Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  I had made the choice I had to make; for me, for Robin, for England… and yet although I knew it was right, it felt nothing other than wrong. I had chosen not to marry, and never to marry Robin. I could not marry the man I loved. His wife had died in mysterious circumstances and to marry him now, or in the future, would only confirm to my enemies and to my people that he had murdered Amy, and I had been complicit in that barbarous act. He would remain at my side, as my servant, and yet I knew myself separated from him forever. This was a special torture fate had invented for me. My spirits were low. I did not want to eat and sleep ran from me. Kat was not the only one who worried for my health, but she was the most outspoken.

  My eyes roamed over the slippery banks and water of the Thames. The swans were gathering; their grey and white feathered cygnets swimming between them. They hooted and hissed as boats navigated around them, their wings like fierce, arched sails. Some rose up, beating their wings, making rivulets and waves in the slate-grey depths. The river moved as though an old maid were knitting under its surface, making criss-cross patterns through the water with her needles. The swans would soon fly from England. I wished I could do the same and leave my troubles far behind me.

  “What has appetite to do with eating?” Kat scolded, picking up plates of roasted capon and venison pie from the table. I had received the meal without interest, toyed with the dishes and then left without eating to stare restlessly from the window. “You need to eat, Majesty, or else you will die. This is not a matter of appetite, but one of survival.”

  “I have long known how to survive, Kat. Allow me to know what is required to achieve that aim.”

  “Elizabeth!” Kat’s patience broke. Her voice clipped through the air like the clopping of hooves on a frost-covered courtyard. I turned and stared dully at her. She glowered back, her eyes bright with defiance, her cheeks pink with anger. “Enough of this!” she exclaimed, striding towards me with a chunk of marchpane in her hand. She thrust it at me, stood back and folded her arms. Kat’s stare would have cowered nations. “Eat!”

  Obediently, I put the sweet marzipan into my mouth and chewed. Kat glared, trying to find further reason to be angry, and then her face tumbled. She dropped her hands and sat beside me. “You are skin and bones, Elizabeth.” She nudged me with her shoulder. There was a catch in her voice.

  I swallowed the last of the sugary marchpane. “I have just not felt like eating, Kat. It will pass, as all things do.”

  Kat sighed. “I know these past months have been hard for you, my love.” Her tone turned gentle. “But you cannot let yourself waste away. You are the Queen, Elizabeth.”

  “I know well enough who and what I am, Kat, as I have proved. Have I not given up much for the good of my country?”

  Kat paused. There was compassion in her eyes, but she agreed with my choice. “Well,” Kat went on, not wanting to pursue a line of conversation we both knew could go nowhere. “I know that queens, like everyone else, fall down and die if they don’t eat. So from now on, think on mealtimes as part of your duties to the realm, Your Majesty.”

  I reached out and touched her face. There were traces of grey in her brown hair, and lines at the corners of her eyes, but to me she would always be beautiful and young. “I will think of you, Kat.” I ran my long fingers down the curve of her jaw. “And I will eat.”

  “That will do well enough.” Kat’s face puckered. She opened her arms and I sank into them. I had no tears left now. I had cried for so long when first I knew Robin was lost to me that I believed I had used up all my tears. I was dry, parched inside… My heart had shrivelled like a dried walnut. It was torn and raw, dry and sore, and riddled with stinging, acid guilt. I had told Robin there may still be hope for us to marry, once the scandal of his wife’s death died down. It was not so. I knew there was no path I could take that would lead me to Robin now. That time of dreaming was done. But I loved him. My heart would never, in truth, let go of him. I had lied, seeking to keep him; a craven act, born from my instinct for survival, for I could not do without him.

  “Master Cecil asks for admittance,” Kat said. “Shall I let him in?”

  “Cecil believes I have let my responsibilities to the kingdom drift away, whilst I concentrated on pleasures.” My tone was bitter, but my most able advisor had a point.

  “We all make mistakes, my love,” Kat consoled. “God made us human, not divine. Even the angels made mistakes.”

  “I am no angel, Kat.” I lifted my head and smiled. “And I am far from divine.”

  “We all have to make choices in life, my love.” She put her hands into mine; they were warm against the coolness of my flesh. The scent of lavender rose from her skin. It was an old, familiar scent, one that reminded me of childhood, of nights when she lay in my bed, singing me to sleep. “And for you, being Queen, your choices are harder than those of others.”

  I inclined my head. “What news is there from about court?”

  Kat lifted her shoulders. “Much the same, my lady… All still speak of Lord Robin and the death of his wife. Many believe you will marry him now that he is free. Others say you will not.” She lifted a finger and whirled it slowly in the air. “And so the world goes on, my love, as ever it did before.”

  “And I must re-join it.”

  “And you must re-join it,” she agreed. “But first, you must eat, or they will say there is not a queen who rules over England, but a wraith.”

  “Bring me some bread and quince jelly.” I gave in. “And I will eat. Then, Cecil may come in.”

  “It is sometimes better, my lady, to concentrate on work when you are at a loss in life.”

  I pulled her to me. “My wise old hen,” I whispered. “What would I do without you?”

  “You will never have to find that out, Elizabeth.”

  I released her. Kat made for the table to cut thick slices of quince jelly and slathered it on fine, white bread with yellow butter. Although I normally loved such sweet fare, the smell made my stomach curl. But, for Kat, I lifted the bread to my mouth and ate. It did not taste sweet but strange and foreign. Everything tasted bitter these days. The sourness in my heart was consuming me. I was sad. I felt lost. I had to find a way to stop my resentment devouring me. Kat was right. I should work. That was how I would lose this feeling. That was how I would put my foolish dreams behind me.

  “Send for Cecil,” I said, washing my sticky fingers in a silver bowl of perfumed water. I took a linen cloth from her hands and dried my own. “If I have denied myself one marriage, I still have another to maintain,” I murmured, “with England.”

  *

  “I did say that the plan was not without risk, Majesty.” Cecil leaned back in his chair, tapping his quill against his customary pile of parchment on the table. I had begun to wonder if Cecil was always accompanied by a mound of papers. Was he able to sleep at night without the scratching sound of parchment rustling and the plopping clink of a quill entering an ink pot?

  “You did, Spirit, and it was noted at the time, as it is now,” I agreed, to set his mind at rest. “Have you taken all the ornaments that once decorated my sister’s chapel?”

  He nodded, narrowing his eyes at his list and running the feather end of his quill down it. “There are perhaps… eight thousand ounces of gold and silver from your sister’s papist chapel, Majesty,” he informed me. “From crosses, cruets, pyxes, incense boats, bells and other sundries.” He glanced up, a wary smile on his face. “We have plundered your royal chapel, my lady.”

  “Plunder away, Spirit. I require nothing more than the candlesticks, the prayer books and the three crosses I asked to be retained. The coinage needs that wealth more than my chapel does.”

  “Although all such items smack of popery, Majesty, it was still a generous sacrifice.”

  “I am sure my sister’s grave is restless this day, Cecil.” I waved a hand at Katherine Knollys to bring me a cup of small ale. “But I will bear the outpouring of her ghost’s grief when we meet in the li
ght of God.”

  Cecil chuckled at my jest, but I am sure he did not believe my sister would be in Heaven waiting for me. Despite his reverence for the monarchy, my sister’s ardent Catholicism and zealous persecution of Protestants in her reign were reasons he believed she might be excluded from Heaven. I did not think this was the case. For all the ill my sister did, I did not believe God would reject her soul. And on the day she and I met once more, I would have to explain why I had melted down the items she had loved so dear from her royal chapel.

  During the last years of my father’s reign, and those of my brother and sister, the coinage of England had been debased. Reducing the amount of silver or gold in each coin had helped my predecessors boost royal revenues, but a country can only go so long debasing its coinage before troubles arise. Debasing coins devalues their worth and decreases the spending power of the people. It was time to restore the coinage before it was permanently de-valued in the eyes of the world. It was something I was determined to set right, but this restoration came at a price. I had to sacrifice gold and silver plate from the royal collection to underwrite the cost, and a large portion had come from the once-glorious chapel of my sister, Mary. Although I believed God requires no wealth and ornamentation in His house, the sacrifice was still a wrench. I had loved and admired many of the superb ornaments of my sister’s chapel. But much like my recent sacrifice to give up the man I loved, for the country I ruled, I was required to do the same with many glorious items in the royal collection. This was another personal sacrifice for the England I wished to see emerge from the shadows of her troubled past.

  “We still do not know if it will work entirely, Majesty,” Cecil noted, his nose almost brushing the parchment as he checked his figures. “But I believe we should have enough to revalue the coinage.”

  “Good, I want England’s coin trusted once more.” I ran a finger over my lips and felt scaly skin. Despite the mixture of goose fat and cochineal I was wearing, my lips were rough and dry. Kat had told me, clucking in her fretful way, that this was due to my not eating enough. Every ill, apparently, was due to my lack of appetite these days. Katherine Knollys handed me the small ale, watered just the way I liked it and I smiled in thanks, putting it to my lips. As I drank, the cracks in my lips stung. I set the goblet down.

  “There is word from France, too, Majesty,” Cecil continued.

  I lifted my carefully plucked eyebrows. “If it is another report from Throckmorton on the unmatched loveliness of my cousin, the Queen, I can do without hearing it, Spirit,” I retorted waspishly. “If the man were any more in love with Mary Stewart he would sail into the clouds on tiny wings sprouted from his back, and play a harp unto Venus.”

  Cecil smiled. “It is true Throckmorton appears much taken with Queen Mary,” he agreed. “But he writes to counsel you, Majesty, about Lord Robert Dudley.”

  “Telling me not to marry Lord Robin, am I right?” Cecil inclined his head and I heaved a sigh. “I have already said I will not marry Robin, Cecil,” I said. “How many times must I say the same thing?” Every time I had to state I was not going to marry Robin the sharp blade of sorrow thrust through wounds raw and bleeding in my heart. “I am not of a mind to marry anyone.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “And that includes Lord Robin Dudley. Tell Throckmorton to cease to pester me on the matter. I am done with it.”

  “I fear, Majesty, we may never be done with it.” Cecil gazed at me with sympathy.

  “Aye… That would seem to be the case, Spirit, for none will let the matter rest.”

  “Perhaps if your Majesty would distance yourself from Dudley, for a time, it may be easier for your people to grasp the idea that you are not intending to wed him.”

  “Robin will not place a ring on my finger, Cecil, but he has my trust and my friendship. I will not abandon him, and certainly not now, as he stands with the eyes of the world gazing at him with suspicion. I am no flighty friend, or fanciful soul. He has little protection but I, Spirit, and I will not serve him to his enemies trussed up like a winter hog with an apple in his mouth.” I shook my head. “No… I do not desert friends, Cecil. England is a demanding mistress. I have sacrificed much for her already, let that be enough.” Cecil allowed the subject to drop, but I had no doubt I would find it sneaking back soon enough. “Is there any other news?” I asked.

  “Ambassador de Quadra is keen for an interview, madam. He is most distressed you have ignored him of late.”

  I sniffed. “And my days were so peaceful without him, what does he want of me now?”

  “What else, my lady? To marry you to a Hapsburg.”

  “Bring him in to see me tomorrow, Cecil, but ensure the meeting is brief. I am in no humour to listen to de Quadra’s whining.”

  “I will make certain the ambassador understands.”

  “Excellent, and any other news?”

  “Only that Lady Douglas Howard, or Lady Sheffield, I should say now, since she is married, has sent some good mutton for Your Majesty’s table from her husband’s lands since she knows you are fond of it. Also, Viscount Hereford and his new wife send their thanks for the gifts you sent on their wedding day,” Cecil went on. “Walter Devereux is quite delighted with his new wife.”

  “Whether she feels quite the same remains to be seen,” I noted dryly, thinking of my intoxicating cousin, Lettice, and her new husband. It had been a good match, and a healthy rise in status for my Boleyn-blood cousin, but I had suspicions her true fancy ran in another direction. In fact, the wandering of Lettice’s hazel-green eyes over the body of Robin had been reason enough to hurry along her match with Devereux … She was far too tempting a woman to leave unwed and loose about the court.

  “Well, I hope they will be happy together,” I said. “Devereux is a good man.”

  “As Lettice is a good woman?” Cecil’s moustache rustled with amusement.

  I chuckled. “Perhaps, Cecil… that too remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter Three

  Hampton Court

  Winter 1560

  “How are you, Robin? With all that is going on at court of late?” I spoke awkwardly to my Master of Horse, and cursed my voice for betraying me. I had tried to avoid further talk about marriage, trying to conceal my lie in silence. Robin sensed my unease. We had parried about each other for weeks and were stilted, ill at ease with each other. There was a distance between us. I wanted to remedy this, but knew not how. Robin was more than my friend. He was a part of my very soul. This strange, strained friendship we had entered was not to my liking.

  Robin shrugged. “The rumours continue, but all see that I have your support, Majesty, and that settles the matter in some minds. In others, it does not.”

  “I wish they could all trust in you and be satisfied. The case has been heard, the truth has been told.” I sighed. “If they could look into your heart, Robin, they would know there was no cause to suspect you.”

  “Some would rather judge me without knowing me, Majesty. It is easier that way.”

  “True enough, Robin,” I agreed. “Many people judge on rumour and gossip alone. They do not welcome the truth, especially if it is less exciting than their fantasies.”

  We wandered through Hampton Court’s icy gardens. The paths were white, sparkling silver serpents wending their way into the distance. England was beautiful in her winter clothes. Hoary frost sparkled on bare tree branches. Ice shone like diamonds on plants still bearing leaves. Fragile and brittle, those last leaves fought on, clinging to their branches and twigs, defying the cold wind. The skies were streaked blue and grey, silver and bright white. There was a taste of iron on the wind, promising snow soon to come. My eyes shied from the dazzling light of the sun on the frost, even as they were attracted by its unearthly beauty. Winter is so stark, and yet so glorious. I marvelled at the beauty of the year’s death. I thought about the coming of the spring, and new life. More than usual, I needed to believe in the resurgence of life. Death sparkled about us, but He would not r
ule forever. Spring would come, banishing Him. There was hope in such thoughts.

  “I wondered if Your Majesty had taken time to think about my suit.” My heart leapt with panic as Robin spoke. I had no wish to speak of this again. I wanted to leave the matter, to forget, to simply be together as we had been; free and easy in our love, without the pressure of marriage. Guilt gnawed at me, whispering that I should tell him the truth. And yet I did not dare. He will leave you and find another to love, murmured my traitorous heart. Do not reveal the truth. We must keep him for ourselves.