Queen Of This Realm

Kenilworth

ROBERT HAD LAVISHED A GREAT DEAL OF TIME AND MONEY on the Castle of Kenilworth, which had come to him with his title, and he often talked about the place, telling me how much he longed to entertain me there.

Why should I not visit his beloved mansion? I asked myself. I was constantly taking tours through the country. I liked the people to see me and I wished to be assured of their regard.

So in the summer I set out with my entourage. We made a rather impressive cavalcade passing through the countryside for we took not only trunks of clothes but household furnishings as well. I liked my bath to be taken along, for some of the houses were very primitive, and I am sure many of the inhabitants of them never dreamt of taking a bath. They had to be careful of their personal cleanliness when I was around though. I made sure of that. I liked them to know well in advance that I was coming so that they could look to the sweetening of their houses, for there was little I loathed as much as evil-smelling places and verminous rushes.

I was in good spirits when we set out, thinking of Robert whose company I should soon be enjoying, and imagining the lavish spectacles he would be devising for my pleasure.

Before we reached Itchingworth we were met by a party of riders, and I was delighted when I saw who rode at the head of them. I recognized him from a distance. No one sat a horse quite like Robert; no one had his air of distinction and mystery; it was a particularly delightful encounter because I had not been expecting it, imagining that Robert would have so much to prepare at Kenilworth that he would need to be on hand, waiting to greet me when I arrived.

“Why,” I cried out as he rode up, dismounted and knelt in that wonderfully courtly fashion which none could practice as he did, “if it is not my Lord Leicester! We did not expect you here, my lord.”

“My impatience to see Your Majesty was so great that I could wait no longer.”

“And you were sure of your welcome, I'll be bound.”

He was standing up now, so tall, so distinguished, my heart leaped with pleasure at the sight of him, as it always did after an absence.

“All is well at Kenilworth?” I asked.

“As well as it can be without Your Majesty's presence, but that I trust will soon be remedied; and then Kenilworth will be the happiest house in the world.”

Such charming things he said! He was the constant wooer and that was how I wanted it to remain.

“Have I Your Majesty's permission to ride beside you?”

“You would incur Her Majesty's displeasure if you rode anywhere else, Master of Horse.”

Then we laughed and talked and, as we rode into Itchingworth, I noticed there were two women in the party whose names had been linked with Robert's; one was Douglass Sheffield, the other was Lettice Knollys.

They were both exceptionally beautiful women and obviously of very differing temperaments. Douglass was a soft and clinging creature while the handsome Lettice, as I have said before, could take good care of herself.

I have no doubt that there were many women who could boast of encounters with Robert. Why not? As long as they were unimportant and Robert did not become heavily involved, I was not averse to his having a brief flirtation with such women. I knew very well that they were all substitutes and, he being a lusty man, they were necessary to him; any one of them would be dropped at a word from me. As long as that state was preserved I did not object.

I dismissed both women from my mind and gave myself up to the chase which was most enjoyable.

After Itchingworth we went to Grafton, which was one of my houses. The weather was very hot and, as we stepped into the cool hall, Robert said the first thing that I required was a drink of cool ale.

“As you do yourself, my lord, I'll swear,” I said.

He admitted this was so and he called to the servants to bring ale which they did, but when I put it to my lips I spat it out.

I was furious. Why, in my own house, did they have such stuff? They knew I drank only the mildest ale, and this strong variety was not to my liking; and yet they had dared bring it to me.

Robert tried a flagon and when he had sipped, grimaced.

“It is as strong as malmsey,” he cried. “I feel heady already.” Then he roared out to the servants that light ale must be brought at once.

There was pandemonium throughout the house. Where was the ale the Queen preferred? Apparently they had none in the house at all. They had known I was coming yet had neglected to provision it, and here I was tired and hot and unable to quench my raging thirst in my own home!

“Bring something!” I shouted. “I dare not let Your Majesty take the water,” said Robert. “For all we know it could be contaminated. Leave it to me.”

What a wonderful organizer he was! What a man of action! In a few moments he had sent his servants out in all directions telling them that they must return with light ale suitable for the Queen to drink.

I was astonished at the speed with which these men came, bringing with them just the ale which suited me.

“Robert,” I said, “you are wonderful. Is there anything you cannot do?”

“Anything you ask me I will do for you,” he replied. “There is one thing I would you would do for me.”

“Dear Robert,” I said, “who knows? One day perhaps all you desire will come to you.”

A gleam of excitement shone in his eyes. I believe he was hoping for a great deal from the visit to Kenilworth. That was what I found so enchanting about Robert. He never lost hope.

And so we came to Kenilworth. What a magnificent sight! The massive Keep which formed the citadel of the castle was of great antiquity and was called Caesar's Tower. There was a beautiful lake on the southwest side, over which Robert had had a bridge built. I was very happy as I rode forward with Robert at my side. I noticed in the strong sunlight that there were streaks of silver in his thick dark hair now—which somehow endeared him to me— but there was a look of such boyish enthusiasm on his face that I could not help smiling.

I knew this was going to be the highlight of my trip—in fact, I believed, the zenith of all my wanderings—and not only because I loved to see the wonders of architecture and enjoyed the lavish entertainments my subjects devised for me, but most of all because it was Robert's achievement; he was proud of it but he could only be contented if I shared that pride.

I said: “Robert, this is to be compared with any royal palace I ever saw.”

I was reminded then of my father—as I often was—for when he had seen the splendors of Hampton Court, he had commented that it was too grand a house for a subject, and had soon taken it from Cardinal Wolsey and made it his. I did not want Kenilworth. I was content for Robert to have it; there was pleasure enough for me in remembering that it had come to him through my bounty.

“It is only Your Majesty's presence in it that can make it that,” he said now. “You transform it. It is royal because you honor it. Without you it is nothing to me but a pile of stones and empty baubles.”

That was not quite true. I knew he loved it and was often here. But it was pleasant to see the love in his eyes for me…as well as for Kenilworth.

As we rode toward the Keep ten beautiful girls, all clad in white silk, appeared; they came toward us and one of them stepped forward and raised a hand. We pulled up, and coming to stand before me, she began to recite a poem which described the happiness my presence brought to Kenilworth this day, and the Sybil went on to proclaim that my coming to Kenilworth was symbolic of my coming to the throne, and she went on to prophesy a time of peace and prosperity for England under the great Elizabeth.

I said: “What a delightful girl, what a pleasant voice and what comforting verses.”

Immensely gratified, the sybils retired gracefully and I rode on with Robert until we came to a tiltyard, where a very big man, tall and square, a giant indeed, stepped out to bar my way, brandishing a club in one hand and carrying a bunch of keys in the other. He looked ferocious and quite terrifying and for a few seconds I wondered what was happening; but glancing sideways at Robert, I saw the smile about his lips.

The giant demanded what was the cause of all the noise and who it was who dared to come riding into his master's stronghold which it was his bounden duty to protect. Then as he approached me, he looked as though he had been blinded; he put his hands up to his face and fell to his knees.

“Rise, Sir Giant,” I said. “You seem less fierce than you did a moment ago. What has happened to change you?”

“My Gracious Liege,” he cried in a parrot voice which suggested to me that he had the greatest difficulty in memorizing his lines, “I have been blinded by your glory. I have spoken rashly not knowing for a few moments what joy had come to my master's house. Clemency, Your Gracious Majesty, to your humble servant who, if you will forgive his initial mistake and take his club and keys of the Castle, only then can he hold up his head again and win back his master's regard for this terrible mistake.”

“Rise and give me the keys,” I said. “I take them most willingly, and I congratulate your master on having such an excellent servant who is ready to defend him and his castle from all intruders.”

The giant rose and handed me the keys, looking very relieved because his little act was over.

As the gates were flung open, six trumpeters who were stationed on top of the wall, dressed in long garments of white silk, lifted their silver trumpets, and there was a glorious fanfare as we rode under the gateway into Kenilworth.

There were more trumpeters on the walls of another tiltyard through which we went on the way to the inner gate. Passing through this we came to a pool on which floated a figure representing the Lady of the Lake; about her were nymphs holding blazing torches. As I stopped to admire, the Lady of the Lake began her peroration which was even more full of praise than that of the Sybil. Everything was so beautiful and original; and I was all attention wondering what was coming next.

The bridge across the lake was about twenty feet wide, Robert told me afterward, and seventy feet long; and he had had it constructed purely for my pleasure. I dismounted and walked across beside Robert, and as I did so I was met by young men and women each representing a god of mythology, all with offerings for me. There was Sylvanus, the god of the woods, who presented me with birds—bitterns and curlews, live in cages; from Ceres I had sheaves of corn, and wine from Bacchus, fish from Neptune and musical instruments from Apollo. It was an enchanting pageant.

As we came into the inner court Robert drew my attention to the clock in Caesar's Tower. It was one of the most beautiful clocks I ever saw, the face being a delicate shade of blue and the hands of gold.

I said: “But look! It has stopped.”

“All clocks have stopped at Kenilworth,” said Robert. “It means that while Your Majesty honors the Castle with your presence, time stands still.”

He looked fondly at me and I thought: Would it be possible? Only with him. Never with another. And yet, would he be quite so tender, quite so caring, toward a wife—Queen though she was—as he was toward the one he was trying to persuade to marry him?

Marriage grew stale. Courtship never.

Even here at Kenilworth, I knew that I must be perpetually wooed but never won.

WHAT HALCYON DAYS!

Whenever I traveled my subjects took great pains to give diverting entertainments in their houses, but there had never been anything like this. Robert had thought of everything for my pleasure.

“Even the Queen must remember this forever,” he said. “I want to make these days at Kenilworth some of the most memorable you have ever spent. I want no sadness to touch you, no irritation, however slight. Here is Your Majesty at this castle with your Master of Horse, whose great task and great joy in life is to serve you. I have thought of all that you love most to see and hear and do, and that is what I have planned. There shall be no moment of dullness. While Your Majesty is under this roof, every moment must be a joy, or I have failed.”

“No one could ever arrange these matters as you can, Robert, but here you have surpassed yourself.”

We hunted a great deal for he knew how I loved the sport, and he was always beside me. There were tournaments and tilting in the days and excellent feasting in the evenings when we would be entertained by tumblers, singers and musicians. There were colorful firework displays; and of course we danced every night. I danced chiefly with Robert. Although, of course, others implored the honor of partnering me, I never enjoyed dancing with anyone as I did with him—although men like Heneage and certainly Hatton danced more gracefully than he did. But I did not want too excellent a performance from Robert. He possessed all the masculine attractions to the full, and dancing perfection was not what I expected from Robert, although such as Hatton had won my regard for the performances they gave on the dance floor.

I liked my men to show their different talents—and they did so admirably; but although I had always known that none could rank with me so high as Robert did, I realized during the days at Kenilworth how very much I cared for him and how much a part of my life he was. During the years of my glory he had never been far from my side; he was closer to me than anyone else ever could be.

Sometimes when I watched him with others I felt twinges of anger. I saw him dancing once with Lettice Knollys while Douglass Sheffield, sitting on one of the benches, followed their movements with yearning eyes. I felt annoyed—not so much with Douglass as with the saucy Lettice.

When I was being helped to bed I noticed her there among my women, and I said to her: “It is time Devereux came back from Ireland, or you went to join him there.”

“Oh, Your Majesty, I doubt I should be the slightest use to him there,” she said blithely. “He is completely absorbed in the tasks Your Majesty has set him.”

“A wife should be with her husband. Long separations are unwise.”

She said nothing but I fancied she was smirking a little, and when she was helping to unlace me, I gave her a sharp nip on the arm and said she was clumsy. I added that she must be absentminded thinking of her family at Chartley.

She was never dismayed. She presumed too much on the Boleyn connection which made us some sort of cousins.

There is a smugness about her, I thought, and I believed that at one time she must have been rather friendly with Robert.

I would watch them. I was not having any immorality at my Court. Lettice was now a married woman, and if she did not remember it, I should.

When the women left me, I dismissed Lettice from my thoughts. I was wondering what delights Robert had prepared for the next day.

IT WAS SO HOT that July and because of this we did not go out hunting until the late afternoon and we would return in the twilight. Robert always had some new pageant to greet me and the days contained such a surfeit of entertainment that but for their brilliance and originality, they might have palled. I could never be sure what was being devised for my delight, and when I heard that the cost of all this exceeded one thousand pounds a day, I wondered at Robert's extravagance. When I mentioned this to him, he looked at me reproachfully and asked how he could count the cost when he was catering for the pleasure of his Queen.

It was all very wonderful, but life had taught me that it is not natural to enjoy such unalloyed pleasure, and perhaps I began to look round for a little canker in the richness. I found that my suspicions would not let me get those women out of my mind: Douglass Sheffield and Lettice Knollys. Douglass I felt I understood; I could sum up her nature: soft and yielding, demanding affection which she should have got from Sheffield; and then there was something unsavory about Sheffield's death. Robert had feared that his promises to her might be brought to my ears. It was disturbing to wonder whether he would murder on my account. That thought brought back echoes from the past.

However, the lady who caused me the most disquiet was Lettice. There was something so sly about her; she was harboring secrets. I had noticed the way in which she and Robert deliberately avoided looking at each other. That was not natural. Lettice was one of those women at whom men looked a good deal and Robert's studied indifference was too marked.

So there were these suspicions to ruffle the soft beauty of the paradise Robert had devised for me and, though I forgot those qualms for long stretches at a time, and I threw myself wholeheartedly into the entertainments, they remained.

Perhaps some of the most amusing moments occurred when the carefully organized pageants did not proceed as intended. I shall never forget the water scene which had been arranged to welcome me back to the castle after the hunt. It was on the lake, which always looked its best at night. Lighted by torches, the scene had a look of fairyland, and as I rode in I was greeted by the mermaid who was accompanied by a huge dolphin on whose back rode a masked man dressed to represent Orion.

As I approached the lake Orion started to recite his verses; the theme was that which I had heard many times since coming to Kenilworth. I was the greatest Queen in the whole world. I had been sent by God's Grace to rule England. All was well while I was on the throne and Kenilworth was blessed because I had deigned to stay within its walls. The trouble was that Orion could not manage his words. Like everyone else he must have been instructed to learn them by heart, for to have read them would have robbed them of their spontaneity; and it was in any case unlikely that these people would have been able to read.

However, Orion was having more difficulty than most and having stumbled his way through the first lines, he lost the thread and began again. I could see that Robert was getting very restive, but I was smiling pleasantly knowing that the humble man was doing his best.

He had come to a stop and clearly he had forgotten the rest of his speech. He tore off his mask so that his hot face, purple with exertion, was exposed, and he cried out: “I am no Orion. I am but honest Harry Goldingham, Your Majesty's most loyal subject.”

There was just a brief silence. Harry Goldingham had suddenly realized that he had ruined the pageant and was looking fearfully at Robert, glowering beside me.

“But,” I cried, “my loyal subject Harry Goldingham you have made me laugh, and I do declare that I like your performance as well as anyone's.”

Harry Goldingham leaped from his dolphin and came to kneel at my feet. I gave him my hand and he kissed it fervently. I had made a friend for life, and it was incidents such as this and my natural instinct for dealing with them which won the love of my people.

I made it clear to Robert that I did not want Harry Goldingham reprimanded. I said: “I have enjoyed his efforts. There is a good man and a loyal one.”

So that passed off very well and I said afterward that it was one of the highlights of my stay at Kenilworth.

People from the surrounding countryside were allowed to come in and see the performances, but I think most of them came to see me. I was always gracious to them, being aware always of the need to hold my people's approval, and that it was more necessary to me than anything else.

Some of the performances of these country folk could be a little wearisome, but I never showed that I was in the least bored nor that I compared their rustic antics with the sophisticated players who entertained me at Court.

I sat through Hock Tuesday which was played by certain men of Coventry and was founded on the massacre of the Danes in the year 1002. The insolence and cruelty of the Danes and the bravery of Hunna, commanderin-chief of Ethelred's army, was stressed. There were realistic encounters between Danes and English knights, which ended in the Danes being beaten and held captive by the English women. This I took as a compliment to my sex.

Afterward I expressed my delight in the play and my fears that the Danes might be victorious in swordplay.

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” roared the English knights, “us 'ud never have let that be.”

I said that I should have known the English must triumph.

I gave gifts of money to the players, which pleased them well, and to make it a very special occasion I bestowed knighthoods on five members of the nobility—among them Burghley's eldest son, Thomas Cecil.

There was one other play for my pleasure. This was entitled A Country Bridal and, compared with Hock Tuesday, it was a polished production.

It was the story of a country marriage which for some reason was considered to be a matter for ridicule. The bridegroom was by no means handsome and was clad in an old tawny worsted jacket, a straw hat, and had a pair of harvesting gloves on his hands as he came limping onto the scene. The morris dancers followed him with Mad Marian, a jester, and the bridesmaids—none of them below thirty years of age. A boy came next carrying the bride cup; and last of all, the bride, who was nearer forty than thirty, and made up to look as ugly as possible in a tousled wig and an ill-fitting smock.

The morris dancers danced and the pair were married and staggered off together to the wild excitement of the crowd who had been allowed into the grounds to see the performance.

How they loved it! And yet their eyes were more often on me than on the players; they were clearly gratified to see me laughing.

I did wonder why Robert allowed this piece to be performed. The bride, who was well past her prime, might have been meant to be a lesson to me. Was Robert trying to tell me that we were both getting old and if ever we were going to marry we should do so now? Subtlety was not one of Robert's gifts. However, so much did the people enjoy the play that I refused to consider that there might be some ulterior motive in its selection.

The next day there was an incident concerning Lady Sheffield.

I had been watching the ban dogs. There were thirteen of them and they were very wild, having been locked away and kept short of food to make them fierce. Before the dogs appeared the bear had been trundled into the arena. He looked vicious and very formidable. I was so close as to see his little pink eyes leering round him, scenting danger, ready for the attack.

Then the dogs were let out. The battle was fierce and bloody. I sat there watching, entranced. Sometimes I thought the bear would win… but no, the dogs were triumphing, but at what cost to them! The people shouted and cheered the dogs. There was a deafening noise and a constant yelping as the dogs, panting and bloody, went in again and again to the attack.

When the battle was over with no victor, for although one or two of the dogs survived they would never fight again, I was sitting in the shade with some of my ladies round me when a young boy ran up and stood beside me. With the innocence of children he placed his hands on my knees and gazed up at me wonderingly. He was a particularly handsome child, and I was always drawn to children.

“Why do you gaze at me, little boy?” I asked.

He replied: “You are the beautiful Queen.”

I patted his head. “So you find me beautiful, do you?” I could never resist compliments. “Is it because I am the Queen, or would you find me beautiful if I were not?”

The child was puzzled, but he delighted me even more by nodding vigorously which I accepted as Yes.

“You know I am the Queen,” I said. “But I do not know who you are. Tell me your name.”

“Robert,” he said.

“Robert!” I echoed. “That is a very favorite name of mine.”

He smiled up at me, and I said: “Who brought you to Kenilworth?”

“It was my mama,” he answered.

“And who is your mama?”

He looked at me in some amazement and said: “She is my mama.”

I smiled and patted his dark head about which the hair curled prettily.

I turned to one of my women. “Whose child is this, do you know?”

“His mother is Lady Sheffield,” was the answer.

“Indeed,” I said. I was remembering the Sheffield scandal. How long ago was it that I had heard the story about Robert's letter to her, followed by Sheffield's death? Those were uneasy thoughts. How old was the child? Not more than three years I would say. Then was it possible that he had been born after Sheffield's death?

Then… who was the father?

I kept the boy with me, but the conversation of a child of three can be somewhat inconsequential and though some of his answers were clear enough, one must wonder how much was fantasy.

“Would you like us to remove the child, Your Majesty?” asked one of the women.

“No, no, let him stay awhile. Will you find the Earl of Leicester and tell him that I would see him.”

It was not long before Robert was speeding across the grass.

The little boy gave a cry of joy and ran to him, falling against him and clutching his legs. Robert picked him up in his arms and the boy was laughing. Of course Robert had that charm which would attract even children, but it did seem to me that the boy and he were not strangers.

Robert said something to the child and looked about him. A woman came up and took the boy, who rather reluctantly allowed her to lead him away.

Robert came to me smiling and urbane, but was he just a little uneasy?

He took my hand and kissed it. “I trust Your Majesty continues to enjoy our presentation.”

“Extremely so, Robert. You excel in everything. The entertainment has never been surpassed. What a charming boy!”

“Yes. A pleasant child.”

“An exceptionally handsome one.”

“Did Your Majesty think so?”

“Did you not? He seemed to know you.”

“Oh yes, I have seen him before.”

“Whose son is he?”

“Lady Sheffield's.”

“An old friend of yours.”

“I have so many friends.”

“Not too many of those who have been involved in scandal, I hope.”

“Rumor? Scandal? Who can escape it?”

“Not some of us, Robert, I fear. So she is a guest of yours here at Kenilworth—this Lady Sheffield?”

“Yes—one of the Howards, Your Majesty will remember.”

“Wasn't there some mystery about her late husband's death?”

“Sheffield? Oh… not really. He died rather suddenly… dysentery, I think. It carried him off as it does so many. What thought Your Majesty of the bear?”

“A most unpleasant creature who deserved his fate.”

“If he has amused Your Majesty for a short while, he has served his purpose.”

“The little boy diverted me. I thought him a most delightful child.”

Robert was uneasy, eager to divert me in order to stop my insistence on talking of the child. I took a shot in the dark.

“He reminds me of someone.”

The shaft went home. Robert was very disturbed now. “He seemed to be fond of you, Robert,” I went on. “Oh, children's fondness is not to be relied on.”

“I suppose you seem very magnificent in that little one's eyes. He looked at you with something like adoration.”

“If only I could arouse such feelings in one other! Do you remember the boy who brought you flowers and carried words of hope from you to me when we were in the Tower together?”

“I remember it well. How different life is for us now! We should be grateful for what God has given us, Robert, and not hanker for more.”

“A man cannot help his dreams, Elizabeth.”

I said: “Remember that there is always hope.”

I saw the light leap into his eyes. I saw the fierce longing. He took my hand and kissed it and his eyes lifted to mine were full of adoration. This was how I liked to see Robert. That was how I wanted him always to be. Mine. The man who loved me throughout his life, whose love never swerved, he was always there, waiting, hoping that the word would be given which would make me his wife. Only Robert could fill that role for me; and he did it to perfection. I wanted it to remain thus and I was determined that it should; and no matter what he did outside that relationship I would accept—as long as it did not interfere with his devotion first to me.

All the same I was going to watch Lady Sheffield while I was here at Kenilworth.

I WAS, HOWEVER, not deeply concerned about Douglass Sheffield. It was Lettice Knollys whom I could not get out of my thoughts. That the woman was up to some mischief I had no doubt; and some instinct told me it was with Robert.

The Essexes' home was Chartley—not so very far from Kenilworth— and I had a desire to see what her family was like. She had four children, I knew, for when she had waited on me I had made her talk of them; and having an excellent memory for such details about the people who interested me, I remembered that there were two girls and two boys.

The day after the bear-baiting when I had seen the little boy, I went along to pay my daily visit to Mary Sidney. Although she preferred to stay at her home at Penshurst, Robert had prevailed upon her to come to Kenilworth. I would never command her to do what she did not want but I did add my pleas to Robert's and on this occasion she had agreed. Robert had arranged that she should have her separate apartments in the castle and she did not join in any of the festivities. As for myself I could never be grateful enough to her for ruining her beauty for my sake. She was a selfless woman, and always had been; and now lived chiefly for her family.

During our conversation on that day I asked her if she knew Chartley well.

“Not well,” she said. “I have visited it. It is a pleasant spot and the beautiful estate is set in the midst of some of the best scenery in Staffordshire.”

“It's Walter Devereux's place, I believe,” I said.

“Yes. It has been in the Devereux family since the days of Henry VI. Then Agnes de Ferrers, a daughter of the Earl of Derby, married into the Devereux family and took Chartley with her.”

“It is not very far from here. I thought we might stay there for a few days on our way back from Kenilworth.”

“The Earl of Essex is in Ireland, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, but the Countess is not. She is here at Kenilworth.”

“Your Majesty would not mind staying there in the absence of the Earl?”

“My dear Mary, I know my cousin Lettice, and I am sure she would be capable of doing the honors.”

“If that is what Your Majesty wishes…”

I nodded. “Your Philip seems in good spirits here at Kenilworth.”

“He is always happy to be with his Uncle Robert.”

I smiled tenderly. “It is heartwarming to see the affection between those two.”

“Robert looks upon him as a son. It is a pity…”

I looked up sharply. Gentle as I was with Mary, I would not have her reproach me.

“It may well be that Robert has a son…or even a daughter… somewhere.”

Mary was startled. “Your Majesty!”

“Oh, I daresay Robert has his adventures.”

“Your Majesty knows well that Robert cares for one… and one only.” Dear Mary! So loyal!

I sighed and said: “Your Philip is less sensitive now, I trust. We don't want him going about challenging noble earls to duels.”

“Your Majesty will understand that Oxford provoked him.”

“I know, I know. Mary, send for the Countess of Essex and tell her that I wish to call at Chartley when I leave here. Tell her that your brother has suggested that our party stay at Chartley and that she is to leave at once.”

“Has he?”

No. But he will when I have spoken to him. She will need to make sure that the place is sweetened for our stay. Let her believe that the suggestion came from Robert. I will tell him and he will see you and work out the arrangements. Your Philip can accompany Lady Essex and help her since her husband is away. But I want Lady Essex to leave for Chartley tomorrow.”

Mary Sidney was surprised; but she was accustomed to my sudden and often unpredictable commands, and she knew better than to question them.

I kissed her tenderly and left her.

Now Lettice, I thought, your pleasant days at Kenilworth are cut short. I very much look forward to seeing you in the midst of your family at Chartley.

I WAS RIDING beside Robert at the head of the cavalcade and we were a mile or so from Chartley when we encountered Lettice, who had come with a party to greet us.

She looked very fresh and beautiful in a coat of mulberry velvet, a hat sporting a magnificent feather perched rather jauntily on her head. She was certainly a very fine-looking woman. I watched Robert furtively as she approached.

I could not find fault with her manners. She was effusive in her welcome, at the same time stressing the fact that I would find Chartley a somewhat humble residence after Kenilworth and my own royal palaces.

I said: “We have chosen to come, cousin, and I believe you have a way of concealing your possessions.”

I saw the wary look come into her eyes and I decided once more that she was a rather devious young woman.

I bade her ride on my left side; Robert was on my right; and so we came to Chartley. It was a charming little castle with a circular keep and two round towers; and as we rode through the park Lettice pointed out the cows which were smaller than normal and of a sand-white color with ears, muzzle and hoof tipped with black.

“They have been here at Chartley for generations,” Lettice told me, “and they are always that sand-white color. Well… not always. There are occasions when a black one is born, but very rarely. Then there is consternation at Chartley because it is supposed to mean the death of the head of the house is imminent.”

“I trust there will be no black cows born to your herd, cousin,” I said. “You must be anxious for your husband.”

“He is doing Your Majesty's work in Ireland and for that I applaud him,” she said demurely.

“You must miss him sadly.”

“Alas, Madam.”

“But you are a mother of four, I understand.”

“That is so.”

“I look forward to meeting the children. They must be a joy to you.” She admitted that they were.

Robert was silent during this conversation, but I could feel a tension in the air and should have liked to know the real meaning of it. With Douglass Sheffield I could feel sure, but in the case of Lettice it was different.

Philip Sidney was at Chartley to greet us. What a charming boy! But he did not quite qualify as one of my special men. I could not imagine that he could ever give me the blatant flattery which Oxford, Hatton, Heneage and the rest practiced with such outrageous ease. He had the good looks and the learning, but perhaps he was too learned—and he could never be anything but scrupulously honest, and that was no quality to make a good courtier. Although I respected it, it was not always comforting, and the older I grew, the more I welcomed such reassurance. My hair was growing thinner and must be padded out with false pieces; my face demanded more attention than it had in the past; my skin was still very clear, smooth and pale but must have very special attention. More than ever I needed people around me to tell me I was beautiful, because in my heart I knew I was not… especially when compared with people like the Countess of Essex, an undeniable beauty, and she had something else besides—a sensuality, an air of promise which I had noticed in some women, and which had an immediate appeal to the opposite sex, presumably, I reasoned, because it was obvious that there would be no delaying tactics, no unnecessary preliminaries before the goal was reached. No, Philip Sidney was not, nor ever could be, one of those handsome men I kept fluttering around me, whose duty it was to keep me assured that I was the most beautiful and desirable woman on Earth.

The Essex children were presented to me.

There was Penelope—another such as her mother; she must have been about fourteen but already sexually aware; then there was Dorothy, a charming girl, and after her Robert and Walter.

Young Robert attracted me immediately. Perhaps it was simply because he was another Robert and I had such a fondness for the name. I guessed he was about eight years old, and later his mother told me that he would be nine in November. He was alert; he was bold too; he came to me and touched the aglets on my gown to see if they came off. He raised his eyes to me and smiled rather mischievously, I thought; he told me that his dog had puppies and he would show them to me if I liked.

His mother reminded him that he must show more respect because I was the Queen. At which he took my hand and kissed it in a most courtly manner and raising his saucy eyes to mine, he said: “I like queens.”

Of course he won my heart. Many children did. I often thought that I should have liked children of my own if it were not for the undignified manner of getting them.

Penelope interested me too. She was going to be like her mother—very wayward, difficult to control. She had already formed a friendship with Philip Sidney, and there seemed to be quite an understanding between them.

I talked about them to Robert afterward. Perhaps a match could be arranged for them. “How would you like a member of your family to marry into that of Devereux?” I asked.

“It is a good family. I suppose it would depend on what Henry and Mary thought.”

“Oh come, Robert, they would be prepared to take the advice of their powerful brother.”

“I fancy Philip would have his own way.”

“Yes, indeed. One must be wary of those quiet ones. They have wills of their own, I believe, and I have a fancy that if your handsome nephew wanted to marry Penelope Devereux, he would do so.”

“They are very young.”

“The girl, yes. Philip… not so young. How old is your nephew?”

“He must be twenty… twenty-one…”

“Ready for marriage, and Madam Penelope is fourteen … but a ripe fourteen, would you say?”

“I know little of that.”

I gave him a tap on the hand. “Now, Robert, all know that you are wise in these matters.”

“My attentions are so centered on one that I see little of others.”

It was the remark I wanted to hear, but while I listened and was gratified, my suspicions remained.

“I am very sorry for Lady Essex,” I said maliciously. “She must be a very lonely woman.”

“She appears to be happy in her family.”

“But the head of that family is missing. A woman such as Lady Essex needs to have a man beside her. Devereux is in Ireland. Perhaps he should be brought back or she join him there.”

“There are her children.”

“Children… and without a husband! If he stayed in Ireland that can be a problem. But if he were brought back…He does not appear to be making much of a success in Ireland. I have a fancy that Devereux is a man who would never make a success of anything … saving marriage, of course. Would you say he had made a success of that?”

Robert was clearly uneasy. He must be wondering if I had been listening to gossip.

However, he did seem quite indifferent to Lady Essex and devoted himself to the children. Robert was the sort of man they adored. It was that essential masculinity, that aura of power, that magnificence. His confident way with horses was endearing, for what child does not love horses? I found him once in the stables with young Robert Devereux, talking of horses, showing him tricks, giving him instructions in the art of manége which he himself had mastered from the French. He was telling young Robert how, after the massacre of St Bartholomew's Eve, he had tried to fill his stables with grooms from households where the owners had been massacred.

“But,” he was saying, “these gentlemen have so high an opinion of themselves and demanded such fees for their services that I decided I could do better… and I could instruct my own Englishmen to do as good a job as they did.”

“Of course you could,” agreed young Robert. “Philip says you can do everything better than anyone else.”

“Philip is a loyal nephew.”

“And the French are wicked. Philip was there when the killing started. He told us about it. He was in the Ambassador's house and he heard the bells ringing and saw the people running into the streets. He said that night was a blot on the history of France which will never be forgotten. He said we must always respect the religious views of others.”

“Philip is a good and noble gentleman,” said my Robert with feeling.

They were then aware of me and the elder Robert came swiftly to my side and kissed my hand while the young one looked on.

“When I am grown up,” he said, “perhaps I shall be your Master of Horse.”

Little did I know then what an important part that boy would play in my life. I shall always remember him as the bright young boy he was during my stay at Chartley. I think I began to love him from that moment, which was surprising considering whose son he was.

But in that moment he was merely young Robert Devereux, one of the most enchanting children I had ever met.

I HAD TO ADMIT that the Countess of Essex had entertained us very graciously at Chartley. It was particularly laudable considering that she had the whole burden of the visit. There had been pleasant festivities in the great hall in the evenings, good hunting during the day; and the food was adequate, the ale of the desired quality, and above all the place sweet-smelling. The Countess had given instructions that the rushes be swept out every day. So many people failed to do that and I imagined their noses had become so accustomed to evil smells that they did not notice them. Dorothy Devereux told me that her mother had ordered that wormwood seed be mingled with the rushes for fleas could not live in wormwood.

“My mother knows full well that Your Majesty is the cleanest lady in the land, and she was determined that no flea should sup your royal blood at Chartley.”

That amused me. They were bright, these Devereux children. They took after their mother, I supposed—and certainly not after Walter. Walter was a fool. There was no gainsaying it. It was a mistake to have sent him to Ireland. Cecil had said there was no hope of succeeding in Ireland. It was like trying to fill a bottomless pit. However much was poured into it, it would disappear. The reason was that the Irish were a people given to quarreling, so that if they were met on any point that would simply raise another. It was the quarrel itself which they sought—not the solution; so if one trouble was solved they lost no time in finding another.

I was beginning to believe that Cecil was right and governing Ireland was a thankless task; that was why it was best to send such as Devereux out there. The place abounded with traitors and dull as he was, Devereux could be trusted. He had, however, made some terrible mistakes. He had invited some of the chieftains to a banquet on one occasion and in the middle of the feast soldiers had entered the hall, seized the chiefs and murdered their attendants. There was no justification for this and Devereux's excuse had been that he had broken the faction which was working against him and made them all afraid of him.

There was no alternative after that incident but to recall him from Ireland.

He came to see me, full of excuses. I gave him credit for his loyalty; on the other hand he was no brilliant statesman. I was certain that Lettice must find him dull company.

Let her contend with his dullness. She had married him and he was the father of those four enchanting children.

I said to him: “There has been no happy result from the Irish question, but I daresay that is no easy matter to settle. You need a rest. I'll swear you are longing to be with your beautiful wife and children. I was at Chartley recently and I found the place delightful. Make sure there are no black cows born on your land, Lord Essex.”

He was gratified by my interest and I could not help comparing him with Robert who was present at the meeting. How splendid he looked in that dark red velvet, a color becoming to his handsome dark looks! I liked the new Italian-style doublet with the long peak in front. It was set with rubies, and there was a white feather in his red velvet hat, and his loose traveling coat was of the same rich-colored material. What a fine figure of a man! And how insignificant Walter Devereux looked beside him!

Walter thanked me and said he would be glad to return to his family for a while, until I found some task for him which he trusted would be ere long as his one wish was to serve me.

I laughed to think of Lettice receiving him. I was sure she would be somewhat nonplussed. There were a great many rumors about her and a love affair she was having with a certain nobleman. Nobody mentioned the name of the nobleman in my presence, so I knew it was Robert.

I shrugged my shoulders. As long as he and Madame Lettice realized that he could be with her only when I did not wish him to be with me, I would accept what was going on. In fact I would enjoy showing Lettice that Robert was only at her service if I did not need him.

I became more and more certain of this when one of Robert's men brought up the suggestion that Essex should be sent back to Ireland.

I was amused. Get him out of the way again, I supposed. Leave the coast clear for Lettice and Robert.

Cecil, however, thought it might be a good idea for Essex to go back. He was loyal; he was not very bright, of course, but if he were given clear instructions he would not be a man to go against them.

As a result it was decided that Essex should indeed return with increased authority and to stress this he was given the title of Earl Marshal of Ireland.

He left in July. That was a year after our visit to Kenilworth. By September he was dead. He had died of a virulent attack of dysentery.

I felt a quivering of alarm. Dysentery was a disease suffered by many, which often proved fatal. Whenever it occurred there were suggestions of poisoning. Thus the sudden death of a man of thirty-five, who had been in excellent health when he left England, coupled with the recent scandals about his wife, gave rise to fresh rumors.

It was reported that a black cow had been born on the Chartley estate. Whether it was true or not I did not know; but there was a great deal of speculation.

Henry Sidney came to me and said that in view of the suddenness of Essex's death there should be an autopsy. I agreed but I must say I was terrified of what might be found and whom it might involve. Robert had been on the perimeter of too many mysteries: Amy Robsart, Lord Sheffield and now Walter Devereux.

I heard that Walter had died bravely, although he had suffered intense pain. He had written to me in his extreme agony and begged me to favor his eldest son. He also wrote along the same lines to Cecil.

I was very relieved when the post-mortem revealed that there was no trace of poison in him. I wished that I could stop thinking that there were some poisons which left no trace, and that Robert's own physician, Dr Julio, was an Italian who had a masterly knowledge as to the effects certain concoctions could have on the body.

However, the case was closed. Walter Devereux was dead and that little boy, Robert, who had made such an impression on me at Chartley, had become the Earl of Essex.