Blood of my Blood

by G Lawrence

  And then the most unwelcome thought had come. Because it is not your love he seeks, but your power, my mind had whispered in the pitch of night.

  Much as I hated the thought, I knew it was right. We had everything we needed to be the best of friends, the closest of hearts. He was in my soul, as I was in his. This new attempt to get me to marry him was not about love, it was about ambition. As King Consort, Robin would be more powerful than any other man in England.

  That was what this was about, not love, not affection, not a last attempt to win me… it was all about power.

  I was wounded by that thought. I had given him all of myself that I could, and I was not enough. He wanted more.

  He was trying to be my master, trying to force my hand. This was not a proposal, as I had thought only a day before, this was a kidnapping. Wealthy heiresses were sometimes stolen away against their will, raped and then married to their rapist to avoid scandal. It had happened to Mary of Scots. Robin would not dare do such to me, but this was an assault. He would pressure me into marriage, as he had tried to before.

  When he came for me that afternoon, promising fine game to hunt and cool trees to shelter under, I was in a rare mood. I was short with him when he explained the route, left him, and went to his huntsmen as they handed me deer fumays to examine and see which buck I wanted to hunt.

  Riding through the forest, along chases Robin had had enlarged for his guests to enjoy, I found a better mood waiting for me. It crept from the trees, a dryad of old, leaping into me as I thundered past on my horse.

  A swift mount, something valiant to pursue, and fresh air about me was all I needed to forget woes for a while. I rode hard, long and without tiring. When many had given up and were allowing their horses to wander the woods without purpose, I charged on, surrendering to the air and the wind, to the sun and the skies.

  When the stag we were hunting crashed out of the forest and took refuge in the lake, swimming for the island Robin had constructed, I pulled my horse to stand at the edge. Men were ready with crossbows and others with ropes to pull him in, but whilst I allowed them to haul the stag to the edge of the water, I told them not to slay him.

  “Your Majesty… the kill is yours,” Robin said, astounded.

  “He ran well and escaped us,” I said. “He is brave and true.”

  Hounds were baying, desperate to leap upon the stag, but I held up a hand. “Cut the tops of his ears,” I commanded, “and release him.” I turned to Robin. “That way, my lord, you will always be able to identify the brave stag who took so perilous and bold a path from our daggers. Courage should have its reward. I hereby pardon his life, for entertaining me so well.”

  I watched as men docked the stag’s ears, and applied a balm they usually kept for injuries sustained by the hunters. The stag bucked as they cut him, and when they released him, he ran for the trees.

  “Keep that one always alive,” I said to Robin. “He is a survivor, like me.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Would you please stop saying that?” I barked. “The Queen’s wishes are the commands of all her men. You are no different in that regard.”

  I rode away. As I did, I felt his eyes, wary and hurt, burning into my back.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kenilworth

  Summer 1575

  As we rode back to Kenilworth, courtiers chattering and laughing about me, I felt morose. I had not really intended to hurt Robin, and knew I had, but this ostentatious show of romance was making me deeply uncomfortable, even a little scared.

  Dusk had come. The route home was marked by blazing torches. The skies had fallen, seemingly closer than before, marked by cascading purple and indigo stretching above and dipping low, as though our shoulders might be brushed by their vivid hues.

  As I rode through dense shrubs and bracken, twisting in a confusion of branches and thorns, I saw two men on the path ahead. Alerted by the sound of my horse, they swung into a performance. Dressed as wild men of the forests, in tunics and breeches of moss green decorated with ivy leaves, they appeared to be sprites, and started enacting a scene in rhyme about my sworn authority as Queen.

  One of the players I recognised as George Gascoigne, a gentleman, but his partner, named Echo, I did not know. George spoke, and Echo echoed. As he reached the climax of his speech, George snapped a staff of wood across his knee, signifying submission to my authority. It was supposed to show that even the fabled Pan, governor of the mythical forest, was subject to my will as Queen… another pointed remark I could do as I wished.

  His gesture did not have quite the reaction he desired.

  As George snapped his staff, one half ricocheted and flew into the face of my horse. Barely missing the eyes of my fine Turkish charger, it made the horse shy, rearing in terror. Only because I was an expert horsewoman did I manage to stay on. Women rode side-saddle, a much more challenging position to hold either in gallop, walk or rearing. I heard a gasp from behind me as my horse reared, threatening to buck. If he did, I would be thrown. He was a good eighteen hands. If I fell, much harm could be done to me.

  Gripping the reins tightly, I held on, pulling his head down and back, as I spoke gently in his ear. Under the strain, several small pearls and a ruby popped from my sleeve, disappearing into the bracken. Under my guiding hands, my panicked horse calmed and came to stand, his hoof pawing the ground, and his hot eyes fixed on George, who looked mortally terrified.

  “No hurt!” I cried breathlessly to the pallid man. “There is no hurt!”

  Gascoigne was shaking with relief as I turned my horse and continued on to the castle. “That did not go quite as planned,” I said to Hatton as he pulled alongside to check I was alright.

  “No, indeed, Majesty,” he said glancing back at Robin who had fallen behind, no doubt to give Gascoigne a rare scolding. “I think my Lord of Leicester is mortified.”

  “Ride back and tell him not to berate the man too harshly,” I said. “It was an accident. Tell Gascoigne I was pleased by his verse, and he taught me a fine lesson this day; to always be aware that if some submit to my authority, fate and chance never will.”

  Hatton laughed and dutifully rode back to deliver the message. I rode on, shaken, but unharmed.

  *

  The following day there was more music and dancing. I visited Mary Sidney in her chambers and stayed for a bowl of ale. It was pleasing we had become friends again. Later, pageants were performed, grand shows where damsels seemed to be endlessly taken captive by wicked men who wanted to rape them, only to be rescued by bold knights who carted them away, breathlessly consumed by love, and married them. As more were performed, I grew annoyed.

  “Do you think the next one could be on some other topic than marriage?” I asked Robin. “I grow tired of feeding on the same fare.”

  Hearing irritation in my voice, he called for another to be performed, but it was no more pleasing. This one was about Arthur and his knights seeing off the threat of invading Saxons. Although the allusions were no more about love, there were enough clear references in the performance to suggest Robin thought I was Arthur, the Saxons Catholics, and I should charge in to rescue all Protestant damsels from the evil of the old religion.

  At the end of the day, I turned to Cecil. “I want all remaining plays brought to me first. I will approve them or order them not to be performed.”

  “It did not please Your Majesty?” Cecil’s eyes were glimmering in the half-light. He knew, as I did, what those plays had been about.

  “There seems to be an equal amount to please and displease me at Kenilworth this summer.”

  Robin was aghast to hear I wanted to vet his pageants. “It will steal away the enjoyment, Majesty!” he exclaimed.

  “If you remember, Robin, I do not like surprises,” I said. “The pageants will be delivered to me, and I will look over them. This trip is, after all, about pleasing me, is it not? Not about making a point about something else at the expense of my happiness?�
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  My irritation was growing, and it showed. Robin swiftly became alarmed and had his men bring scripts of pageants to my chambers. Looking through them, I told my ladies to take one to Robin and tell him it would not be performed. “I grow weary of the same themes,” I told Blanche. “Tell Robin to come up with something cleverer.”

  The pageant in question was about Zabeta, a character clearly meant to represent me. She had, for seventeen years, the exact same number as I had been Queen, been a nymph in the service of the Goddess Diana. The pageant went on for pages, and all its themes were about abandoning chastity to the service of duty, cumulating with the Goddess Iris giving an impassioned speech;

  How necessary were

  For worthy Queens to wed

  That know you well, whose life always

  In learning hath been led.

  The country craves consent

  Your virtues vaunt themself,

  And Jove in Heaven would smile to see

  Diana on a shelf.

  Do you not understand, Robin? my mind asked. It is for duty I remain chaste, for to be free and single as Queen is to hold power over the shifting fortunes of men. I have sacrificed potential happiness in marriage or children for my people.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Richmond Palace

  February 1603

  “He never understood,” I say to Death. “Robin did not see Amy’s ghost, floating between us, nor did he understand my people saw her still. If we had married, the old, ugly rumours that he was a murderer would have arisen anew. My people suspected Robin was a murderer when Amy died. Had we married, those thoughts would have no more dwelled under the cracks of my people’s imagination, they would have risen, and become true. If I had married him, it would have placed Robin, me and England in peril.”

  The ghost of Amy does not come to dance before me as once she did, but I feel her laugh on the wind, for she knows this is true.

  “And more than this,” I continue, “Robin could not comprehend something else. He could not see past his own desires and understand my freedom granted liberty to England. With me unmarried, we were tied to none, bound to no others but ourselves. I had abandoned what was normal for what was extraordinary, not only for me, but for my people. That was the only duty I was going to obey, and no amount of poor poetry would convince me otherwise.”

  Death knows this is true. Mary of Scots married the man suspected of killing her husband, and lost her throne for it. It would have been the same for me. Marry Robin and all would have been ruined.

  “And there was one last reason,” I say. “I trusted Robin with my heart, but was not so sure about my power. If I elevated him, his bold spirit would have broken loose of any shackles placed upon him by my Council. In time, he would have become what I feared all men would if they became my husband… my master.”

  I nod to Death. “That was in my mind, and it would not leave.”

  Death, who knows what the twists of fate may bring to each life, inclines His head.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kenilworth

  Summer 1575

  The next day was spent hunting, and several fine stags were slain, although not the one whose life I had spared. Everyone knew he was untouchable.

  But if he was unassailable, I almost was not. Whilst hunting, a crossbow bolt whipped past my ear, close enough that had I turned my head, it would have taken my life. The man who fired the bolt was arrested with swift speed, although many claimed it was an accident and he was shooting at a deer. The climate of fear that had arisen, strong as the summer sun, was felt upon us that day. I pardoned the man upon hearing he was in terror of his life and protested he was my loyal subject, but many were left uneasy. This accident demonstrated how easy it was to kill a queen.

  That evening was full of dancing, drinking and feasting, and under a cloak of hot air and sweet conversation, I joined hands with Hatton and danced almost every dance with him. He, like me, did not tire easily, and I was glad of it. I had no wish to take hands with Robin.

  He was otherwise occupied in any case. Lettice had joined our party and it seemed when she was present I had all but vanished.

  Seemed was one thing, but all was not as it appeared. I saw Robin flirt with her, casting glances in my direction to see if I was watching. This attempt to make me jealous only made me angrier. Robin was sorely testing my patience.

  The next day a joust was held in Robin’s tiltyard, with the knights, of course, dressed as Arthur’s men. Both he and Hatton excelled, and that afternoon we went to watch bear baiting. Thirteen bears had been brought to Kenilworth, to be baited by snarling mastiffs. We wagered on fights, watching the bears tear the dogs apart, and the hounds respond, ripping shaggy flesh with tooth and claw. Another fine feast followed and then more fireworks.

  “I wonder there is any gunpowder left in England,” I said to Blanche as we watched rockets shoot into the air. The golden splendour of Kenilworth was fast becoming dun to me.

  An Italian acrobat performed; limbs so pliant I wondered aloud if he was made of flesh and bone, or of string. Some claimed he was not a man at all but a sprite.

  “I am for bed,” I said to Robin and sighed as his face fell. It was late, although not as late as he had intended us staying up. When I went to bed, most of the court followed, knowing I did not like noise when attempting to sleep.

  I was giddy with drink. It was not my habit to imbibe much wine or ale, as I did not welcome the perils of drunkenness, but that night, annoyed at Robin, I had drunk more than was good for me.

  “I had wanted to take you on a moonlit tour of the gardens,” he said.

  A warning, like a cannon shot, fired in my mind. “Perhaps another night.” I hastily extended a hand for him to kiss. Swiftly I all but raced up the stairs of the tower to bed, my drunken feet unsteady, before he could cart me into the gardens, no doubt to express love and propose marriage.

  *

  I sighed as I looked from the window. Rain was falling and the skies were ominous. Thunder and lightning in the morning had caused Blanche to snatch an ash twig from the greenery in the hearth, and carry it about, warding off lightning. I smiled. She also carried a twig of hazel and one of rowan in her pouch too, to ward off fairies and the touch of evil. In Blanche, although she would never admit it, old pagan traditions ran strong. She tried not to make her superstitions obvious, knowing many would censure pagan or popish beliefs, but she honoured them. At heart, my oldest friend was more Catholic than Protestant, but she did not let that show either. Her first loyalty was to me, and she kept faith as she wished in her heart. She was, in truth, the embodiment of all my hope. If only everyone in England could be capable of doing the same, much of the troubles I had encountered on religion would have been lessened.

  And in truth, did we not all carry talismans? Men wore my portrait in miniature on their waists or about their throats; I carried my pouch of documents as though it might ward off Old Snatch Himself. We all carried something to protect us.

  I shifted from the window seat. Looking out across parks, fields and forests that I wanted to be within and could not, was doing me no good, but there was another reason for my ill temper.

  Robin… and Lettice.

  Distracted by misery, as Walsingham entered carrying a pile of parchment, I barely noted he had arrived. When I saw him standing, an expectant expression on his face, no doubt thinking a spell of poor weather was the ripe time to set to business of government neglected as I embraced such sins as enjoying myself, I felt only more aggrieved. Rank Puritan, my mind complained.

  “Is there a great deal?” I asked, my despondent mood hardly cheered by the notion of work.

  “I have selected only the most urgent missives and affairs, Majesty. They will not take more than an hour.”

  I gazed at him with great suspicion. “That is curiously thoughtful of you, Walsingham.”

  He smiled. “I thought, Majesty, you needed a rest. What remains can wait, some of it I ca
n see to alone.”

  “I thought you, like all Puritans, despise enjoyment and relish misery?” I regretted my acidic tone immediately. Walsingham had been trying to aid me.

  “There is space enough in life for both, and reasons to be thankful for both too.”

  “You would have me greet misery with happiness?”

  “The more sorrows we bear, Majesty, the stronger are we made so we might carry more joy.”

  I stared at Walsingham for a moment and then went to the table. “I will see all you need me to attend to,” I said in a gentler tone. “I would not have you weighted down with my concerns.”

  “I carry any weight gladly. For you, Majesty, bear quite enough. If I can lessen the load upon those slim shoulders, I am glad to.”

  “I am no pack-horse, Master Walsingham,” I teased. “What I do not need to carry I put to one side.”