by G Lawrence
“He is a sagacious man, Majesty.”
“Even the wisest amongst us do not see the full picture, at times.”
From the expression on Cecil’s face, I wondered if he thought the same of me.
“I need to know if peace is possible,” I said. “And if Anjou could be trusted to aid the rebels without endangering England.”
“You think to use him as England’s agent?”
“If he is capable, why not?” I asked. “But until I have an honest assessment of the Duc, I will not know if he can be used.”
“I will write to Walsingham and relay this idea.”
“I would be surprised if it has not occurred to him.”
“And are you actually considering marriage, Majesty?”
“Actually, I am,” I said calmly. Cecil’s head darted up. I heard a bone in his neck click and poor Cecil put a hand to it, grimacing. “Did I make you crick your neck?”
“Indeed,” he said. “It has been threatening me for some time. That was the final insult.”
I called upon Blanche to prepare a warm compress and found Cecil staring at me in dumb disbelief. His eyes narrowed, clearly attempting to assess my sanity.
“You have no faith in me, old friend?”
“When it comes to marriage, I admit I have little, Majesty.”
I smiled. “It is true I have avoided the state for a long time. But I am considering it. If Anjou and I united, we could force Phillip into making peace with his people, and if that failed, the Duc could take up arms against the King of Spain, but not as an agent of France. Anjou is close to the throne, but not upon it, so would not enter England with the ambition of making her an extension of France. And were he to be busy in the Netherlands, I might not have to suffer a husband in my country a great deal.”
Cecil was watching me. “Majesty… I hesitate to say anything that might put you off this idea, but do you also have the Earl of Leicester in mind?”
I met his eyes with a steady stare.
“I see,” said Cecil. “Then I must say something I thought I never would.” He reached across, touching my hands. “Majesty, we have been friends a long time.”
“Indeed.”
“As your chief advisor, I would tell you to marry. But as your friend… Majesty, to marry out of spite will bring only unhappiness. If I wish anything for you, it is for you to know joy. You deserve that.”
I thought I might break into tears. “You are a good friend,” I said. “I understand what that admission must have cost you, for you have had my marriage and issue as your true ambition these many years… I swear I will rush into nothing, and will tell no one of my thoughts. I ask you to do the same.”
“I will say nothing, Majesty. If any ask I will say I am as perplexed as they about your feelings.”
“Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you came into my service, old friend?”
“As grateful, madam, as I am that you took me in.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Wanstead
Autumn 1578
“Blower has named Thomas Harding, vicar of Islington, as the maker of the poppets,” said Cecil.
“A man of the cloth meddling with dark arts?”
“It would not be the first time, Majesty. Remember the tales about Cardinal Wolsey?”
“I think them apocryphal, Cecil, like many dark tales told about men of power.”
Blower had been taken to the Tower and racked. Under torture, he had named Harding as the maker of the poppets.
“Arrest Harding,” I said.
When Harding was interrogated, my men attempted to find links to other notable Catholics. A Master John Prestall was arrested. Once held in my prisons for a conspiracy to murder me through the arts of necromancy, Prestall’s name had been surrendered by Harding. Both men pleaded guilty to the charges, and were condemned to death.
I hoped that would be an end to the unfortunate incident, but it was not. Fear was rife, a plague stalking court, and my men had become infected with it. Reports of more witches using magic for harm came, and although I had to order them investigated, I did not like the hysteria this caused. Even men like Dee started to become afraid, thinking that my Council would haul him in for questioning.
When such a climate fell upon a country, many could be at risk. I did not want innocent people punished, or those who were simply using magic to find lost objects, or bring about love between two people, persecuted because men feared the power they may or may not hold.
*
As we made our way back to London, leaving Robin and his secrets in Wanstead, we had news of Walsingham. He and Cobham had responded to my complaints, had met with Anjou at last, and had formed a good opinion of him. They wrote he was wise, well-spoken and not as deformed as was reported. Walsingham wrote that he did not support the idea of marriage, not because of religion or the Duc’s appearance, but because Anjou was now heir to the throne of France. He also did not think the Duc was serious about marriage.
We also had other news. Frobisher had returned.
“They brought back a huge quantity of the ore,” said Cecil. “Along with other pieces… stones like white sapphire, and others like rubies.”
“And are they sapphires or rubies?”
“That will not be known until there is an examination,” Cecil said. “But it shows there may be worth in these new lands.”
Despite their successes, which Frobisher managed to make sound all the more amazing each time he told his tales, there was word that several of the men who had taken part in the expedition were in financial trouble. Lok, the assayer, reported the expedition had incurred massive debts. And that was not the only issue.
“Frobisher and Lok are experiencing difficulties,” said Cecil. “Frobisher appears to blame Lok for this overspend, and called him a thief and a fraud.”
Although Frobisher was a man who often succumbed to fantasy, in my opinion, it appeared he had a point. Lok went bankrupt, and the Cathay Company went into receivership. Lok ended up in the Fleet for debt, and the future of English exploration looked to be in peril.
As Lok went to prison, the ore was examined. Attempt after attempt was made to extract the fabled gold, but to no avail. The last man to try, William Williams, toiled for weeks, and when finished, he sent the results to court.
Along with a message telling me of his work, I held the fruits of his labours in my hand; one small bit of sealing wax, with but a tiny wisp of silver embedded in it.
*
So, I thought. That was your secret, Robin, that was what you were trying to hide at Wanstead.
I had wanted to know what Robin had been hiding, and Blanche had found it out for me. A few days before we had arrived at Wanstead, Robin and Lettice had gone through a second ceremony of marriage. Her father, clearly not trusting Robin, had insisted, and Knollys along with others of his family had gathered at the chapel in Robin’s house, so this time there were witnesses.
“Knollys is wise not to trust Robin,” I said to Blanche.
“I am sorry to be the bearer of such news.”
“I would rather know. I know now he will not go back on it, and whilst he protests it was done because Lettice was with child, it was not so. He loves her. He must do, for he knows what he risks to have her.”
“Cariad,” she said. I turned my hollow eyes on her. “It is possible for a person to love more than once in life, and more than one person at the same time. Were you able to be his, he would have taken you, but you were not his. You, too, loved another; your country.”
“I know. And that is what I will try to keep in mind.”
It was hard, hard to think of mercy for Robin, hard to think I could forgive even a small part of what he had done. In closing my heart, becoming a creature of ice, I had protected myself. If I forgave, dared to trust him again, I would have to open my heart anew, bear my raw and aching wounds to light and air, and to the possibility, the bitter salt, of being betrayed again. I was not sure
such a feat was possible. Even then, I knew part of my heart would always be closed to Robin now.
“When will you let the court understand you know of this?” Blanche asked.
“Are people talking?”
Blanche inclined her head. “Most people know. They think you remain unaware, and when you find out, will take the Earl’s head.”
“The thought has occurred more than once,” I said, attempting a smile.
“You are not that kind of woman, Elizabeth.”
“Sometimes I wonder what kind of woman I am.”
“The best of all kinds,” she said. “Strong in your opinions, passionate in your loves, and loyal to the death in your heart.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Richmond Palace
Autumn 1578
Plague was still rife in London, as October dawned. Usually, cold weather made it flee, but not so that year. The streets were awash with the fug of vinegar and burning sage. Houses, boarded up with sick people inside, were guarded by the Watch. Merchants continued to trade in areas that were thought safe, or safer than others, but coins were exchanged through bowls of cleansing vinegar.
And it seemed the sickness in my capital was echoing that of my body. Although I had not plague, I was suffering. In addition to the aching in my mouth, at times a mere grumble of the gums and at others a ferocious agony that allowed no rest, sudden fits of panic had arisen again.
I suspected it was to do with my thoughts of marrying Anjou. Even though delivering such a blow to Robin would have served the mistress of spite within me handsomely, the thought of marrying did not come without fear. One night, as I was working at my desk, panic fell. I seemed to be standing in a room, with Thomas Seymour watching me. As he approached, hungry eyes gleaming with malice, I screamed.
Yet no sound came from my open mouth. I was screaming, but nothing could be heard. Helpless, unable to call for aid or protect myself, I watched as he stalked towards me, a cat preying upon a wounded mouse.
I awoke. My head was stuck to the parchment piled on my desk by the sweat of my brow. I could not breathe. Even though I realised this had been but a dream, I had to gasp words until my women understood to open all the windows and stand back. From nine that night until one of the next morning, I was in distress. Each time I calmed, fear rose again, unbidden and unwelcome. My women wanted to send for doctors, but I told them to bring Dee to court. He arrived early the next morning, after riding through the night from Mortlake to reach me.
“It was panic, not sickness,” I said.
“Doctor Bayly says you have suffered pains in your side and belly, these past few days, Majesty,” Dee said, examining a sample of my urine.
“That is true. But this was a fit of panic. I was dreaming and in my dreams did not like what I saw.”
“May I enquire as to the nature of the dream?”
“A fear of the past, which often returns to haunt me.”
Dee paused in his examination of my piss. “Sometimes, when visions of the past return, it is to warn us of something similar occurring in the present,” he said, his eyes solemnly regarding me over the top of the vial.
I saw wisdom in his words. My mind had become frightened, thinking I would go through with the Anjou match, and had sought to remind me of a time when all power had been stripped from me.
Although that fit, and others, passed, there was more to assail me. I was in constant pain with my teeth, and Robin’s betrayal weighed upon me. Emotionally and physically a wreck, I struggled to do even simple tasks.
When Walsingham returned home he was so alarmed by my frail appearance that he all but commanded me to allow my doctors to consult with others in London, and with Dee further, to see if this condition was natural or if I was plagued by dark magic. He also counselled against marriage.
“What if Anjou becomes King of France?” he asked, sitting at my bedside. “England would be drawn into whatever conflict France is.”
“Measures could be put in place against that,” I said, my voice muffled as I spoke through layers of wool and compresses.
“You are playing a game, Majesty. And as your Secretary I need to know the rules.”
“I am considering marriage, Mr Secretary. Marriage and love are games where it seems there are no rules.”
Walsingham did not believe I was in earnest, and neither did my people. London bookmakers were laying two-to-two against Anjou ever stepping on England’s shores, three-to-one against a marriage taking place. Preachers denounced the union in the pulpits, and I sent word I would have them whipped if they persisted. Ballads were sung about London. “Therefore good François, rule at home, resist not our desire. For here is nothing else for thee, but only sword and fire.”
In public, I maintained I was considering marriage. In my heart, I was unsure.
When I found no sleep, Robin came. I was cold, but he endured it, staying up all night to read to me. He helped physicians brew remedies and sought out books he thought would help. I could see he was trying and in my constant discomfort, he offered some consolation.
One event that cheered my rumpled spirits was to hear Don John had died on the first day of October. Plague had visited him, and he fell victim to its power. I could not mourn for a man who had done so much ill by making terms of peace and then ignoring them, still less could I forgive he had conspired to marry Mary and seize my throne. In the wake of his death, Phillip sent Alexander Farnese, Duque de Parma to the Netherlands at the head of a new, larger army. Although his numbers were impressive, they were mostly comprised of mercenaries, a further drain on Phillip’s already decrepit purse. The Duque was short of funds to purchase more troops, and his lines of communication with Spain were poor. I hoped this Duque would have no more success than Don John.
The arrival of Palma led to Orange appointing a new governor for Douai. The governor expelled Allen’s men, hopefully for good this time, and whilst this was good for us in one way, in another it was bad. Walsingham had word that men were heading for other lands, England amongst them. Catholics acting against me in my realm were soon to receive reinforcements.
Bess came to court that autumn. Shrewsbury had sent her to enquire about an increase in the allowance granted to Mary of Scots, and to ask that his expenses be paid, but Bess had another mission, and if you cannot guess what that mission was by now, I will name you a fool.
Arbella was then living near Dunstable, a precaution against the plague. Since the whole court was shored up in Richmond Palace, another precaution, there was little in the way of suitable rooms for Bess, but Robin offered her a small set of apartments. My trust in Robin was not great at this time, and this offer made me only more suspicious. Was he backing Arbella as my heir?
“I cannot increase the allowance of the Queen of Scots,” I said to Bess when she arrived. “Nor that of Arbella. The girl is but a chit, Bess. Two hundred pounds a year is ample for her needs.”
“But as a noble girl, with royal blood in her veins…” Bess said and I stopped her.
“I will think on the matter. That is all you will get from me at this time.”
I looked at Bess. She was fifty-one, but did not look a day over forty. Time preserves some fortunate women, and she was one whom that old master looked upon kindly. Still handsome, and possessed of quickness of mind and fire of spirit, I could not see why, if rumours were correct, Shrewsbury would turn from his wife and head for the dulling glamour of the Queen of Scots.
“Tell me,” I said. “How does my cousin do?”
“She does well, Majesty, although you would know it not from her constant complaints.”
I smiled. “What does she look like, these days?”
“Still handsome, Majesty,” Bess said, reluctance evident in her tone. “Her illness offers fragility to her looks, which some men find attractive.”
“Men who find fragility attractive are fools. Better to have a partner of equal fire and grace than one who requires being saved.”
“
My thoughts were the same, Majesty.”
“I am wary of men who find fragility, or fear, alluring in a woman. I think it speaks of a defect in their nature, that they would find fright attractive.”
“I concur most strongly, Majesty. What use is a damsel in distress?”
“Use only for those with a weak will and lack of courage.”
“I could not agree more.”
*
“In winter?” I asked, my voice muffled by the swelling in my cheeks.
“He is willing to go, and is aware of the perils of the journey,” said Walsingham. “Madam, something must be done. If you will not agree to the offending teeth being pulled, we must have another remedy. We need you, and you are absent a great deal of late.”
