by G Lawrence
I was more pleased by her gift than manners. It was a waistcoat of white satin embroidered with Venice gold and silver. “I made it myself, Majesty,” she said as I admired it.
In return I presented her with three gilt bowls of fabulous workmanship, which she was pleased with, as they were good quality and costly. There were rumours she was short on funds, because of Essex’s mission in Ireland, so I presented her with a purse of sovereigns in private.
But the gifts of all my courtiers were nothing to what Robin had prepared; a gown of black taffeta, with a border of Venice gold and silver, lined with sarcenet. There was also a matching kirtle and a doublet garnished with goldsmith’s work, sparkling with rubies and diamonds. Quite amazed by the gown, I stared at it for a moment before noticing that Robin’s gift and Lettice’s had similarities.
“Your good cousin and I exchanged ideas,” Robin told me when I pointed this out. “The waistcoat she made will set off the gown and kirtle I had made for you. We thought it would be fine for you to have new items for your glorious wardrobe, ones you could interchange, use together.”
“I see…” I found this disturbing. I knew Robin and Lettice had communicated in the past, but to find they were exchanging letters regularly was not a happy thought.
I was rendered even less content to see their closeness. They did make an attempt to conceal it, for Robin knew how jealous I could become of Lettice, but everyone was speaking about it.
“It is but courtly affection, between nobles,” Kate Carey said. “I hear nothing of further scandal.”
“Keep those sharp ears open. I want to hear if anything else is going on.”
As Lettice surrendered to the joys of court life, and was found dancing with Hatton, Robin, Heneage and anyone else who usually courted me, we had word from her husband.
Essex was still encountering more problems than successes in Ireland. In November he had abandoned the idea of negotiating with O’Neill and MacPhelim, and resorted to underhand tactics. Whilst in Belfast, Essex invited MacPhelim and his wife to dinner. Essex had heard MacPhelim was considering rousing men into revolt, but MacPhelim, unaware that Essex knew this, or perhaps thinking he meant to parlay with him, came to Belfast without fear. When they sat down, Essex’s men burst through the door, slew MacPhelim’s men and took MacPhelim and his wife to Dublin Castle. They were executed without trial.
“What justification was there for killing MacPhelim’s wife?” I asked Cecil and Robin. “The man himself, I understand, although a trial should have been commanded, but the wife?”
“The Earl is growing desperate,” was Cecil’s reply.
“This will do no good,” I said. “Murdering an innocent woman only secures the notion in Irish minds that we English are barbarians without justice or reason.”
“I do agree, Majesty,” said Cecil.
“I would recall him, but there is one sensible suggestion in his missive.”
Essex was attempting to subdue the area west of the Blackwater and Bann rivers but was having problems. Irish rebels hiding in those waterways understood their territory. They avoided full-scale conflicts and used ambush and surprise attacks. With the O’Neill opposing him in Ulster, FitzWilliam proving unhelpful, and without enough men to place permanent garrisons where he needed them, Essex was growing despondent. Mercenary Scots had settled in the Glens of Antrim, the Route, and Rathlin Island, where they were protected from arrest and expulsion by Sorley Boy MacDonnell, son of the Lord of Islay and Kintyre. With Scots controlling Rathlin Island, which stood thirteen miles from Scotland and three from Ireland, rebels were able to ship in reinforcements from Kintyre, aid rebellious Irish chieftains, and sabotage Essex’s plans.
Rathlin Island was a rock, a craggy, unwelcoming place, but a safe refuge, or so the Irish lords opposing Essex thought. They had sent their families there, for the surrounding waters were notoriously perilous, and had consumed many ships. Eddies, lurking currents, and unnerving tides flanked the island, offering protection. And the island held a castle, which rose from the cliffs themselves, and could only be approached through swamps and bogs to the west. It was a hard and dangerous prize, Essex wrote, but if won, would stop the tide of gallowglasses entering Ireland, and strike a blow at the heart of Irish confidence.
It was an enemy base, a military target, and therefore I approved his plan.
Essex thought to use ships to reach the island, of which he had few, and men to take the castle, of which he also had few. His plan was to create a naval force, with Drake as one of the commanders, but also with the aid of West Countrymen like Arthur Champernowne and Sir Peter Carew. He wanted to use this fleet to destroy Scottish galleys guarding the island, compelling them to surrender. Once that was done, he thought they could bring about the surrender of the island itself.
Robin thought it a waste to send Drake to Ireland, but admitted it would keep him from irritating Spain. It was a delicate time, and we were upsetting Phillip enough with small, incidental acts of piracy. If El Draque were unleashed, the Treaty of Bristol would be in peril.
“I will send Drake,” I said. “He will need time to prepare, but he will go to aid Essex, and he will not be alone.”
“Whom else do you mean to send?” asked Cecil.
“Hatton,” I said. “I want someone I know I can trust keeping an eye on Essex. My cousin’s husband is too wild, too unstable. Hatton is moderate and controlled; the perfect counterweight to Essex.”
“The Earl will not accept Hatton as his superior,” Robin warned.
“Hatton shall serve under Essex,” I replied, “but I will make it clear he is there to advise him.”
As we discussed Ireland, another man was writing to me with plans of war. From his sick bed, Walsingham wrote that since France and Spain were suspect, England should support the Low Counties, and send ships to harry French vessels being used against Huguenot-loyal cities.
In truth, I had no wish to pretend playing friends with the French anymore. Henri and his mother had publicly mocked me, and upheld none of their promises about Huguenots. But I was not willing to wage war, as Walsingham wanted. I offered a loan to the Germanic Protestant army of John Casimir, which Walsingham had told me was in trouble, and offered one hundred and fifty gold thalers. It was accepted, but when the time came, I sent only fifty thousand, about fifteen hundred pounds. Casimir protested this was too little, but I thought it enough; enough to maintain the balance of power in France, in the Netherlands, in the world; enough to balance the scales of light and dark, so God could choose who became victor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Oatlands Palace
January 1575
“Another crown,” I said. “But one not mine to claim.”
My men looked frankly baffled. Leaders of the Protestant states of the Netherlands had sent a surprising offer. Due to my constant support, they asked me to take the crown of Holland and Zeeland as my own. My men thought I should accept, but that crown was not mine.
No blood of that country flowed in my veins. I had no hereditary right to that throne. Were I to accept, I would be acting against all I upheld as sacred about the throne, about all thrones; that they were destined, granted by God to a chosen, anointed sovereign. Phillip, or possibly Orange, was sovereign of the Low Countries, not me.
The same principle had stayed my hand against Mary of Scots; the same had pushed me to intervene in the Netherlands against Phillip, and in support of Orange. Either of those men were God’s chosen for the throne of Holland and Zeeland. I maintained balance there to allow the Almighty’s plan of peace to unfold.
And quite aside from moral scruples, I had others. If I unseated Phillip, I would be aiding rebels in the complete overthrow of a fellow monarch, which not only might make men think they could do the same to me, but would also bring certain war between England and Spain. My men knew this, of course. That was exactly why they wanted me to accept. Tired of my partial support for Protestant rebels, they wanted me to stride in, plu
nging England into war in pursuit of a fine, fat prize.
But all men think they will win when they enter a fight. Only wise souls understand failure is just as possible. Overreaching is unwise. Our resources were stretched thin as it was, and even Ireland, one of our domains only a whisker from England, was not fully under our control. If we reached further, taking hold of the Netherlands in greed, and against the ultimate plan of the Almighty, our grip would slip. This was not the way to enrich England, but to bankrupt her.
And I was sure Orange was aware of this. I admired the Prince, and for good reason. All successful princes have one thing in common; they are sneaky souls. England would be drawn into war upon promises of riches and lands, and when we won the war for them, but found ourselves unable to govern for lack of funds, Orange would take back control of the Low Countries.
I could see the offer for what it was; a bribe. Protestant leaders thought to buy my soul and principles.
“I am an Englishwoman,” I said to my Council, watching Robin’s face darken with anger. “England is my soul and my blood. She is enough for me. The throne of England is mine, but I hold no hereditary claim on Holland or Zeeland. I think this would only bring peril to England, my lords, and I like it not.”
They spent hours wheedling, bleating like lambs, attempting to sway me. I told them I would think about it, but had no intention of changing my mind. Long had I held fast to the principle of sacred, divine kingship. I would not alter my opinion.
But, to refuse outright would insult our allies in the Netherlands. I told the Dutch messengers I was deliberating, hoping that in the meantime Phillip and Orange might reach a settlement, and remove the issue from my hands. Balance had to be maintained in the Netherlands, so the rebels did not fall altogether, losing England her Protestant allies, and so Phillip did not win, crushing the Protestant cause overseas. It was a tight, thin line I walked. It was fortunate God blessed me with delicate feet.
To those who did not understand my policy, this all seemed hesitant, piecemeal and ridiculous, but I understood what I had to do; keep England steady by making other countries precarious.
I had no support from my men or Council, aside from Hatton who saw what I was up to. Cecil, Robin and Walsingham all thought I should march to war, and Sussex supported them. It was one of the times I had to stand alone, but that is what survivors do. We learn to rely on ourselves, trusting our own wits and judgement.
“But Your Majesty was in favour of regaining Calais,” Walsingham said, clearly baffled as to why I did not want another throne.
“Calais is part of the traditional territories of England, Walsingham,” I said. “Won by trial of combat. Much as my grandsire enhanced his right to the crown of England in battle, so Calais was won.”
“The same could be true of Holland and Zeeland,” he pointed out.
“If I take that crown, I become a Hapsburg; marching into all lands, claiming them as mine when they are not. God will choose which sovereign He wants on that throne, not man.” As he sighed, I stared hard into his dark eyes. “And the cost of such a war would be unfathomable. I will not bleed my people dry, sacrificing their blood to feed the beast of war.”
“It is curious your soul should be so unfamiliar with ambition in this regard, my lady.”
“Not curious at all. It has nothing to do with ambition. I was set on this earth to rule England, Calais and Ireland. That is what God intended. That men would attempt to interfere with the plan of the Almighty is wrong. And even without my scruples, this would cause a long, bloody war with Spain, and they have more resources than us. Men always think that more is good, but sometimes it is not. In risking all we have, to gain more, we might lose everything. That is a risky gamble, Walsingham. One I am not willing to play.”
Robin was, if anything, worse than Walsingham. He came daily, trying to sway me. It was easy to forget at times that had I married him, Robin might be a consort by this time. He would have wanted the title of King, but even when I was young, I would never have granted him such power. I knew the dangers, and if even my sister, deep in love with Phillip, or Mary of Scots, blinded by lust for that fool Darnley, had stopped short of granting them crowns, then I certainly would not have honoured Robin so. Not because I saw no worth in him, but because I would never have limited my power in such a way.
But the thought that he once had been a potential king kept Robin well supplied with arrogance. I was sure he was communicating with Orange, offering support for the rebel cause and telling Orange he would convince me to accept. It was actually useful for him to be doing this if that was the case, as it kept Orange hopeful and Phillip unsure, so I did not stop him, but I did become rapidly annoyed when Robin had no other topic of conversation.
“God alive!” I shouted one day when he would not cease. “It is as though you are one of the parrots of the New World housed in my menagerie, Robin! Cease to prattle or I swear I will send you from court, perhaps for good!”
He stopped… that day. The next he returned with more arguments.
And as we talked, war continued in the Low Countries. Many towns were under siege, and battles were fought. The Sea Beggars were being used to lift sieges, and Alba had been replaced by a Don Luis de Requesens, the former governor of Lombardy.
I sent an envoy to Requesens, asking him to uphold our treaty, and go further. If he would expel English Catholic rebels and exiles taking refuge in the Low Countries, I said, I would do the same with Dutch rebels in my country. We would agree this, I said, before any firm deal was struck on trade between Spain and England.
Spain was in a precarious position. Phillip himself said openly he thought the Netherlands would be lost due to lack of money. Despite all his lands and mines of gold and spices in Africa and New Spain, the ongoing war was stripping Spain of money. If they lost trade with us, they would be undone.
I had no intention of expelling Dutch rebels, but Requesens was not accustomed to my ways, so he believed me.
It was a good plan. I would conclude peaceful terms of trade with Spain, advantageous to England, and at the same time they would cease to harbour men like Westmorland. It would also lead to a fair number of the students of Douai being exiled, meaning that fewer priests would be trained to come to England and unsettle my kingdom.
Requesens, poor fool, upheld his end of the bargain. I did what I always did when I had no wish to do something; I sent out a proclamation, and promptly did nothing at all to back it up. Dutch rebels understood they were safe in England and remained where they were, whilst English Catholics in the Low Countries suddenly found they had to find a new home.
Allan was already in trouble. My Act against English citizens living abroad taking coin from England had done its job well. The school was poor, and some of its inmates said to be starving.
“But Allen is not finished,” Cecil said. “He is reaching out to the Pope, and to Phillip.”
“Soon Phillip will not have two pesos to rub together, although I admit the Pope has enough to support Allen.” I frowned. “Is Walsingham any better?”
“He is still ill, Majesty, but he works each day in his bed, or his chair.”
“I would prefer he used his time in bed to sleep, and that way return sooner.”
Walsingham was not a well man, but like me, he refused to stop working unless he was close to death. His doctors thought there was an imbalance in his humours which had led to an affliction of his kidneys, for he was thirsty all the time, no matter how much he drank, and was tired a great deal too. Unlike me, Walsingham slept a good eight hours a night, yet he always woke weary. But no matter what, he soldiered on. I did admire his doggedness, but I needed my Secretary at court, not in his bed.
A day later and we had ill news from Walsingham. He wrote of two plots he had uncovered, and, using his illness as inspiration, lectured me about my apparent indecision regarding the Low Countries. “For the love of God, madam, let not the cure of your diseased state hang any longer in deliberation. D
iseased states are no more cured by consultation, when nothing resolved is put in execution, than unsound and diseased bodies by only conference with physicians, without receiving the remedies by them prescribed.”
“Do you ever think it odd, Spirit, that Christians so little follow the example of their Lord and Master, Jesus Christ?” I asked. “All these men of court and Council, they are all men of God, sworn to uphold the ways of our Lord, yet they would have me march into war, ignoring His teachings.”
“God requires soldiers for His cause as well as men of peace.”
“Then why send His son, who was only and ever a man of peace?” I asked. “Why did God not send one who was warlike? The answer is, because God does not support war. That is one of man’s acts, one of the problems with the free will He granted. War is a beast bred by man, not God. We are responsible for it, and for the horror it spews.”
“So you will ignore Walsingham, and all your men on this matter?”
I sniffed. “Not ignore, Cecil, but I have no intention of following advice I think wrong, emptying my treasury, destroying what small army and navy we possess and sending my people tumbling into financial, moral and worldly uncertainty.”
