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Authors: Margaret George

Elizabeth I (88 page)

BOOK: Elizabeth I
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I knew there would be murmurs, people saying that in punishing him I acted out of vanity—that he had seen me without my regalia, seen me in my human and frail guise, that my pride could not permit that.
It was not true. But how could they know that? One has to be a queen or a goddess to understand. There
were
differences between us and ordinary people. I looked into Diana’s eyes, eyes that had seemed heartless when I looked into them three years ago. But now they seemed to encompass both sorrow and anger, not heartlessness. They betrayed the dreadful knowledge of the gods that they are forever set apart.
Diana, now I understand,
I thought.
But unlike you, I would not condemn a man even for such a shocking breach of conduct.
I had told Essex that he could insult my person but not my office. My scepter and crown must remain untouched and inviolate. It was for this that he must be punished, not for seeing me in my bath.
On our way back, I spotted Francis Bacon walking among the topiary animals, inspecting them. He looked up when he saw us and bowed. “I came to ask your permission to speak to the Earl of Essex but was told you had gone out. In the meantime, I amuse myself by looking at these toys.”
“I am sure you have an opinion about them,” I said. “You do about everything.”
“Of course,” he said. “You will find it set out in my essay about gardening.”
“Is this a ploy to sell your books?” asked Helena playfully.
“Indeed, Lady Northampton, I would be pleased to
give
you a copy.”
“I appreciate your generosity, sir,” she said. “Unusual for an author.”
“On what matter do you seek permission to speak to Essex?” I asked.
“I heard the news of his untimely arrival,” he said. “Although I am not of the Privy Council”—for an instant his eyes lingered and his speech hesitated, for emphasis—“I rode along with them. I used to give Essex advice. I would like to do so now in his hour of need.”
“It will do little good. He is past listening to advice, if ever he did.”
“Let me visit him as a friend, then, paying a condolence call.”
“I must insist that witnesses be present. If that fool had done the same when he spoke with O’Neill, half his troubles would not exist.”
“Of course. I am not planning on helping him escape.”
“If he tries to escape, his punishment will be worse. His days of merry escapes are over.”
“It sounds as if, Your Majesty, everything is over for him.”
“I have decided nothing yet. The Privy Council deliberated and recommended that he be arrested. Today is the Sabbath, and I am resting from decisions. Go to him. Give him some cheer, if you can.”
He bowed again. “Thank you.”
“It is good to have friends like you,” I said. “He is a fortunate man that way.”
After he left, Helena said, “He was coy about the topiary.”
“As I recall from the essay, he dislikes them,” I said. “He says they are fit only for children.”
“That must be why they are so popular at court,” said Catherine.
As we were crossing the courtyard, John Harington came out a door. He stopped in full stride and made a show of greeting us.
“What, did the fool bring you, too?” I cried. “Straight from Ireland?” Harington had followed Essex to Ireland and been knighted there. Now apparently he had followed him home. He dropped to both knees and bowed his head. I caught his belt and said, “By God’s son, my godson, I am no queen. That
man
is above me!”
“No, no, Your Majesty. That is not so.”
“By God’s son again, you soldiers were all idle, useless knaves, and Essex the worst of the lot, for wasting your time and our army in such ways.”
“There were so many difficulties, problems unique to Ireland—”
“That’s a tune you all sing in unison, then?”
He lifted his face up. “No, do not judge me in accordance with him. I have kept a journal of my part in the campaigns, and it was not all in vain.”
“Give me that journal, then. Let me read it.”
“It is at home, not here.”
“Then get you home and wait to be sent for.”
He rose. “I do not have to be told twice, Your Majesty,” he said, “truly.”
He dashed away so quickly that Catherine and Helena burst into laughter. “He runs as if the Irish themselves were chasing him,” Catherine said.
I must give my verdict tomorrow morning. It should be a wise one, not dictated by personal vindictiveness or desire to punish. I must segregate him from the rest of the world, that theater that had been his undoing. Segregate, but not deprive of life. Perhaps the enforced rest would restore him to sanity. In my deepest heart I had not given up hope that he could be redeemed.
Early the next morning I called the Privy Council. They stood at attention, looking nervous.
“We have reached a decision about the Earl of Essex,” I said. “Does that surprise you? We have been accused of dithering and refusing to make decisions, but difficult matters require thought, and we dislike irrevocable measures. Therefore, it is our pleasure that the Earl of Essex be conveyed to York House, there to be kept under house arrest and supervision by Thomas Egerton, the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. He is not to return to Essex House. He is allowed two servants. He may not walk abroad, not even in the gardens, and he is to be allowed no visitors.”
All eyes turned to Egerton. He ran his hands through his hair, as if that would clear his doubts.
“As Your Majesty wishes,” he said. The others looked pityingly at him.
“One of our court, the Earl of Worcester, has a coach at the ready. He can lend it to transport Essex to London. We want the shades drawn and Essex kept out of sight. You”—I nodded at Buckhurst, the admiral, and Cecil—“will ride behind and, upon arrival, escort Essex into his new quarters and settle him.”
“What of his wife, children, and mother?” asked Cobham.
“We appoint Lord Hunsdon to tell them of the arraignment, the findings, and our decision.”
“But can they not see him at least once? He has not seen them since he left for Ireland,” said his uncle Knollys.
“That was his decision. He must learn that actions have consequences. If we pamper him now, he will take no lesson from it.”
Any other man would certainly have had the right to see his family, but Essex would only construe it in the wrong way.
“Take him away, my lords. Take him away.”
70
LETTICE
October 1599
W
hat is that banging?” I cried. I feared it like a summons from hell. Banging was never good. It always meant an emergency. “Open the door!” I yelled down the stairs. Since my son’s absence, the servants had grown lax and impertinent.
One of Frances’s lady attendants rushed to the door. Where were the male servants? A pitiful lot! She tugged at the door and I could see a well-dressed man standing there. I had best go down.
Immediately I recognized him. It was George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, the Queen’s cousin, and mine. This was state business.
“Cousin,” I said. “We welcome you. Pray, come in.”
He stepped across the threshold, removing his hat. “I thank you,” he said.
But I could not contain myself, I could not wait. “My son!” I cried. “Is he safe? Does he live?” I had had no word in weeks.
Carey smiled tentatively. “He is safe. You need have no fear.”
“Ireland—the dangers lurk everywhere. Oh, thank God, he is safe!”
“He is no longer in Ireland,” said Carey. “He has returned to England.”
It took me a moment to absorb these words. “In England? But where? And why?”
“As to the where, he landed and rode directly to the Queen at Nonsuch. As to why—that is the great question. Great enough that he has been placed under arrest, and is even now being installed at York House under the supervision of the Lord Keeper, Thomas Egerton.”
“Oh, we must go to him!”
“Madam, you cannot. That is what I am charged with telling you. His arrest is strict. He is not allowed to walk outside. He is allowed no visitors.”
“No visitors?”
“None.”
“But his wife! His new daughter!”
“None, my lady.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth. “But why?”
“He left his post in Ireland abruptly, in direct disobedience of his orders not to return, and threw himself at the Queen in person. He had concocted a scheme in his mind whereby the Queen had been deluded by false councillors—men like myself, my lady—and he needed to counteract this in person. He relied on his charm and desperation.” He stopped and coughed discreetly. “But Her Majesty sets great store by obedience, and he had abandoned his post at a delicate time, throwing all into confusion. I must add that he had conducted an unauthorized interview with the enemy and, even by the most charitable interpretation, had surrendered English interests to him.”
“Oh, God!” was all I could say. All was lost.
“He will be well treated,” Hunsdon said. “Egerton is a most reluctant jailer.”
“And my husband?” I only now thought to ask.
“He returned with my Lord of Essex. He is not under arrest. He will be home shortly. There are no restrictions on him or his movements.”
“Her Majesty is gracious.” I hoped that did not sound sarcastic.
“More than you know,” he said. “Her father would have had the lot imprisoned and executed.”
After he left, I sank down on a bench. My mind was whirling. Robert had risked all on a throw of the dice, and lost. Christopher was safe. What had happened in Ireland?
I must tell Frances. She had been waiting for every post, eager to hear of her husband’s exploits. Her childbed had been difficult, and even now she had not fully recovered. Her little daughter Frances, her namesake, cried night and day and would not be comforted. She was eager to show her to her father, as if he would have some magic to quiet her. “Poor babe,” she would say. “If your father could only hold you, your cries would vanish.”
BOOK: Elizabeth I
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