Life of Elizabeth I (63 page)

Leycester's Commonwealth
was almost certainly a piece of Jesuit propaganda, printed in Antwerp or Paris, but it differed from most such efforts in that it contained apparently authentic details. This lent it weight, and many believed it had been suppressed because it contained the truth. This fiction was maintained for the next three centuries, during which Leicester was vilified by most historians as an unscrupulous adventurer and wife-murderer, and it is only in our own time that the flaws in
Leycester's Commonwealth
have been exposed, revealing the Earl to have been a loyal servant of the Queen.

Leicester's enemies also suspected him of intending to play the part of his father Lord Protector Northumberland to Arbella Stewart's Lady Jane Grey, as a result of his plan to marry Arbella to his son.* Mary

*The son in question was now his heir, Lord Denbigh, since he had abandoned the idea of his base son as her putative husband. This arrangement suited Bess of Hardwick very well, a legitimate heir being far more desirable than a bastard.

Stuart thought that Bess of Hardwick's scheme to 'settle the crown of England on her little girl Arbella' was a 'vain hope', and wrote asking the French ambassador to ensure that Elizabeth knew what was afoot. Leicester, however, managed to convince the Queen that his prime motive for the match was to help cement good relations with Arbella's cousin, James VI.

Leicester and Elizabeth had reached the point in their relationship where they no longer regarded or wrote to each other as lovers, but as old friends, bound together by a quarter-century of shared experience and affection. Religion was a common bond, and was the dominant theme in many of Leicester's letters, such as this one, dated 1583, in which he sent the Queen

thanks for your gracious remembrance. Your poor Eyes has no other way but prayer to offer for recompense, and that is that God will long, safely, healthfully and most happily preserve you here among us. This is the goodness of God, my sweet lady, that hath thus saved you against so many devils. Your Majesty only has been the maintainer and setter forth of His true religion against all policy and counsel of man, yet you see how He has served and kept you thereby. God grant you ever to cleave fast thereto.

They still quarrelled, though, and on one occasion Leicester told Hatton that he would not be attending a Council meeting because 'so many eyes are witnesses
of
my open and great disgrace delivered from Her Majesty's mouth'. Even after all these years, her verbal barbs could hurt him deeply, but he invariably forgave and forgot, and sometimes Elizabeth even apologised.

During 1584, Leicester brought his stepson, the eighteen-year-old Earl of Essex, to court, where almost immediately his 'goodly person, urbanity and innate courtesy won him the hearts of both Queen and people'. This was gratifying to the Earl, who hoped that Essex would supplant the insufferable Raleigh in the Queen's affections, but it would be some time before Elizabeth came to regard Essex as more than just a handsome and accomplished boy.

At the end of the year, yet another plot against Elizabeth was uncovered. A Welsh MP, Dr William Parry, hid in her garden at Richmond with the intention of assassinating her as she took the air, but when the Queen eventually appeared, he 'was so daunted with the majesty of her presence, in which he saw the image of her father, King Henry VIII, that his heart would not suffer his hand to execute that which he had resolved'.

There is some mystery as to his motive: Parry had travelled in Europe, and the Pope certainly believed that he was acting on Mary's behalf, as did her agent in Paris; yet Parry was also an English spy, working for Burghley, and on his return had told Elizabeth that he had posed as a would-be regicide in order to infiltrate papist circles. She rewarded him with a pension, but then Parry asked an associate if he would indeed be prepared to murder the Queen, and attracted attention by acting suspiciously before the abortive attempt on her life. He may, like John Somerville the previous year, have been unbalanced, yet, put on trial, he vigorously denied any evil intent.

The attempt provoked outrage, and the government were in no mood to give Parry the benefit of the doubt. 'It makes all my joints to tremble when I consider the loss of such a jewel,' wrote one MP. The Commons urged the Queen to let them devise some worse penalty than the terrible death already meted out to traitors, and there were more calls for Mary to be brought to justice. Elizabeth refused to take either course, although in February 1585 she agreed to send Parry to the gallows. Parliament passed a new law ordering all seminary priests to leave England within forty days or suffer the penalty for high treason, and Walsingham was paid to recruit more secret agents.

Although she thanked Parliament for its 'safe-keeping of my life, for which your care appears so manifest', Elizabeth remained apparently impervious to the danger of her isolated position and the threat of further assassination attempts. 'They are seeking to take my life', she told a delegation from the English colony in Newfoundland which had been founded in 1583, 'but it troubles me not. He who is on high has defended me until this hour, and will keep me still, for in Him I do trust.'

She would not modify her lifestyle, nor allow herself to be restricted by the greater security measures that were urged upon her. She showed herself in public as often as before, and when she went for country strolls with her courtiers, she would only permit the gentlemen to be 'slenderly weaponed'. And she would not listen to Leicester's suggestion that anyone with papist leanings be forbidden access to the court. Her councillors therefore existed in a state of permanent anxiety for her safety, although they could not but be impressed by her courage.

In March, James VI wrote to tell his mother that it would be impossible to ally himself with someone who was 'captive in a desert'. Mary was devastated by her son's betrayal, and anguished by the realisation that her last hope-of negotiated freedom through diplomatic channels had gone. 'Alas!' she wailed in an emotional letter to Elizabeth. 'Was ever a sight so detestable and impious before God and man, as an only child 
despoiling his mother of her crown and royal estate?' She vowed she would abandon James. 'In all Christendom, I shall find enough of heirs who will have talons strong enough to grasp what I may put in their hand.' Yet in case her cousin took this to mean that Mary had designs on her throne, the Scots Queen hastened to reassure her that she abhorred 'more than any other in Christendom such detestable practices and horrible acts'. Privately, though, she had decided to bequeath her crown and her claim to the English succession to Philip of Spain.

Demands for Mary to be kept under stricter surveillance were met in April when Sir Amyas Paulet was appointed her new custodian. Paulet was nearing fifty, a staunch disciplinarian who was notorious for his strong Puritan views; when Mary learned of his appointment, she protested vehemently against it, not only because he was of 'no higher quality than a knight', but also on the grounds that he would be less tolerant than most of her religion, having treated her agents in Paris harshly during his time there as ambassador. But Elizabeth had chosen Paulet because he was 'towards God religious, towards us most faithful, by calling honourable, and by birth most noble'. His integrity and his unflinching loyalty to his sovereign had been demonstrated during his service as Governor of Jersey, and she could rely on him not to be moved by the Queen of Scots's wiles or her charm. He would indeed prove to be a diligent and strict custodian, never relaxing his vigilance nor swerving from his duty, and remaining maddeningly impervious to Mary's attempts to win him over.

Paulet wasted no time in imposing new 'rigours and alterations' into the household, and Mary soon realised that her life was going to be much more difficult under this new regime and that she was to be virtually isolated from the world. Sir Amyas scrutinised all her correspondence: nothing got past him, and letters from her friends abroad began to pile up on Walsingham's desk. Paulet would permit Mary no visitors, and strengthened the guard at the castle. Her servants were forbidden to walk on the walls, and when she went out she was accompanied by mounted soldiers carrying firearms, who prevented the local people from approaching her. Nor was she allowed to distribute alms to the poor, a rule she thought 'barbarous'.

There were few chinks in Paulet's security measures, but he had no solution to the risk posed by Mary's laundresses, who lived in the nearby village and visited the castle regularly. Unless he had them strip-searched each time, which was unthinkable to a man of his sensibilities, he could not be sure that they were not smuggling out messages. All he could do was place a close watch on them.

During 1585, relations between England and Spain deteriorated further. In May, in retaliation against English attacks on his ships, Philip 
ordered all English vessels in his ports to be seized and added to his own fleet at Lisbon, which he was preparing for a war he did not want but which he felt was his sacred duty. Three months later, at Nonsuch, Elizabeth made a treaty with the Dutch, who were now her sole allies, and in September she appointed Drake an admiral, provided him with a fleet of twenty-two ships and 2000 men, and dispatched him on a voyage to capture several of Spain's greatest naval bases in the Caribbean. Drake's mission was successful: he occupied Vigo on the coast of Spain and then sailed to the Indies and sacked Santo Domingo, Habana in Cuba and Cartagena, the capital of the Spanish Main.

Philip was deeply humiliated, but the Queen behaved as if it was nothing to do with her: Drake, she said blithely, 'careth not if I disavow him'. Her objectives, in this campaign of harassment, were to keep Philip fully occupied elsewhere, and at the same time demonstrate to him the might of England's naval power.

Leicester was visiting Nonsuch with the Queen when, at the end of July, he learned that his five-year-old son and heir, Lord Denbigh, had died at Wanstead after a short illness. Without asking permission to leave, he hastened to Wanstead to comfort his wife, leaving Hatton to apologise to the Queen for his abrupt departure. Elizabeth was saddened by the news, and sent Sir Henry Killigrew after the Earl with a message of sympathy.

His son's death had a devastating effect on Leicester. Ageing, sick and desolate, he contemplated retiring from public life. It was Hatton who, with his comforting letters, managed to dissuade him from doing so, and Cecil who would provide him and his 'poor wife' Lettice with a refuge at Theobalds, where they could grieve together. Then, within a month or so, would come the cheering knowledge that, after waiting so long, Leicester was to be given the military command he craved.

Under the terms of her treaty with the Dutch, Elizabeth had extended to them her protection and undertaken to send them an army of 6000 men and 1000 horse under the command of a general, who was also to act as her mouthpiece to their governing body, the States General. On 17 September, she reluctantly bowed to pressure and assigned this command to Leicester, whom she felt she could trust and who was enthusiastic about the venture. However, with his weakened health he was not the wisest choice, and, more pertinent, was the fact that it was thirty years since he had last engaged in active service. Warfare had changed since then, and his adversary, Parma, was one of the greatest generals of the age.

Moreover, when it came to it, Elizabeth could not face the prospect of parting from him. During the past year or so her moods had been 
more variable and her temper more volatile. Now she became clinging, and one night she besought Leicester 'with very pitiful words' not to go to the Netherlands and leave her, as she feared she would not live Iong. He found it impossible to reassure her, but a day or so later, she was cheerful again, although how long that would last was uncertain. Her behaviour suggests that at this time she was going through the menopause.

At the end of September, the Queen had Leicester woken at midnight with a message commanding him to 'forbear to proceed' in his preparations until further notice. In despair, he told Walsingham, 'I am weary of life and all.' In the morning, however, Elizabeth revoked her order, much to his relief, but in the days that followed she showed herself so morose and irritable at the prospect of his approaching departure that his heart sank.

She was also adamant that his role in the Netherlands be confined to that of Lieutenant General of her army, and nothing more, for she feared he would seek his 'own glory' rather than her 'true service'. Above all, he must never accept from the Dutch any title or role that would imply her acceptance of the sovereignty of the Netherlands, which she most certainly did not want.

Dejectedly, Leicester confided to Walsingham: 'Her Majesty will make trial of me how I love her and what will discourage me from her service, but resolved I am that no worldly respect shall draw me back from my faithful discharge of my duty towards her, though she shall show to hate me, as it goeth very near, for I find no love or favour at all'

At Richmond in October, Elizabeth issued an open 'Declaration', twenty pages long, justifying her actions to King Philip and the world at large, and sent Sir Philip Sidney to the Netherlands, appointing him Governor of Flushing, one of two ports she had the right, by treaty, to garrison. She then dispatched an army which had cost her one half of her annual income.

On 8 December, Leicester left for the Netherlands, determined to rid England of the Spanish menace once and for all. He took with him a household of 170 persons, many of noble birth, as well as his wife, who insisted upon being attended by a bevy of ladies and taking a vast quantity of luggage, including furniture, clothing and carriages. When the Queen heard, she took 'great offence': after threatening to strip Leicester of his command, she changed her mind but affected to be no longer interested in preparations for the venture.