Queen of This Realm (65 page)

Davison was my scapegoat; but he stopped my nightmares about Mary Queen of Scots. In my fantasy I exonerated myself from having played the chief part in her execution. It helped me considerably.

ROBERT WAS HOME—A FACT WHICH GAVE ME THE GREAT
est pleasure, and the joy of seeing him far outweighed any rancor I felt for his behavior. It was always like that with Robert. I could be madly angry with him but when he stood before me bowing low, raising his face to mine, I thought how foolish I had been to let him go. We were not so young… either of us… that we could afford to waste time. I was not going to let him stray far away again.

So he was back in high favor. The Netherlands venture had been a terrible disaster. I had always known that wars brought little profit. I had been against going in; it seemed no easy task to defeat the Spaniards even in the Netherlands where they were far from their homeland.

There were disturbing reports coming from Walsingham about the preparations for war. Whom could they plan to strike against but England? And this was confirmed by the fact that they were assembling a mighty armada to come against us.

I was pleased to have in my service such men as Sir Francis Drake—buccaneers of the sea who were really already at war with the Spaniards, intercepting their ships, taking their treasure and showing them that although they might have a great armada, the English were natural men of the sea and were a match for them. Drake had brought home great treasure and for that I was grateful. I was in need of money; the Netherlands had swallowed up vast sums—a waste of money I called it—and I was in sad financial straits; but even so I was not so poor as Philip, which was a comforting thought.

Drake had returned from one of his expeditions with quantities of booty—all taken from the Spaniards—and on the way home he had called in at Cadiz and as he said “singed the beard of the King of Spain.” This meant that he had gone in among the ships in the harbor and sunk or burned thirty-three of them and brought away four of them laden with provisions.

He had also brought back news that Spain was fast preparing to attack England and that the conflict would take place at sea. Philip must be stopped now and forever. He believed that our ships, which might lack the grandeur of the Spanish galleons, would be a match for them when the time came for them to test their strength.

Younger men were coming to Court to seek their fortunes. The old favorites remained—Robert, Hatton, Heneage—and I loved them all. The
fact that they were getting old did not make me love them less. When Walsingham fell ill and Burghley had a fall from his horse, I was really anxious and I visited them and scolded them for not taking greater care of their health. I was a mother to them and they looked to me for comfort. I never failed them as I knew they would never fail me. It was a very special relationship I shared with my men; it was only those who had never broken through into the magic circle—like Davison—who did not enjoy it.

There were two newcomers—two of the most exciting young men I had ever known. One was Robert Devereux and the other Walter Raleigh.

Robert had brought his stepson to Court and clearly wanted me to receive him well. I don't know why I took an instant liking to him—for he was the son of my great enemy, that she-wolf, whom I had never ceased to hate and who had been banished from my Court since her marriage to Robert.

But there was something disarming about Robert Devereux—Earl of Essex since the age of nine when his father had died rather mysteriously in Ireland, poisoned as the chronicler of
Leicester's Commonwealth
put it.

He had been seventeen when Robert had first presented him to me, and I remembered him as the charming boy I had noticed when I had visited Chartley after that memorable time at Kenilworth.

He was most attractive. I thought, grudgingly, that he had inherited his good looks from his mother. He certainly had her auburn hair and dark eyes. He had an unusual way of walking, taking great strides, holding his head a little forward and stooping slightly. There were many beautiful young men in my life but this one was outstanding. He appealed to me immediately not unlike the manner in which Robert had. There had been only two for whom I had felt this romantic feeling until this time. One was Thomas Seymour and the other, of course, Robert. Robert was of my own age, and now that we were old both of us knew that nothing could change between us. No one else could ever mean to me what he did; but I did feel this flutter of romantic feeling for Essex, which was extremely odd because he was Leicester's stepson and the son of the woman I hated more than any other. Perhaps these facts were a fillip to my emotions regarding Essex. I was unsure, but that they existed I knew full well.

My impulse would have been to reject him because obviously
she
would be hoping for his success at Court; but he immediately caught my attention as he had all those years ago at Chartley.

He was very raw—and I saw at once that he had no political sense. He was the sort of man who spoke before he considered the effect his words might have—so he lacked the first quality of a courtier. It was once said of
him in my hearing: “He is no good pupil of my Lord Leicester, who is wont to put all his passion in his pocket.”

I suppose that was true of Robert. No one knew better than he did how to dissimulate. One could never be absolutely sure with Robert. Perhaps that was what made him so fascinating. Essex left no one in doubt. I often thought this in him might bring about his downfall.

And then there was that other—that dark handsome brilliant man— Walter Raleigh. He was about thirty when he first caught my attention, and he had come to Court to do exactly that, hoping to make his fortune. He was the kind of man who must be noticed sooner or later. He was tall, wellbuilt and outstandingly handsome. He had thick black hair and the ruddy complexion of a countryman; but what was most noticeable about him was his amazing vitality; he seemed to have twice as much energy as most men.

He came to my attention one day when I was out walking surrounded by a group of the ladies and gentlemen of the Court. We had come to a road which was muddy and we stood for a few moments contemplating how best to get across without picking up too much mud. Then Raleigh came forward. He was wearing a beautiful plush coat, which was obviously new, and with a flourish he took it from his shoulders and spread it over the muddy patch for me to walk on.

I always accepted these extravagant gestures gracefully, though I knew that in his heart the young man would count cheap the cost of a coat, however fine, if it brought him royal favor.

But I had noticed him and I asked about him and learned that he was one Walter Raleigh from Devonshire, the county which had brought me my most excellent Francis Drake; and I decided that I would know more of this enterprising young man.

I learned that he had been in trouble. That was inevitable, I assumed, with a man of his spirit. He was quick-tempered, but not reckless with it as Essex was. I thought Raleigh was a man who would weigh well his actions. He was far cleverer than my charming Essex. He was witty, his badinage amusing and his conversation sparkling. Much more than Essex he had the qualifications to make him a success at Court. He had quarreled with Thomas Perrot and that had resulted in a brawl which had brought them to the Fleet Prison for a few days. Then he had had a fight with a man named Wingfield over a game of tennis, which had meant a brief spell in the Marshalsea. He had certainly had some questionable adventures but he had won distinction at sea.

During his early days at Court he had been befriended by Leicester, who also liked his spirit, and he had fallen in with the Earl of Oxford whom,
though one of my favorites, I did recognize as a rather disreputable young man for he had behaved abominably to Burghley's daughter and was a real scoundrel. Raleigh and he soon fell out, however, and became enemies.

There was great jealousy between them, but that often happened between my men. Our relationship was such that it engendered jealousy. They really behaved like petulant lovers sometimes. I did not complain. My nature being what it was, I enjoyed it and perhaps encouraged it.

I enjoyed Raleigh's company very much. He was one who set great store on climbing to fame. I did not mind that. A man who will rise must climb.

One day he wrote on a window with a diamond the words:

“Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.”

And I replied with a diamond I was wearing:

“If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”

He turned to me, his eyes shining, and I loved him in that moment, for he had the qualities which I admired most in men.

I said: “You will climb, Walter Raleigh. And I do not think you will fall… far.”

At which he bowed low and said that he would climb to heaven or descend to hell in my service.

Soon after that I gave him a knighthood; he deserved the distinction and was very proud of it. And how watchful he was—and others too—of the favors I bestowed! Essex did not ask for honors; if anything was given to him he took it without question; but he never seemed overgrateful. Raleigh asked audaciously.

Once I said to him: “I wonder when you will stop being a beggar, Raleigh.”

And he replied: “When Your Majesty stops being a benefactress.”

He laughed and I could not help joining in with him. The exchange was typical of our relationship.

Burghley had brought along his son Robert hoping for advancement from me. I recognized Robert Cecil immediately as one of the clever ones. There was little of the courtier about him. He was very small and suffered from a slight curvature of the spine, which was accentuated by the shape of the coats men were wearing at this time; his neck was slightly twisted too and he had a splay foot; and among so many handsome men he looked like a little elf. I christened him that immediately. So his unprepossessing appearance had brought him to my notice just as Raleigh's gesture with the cloak had done—although, of course, I could not fail to notice Burghley's son. It was rather touching to see the dear old man's devotion to the boy. I loved him for it and determined to do what I could for the Little Elf, which would be easy for I recognized at once that sharp mind behind the pale face, and I
believed that Robert Cecil would have done well at my Court without his father's influence.

Then there were the Bacon boys—Anthony and Francis. Francis was a clever boy but inclined to be tutorial, a characteristic which did not appeal greatly to me. Burghley kept them in the background because he did not want them to spoil Robert Cecil's chances; and I knew that if any important post became vacant, Burghley would want it for his son.

Francis, however, wrote a paper entitled
Letter of Advice to Queen Elizabeth,
which in itself was an insolence. It contained his views of the political situation, but they were quite ably expressed and I congratulated him on it. He had at this time become a member of Parliament for Taunton and a bencher at Gray's Inn, so he was entitled to plead in the courts at Westminster.

But of all the interesting young men at Court at this time the favorites were Walter Raleigh and Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex.

As the year progressed there was one thought in everyone's mind, and that was the growing menace of Spain. Everyone was asking: For what reason was Spain building the greatest armada that had ever been seen? There could be only one answer: To attack us.

Philip and I were natural enemies. It was strange to think that once he had been attracted by me when he had been married to my sister. I supposed he had never forgiven me for not leaping at the chance to marry him. If I had done that he would not have found it necessary to spend so much on the building of his armada. He would have taken England, installed the Inquisition and made my country part of Spain. As if I would ever have allowed that! As if I would ever sell my country to Philip of Spain…as my sister had done.

Enmity was growing fast between our two nations. We were rivals for sea power. He had fine ships and adventurers to sail them and they had traveled on voyages of discovery round the world; but there had been the English pirates, like Drake and Hawkins, to waylay their ships and rob them of their riches.

I don't think he ever forgave Drake for taking the
San Felipe
—the greatest prize of all—the King's own East Indiaman. Her cargo had been the richest haul even Drake had ever captured—bullion, precious stones, spices, ambergris, fine silks and velvets, materials of all kinds, gold and jewelery, all fell into the hands of Drake.

Moreover the name of Drake was spoken with awe and reverence by the Spaniards. They called him El Draque—the Dragon. They said he was the greatest seaman ever to rove the seas and he was not entirely human. He had the devil in him and that was why it was impossible to beat Sir Francis Drake.

I often thought of Philip—that gloomy fanatic—spending hours on his knees in his Escorial Palace. Did he remember me? He had cast somewhat lascivious eyes on me and there had been hints that he was not averse to frolicking with women. There was that rhyme I remembered from long ago… something about the baker's daughter's being more fun than Mary.