Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  Randolph had suspected there might be an attempt on Rizzio’s life, but he had not believed for a moment that Mary herself might be put in danger. I found out then that he had written to Cecil, asking that he try to warn the Queen her favouritism was putting her friend in danger, for she would not listen to Randolph’s warnings. Cecil said he had not had time to even bring the dispatch to me before the attack came. Without realising it, Randolph had made the rebels take swifter action than intended. Fearing his letter might cause English intervention, the conspirators had acted fast so no warning or aid could be given to the Queen.

  I did linger over the possibility that Cecil had known, and perhaps had even engineered the attack on Rizzio. It was not out of the bounds of possibility. Cecil had motive enough for having been involved. Rizzio had been a Catholic, and had exerted great influence over Mary. The attack had also placed my cousin in great peril, and, had the rebel lords managed to hold on to Mary, would have usurped her power in Scotland. Removing Rizzio and making Mary a captive to her Protestant lords would have been beneficial to Cecil, and to England, in some ways. Cecil protested he had had nothing to do with the attack, and I did not press him further. However horrified I was by the attack on my cousin, it would not have been to my benefit to pursue Cecil for it. I needed him, and at times such considerations outweigh even the most pressing of moral objections. Sometimes I had to do what I thought was wrong, for the sake of England. Besides, I had no firm proof Cecil was involved.

  I sent Robert Melville, brother of Mary’s ambassador, to Scotland, to inform my cousin that she had my sympathy and support. I think, given all that had occurred of late between us, she was surprised. “You have shown that the magnanimity and good nature of your predecessors surpass every passion in you, and thus placed me under such an obligation that I do not know how I shall ever repay you,” she wrote. I wasn’t sure if Mary was entirely convinced. My predecessors had hardly been magnanimous towards Scotland so I wondered if this was a jibe. But whatever her suspicions, it was a start. And I was determined to show that, no matter our problems, at such a time I stood with my cousin. No man had the right to attack his Queen.

  I took to wearing her miniature on a golden chain at my waist. My Council believed this incident might encourage something similar in England, and my security was doubled. I was worried not only about myself, but Robin too. These traitors had slain Mary’s favourite for jealousy and fear of his influence. Even hating Robin, as I did at that moment, I did not want him dead.

  Cecil urged me to act with caution, especially with regards to supporting Mary, but I would not listen. I had to show unequivocally that such an attack was unacceptable. At that time, I did not even care about Mary’s recent affirmation that she was the rightful Queen of England. Solidarity was required. I could not allow anyone to speak well of this incident, even if they saw benefit for England. I had no wish to find myself someday in the same position Mary had faced. I ordered my court to think on Mary with generosity, admiration and love.

  “My cousin hath been abused and put down, and yet risen to show her greatness over those who sought to harm her,” I announced to the crowded Presence Chamber. “She has shown that those whom God places on the throne can never be removed by will or greed of man. For a Queen, and one carrying an unborn child, no less, to be treated with such disdain and dishonour is not a mark against her name, but against those who sought to harm her!” I narrowed my eyes. “Let all men know that such insults against royalty will never be tolerated. Let all men know that such actions, against one chosen by God, will be met with the strongest force, and deadliest retaliation.”

  Letters flooded back and forth between us, each one more affectionate than the last. We reclaimed some of our past affection and friendship by avoiding any difficult subjects. I began to think of her with great esteem. Faking a miscarriage, fooling her husband, escaping the palace and taking back her country… It was easy to admire her. “I pray that you will have an easier confinement than you have had pregnancy,” I wrote to her. “I, too, am grown big with the desire for good news. If it were within my power, my good sister, I would name you my heir.”

  “Words cannot express my gratitude to you, my beloved sister,” Mary wrote. “Your efforts to promote my claim do not go unnoticed, and your gentle affection for me, at such a time as this, only causes me to think ill on all the times I have heeded those who would tear us apart. I am sure, that in our hearts, we have ever been as sisters to each other.”

  As winter faded, my cousin was back in unquestioned control of her country. If you had asked me then, I would have told you I considered Mary my true heir. I would have said that the Queen of Scotland had proved herself.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Whitehall Palace

  Winter-Spring 1566

  If my relationship with Mary had improved, my friendship with Robin only knew fresh grief. From one day to the next I knew not what my feelings were for him; hatred, anger, agony, misery, love… He ripped my heart to shreds, and I did all I could to wound him in return. Lettice had returned to court, and with her return came only new sorrow for me as Robin used her to rouse my jealousy. When I found Robin and Lettice one day locked in an embrace in a corner of my rooms, I exploded at him. “You seek to break my heart, Robin!” I screamed as Lettice sped away. “You make my ladies into your whores! You play with my affections!”

  “As you do to me, with Heneage!” he retorted. “You put him above me! You turn to him where only you came to me before!”

  “Why should I come to you?” I bellowed, beside myself. “You have shown time and time again that I cannot trust you, my lord.”

  I ordered him out. Robin later claimed he was ill, and could not perform his duties. I knew it was a lie. I sent Lettice to her husband’s estates in disgrace and berated her unfortunate mother, Katherine Knollys, for her daughter’s behaviour. When Robin eventually showed up for his duties, he was sullen. We managed a few words before he asked to leave court. “I would rather be away from court at this time, Majesty,” he hissed. “I feel I am not welcome here.”

  “And what of your duties to me, my lord?” I countered waspishly.

  “Give my post as Master of Horse to your Carey cousin, Lord Hudson, Majesty, if you wish to be rid of me for good. The man wants the title, and has done so for years.”

  “You seek to instruct me, do you, Robin?” I asked coldly. “You forget again, my lord, who is sovereign of England.”

  “I forget nothing.”

  “Neither do I, my lord Earl.” My tone was dark, dripping with hatred. Even Robin stared to hear me talk so. “Leave my presence, but not the court if you value your head, my lord Earl,” I said. “Your Queen will decide when your usefulness has ended, not you!”

  I watched him go and believed I hated him. He was draining me of all goodness. I had grown so thin that bones could be clearly seen under the delicate veneer of my skin. My skin dried and flaked; I could count every one of my ribs just by looking in a mirror. I was falling apart. Robin sent word by letter that he wanted to leave court. Thrusting his missive at Blanche, I shouted at her “tell the Earl of Leicester that he can go from court, and the Devil may take him for all I care!”

  Robin left and what was left of my heart went with him.

  Even though he had hurt me, even though he had done me so much wrong, I was lost without him. I had lost too much already. I became despondent and pensive. Soon, I had not energy to rise from my bed, and lay within its covers staring out at the Thames, watching the birds as they came and went, free, as I would never be. I had lost everything. My friends fell from my grasp like sand and I was alone and unloved. Prophesies and gossip that I would die scrambled about court like cats with burning tapers tied to their tails. Cecil grew so worried that he sent for Robin, but when Robin returned, he was in no mood to make friends.

  “You look thin, Your Majesty,” he noted when he was brought to me.

  “As you look angry still,” I retor
ted, gaining a burning look of darkness and flame from my once-friend. “Are you in a mood to apologise to me, my lord? Or have you only come to tell me you may do as you wish, and flaunt your lust for other women in my face?”

  “If I am to apologise, you must too,” he demanded. “You have done as much harm to us as I have, and all for retribution for envy and jealousy.”

  “Are you not guilty of the same?” I shouted. “Spending your time with others, flirting with them, throwing them in my face? And for what, my lord? To goad me into marriage? Will there be no end to this, Robin? We twist in circles, like cats about a dead fish.”

  “There can be an end if you marry me.” He glared at me.

  It was the least enticing proposal I had ever received.

  “You may leave court again, my lord Earl,” I said, suddenly weary and downcast. “You are not welcome here.” Robin left for his estates. And once more I was left to my misery.

  “He will not ever be simply a friend to me, Blanche,” I said to her later that night.

  “He cannot set aside his love, either,” she noted, pouring ale for me and adding boiled water. “All men believe they know what is best for the women they love. It is in their nature to seek to dominate and control, for that is what they are taught is their natural role. You confuse this idea in him, Majesty, with your independence and your wish to remain free, and so he knows not what to do. That is why he keeps on trying the same thing. He has no other model to turn to.”

  “Then he is more a fool than ever I took him for.”

  “Are we not all fools, when we love?” Blanche’s words, so like those of Kat so many years ago, made me ponder. But I could not call Robin back. I was too hurt, too proud… and yet I had no strength, no courage, without him.

  *

  In April, Princess Cecilia left for Sweden. The shine had been wiped from her presence at court like a cheap spoon washed too many times. As she left she declared she was “glad to get out of this country” just as all those who had loaned her money and goods were glad to find their coin back in their pockets, since I had insisted her brother pay her debts.

  Helena remained in England, and entered my service as a maid of honour. Immediately proving useful in my chambers, she was hard-working and infinitely charming when visitors came to call. She made fast friends with Blanche, who was delighted with her. “She is a sweet and modest girl,” Blanche said with genuine, high approval. “And yet there is a spirit within her which is strong and true. If I did not know better, I would say there was Welsh blood in those Swedish veins.”

  “Is every person with goodness in them of Welsh descent, then?” I teased.

  “You and I are Welsh, my Queen, are we not?” Blanche asked with a grin. “Cecil has Welsh blood, and Parry was a true son of the valleys. Think as you will, but I find the valour and nobility of my ancient race brings much that is good into the English Court.”

  At the same time Cecilia left, Lannoy attempted to leave England in secret. Failing to produce a potion of everlasting life, or endless gold, he was found trying to sneak away, after having used up all the money I had granted him. Unable to prove his innocence, Lannoy was confined to the Tower accused of “greatly abusing” my patience and generosity. He sent a message that if allowed to continue his studies, he could have a return on my investment in weeks, perhaps a month, but I was losing patience with him as swift as I was losing faith in his promises.

  “Allow him to continue his work, inside the Tower, Cecil,” I said, staring from the window with a furrowed brow. “But I hold little hope of success.”

  “There are others we might employ who claim to have success in the same venture, Majesty,” Cecil informed me.

  “I am weary of these alchemists,” I told him. “Promises are worth nothing if nothing is what is produced. Allow Lannoy to attempt to save his reputation and my faith in him, but if you promote more alchemists, Cecil, do so with your own money.”

  To me, the idea of everlasting life was growing only more unpleasing. I had once said I thought it must be a lonesome existence, and in my present state of depression, I believed it all the more so. Was there anything worth living eternally for?

  “I am not made to be immortal,” I said to the air about me as Cecil left. “I am a creature of blood and bone, of love and pain. I am not made to last for all time.”

  Blanche was deeply concerned and wrote to Robin, telling him I was hurt by his late behaviour, but only more so by his refusal to write to try to make amends. By the end of May, Blanche had convinced him to return to court, but our friendship was not easy. Neither of us talked about what had driven us apart. I was too hurt, too raw, to make such an attempt.

  When Robin returned I was surprised to see that he had become as gaunt as I, and had dark circles under his eyes. “Have you found sleeping to be a problem, Robin?” I asked gently as we pulled our horses to walk through the park. “You look as though you have.”

  “I am fine, Majesty,” was his stiff and formal reply.

  I sighed and led my horse away. He did not want to be my friend; that much was clear. Having him back like this was almost as bad as having him gone.

  *

  Cecil decided now was the time to demonstrate to me the ills of choosing Robin as a husband. And, as was ever Cecil’s way, he made a list, comparing Robin to the Archduke Charles. In every way Robin, of course, came out the worst: he was of common blood; he would bring nothing of wealth or power to England; his marriage to Amy had been childless, and therefore there was a possibility he was sterile; he was hated by many, and suspected of his wife’s murder; if I married him then all would believe I had been complicit in his wife’s murder… “And the match would only ever be seen as a carnal union, Majesty,” Cecil said, finishing his list. “Such marriages always begin in pleasure, and end in sorrow.”

  “I am as far as ever I will be, Spirit, from considering marrying the Earl of Leicester,” I said despondently.

  Robin heard of this conversation, and Cecil’s list, and removed himself from court yet again. He went to his estates in Norfolk. When he again failed to write to me, I wrote him a terrible letter. Filled with rage and hatred, my spite sparkled from the pages.

  “You think yourself so above all others that you no longer believe you have need to respect or glory in me as your ruler,” I wrote. “You have become vain, proud, and arrogant. You force your will upon me and value my friendship and love no more. You have become a stranger, Robin, a face I no longer recognise and a heart I no longer love. You have no respect for me, for my position, or for the love which was once strong between us. God help me if I ever showed you affection so deep it could turn all that was once good within you to evil. You have altered and changed. You have brought me low. You have turned the love within me to hatred. And yet, I grieve without you. I know not now whether I grieve so long and dark because my friend is absent from my side, or if sorrow assails me because the friend who was once more dear to my heart than any other, has truly been destroyed.”

  Robin received my letter, and was amazed at the outpouring of grief, malevolence and rage. He sent a letter to Throckmorton, not daring to send it directly to me. “I have received your missive, my lord, and another from one whom it has always been my great comfort to hear from, but in such sort that I know not what to impute the difference to… I never wilfully offended. Foul faults have been found in some. My hope was that one only might have been forgiven, yet it seems she hath forgotten me. If many days’ service, and not a few years’ proof have made trial of unremovable fidelity, what shall I think of all past favour, which brings about such an utter casting off of all that was before?” Robin went on for some pages about his confusion, and my unkindness. He finished by saying he was so miserable that “a cave in the corner of oblivion or a sepulchre for perpetual rest are the best homes I could wish to return to.”

  Throckmorton showed me the letter. Robin had included another for me. It was signed at the end not with the symbol he alw
ays used of two eyes, for my pet name for him, but with a heart, coloured black, to show his broken heart. I wept over his letter when I was alone. I wanted so much for all of this to be true, for Robin to truly grieve as I did. I called him home to court. When he arrived, I saw he had lost more weight. “You should have more care for yourself, Robin,” I said gently. “I do not like to see you looking unwell.”

  “You, too, look as though you have suffered, Majesty,” he said. There was no pleasure in his voice. He took no pride in seeing me brought low.

  “You will resume your duties and no more will be said,” I said and then my face crumpled. “Robin…” I breathed, tears in my eyes. “I have missed you so.”

  He took me in his arms. “I will not leave again,” he murmured into my hair. “I cannot be without you.”