by G Lawrence
The path was a route I often took, and many of my intimates knew of it. When I took the letter in my hands, I knew all was not well. I could feel something, echoing down the ages, from my father to me. When he had found his wife Catherine Howard had betrayed him with other men, it had been through a note. As I opened it, my hands were shaking.
“For love of Your Majesty, you must know the Earl of Leicester did, in early April, marry your cousin, Lettice, the Dowager Countess of Essex in secret.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Greenwich Palace
Spring 1578
Wind ruffled the parchment. I stared down with blank eyes.
The sun was too bright, the air too close. I gagged and staggered backwards. Tumbling into a seat, I sat with the missive in my hands, staring at the wall. For more than an hour no thought passed through my mind. I did not move. I just sat there.
I held on to the parchment, wind whipping past my fingertips, trying to wrest it from my hands. I held on, as though it were the only thing holding me to the world; the last strand of a cloth, the last breath of a friend, the last hope of a lost love… when in truth, this was a knife that had cut my heart from my chest, shattering my soul.
Many times in my life I had felt lonely. It is part of the office of Queen, an emblem of state one wears as one does the crown; something carried in one’s hands and heart, like the sceptre. I had felt alone when in danger, and when surrounded by friends. I had known I was the only one I could rely on when shadows fell. But that day, that hour, was the loneliest of my life. The man I loved, the one I had placed faith in as no other, was mine no more.
This was no small loss. Robin had sworn to be mine, and had been mine for twenty years. Twenty years… That was as long as many marriages, longer than all fierce affairs of the heart. He was not only part of my heart, my soul, but my life. He was my extraordinary, and my everyday; the bread I ate in the morning, the ale I sipped when it was warm. He was the blanket covering me at night, the cool dusk falling upon a hot, uncomfortable day. He was in everything I touched, a part of all my thoughts. He had been everything to me, as I had thought I was to him.
We had been all to each other, all steps taken, words spoken, decisions made. He had been my comfort and my solace, the arm that held me up, steady, and firm. Upon reading that note, all that fell away. Without him, I knew not who or what I was. I was alone, unsteady, lost.
All blood was gone from my heart. Nothing pulsed there. Inside me was a gaping maw, opening, threatening to swallow me.
When I rose from that seat, I was freezing cold. I barely noticed. My hands were white, my face tinged blue. When I entered my chambers, Blanche stared as though she had seen a ghost, and perhaps she had; the ghost of my dreams come to walk in my place as Queen.
Where there had been a presence at my side, always at my side, there was now nothing. Nothing. It was as though he had died.
Unable to comprehend the meaning of this, my thoughts twisting and snarling into a confusion of briar and bramble in my mind, I went to Robin’s London house. He had been ill the day before, and I found him in bed. As I entered he went to rise. I threw the note on his bed in silence.
I had never seen a man go so pale. All blood ran from Robin’s face. He was become a ghost, like me, like our love. “So it is true,” I said.
“I wanted an heir,” he said quickly, struggling to rise. “Lettice fell pregnant. I knew this was my last chance. Elizabeth, I am forty… I may never have a chance to have an heir.”
“Do not dare to call me by my Christian name, as though we are friends,” I said, my voice dull. “You are no friend to me.”
“I love you,” he said. “But you would not have me.”
“I could not.” My voice fractured. “You swore to be mine, in whatever way I needed you. The one demand I made was that you did not marry. I looked the other way when you lay with women. But I asked you to remain mine.”
“I am yours.”
“You are not.” My tone was numb. I knew I was broken, but I could feel nothing. A shell had fallen over me.
“I swear to you…”
“Swear nothing. No promises can you keep.”
Robin fell silent. Troubled by my barren voice and stark words, I believe he was wondering if I would send him to the Tower. My rages, he was accustomed to, but this was unfamiliar. He was waiting for me to break, to scream, shriek and fly at him in wrath. This blank Elizabeth he did not trust. He knew not what she might do.
Neither did I.
“This will be kept secret,” I said dully. “For as long as possible. You will not humiliate me.”
“Majesty, I intended no such thing.”
“But you have,” I said shortly. “You have broken my heart, Robin, and now you would have me display the shattered ruins to my people. You would let Lettice stand on them, grinding them into dust.”
I drew myself up and left.
My loneliness was complete. I was alone.
Chapter Seventy
Greenwich Palace
Spring 1578
That May, as hawthorn trees burst into a profusion of white blossom, I sent word to France.
Wounded beyond comprehension, worms of bitterness, hatred and humiliation consuming my heart, I sent word that if Anjou wished to press his suit in person, I would receive him.
Robin had gone to Buxton to take the waters. He had taken the opportunity to remove himself, hoping that by the time he returned I would have forgiven him.
I could not. This was no mischance, no accident. He had sworn himself to another woman.
My trust was no more. How could I trust him when he had betrayed me? For twenty years I had upheld him as husband in name if not in deed, and now there was another woman… and worse. I was made the other woman. Again.
And yet, I could show nothing. I had to pretend. I did not want to become the laughing stock of the world in addition to all I was suffering personally. That Robin, my Robin, would humiliate me so thoroughly, so completely, was more than I could bear.
I was not aided by my body. My teeth pained me grievously, and that, combined with my sorrow, left me morose at best, ferocious at worst. I snapped and snarled at my ladies, screamed at Walsingham that he deserved to be hanged when he accosted me again about the Netherlands. Dryly, he replied he would only ask to be tried by a Middlesex jury.
When the French Ambassador told me to be kinder to Mary, I hissed that she was the worst woman in the world, whose head should have been cut off years ago. He left, scared he had done more harm than good.
Hatton came to me, trying to find out what was wrong. I sent him away. I could not stand to look on anyone, even a friendly face. I was sure they would read the truth in my eyes. Days passed, and there was nothing from Robin, no letter, no note, no apology.
At night, when I sat before my mirror gazing upon my spare hair and grey skin, teeth paining me and cheeks swollen, I felt old. Aged by sorrow, aged by Robin, aged by betrayal.
I tried, and failed, to conceal my grief. Those who knew me not heard my bright chattering about Anjou and thought me unhinged, for every giggle was tinged with the madness of desperation and each sigh with a tang of lingering grief. Those who did know me understood something was wrong, very wrong.
At night, when I did manage to sleep, which was not often, I had strange dreams. I dreamed of a man without a face who offered me marriage. In slumber I accepted, and as I took hands with him, flames ignited at my feet. When I looked around, there was nothing but fire and smoke, black storms raging above, water rushing beneath my feet. Just before I woke, my feet slipped. I grasped for the hand of the man and he was not there.
There was nothing there but smoke and ashes.
I was swept away into water and fire, as about me, England fell into chaos.
*
“Phillip has declared he will not seek terms with the Dutch until English support for them ceases,” Cecil told me one night. He played with a pearl and gold button on his c
hest, casting tendrils of light onto my face.
“I have often had cause to think Phillip and I are two sides of one coin,” I said, staring numbly at the fire. “He so reserved on the outside, with his stoic face and dark clothing, and yet inside, he is governed by passion and fire. I, to all outward appearances, am a gaudy butterfly, and yet inside, I am stone.”
Cecil cast a look my way that spoke of his understanding of my recent trials. He had said nothing, but I knew he had heard of Robin’s marriage. I suspected he was the author of the note. Who else knew my morning walks as well as he? Who else would know that I needed to know now, giving myself time to prepare for the day the rest of the world heard and thought me a dolt for trusting a man like Robin?
“Majesty,” he said. “It is good for England that you are as you are. Although I do not say I approve of all your methods or decisions, I understand them. You are the Queen we needed, and still need.”
“Would you not have preferred a boy in my place? A prince to mould in the image of my father… a man who would take a wife and sire sons?”
“I wish for nothing, but you, Majesty,” Cecil said quietly.
I looked up into sympathetic eyes.
“You know I possess mixed feelings on the Anjou match, madam, and although a part of me will always wish you had married, I understand the sacrifice you made. I lived through the dark days of your sister’s reign, where there seemed no hope, no future for men like me. Whilst I think an heir would bring stability, you saw another path… that limiting your power would limit that of England. You sacrificed the joys that marriage and children might have given you, and you did it for your people.”
“I did it for myself,” I said, looking into the flames of the hearth. For a moment, I thought I caught sight of something moving in the ashes, but in a wink it was gone.
“I think the truth is you did it for both,” he said, putting his hand on mine. His skin was warm, seeping comfort into my cold flesh. “What is best for you is best for England.”
“Thank you, Cecil,” I whispered.
Chapter Seventy-One
Hampton Court
Summer 1578
As summer came in, lighting the paths and roads of England in sweet beauty, I was rendered only more miserable.
When sadness falls in winter, it seems apt. You can hide in shadows, your sorrow reflected and contained by the gloomy light, which offers consolation. You are not alone; the world suffers with you. When summer comes and you are miserable, there is no hiding, no sympathetic, mutual understanding. The rest of the world is merry; you are utterly alone.
There was no hiding for me, soon everyone would know. They would witness my humiliation laid bare.
My ladies rallied around me. They knew, of course. Some, like Blanche and Kate said little, but were always there, trying to help in small ways. That is an important part of friendship, that when you need someone, they are there.
Hearing of my misery, Helena came to court that summer, asking that I become godmother to her first child. I agreed to her request and also started to promote Helena’s husband. Helena had damaged her children’s prospects by marrying beneath her; I would aid her in mending them. I granted the couple joint ownership of the Carthusian monastery which stood near Richmond Palace, and told them I would see their children married well. Helena was happy I had forgiven her.
“Our rift made me sorrowful, Majesty,” she said. “I have always wanted to consider you both mistress and friend, and I hurt you.”
“You did,” I said, looking to the window. The sun was setting, skies burning as rubies set before flame. “But at least you have the courage to apologise, Helena. Some people merely make excuses, or blame me for their actions. Through your apology, I know you respect me.”
“Your friendship means more to me than anything.”
I was not entirely sure that was true, seeing as she had risked my friendship by marrying without permission, but I was in need of friends. In some ways, I had thought of Helena more as a daughter than friend. That was why her betrayal had hurt so.
As she left, I returned to the dullness of sorrow. Walking with Hatton in the gardens one day, I suddenly burst into a speech so unguarded that my habitual caution appeared unhinged.
“Do not do to me as Robin has.” Clutching his sleeve, I went on. “Do not betray me, Hatton.”
“Majesty, I swear I would never…”
“The oaths of men mean little, I have found. Pretty promises are made with ease. Keeping them is harder.”
“Majesty, if it will comfort you, I swear I will remain unmarried for the rest of my life.”
“Robin swore the same,” I said, numbness returning to my heart. “And he is married.”
“My lady,” Hatton said, taking my hand. “I have heard Lettice fell pregnant. That is why the Earl married her.”
“Douglas bore his child,” I said. “And he did not marry her.”
A shift in Hatton’s expression made me curious. “What?” I asked.
“There was talk, at the time and after, Majesty, that the Earl went through a ceremony of sorts with Lady Sheffield.”
I stared. Once, the idea that Robin might have tricked a woman into lying with him by going through a fake ceremony would have been rejected by my mind without question. Now, I was not so sure. Distrust is insidious, a creeping creature that slinks into your heart.
“Do you mean… he is a bigamist?” I asked.
“I think the ceremony, if it took place at all, was false, Majesty.”
“He tricked the lady into lifting her skirts, then rejected her?”
Hatton pursed his lips. “I think the rumours false, Majesty. What I was trying to impart was that the Earl was forced into this marriage by the promise of an heir. It is possible he was the one deceived in this case, and the lady planned to become pregnant.”
“If he was tricked this time, it serves him well if he hoodwinked Douglas the last.” I sounded calm, but my mind was raging like a winter river. If Robin had married Douglas, he could not be married to Lettice.
“Majesty, let me write to the Earl. I will tell him you are melancholy because he has not written to explain himself.”
“He explained himself already,” I said. “What I want is an apology, Lids. I want to know I have not been a fool to trust him all these years. I want to know I have not been supporting and promoting him, as he laughs behind my back.”
“Then you grant permission for me to write to him?”
“If you wish.”
In truth I knew not what Robin could say that would mend this. But I missed him. By God in Heaven I did! I had once told him he was the sun in my skies, the only man who offered me a measure of happiness, and it was true, no matter how he had hurt me. His betrayal was one matter, this silence another. I did not want to see him but I could not bear not to see him. I had always been a master of ambiguity. At that time, I became its embodiment.
Hatton sent his letter. But there was nothing but silence from Robin.
*
I threw myself into work, attempting to conceal rage and sorrow, trying to remind myself who I was. Without Robin, I was not sure I knew.
It was as though my distrust of him had turned about and come for me. I had trusted him, and that trust had been misplaced. What else was I wrong about? What other men should I be wary of? Could I trust myself anymore, my thoughts, decisions, certainties? I knew not.
“Rebel leaders have begun talks with Anjou,” said Walsingham. “They think, as do I, his promises are but a feint to make them drop their guard. They can hold out against Phillip with our aid.”
I frowned. My new suitor’s willingness to open negotiations with the Dutch was worrying and a French presence in the Low Countries was not desirable. “I have decided to send an embassy to Antwerp,” I said. “I want you to lead it, Walsingham, with Lord Cobham.”
Cobham had served me well in the past and was a pragmatic man. I thought him the perfect foil to Walsingham. Cob
ham would speak of reserve as Walsingham’s fire would infuse the Dutch with hope. Cobham was keen on making peace with Spain as Walsingham was eager to support Orange. Between them, I would be able to gauge the complete picture, for the truth of any situation is every man’s to make his own. Send one of each camp and I would paint a portrait of the whole.
“If Don John will not enter talks, you may promise the rebels aid,” I went on. “But I also want information. I would like a clear, unbiased appraisal of the situation; the rebels’ strengths, those of Spain, what resources each have, and the state of the common people.”
“The Earl of Leicester would want to go in my stead,” Walsingham said carefully.
