Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (101 page)

that day was over, Robert Cecil, Secretary of State, would be there to

pick up the pieces quietly and unobtrusively.

t t t

“Madam, I tell you plainly, there is a new Spanish fleet bound for

English waters.”

The Queen turned her head in its stiff-wired frame of lace and shrugged

her monstrously padded shoulders. There was always a new Spanish fleet

and it was always bound for English waters—so what was new?

“You are an alarmist, my lord, like the rest of my warmongering

Council.”

Essex laughed shortly.

“Madam, Philip’s hatred of you is quite maniacal. He has sworn to

avenge the failure of ’88 if it costs him his last candlestick. As an alarmist,

I consider that to be an alarming threat. Will you sit back and allow it to

be carried out?”

Elizabeth frowned. “I’ve told you before, I can’t afford to keep

financing these offensive expeditions.”

“You can’t afford not to!” he interrupted angrily. “For Christ’s sake,

stop haggling like a—like a—”

Her finely plucked eyebrows raised in ironic challenge, dared him to

say the dreadful word “miser.” But even Essex’s courage had its limits and

he took refuge in kissing her hand.

“Madam—you try me too far when I seek only to serve you. Let me

take the fleet to the Azores and lie in wait for them, wherever they’re

bound—to the south coast or Ireland. It will be Cadiz all over again.”

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“It had better not be,” she said caustically. “If I don’t see a better

return for my investment this time there’ll be trouble.”

This time?” He picked her up at once. “Does that mean you consent?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He half rose from his knees in exasperation, but she placed an impe-

rious finger on his shoulder so that he sank back again.

“Madam, you’re being totally unreasonable. You know I can do it.”

“I know you say you can do it. Just because you had a little luck at

Cadiz you think you can conquer the world at my expense.”

“Luck!” he echoed in angry disbelief. “
Luck!
”

She saw the dangerous flash in his eyes and suddenly smiled and patted

his shoulder.

“Now, there’s no call to take that tone, I was only teasing you. You’re

always so quick to take offence, Robert.”

“You’re always so damned ready to give it,” he said frankly, and suddenly

they both smiled. She began to chew the handle of her fan thoughtfully.

“If I agreed to finance this exploit—
if,
I say—then I might be prepared

to give you a joint command with Raleigh and Howard—”

He flung up his head furiously and glared at her.

“You know I won’t accept that—I won’t be treated like a schoolboy

who can’t be trusted! I’ll command the whole damn thing or I’ll have

nothing to do with it—and you know what that will mean. The men

will follow me into Hell—they won’t follow Howard half as far. Is that

what you want?”

She stood up suddenly and shook out the folds of her heavily panniered

gown, so that the ruby aglets flashed fire in the candlelight. A mantle

of white lawn trailed from her headdress and she stood twisting Mary

Stuart’s long rope of black pearls between her fingers.

“One day,” she said quietly, “I will break you of that stubborn will,

you wild stallion. You’re as arrogant and obstinate as the Devil himself—

you get it from your mother, of course—I’ve always said so.”

She made to turn away from him and he caught her hand and kissed

it violently.

“Would you rather I cringed and whined at your heels like the rest

of them?”

She was silent, watching him, and beneath her steady gaze, his own fell.

“I speak the truth as I see it.” He stole a glance at her. “Whether it’s

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pleasing to your ears or not. You used to say you liked that—that it was

a breath of fresh air in your stifling court. Do you now mislike it in me

that I will not lie like a Trojan to suit your mood?”

The Queen sighed and stroked one finger idly across his cheek.

“Some day,” she said softly, “you will speak your mind once too often.

I swear that tongue of yours will be the death of you.”

He smiled faintly. “A duel?”

“Perhaps.” She had turned away from him, her voice curiously distant.

He ran after her and flung himself on his knees at her feet, clasping both

her hands aggressively between his own.

“No, madam, you shall not dance away from me again. I mean to have

your answer and to have it tonight. Do I command this fleet or not?”

She freed one hand and began to twist the silver buttons which

adorned his russet doublet.

“If you come back empty-handed again—”

“I won’t, I swear it. You shall have your West Indian treasure fleet,

madam—sufficient to pay for the expedition several times over.”

She studied the arrogant tilt of his chin, the brilliant hair, Tudor red,

this young aristocrat who would pass anywhere for her son, so like herself

and yet so unalike. Fear touched her for a moment, a sudden, maternal

urge to protect him from himself and the creeping darkness in her own

heart. If she let him go and he succeeded, he would be a greater threat

than ever to her; if he failed she would never forgive him for it. Why

must he strive for military glory when she could keep him at home, safe

from all its attendant perils?

He touched her hand in a little, prompting gesture.

“Your answer, madam?”

She turned her head abruptly away from him and stared out at the

black night beyond her window.

“My answer,” she said coldly, “is No!”

He rose stiffly, narrowly holding himself in restraint, took her hand

in a hard grip that made her wince, pressed it against his taut lips and

bowed icily.

“I shall be at Wanstead until you change your mind,” he snapped; and

was gone, slamming the door behind him.

t t t

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The silence from Wanstead was so deep and ominous that the Council

became alarmed and begged the Queen to allow Essex to lead the expedi-

tion to intercept the new Spanish fleet. She frowned, she grumbled at the

cost, she baulked at the emotional and political blackmail which he had

aimed against her; but, in the end, she said ungraciously that he might go

if he wished.

From beginning to end the mission was an unmitigated disaster, for

this time the elements were against him. A gale force wind prevented

him from destroying the Spanish shipping in Ferrol harbour and, not

daring to return empty-handed, he set sail for the Azores in search of

the Spanish plate fleet. There a question of honour wrecked the whole

expedition, when Raleigh, his subordinate officer, stole his moment of

glory by taking the island of Fayal behind his back. In a blazing rage,

Essex promptly attempted to outshine Raleigh by attacking the island

of San Miguel. While he was occupied there, the Spanish treasure fleet,

finding its route suddenly unguarded, seized the opportunity to sail safely

into the impregnable harbour of Terceira and was lost to the English

force for good. News was carried to Philip that while Essex was cavorting

about the Azores, the English shores were completely vulnerable to attack

at last; and in a transport of holy, half-hysterical glee, the King of Spain

flung his third Armada out to sea. This time—this time he could not fail!

The Spanish fleet set sail in hurried confusion, its commander not

even permitted to know its destination until they reached the Bay of

Biscay. Even so they were a mighty force and the news of their immi-

nent arrival caused a panic of preparation in England. Once more the

warning beacons were laid in readiness, the rusty militia was organised,

and the Queen cursed the men who had persuaded her to capitulate to

Essex and so give the enemy both the leisure and the courage to attack.

When gales and storms splattered the Spanish fleet along the coast of

France, the main body of ships, leaking and battered, was forced to

straggle home. Elizabeth was first limp with relief at the news and then

transported with rage against the fool who was responsible for the whole

situation. While Philip, half dead with disease and fatigue and despair,

learned that once more his God had deserted him, Essex arrived home

to discover that in his absence Robert Cecil had received the Duchy of

Lancaster, and the old Lord Admiral, Howard, had been created Earl of

Nottingham. As Steward of the next Parliament, Howard would now

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take automatic precedence over the hero of Cadiz. All his carefully

rehearsed humility deserted him at that news and instead of grovelling

for forgiveness, as any man of sense would have done, he promptly flew

into a temper and flounced off to Wanstead, refusing to return even for

the festivities of the 17th of November, the fortieth observance of the

Queen’s accession.

“I’ve had enough of this!” said Elizabeth ominously to Burghley, as

Christmas approached without a gesture of conciliation from the absent

Earl. “The time has come to put an end to his nonsense.”

“Yes, madam,” said Burghley, quietly; hopefully.

“I knew it would end like this—a total disaster—nothing to show

for it but expense upon expense. Doesn’t he realise we could have been

invaded while he played the fool in the Azores?”

Burghley said nothing, letting her mood of indignation grow slowly.

She was pacing up and down like a caged tigress.

“Well, that’s an end to it! I’ve finished with these mad exploits alto-

gether—we seek peace from now on. The next time the fleets sails out of

the Channel it will be over my dead body—do you hear me, Burghley?”

He coughed discreetly. “Yes, madam.”

She bore down on him furiously, brandishing her fan like a dagger.

“And after all this the people
still
hail him as a hero?”

“Yes, madam,” he said grimly; there was no accounting for the

people. “They blame the bad weather—they blame Raleigh—they blame

everything, in fact, except my lord of Essex.”

“My lord of Essex!” She gritted her teeth and slapped the fan viciously

against the billowing folds of her gown. “And where is he now, the

conquering hero—still sulking at Wanstead because Howard takes prec-

edence over him in a stupid procession?”

“I believe he’s here in London, madam.”

“Oh?” Her glance flickered. “Then why is he not at court?”

“Why indeed, madam!”

Burghley raised his bushy eyebrows in a significant gesture that was

not wasted on her. Suddenly her eyes narrowed into a fixed stare like a

cat’s and her lips became a thin, grim, scarlet line in her lined face. He

knew she understood how dangerous it would be to continue humiliating

a man whose name was sung in all the taverns. And while he remained

in London, pointedly absent from his post as Privy Councillor, he was

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unquestionably gathering a popular support which would make him

increasingly dangerous.

“The people say that he is wronged,” she mused, staring into the fire,

biting a finger as she was apt to do when she was tense and disturbed. “He

cannot be allowed to remain absent from his duties indefinitely. He must

be seen to return amicably—”

Burghley’s glance was steady. “It would take some especial mark of

your favour and forgiveness to bring him back this time.”

She looked round over her shoulder and smiled coolly.

“Yes—he must be made to understand that, since I am only a weak

and feeble woman, I cannot do without him.”

She walked away thoughtfully, poured wine into two fine glasses and

held one out to him. As he took it, their eyes locked together and they

touched the rims of the glasses.

“I give you a toast, my lord,” she said quietly. “To the Earl of Essex—

the new Earl Marshal of England.”

Admiration shone out of the old man’s eyes as he looked at her in the

soft candlelight.

“Madam, you give him the means to hang himself !”

“Precisely!” Her smile held a gleam of icy malice. “And I’m sure he

will make a thorough job of it, as usual.”

When she had sipped the wine, she turned and hurled her glass into

the fireplace. It splintered into a thousand tiny fragments and left a red

stain like a pool of blood on the hearth.

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E
arl marshal of england!

Essex waited for his mother to hand back the Queen’s letter in

stiff-necked silence, then let out a yell of triumph.

“What did I tell you? You see now that she can deny me nothing.”

“I see an empty title,” said Lettice tartly, “a tinsel badge of honour to

pacify a sulking child. How clever she is!”

“Clever?”

“It’s called playing dead. Dogs do it—and
bitches
!”

“Mother!” There was a warning note of anger in his voice suddenly.

“You will not abuse the Queen in my hearing.”

Lettice sat down at her embroidery frame, stabbing the needle in and