Elizabeth I (87 page)

“On September 7, Your Majesty.”

Somehow I had known it. My sixty-sixth birthday. Was ever a monarch given a more odious gift?

“Ten days ago,” I said. “Ten days! Leave tonight, to carry my orders to him. You should be there in three or four days.”

“Your servant,” he said.

Like a restive animal, I suddenly felt my quarters like a cage. Greenwich's wide green lawn seemed to shrink and imprison me. The view over the widening Thames only reminded me that Spanish ships might soon bob and float upon it. I wanted to await news safely away from London, in a more secluded and protected place. I would withdraw to Nonsuch, south of the city and in wooded hills.

I left hastily, taking only a small guard with me. For government councillors, I brought Cecil, Carey, and Knollys. The rest would stay behind, ready to receive news and alert us.

Once again, south over London Bridge, through Southwark, and then into Surrey. This time we headed west rather than east toward Beddington. The late-September sun was benevolent, evoking all the autumnal words that poets dwelled upon: “golden,” “fruitful,” “russet,” “fallow,” “fulfilled,” “leaf-strewn,” “mellow.” A blaze of brilliant yellow surrounded us with falling, and fallen, leaves. The air seemed thick and rich, as if we were looking into a piece of amber, leaves, insects, and specks embedded in it. Spring had its delicate beauty, summer its somnolent murmurs, but autumn whispers its urgent messages to the soul. Hurry. Reap your harvest.

Nonsuch was musty. I had not visited it in several months. My father had always rejoiced in throwing open the windows and reclaiming his rooms. Would he have roared with joyous laughter now? Or would he have been too weighted down with cares of state to bellow as he loved to do?

Being here gave me a semblance of separation from the pressing matters of war. In the neat, stripped-down chambers I could try to strip the national situation down to its essentials. Ireland. We could not lose it. Essex was, in the most charitable interpretation, a fool. Or ... he had sold England's interest to the enemy in exchange for some secret promise of reward. Which was it?

I did not want to think the worst. That was the way of tyrants, leaping to conclusions, condemning without evidence. I would await his response, and obedience, to my letter. This was a test, the supreme test, of his loyalty.

Only Catherine and Helena had accompanied me. Dear Eurwen I had sent home, for safety's sake. She should be far away should trouble strike. The Welsh borderlands had not seen turmoil since the days of my grandfather. She had wept at leaving, and I at losing her. I had heard no more from Marjorie in Oxfordshire, and I was glad to spare her more alarums.

Evenings were quiet: a balm to my spirits. We retired early, after partaking of the fresh perry from the surrounding orchards.

There is a great deal to be said for retiring early. I embraced a monk's daily hours and found myself in bed when, at court, I would have been still dancing or card playing. I kept the windows open and felt the cold-tinged air come into the chamber, soothing us, saying,
This is eternal. The seasons arrive and pass, but England abides.

On the second-to-last day of September, I awoke slowly and naturally. No one roused me; no one shook me, whispered in my ear. No, I had the luxury and privilege—rare for a monarch—of arising when I would and moving as slowly as I liked.

I felt exceptionally groggy today. I stumbled out of my bed and asked for a tub of warm water to be brought where I might soak my feet—and wake up. It was placed in my innermost private chamber; I approached it gingerly and set my feet in it. The warmth spread up from my feet into my legs. But my mind was still dulled, floating. I must harness it. I was loath to do so. There was nothing but trouble to ponder.

I sat, arms draped, slumping, over the wooden tub. My nightgown was hiked up, allowing my legs to soak without wetting the gown. I felt like a dolt, someone who could not even add a column of figures. I kept shaking my head, as if that would awaken me.

The door flew open. Suddenly, before me, the Earl of Essex. He rushed in, then knelt before me. He was covered in muck.

My enervation was gone, vanished in an instant, fear bristling in every fiber of me.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice shaking.

I sat, my legs in the tub of hot water, in my nightclothes, bereft of all trappings of majesty. Where was my guard? How had he gained entry to my inner chambers?

For an instant I could not speak. He was here, when he should have been far away in Ireland. I had forbidden him permission to return.

“I must plead my case before you,” he said. “My enemies at court have poisoned your mind against me.”

Here I was, almost naked—of clothes, of guard, of knowing what was what outside the palace—at his mercy. He stood before me, in his military garb. Had he surrounded the palace with his army? Had he brought it back from Ireland, all three thousand men of it? Why had I had no warning from London? Had he quite overpowered all the royal forces? I must play for time.

“And what case is that?” I asked, as naturally as if this had passed in a council chamber. I lifted my feet out of the tub and Catherine dried them off.

My wig was in my dressing chamber; likewise my clothes. There are those who, seeking simplistic answers, say that surprising me in my natural state gave Essex such an advantage over me that I never forgave him. That is nonsense. I am proud, and I do not wish my weaknesses to be paraded before the world, but my thinning hair and lack of proper clothes did not enter my mind when Essex barged in. My only concern was: Was I surrounded? Did he have the upper hand?

“Cecil—my enemies in council. They wish to see me destroyed and will spend every last ounce of their efforts to discredit me. I know while I have been gone, they have been busy, securing appointments for themselves and painting my actions as entirely black.”

I drew myself up, as if I were in royal robes instead of a towel and a nightgown. “Why are you not at your post?” I asked him. “And why have you returned, against our express permission? Surely you have not abandoned your duty to come here to quarrel about minor matters?”

He looked at me, that glorious melting glance that had never failed to move me. He had the most beautiful, and persuasive, eyes I had ever seen.

“I gave you a commission. I required you to perform a high task. I forbade you to return until it was completed. Why are you here?” I demanded.

He dropped to one knee and took my hand. “To see you, my most gracious mistress.”

“That had best waited until you had completed your mistress's task.” My voice was sharp. I must temper it. Who was outside the door? Had his forces overcome my paltry guards? Was I even now in his power, his prisoner?

Stall him,
I told myself.
Hold him off. Lull him. You have done it before, with others. You must do it again.
I stood as regally as possible draped in my nightshirt.

“I must explain everything to you. It is impossible to write everything in letters,” he was saying.

“Did you receive my last one, dated September 17?”

“No, I had left before that.”

“I see.”

Whatever I had said in it was irrelevant at this point. It would only have been pertinent had it been read while he could still carry out his duties.

He, the supreme commander of the English forces in Ireland, had abandoned his post. He was a deserter. A traitor.

“What was it Your Majesty wished to tell me?” he asked hopefully.

I smiled at him. I hoped that, as an unadorned queen, I might still be commanding. That depended on whether I was at his mercy or he at mine. That would soon be revealed. “Shall we talk later? Let us meet for dinner in two hours' time. You can make yourself presentable, and I will dress. I welcome you to court, my lord.”

The fool bowed and left my chamber.

As soon as he was gone, I rushed to the door and called for my guard. “How did he get in here? Were you sleeping?”

The five of them trooped to the doorway, hanging their heads. “He slipped past us. He had no guard and did not seem dangerous.”

“ ‘Did not seem dangerous'?” I repeated. “He is as dangerous as an adder. They do not have guards either. Outside—is there anyone with him?”

In a few moments they returned, shaking their heads. “No army. Just a few of his retainers. No more than twenty.”

We were safe. Now he was at my mercy. Mercy—there would be none. He had finally used up his allotment of it.

H
e would be back in only two hours. I had little time.

“Catherine. Helena. You heard it all. Now stand by me. Do not leave my side. And help me dress, quickly.”

They handed me my fine cambric undergarments and my petticoat and slid one of my day dresses over my head. Then they brushed my hair back and fitted my wig over it. My face was so pale it would need more than the auburn frame of the wig to make me look alive again. “My rouge pot,” I ordered. “Lip color. Leave off the white powder, by God, my skin is whiter than any concoction!” Last the jewels—a rope of gold and sapphires, pearls for my ears, and diamonds for my hair. I must look as I did every day, nothing unusual. “Hurry, hurry!” I urged them.

Prepared at last, I did not even bother to check my final reflection in the mirror. Instead, I summoned Cecil, Carey, and Knollys. They arrived, smiling and relaxed. Their smiles faded when they saw my agitation.

“Essex is here!” I hissed.

“But that's impossible,” said William Knollys. “We know he was in Ireland just four days ago.”

“Well, he's here now!”

“Where? Has he been sighted near Chester?” said Robert Cecil. “I knew he'd try to return. That's why we stationed the ships there. Why didn't they detain him?”

“He's been sighted, and right here in this chamber!” I pointed to the muddy shoe prints on the floor. “He stood right here, dripping mud and wet leaves!”

There was a collective intake of breath, the way comic actors gasp in unison onstage. But this was shock, and it was not funny. “Here, in your chamber! What of the guards? Were you utterly unarmed? No protection?”

“Nothing but me and my women,” I said. “As for my guards, they were more useless than a paper sword. I had nothing but words to defend myself with.”

“And your own majesty,” said George Carey.

I gave a snort. “My wits served me better. He clearly did not find awe in majesty.” This was the most chilling aspect of it. He respected neither my person nor my office.

“Whom does he have with him?” asked Cecil.

“When he burst in here, I thought he must have brought his army with him, to depose me. But my guards say he has only a small group of perhaps twenty men. Perhaps the army is following and this is only the advance party.”