Queen Of This Realm

The Clandestine Marriage

MY POOR BURGHLEY RAN INTO A LITTLE FAMILY TROUBLE at this time. He had been rather flattered, I think, when Edward de Vere had married his daughter. It had seemed such a grand match. But Edward de Vere was a young man of very uncertain temperament and that he had too high an opinion of himself I had always known. He had been a favorite of mine—not the highest rank, but quite near it, for he was very handsome and such a good dancer; and he amused me. I had been delighted for him to marry Burghley's daughter, for I never ceased to be grateful and to appreciate the worth of my dear Spirit.

I sometimes believed, as I have mentioned before, that Oxford married Anne Cecil because he thought it would help to free his first cousin Norfolk, who was under sentence of death for his part in the Ridolfi plot, and when he did not succeed he was furious and vowed vengeance on Burghley.

Anne Cecil was giving birth while Oxford was abroad and out of revenge on Burghley, Oxford questioned his own paternity which was a great blow, not only to Anne, who was quite innocent, poor girl—but to my virtuous and strict-living Protestant Spirit.

Anne was heartbroken, Burghley was bewildered and he came to me at once to tell me the whole story. I tried to comfort him. Oxford was a wild and unpredictable young man, I told him.

When Oxford came back from his foreign travels, he presented himself to me. He had brought me some wonderful presents and these were all permeated with a delicious scent. There were elegant leather gloves which I found most acceptable and I said he must discover the name of the perfume, the like of which I had never smelt before, for I would have more of it. This he vowed to do and he was so charming in his manners that I could not believe he was really circulating lies about Burghley's daughter.

When I mentioned to him my displeasure in this he turned white with anger and told me that he would not take his wife back, nor would he own the child she had borne. I replied that to my knowledge Anne Cecil was a virtuous girl and I did not care for my good Burghley to be so disturbed as he was over this matter, and I insisted that Oxford should immediately reveal what evidence he had for making these accusations.

He replied that he would not blazon it forth until it pleased him to do so. As for the trouble the matter was causing Burghley, he preferred his own content to that of others.

I said: “I know that well.” And I tried to dismiss the matter from my mind.

I disliked trouble between those who were dear to me and although Oxford did not have the place in my affections that Burghley did, I was sorry that there should be this trouble.

Anne Cecil had gone back to her father and Burghley found a great deal of pleasure in his grandchild.

Anne did after a little while go back to Oxford, and there were three more children. I used to hear of them from Burghley who took the little ones into his household, Oxford having no talent for parenthood but Burghley being a family man. I liked to hear him tell me anecdotes of his grandchildren and at least some joy had come to him through his daughter's marriage to the unreliable Oxford.

The days were passing so quickly that I was scarcely aware of their going. Another week, another month, and there I was a year older. From the time I rose to the time I retired I did not seem to have a moment alone. My life was a round of ceremony. Even getting dressed I was surrounded by women, and there was the ordeal of lacing and getting into those whalebone busks which accentuated the smallness of my waist. There was the ruff to be chosen, and not even my wardrobe women could tell how many dresses I had. I must look magnificent before I faced my courtiers and only twice in the whole of my life as the Queen was I seen by a man before I was fully dressed. The first time was on a May morning at Hampton Court where I happened to be looking out of my window because it was such a beautiful morning. I was in my nightcap and loose gown and young Geoffrey Talbot, Shrewsbury's son, happened to be walking below my window and looked straight up at me.

I stepped back in embarrassment and immediately took up a hand mirror. I was forty-five and well preserved; courtiers swore they believed I had the secret of eternal youth and looked like a girl of eighteen; they lied of course but I do believe I looked ten years younger than I was. My skin was as white as it had ever been and as smooth—it should be. It was well looked after. My eyes had lost none of their brightness, and because I was a little short-sighted they had a soft look, although when I was talking to people I would study them so intently that I appeared to be looking straight into their minds, which disconcerted them a little. However I was not pleased to be seen by young Talbot who bowed low and hurried away. I did not feel I could allow the matter to pass and when I next saw him—it was before dinner of the same day—I gave him a fillip across the forehead and I told the company that he had seen me before I was fully dressed that morning and I was ashamed to have been so seen. Of course Talbot said that he had been so blinded by my beauty that I had disappeared before he had had time to recover himself. All the same, I was put out wondering what he had really thought.

The only other time was quite disastrous. But more of that later.

There was no lack of devotion from my courtiers in spite of the fact that I was fast moving out of the stage when I could expect compliments, but perhaps because of it they were more fulsome and more frequent than ever. I loved my men—and I think some of them had a genuine affection for me. I was sure Hatton and Heneage did; and as for Robert there was a special relationship between us which nothing could alter. Men like Oxford never cared for anyone but themselves; and such as Philip Sidney were too inherently honest to be able to play the part of an admirer. I respected Philip for it but while I liked to have him at the Court—in any case I owed it to his mother and he was a favorite of his Uncle Robert's—he could never be in my immediate circle. Hatton was my Old Mutton or Bellwether. He was also My Lids. Robert was of course My Eyes—the most precious thing I had, and I always said he was continually looking out for my good. Burghley was in a different category; he was My Spirit; and Francis Walsingham, because of his dark looks, was affectionately known as My Moor.

Lettice Knollys was back at Court. I liked to keep an eye on her. I commented that she must be mourning her husband and feeling his loss sadly.

“Oh yes, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes.

I thought: Sly creature! Is she up to some mischief, and with whom? Her attitude of mourning was not very sincere. She did not look like a sorrowing widow to me.

I said: “You must have been deeply saddened when you heard of Walter's death. It was so sudden…so unexpected. Poor Essex! He was not an old man, and he had so much to live for. I am glad it was discovered that his death was a natural one. That must have been a trying time for you. To lose a husband through God's will is disastrous enough, but if it should be by man's foul play that would be very hard to bear.”

“Walter was a quiet man, Your Majesty. He had no real enemies.”

“And not one to wish him out of the way?”

She lifted those beautiful dark eyes to my face with the utmost candor. “Oh no, Your Majesty.”

She was one of two women whom I found it hard to get out of my mind. The other was Mary, Queen of Scotland. I imagined, although I had never seen Mary, that she had a quality similar to that of Lettice. It was an overriding attraction which I think most men found irresistible. They are of a wanton nature, I thought angrily, both of them! They want men as much as men want them. It is not superior beauty or skill… except perhaps in lewd conduct. But it is there in Lettice Knollys as it must be in Mary of Scots.

And in view of the rumors which had reached me about Lettice and Robert, I was particularly suspicious of her. What was happening between Lettice and Robert would be kept from me by those around me and the fact that some hints had filtered through told me there must be a great deal of it.

New Year came—always an enjoyable time of giving and receiving. My courtiers, of course, brought me the richest gifts—jewelery and garments, but I also had more humble presents from my household servants. For instance from Mistress Twist, the Court laundress, I had three handkerchiefs of black Spanish work edged with gold—all worked by her; and in addition she brought me four tooth cloths of rough holland wrought with black silk and edged with fine netting delicately worked with many colored silks. From Mrs Montague, my silk woman, I had a pair of sleeves decorated with roses and buds in black silk.

Philip Sidney brought me a cambric smock decorated with black silk work and edged with bone lace of gold and silver; it was covered with real gold spangles—a most delightful and acceptable gift. From my physicians I had pots of ginger and other preserves, and one of the cooks made a marchpane in the shape of St George and the dragon.

I had given Robert a doublet of white satin fastened with clasps of diamonds in which he looked very splendid. My favorite gift was of course his, not only because it was the most magnificent but because he had given it. That year it was a magnificent necklace of diamonds, opals and rubies. I wore it constantly.

Lettice brought me two wigs—one black and one red to match my own hair.

When I tried on the black one she stood back looking at me, her hands clasped together, all prepared to make the flattering comment.

I said to her: “I hear disturbing news about Lady Sheffield. I wonder what is the cause of her ailment. Do you know?”

“No, Your Majesty.” The beautiful eyes were wide and her face a study of innocence. “I doubt not the doctors will have an answer.”

“It is one of those mysterious illnesses which affect some,” I went on. “They tell me that her hair is falling out and her nails dropping off.”

Lettice shivered.

“No one can say what the cause of that is. And you know how ready people are to talk when others are beset by these illnesses. They begin to look around for reasons.”

“Reasons, Your Majesty?”

“Well, it is possible that our meek little Douglass is being a nuisance to someone.”

“She seemed a very mild gentle creature when I met her. Our encounter was brief certainly.”

“I remember rumors about her at Kenilworth. Rumors about her … and one other.”

In spite of her attempt at calm she was shaken. My suspicions that an affair was still simmering between her and Robert were heightened.

“I hope that Lady Sheffield recovers,” I said. “There was that delightful little boy she had. He reminded me in a way of your young Robert. Another Robert, you see. What a popular name that is! And what of your son, eh? My Lord Essex now. I must give him his full title I suppose.”

“He is well, Your Majesty, and with my Lord Burghley now.”

“Yes. Burghley reports that he is a clever little fellow.”

“He is certainly bright, Your Majesty. I am proud of him.”

“And so you should be. You are young yet, Lettice, and a comely woman. I doubt your father before long will find a husband for you.”

She was silent, her eyes downcast, but I did notice that the color had deepened in her cheeks.

“And how does this wig become me?”

I could see it hardened my face and added a few years to it. When one grows older one's hair must never be darker than it was in one's youth. Lettice had an eye for color; she was one of the most elegant ladies of the Court. She saw what I saw and I was amused by the tact of her comment. She said the black was too coarse for my fine skin. She added: “The golden red is ideal.”

She was right. I made her get Robert's necklace and put it on me.

“Is it not beautiful, cousin,” I said. “It is a gift from my lord Leicester. He always chooses so carefully for me.”

She scratched me a little and I turned and nipped her on the arm. I had a feeling that the scratch was not accidental.

Lettice had an undoubted effect on me. I should have sent her away, and yet on the other hand I did enjoy tormenting myself with speculations as to a liaison between her and Robert.

As for Robert himself he was the same as ever—my devoted if unfulfilled lover, ever hopeful and able, at times, to hide a certain exasperation, knowing, of course, that negotiations for a French marriage were still going on and, I believed, casting lustful eyes on Lettice.

Sometimes I could be amused but at others I was quite angry; and in one of these moods I decided to play a trick on Robert just as I had when I had offered him to Mary of Scotland.

Princess Cecilia of Sweden was the sister of Eric who, at one time, had been one of my suitors. It had been said then that Robert had been bribed with the promise of marriage to Princess Cecilia if he could persuade me to take Eric. Those who put forward that suggestion clearly did not know Robert. It was hardly likely that he would consider Cecilia a fair exchange for me—for at that time he was certain that he was going to persuade me into marriage. Nothing came of that project and Eric went back to Sweden to meet his nut girl and Cecilia married the Margrave of Baden.

However Princess Cecilia visited England later and I was quite taken with her. She had very long straight fair hair which she could sit on when she wore it loose. She was at the time of her visit heavily pregnant and in fact actually gave birth here. Consequently I was godmother to the child.

She and the Margrave were a simple pair, and because I had made much of them on their arrival they had stayed too long, imagining that they could live at the expense of the country. They amassed vast debts and since they had no means of paying them, the Margrave was seized by his creditors and thrust into jail. When this was brought to my notice, I immediately paid his debts and he was released, but as he and his fair-headed bride were departing, her creditors arrived and seized her goods in payment of what she owed. So they departed penniless and it is easily understood why they were not very happy with their stay in England.

Cecilia was now a widow and as there had been a suggestion once that she might marry Robert, why not again? They were both free.

I would make my wishes known to Robert and send a message to Sweden without delay.

Robert was nonplussed.

He looked at me angrily and said: “Is this what you wish?”

To which I replied that he was very dear to me and as I knew he had aspirations to royalty, I thought he might acquire it through marriage with a princess.

White-faced, he strode from my apartment quite forgetful of the ceremony due to the Queen.

I could not resist teasing Lettice for if he married the Princess that would put an end to his frolicking with her.

I said to her: “It may well be that 'ere long we shall lose the shining star of our Court.”

She hesitated and I saw an enigmatical expression flit across her face.

“I mean of course the Earl of Leicester,” I went on.

“Lose him, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. There are plans for him to go to Sweden. You may have heard of the Princess Cecilia. There was a question of marriage between them long ago. She was held forth as a bait for him if he would further my marriage with her brother Eric.”

She stood with bowed head, waiting.

“Knowing how he longs for royalty I thought this would be a splendid chance for him.”

“Your Majesty is very kind to the Earl. I am sure he will be grateful.”

“Grateful!” I shouted at her, and I picked up a hairbrush and threw it at her. “Grateful for sending him away! He is furious, poor man! He hates anything that takes him away from my side. When he is the husband of the Princess, I can scarcely keep him here, can I?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, picking up the hairbrush which she had managed to avoid and laying it on the table.

“I tell you this, my Lady Essex,” I went on. “Robert Dudley is only a truly happy man when he is with me. The great desire of his life has been to marry me, and he is the only man I ever wished to marry. I do believe that if I had not vowed to remain a virgin, I might have done so.”

She was silent and I dismissed her. She annoyed me standing there for I was certain now that Robert was not indifferent to her. I had to admit though that the manner in which she had received the news was very creditable.

The Princess Cecilia haughtily rejected the idea of marriage with Robert, as I had known all along she would.

Robert left for Buxton; he was suffering from the gout, he said; but I did wonder whether he merely wanted to get away from Court for a while. It was humiliating for him—first that I should suggest his marrying Cecilia, and then her refusing him.

I was sorry as I always was when Robert went away and if I thought he really was ill, I should be very worried indeed. But I did feel it was necessary to teach him a lesson now and then.

When he came back he was in high favor again as he always was after these little upsets between us. I wanted him to know that whatever happened that affection which had now grown over the years was too strong to be broken.

I was entertained by him at his house at Wanstead—a lovely manor house which he had bought some years before from Lord Rich. Robert had brought his special talents to bear in the house and had greatly improved it. It had a great hall with a ceiling painted to represent morning, noon and night and in which were statues representing Poetry, Music, Painting and Architecture. Exquisitely colored tapestries covered the walls and the gardens were beautiful with fountains and pieces of sculpture; and to make it more attractive it was surrounded by a forest in which deer abounded.

He had called one of the rooms the Queen's Chamber and this he had personally designed especially for me. The walls of this room were covered in some kind of tinsel material which shimmered in the sun's light and that of candles; and the bed curtains were of the same iridescent material. Knowing that this would appeal to me even more than the splendor of the furnishings, he had installed a little room adjoining the bedroom which he called a hot-house, because it was always of a higher temperature than the rest of the house, and in this was a bath, so that when I visited him I had no need to take my bath with me. There were no rushes on Robert's floors. He had carpets everywhere. He certainly knew how to make sure of comfort, and in his houses his first thought, it seemed to me, was how he could accommodate me when I visited him.

When Robert returned from Buxton I felt I had to be especially attentive to him. It had been rather unkind to offer him to the Princess Cecilia.

“Robert,” I said, “don't be sullen. It ill becomes you. You know I only offered you because I knew she wouldn't take you. You don't imagine for one instant that I should have allowed you to leave me!”

He retorted that he would have refused to go even if the Princess had accepted him.

“Nonsense,” I said. “You know you have always craved for a crown.”

“Not a crown… only one woman.”

“Dear Robert,” I said. “You must take more care of your health. Why do you get this gout? Because you stuff like a pig. Look at me. How slender I am! Why do you think that is so? It is because I am not always concerned with what I am putting into my mouth. Eat sparingly and you will cease to suffer from gout, and if you will not of your own accord, I shall see that you do.”

He liked to be scolded thus; and we were especially fond of each other for a while.

In spite of this frivolous side to my nature, it must not be thought that I was not deeply concerned with matters of state. I never forgot for one moment that I was the Queen of a great country. Even while I was dancing and acting in a most flirtatious manner with my men, I was having serious conferences with Cecil, Bacon and Walsingham on intricate matters of state. Robert, of course, often joined in these and believed himself to be something of a statesman, but he would never be a Burghley. I imagined that the difference was that Robert, being the man he was, must always think first of the advantage to himself. Burghley thought first of his country. I was the same. I loved my country. It came first. I saw my role clearly, and often when I appeared to be at my most flirtatiously frivolous I was most concerned.

Burghley and I were constantly considering the position of the Netherlands which gave us some anxiety. The struggle of that heroic nation with Spain was just beginning, for it was the aim of Philip to turn that essentially

Protestant country into a Catholic province. Burghley—stern Protestant that he was—believed that England should support the Netherlands heartily in their struggles against Spain, and the rest of the Council was with him in this.

Burghley was very lucid on the point. Our policy must be to weaken the power of France and Spain and to make sure that the Catholics in England took no comfort from them. We should help those who were fighting for liberty of conscience. “In the Netherlands they are struggling against the Pope and the tyranny of the Inquisition, which Philip is striving to set up in their land,” he maintained.

I hated war, and I was determined not to put my country at risk by making it. War was costly and, I insisted, it brought no good to any… even the victors. I had no desire for conquest. I had my country, which meant everything to me. It was enough. All I asked was to keep that country at peace and prosperous, and I did not believe it was possible to have one without the other. It was England for me… and England only. I had not even the same feeling for Wales—the home of my ancestors—and certainly not for Scotland. It was the green and pleasant country around my capital city that I loved so dearly, and even when I went to the remote parts of England I did not feel they were quite the same to me.

Burghley earnestly pointed out the importance of the Netherlands, and although I saw the need to curb the power of Spain, I did not want to go to war on behalf of any country but my own. If any tried to invade England, then that would be the time to rise up, and none would be more fierce than I in the defense of my country; but the Netherlands was far away and the Netherlanders must sort out their own difficulties.

“There is one point which perhaps Your Majesty might like to consider,” said Burghley. “If we stand aside, the French might not.”

I saw the point of this but I reminded Burghley that while there was a possibility of an alliance between France and ourselves the French would not want to offend us.

“The negotiations for a marriage go on and on, and nothing comes of them,” said Burghley.

“This much has come of them,” I reminded him. “They have not broken down.”

“True,” he agreed, “and the Queen Mother suggests sending one of her ablest diplomats to plead her son's cause with you. To woo you on his behalf, she says.”

That appealed to me. I should enjoy being wooed by some elegant Frenchman.

“Let him come,” I said. “What keeps him?”

“Your Majesty, it will be necessary to treat the gentleman with some degree of seriousness.”

“But indeed I shall. I have always regarded these marriage propositions with serious intent.”

“Serious intent to refuse them,” said Burghley grimly.

“My lord…”

He shook his head. “It would be a great help to Your Majesty if there were one to stand beside you and share your burdens.”

“Are you suggesting, dear Spirit, that I am not capable of carrying them alone?”

“Never,” he said. “But it would be helpful to you and perhaps…”

“Perhaps I am not too old to bear an heir? Come, Burghley, you deceive yourself.”

“I would see Your Grace married to the man of your choice. And none of us has any doubt who that would be.”

“Leicester!” I cried. “I tell you this: It would be unlike myself and unmindful of my royal majesty to prefer a servant whom I myself have raised up before the greatest princes in Christendom.”

I had spoken lightly but I had raised my voice and there were others in the apartment, though not close to us. I heard the shocked silence, and I knew that there would be many to report to Robert what I had said. He would guess I was only teasing. Or would he? It was only a short time ago that I had offered him to Cecilia of Sweden.

“Come, Burghley,” I said, “let us offer a warm welcome to this Frenchman who comes to woo me.”

JEHAN DE SIMIER, the charming Frenchman who had come to woo me on behalf of his master, arrived in England and I was greatly looking forward to the exercise. Burghley, who knew me well, again warned me that I should have to take the utmost care. The situation with the Netherlands was tricky, and Walsingham agreed with him that it would go hard with us if either the French or the Spanish gained control there.

“The French will do nothing there while I dally with their little Duc through his proxy,” I said. “This marriage is of the utmost importance to the Queen Mother. Did you know that one of her soothsayers told her that all her sons would wear crowns? It has come true with one exception. My little Anjou. You see how earnest she is in her endeavors to marry me to him. She would not dream of destroying the hopes of that prophecy's coming true… even for the sake of the Netherlands.”

“Unless you propose to marry, Your Majesty must walk with extreme care.”

“Dear Spirit, you must know that when I appear to step with little consequence I am picking my way with utmost care.”

He bowed his head. He believed me.

I gave myself up to entertaining Monsieur de Simier, and what a joy that was! “I declare,” I said to him, “I am fast falling deeper in love with the Duc d'Anjou through his proxy.”

How graceful he was! How witty! He had all the social virtues and I had to admit that the French certainly shone in society. Simier could dance with grace; he had a deep knowledge of music; he was exquisite in his dress—less flamboyant than our gentlemen but somehow managing to outshine them in elegance without dazzling the observer only with the glitter of multicolored jewels. The compliments he paid were discreet and yet somehow tender and passionate and more provocative in intent than any I had received before. In fact Simier behaved like a lover—and the best sort of lover from my point of view; for this was a courtship which could go on as long as he was in the country, and I had no fear of an attempt to hurry me into a climax which might be detrimental to my dignity.

I could not have enough of Simier's company; in fact so successful was his visit that most of those around me thought that I intended entering into matrimony at last.

There were intimate discussions between the doctors and some of the members of my bedchamber as to whether I should still be able to bear a child and give the country the longed-for heir. The verdict was that this was distinctly possible. I was forty-five years of age but extraordinarily well preserved. I had all my teeth; my skin was white and clear; my face was unlined, and if my hair was not quite as bright and plentiful as it had once been, that was easily remedied. My ladies had some effective lotions and there were always false pieces and wigs to fall back on.

They were right. I was in the condition of a woman ten years younger than myself and although it was getting rather late for marriage, the verdict was that if I did not delay too long there might very well be a satisfactory outcome.

This was one of the most enjoyable periods I remember. I was being courted with charm, skill and a display of absolute adoration by one who clearly had been chosen for his abilities to represent his master. My own men showed clearly their regard for me and made it obvious that they were only in favor of the marriage because they believed it would be best for me; but the faces of those most near to me were melancholy during those days.

I asked Hatton what ailed him and he said he dared not tell me, at which I insisted.

Then he said: “Since Your Majesty commands, I will tell you it is because of this marriage.”

“Oh, so old Bellwether does not like the French.”

“I know,” he said, “that this marriage would do good to the country.” Then he raised his eyes to me with the most soulful expression and added: “I have to agree with the Council that it should take place, but when it does I shall suffer most dreadfully. Your Majesty fishes for men's souls and has so sweet a bait that none can escape your network.”

I gave him a playful push. “It will make no difference to you, my dear Mutton,” I said. “You will remain my friend as you ever were.”

It was the same with Heneage. He raised his eyes to mine and said: “I know this marriage must be but it is hard for one who loves Your Majesty— even as the French Prince will, and the greatness of his kingly birth makes him fit to have Your Majesty it is true, but the love of this humble servant is no less great than that of the highest prince.”

I replied with deep feeling that nothing would induce me to part with my dear friends, and no matter if I married the greatest prince in Christendom I should never do that.

John Aylmer, Bishop of London, may not have been able to express his devotion in such a flowery manner but he did so in a practical way. There was a great deal of talk at this time about plots devised by the Catholics, the aim being to depose me and set Mary of Scotland on the throne. In fact several waxen images of me had been found in the house of a Catholic priest in Islington. Such matters were promptly dealt with but they did give rise to concern and I began to be plagued by a nagging toothache, which grew so bad that I was unable to sleep at night and so anxious did my ministers become—they were always thrown into a panic at any disability on my part—that they called a conference of the physicians, one of whom mentioned a certain Anthony Fenatus who had a reputation for making fantastic cures.

“What if the man is a Catholic?” said Burghley.

“What if he is one of Philip's spies?” asked Robert.

“He might be a sorcerer,” suggested Heneage.

Thus it was decided that Fenatus should not actually see me but should write a prescription which one of our men would make up.

Fenatus replied that he had no skill to produce an effective cure and if a tooth was hollow the only way to stop the pain was to withdraw it. However, if Her Majesty did not wish to submit to the chirurgical instruments, the tooth could be stopped with wax which would loosen it, but care must be taken that the wax touched no other tooth; then juice of the plant known as fenugreek, which was to be found in Suffolk, should be applied. This might loosen the tooth still more and make it easy to withdraw, for, he repeated, the only safe way to be rid of the pain was to be rid of the tooth.

The method was tried without success. The tooth remained firm and unbearably painful. My Council met and discussed the tooth as though it were the gravest matter of state, which I supposed it was for the pain was undermining my health.

Burghley implored me to have it withdrawn, but I was adamant. I could not endure the pain of it.

Then it was that John Aylmer showed his love for me in a very special way. He said: “Your Majesty, to draw a tooth is not as painful an operation as Your Majesty thinks. The pain is sharp and short and to be preferred to this enduring agony. I am an old man with few teeth to spare but Your Majesty shall see a practical experiment on me for I would willingly give my life in your service, so what is a mere tooth?”

Whereupon he called the surgeon and in a very short time one of his teeth was pulled out. He uttered not a cry, but sat still holding a kerchief to his mouth with a look of triumph on his dear good face.

After that I had no alternative but to submit to the operation and in a very short time it was performed. Aylmer was right—a short sharp pain was infinitely preferable to that continuous nagging agony.

Such devotion filled me with gratitude and I would never forget John Aylmer's action and whenever I saw him afterward I asked him how many teeth he had left and he would tell me with a smile and add that every one of them was at my service.

I was fortunate in the men I had chosen to surround me. Years afterward, looking back, I often thought that one of my greatest gifts was an ability to sift the wheat from the tares. I had the greatest men in England serving me, which was tantamount to serving their country, and I have never forgotten—and as I grew older this became more clear to me—what I owed to these good and clever creatures.

Robert during this time was inclined to be sullen. His hatred of Simier made me laugh. He said that the man was a poseur, a twittering Frenchman, a man whose chief concern was the cut of his coat.

I replied: “Dear Robert, you dress rather splendidly yourself.”

“I trust I do not mince and prance like your little French favorite.”

I pretended to be annoyed with him and said that I intended to keep my charming friend at my side, not only out of courtesy to one who came on such an errand but because I happened to like his company and found it more amusing than that of some others.

I expected Robert to be overcome with remorse and seek a way of regaining my favor; but he was not and did not; instead he asked for permission to leave Court and this I peremptorily gave.

Rumors concerning the evil powers practiced by the French emissary persisted and it was believed that they came from the jealous Leicester; but the people in the streets were saying that I was being wooed by sorcery and that the Queen Mother of France was noted for dabbling in the black arts.

Realizing that such rumors were having an adverse effect on his courtship and guessing from where they emanated, Simier decided to have his revenge.

He came to me one day, his eyes sparkling with excitement which at first I thought was pleasure in seeing me. He took my hand and kissed it in that particularly fervent manner of his which so pleased me and said that his master was growing more and more impatient.

“When I write to him and tell him of your perfections, he is all eagerness to taste your sweetness. He cannot understand why you are so cruel as to keep yourself from him. Your Majesty, I beg you to say the word which will make him the happiest man on Earth.”

I began the usual protest. I was an old woman. Our religions were different. My people did not care for a foreign marriage.

He lifted his hand and said: “May I ask Your Majesty one question. Is it because your affections are given elsewhere?”

I pretended to be astonished. “There are no other negotiations for marriage at this time.”

“I mean one near to you … one of your own subjects. I refer, Your Majesty, to the Earl of Leicester. It is said that you are so enamored of him that he will always stand between you and any marriage that you might make.”

“The Earl of Leicester has been my very good friend for many years.”

“Yet he keeps secrets from Your Majesty.”

“Secrets? What secrets?”

“Such as his marriage.”

“Marriage!” I cried, taken off my guard. “For some months, Your Majesty, the Earl of Leicester has been the husband of that lady who was previously the Countess of Essex.”

“This cannot be true.”

“It is a matter which is well known to most. Only Your Majesty appears to have been kept in the dark.”

I cannot describe my feelings. That he should have dared! That he should have deceived me so! Robert…to marry that woman! It was her fault of course. She had captured him… worked her magic on him. The she-wolf! How I hated her!

Simier was all concern.

“I should have broken the news more gently,” he said. “I thought you must be aware of it…as so many are. It is distressing to hear news of a subject's perfidy. Pray give me leave to retire and send your ladies to you.”

I did not attempt to stop him. When he had gone and my ladies were with me, I cried: “Send Burghley to me … Sussex … Walsingham … I would have word with them without delay.”

One of my ladies put a chair for me to sit in. She would have given me a concoction to smell for she feared I was going to faint, but I pushed her angrily away.

Sussex came with Burghley.

I cried: “Did you know that Leicester is married? He has married that she-wolf whom I took into my care.”

They said they knew.

“Everyone knew … except the Queen!” I cried. “By God's Precious Soul, how can I ever trust those around me again?”

“My lady … Your gracious Majesty …” said Sussex, “the news was kept from you out of concern for you.”

“Concern for me! When those two scoundrels conspire against me!”

Sussex said gently: “It cannot be said that they conspired against Your Majesty. They decided to marry, and they have a perfect right to do so. They are not royal persons who need the consent of the Sovereign.”

“They deceived me! They deceived the Queen! Let Leicester be sent to the Tower at once.”

Sussex looked at me earnestly and shook his head.

“Do you hear me!” I cried.

He said: “I hear Your Majesty, and I must tell you that you cannot send Leicester to the Tower because he takes an action which he has a perfect right to do.”

I glared at Sussex. “You would tell me, my lord, what I must and must not do?”

He looked at me steadily. “If I thought it was for the good of Your Majesty, I would risk displeasing you.”

There had always been something noble about Sussex. He prided himself on doing what he considered right. I could see that Burghley was gently shaking his head; warning me that I must curb my anger. I must not let people see how deeply Robert's defection had wounded me.

Sussex was saying: “Your Majesty must consider the effect such an action would have on the people. If they saw how great was your anger, they would believe those evil rumors which were once circulated about you and Leicester. I tell you this because I am prepared to risk your wrath in my zeal to serve you well.”

“And you, Burghley?” I said.

“Sussex is right, Your Majesty. You cannot condemn a man for entering into an honorable marriage if he is in a position to do so.”

“They have deceived me all these months. When I was at Wanstead… even then…”

Both men regarded me solemnly.

“I will never have her at Court,” I said. “I never want to see her evil face again. As for him… let him not think that he has escaped my anger. He is dismissed from Court. Let him go to Mireflore Tower in Greenwich Park and stay there.”

Sussex sighed with relief.

The first shock was over.

I WANTED TO SHUT myself away, to grieve in private. I had never known torment of this intensity. I could not stop images coming into my mind. I saw them together… that woman and my Robert. And how long had they been deceiving me, laughing at me? How dared they! I would never forgive them… either of them… certainly not her. She should be banished forever. I was already beginning to long for Robert's company, to think how dull the Court would be without him. It would be amusing to command him to return to Court and let his she-wolf wait for him to come back to her, which I would make sure he had little chance of doing.

I called on his sister Mary. She was disturbed to see me in such a state. I could see her lips quivering behind the veil she wore.

I said: “The rogue…to deceive me so…to marry that woman. Devereux died … conveniently, did he not? And after all I have done for him… What would he have been without me?”

“Sir Robert Dudley,” said Mary quietly, “member of an illustrious family.”

“Many members of which managed to find their way to the block… through their own pride!” I cried tersely.

“My grandfather went to the block to appease the people who blamed him for the taxes imposed on them by your grandfather.”

“Rogues!” I shouted. “The entire family. I should be thankful that I found out in time.”

She said: “If Your Majesty will give me leave to retire … You will understand I cannot remain to hear my family insulted.”

“You talk of insults. That brother of yours…he has taken everything and given nothing.”

“He would have given his life for Your Majesty.”

“Oh, Saint Robert! Lustful Robert who cannot keep his hands from a harlot!”

“Your Majesty is beside herself…”

“I would I were beside them. I would send them to the Tower… both of them… and imprison them in different towers. I would imprison them in spite of Sussex.”

“Your Majesty is too wise to do any such thing.”

“Wise!” I cried. “To trust those who have betrayed me!”

Mary was weeping silently and I found it hard to look at her, for even in such a moment I remembered all that she had suffered for my sake.

I turned away and went to my apartments where I shut myself in… alone with my grief.

The next day I heard that Mary had left Court. I wondered whether she had gone to him. They were a devoted family—those Dudleys; and they all looked on Robert as a god. They thought there was no one like him and so—God help me—did I.

Within a few days my anger against him relented. It was not his fault, I continually told myself. It was that she-wolf. She had special powers of sorcery, and what man could stand out against that? He had been seduced by that wicked woman.

I sent word that he might leave Mireflore for Wanstead if he wished. So he went and I suppose she joined him there. I heard that Mary Sidney was with them. No doubt they were discussing the fall of the Dudleys. Let them. Let them think he had ruined his chances at Court forever.

I took his picture out of the little box in which I kept it. How handsome he was. How well the artist had caught that look of distinction which no other man I had ever seen had possessed. I wept a little over that portrait. I kissed it and put it carefully away.

Then I plunged into an even more intense flirtation with Simier whom I affectionately called My Monkey.

I WAS ASSUMING a gaiety I did not feel to show my indifference to Leicester's marriage. Rumor reached me that Robert was furious with Simier for telling me of it as he had. Of course I should have had to know in time. I supposed Robert had been trying to formulate some brilliant scheme for breaking the news to me and making his excuses.

One day when I was on my barge not far from Greenwich, Simier came to join me there. We were laughing as we sailed along the river and the musicians were playing sweet music to the accompaniment of a boy singer. Whenever I passed along the river my people came out to wave to me and I never failed to show my pleasure and my gratitude that they had come to greet me. There were plenty of other craft all round for it was a pleasant day.

“The cheers, little Monkey,” I said to Simier, who was standing beside me, “are for me and not for you.”

He smiled and he said that he doubted the people saw him; all else would be blotted out by my dazzling presence.

“They see you,” I said. “There is no doubt of that, but perhaps some of them are not very happy to see you. My people are not enamored of foreign marriages. I remember their feelings when my sister married into Spain.”

“Ah, but your bridegroom will come from France, which is quite different from Spain. The Spaniards are so solemn, are they not? You would not say that of the representatives of France, would you, Your Grace?”

“Not of my dear little Monkey, most certainly.”

Then suddenly in the midst of this banter the shot rang out. It had been discharged from a boat nearby. One of the bargemen fell fainting to the ground not six feet from where I stood.

There was shouting and screaming. The noise was great. Simier had turned very pale and was looking at me in horror.

“Your Majesty is unharmed,” he said. “Thank God.”

“It was meant for me …” I murmured.

“No, Your Majesty, I think not. I believe it was meant for me.”

I tore off my scarf and gave it to one of the bargemen. “Bind up that poor man's wounds at once,” I said, “and have him attended to.”

Several people were round him and it was discovered that he had been shot in both arms.

They said afterward how calm I was. I could be calm in such moments. How different from the virago who had screamed for vengeance when she heard of Robert Dudley's duplicity!

The man who had fired the shot was shouting his innocence. He had meant no harm, he insisted. The gun had gone off by accident.

We returned to Greenwich and there I was prevailed upon to rest.

I knew Simier thought that Robert had made an attempt on his life, but I did not believe that Robert would have placed me in the slightest danger. He was too fond of me. I was sure of that. If he had married her, it was because he had decided that I would never have him and, wanton slut that she was, she had appealed to his senses. I could always pick out that sort of woman. And Robert was weak in that regard; he was, after all, a man. It would have been different if I could have taken him. Robert was not really to blame.

When they brought the man to trial he turned out to be a certain Thomas Appletree who swore with conviction that he had never been part of any plot and insisted that his firearm had gone off accidentally. He said he was in no way to blame for what had happened and if he had harmed his beloved Queen he would have turned the weapon on himself.

I intervened and said he should be pardoned for I believed in his innocence; and I asked his master to retain his services.

“Your Majesty is gracious and merciful,” said Sussex. “There is a doubt and you have given this man the benefit of it.”

“My lord Sussex,” I replied, “I would not believe anything against my subjects which loving parents would not believe of their children.”

This remark was repeated. Thomas Appletree, I knew, would be my devoted subject for the rest of his life, and the people loved me more than ever after the shooting on the barge.

Simier, however, continued to believe that it was a plot arranged by Leicester in revenge for his having told me of the clandestine marriage.

NEWS WAS BROUGHT to me that Robert was very ill at Wanstead.

“Serve him right!” I said. “He deserves to be ill. He is suffering from a surfeit of conscience, and I hope it plagues him for a very long time.”

But that night I could not sleep. I pictured him, pale and haggard, on his sick-bed calling for me, begging my forgiveness, longing for me to speak a few gentle words to him. What if he did not recover? What if he were on his death-bed?

The next morning I decided that I was going to see for myself how ill Robert was. I sent a message to that effect to Wanstead which would warn the she-wolf to make herself scarce if she happened to be with him.

Wanstead was not far out of London and an easy journey. As soon as I reached the house I went straight to his apartments.

He looked very pale and wan lying there. I went to his bedside and seating myself, took his hands in mine.

“Robert!” I cried in dismay. “You are really ill.”

I had half believed that he was shamming and had invented this to win my sympathy. I had put up some very good shows of delicacy myself in the past and it was not surprising that I should suspect others of doing the same.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me faintly. He was murmuring something and to catch it I had to bend over him. “My gracious lady …you came…to see me.”

I was so worried that I spoke very sharply. “Of course I came. You knew I would. In spite of your folly… still I came.”

I touched his forehead. It was not hot. Thank God, I thought, there is no fever.

I said shortly: “I shall stay here until you are better.”

He smiled and shook his head with the melancholy expression of one who knows his end is near.

I was still a little unsure and I was really hoping that it was a pretense for I knew I could not bear for him to pass out of my life. It would be so empty without him and if he were shamming I was only glad that he had gone to such lengths to bring me back to him. I forgave him. Then I kept reminding myself that men were weak creatures and that the she-wolf was a sorceress.

“Now, Robin,” I said, “you have been overeating, I doubt not, and drinking too much and indulging too freely generally in the so-called pleasures of the flesh. That is changed now. I shall look after you and my orders will be obeyed.”

He smiled fondly and happily, I thought.

“Why, you already look better,” I said.

“Of course I do. That is your healing presence.”

I stayed with him for three days at Wanstead while I tended him myself and at the end of that time he was well again—apart from touches of the gout.

I spoke to him very seriously: “Robert,” I said, “you are a fool.”

He looked sheepish. “I know it well,” he answered ruefully.

“You do not take care of yourself. You eat like a pig. Your complexion is growing very ruddy and you are too fat. I remember you so well when you came to Hatfield…”

“Ah, I remember too. I had sold my lands to provide the money you might need.”

“And I made you my Master of Horse. You were not heavy then, Robert.”

“We all must grow old… save you.”

“I also, Robert—although I fight against it. It is a losing battle and time will win in the end. But I shall put up a good fight in the meantime and so must you, Robin…so must you.”

“What should I do without you?” he asked.

“Very well,” I answered tartly, “with your new wife. Very well indeed until the she-wolf shows her fangs.”

He looked at me sadly.

“How could you, Robin? How could you so deceive me?”

“You gave me no hope. You showed your preference so clearly for the Frenchman.”

“Robert… you fool! You know why, don't you?”

“I wanted a son. I could not go on… hoping. I had realized after all these years that my hopes would never come to anything.”

“We belong together,” I said, “you and I. Nothing can alter that … nothing … no one can come between us. Whatever happens, you know that.”

He nodded.

“We have been through much together,” I went on. “We are part of England. Your life and mine are interwoven. So will it ever be…”

“I know. That is why I could not bear that you should spurn me.”

“You should have thought what my feelings would be before you took this disastrous step.”

“You would not have me. You had wounded me deeply with that simpering Frenchman.”

“You know why. You are a fool…a jealous fool.”

“I admit it.”

“I command you now to get well. You shall…in time… come back to Court.”

“My dearest Majesty…”

I felt my face harden. “You …” I said firmly. “You… alone. I never want to look again into the face of that she-wolf.”

So in a very short time there was reconciliation between us. I had accepted the fact that he was married; but I promised myself that Lettice Knollys should be denied the Court for as long as I ruled over it.

POLITICAL EVENTS WERE taking a serious turn. We could not afford to keep Anjou dangling indefinitely. The Treaty of Nerac had been signed, which meant that there was an end to the religious wars that had kept France busy for so long, and therefore the French were now free to take action elsewhere. We must be careful not to offend them. Our eyes were still on the Netherlands; moreover, the King of Portugal had died without issue and Spain was on the point of taking over its close neighbor, which would make it more powerful than ever.

“We must in no way alienate the French at this time,” said Burghley. “We cannot go on putting off the marriage. Your Majesty must make a decision and if you have no intention of marrying, it would be better to go no farther in this.”

“And incur the wrath of the Queen Mother and the whole of France as well as my little Anjou! Would that be wise?”

“Wiser than doing it later. So unless Your Majesty has decided that you will indeed marry, perhaps we should be considering how best to break off negotiations.”

“This matter may be left in my hands. Let us make ready to welcome the Duc d'Anjou.”

They were all convinced that I intended to marry my little French Prince. Simier was delighted with his success and word was sent at once to the Duc and the Queen Mother that I was all impatience to see my lover.

I was expecting the worst. The reports I had heard of him were not encouraging. I knew that he was disfigured by the smallpox for I had corresponded with his mother concerning remedial lotions. I knew that he was small and ugly. At Court they were asking themselves how I, who had always been so impressed by good looks, could tolerate such a creature.

When I saw him I was rather touched. It was true that he was one of the ugliest men I had ever seen. He was of exceptionally low stature and I admired tall men; his skin was hideously pockmarked—the elixirs, in spite of his mother's protestations, had been ineffective—and in addition to ruining his skin, the disease had worked its mischief on his nose so that it appeared to be split in the middle, and as it had from his birth been long, it hung down over his mouth. He reminded me of nothing so much as a little frog.

To compensate this he had the most beautiful manners I had ever known; he bowed gracefully and appeared to shrug aside his unprepossessing appearance as though he were unaware of it, and that made one forget it for long periods of time. His conversation was brilliant, for he was quite erudite, and to my astonishment I found myself enjoying his company. I was sure we looked incongruous together—he, so much smaller than I, looking up at me with that sophisticated adoration at which the French are so accomplished, and which made the compliments of my own men seem rather gauche.

So having been prepared for his ugliness I was not entirely displeased with my French Prince. I quickly christened him Little Frog, a term which amused him; and I had a brooch made in the shape of a frog. It glittered with diamonds and precious stones and I allowed him to pin it on me; and every time we met he would look for it and smile with satisfaction to see it prominently displayed.

My ministers were often in a state of exasperation. I dallied with the young Prince. I kept him at my side. I showed my pleasure in his company. Perhaps shrewd Burghley guessed that I was still smarting from Robert's behavior. However I prepared myself to enjoy the attentions of my little Frog Prince.

I never for one moment lost sight of the danger of the situation or that to offend the French could be disastrous for England. We had our spies in Spain and I was well aware what a deadly enemy Philip was. He had connived at plots to murder me; indeed he had given his full support to them. If he moved into the Netherlands, he would have no difficulty in bringing his armies across the Low Countries and from there it was an easy step to England. I had concentrated on the building of my Navy but I knew that it could not stand up against the might of Spain. Burghley had no need to point out to me that it was imperative that we did not affront France. If it were not for the fact that they hoped to see the Duc d'Anjou King of England, they might even attempt to land in Scotland, gather together disgruntled Catholics and march to free Mary of Scotland.

Dangers beset me on all sides and so much depended on how long I could go on playing the game of courtship with the Frog Prince, thereby holding the French at bay and giving the Spaniards qualms at the prospect of a strong alliance between France and England.

Even those ministers who respected my shrewdness and knew that I was as capable as anyone alive of playing a devious game, wondered how I could go on holding off my little Frog.

Fortunately this visit was to be a brief one of twelve days. Later he would come again, of course, and then there would be no excuse for delay—but I should have to find one.

My behavior with him—our tender gestures, our lovesick looks—those of mine no less than his—had convinced many people that there was going to be a marriage. Burghley, Bacon and such men in my close counsels knew that I was not going to marry, but the rest of the country believed I would. It was necessary that they should, for no indication must reach the French Court—and their spies in England were numerous—that my intentions were otherwise.

My subjects showed their great aversion to the match; and this was one of the rare occasions when I was angry with them. They seemed to think that I had been bemused by this ugly little Frenchman and that our union would be ridiculous since I was old enough to be his mother. As if I did not know that! They seemed to be of the opinion that I was a silly old woman who sought to be loved by a young man. And all the time I was pretending to consider marriage to save plunging them and my realm into war. Oh, I am not pretending that I did not relish the flattery, the extravagant manifestations of the great passion I inspired; I will not even say that I did not sometimes let myself believe in them. I had to, to play my part convincingly; and I did it for England. I never had intended to marry any man—not even Robert; and that decision stood firm. At the same time I dared not let our enemies guess that I was engaged in a piece of diplomacy.

I was, therefore, very angry when a pamphlet was brought to my notice. This had been written by a certain John Stubbs, a Protestant and puritan, a learned young man who had graduated from Cambridge. His intense fear and hatred of the Catholics was apparent, but I knew that he was expressing the views of others—perhaps more influential than himself—and the fact that I was being so misunderstood and could do nothing to correct the people's views of me infuriated me.

The title of the pamphlet was The Discoverie of a Gaping Gulf whereinto England is like to be swallowed by another French Marriage if the Lord forbid not the Banes by letting Her Majestie see the sin and punishment thereof.

There was nothing disloyal to me in the pamphlet; indeed Stubbs's character emerged as most loyal; he had merely allowed his hatred of Catholicism and the French to overcome his common sense. He saw in the proposed marriage the very foundations of our country being destroyed and to quote him “Our dear Queen Elizabeth led blindfold as a poor lamb to the slaughter.”

To hear myself described as a poor lamb led to the slaughter was more than I could bear. When I thought of how, since my accession, I had kept my country out of war, how I had served my people with unswerving devotion—and then to be thought of as a poor lovesick fool, for foolish a woman must be in her mid-forties to imagine a young man in love with her, splendid as she may be and ugly as he was—I was very angry.

I read more of the pamphlet which went on to say that I was too old for childbearing and to stress the state of health which prevailed in the Valois line. It was God's punishment on their flesh and bones for the lives of debauchery they had led. He finished by praying to Heaven to give me honorable and long sovereignty over my people with no ruling commander— especially the French Monsieur.

I could not accuse him of disloyalty to me, but his references to my age and the implication that I had been deluded, as some foolish girl might be, by the blandishments of a practiced libertine, set my anger simmering.

Stubbs, his printer and his publisher were brought to trial for publishing a seditious libel. They were found guilty and sentenced to that punishment which my sister had introduced when there was so much written about her marriage to Philip of Spain. It was that the guilty man's right hand should be struck off.

It was a cruel sentence and I deplored it; yet I could not control my wrath.

The printer was pardoned. He had merely printed what he had been given to print. It was different with the writer and the publisher.

I shall never forget that November day. It fills me with shame even now, and I knew as soon as it happened that I should have stopped it; I should have done so if it had not been for the ridicule I fancied the man had heaped upon me while I was striving all the time to do what was best for my country. Alas, my fury was not calmed in sufficient time.

So those two men—Stubbs and Page the publisher—were brought out from the Tower wherein they had been kept, to a scaffold which had been set up before the Palace of Westminster. There was a vast crowd to see the sentence carried out. I was sure that everyone in that crowd must have expected a last-minute message to stop the barbarity which was about to be performed on two good men.

But it did not come. First Page's hand and then that of Stubbs were struck off with a cleaver driven through the wrist with a beetle; and the wound seared with a hot iron. Page cried out: “I have left there the hand of a true Englishman”; and Stubbs said: “God save Queen Elizabeth.” Then both men fell fainting to the ground.

When the news of how bravely they had met their punishment was brought to me, I was overcome with remorse for I knew that it should never have happened. I could have lost my subjects' esteem even more than I was in danger of doing through the proposed marriage. They might think me foolish to be bemused by an ugly little Prince, but they would still love me; they would feel very differently about an act of cruelty.

When I was furious with myself it was one of my less pleasant traits to try to blame someone else. I sent for Walsingham and asked him why he had not discovered that the pamphlet was about to be published. Did he have a secret service or not? How could he have failed to suppress it?

Walsingham was not a man to mince his words—unlike most around me. I think he was too sure of my need of him—as was Burghley. He more or less implied that he had known the pamphlet was about to be produced and he agreed with the sentiments expressed in it.

I was angry with him and told him maliciously that he should prepare to leave for France because he should be one of those whose duty it was to bring about negotiations for the marriage.

The next criticism came from none other than Philip Sidney. I could scarcely believe the young jackanapes had had the temerity to write to me in such terms. But he was a bold young man—quiet, serious and clever, and he was, after all, Robert's nephew. He wrote:

“How the hearts of your people will be galled, if not alienated, when they shall see you take a husband, a Frenchman and a papist in whom the very common people know this, that he is the son of the Jezebel of our age—that his brother made oblation of his own sister's marriage, the easier to massacre our brothers in religion…”

I knew how strongly Philip Sidney felt about the massacre which had occurred on the Eve of St Bartholomew for he had been in Paris at the time. He was a Protestant and must have lived in terror during that terrible time, English though he was and therefore aloof from the quarrels of Frenchmen.

“As long as he is Monsieur in might and a papist in profession, he neither can nor will greatly shield you, and if he grow to be a king, his defense will be like that of Ajax's shield which rather weighed down than defended those that bore it.”

Wearily I tossed the letter aside. I wondered if Robert had seen it. Robert was against the marriage, of course. He would see his power greatly diminished if I took a husband. But you, my sweet Robin, I thought sadly, though back in favor will never be quite so close to me again now that you have taken that she-wolf to wife.

What should I do to Philip Sidney? I could not cut off his right hand.

The impertinent young fellow should be sent abroad for a while. I did not want to see him for some time. Perhaps in due course he would realize— as all my subjects might—that I was flirting so outrageously with the Frog Prince to prevent their being plunged into war.

WHEN I HEARD that Robert had a son my feelings were mixed. At first I rejoiced, for I knew that it was what he had longed for. What man does not want to see himself reproduced? Robert was no exception. I heard that there was great rejoicing at Leicester House and that a special cradle had been made for the child and it was draped with the most costly crimson velvet. It would be very splendid as everything was in Leicester House—and in every residence of Robert's.

I remembered when he had acquired Leicester House. It was about ten years before. The house was situated on the Strand and the gardens which ran down to the river were very beautiful. Many a time Robert and I had strolled among the flower beds to where the water lapped the privy steps and we had watched the craft sail along the river.

Then I imagined her there—the she-wolf—proud with the son she had produced. How like her to get a son! And so soon after the marriage! I could picture her smug, triumphant face with those magnificent eyes demanding admiration. And when I thought of her I was so angry that all my pleasure in Robert's triumph disappeared. I should have been the mother of his child. I could have been… but at what cost! My independence! My sovereignty! They were my life. I could never have given them up—not even for the satisfaction Lettice was enjoying now.

And where was he? Was he in attendance on the Queen? Indeed not! He was preening himself as the proud father at Leicester House.

The Countess of Leicester indeed! I heard she gave herself airs. She had her own little court at Leicester House…at Wanstead…at Denbigh… at Kenilworth… wherever they happened to be. And how had he acquired his wealth and fine houses? Through his Queen. I had given him everything … and here I was alone … childless while that she-wolf sat in triumphant state.

Thinking of that newly born child my thoughts returned to another. It was at Kenilworth that I had seen that child who bore a remarkable resemblance to Robert.

Douglass Sheffield! What was that story? He had married Douglass, so Douglass was reported to have said. Robert, of course, denied that there had been a marriage. But there was the child.

Just suppose there had been a marriage. Then Madam Lettice would not in truth be Leicester's wife and the little boy of whom they were so proud in his crimson velvet cradle would be a bastard.

The thought soothed me. I sent for Sussex.

When he arrived I said I was a little anxious about Lady Sheffield. I had heard that she was suffering from a mysterious illness. What did he know of her?

Sussex replied: “Your Majesty need have no anxiety about the lady now. She was ill—mysteriously ill, indeed some thought that she might have been poisoned—but she has recovered miraculously and is now Lady Stafford. She married Sir Edward Stafford and they appear to be living very happily together.”

“I am glad that she recovered, but was she not said to have made a previous marriage?”

Sussex knew very well that I was aware of the scandals concerning Lady Stafford. Naturally I would be, as they concerned Robert.

“Life has worked out very satisfactorily for her now,” began Sussex.

“That may be, but if she were in fact previously married and her husband is still living, she cannot be married to Stafford.”

Sussex looked perplexed and I went on: “I want you to look into this matter.”

He was still bewildered. “Your Majesty will remember that the lady claimed to have been married to the Earl of Leicester.”

“I do remember it,” I said, “and if this is indeed true, my Lord Leicester must return to his true wedded wife.”

“But Leicester—”

“He has gone through a form of marriage with the Countess of Essex, yes; but if he was really wed to Douglass Sheffield, the marriage to Lady Essex is no marriage at all, and if it can be proved that he was married to Lady Sheffield, he shall return to her.” My calm deserted me and I shouted: “They shall live together or…he can rot in the Tower.”

Sussex regarded me with dismay. I had betrayed myself, but I did not care. All I wanted was revenge on Lettice Knollys.

I INSISTED THAT there must be an inquiry. Lady Stafford must be questioned and I would be present at the examination. Sussex was against it. He was one of the very few men in my Court who dared go against me and he had exasperated me many times. I had raged against him, called him an idiot, told him he ought to be banished from Court. All of which he had taken with resignation; but when I called him traitor, he protested with righteous indignation and seemed not to care how he offended me. He was a man who would state his opinions no matter what such frankness brought down on his head; and I must respect him for that. He knew I would never banish him from Court. Honest men were rare and if Sussex lacked the brilliance of Burghley and Bacon and the charm of Robert, Hatton, Heneage and the rest, he was an honest man. I had not a more faithful servant at my Court.

So now Sussex did not hesitate to tell me that he thought I was wrong to raise this matter of Leicester's possible marriage to Lady Stafford.

“The Earl is married; Lady Stafford is married; and Your Majesty would do well to let be.”

“I am the best judge of that, my lord,” I said sharply.

“I think, Your Majesty, in the circumstances…”

I silenced him. He was alluding, of course to my well-known attachment to Robert. He deplored it, and as it happened he disliked Robert more than any man at Court. Robert's devious methods were abhorrent to him; yet at one time he had been ready to agree to a marriage between us because he thought I was so enamored of Robert that my happiness lay in such a marriage. I am sure that he was also of the opinion that any marriage was better than none and that with two so passionately devoted to each other as Robert and I were, a union was sure to be fruitful.

“So, Master Sussex,” I said, “you are against this inquiry because Lady Stafford is a connection of your wife. Is that not so? Your good lady wants no scandal in the family!”

Sussex hesitated. There was an element of truth in that, he admitted; but his real objection was my involvement in the affair.

How involved was I in this?

“People will say that it is your anger against Leicester which prompts you rather than your desire to sift the truth—which can do little good now.”

“Little good! Do you think of your wife's precious cousin…or whatever she is…do you think her reputation is of no account? I tell you this, my lord Sussex: There shall be no immorality at my Court.”

He knew then that I would have what I wanted, and accordingly Lady Stafford was summoned and I listened while Sussex questioned her. He had succeeded in making me accept a secret inquiry, saying that if Lady Stafford proved that there had been a true marriage between herself and the Earl of Leicester then the matter could be taken to court. Of course he was right.

What a timid creature this Lady Stafford was! I wondered what Robert could have seen in her. When I thought of myself… and Lettice… strong women … women of personality … whatever could he have seen in this… mouse!

She looked half crazed and was certainly very frightened. She said that she was married to Sir Edward Stafford and it was a very happy marriage.

“But is it a marriage,” asked Sussex, “if you are already married to the Earl of Leicester?”

“That was no true marriage.”

“There was a time when you were pleading that it was,” Sussex reminded her. “What has happened to change your mind?”

“I was mistaken…”

“It seems a strange mistake to make,” I couldn't resist interjecting. “Do you mean to say you did not know whether you were married or not?”

She turned to me and fell to her knees, wringing her hands while the tears coursed down her cheeks. “Your Majesty,” she said, “I thought I was married then… but now I…am not sure. There were those to say there was no marriage. I thought…”

I looked in exasperation at Sussex who began his relentless questions. Her meeting with Leicester, the sudden flaring of passion between them… he was irresistible… she had been a faithful wife until then… the letter he had written…

“What was in the letter?” demanded Sussex.

“That he would marry me when my husband died.”

“But your husband was well, was he not?”

She nodded wretchedly.

“Then why did he talk of his death?”

“He…he said it would not be long before we could be legally married.”

I was tapping my feet impatiently. I did not want a case of murder to be brought against Robert. I only wanted to separate him from the she-wolf.

“Where is this letter?” I demanded.

“I—I do not know…”

She told what I knew already. Foolish little creature! She had lost the letter; it was found by her sister-in-law and taken to her husband who left her and went to London threatening to divorce her, but before he could do so, he died.

“And when you were free, you married the Earl of Leicester.”

“I…I think so…”

“Have you any proof?”

“I—I trusted him. He said we were married. It seemed like a marriage. Perhaps…”

“You must have some documents. There would have to be papers.”

“I—I don't know. I have no papers. Oh please, my lord, Your Majesty, let me go…I have a good husband who cares for me. I want nothing of my lord Leicester. It was no marriage. I have no papers…”

She began sobbing wildly.

Sussex looked at me and said: “I think nothing can be gained by pursuing this inquiry, Your Majesty.”

I was shaking with emotion, but I saw that he was right.

Lady Stafford covered her face and went on crying. “I know nothing… nothing,” she murmured. “I can only say I trusted him. He said all was well. I don't know…I don't know any more…”

“The woman is hysterical,” I said. “Go back to Sir Edward Stafford, Lady Stafford.”

She was taken away.

Sussex stood before me. Much as he hated Leicester I think he was rather pleased by the outcome. His chivalry had been touched by the sight of that poor woman in distress.

I went back to my apartments. I was filled with a cold anger and the hatred I bore Lettice Knollys was greater than ever. She had won again.

But I will be even with her yet, I promised myself. She shall not hold Robert. His place is at Court with me, and that is somewhere you shall never come, my lady!