Queen Of This Realm

The Rise of Essex

LOOKING BACK, I WONDER WHY I LOVED ESSEX SO MUCH. IT must have been because I was looking for a substitute for Robert. It was a hopeless quest, because there could never be one to take his place, and in any case I was not the same young woman as that one of twenty-five who had fallen so deeply in love that I had almost been ready to share my throne with him.

Essex was handsome; his name was Robert; he was different from the other young men of my Court. His manner, which could be sullen, singled him out. Although why I should have been attracted by that, I cannot imagine. Perhaps somewhere in my mind was the niggling thought that he was her son and in winning him to my side I was taking him away from her.

Whatever it was I was more drawn to him than to any other—even dashing and often impudent Raleigh, who ran him rather close.

Essex never made concessions. I remembered him as a boy, not long after our first meeting at Chartley when he had been brought to Court and I offered to kiss him, for he had very handsome looks even then; he had quietly rejected the offer, which I had found amusing then, but which seemed to me now an indication of what was to come. I remember, too, that he wore his hat in my presence and it had to be snatched off his head for he would not remove it.

So perhaps I should have been prepared.

He was openly defiant. He presumed on my favors and there were many incidents when I almost felt I would send the young man from Court to teach him a lesson. If Robert had been there I should have done so. I should have had no need of him then; but talking with him, accepting his indifference to my crown, in some way helped me to forget that other Robert—and I needed to forget all the time.

Essex wanted his own way, but he was impulsive and there was nothing calculating about him; that was where he was so different from my other men. There had never been anyone quite like him. I knew it was unwise to indulge him too much, but whenever I saw that slightly stooping figure coming toward me, and when I looked up into the blazing admiration— which must be genuine for he would never pretend—my heart warmed toward him and I felt happier than I had believed I could possibly feel without Leicester.

A typical example of his behavior was when we were paying a visit to Warwick's place at North Hall. Essex's sister, Penelope Rich, was staying there, and I did not care to receive her. For one thing she was Lettice's daughter, and if that were not enough to damn her in my eyes, she was conducting an adulterous intrigue with Charles Blount, who had become Lord Mountjoy on the death of his elder brother. Mountjoy was one of my favorite young men, being accomplished and handsome, and I deeply resented his indulging in this affair with Penelope Rich. If they had kept it secret, it would have been a different matter, but Penelope had openly left her husband and set up house with Mountjoy.

“Her mother's daughter” was my wry comment, when I heard of it.

And so I came to North Hall with my courtiers. We were met by Essex himself, who had come out to welcome us.

I soon learned the reason for his coming. He wanted to warn me that his sister was at North Hall and to beg me to receive her.

I should have welcomed him more warmly if I had thought he had come to greet me rather than to plead for his sister, so I coldly said that I would not receive his sister and that it would be better for her to remain in her apartments during my visit.

The color flamed into his face. He demanded to know why I received Mountjoy and banished his sister.

I replied that I had no intention of bandying words with him and turned away; but he remained beside me. I was unfair to his family, he said. I would not receive his mother at Court yet she had done nothing…officially… to displease me.

I could not say: She married Robert and she was not even faithful to him. So I signed to one of the others to take Essex's place beside me and he had no help for it but to fall back. He was really angry when, arriving at the house, I gave orders that Penelope Rich should stay in her apartments as long as I was at North Hall, as I had no wish to see her.

He was a hot-headed fool. He could never realize when it was wise to stop. Indeed that was his downfall. At supper he again tried to talk to me. Why should I not receive his sister? Was it not unfair to blame her? Had I not received Mountjoy? Surely I could not be prejudiced against my own sex?

“Your Majesty, I beg you to receive my sister…to please me.”

I knew that many present were waiting on my words. They were beginning to say: She is as fond of Essex as she was of Leicester. But Robert would never have been so foolish as to pursue a matter such as this when I had clearly made my feelings known!

I said: “You are mistaken, my lord Essex, if you think you can persuade me to do something which I have determined not to. I shall not have it said that I received your sister to please you.”

“No,” he cried hotly. “You will not receive her because you wish to please that knave Raleigh.” He was shouting. “You will always pleasure that pirate. You would disgrace both me and my sister because that country churl asks it.”

“Be quiet, you young fool,” I said. “I order you to say no more on this subject.”

But he would not be quiet. He began to shout abuse of Raleigh, for the two of them were more jealous of each other than any two men I have ever known—and I had seen some jealousies at Court! I was alarmed for him— angry as he made me—for Raleigh was actually a member of this party. Quite clearly he was out of earshot at this moment, but I could picture those two fighting each other to the death of one of them.

I lost my temper too—which I did even more easily than I had in my youth. I said: “How dare you shout at me! How dare you criticize others in this way! Be silent! Or you will find there is no place for you at my Court. As for your sister, she is another such as your mother. It seems to me you are birds of a feather, and I should make sure that none of your breed enter my Court. I should send you away.”

“Then do so,” he cried. “I have no wish to serve a mistress who allows adventurers to fawn upon her. Raleigh wants me gone. Very well. I leave you to your favorites. I shall go away from here and take my sister with me.”

No one had ever seen such a display of insolence before. If anyone else had attempted it, I should have ordered an immediate arrest.

But he looked so young, with the anger in his eyes, so I merely said: “I am weary of this foolish boy,” and turned away.

He strode out of the hall.

The next morning I learned that he had left North Hall. He had sent his sister home with an escort and made his way to Sandwich, intending to embark for the Low Countries.

I immediately sent a party of guards to bring him back.

He was already on a ship which was about to sail so I caught him in time. When told that my orders were that he should return at once, he defiantly refused to do so; but the guards informed him that if he did not accompany them willingly, they would take him by force.

So he returned and in due course I sent for him.

He came to me—quite unabashed.

“You are a foolish boy,” I said. “Never do that again or I shall send you to the Tower. I have been lenient with you and your tantrums, but you should take care that you do not try me too far.”

He was sulky, but after a few days I forgave him, and he was back in favor again—as much as he had ever been.

He was one of those young men who created storms wherever he went. Sometime earlier he had quarreled bitterly with Mountjoy—who had been Charles Blount at that time. I had taken a fancy to Blount as soon as he appeared. Handsome, and with a great deal of charm, he was also clever, so he had all the qualifications needed to bring him into the group which I kept around me. I showed my pleasure in his company by presenting him with a golden chessman which he attached to the sleeve of his coat, so that the sign of my favor might be prominently displayed.

Essex had regarded himself as my very favorite young man at that time and he had been furiously jealous of the attention I bestowed on Blount, and being Essex he made no attempt to disguise his feelings.

In the hearing of several courtiers he commented: “Now, I perceive, every fool must wear a favor.” This remark was reported to Blount without delay and that young man lost no time in challenging Essex to a duel.

I knew nothing of this or I should have stopped it, but it went ahead with the result that Blount disarmed Essex and wounded him—though only slightly.

I was furious. Although I liked to see my young men jealous, I was horrified at the prospect of some harm coming to them—so I reprimanded them both and sent them from the Court for a while.

“By God's death,” I said, “it is fitting that someone should take Essex down and teach him better manners.” The fact was that I was so relieved that no great harm had come to either; and with typical perversity, Essex expressed an admiration for Blount and from then on they became good friends. It was through this incident that Blount came to know Essex's family better, and in due course set up house with Penelope.

After the death of Robert I had found myself looking anxiously at my dear ministers and wondering morbidly who would be the next to leave me. I sometimes wondered whether I should ever find any to replace them. No one could take Robert's place, of course, but that was different. Robert was unique. But Burghley, Walsingham, Heneage, Hatton … men like that, who had served me well, were exceptional men. Each had his very special qualities and none appreciated more than I their rarity.

I was really worried about Walsingham. He must be sixty or near it and he had never been robust; he had worked every hour of the day and had never spared himself. The spy system he had created was the finest in Europe. We might never have beaten the Spanish armada if we had not been kept so well informed of its movements and of what was going on in the secret conclaves of diplomatic Spain. He had had his men in every conceivable place and they had been of inestimable value to us.

And now poor Walsingham was failing. All through the year he had been unwell, although he had continued to keep in close touch with his spies in every country in Europe.

So it was a very great blow to me when he died that April at his home in Seething Lane.

Another dear friend and able minister gone! This was the tragedy of growing old when one's friends went one by one like leaves falling from trees at the approach of winter.

One was left wondering: Who next?

He left a note in his will that he was to be buried without cost or ceremony because he was deeply in debt and had little to leave. He had spent his fortune lavishly on his spy organization, for he had wished to extend it beyond what the state was prepared to give. And thus he had little to leave to his own family.

They buried him late at night in Paul's church and, as he had wished, without ceremony.

I shut myself away to mourn. I wished that I had done more for him when he was alive. I should have questioned him about his financial position. It seemed churlish to have allowed him to spend his fortune on the welfare of the state. But that was how he would have it. There could never be a greater patriot.

I would keep an eye on his daughter Frances.

She was a good quiet girl and I was fond of her for her own sake as well as her father's. I had thought her an excellent wife for Philip Sidney, for she was a beautiful, gentle girl, and I was pleased that he should marry her and put that odious Penelope Rich out of his mind.

Frances Walsingham had a daughter by Sidney—she must have been about seven years old at this time—a pleasant child to whom I had acted as godmother. And when Philip had been wounded in battle, Frances, again pregnant, had gone out to nurse him. Unfortunately he had died and she, poor soul, had lost the child she was carrying and come near to death herself.

Since then she had lived quietly with her mother and I thought I should bring her to Court and perhaps find a husband for her. I owed that to Walsingham since his widow and daughter had very little money.

Not long after Frances had come to Court I noticed something about her which aroused my interest. At first I could not believe it. She was such a virtuous girl, and nothing had been said of any suitor for her hand. I should have been the first to know if any had honorable intentions toward her. Surely Frances was not the sort to indulge in immoral relations outside marriage. It was unthinkable. What would my poor Moor have had to say to that!

I decided I would watch her. It might be that she suffered from some minor ailment. Poor girl, she had gone through a good deal after the birth of that stillborn baby, and had been very ill. Perhaps it was the result of all the tragedy that I was seeing now.

But there came a time when I believed my suspicions to be correct.

I called her to me and said: “Frances, does anything ail you?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she answered promptly.

I said: “Come here.”

She came wonderingly and I prodded her in the stomach.

“I have for some time wondered,” I said, “if you were carrying something which a virtuous widow would not be expected to.”

Frances was so taken aback that she flushed scarlet.

“So,” I cried, “I was right. You had better explain yourself, my lady.”

Frances held her head high and looked defiant.

I slapped her face. I was so angry with her. I had misjudged her. I had thought her a good, quiet, virtuous widow and when any of those about me indulged in furtive love affairs I always felt enraged. Perhaps it was because of my own virgin state. I was not sure. I certainly did not wish it to be otherwise… and yet there was this anger at the indulgence of others.

I said impatiently: “Come, come. Who is the man?”

Frances astonished me then, for she held her head even higher and said: “My husband.”

“Your husband!” Another of those secret marriages which I deplored! How dared they go behind my back and marry without my consent? If they wished to marry was I not the first to be told?

“Why was my permission not asked for this marriage?” I demanded.

Frances held her head still higher, her beautiful face showing a rare defiance as she replied: “I could not think that I was of sufficient importance to warrant informing Your Majesty.”

“Not of sufficient importance! Did I not love your father! Did he not enjoy my highest regard? Have I not always looked to you for his sake? Not of sufficient importance indeed!”

I slapped her again. She took a few paces back and as I saw the red mark on her cheek where I had struck her, my anger increased.

I took her by the arm and shook her.

“Your father married you in secret to Philip Sidney. I berated him strongly for such an act and he made like excuse. Not important enough to warrant my attention! Did you know that I scolded him and told him he showed scant gratitude to me to tell me I thought him of no importance. Have I not looked to you since he died? I would have found a suitable marriage for you. Tell me now who is this man who has got you with child? I will not have this philandering at my Court.”

She would not answer and I was beginning to feel uneasy.

I cried: “I grow impatient. His name! Come girl, do you want me to force you to talk?”

She fell to her knees and buried her face in my skirts. I was becoming quite sorry for her. She was really distressed, and the girl had had such a bad time with Sidney writing all those love poems to Penelope Rich while he was married to her, and then dying at Zutphen after her going out to nurse him and losing the child she was carrying. Yes, I was sorry for her. Perhaps she had been lonely. Well, I would make this knave marry her—if he were not already married—and the marriage should take place before the child was born.

“Are you going to tell me, Frances?” I said more gently.

She raised her agonized eyes to my face and nodded.

“Well?” I prompted.

She began to talk incoherently. “We met in the Netherlands…He was with the army…He was there with Philip…We have known each other well…We loved…We… married…”

“Who?” I demanded.

There was a pause of a second or two; then she said in a voice I could scarcely hear: “My lord Essex.”

“Essex!” I thundered.

She rose to her feet and took a few paces away from me, and without asking permission she turned and ran as fast as she could from my presence.

Essex! I thought. My Essex! And he had philandered with this girl, Walsingham's daughter! No, he had married her. He had dared to do that without telling me … without asking my permission. Oh, the traitor! The deceiver! All the time he had been showing me how much he adored me, he had been making love with this girl… even marrying her!

I shouted: “Send for Essex.”

He came sauntering in with that nonchalance which delighted me while it angered me.

He would have taken my hand and kissed it but I stood glowering at him.

“So, Master Husband,” I said, “you are here.”

Understanding dawned on him and what infuriated me was that he did not care. He knew that I had learned of his marriage and he was shrugging his shoulders. How different it had been with Leicester when I heard that he had married Lettice Knollys. He had made an excuse. I had refused him so many times, and he had been contrite and eager to make me understand that whoever came into his life, I was the first and always would be. With Essex there had been no suggestion of marriage with me. On the other hand he was my favorite young man and I had made it clear that I wanted to be aware of all the proposed marriages of my important courtiers.

He said rather carelessly: “So the news is out?”

“Your pregnant wife has told me.”

“Well it could not remain a secret forever, could it?”

“And why must it be a secret?” I asked.

“Because I feared Your Majesty's disapproval.”

“You were right to fear that.”

“I thought you were fond of Frances. You are a godmother to Sidney's child. Her father was one of your most able statesmen and you always showed great appreciation of his services.”

“To marry… without my consent…you!”

He replied coolly: “I adore Your Majesty. You are a divine being, apart from all others. I have loved you from my boyhood when I first saw you at Chartley. My great joy in life is to serve you…”

“And take steps behind my back?”

“I am a man who must live his own life and marry where he will.”

“If there is one thing I hate most in my subjects it is deceit.”

“No deceit was intended. Frances's father approved of the match.”

“I've no doubt he did. He wanted his daughter well provided for.”

“It seemed to us that his consent was enough.”

“You are insolent,” I cried. “You have enjoyed great favor at Court. I gave you that. I brought you to the position you now enjoy. You must not forget that I can cast you down as quickly as I brought you up.”

“That is true,” he said lightly, “and I must accept Your Majesty's decision as to my future.”

“Why do this in secret?”

“I know Your Majesty's uncertain temper and I had naturally no desire to arouse it.”

“You insolent dog!” I cried.

“That is not insolence, Your Majesty,” he replied with a slight smile, “just honest frankness for which you have so often commended me. If I had come to you and asked permission, you would have refused it. Then I should have had to disobey you. Now I have merely displeased you.”

I was so hurt, and angry with myself, for caring so much about this brash young man.

I said: “It is not the secrecy only which I find insupportable. I had plans for a grand marriage for you. I had been considering that… and now you go and tie yourself up with this girl…”

“Walsingham's daughter.”

“Penniless!”

“I do not set great store by riches.”

“Nor on royal favor either, it would seem. I believe you will be wanting to spend time with your wife… particularly in view of her condition. So, we shall not be seeing you at Court for some time, I gather.”

It was dismissal. Banishment.

He bowed low and with great dignity retreated.

I WAS IN A mood of dejection for days. Essex's absence from Court reminded me of the old days when Leicester had not been there. What was it about them? Was it a certain magic in their personalities which made life seem flat without them?

Raleigh was much in evidence, and he was a charming young man, very interesting to talk to, as well as gallant in manner, behaving toward me as though he were a lover. That was soothing and helped to shut out from my mind the thought of Essex and Frances together. Perhaps I should cultivate Raleigh, let the beautiful young men squeeze Essex out. He had gone too far—not only by making this marriage but in his entire attitude toward me.

Poor Frances! I thought. If stories are true she will have a philanderer for a husband. She should not forget that Essex had the blood of that she-wolf in his veins.

I danced merrily with my young men. I did not ask for news of Essex; but I was sad and depressed. How life had changed! My dearest one gone. Walsingham gone. And poor old Hatton sick and ailing. Nothing would be the same again.

Hatton had been out of favor. It was a foolish matter over some money he owed the crown. I had always been insistent that debts should be paid. In fact when I played cards in the evening and won I never allowed anyone to default on payment. I had not realized that Hatton was financially pressed. These men of mine lived in such splendor and spent so lavishly that I imagined they were richer than they made out to be.

Hatton had pleaded an inability to meet the debt and I had insisted it be paid.

The effect of this had worsened his illness so that he was confined to his bed and I was horrified to learn that the doctors considered his condition to be grave.

I immediately went to Ely House where I found him in bed. They were trying to make him take a posset, and I was alarmed to see that his hands shook so much that he could not hold the dish.

As I entered this was taken away from him and he made an attempt to rise. I quickly forbade him to do this, and then I dismissed those in the bedchamber and sat down beside his bed.

I could have wept to see the ravages of pain on the face of my once so handsome dancing partner.

“Your Majesty does me great honor …” he began.

“Be silent,” I commanded. “Talking takes too much effort for you. My dear old Mutton, here is a pretty pass. You must get well at once. I command you to do so. We miss you at Court.”

He smiled and shook his head and an infinite sadness swept over me.

“My Eyes have gone. My Moor has left me. I must keep my old Bellwether.”

“Your Majesty has made me very happy.”

“Methinks we have made each other happy over the years,” I said. “Now enough of this. What is this posset we have here?” I picked up the dish and sniffed it, recognizing it as a well known remedy and an efficacious one. “I know this well,” I said. “Many times have I benefited from it. Eat it. It will give you strength.”

He took the dish from me but his hands were shaking too much for him to lift the spoon to his mouth, so I took it and fed it to him.

“There,” I said, as though talking to a child, “take every drop.”

And he did so, smiling almost sheepishly. “Your Majesty should not so humble herself.”

“Humble myself!” I cried. “You are one of my men, and I love my men. They are to me the husband and the sons I never had.”

I saw the tears on his cheeks. He was very moved.

I bent over him and kissed his brow, and I said to him: “You must obey your Queen, Chancellor, and she orders you to get well.”

This was one of the occasions when Christopher Hatton did not obey me.

I felt his loss deeply… more than I had imagined possible. There were few of my own generation left now. New men were appearing on the horizon and I wondered whether I should get the same unswerving devotion from them as I had had from those who had brightened my youth. They were a different breed: Essex, Raleigh, Mountjoy… No, the days were passing. Life would never be quite so wonderful again.

Hatton's death was a loss to the country as well as a personal one. Because he had been so handsome and such a good dancer, people had been apt to underestimate him. He had been an excellent Vice Chamberlain before he had become Lord Chancellor and had organized celebrations and festivities with a masterly hand—which was another reason why he had not been taken seriously by some. But I knew that he had been an able politician and had seen as clearly as I did that one of the dangers in our country was that of religious conflict, which had brought civil war to others—as in the case of France. We wanted none of that in England. We had to take a stand between Puritans and Papists, and I did not know which sect I disliked most. Hatton had agreed with me that there must be no war over religion, which was a matter of an individual's conscience. In fact, he had been suspected of being a secret Catholic because of his leniency toward Catholics. This was not so. He felt as I did and we had been completely at one on this point.

Hatton had wanted to avoid excesses from both extremes, a view with which I heartily agreed. He had been a fine orator. True, he had liked rewards. Who does not? He had been very eager to acquire the London estate of the Bishop of Ely, and I had thought he should have it for he had need of a splendid home so that he could entertain visitors from abroad when necessary—and his Queen, of course. The lands were said to be some of the richest in England and comprised several acres of vineyard and arable land besides a house and chapel.

I had been delighted when this was passed to Hatton. He had been such a good servant and loyal courtier, and I had a specially fond feeling for him because he had remained unmarried. He had always said that he could love only one woman—even though it must be from a distance—his Queen. That seemed to me the ultimate gesture of love.

He had been a clever man and only had seemed less so because he had to stand beside greater statesmen like Burghley and Walsingham—and above all my incomparable Leicester.

So, another bitter loss.

I needed refreshing company, so I brought Essex back to Court.

I asked about the child which had now been born and was pleased that it was a boy and to be called Robert.

Essex and I were on the old terms. We played chess and cards together into the early hours of the morning. But I did not want to see the new Lady Essex. So Frances did not come to Court, but I believe lived nearby with her widowed mother, as she had before her marriage.

IT WAS GRATIFYING to me that although I was growing old my people did not love me less. I had lost a tooth or two; my skin was becoming lined, though it never lost its whiteness which I preserved most carefully; and my hair was growing scanty so that I had to resort to more false pieces and mostly wigs; but whenever I went out I was greeted with acclamations of joy and admiration. The people were uplifted by the defeat of the Spaniards; but other monarchs had been victorious in battle, yet none of them had ever had that firm hold on the people's affections which I had.

Never since the day of my accession had I failed to see the importance of this. I could be a virago in my private apartments—and often was. There was scarcely one of my ladies who had not had a blow or painful nip from me. I made no attempt to control my temper among them and if I was irritated I expressed my feelings forcefully. It was the same in the Council Chamber. My temper was quite uncontrolled. But on my progresses I never showed the slightest rancor toward my people. They could bring me absurd petitions; they could even criticize me to my face and I received all this with a degree of charming attention and tolerance. I was playing a part—that of the great benevolent monarch—and I knew that through it I kept my hold on my people's affections and I was determined never to lose that.

It was the reason for the firmness of the crown. My grandfather had suffered all his life as King from the fear of having come to the throne in circumstances which could be questioned; he must be looking over his shoulder all the time lest someone was preparing to snatch the crown from him. My father had had no fear of losing it. He saw himself as divine. He had a natural charm and an appearance of immense strength and he kept the approval of his people throughout his reign. He ruled through fear and great self-confidence which fostered an attitude of certainty that he would always do so. I held my people to me with love, and the bonds of love are the strongest in the world.

I tried always to act as my people would wish me to. We had persecuted the Catholics; we had hounded priests from their priest holes in the great Catholic houses and brought some of them to a barbarous death. I had allowed this because it was what the people wanted. They had an inherent fear of Catholicism, and it would linger I was sure. None of them could forget the terrible burnings at the stake during my sister's reign. People still talked in hushed whispers of Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper. Certain seamen had been captured by the Spaniards and escaped to give accounts of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition. We wanted none of that in peaceful England. Pray God it would never come to that. So we must keep out the Catholics. I knew there were good Catholic gentlemen. They had supported us against the Spaniards in war. But the whole country was against that form of religion as practiced by Spaniards and upheld by the Pope.

On the other hand we had the Puritans—toward whom I felt a great abhorrence. They wanted to create what they called an English Sunday. This would ban fairs, hunting, rowing, cockfighting and bear-baiting—in fact any kind of sport. The Council would have passed that measure but I vetoed it. I could imagine what those people who had cheered me on my pilgrimages throughout the land would say to that. They worked hard, I said. They should have a little respite on Sundays and amuse themselves in whatsoever way they thought best. I was sure I was right as I was when someone tried to bring in an act which would mean the death penalty for committing adultery, blasphemy and holding heretical opinions.

No, no, no! I insisted. That would bring us close to what we had been fighting against. Why did men fight as they had against Spain? How was it a few men in inferior ships gained a great victory? Because they were fighting for freedom, was the answer.

No, I wanted no more religious bickering. I wanted my people to be free, happy and prosperous—and that meant to live good honest lives in peace. No wars! And freedom to worship as they thought best. As long as they obeyed the laws of Christ I could see no reason why they were not good Christians.

Let be, I wanted to cry all the time.

As an act of defiance against those who would close the theaters, I formed a band of players who would act for my delight. I called them the Queen's Men.

I looked forward always to my progresses through the country for I considered it of the utmost importance to show myself to my people. There was great rejoicing in the towns and villages through which I passed; and I must admit that there was little I enjoyed more than receiving homage and adulation.

I was so accustomed to displays of love and loyalty that it was a shock when I received evidence that I had dangerous enemies among the people.

One day when I was walking in the gardens at Hampton where a crowd had gathered to watch me pass, there was a sudden shout and I saw someone being hustled away by the Yeomen of the Guard. Another picked up a pistol which lay on the ground and hastened off after the group who were pushing their prisoner through the crowd.

There was a hushed silence and then someone in the crowd cried: “God save Your Majesty. Death to those who would harm you.”

Then I guessed that this had been an attempt at assassination.

I made no show of haste to leave the place nor any fear because I had been in danger of losing my life, but paused to speak to some of the people who had thrust forward to see me. Some had petitions which I read carefully and promised they should have consideration, stressing that it would be the Council who decided, in case the decision should be adverse. Then the blame would not be laid on me!

As soon as I was back in the palace, I asked what the trouble in the gardens had been about.

It was disturbing to know that it had been an attempt on my life and I said I would personally question my would-be murderer.

To my amazement they brought in a woman. She looked at me defiantly as she stood there, a guard on either side of her. “Who are you?” I asked. “And do you admit to wanting to kill me?”

She replied: “My name is Margaret Lambrun, and I do.”

“Well, at least you are honest,” I said. “You are Scottish, are you?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“So thought I. A murderous race, the Scots. They have given my ancestors and me a great deal of trouble. Why did you wish to kill me?”

“You killed my Queen and my husband,” she said. “I wanted revenge for that.”

“You refer to Queen Mary of Scotland who was found guilty of plotting against my realm and attempting to murder me.”

The woman was silent.

“That is the truth, you know,” I said softly.

“My husband was in her service. When she was executed he died of grief.”

“He would have done better to have lived to look after his wife and prevent her from committing rash actions.”

“He loved the Queen. He was heartbroken when she died.”

Poor woman! That was the last thing she could have said to endear her to me. I had long been hearing of the fatal fascination of the Queen of Scots and I was exasperated that even after her death it was still effective.

“You were in possession of two pistols,” I said. “Were you going to take two shots at me?”

“No. One was for you and then I should have turned the other on myself.”

“Do you know what I am going to do with you, Margaret Lambrun?” I said.

“It matters not what you do with me,” she replied. “My life is over.”

“You are a youngish woman. There could be years before you. I say this: Forget that husband who died of a broken heart grieving for another woman. He is not worthy of your remembrance. I know men well. They are not worth dying for. You are an honest woman and have suffered much. I am going to give you a free pardon.”

She stared at me in astonishment for a few seconds, then she fell to her knees continuing to look wonderingly at me.

“Methinks,” I went on, “that you have heard evil tales of me. Perhaps through your husband's fascinating mistress. You foolish woman, do not again risk your life for the sake of a man. Get to your feet now and be gone from here.” I called to the guards: “Take her away.”

She hesitated. Then she said: “Would Your Majesty give me permission to speak?”

“Go on,” I said.

“Those people out there… They believe that you are divine.”

“It seems to me I must have some of the qualities you believed were in the sole possession of Mary of Scotland.”

“Those people love you as she was never loved by the people.”

“Well, my good woman, your eyes have been opened, and you have seen that I am not the monster who was to receive your fatal shot.”

“You are a great queen,” she said. “Those people will tear me apart because I tried to kill you.”

“True enough,” I agreed. “But you who are prepared to kill a queen cannot be afraid of a crowd of people.”

It was a strange revelation. The fanatical young woman who had stood in the crowd and contemplated my death was gone, and in her place was a practical person who was beginning to think she might have some future after all.

I realized that my response to her attempt to kill me had bewildered her and yet at the same time it had made her see her future more clearly. She was not going to die. She was going to live, and life had become very precious to her. It must have been so for she was anxious to preserve it. “If Your Majesty would give me a safe passage to France, I would settle there and try to make a new life.”

I smiled at her.

“It shall be,” I said. Then turning to the guards I continued: “Take her away. See that she has safe conduct to the coast.”

As she went she gave me a look of gratitude, amazement and something like admiration.

I smiled. In time, in her French haven, she might think as highly of the Queen of England as she had of the Queen of Scots.

FOR SOME TIME the Council had been trying to persuade me that we should carry our disagreements with Spain into Spanish territory. I had opposed this as I did any form of war, but at length I agreed that this particular action might be advantageous to us.

Since the year 1581 Don Antonio, the deposed King of Portugal, had been living in England in exile. Don Antonio was the bastard son of the previous King's brother, but because he was illegitimate, the Spaniards laid claim to the crown of Portugal on account of Philip's mother's being the late King's sister. He had sent Alva into Portugal to take it and this was speedily accomplished.

Don Antonio had had long talks with me. He was yearning to claim his crown. He told me how the Portuguese hated the Spaniards and that if he could only get back, the whole country would rise against Spain; and having been stripped of its power through the defeat of the armada, the Spaniards would suffer another humiliating defeat and Don Antonio would be back on the throne.

Drake came to discuss the problem and Drake's great aim in these enterprises was to bring back treasure. This I applauded. I wanted Spanish treasure to strengthen my exchequer; I wanted their gold and jewels to pay for my country's needs so that I did not have to resort to taxing my people.

Drake was the great pirate who knew how to bring treasure home. So I agreed and it was arranged that the expedition would be commanded at sea by Sir Francis Drake and on land by Sir John Norris.

I invested sixty thousand pounds in the enterprise; some of the generals put up about fifty thousand, and between the City of London and other ports throughout the country one hundred and forty-six ships were contributed to the scheme.

Essex wanted to join the expedition and I smiled fondly at his enthusiasm.

“I do not intend that you shall risk your life,” I said. “Your place is at Court.”

But he would not let the matter rest. He plagued me night and day. He wanted to go. He had need of the money. He would find treasure; but most of all he wanted to have a shot at the Spaniards.

“No,” I insisted. “You shall not go.” And I became angry with him and ordered him to drop the subject.

This he did and I thought he had come to his senses at last. I should have known better.

The expedition was ready and at Plymouth waiting to sail. It was then I heard what had happened.

Essex's brother-in-law, Lord Rich, came to me bringing a letter addressed to me in Essex's hand. Essex had sent him a key to the desk in which the letter had been placed and he had not sent the key until he was well on the way.

He had been determined to join the expedition, he wrote. Not only did he want to fight for England's glory, but he was in desperate need of money for he was deeply in debt. He owed at least twenty-three thousand pounds. I had been good to him and he would ask for no more. He was not of the nature of some (this was a dart directed at Raleigh who never failed to ask for what he wanted). He must go away. He must find fortune. And he trusted I would forgive him for going against my wishes.

Forgive him! I was furious with him. Never once in the whole of my time with Robert had he openly defied me. How dared this young upstart behave so!

I would show him that he could not go against my wishes.

Immediately I sent guards to bring him back, and his grandfather Sir Francis Knollys himself went to Plymouth.

I heard then that for days he had shut himself away making preparations. He had gone to the house of his brother-in-law Lord Rich to dine, to allay suspicions, for he feared he might have been watched. Outside his lordship's house was Essex's secretary and a groom waiting with horses ready to ride with all speed to Plymouth. They had ridden for ninety miles on the horses and then Essex had taken a post horse and sent his companions back to London with the horses and a letter to Lord Rich containing the key to the desk in which he had locked the letter to me so that it could be delivered after his departure.

Drake and Norris knew that I had forbidden him to go and I relied on them to send him back. But they did not see him, for Essex, guessing they would never let him board a ship, had made a secret arrangement with Captain Roger Williams who had agreed to take him. Thus Essex was able to board Williams's ship, the Swiftsure, and put out to sea.

So Essex had defied me again. I was so angry. I swore this should be the last time.

WAR NEVER PAYS. I could have told them that before the expedition set out; and I reminded them that I had only agreed to go on with their schemes because they had all worn me down with their importunings.

However if there was enough booty to come out of it I supposed I would consider it worthwhile.

I was worried constantly about Essex. He could be so foolhardy and I knew he was reckless. He would take such absurd risks and I wanted him back at Court. I was unwise, I knew, to set such store by him but I was missing Robert so much and I was desperately anxious to put someone else in his place. I needed that very special person in my life and I had no doubt that I had chosen unwisely in Essex.

Although I could never think of him as a possible lover as I had Robert, he did give me that very special brand of affection which I never quite sensed in the others; and because he was a young man who disdained to flatter and dissimulate, I knew it was genuine affection.

I sent urgent messages to Drake and Norris. Essex was to be sent back. But, of course, he was not with them and it was some time before the Swiftsure joined up with the rest of the fleet, and then there was not a ship available in which to send him home.

I wrote angrily to him:

“Essex,

“Your sudden and undutiful departure from our presence and your place of attendance, you may easily conceive how offensive it is, and ought to be, unto us. Our great favors bestowed on you without deserts, hath drawn you thus to neglect and forget your duty; for other constructions we cannot make of those your strange actions. Not meaning, therefore, to tolerate this your disordered part, we gave directions to some of our Privy Council to let you know our express pleasure for your immediate repair hither…

“We do, therefore, charge and command you forthwith upon receipt of these our letters, all excuses and delays set apart, to make your present and immediate repair unto us, to understand our further pleasure. Whereof see you fail not, as you will be loth to incur our indignation, and will answer for the contrary to your uttermost peril.”

When he received such a letter written in my hand, he knew he dare not disobey, and he set sail for home.

The expedition was at an end. The Portuguese had not welcomed Don Antonio as he had believed they would. They did not like their Spanish masters, but they were too lethargic to bestir themselves sufficiently to make the change.

It would have been a disastrous affair but for Sir Francis Drake, who brought home enough booty to have made it just worthwhile.

I was prepared to upbraid Essex and banish him from Court until it pleased me to recall him, but when I saw him, looking a little pale from battle, and kneeling before me raising those fine dark eyes to my face, so full of loving admiration, I relented.

I was so pleased to have him back safely.

I said: “Never behave so again. If you did that could be the end of your hopes at Court.”

That was all; and within a few days he was installed in his old place. And to prevent his going abroad again in search of fortune, I granted him a lease of the farm of sweet wines—which had been Robert's before he died and which would give him a large income that might settle outstanding debts and, I hoped, in future enable him to live within his income.

HE WAS RESTLESS. He was not suited to Court life. He lacked Robert's ambition as well as his tact; and he lacked Robert's shrewdness. Why had I thought there could ever be anyone to take Robert's place?

And yet he fascinated me. In a way, I thought of him as a son, loved none the less because he was wayward, and I was content only when he was near me. He could change my mood; he could make me feel young. He was in love with me in a way that most young men had been when I was a young woman. There was no question of a union of any sort between us, but it was love…of a rarefied kind. But I wanted that. It had to come naturally. It was not, as with such as Raleigh, for favor at Court. Essex did not seek favor; he was indifferent to honors. He supported lost causes. And he was honest. He could forget the respect due to me. Anger would flare up and he would not watch his words; but this was honest Essex; so that when he did show his affection for me I knew it was genuine.

He was something of a reformer. For instance, he told me frankly that I had been wrong in my treatment of Davison. He should not be in the Tower, he said. It was not due to him that Mary of Scotland had been executed. That specter still bothered me and I did not want to think of Davison. I could not bear to hear any speak his name—so no one ever did in my hearing. Essex knew this and yet he came to me and said that Davison should be released and given the post of Secretary of State which had become vacant on the death of Walsingham. He was such a reckless, foolhardy young man, I trembled for him. I discovered later that he had written to James of Scotland asking him to use his influence in the matter. Did he not realize that at any time his enemies could accuse him of being in communication with a foreign power, which could be made to look like treason?

I have to admit that he almost persuaded me. I did feel guilty about the treatment meted out to Davison. I should have liked to make amends; and the post of Secretary of State, which he was quite capable of holding, would have been a compensation for the injustice he had suffered.

I spoke to Burghley about this. He was against the idea. He did not think Davison could hold the post. He was efficient but not brilliant. I tried to argue in Davison's favor until I realized that Burghley wanted the post for his son Robert. And, of course, he was right. Robert Cecil—that little elf of a man, with his crooked back and slouching walk, had the same balanced outlook as his father. He had been coached by his father from the very earliest, and it was clear that if the post were given to anyone else, there would inevitably be trouble with Burghley.

So Davison did not get the post, but he was released from the Tower and went to live in his home in Stepney where he remained for many years.

Essex was still looking for adventure and when Henri Quatre of France asked me for help, he wanted to take a company of men over to fight for the King, who had come to the throne when Henri Trois had died. As a Huguenot he looked to England for help against the Catholic League which was determined to oust him on account of his religion. “It is necessary that we go to help,” said Essex. “He shares our faith. He would be our friend if we helped him to hold his throne.”

His eyes were shining with enthusiasm. He was somewhat nave. Did he not know that kings were friends of other kings only when it was expedient to be so? But it was true that we did not want the Catholics to prevail in France. We had subdued Spain but France could be as great a menace. Essex threw himself onto his knees and begged to be allowed to take command of an expedition. His friends—and his mother, I believed—advised him against going abroad. He should stay behind and make his name at Court as all the most successful men had done. He should model himself on the lines of Leicester, Walsingham, Burghley … those who held first place in the Queen's regard. Perhaps they realized that he lacked the temperament of a great general. He was too rash, too impulsive, too careless of himself.

However he wearied me with his importunings and as it had been decided that we should aid Henri, I finally gave in and allowed Essex to command the expedition.

It was a sad day for me when he sailed from Dover with four thousand men.

He took with him Lettice's other boy, Walter Devereux, and I wondered how she felt at the prospect of two sons going to war.

I waited eagerly for news. I heard that Henri took a fancy to Essex and that they frolicked together. There was some fighting though, and in a skirmish outside Rouen young Walter Devereux was killed.

I was almost sorry for Lettice then, for I believe that she did love her children.

I heard that Essex recklessly exposed himself to danger and had come near to capture on two occasions. He was popular for he shared his men's hardships and then distributed honors on the battlefield, which he had no authority to do.

I made Burghley write to him in my name, disapproving and forbidding him to act in such a way. Moreover, he had no right to bestow honors. That was the Sovereign's prerogative.

I ordered so forcefully that he return home that at length he could make no excuses for not doing so.

He came back ebullient as ever, with no excuses for what he had done, and I was once more so delighted to see him that, after the first few reprimands, he was in favor again.

But all the time he wanted to return to France, so I let him go, giving him strict injunctions—as I once did to Robert—to take good care of himself.

Fortunately he was a young man who quickly tired of a project and after a while, when I told him I wished him to come back and relinquish the command to Roger Williams, who had shared his adventures on the Swiftsure, rather to my surprise, he eagerly obeyed the command.

I think he had taken the advice of his friends to seek his fortune at Court, where my undoubted affection for him would mean that he had a great chance of success.

I OFTEN THOUGHT of Christopher Hatton who had been so devoted to me that he had never married. I wished I had been kinder to him at the end. It must have been heartbreaking for him when I turned my back on his pleading to be allowed time to pay that silly debt. In the end I had gone to him and fed him with my own hands, but by then it was too late. Sometimes I wondered whether my harsh treatment of him had hastened his death. He had been a sensitive man and he had truly loved me.

Young men nowadays were less reverent; they were bold and inclined to be insolent—at least Essex was. He was quite unlike the men of my youth … Robert, Heneage, Hatton … They had been like romantic heroes. Nowadays it seemed that a young man's chief fancy was for himself.

I wished that I did not feel so deeply about Essex. Perhaps I should have done better to have fixed my affections on another. There was Raleigh, for instance. He was, some would say, more handsome than Essex, with his ruddy countryman's looks, his tall stature, his dashing manners and his wit. I even found that Devonshire burr in his voice attractive, though his jealous rivals sneered at him and called him the farmer's boy.

He had a commanding presence and a fine intelligence. I was very glad to have him near me. During those years when Essex had been behaving so recklessly I had encouraged Raleigh; and I was secretly amused to see the rivalry between him and Essex.

Raleigh was a born courtier as well as an adventurer. He had succeeded Christopher Hatton as Captain of the Guards; he had his knighthood and a fine residence in Durham House and had just acquired a ninety-nine-year lease of the Castle of Sherborne. He had founded a colony in North America which he had called Virginia in honor of me. I would never forget his coming home and telling me about his adventures. He had developed a curious habit which he had learned from the savages there and he explained this to me. It was a herb which was called Yppowoc. I had heard of it before when Sir John Hawkins first brought it into the country, but it was Raleigh who was responsible for calling the notice of the people of England to it. Apparently it had a soothing effect if put in a pipe and smoked. It was known as tobacco. Another product had come from Virginia. This I think was more useful than the smoking herb. It was the potato, which John Hawkins brought in about the same time as the tobacco, but it had not become popular until Drake brought it home in large quantities.

Raleigh had great hopes of that colony. It was my colony, he said, named in honor of me; and he let me know that he had spent forty thousand pounds of his own money in order to maintain it. He was heartbroken when it could not be kept going. Hakluyt, the geographer-writer, said it would require a prince's purse to have thoroughly followed it out.

It always pleased me when my men spent their own money in the service of the state. None did this quite to the same extent that Walsingham had done. It showed a genuine love of country which I applauded.

Raleigh was at heart an adventurer. I realized that he had too much talent in that direction to be kept at home. I sent him to Ireland—that hotbed of dissension—where he used his genius for organization as successfully as anyone could against such people who were determined never to conform to law and order and whose great mission in life was to create trouble.

He had done well; he had planted the potato there and the soil evidently suited it, so it provided food for thousands. He became the friend of the poet Edmund Spenser. I was interested in this young poet because Leicester had thought highly of him when Philip Sidney had introduced him to the young man's works. Robert had sought to help him, and had obtained for him the post of private secretary to Lord Grey de Wilton who had been appointed Lord Deputy of Ireland—which was why Edmund Spenser happened to find himself in that country.

Now Raleigh was back in England—more attractive than ever, full of plans, showing jealousy of Essex which amused me, for I told myself it was good for Essex, who seemed to think he had a right to monopolize my affections.

Raleigh was as obsessed by the Spaniards as Drake had been. He was constantly considering methods of attacking them and robbing them of their treasure. They had had intrepid explorers who had discovered new lands; they were good seamen; and men like Drake and Raleigh wanted to snatch the role of pioneers from Spain and make England the great exploring, empire-building nation; it was for us to rule the seas.

I clung to my conviction that war was folly and that even the victorious invariably suffered; but this war at sea was conducted by privateers whom a sovereign could disown if necessary; oh, yes, this gathering of treasures was quite another matter, far removed from open war. I knew in my heart that the conflict between Spain and England was not a brief struggle. It was a mighty struggle and it was not only for land, or even religion… not on our side at least; it was for supremacy at sea; it was to rule the ceans, to make them safe for England, to protect our shores and to make our country the greatest sea power in the world. Men like Drake and Raleigh understood this and their purpose shone like a beacon through all their actions. They wanted treasure; they wanted the glory of success in battle; but the prime object was that England should be in command of the high seas—and therein lay their greatness.

I had seen from the first that these men must be encouraged for on their bravery, their skill and their enterprise rested the might of England.

So I loved my adventurers and I was torn between a desire to have them with me at Court or to send them on those adventures which were fraught with danger.

So when Raleigh came to me with an idea for a new enterprise to go forth and bring back treasure for England, I agreed he must carry out his plan; but when the time came for departure, I decided that I could not spare Raleigh. He was too amusing, too brilliant an ornament at Court and I ordered that although the expedition should set sail, it should go without Raleigh. In his place Frobisher should go with Sir John Borough.

Raleigh was somewhat put out, but being Raleigh he did not make this obvious to me and pretended that to be near me was a complete compensation for having been denied the adventure.

I really was getting very fond of him. His manners were so much smoother than those of Essex; that was why his perfidy wounded me so deeply.

Nicholas Throckmorton's daughter, Elizabeth, was one of my maids of honor and she was an exceptionally pretty girl. I had promised myself that I owed it to her father to find a good husband for her, which I intended to do in due course.

I happened, however, to notice that she was becoming unusually absentminded. This came to a head when she dropped some of the pins which held my hair-pieces in place. I told her she was clumsy and she murmured apologies; but she did not improve. I had noticed this look in young women before and I had my suspicions. It invariably meant one thing. The girl had a lover and if my intuition did not deceive me, their frolicking had gone beyond the bounds of respectability.

I decided to question her.

“You are very clumsy lately, Bessie,” I said.

“I crave Your Majesty's pardon,” she replied.

“There is a reason, I believe.”

She flushed. Silly girl! She betrayed herself immediately.

“Well,” I went on, “you had better tell me. It is wiser in these cases before matters go too far. How far have they gone with you, Bess Throckmorton?”

She stammered and flushed and I knew the worst.

“Who is the scoundrel?” I demanded.

She stood before me, eyes downcast, the picture of guilty confusion.

“You know I will not have immorality at my Court!” I shouted.

I gave her a slap at the side of her face which sent her reeling. “Come here,” I said. “Closer.” I took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Now… tell me. Who is it?”

She stammered: “Your Majesty must forgive me if…if…”

“If what?”

“If…I cannot tell you.”

“You cannot tell me?” I caught her by the ear and she gave a squeal of pain as I nipped the lobe between my fingers. There were tears in her foolish eyes.

“Your Majesty,” she began, “we love each other…”

“And you think that is an excuse for misbehaving? Who is it? You had better tell me, girl. How dare you stand there defying me!”

“Your Majesty, I did not mean…”

“Tell me,” I commanded; and she knew then from the tone of my voice and my black looks that she could hold out against me no longer.

“It is Walter, Your Majesty.”

“Raleigh!” I cried.

Anger was my first emotion. It was so like other occasions. Robert and Lettice Knollys; Essex and Frances Walsingham. These young men… they professed to care above all people for me and all the time they were philandering with my maids of honor.

“Get out of my sight, you slut,” I said.

And she ran from the room.

Then I shouted to the guard: “Find Raleigh! Send him to me at once.”

He came, his urbane charming self. I said: “So, Sir Adventurer, you have seduced one of the girls who has been put by her family into my care.”

“Bess has been talking to you,” he said.

“I prized it out of the little harlot. As for you, you sly snake, I do not want to see your false face for a very long time.”

He began to protest. He had a way with words. He always had had, and it was one of the reasons why he had endeared himself to me. But I was hurt and angry. They meant nothing—these protestations of affection—except: What can I get by flattering the old woman?

My fury increased and I shouted: “Take him to the Tower.”

That was what I had said when Robert had married Lettice, and dear old Sussex had persuaded me that I could not send him to the Tower merely because he had married.

There was nobody to speak for Raleigh. In any case there had been no marriage. This was a case of seduction.

Let him go to the Tower. I would forget all about him. There were many handsome young men ready to dance attendance. Why should I regret the loss of one?

So with Bess Throckmorton banished from Court and Raleigh in the Tower, Essex was supreme—the favorite with no serious rival.

THE STAY AT the Court of France had changed Essex. He had been greatly influenced by the King of France who was, by all accounts, a very impressive man. He had that rare quality—which he shared with me—of winning the hearts of the people so that they would follow him even in disaster. He was a simple man; he lived with his men in battle; he did not stand on ceremony; his attitude said: I am one of you. I suffer with you. I share your lot in battle. We are of a kind. I just happen, by accident of my birth, to be your leader.

That was the right approach. He knew, as I did, that it was the ordinary people who decided whether or not the crown was secure on the sovereign's head.

But he had one great weakness—and that was his fondness for women. He had a host of mistresses and was constantly looking for more. His love affairs obsessed him while they lasted, even though they were of short duration.

When Essex came back, he had lost a certain honesty; he was becoming more acquisitive. He was promiscuous and neglected poor Frances shamefully and there was a scandal about one or two of the ladies at Court. This was kept from me in detail and I decided not to probe. He courted me with more finesse than he had shown hitherto and although I believed that genuine affection was still there, he had hardened, become ambitious; in other words the Essex who had set out for his sojourn at the Court of France was not the same man who had come back from it.

The Cecils were his enemies. It said much for the abilities of Robert Cecil that I was beginning to think of his father and himself as “the Cecils.” Burghley had superintended his son's education well and had brought him up to think as he did and work in the same way. I was not displeased by this. I knew that sooner or later I had to lose my dear Spirit; and it was comforting to know that when he went I should have his son Robert to help me.

Raleigh was in the Tower and therefore posed no threat, but it appeared that Essex was forming a party, rival to the Cecils, and people were beginning to gather about him.

In spite of my fondness for Essex, I never lost sight of his weaknesses. It soon became clear to me that he was not stable enough to form a party in opposition to the Cecils, and he confined himself to doing everything he could to damage them in my eyes—an impossible task.

He had made the acquaintance of the Bacon boys—Anthony and Francis—nephews of Burghley. They were two clever young men, particularly Francis, I believed; but they had not learned the art of graciousness, and Francis irritated me by his interference in political matters. They were disgruntled, both of them, because they had hoped their uncle would find them places at Court. That I was sure he was prepared to do, but he was so intent on looking after his own son, that he made sure no one should be given a chance to outshine him.

Francis should have been given something useful to do, but he was too sure of himself, too definite in his views, and not inclined to modify them; which brought him my displeasure.

Then an event took place which filled me with horror. Henri Quatre changed his religion with the cynical comment that Paris was worth a Mass.

I had helped him. I had sent Essex over with men, arms and money in order to uphold the Protestant Faith, in order to make sure that we did not have a menacing Catholic state close to our shores. And now he had given way… abjured his faith for the sake of a crown!

I wrote off in a fit of disgust to the King of France without giving myself time to consider.

“Ah, what grief! My God, is it possible that any worldly consideration could render you regardless of divine displeasure…”

After I had sent that letter I regretted it because I remembered the days before my accession when I had feigned to accept the Catholic Faith in order to keep alive. What had Henri done? Realizing that the French, by their very nature, were Catholics—just as the English by theirs were Protestants—and would never accept a Huguenot king, with that nonchalant good sense of his he had said: Very well. If the only king you will accept is a Catholic king, then, as I am determined to be your King, I must become a Catholic.

And so he had.

We were of a kind really. How many times had I said that the method of worship was not important? It was Christianity itself which mattered. He had not changed his faith; he was merely accepting the Catholic form of worship. He was too clever, of course, to have done otherwise. I could imagine his guffaw of laughter when he received my letter, for he knew, as well as I did, that if England had demanded a Catholic monarch, then I should have been a Catholic and as England wanted a Protestant ruler—I was that.

I was alarmed. That was at the root of my indignation; but I took some comfort from the knowledge that Henri would not be as fanatical as Philip, and I was sure would have too much good sense to attempt to invade us.

Essex had been very interested in Walsingham's secret service, and he knew that it had been of the utmost benefit to us during our conflict with Spain. He imagined himself as another Walsingham, having spies all over Europe to report to him so that he would know immediately the country was menaced.

He was no Walsingham, of course; but no doubt Frances had talked to him often about her father and had inspired him with the wish to follow in his footsteps.

It was because of these activities that he came to me with an astonishing story concerning Dr Roderigo Lopez, whom I had made my chief physician. The doctor had come to England about the time of my accession and he soon began to impress the medical world with his skill. He had become house physician at St Bartholomew's Hospital, where he had made a name for himself not only by his skill in purging and bleeding but by introducing a very efficacious remedy for many ills. This was known as Arceus' apozema and Dr Lopez had talked to me about it. I was interested in such things and he found me a ready listener. I was quite fond of the man, so when Essex came to me and told me that he was a Spanish spy and was receiving orders from his masters in Spain to mix poisons with the medicines he prepared for me, I did not believe him.

I knew that Essex, in his endeavors to send his spies out round the world, as Walsingham had done, had tried to enlist the doctor in his service and had wanted him to return to Spain and worm his way into the King's household. This was not unlikely for he was famous for his skill. Thus he could become a spy for Essex.

I knew this because Dr Lopez himself had told me. I was most annoyed. This was another example of Essex's taking matters into his own hands.

I summoned Essex and berated him, telling him to look elsewhere for his spies and not try to rob me of one of the best doctors I had ever had.

At this time the Spanish nobleman Antonio Perez, who was being persecuted by Philip, had arrived in England and Lopez acted as an interpreter for him.

Essex had the notion that there were Spanish spies in the household of Perez and that they had come to England with orders to poison me; and he was looking for proof of this.

“The doctor has received a valuable jewel which is said to have come from the King of Spain,” Essex told me.

I replied: “The doctor has many grateful patients—myself among them.”

“I will show you,” retorted Essex; and he was sullen and angry. I really wondered why I endured his overbearing temperament.

I sent for the doctor and was especially gracious to him. He was such a tender, gentle man, and I was not going to turn against him just because he was a Portuguese Jew.

Essex was not one to give way easily, nor was he afraid to act without authority.

He caused a member of the household of Antonio Perez to be arrested. This was a certain De Gama and Essex had the temerity to make the arrest when De Gama was visiting Lopez, so that the arrest was made at Lopez's house.

Essex was now certain that Lopez was involved and he acquired the Council's permission to make a search of the doctor's house. He was very crestfallen when this revealed nothing incriminating.

I was elated. I sent for Essex and told him he was a very rash young man and had no right to accuse people of crimes which he could not prove; and he had better not behave in such a way again.

“You are wrong!” he cried.

How dared he! No one told the Queen she was wrong.

“You presume too much,” I shouted.

“I would presume in every possible way to protect your sacred person,” he replied.

And with a bow he left me.

He was intolerable but the way in which he had delivered that last remark softened me toward him. He really was genuinely fond of me and refreshingly frank—such a change from the sycophants who surrounded me.

Essex was indefatigable in his attempts to prove the case against Lopez. Another of Perez's attendants was arrested and put to the torture, when he confessed that Lopez was involved in a plot to poison me.

There was nothing to be done but arrest Lopez and conduct him to the Tower. He was tried at Guildhall where Essex insisted on presiding over the court, and the case for the prosecution was conducted by Sir Edward Coke, the Solicitor-General.

“This doctor,” declared Coke, “is a perjured and murdering villain, and a Jewish doctor worse than Judas himself.”

Robert Cecil came to tell me the result of the trial.

“He is found guilty, Your Majesty,” he said, “guilty of treason.”

I was very saddened. “Who would believe, Little Elf, that one who appeared to serve me well should all the time have been planning my destruction?”

I was not completely sure that he was guilty. Essex had been so determined to prove him so ever since the doctor had refused to act as his spy. I have never trusted evidence which is wrung from a victim by torture. I deplored the use of it, but I knew it was necessary. Yet who could trust the information which came out of it?

I was very uneasy about Lopez. He was sentenced to death, and when they brought me his death warrant, I found it hard to put my signature to it—so I did what I had done in the case of Mary of Scotland; I delayed doing it.

Essex said Lopez was unsafe.

“What if there should be an attempt to rescue him? What if he escaped and went back to his masters in Spain? Think of the knowledge he would carry. Your Majesty must sign the death warrant.”

“Essex,” I said, “you must stop this habit of telling me what I must and must not do. No one tells the Queen how she must act.”

“It seems that Essex does.”

“Guard your tongue, my lord,” I said. “It will be your undoing one of these days.”

Then he repeated a phrase which he had used in one of his letters to me and which I read often.

“Your Majesty may turn from me, but I never will from you. While you give me leave to say I love you, my fortune is my affection, unmatchable. If ever you deny me that liberty you may end my life, but you will never shake my constancy, for it is not in your power, great Queen as you are, to make me love you less.”

All my anger against him melted. He truly loved me. He would never pretend; he could not speak with such heartfelt devotion unless what he said was true.

I softened toward him. If he were brash, it was in my service. Why should I complain of that?

I took a ring from my finger then. It held a ruby in a cluster of diamonds. I had chosen it because the unusual setting made it unique.

Then I took his hand and slipped the ring on his little finger.

“This is a bond between us,” I said. “If you are ever in trouble and need my help, send me this ring. I will remember this moment and how in it you assured me of your affection for me. Mine is in this ring. I shall always remember and come to your aid when I see it.”

He took my hand and kissed it; and later that day I signed Lopez's death warrant.

He was taken to Tyburn on a hurdle and before he was hanged and quartered he made a speech to the watching crowd in which he said that he had never thought to harm me and that he loved me as he loved Jesus Christ.

Someone in the crowd shouted: “Jew! You never loved Jesus Christ.”

And all the people there believed that in saying what he did he had admitted his guilt.

His death continued to worry me, because I still was not entirely convinced that he would ever have attempted to poison me. If it were really true that he would, then I knew nothing of human nature. I was sunk in depression as I always was after I had signed a death warrant for someone of whose guilt I was unsure.

I knew he had a wife, Sara, and five children. I gave orders that they were to retain his property, and later on his son was given a parsonage and a living.