Текст книги "Queen of This Realm"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
Соавторы: Jean Plaidy
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I had the men and it was part of my special talent to have the right men in the places where they could serve me best. I believed that we would defeat the Spaniards even though I was fully aware of their might. They had the largest armada in the world; they were practiced seamen; but the largest did not mean the best and I would stake Englishmen against Spaniards at any time.
Philip was putting up an absurd claim to the throne of England with himself as the legitimate heir through the House of Lancaster because John of Gaunt's daughters had married into Portugal and Castile. I was always uneasy when people laid claim to the throne; my own claim was not founded on such a rock-like foundation that I could lightly dismiss them. It proved to be rather a rash act on the part of Philip for it alienated the Scots who were certainly not going to help Philip come to the throne when in their opinion their own James, son of Mary Stuart, was the true heir.
The Pope had put himself beside Philip. His aim was to destroy me and he was trying to raise the whole of Papal Europe against me. There was a suggestion from some members of the Council that we should massacre all the leading Catholics in the country to avoid an uprising—a kind of repeat performance of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew's Eve in Paris.
I rejected that immediately. I hoped I had brought a certain tolerance to the country. I know that open Catholic worship was forbidden, but in all other ways those Catholics were good subjects. I was right in this, for many of them proved of considerable value in our stand against the invader.
Rumors were rife and there was a mood of tension throughout the country. I believed that the sooner the battle began, the more relieved we should all feel, but I was horrified when I heard whispers that I had sent an agent to Rome to come to terms with the Pope, for that I would never do. I was head of the Church of England and I would have no foreigner take my place. I ordered the Bishop of London to anathematize the Pope from the pulpit at St Paul's.
Ships! That was what we needed. Thanks to our foresight over the years we had a considerable navy, but Drake had said that we needed more ships and he was right.
I asked my people for ships and how heartening it was when the City of London, being asked for five thousand men and fifteen ships, immediately offered ten thousand men and thirty ships. That was the spirit of the people when we went out to face the armada.
The Spaniards were boastful. They said there would be one battle at sea and one on land and England would be theirs. I did not boast. I had a feeling that it was dangerous to do so, tempting the fates; but I was supremely confident. Walsingham's men were indefatigable in secret places and I was elated when I heard of the death of the Marquis de Santa Cruz, the Spanish admiral in charge of operations against England, for he was also one of the ablest seamen living. But for him the attack would have been launched earlier, but he, having been greatly impressed by the daring and reputation of El Draque, advised caution. He wanted his armada to be invincible and he needed time to assure himself that it was so.
Philip had upbraided him for sloth, which deeply wounded Santa Cruz, for his zeal was as keen as that of his master, but he was a wiser man. Then suddenly he became ill—no doubt through acute anxiety—and died. It was a great loss to Spain but a benefit to us.
I wanted to say: God is on our side. But I did not. I would not be boastful before victory was won and, whatever good fortune came our way in the end, no one was more conscious than I of the bitter battle which lay ahead.
Philip showed then that he was out of touch with reality when he appointed the Duke of Medina Sidonia as commander of his armada, not because of his skill and experience—he had little of either—but because he belonged to one of the noblest houses in Spain.
It was true that I had chosen Howard of Effingham, scion of one of our noblest families, but he was an able man who had been brought up in a naval tradition. His father, Lord William, and his grandfather Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, had held the post of Lord High Admiral with distinction; and my Vice Admiral was the bold Sir Francis, whose very name struck terror into the Spaniards.
I believed I was better served than Philip, and my men were defending their country which always gives an added zeal and often triumphs over the lust for conquest.
Not only were we preparing our navy but our land defenses also. Vulnerable places like Gravesend were fortified, and we put out barges to block the mouths of rivers to prevent a hostile fleet getting through. All over the country we were preparing for invasion should the gallant sailors fail to hold back the enemy at sea. It was a great joy to me to see the spirit of the people and to know that they were with me.
I was Commander-in-Chief of my army and under me was Robert as Lieutenant-General of the two armies—Lord Hunsdon in command of the second. Robert wrote to me from Tilbury—a letter which I have always preserved for it seemed to me to have been written not only by a soldier but by a lover. In it he set down his views as to how we should proceed if the Spaniards succeeded in setting foot on English soil, but through it all came his great concern for me. After setting out details of how we should march if we had to without much warning, he wrote of me.
“Now for your person, being the most dainty and sacred thing we have in this world to care for, much more for advice to be given in the direction of it, a man must tremble when he thinks of it, specially finding Your Majesty to have that princely courage to transport yourself to your utmost confines of your realm to meet your enemies and to defend your subjects. I cannot, most dear Queen, consent to that, for upon your well doing consists all and some, for your whole kingdom; and, therefore, preserve that above all. Yet will I not that so princely and so rare a magnanimity should not appear to your people and the world as it is. And thus far, if it may please Your Majesty, you may do; withdraw yourself to your home at Havering and your army, being about London, as at Stratford, East Ham, Hackney and those villages thereabout, shall be not only a defense but a ready supply to those counties in Essex and Kent if need be. In the meantime, Your Majesty, to comfort this army and people of both these counties, may, if it please you, spend two or three days to see both the camps and the forts. Tilbury is not fourteen miles at the most from Havering Bower…
“Lastly for myself, most gracious lady, you know what will most comfort a faithful servant; for there is nothing in the world I take that joy in, that I do in your good favor…”
I read and reread that letter. I kissed it; I folded it and put it away.
And I prepared to leave for Tilbury.
SO I INSPECTED MY troops at Tilbury. Beside me rode Robert, as fine and handsome a figure as ever was, and before me the Earl of Ormond, carrying the sword of state, while a page followed holding my plumed helmet. I was bare-headed and wore a polished steel corselet and a voluminous farthingale. When they saw me my troops broke into prolonged cheering and I was so moved that I was near to tears. I knew that since my accession I had enjoyed a love from my people rarely experienced by a monarch. I had worked hard to preserve it and to appear well in their eyes. They forgave me my faults and remembered my virtues—and that, of course, is the meaning of true love.
They waited for me to address them, which I did in loud ringing tones.
“My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes for fear of treachery; but I do assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects; and therefore I have come amongst you as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst and heat of the battle to live or die amongst you all—to lay down for my God and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honor and my blood even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king—and of a King of England too– and think foul scorn that Parma of Spain or any Prince of Europe should dare invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonor should grow by me, I will myself take up arms—I myself will be your general, judge and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already for your forwardness, you have deserved rewards and crowns, and we do assure you on the word of a prince, that they shall be duly paid to you. For the meantime my Lieutenant-General shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble and worthy subject; not doubting by your obedience to my General, by your concord in the camp, and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my God, of my kingdoms, and of my people.”
The cheers rang out. I had never felt so proud, so determined to do well by them. My love for them was as great as theirs for me.
One man shouted: “Is it possible that any Englishman can abandon such a glorious cause or refuse to lay down his life in defense of this heroic Princess?”
That was the mood of the people. And it was the mood to bring about victory.
The events of that time are engraved on my heart forever so that I shall never forget them; nor, I venture to think, will the world. They will be talked of whenever men talk of England and will stand forever as a monument to us and an example to all other nations forevermore. Freedom is worth fighting for; it is worth paying a high price for, because to die for freedom is to leave this life in a blaze of glory which destroys our weaknesses of the past and makes us at one with the heroes.
It was a fine Friday afternoon of the nineteenth of July of that year 1588 when Captain Fleming's pinnacle arrived in haste in Plymouth Harbour with the news that the Spanish armada had been sighted off the Lizard. The whole town was agog—except its Admiral, Sir Francis Drake, who was playing a game of bowls on the Hoe.
Perhaps I was a little impatient when I first heard the story of how he had refused to abandon the game, declaring in his nonchalant way that there was plenty of time to finish the game and beat the Spaniards.
But I knew that was Drake's way. It was that in him which inspired his men with respect and the enemy with terror. Whatever his feelings, he was going to behave as though it were impossible that there could be anything but victory over the enemy.
On Saturday, the churches all over the land were full of people praying for victory. It was a solemn country on that morning, for there was not a man or a woman in England who did not know what it would mean to them if the Spaniards were victorious. Their prayers were earnest; their thoughts were with our sailors. Oh God, we prayed, never, never let the invader touch our shores.
And if they came we must be ready. But they would first have to win the battle at sea.
I had always felt that the savage sea was our ally. It had stood between us and danger many times. It was the reason why no foreign army had ever trodden our shores—except the Norman conquerors, some might say; but we were the Normans partly; we were a mixed race of Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Romans, Normans…It was the blood of all these people who made up an Englishman, so I could say with truth that no invading army had ever conquered us. And never should!
I prayed for the men in my ships. I said all the names over and over again: Achates, Aid, Antelope, Ark … all through the alphabet to Vanguard, White Bear and White Lion.
“Pray God preserve my men. Give my ships the victory they need so desperately. Take care of my great men. My Howard, my Hawkins, my Frobisher and my incomparable Drake. Give them the wit they need to make good judgment and the strength to carry it out.”
I smiled at myself. Here am I giving instructions to God, treating him as a favored subject.
“Please God,” I prayed. “Thy will be done, but let it be shown in favor of my great men.”
There were the skirmishes, the days when I arose from nights of little sleep and asked for the news. Nothing decided. We had inflicted damage on their ships. They were finding it not so easy as they had thought to. They were failing in their task to defeat the English fleet so utterly that an easy way might be cleared for Parma to sail in, bringing his troops which would take the country.
The Spaniards suffered more acutely from the weather than our sailors. They were finding their splendid galleons unwieldy. Those who were captured said that the Spanish sailors were in terror of El Draque and only slightly less so of Juan Achines, by whom they meant John Hawkins, who like Drake had in his role of pirate of the high seas struck terror into the hearts of so many.
The battle was a hard one. My men had captured several of the Spanish ships and not one of ours was lost. We had the advantage in spite of our inferior armada. We were in home waters fighting for our own country. We could endure the adverse conditions as the Spaniards could not. My admirals were at liberty to act as they thought best suited to the occasion and to take full advantage of every opportunity which offered itself, Medina Sidonia was acting all the time on instructions from Philip. It was true my admirals did not always agree. It was hardly likely that adventurers like Drake and Hawkins would abide by certain formalities natural to a gentleman of Howard's upbringing. They clashed, and my bold Drake on one occasion disobeyed Howard's orders because he believed it would have been disastrous to have obeyed them.
Drake was proved to be right. He was my finest sailor. I can never think of those most fearful yet most glorious days without seeing Drake.
The greatest advantage throughout was fighting in our own waters while the Spaniards were far from home. When they ran out of supplies they had little hope of replacing them; it was different for us. I supposed this was why they planned to take first the Isle of Wight and thus establish a base from which they could supply their ships.
The Spaniards must have been in a sorry state. Parma had been unable to reach them for he had been blockaded by the Dutch. The Spanish sailors had lost their early euphoria. Where were the angels with the protective wings now?
It was decided to send fireships into the armada. It was not the first time this method had been used with success.
I heard of my captains' hurried council later. There was not time to send to Dover for the little ships they needed; the advantage would be lost by delay, so all the captains offered their ships for the purpose. Drake gave the Thomas; Hawkins offered one of his and others were soon provided for the purpose.
There was no moon that night, and there was a breeze blowing in the direction of the assembled armada while the tide was running toward them. Conditions were ideal. Soon eight blazing ships were making their way straight for the Spaniards, sending out fire and setting them ablaze. The air was full of the sound of exploding ordnance as the fire reached the ships.
Complete demoralization throughout the Spanish armada ensued; they cut their cables and blundered about wildly; their riggings become entangled and they were blocking the way of escape for each other in the desperate attempt to escape from the fire ships. Sidonia fired off his gun trying to get the ships to assemble in some sort of order, but the call was ignored; every Spanish captain was intent on getting his ship out of reach of the fires. Thus the fireships had achieved in a few hours that certain victory for which my brave seamen had been fighting for days.
My men were ready to go in for the final attack when Howard, seeing one of the galleasses was in difficulties and realizing that it would be a rich prize, stopped to take it. It was an error because there were fighting men on the galleass who could give a good account of themselves. By pausing Howard had given Drake the opportunity to be the one who led my ships to victory. Howard's error was such as to rob him of a certain amount of the glory, for having captured the rich prize he left one of the small ships to guard it, but as it was nearer to Calais than England, the French boats came out to take it and although the English put up a good fight, artillery from the shore took part and forced my men to retire. So the entire enterprise had been a waste of time on Howard's part. I do not believe that Drake would have made such a mistake. He must have been laughing to himself as he swept down with all the squadrons on the limping Spanish armada.
The battle was not over immediately as it might have been if Howard had kept with the fleet instead of pausing; but the outcome was now sure.
It had seemed at one time that we should snatch not only victory but great prizes—enough to cover the cost of the campaign. But this was denied us. A squall arose. The weather had been our ally so far—and perhaps some would say still was, but it certainly robbed us of our prizes. Our seamen had to look to their own safety in such weather, and when the wind abated it was seen that many of the ships of the once proud Spanish armada were sinking or drifting along to the Flemish coast.
The wind ended the battle; and if we had lost the prizes we had hoped for, we had gained a glorious victory.
I HAD NOW COME to the saddest part of my life. Nothing could ever be the same for me again.
Naturally I wanted to reward the saviors of my country. I gave a pension to Howard and I made Essex a Knight of the Garter for he had played a part in the victory; but the one I wanted to reward most of all was Robert. He had not been at sea but he had been in charge of land defenses and he had worked indefatigably for our safety.
I wanted to make him Lord Lieutenant of England and Ireland, which would have given him more power than anyone in England under me. When I told him, it did me good to see his pleasure, although I was a little anxious about him for he did not look as well as usual. There was a certain pallor of his face, which was the more startling because of his natural high color.
I said: “You are not well.”
He replied that he believed he had caught a fever when he was with the army near the salt marshes in Essex.
I gave him a very special remedy which had been given to me and I told him I had had painful headaches myself of late.
I said: “You must take care of yourself. That's a command, Robert.”
He smiled at me with infinite love, and although I glowed with pleasure I kept that twinge of uneasiness which always assailed me when I thought he was not in good health. I scolded him lightly for neglecting himself and reminded him that that was the easiest way to earn my displeasure.
We were very close at that time. We always had been, but the defeat of the Spanish armada had brought home to us the intensity of our feelings and what we meant to each other.
I might have guessed there would be an outcry concerning the proposed new appointment for Robert.
Burghley was strongly against it and was supported by both Hatton and Walsingham. It was placing too much power in the hands of one man, said Burghley.
It was most unwise, declared Hatton.
“We shall have Leicester ruling us all,” declared blunt Walsingham.
I realized, of course, that in my fondness for Robert I had perhaps gone too far and as the appointment had not yet been confirmed I decided it should be put aside for a while.
Robert was bitterly disappointed, but I did my best to console him.
“You must take good care of your health,” I said. “Get well, Robin, and we will go into this matter then.”
We decided that he should go to Buxton for the baths, which had done him good before, and he said farewell and went off to make preparations for the journey.
A few days after he left I received a letter from him. I read and re-read it and shall treasure it forever. Whenever I see that handwriting it brings him back to me so clearly.
“I most humbly beseech Your Majesty,” he wrote, “to pardon your poor old servant…”
The two “o”s in poor were written to look like eyes—my name for him, which he had always loved to hear me use.
“ … to be thus bold in thus sending to know how my gracious lady doeth and what ease of her late pains she finds, being the chiefest thing in this world I do pray for, for her to have good health and long life.
“For my own poor case I continue still your medicine and find it amends much better than with any other thing that hath been given me. Thus hoping to find perfect cure at the bath, with the continuance of my wonted prayer for Your Majesty's most happy preservation, I humbly kiss your foot.
“From your old lodging at Rycott this Thursday morning, ready to take my journey.
“By Your Majesty's most faithful obedient servant,
“R. Leicester.”
That letter was written on the twenty-ninth of August. By the fourth of September he was dead.
When they brought me the news I was stunned. I could not believe it. It was some hideous joke. Death! Not Robert! He had always been so alive. He was fifty-five years old—more or less my own age. Never to see him again! Never to hear his voice! Never to wonder what secrets he was hiding behind those enigmatic eyes!
There was no savor in life. There never would be again for Robert Dudley was dead.
I ordered everyone out of my apartment and shut myself in. I would have no intrusion on my grief. I lay on my bed and thought of everything… right from the time when we were children and had danced at my father's Court; I thought of those weeks when I had been in the Tower and he had been near; I thought of the day he had come to me and laid his gold at my feet, and how he had ridden into London with me at the time of my accession. So many memories. That was all I had left now.
I took his letter and read and read it again. I kissed it. It was wet with my tears. Then I wrote on it “His Last Letter” and put it in a jewel box. I would preserve it forever. Perhaps later I could draw comfort from it, but now it only brought home to me the magnitude of my loss.
Then I took out one by one the presents he had given me over the years. They had all meant something special to me because he had given them. There was the bracelet of gold adorned with rubies and diamonds. He had given me this in a purple velvet case embroidered with Venetian gold in the year 1572 when I had been fourteen years on the throne. The following year he had given me a collar of rubies and diamonds.
I put them both on and remembered the time he had brought them to me. I could see him with his handsome dark head bent as he fixed the collar about my throat.
Then there was the white feather fan with the two magnificent emeralds on one side of the handle and the inevitable rubies and diamonds on the other.
I brought them all out, his gifts over the years, love-tokens all of them.
And, I thought, there will never be another.
How ironical was life! God had given me this magnificent victory and had taken away the one I loved—shall I say better than anything else. No, that would not be quite true. I loved my country more than anything else, more than my own life or that of Robert. And I had just been given the finest example of God's grace when my seamen with the help of His winds had scattered the mighty so-called invincible armada along the inhospitable coasts of Scotland and Ireland and driven off the Spanish menace forever. But at the same time He had dealt me this most cruel and tragic blow.
He had taken Robert from me.
Time passed, but I did not notice. There were knocks at my door, but I ignored them. I could not bear to look on anyone at this time.
I do not know how long I kept them out. I don't know whether I should have eventually let them in.
Burghley spoke to me from outside, begging me to open the door. But I just sat in stony silence. I cared for nothing. I could think of nothing but: Robert is dead.
Vaguely I heard Burghley's voice outside the door.
“Your Majesty, for God's sake open the door. Are you ill? We beg you to let us in.”
But still I sat there. I could only think of Robert, who had been so alive and now was dead.
There was a whispering outside my door. Then I heard the tremendous noise as the door burst open.
Burghley stood there. He hastened forward and seeing me cried: “Thank God. We feared for Your Majesty.” He was on his knees. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. We were very much afraid. Your Majesty, you must rouse yourself. England needs you.”
And as I looked at him—my dear tired old Spirit, who had been my good friend for so long—I knew that he was right.
I put out my hand. He took it and kissed it.
“You speak truth,” I said. “I must about my business.”
And then I began to live again.
THERE WERE RUMORS about his death. They aroused my anger to such an extent that my grief was somewhat assuaged. Could it be true? There had been so many suspicions concerning the manner in which he had removed those who stood in his way, was it possible that he had met a fate which, many said, he had meted out to others?
Could it really have been that Robert had been murdered?
I should not believe it. It was idle gossip. Heaven knew, I had suffered enough from that—and so had Robert. But rumor persisted.
His wife, that she-wolf, Lettice Knollys, had taken a lover, it was said– her husband's young Master of Horse, Christopher Blount.
How dared she! She who had the most wonderful man in the country so to demean herself…and him…by taking a lover! I never hated her so much as I did at that time, for although I had hated her for taking him from me, I hated her more for turning to someone else who must be inferior—for how could anyone equal him?
It was said that Robert had discovered the liaison and had intended to take revenge on her. But she had maneuvered that he should drink the poisoned cup which he had prepared for her.
It could not be true. No one would ever be able to do that to him. I would not believe that he had died through poison. The doctors said it was a fever and I knew he had caught that in the Essex salt marshes. He had said so himself before he went back to her.
Yet I wanted to believe it. I wanted to hate her more than I had ever done before.
One of his servants declared he had seen the Countess give the Earl a goblet, after drinking the contents of which, the Earl had collapsed.
I believed she was capable of that and if she had taken a young lover… Oh, I had warned him that he would one day come to feel her poisoned fangs.
But the autopsy revealed no poison in his body and she was exonerated; but I should never be sure for I knew that the clever Dr Julio, like many Italians, had poisons which killed and left no trace.
I hated her because he had loved her enough to brave my wrath and marry her; but I would certainly hate her more if it were proved that she had hastened his death and robbed me of the one person I loved more than I ever could anyone else.
When his will was read it did not seem that he was aware of her infidelity, for he left her well provided for and there was no hint that he had a rival for her affections.
How touched I was when I read what he had written:
“And first of all, before and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my most dear and gracious Sovereign, whose creature, under God, I have been, and who hath been a most bountiful and princely mistress…”
So he went on to praise me and to say that it had been his greatest joy in life to serve me. He prayed to God to make me the oldest prince that ever reigned over England. And he bequeathed to me a jewel with “three fair emeralds with a large table diamond in the middle and a rope of pearls to the number of six hundred.” These gifts were to have been mine when he entertained me at Wanstead…so he must have known that he was near death.
After that he went on to write of his wife:
“Next to Her Majesty, I will return to my dear wife, and set down for her that which cannot be so well as I would wish it, but shall be as well as I am able to make it, having always found her a faithful and very loving and obedient careful wife, and so do I trust this will of mine shall find her no less mindful of me being gone, than I was always of her being alive…”
He could have known nothing of her infidelity—if infidelity there was—when he wrote that. He had left her Wanstead and Drayton Basset in Staffordshire and two manors—Balsall and Long Itchington in Warwickshire. I was glad Kenilworth did not go to her. Strangely enough he acknowledged paternity of Douglass Sheffield's son—that one who called himself Robert Dudley—and he had left him well provided for. Although Kenilworth had gone to Robert's brother, Ambrose, Earl of Warwick, on his death it was to go to Robert's base-born son.
I was sure Lettice was grinding her teeth about that. The biggest prize– splendid Kenilworth—was not for her.
I was glad. I could not have borne thinking of her there in that beautiful castle where I had spent such a memorable time with Robert.
So she was free now… free to marry her lover, which the brazen creature could not do immediately, but she did within a year of Leicester's death. She was bold, that one. I admired her in a way—but I hated her more than ever.
Robert proved to have been deeply in debt. His debts to the Crown alone were over twenty-five thousand pounds. He had spent extravagantly on gifts to me, and I was touched to discover that, apart from the upkeep of his magnificent houses, that was his main expenditure. The houses had of course cost him very dear; he had the richest curtains and tapestries I had seen outside royal palaces. In fact some of Leicester's rooms had been much grander than those of Greenwich or Hampton.
