My Enemy, the Queen (46 page)

thank God for him, Madam.

ou quickly married after Leicester death.

was lonely.

She nodded. hat girl of yours should take a care or two.

our Majesty refers to Lady Rich?

ady Rich or Lady Mountjoy I know not by which name we should call her.

he is Lady Rich, Your Majesty.

he is like her brother. They have too high an opinion of themselves.

ife has given them a great deal.

es, with Sidney moping over the girl and now Mountjoy stepping out of line for her.

t tends to raise their opinion of themselvess Your Majesty kindness to Essex has shown.

She laughed. Then she talked about the old days, of dear Philip Sidney, who had been such a hero, and the tragedies of the last years. It seemed particularly cruel to her that after the defeat of the Armada when it was as though a great burden had been lifted from her shouldershough another had been laid on them since by the same enemieshe should have lost the one with whom she could have shared her triumphs.

Then she talked of him, how they had been together in the Tower, how he had come to her when her sister had died. he first to rush to me, with the offer of his fortune.

And his hand, I thought. Sweet Robin, the Queen Eyes, how high his hopes had been in those days. She took me along with her, making me see again the handsome young manncomparable, she called him. I think she had completely forgotten the gouty, bleary old man he had become.

And she seemed to forget me too, as she rambled on, living the past with Leicester.

Then suddenly she looked at me coldly. ell, Lettice,she said, e have met at last. Essex has won the day.

She gave me her hand to kiss, and I was dismissed.

I left the palace in a state of triumph.

A week passed. There was no summons from the Queen. I could not wait to see my son. I told him what had happened, that the Queen had talked with me and had been most friendly, even cousinly. Yet I had received no further invitation to go to Court.

Essex mentioned the matter to her, telling her how delighted I was to have been received in private. Now what I earnestly wished for was to be allowed to kiss her hand in public.

He looked at me sadly.

he is a most perverse old woman,he cried; and I was terrified that the servants would hear. he says that she promised me she would see you and this she has done. And that, she tells me, is an end of the matter.

ou can mean that she won receive me again!I cried, aghast.

he says it is the same as it ever was. She does not wish to receive you at Court. She has nothing to say to you. You have shown yourself to be no friend of hers and she has no wish to see you.

So there I was, back in the same position. That brief meeting had meant nothing. It might just as well never have taken place. I pictured her laughing with her women, perhaps commenting on the meeting.

he She-Wolf thought she was coming back, did she? Ha! She will have to change her views.

Then she would look in her mirror and see herself not as she was then, but as a young woman newly come to the throne, in all the splendor of her glorious youth and beside her her Sweet Robin, with whom none could compare.

Then to soothe her grief and add balm to her wounds which he had given her by preferring me, she would laugh afresh at my dismay at having had my hopes raised and dashed so that she could add to my humiliation.

I am now approaching in these memories of mine that time which is the most tragic in my life, for I believe, looking back, that that terrible scene between Essex and the Queen was the beginning of disaster for him. I am sure she never forgave him for it, any more than she ever forgave me for marrying Leicester. Faithful as she was to her friends, one could say she was equally faithful to her enemies, and while she remembered an act of friendship and rewarded it again and again, she could never forget an act of disloyalty.

I know that Essex gave great provocation. His close friend, the Earl of Southampton, was at this time in disgrace. Elizabeth Vernon, one of the maids of honor and a niece of my first husband, Walter Devereux, had become Southampton mistress, and Essex had helped them to make a secret marriage. When the Queen heard of it, Essex boldly declared that he saw not why men should not marry as they wished and still serve the Queen. This displeased her.

Meanwhile Elizabeth was seeking to make a peace treaty with Spain. Her hatred of war was as strong as ever, and she often said it should be undertaken only in cases of dire emergency (as at the time when the Armada was threatening to attack) and at all other times every step should be taken to avoid it.

Essex took a different view and wanted to put a stop to negotiations for peace. He eventually won the day with the Council, to the chagrin of Lord Burleigh and Robert Cecil.

Essex started to work against his enemies with that furious energy which was typical of him. My brother William, who, now that my father was dead, had inherited the title, tried to dissuade him from his vehemence. Christopher worshiped Essex blindly and, although in the first place I had been glad of this accord between them, I now wished Christopher would show a little discrimination. Mountjoy warned him, so did Francis Bacon, who remembered what a good friend Essex had always been to him; but in his headstrong way Essex would listen to nobody.

The Queen disapproved strongly of what he was doing and showed this in her manner towards him. It was a hot July day when matters came to a climax, and I think that the first irrevocable step towards disaster was taken then, for Essex did that which the Queen would never tolerate and never lightly forgive: he assaulted her dignity and in fact came near to assaulting her person.

Ireland was a matter of great contention, as it always had been, and the Queen was considering sending a lord deputy there.

She said she trusted Sir William Knollys. He was a kinsman on whose loyalty she could rely. His father had served her well all his life and Sir William was the man she would propose for the task.

Essex cried out: t will not do. The man for that task is George Carew.Carew had taken part in the expedition to Cadiz and to the Azores. He had been in Ireland and had knowledge of affairs there. Moreover he was a close friend of the Cecils and if he could be exiled from the Court, all the better from Essex point of view.

say William Knollys,said the Queen.

ou are wrong, Madam,retorted Essex. y uncle is quite unsuited. Carew is your man.

No one ever spoke to the Queen in that manner. No one told her she was wrong. If her ministers felt strongly about something, she was gently and subtly persuaded to change her view. Burleigh, Cecil and the rest were adept at this maneuver. But to say: adam, you are wrongso defiantly was something which could not be toleratedven from Essex.

When the Queen ignored him with a gesture which implied that the suggestion of this impertinent young man was of no importance, a sudden rage seized Essex. She had insulted him in public. She was telling him that what he said was insignificant. For a moment his temper got the better of his common sense. He turned his back on the Queen.

She had accepted his outburstor which he would no doubt be reprimanded later and warned never to do such a thing againbut this was a deliberate insult.

She sprang at him and boxed him soundly on the ears, telling him to go and be hanged.

Essex, blinded by rage, put his hand to his sword hilt, and would have drawn it, if he had not been immediately seized. As he was hustled out of the chamber he shouted that he would not have taken such an insult from Henry VIII. No one before had ever witnessed such a scene between a monarch and a subject.

Penelope hurried to Leicester House to talk it over with Christopher and me, and my brother William joined us with Mountjoy.

William was of the opinion that it must be the end of Essex, but Penelope would not have it.

he is too fond of him. She will forgive him. Where has he gone?

o the country,Christopher told her.

e should stay there for a while until this blows over,said William. hat if ever it does.

I was worried indeed, for I did not see how such an insult could be forgiven. To have turned his back on the Queen was bad enough but to have drawn his sword on her was outrageous and could be treasonnd he had many enemies.

We were all plunged into gloom and I was not sure that Penelope really believed in the optimism she expressed.

Everyone was talking about the decline of Essex until a matter of great importance ousted my son from the public eye. Lord Burleigh, who was seventy-eight and had been ailing for some time, was dying. He had suffered terribly with his teeth (an affliction with which the Queen was in great sympathy since she suffered likewise) and of course he had been subject to strain throughout his life. With the meticulous care he had given to state affairs, he set his personal ones in order. I heard that he took to his bed, called his children to him, blessed them and the Queen, and gave his will to his steward; then quietly he slipped away.

When the news was taken to the Queen she was inconsolable. She went to her own chamber and wept; and for some time afterwards when his name was mentioned her eyes would fill with tears. Not since the death of Leicester had she shown such emotion.

He had died in his house in the Strand and his body was taken to Stamford Baron for burial, but his obsequies were performed in Westminster Abbey. Essex came up from the country, in black mourning, to attend these and it was noticed that none of the mourners looked as melancholy as he did.

Afterwards he was at Leicester House and my brother William Knollys was there with Christopher and Mountjoy. Although Essex had opposed William appointment, my brother realized that the family fortunes were tied up in my son. Moreover, Essex had a charm which very often overcame the resentment of those whom he had slighted or wronged in some way. Like my father, William was a farsighted man and he was not one to let a momentary upset affect the future. So he was as eager as the rest of us to see Essex back in favor.

He said: ow is the time for you to go to the Queen. She is broken down with grief. It is for you to go and comfort her.

he is out of humor with me,grumbled Essex, ut no more so than I with her.

I retorted: he has insulted me, but if she were to ask me to come to Court tomorrow, most willingly would I go. I beg of you, do not play the fool, my son. One does not consider personal affronts when dealing with monarchs.

William flashed a look of warning at me. My brother was like our father very cautious man.

he more you stay away, the more she will harden towards you,Mountjoy warned Essex.

he will have no thought for me now,retorted Essex. e shall hear what a good man Burleigh was. How he never crossed her. Differences of opinion they had, but he never forgot he was her subject. Nay, I have no intention of going to Court to listen to a panegyric on the virtues of Burleigh.

In vain did we try to make him realize what would be good for him. His stubborn pride stood in his way. She must ask him to come, and then he might consider going.

He was unrealistic, this son of mine, and I trembled for him.

Mountjoy told me that the Queen had ceased to think of Essex, so deep in mourning was she for Burleigh. She would talk to those about her of that good maner Spirit, she still called him. e never failed me,she said. She talked of how there had been a rivalry between those two dear men who had meant so much to her eicester and Burleigh. could not have done without either of them,she said, and wept again. Her Eyes, her Spirit, both lost to her. How different were the men of this age! Then she would talk about the goodness of Burleigh. He had been a good father to his children. Look how he had advanced Robert, her Little Elf. Of course, Robert was a clever man. Burleigh had known that. He had not tried to bring his eldestow Lord Burleigho her notice because he had known he had not the wit to serve her. No, it was Robert the hunchback, the splayfooted Little Elf, who was the genius. And his good father had known it. Oh, how she missed her dear, dear Spirit.

And so it went on without a regret for the absence of Essex.

cannot compete with a dead man in the heart of a sentimental woman,he said.

His utterances were becoming more and more reckless. We trembled for himll of us. Even Penelope, who was constantly urging him to what I thought of sometimes as even greater recklessness.

However, we all agreed that he should try for a reconciliation with the Queen.

An opportunity came when the Council was meeting and he, as a member of it, was to appear. His haughty reply was that he would not do so until he had first been granted an interview with the Queen. The Queen ignored this, and he did not attend, but went down to Wanstead to sulk.

There was bad news from Ireland, where the Irish Earl of Tyrone was in rebellion and was threatening the English, not only in Ulster, but in other provinces of Ireland. The English commander, Sir Henry Bagnal, had been completely routed, and it seemed that if immediate action were not taken, Ireland would be lost.

Essex came up from Wanstead with all speed and attended the meeting of the Council. He had special knowledge of the Irish question, he declared, and because of the danger, he asked the Queen to see him. She refused and he fumed with fury.

His rage and frustration had their effect on him. Penelope came to tell me that she feared he was ill. One of those intermittent fevers had attacked him, and in his delirium, he raved against the Queen. Christopher and I, with Penelope, went down to Wanstead to nurse him and protect him from those who were eager to report those ravings to Elizabeth.

How I loved him! Perhaps more than ever at this time. He was so young, so vulnerable; and all my maternal feelings rose in anguish to see him so. I shall never forget the sight of him, his beautiful hair unkempt and the wild look in his eyes. I felt furious with the Queen, whose treatment of him had brought him to this state, while, at the same time, in my heart I knew he had brought it on himself.