Elizabeth (39 page)

Robert Cecil was slow to save his friend, but luckily John had other contacts who could help him. He had become friendly with one of James I’s gentlemen, Sir Thomas Erskine, later Earl of Kellie, Captain of the Guard and Groom of the Stool, who petitioned the King on his behalf. James agreed to arrange for the forfeited estates of Sir Griffin to go to John to settle the debts. This, however, took about a year, and in the meantime, John, fed up with his incarceration, simply escaped. He may have been helped by his wife Mary, who had come up to London, much against her better judgement, and lodged near the prison in Cannon Row. After John had fled, a Westminster bailiff broke into her house looking for him.

John then wrote to Cecil, explaining that Mary had had nothing to do with his escape and he thought it rather hard that she had to suffer the indignity of having her lodgings ransacked. He ended his letter by reminding Cecil that the debts he was imprisoned for were not his own and that Cecil had promised to help him. Cecil’s reply was terse and tetchy. He had rather a lot on his plate at that time, he explained, running the country. He had done his best, but hardly needed to be lectured on compassion. He would also appreciate it if John would stop treating him as if he were his ‘solicitor’. However, they had been close since childhood and Cecil ended the letter, ‘as I have been, your loving friend’.
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John’s friendship with Robert Cecil was somewhat unusual. Cecil was brilliant, small, very slightly hunchbacked and sensitive, and was possibly the most powerful man in the Council thanks to
his father’s instruction and guidance. He had a limited circle of friends, the best of whom seems to have been John. By the age of 28, he had been given his first title, knighted by Elizabeth, and made a Councillor. He was also a protégé of Sir Francis Walsingham, so that on his death, Cecil took over the running of the secret service. He served Elizabeth I and then James I as Secretary of State. It was largely down to Cecil’s handling of the transition that led to James I assuming the throne so seamlessly, and he was duly rewarded. He was made Baron Cecil of Essendon in 1603, Viscount Cranborne the following year, and 1st Earl of Salisbury in 1605.

John’s fortunes improved in 1604, when he was invited to a private meeting with the King. Unsure what to expect, he was relieved to find James most interested in an intellectual discussion: ‘… he [the King] enquired much of learning, and showed me his own in such sort, as made me remember my Examiners at Cambridge aforetyme. He sought much to know my advances in philosophy and uttered such profound sentences out of Aristotle, and such like writers, which I had never read, and which some are bold enough to say others do not understand.’
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The King then turned to his favourite subject of witchcraft, asking John’s opinion of certain biblical references and telling him tales of Scottish witches. John, as ever, could not resist a touch of raunchy levity. When asked if he thought Satan favoured old women as his servants, he could ‘not refrain from a scurvy jest’ and riposted that ‘the Devil walketh in dry places’, a crude sexual reference to older women.
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The King enjoyed the joke, but when they moved on to more serious subjects, including the death of Mary, Queen of Scots, John was more uncomfortable. James told him that there had been a vision seen in Scotland of his mother’s severed head before she was
executed, and suggested John might like to study the subject of precognition, but that he should be careful which books he consulted as some were particularly evil. They finished their discussion with his Majesty asking John’s ‘opinion of the new weed Tobacco, and said it would, by its use, infuse ill qualities on the brain, and that no learned man ought to take it, and wished it forbidden.’
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John made a good impression on the King, as he did with almost everyone with whom he came into contact. In 1611, the Lord Chamberlain, Thomas Howard, wrote to invite John back to Court, if his health permitted. The King had been asking after the ‘merry blade’ who had so entertained him before. He required a good stimulating conversation, and the fact that John was a fine, handsome man was a bonus. James had lately taken against people he thought of as ugly and was demanding a better dress code so that those appearing before him looked their best. Lord Thomas did not think this would be a problem for John. He also informed him that any meeting with James I was preceded by one with his current favourite, Robert Carr, and that when speaking to the King, one should keep the conversation light and change subjects frequently. To stay on the King’s good side, it was best to ask his opinion and discover that it is, by chance, exactly your own. Admire his favourite horse if you get the chance, and always remark in awe and amazement on any new items you notice about him.

However, John had had his fill of the Royal Court. His last visit had been in 1606, when James I’s brother-in-law, Christian IV (King of Denmark and Norway 1588–1648), came on a state visit. There was heavy and indiscriminate drinking, so much so that during a masque the performers and audience were so drunk that the event petered out. The two Kings were escorted out as they could not stand, and a number of ladies were sick or rendered unconscious. John preferred to remain at home in Kelston, reading
his Bible and working to restore Bath Cathedral, surrounded by family and friends.

John did write to James I’s eldest son, Prince Henry, giving details about John’s early life. He described how, during the reign of Mary I, his father, John Harington Senior, was sent to the Tower for 11 months just for taking a letter to Princess Elizabeth and that his mother, Isabella Markham (his parents were not yet married at the time), was removed from the princess’s service. His father’s first wife, Etheldreda Malte, was one of the ladies who attended Elizabeth in the Tower.

In another rather more famous letter, dated June 1608, John wrote to Prince Henry (then aged 14) about the wit and wisdom of his dog Bungey. He reported that on one occasion, Bungey ran from Kelston to Greenwich Palace to deliver to the Queen a message placed in his collar. He lauded this rare messenger that never ‘blabbed’ a word about what he carried. On another delivery, he carried two bottles of wine strapped to his sides from Bath to Kelston. John was clearly very fond of Bungey. He had once almost lost him when he was dognapped by some duck hunters who sold him to the Spanish Ambassador. It took John some weeks to find his pet and arrange his return. Bungey had made himself quite at home with the Spaniards, and it was only when John coaxed the dog to do his tricks that they agreed to release him.

Despite their ups and downs, the friendship between John and Robert Cecil endured. One indication of that friendship may be seen in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Two of those involved, Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham, and his brother George Brooke, were Cecil’s brothers-in-law. Both were found guilty, and although Henry Brooke was reprieved, George Brooke was executed. Another of the plotters, however, was John’s eternally plotting cousin, Sir Griffin Markham, who was found guilty, but
sent into exile, where he became an excellent spy for the King’s secret service.

As with many men in a position of unassailable authority, Cecil was heartily disliked by many factions. He remained close to John, however. In 1612, Cecil, ill with advanced scurvy and skin cancer, came to Bath to take the waters that it was believed might help him, and to be near the one man he trusted. John, himself ‘sick of a dead palsy’, hurried to Bath to attend his friend. Theirs was a lifelong friendship that lightened the life of the shy and overworked Cecil, who died on 24 May 1612 at the age of 49, after returning home from Bath. John himself died at Kelston on 20 November at the age of 51.

If John was Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley’s illegitimate son, there is no evidence that he knew this secret. If anyone other than his real and foster parents knew about his parentage, it would have been William Cecil, who may have passed the knowledge to his favourite and trusted son, requesting Robert to keep an eye on John. He certainly had a number of prominent well-wishers throughout his life, despite the vagaries of his fortunes.

Although some historians have identified Devereux as the Queen’s illegitimate son, is it likely? Elizabeth, after all, ended up having him arrested, imprisoned and executed, hardly the kind of treatment one would expect a mother to give her son, even an unacknowledged one. Yet John, who was also involved in Devereux’s Irish fiasco, was spared – against all expectations.

Granted, John’s infractions were far less serious than his commander’s, but it seems that Elizabeth had, in the end, more trust in John than in Devereux. Why though? The latter had spent many years in Elizabeth’s favour, it is true, but he was self-centred, rude, arrogant and hot-headed, whereas John was loyal, apologetic, calm and funny. Is it more likely that John, rather than Devereux,
was related to the Queen by blood? Perhaps tellingly, a portrait painted of Sir John Harington was thought to look so like Robert Dudley that it was mistakenly titled ‘Portrait of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester’. But is this proof enough?

A
nd so to Robert Devereux. How likely is it that he was the reported child of Robert Dudley and Elizabeth? The birth of Robert Devereux was recorded as 10 November 1566 by his father, Walter Devereux, who would later become 1st Earl of Essex, and his mother Lettice Knollys. When his son was born, the father arranged to have horoscope charts made for the boy. The place of birth is thought to be Netherwood, Herefordshire, although one researcher, using the details on the horoscope chart, puts it in the southwest of London, possibly in the region of Nonsuch Palace.

Wherever the young Devereux put in his first appearance, Walter, an English nobleman serving under Elizabeth I, certainly acknowledged the new baby as his. In September 1576, as he lay dying in Dublin, where he had recently arrived as Earl Marshal of Ireland, Walter Devereux wrote a last letter to Elizabeth asking her to do what she could for the fortunes of his eldest son, then 10 years old, as he had no riches to pass to his children:

Elizabeth would help his son, who would, in turn, become a royal favourite.

The young Devereux was in fact a cousin of the Queen, by his maternal grandmother, who was Anne Boleyn’s sister. When his father died, the boy took the title 2nd Earl of Essex and was made a ward of William Cecil, now 1st Baron Burghley. He was sent to Cambridge for his education, where the Queen sent him clothes and some silver plate. For Christmas and New Year 1577–78, the boy was invited to Court for the festivities. A report of the visit stated:

As no one but a fellow monarch should wear his hat in the presence of the Queen, yet any good subject should obey the Queen in all things, Elizabeth had presented the little chap with a knotty problem – he couldn’t win either way. It may have been his refusal to allow her to kiss him that triggered Elizabeth’s desire to tease and try to fluster him.

In September 1578, Devereux’s mother secretly married his godfather, Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester. As Dudley had
had an affair with Lettice previously and her 35-year-old husband died rather abruptly, reportedly of dysentery, there were rumours that Robert Dudley had poisoned him. These appear to be unfounded, although Robert may have been instrumental in making sure Walter Devereux was out of the picture as he supported sending him to Ireland. Elizabeth was angry about the secret marriage and made both Robert and Lettice pay for it in many ways over the years, although she remained fond of her old favourite. Robert was very attached to his wife, and would be a devoted husband and father to his four stepchildren.

In 1581, aged around 14, Devereux took his degree and was permitted to go to the Netherlands with his stepfather, where he fought at the battles of Zutphen and Sluys and distinguished himself with his military service. On his return, he was rarely away from the Royal Court and began his rise as the Queen’s favourite. The young man had a lively mind and was also a bit of a showman. When Robert Dudley died in September 1588, Devereux seemed to fill the space left in Elizabeth’s emotional life by his death. He also took over some of his roles, replacing his stepfather as the Queen’s Master of the Horse and receiving Robert’s monopoly on sweet wines (he received a fee for all sweet wine imported into England for sale). Perhaps Devereux even looked a little like Robert Dudley, which may have accounted for why he found favour with Elizabeth. Unfortunately, Devereux lacked many of the characteristics that had made Robert so perfect a partner and foil to Elizabeth. He was somewhat arrogant and did not always show proper respect for the Queen.