there as ambassador. But Elizabeth had chosen Paulet because he was 'towards God religious, towards us most faithful, by calling honourable, and by birth most noble'. His integrity and his unflinching loyalty to his sovereign had been demonstrated during his service as Governor of Jersey, and she could rely on him not to be moved by the Queen of Scots's wiles or her charm. He would indeed prove to be a diligent and strict custodian, never relaxing his vigilance nor swerving from his duty, and remaining maddeningly impervious to Mary's attempts to win him over.

  Paulet wasted no time in imposing new 'rigours and alterations' into the household, and Mary soon realised that her life was going to be much more difficult under this new regime and that she was to be virtually isolated from the world. Sir Amyas scrutinised all her correspondence: nothing got past him, and letters from her friends abroad began to pile up on Walsingham's desk. Paulet would permit Mary no visitors, and strengthened the guard at the castle. Her servants were forbidden to walk on the walls, and when she went out she was accompanied by mounted soldiers carrying firearms, who prevented the local people from approaching her. Nor was she allowed to distribute alms to the poor, a rule she thought 'barbarous'.

  There were few chinks in Paulet's security measures, but he had no solution to the risk posed by Mary's laundresses, who lived in the nearby village and visited the castle regularly. Unless he had them strip-searched each time, which was unthinkable to a man of his sensibilities, he could not be sure that they were not smuggling out messages. All he could do was place a close watch on them.

  During 1585, relations between England and Spain deteriorated further. In May, in retaliation against English attacks on his ships, Philip ordered all English vessels in his ports to be seized and added to his own fleet at Lisbon, which he was preparing for a war he did not want but which he felt was his sacred duty. Three months later, at Nonsuch, Elizabeth made a treaty with the Dutch, who were now her sole allies, and in September she appointed Drake an admiral, provided him with a fleet of t
wenty-two ships and 2000 men, and dispatched him on a voyage to capture several of Spain's greatest naval bases in the Caribbean. Drake's mission was successful: he occupied Vigo on the coast of Spain and then sailed to the Indies and sacked Santo Domingo, Habana in Cuba and Cartagena, the capital of the Spanish Main.

  Philip was deeply humiliated, but the Queen behaved as if it was nothing to do with her: Drake, she said blithely, 'careth not if I disavow him'. Her objectives, in this campaign of harassment, were to keep Philip fully occupied elsewhere, and at the same time demonstrate to him the might of England's naval power.

  Leicester was visiting Nonsuch with the Queen when, at the end of July, he learned that his five-year-old son and heir, Lord Denbigh, had died at Wanstead after a short illness. Without asking permission to leave, he hastened to Wanstead to comfort his wife, leaving Hatton to apologise to the Queen for his abrupt departure. Elizabeth was saddened by the news, and sent Sir Henry Killigrew after the Earl with a message of sympathy.

  His son's death had a devastating effect on Leicester. Ageing, sick and desolate, he contemplated retiring from public life. It was Hatton who, with his comforting letters, managed to dissuade him from doing so, and Cecil who would provide him and his 'poor wife' Lettice with a refuge at Theobalds, where they could grieve together. Then, within a month or so, would come the cheering knowledge that, after waiting so long, Leicester was to be given the military command he craved.

  Under the terms of her treaty with the Dutch, Elizabeth had extended to them her protection and undertaken to send them an army of 6000 men and 1000 horse under the command of a general, who was also to act as her mouthpiece to their governing body, the States General. On 17 September, she reluctantly bowed to pressure and assigned this command to Leicester, whom she felt she could trust and who was enthusiastic about the venture. However, with his weakened health he was not the wisest choice, and, more pertinent, was the fact that it was thirty years since he had last engaged in active service. Warfare had changed since then, and his adversary, Parma, was one of the greatest generals of the age.