Текст книги "Queen of This Realm"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
Соавторы: Jean Plaidy
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Poor Frances! I thought. If stories are true she will have a philanderer for a husband. She should not forget that Essex had the blood of that she-wolf in his veins.
I danced merrily with my young men. I did not ask for news of Essex; but I was sad and depressed. How life had changed! My dearest one gone. Walsingham gone. And poor old Hatton sick and ailing. Nothing would be the same again.
Hatton had been out of favor. It was a foolish matter over some money he owed the crown. I had always been insistent that debts should be paid. In fact when I played cards in the evening and won I never allowed anyone to default on payment. I had not realized that Hatton was financially pressed. These men of mine lived in such splendor and spent so lavishly that I imagined they were richer than they made out to be.
Hatton had pleaded an inability to meet the debt and I had insisted it be paid.
The effect of this had worsened his illness so that he was confined to his bed and I was horrified to learn that the doctors considered his condition to be grave.
I immediately went to Ely House where I found him in bed. They were trying to make him take a posset, and I was alarmed to see that his hands shook so much that he could not hold the dish.
As I entered this was taken away from him and he made an attempt to rise. I quickly forbade him to do this, and then I dismissed those in the bedchamber and sat down beside his bed.
I could have wept to see the ravages of pain on the face of my once so handsome dancing partner.
“Your Majesty does me great honor …” he began.
“Be silent,” I commanded. “Talking takes too much effort for you. My dear old Mutton, here is a pretty pass. You must get well at once. I command you to do so. We miss you at Court.”
He smiled and shook his head and an infinite sadness swept over me.
“My Eyes have gone. My Moor has left me. I must keep my old Bellwether.”
“Your Majesty has made me very happy.”
“Methinks we have made each other happy over the years,” I said. “Now enough of this. What is this posset we have here?” I picked up the dish and sniffed it, recognizing it as a well known remedy and an efficacious one. “I know this well,” I said. “Many times have I benefited from it. Eat it. It will give you strength.”
He took the dish from me but his hands were shaking too much for him to lift the spoon to his mouth, so I took it and fed it to him.
“There,” I said, as though talking to a child, “take every drop.”
And he did so, smiling almost sheepishly. “Your Majesty should not so humble herself.”
“Humble myself!” I cried. “You are one of my men, and I love my men. They are to me the husband and the sons I never had.”
I saw the tears on his cheeks. He was very moved.
I bent over him and kissed his brow, and I said to him: “You must obey your Queen, Chancellor, and she orders you to get well.”
This was one of the occasions when Christopher Hatton did not obey me.
I felt his loss deeply… more than I had imagined possible. There were few of my own generation left now. New men were appearing on the horizon and I wondered whether I should get the same unswerving devotion from them as I had had from those who had brightened my youth. They were a different breed: Essex, Raleigh, Mountjoy… No, the days were passing. Life would never be quite so wonderful again.
Hatton's death was a loss to the country as well as a personal one. Because he had been so handsome and such a good dancer, people had been apt to underestimate him. He had been an excellent Vice Chamberlain before he had become Lord Chancellor and had organized celebrations and festivities with a masterly hand—which was another reason why he had not been taken seriously by some. But I knew that he had been an able politician and had seen as clearly as I did that one of the dangers in our country was that of religious conflict, which had brought civil war to others—as in the case of France. We wanted none of that in England. We had to take a stand between Puritans and Papists, and I did not know which sect I disliked most. Hatton had agreed with me that there must be no war over religion, which was a matter of an individual's conscience. In fact, he had been suspected of being a secret Catholic because of his leniency toward Catholics. This was not so. He felt as I did and we had been completely at one on this point.
Hatton had wanted to avoid excesses from both extremes, a view with which I heartily agreed. He had been a fine orator. True, he had liked rewards. Who does not? He had been very eager to acquire the London estate of the Bishop of Ely, and I had thought he should have it for he had need of a splendid home so that he could entertain visitors from abroad when necessary—and his Queen, of course. The lands were said to be some of the richest in England and comprised several acres of vineyard and arable land besides a house and chapel.
I had been delighted when this was passed to Hatton. He had been such a good servant and loyal courtier, and I had a specially fond feeling for him because he had remained unmarried. He had always said that he could love only one woman—even though it must be from a distance—his Queen. That seemed to me the ultimate gesture of love.
He had been a clever man and only had seemed less so because he had to stand beside greater statesmen like Burghley and Walsingham—and above all my incomparable Leicester.
So, another bitter loss.
I needed refreshing company, so I brought Essex back to Court.
I asked about the child which had now been born and was pleased that it was a boy and to be called Robert.
Essex and I were on the old terms. We played chess and cards together into the early hours of the morning. But I did not want to see the new Lady Essex. So Frances did not come to Court, but I believe lived nearby with her widowed mother, as she had before her marriage.
IT WAS GRATIFYING to me that although I was growing old my people did not love me less. I had lost a tooth or two; my skin was becoming lined, though it never lost its whiteness which I preserved most carefully; and my hair was growing scanty so that I had to resort to more false pieces and mostly wigs; but whenever I went out I was greeted with acclamations of joy and admiration. The people were uplifted by the defeat of the Spaniards; but other monarchs had been victorious in battle, yet none of them had ever had that firm hold on the people's affections which I had.
Never since the day of my accession had I failed to see the importance of this. I could be a virago in my private apartments—and often was. There was scarcely one of my ladies who had not had a blow or painful nip from me. I made no attempt to control my temper among them and if I was irritated I expressed my feelings forcefully. It was the same in the Council Chamber. My temper was quite uncontrolled. But on my progresses I never showed the slightest rancor toward my people. They could bring me absurd petitions; they could even criticize me to my face and I received all this with a degree of charming attention and tolerance. I was playing a part—that of the great benevolent monarch—and I knew that through it I kept my hold on my people's affections and I was determined never to lose that.
It was the reason for the firmness of the crown. My grandfather had suffered all his life as King from the fear of having come to the throne in circumstances which could be questioned; he must be looking over his shoulder all the time lest someone was preparing to snatch the crown from him. My father had had no fear of losing it. He saw himself as divine. He had a natural charm and an appearance of immense strength and he kept the approval of his people throughout his reign. He ruled through fear and great self-confidence which fostered an attitude of certainty that he would always do so. I held my people to me with love, and the bonds of love are the strongest in the world.
I tried always to act as my people would wish me to. We had persecuted the Catholics; we had hounded priests from their priest holes in the great Catholic houses and brought some of them to a barbarous death. I had allowed this because it was what the people wanted. They had an inherent fear of Catholicism, and it would linger I was sure. None of them could forget the terrible burnings at the stake during my sister's reign. People still talked in hushed whispers of Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper. Certain seamen had been captured by the Spaniards and escaped to give accounts of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition. We wanted none of that in peaceful England. Pray God it would never come to that. So we must keep out the Catholics. I knew there were good Catholic gentlemen. They had supported us against the Spaniards in war. But the whole country was against that form of religion as practiced by Spaniards and upheld by the Pope.
On the other hand we had the Puritans—toward whom I felt a great abhorrence. They wanted to create what they called an English Sunday. This would ban fairs, hunting, rowing, cockfighting and bear-baiting—in fact any kind of sport. The Council would have passed that measure but I vetoed it. I could imagine what those people who had cheered me on my pilgrimages throughout the land would say to that. They worked hard, I said. They should have a little respite on Sundays and amuse themselves in whatsoever way they thought best. I was sure I was right as I was when someone tried to bring in an act which would mean the death penalty for committing adultery, blasphemy and holding heretical opinions.
No, no, no! I insisted. That would bring us close to what we had been fighting against. Why did men fight as they had against Spain? How was it a few men in inferior ships gained a great victory? Because they were fighting for freedom, was the answer.
No, I wanted no more religious bickering. I wanted my people to be free, happy and prosperous—and that meant to live good honest lives in peace. No wars! And freedom to worship as they thought best. As long as they obeyed the laws of Christ I could see no reason why they were not good Christians.
Let be, I wanted to cry all the time.
As an act of defiance against those who would close the theaters, I formed a band of players who would act for my delight. I called them the Queen's Men.
I looked forward always to my progresses through the country for I considered it of the utmost importance to show myself to my people. There was great rejoicing in the towns and villages through which I passed; and I must admit that there was little I enjoyed more than receiving homage and adulation.
I was so accustomed to displays of love and loyalty that it was a shock when I received evidence that I had dangerous enemies among the people.
One day when I was walking in the gardens at Hampton where a crowd had gathered to watch me pass, there was a sudden shout and I saw someone being hustled away by the Yeomen of the Guard. Another picked up a pistol which lay on the ground and hastened off after the group who were pushing their prisoner through the crowd.
There was a hushed silence and then someone in the crowd cried: “God save Your Majesty. Death to those who would harm you.”
Then I guessed that this had been an attempt at assassination.
I made no show of haste to leave the place nor any fear because I had been in danger of losing my life, but paused to speak to some of the people who had thrust forward to see me. Some had petitions which I read carefully and promised they should have consideration, stressing that it would be the Council who decided, in case the decision should be adverse. Then the blame would not be laid on me!
As soon as I was back in the palace, I asked what the trouble in the gardens had been about.
It was disturbing to know that it had been an attempt on my life and I said I would personally question my would-be murderer.
To my amazement they brought in a woman. She looked at me defiantly as she stood there, a guard on either side of her. “Who are you?” I asked. “And do you admit to wanting to kill me?”
She replied: “My name is Margaret Lambrun, and I do.”
“Well, at least you are honest,” I said. “You are Scottish, are you?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“So thought I. A murderous race, the Scots. They have given my ancestors and me a great deal of trouble. Why did you wish to kill me?”
“You killed my Queen and my husband,” she said. “I wanted revenge for that.”
“You refer to Queen Mary of Scotland who was found guilty of plotting against my realm and attempting to murder me.”
The woman was silent.
“That is the truth, you know,” I said softly.
“My husband was in her service. When she was executed he died of grief.”
“He would have done better to have lived to look after his wife and prevent her from committing rash actions.”
“He loved the Queen. He was heartbroken when she died.”
Poor woman! That was the last thing she could have said to endear her to me. I had long been hearing of the fatal fascination of the Queen of Scots and I was exasperated that even after her death it was still effective.
“You were in possession of two pistols,” I said. “Were you going to take two shots at me?”
“No. One was for you and then I should have turned the other on myself.”
“Do you know what I am going to do with you, Margaret Lambrun?” I said.
“It matters not what you do with me,” she replied. “My life is over.”
“You are a youngish woman. There could be years before you. I say this: Forget that husband who died of a broken heart grieving for another woman. He is not worthy of your remembrance. I know men well. They are not worth dying for. You are an honest woman and have suffered much. I am going to give you a free pardon.”
She stared at me in astonishment for a few seconds, then she fell to her knees continuing to look wonderingly at me.
“Methinks,” I went on, “that you have heard evil tales of me. Perhaps through your husband's fascinating mistress. You foolish woman, do not again risk your life for the sake of a man. Get to your feet now and be gone from here.” I called to the guards: “Take her away.”
She hesitated. Then she said: “Would Your Majesty give me permission to speak?”
“Go on,” I said.
“Those people out there… They believe that you are divine.”
“It seems to me I must have some of the qualities you believed were in the sole possession of Mary of Scotland.”
“Those people love you as she was never loved by the people.”
“Well, my good woman, your eyes have been opened, and you have seen that I am not the monster who was to receive your fatal shot.”
“You are a great queen,” she said. “Those people will tear me apart because I tried to kill you.”
“True enough,” I agreed. “But you who are prepared to kill a queen cannot be afraid of a crowd of people.”
It was a strange revelation. The fanatical young woman who had stood in the crowd and contemplated my death was gone, and in her place was a practical person who was beginning to think she might have some future after all.
I realized that my response to her attempt to kill me had bewildered her and yet at the same time it had made her see her future more clearly. She was not going to die. She was going to live, and life had become very precious to her. It must have been so for she was anxious to preserve it. “If Your Majesty would give me a safe passage to France, I would settle there and try to make a new life.”
I smiled at her.
“It shall be,” I said. Then turning to the guards I continued: “Take her away. See that she has safe conduct to the coast.”
As she went she gave me a look of gratitude, amazement and something like admiration.
I smiled. In time, in her French haven, she might think as highly of the Queen of England as she had of the Queen of Scots.
FOR SOME TIME the Council had been trying to persuade me that we should carry our disagreements with Spain into Spanish territory. I had opposed this as I did any form of war, but at length I agreed that this particular action might be advantageous to us.
Since the year 1581 Don Antonio, the deposed King of Portugal, had been living in England in exile. Don Antonio was the bastard son of the previous King's brother, but because he was illegitimate, the Spaniards laid claim to the crown of Portugal on account of Philip's mother's being the late King's sister. He had sent Alva into Portugal to take it and this was speedily accomplished.
Don Antonio had had long talks with me. He was yearning to claim his crown. He told me how the Portuguese hated the Spaniards and that if he could only get back, the whole country would rise against Spain; and having been stripped of its power through the defeat of the armada, the Spaniards would suffer another humiliating defeat and Don Antonio would be back on the throne.
Drake came to discuss the problem and Drake's great aim in these enterprises was to bring back treasure. This I applauded. I wanted Spanish treasure to strengthen my exchequer; I wanted their gold and jewels to pay for my country's needs so that I did not have to resort to taxing my people.
Drake was the great pirate who knew how to bring treasure home. So I agreed and it was arranged that the expedition would be commanded at sea by Sir Francis Drake and on land by Sir John Norris.
I invested sixty thousand pounds in the enterprise; some of the generals put up about fifty thousand, and between the City of London and other ports throughout the country one hundred and forty-six ships were contributed to the scheme.
Essex wanted to join the expedition and I smiled fondly at his enthusiasm.
“I do not intend that you shall risk your life,” I said. “Your place is at Court.”
But he would not let the matter rest. He plagued me night and day. He wanted to go. He had need of the money. He would find treasure; but most of all he wanted to have a shot at the Spaniards.
“No,” I insisted. “You shall not go.” And I became angry with him and ordered him to drop the subject.
This he did and I thought he had come to his senses at last. I should have known better.
The expedition was ready and at Plymouth waiting to sail. It was then I heard what had happened.
Essex's brother-in-law, Lord Rich, came to me bringing a letter addressed to me in Essex's hand. Essex had sent him a key to the desk in which the letter had been placed and he had not sent the key until he was well on the way.
He had been determined to join the expedition, he wrote. Not only did he want to fight for England's glory, but he was in desperate need of money for he was deeply in debt. He owed at least twenty-three thousand pounds. I had been good to him and he would ask for no more. He was not of the nature of some (this was a dart directed at Raleigh who never failed to ask for what he wanted). He must go away. He must find fortune. And he trusted I would forgive him for going against my wishes.
Forgive him! I was furious with him. Never once in the whole of my time with Robert had he openly defied me. How dared this young upstart behave so!
I would show him that he could not go against my wishes.
Immediately I sent guards to bring him back, and his grandfather Sir Francis Knollys himself went to Plymouth.
I heard then that for days he had shut himself away making preparations. He had gone to the house of his brother-in-law Lord Rich to dine, to allay suspicions, for he feared he might have been watched. Outside his lordship's house was Essex's secretary and a groom waiting with horses ready to ride with all speed to Plymouth. They had ridden for ninety miles on the horses and then Essex had taken a post horse and sent his companions back to London with the horses and a letter to Lord Rich containing the key to the desk in which he had locked the letter to me so that it could be delivered after his departure.
Drake and Norris knew that I had forbidden him to go and I relied on them to send him back. But they did not see him, for Essex, guessing they would never let him board a ship, had made a secret arrangement with Captain Roger Williams who had agreed to take him. Thus Essex was able to board Williams's ship, the Swiftsure, and put out to sea.
So Essex had defied me again. I was so angry. I swore this should be the last time.
WAR NEVER PAYS. I could have told them that before the expedition set out; and I reminded them that I had only agreed to go on with their schemes because they had all worn me down with their importunings.
However if there was enough booty to come out of it I supposed I would consider it worthwhile.
I was worried constantly about Essex. He could be so foolhardy and I knew he was reckless. He would take such absurd risks and I wanted him back at Court. I was unwise, I knew, to set such store by him but I was missing Robert so much and I was desperately anxious to put someone else in his place. I needed that very special person in my life and I had no doubt that I had chosen unwisely in Essex.
Although I could never think of him as a possible lover as I had Robert, he did give me that very special brand of affection which I never quite sensed in the others; and because he was a young man who disdained to flatter and dissimulate, I knew it was genuine affection.
I sent urgent messages to Drake and Norris. Essex was to be sent back. But, of course, he was not with them and it was some time before the Swiftsure joined up with the rest of the fleet, and then there was not a ship available in which to send him home.
I wrote angrily to him:
“Essex,
“Your sudden and undutiful departure from our presence and your place of attendance, you may easily conceive how offensive it is, and ought to be, unto us. Our great favors bestowed on you without deserts, hath drawn you thus to neglect and forget your duty; for other constructions we cannot make of those your strange actions. Not meaning, therefore, to tolerate this your disordered part, we gave directions to some of our Privy Council to let you know our express pleasure for your immediate repair hither…
“We do, therefore, charge and command you forthwith upon receipt of these our letters, all excuses and delays set apart, to make your present and immediate repair unto us, to understand our further pleasure. Whereof see you fail not, as you will be loth to incur our indignation, and will answer for the contrary to your uttermost peril.”
When he received such a letter written in my hand, he knew he dare not disobey, and he set sail for home.
The expedition was at an end. The Portuguese had not welcomed Don Antonio as he had believed they would. They did not like their Spanish masters, but they were too lethargic to bestir themselves sufficiently to make the change.
It would have been a disastrous affair but for Sir Francis Drake, who brought home enough booty to have made it just worthwhile.
I was prepared to upbraid Essex and banish him from Court until it pleased me to recall him, but when I saw him, looking a little pale from battle, and kneeling before me raising those fine dark eyes to my face, so full of loving admiration, I relented.
I was so pleased to have him back safely.
I said: “Never behave so again. If you did that could be the end of your hopes at Court.”
That was all; and within a few days he was installed in his old place. And to prevent his going abroad again in search of fortune, I granted him a lease of the farm of sweet wines—which had been Robert's before he died and which would give him a large income that might settle outstanding debts and, I hoped, in future enable him to live within his income.
HE WAS RESTLESS. He was not suited to Court life. He lacked Robert's ambition as well as his tact; and he lacked Robert's shrewdness. Why had I thought there could ever be anyone to take Robert's place?
And yet he fascinated me. In a way, I thought of him as a son, loved none the less because he was wayward, and I was content only when he was near me. He could change my mood; he could make me feel young. He was in love with me in a way that most young men had been when I was a young woman. There was no question of a union of any sort between us, but it was love…of a rarefied kind. But I wanted that. It had to come naturally. It was not, as with such as Raleigh, for favor at Court. Essex did not seek favor; he was indifferent to honors. He supported lost causes. And he was honest. He could forget the respect due to me. Anger would flare up and he would not watch his words; but this was honest Essex; so that when he did show his affection for me I knew it was genuine.
He was something of a reformer. For instance, he told me frankly that I had been wrong in my treatment of Davison. He should not be in the Tower, he said. It was not due to him that Mary of Scotland had been executed. That specter still bothered me and I did not want to think of Davison. I could not bear to hear any speak his name—so no one ever did in my hearing. Essex knew this and yet he came to me and said that Davison should be released and given the post of Secretary of State which had become vacant on the death of Walsingham. He was such a reckless, foolhardy young man, I trembled for him. I discovered later that he had written to James of Scotland asking him to use his influence in the matter. Did he not realize that at any time his enemies could accuse him of being in communication with a foreign power, which could be made to look like treason?
I have to admit that he almost persuaded me. I did feel guilty about the treatment meted out to Davison. I should have liked to make amends; and the post of Secretary of State, which he was quite capable of holding, would have been a compensation for the injustice he had suffered.
I spoke to Burghley about this. He was against the idea. He did not think Davison could hold the post. He was efficient but not brilliant. I tried to argue in Davison's favor until I realized that Burghley wanted the post for his son Robert. And, of course, he was right. Robert Cecil—that little elf of a man, with his crooked back and slouching walk, had the same balanced outlook as his father. He had been coached by his father from the very earliest, and it was clear that if the post were given to anyone else, there would inevitably be trouble with Burghley.
So Davison did not get the post, but he was released from the Tower and went to live in his home in Stepney where he remained for many years.
Essex was still looking for adventure and when Henri Quatre of France asked me for help, he wanted to take a company of men over to fight for the King, who had come to the throne when Henri Trois had died. As a Huguenot he looked to England for help against the Catholic League which was determined to oust him on account of his religion. “It is necessary that we go to help,” said Essex. “He shares our faith. He would be our friend if we helped him to hold his throne.”
His eyes were shining with enthusiasm. He was somewhat nave. Did he not know that kings were friends of other kings only when it was expedient to be so? But it was true that we did not want the Catholics to prevail in France. We had subdued Spain but France could be as great a menace. Essex threw himself onto his knees and begged to be allowed to take command of an expedition. His friends—and his mother, I believed—advised him against going abroad. He should stay behind and make his name at Court as all the most successful men had done. He should model himself on the lines of Leicester, Walsingham, Burghley … those who held first place in the Queen's regard. Perhaps they realized that he lacked the temperament of a great general. He was too rash, too impulsive, too careless of himself.
However he wearied me with his importunings and as it had been decided that we should aid Henri, I finally gave in and allowed Essex to command the expedition.
It was a sad day for me when he sailed from Dover with four thousand men.
He took with him Lettice's other boy, Walter Devereux, and I wondered how she felt at the prospect of two sons going to war.
I waited eagerly for news. I heard that Henri took a fancy to Essex and that they frolicked together. There was some fighting though, and in a skirmish outside Rouen young Walter Devereux was killed.
I was almost sorry for Lettice then, for I believe that she did love her children.
I heard that Essex recklessly exposed himself to danger and had come near to capture on two occasions. He was popular for he shared his men's hardships and then distributed honors on the battlefield, which he had no authority to do.
I made Burghley write to him in my name, disapproving and forbidding him to act in such a way. Moreover, he had no right to bestow honors. That was the Sovereign's prerogative.
I ordered so forcefully that he return home that at length he could make no excuses for not doing so.
He came back ebullient as ever, with no excuses for what he had done, and I was once more so delighted to see him that, after the first few reprimands, he was in favor again.
But all the time he wanted to return to France, so I let him go, giving him strict injunctions—as I once did to Robert—to take good care of himself.
Fortunately he was a young man who quickly tired of a project and after a while, when I told him I wished him to come back and relinquish the command to Roger Williams, who had shared his adventures on the Swiftsure, rather to my surprise, he eagerly obeyed the command.
I think he had taken the advice of his friends to seek his fortune at Court, where my undoubted affection for him would mean that he had a great chance of success.
I OFTEN THOUGHT of Christopher Hatton who had been so devoted to me that he had never married. I wished I had been kinder to him at the end. It must have been heartbreaking for him when I turned my back on his pleading to be allowed time to pay that silly debt. In the end I had gone to him and fed him with my own hands, but by then it was too late. Sometimes I wondered whether my harsh treatment of him had hastened his death. He had been a sensitive man and he had truly loved me.
