Queen of This Realm (40 page)

So Mary had her son and my Council was growing more and more restive because I had no child and it seemed likely that I never would have. The birth of little James had certainly stirred them to further action, for when next the Parliament met all parties counseled me either to marry immediately or name my successor.

These were the two subjects which I disliked most. I did not want to marry. I had made that clear enough; I would not be dominated—or put myself in a position to be—by any man. And to name one's successor was always a dangerous step to take, because in one's lifetime people started to look to that successor; there would be comparisons, and what is to come often seems more desirable than what is. Unless it is one's own child, there is certain to be trouble. So I stood out against the Parliament.

“You attend to your duties,” I told them, “and I will attend to mine.”

But they would not be silenced. They said that it was a grave matter and many of them recalled the time when I had suffered from the smallpox and had indeed been near to death and in what confusion the country had been thrown.

“I have no intention of allowing my grave to be dug while I am still alive,” I said, “nor of being bullied by hare-brained politicians who are unfit to decide these matters.”

However they would not give in and declared that if I would not marry, I must name my successor, and that only a weak princess and faint-hearted woman would fail to do so.

I was furious, but I knew this was what the people wanted, and there was one thing which I always understood: a monarch only reigns through the good will of the people. I was in a quandary, but I knew most certainly that to marry would curtail my power and to name my successor could give rise to plots against me.

They continued adamant and as I needed an extra subsidy they declared that this would only be given me if I named my successor.

Cecil understood my reasoning and I think, in his heart, agreed with me. I looked to him for help and, calling together five counselors with him, I told them that my only wish was to serve my subjects and to keep them living in prosperity and peace. As for the subsidy, half of what had been asked would suffice, for I believed that money in my subjects' pockets was as good as that in the exchequer.

I was able to persuade them that I must have this money and that it was a matter apart from the succession; and when they agreed that I should have
the money without committing myself I was overjoyed and saw that by choosing my words carefully I had won a victory. But I was put out by the plain speaking of the Parliament. They would never have dared talk to my father in that way. I modeled myself on him for he had ruled with a strong hand, but in spite of his ruthlessness he had retained a hold on his subjects' affections to the end of his life.

I dismissed Parliament with a speech telling them I did not like their dissimulation when I myself was all plainness. Indeed, they might have chosen a more learned prince to rule over them but one more careful of their welfare they could not have; and I bade them beware of trying my patience again as they had recently done.

There were other troubles besides the intransigence of the Parliament.

Robert and Sussex had been enemies for a long time. In fact, almost every head of a great family was Robert's enemy. Of course he was becoming one of the richest men in the country and had made Kenilworth the finest castle. Moreover, he still believed—and so did others—that in due course I would marry him and his power would be complete.

But while I still refused to give him a share of the crown he coveted, there would still be those who would attempt to overthrow him.

The feud between Sussex and Robert became so intense that neither of them could go out without an armed guard escorting him. I threatened them and I lived in terror that something would happen to Robert. He laughed at my fears. It was Sussex I should be worried about, he said. I knew there was nothing I could do except stop their open animosity.

Meanwhile I traveled frequently. I liked to show myself to the people and they liked it too. They wanted to think of the Queen as a warm-hearted human woman, not a remote figurehead as my sister had been. When I traveled they would come from their houses to speak to me and bring me flowers and tokens of their regard and when they brought them to me I always chatted with them to show my pleasure in their gifts, asked after their health and made much of the children whom they brought to me. This was no falseness, for I loved my people; I loved children; and I took as much trouble over studying what they wanted of me as I did over state matters. They were in any case a state affair, and even more vital than those I discussed with my Council.

Recently Robert had been elected Chancellor of the University of Oxford and as I had promised to visit the University, the fact that Robert would arrange my reception and be there to greet me made me doubly anxious to go.

Robert met me at Walvicote with a deputation from the colleges. They looked very splendid in their scarlet gowns and hoods. There was one incident
which made Robert smile and that was when Dr Humphreys greeted me. He was a stern puritan and like all such people of extreme views was of the impression that he was right and anyone who did not agree with him entirely was wrong. I hated extremes from both sides and I did not think they made a happy country, so I let him know what I thought, for I was never one to hold back the mild reproach—unless of course it would be detrimental to me. So I said to him: “Mr Doctor, your loose gown becomes you well. I wonder your notions are so narrow.” He was taken aback, but I smiled at him with friendliness, though I hoped he would consider what I had said.

It was particularly delightful to meet the young scholars who knelt and cried:
“Vivat Regina!”
to which I replied:
Gratius ego;
and when I addressed them it was in Greek. Knowing my love of plays they performed one for me… half of it on one night, the second half on the other, so long was it.

There was a tragedy on the first night when a wall and part of a staircase on one of the buildings collapsed and three people were killed. However, the play was performed, and it was very pleasant to watch particularly in the second half when some of the cast had to imitate the cry of hounds in full pursuit of a fox and the young spectators became so excited that they jumped up and down and called out that the fox had been caught.

This amused me very much and set us all laughing.

I was equally amused on the next day at St Mary's Church whither I had gone to hear the preaching of a Dr Westphaling. The good man went on speaking for so long and all—including myself—were extremely bored with his discourse, so I sent a message up to him to curtail it without delay. To my fury he ignored my request and went on and on. As I myself was to speak afterward I was getting really angry for I did not want to have a sleepy audience.

So long did the man continue that there was no time for me to speak that evening and I sent for Dr Westphaling. The man came to me somewhat shamefaced and I demanded to know why he had continued to tire us all when I had sent him a command to stop.

He replied with much humility, I must admit, that having learned his speech off by heart, he could not stop for fear of losing the place and he thought that if he cut out the middle he would never be able to find the end.

This so amused me that I couldn't help laughing, so even the tedious Dr Westphaling added something to our enjoyment.

The next day I addressed the company in Latin and when I saw Cecil standing there, for they all must stand when I addressed them, I stopped my discourse and commanded a stool be brought for him. “I know your leg gives you pain, Master Cecil,” I said, “and I will not have you stand in discomfort.”

Cecil was grateful and the whole company was impressed by my thoughtfulness; and I hoped that Dr Westphaling saw that I was quite able to stop my discourse and still not lose the thread.

It was a very successful visit to Oxford as everything arranged by Robert would be. He loved devising and planning and caring for me; and I was more anxious than ever that someone might do him an injury.

I said he was good at arranging matters, but there was one thing he tried to arrange with a certain Dr Dee and failed. We laughed at it together—but that was later. There was always laughter when Robert was near; even his arrogance and impertinence amused me, as he did when he tried to wriggle out of his difficulties and he could charm me even when he displeased me.

I had always been intrigued by magic, and the wizard Dr Dee interested me. Many people said that he was a quack and I knew his predictions were not always correct, but they were sometimes, and I believed that the future was arranged for us although we were free to avert disaster and gain advantages. When I look back over my life and see the many dangers through which I have passed, to only a few of them could I attribute good fortune. I saw that cautious planning had saved me on many occasions.

But it was exciting to try to see into the future and Dr Dee was a good friend of mine. If I hinted to him that I wished someone to act in a certain way he would often be able to bring it about. He could suggest to them that some danger was looming, some good coming to them if they did this and that. Yes, he was a good friend and a handy man to have around; and if one did not entirely believe in him, it was advisable to make a show of doing so for how could I be sure when I would want him to delude someone into thinking that he or she should take the doctor's advice.

When I was traveling in the area of Mortlake I called on him for he had a residence in that part. He had buried his wife only that morning and I thought my visit might cheer him. I would not let him entertain me as he must be mourning his wife, but I took a look into his interesting library where he had many volumes, globes and strange-looking objects. Among these was the magic mirror into which one could look and sometimes, if the time was right, see something of the future.

Robert looked over my shoulder as I gazed into the mirror so that his face was reflected there. I laughed aloud and then I saw Robert exchange looks with Dr Dee and I guessed he had tried to arrange with the doctor to show me his picture when I looked in the mirror.

Dr Dee said I should have eternal youth and boundless wealth as soon as he had discovered the elixir of life which he was on the point of doing.

It was all very interesting and though I did not believe half of it, it amused me in a way and comforted me too. Perhaps like most people I
believed what I wanted to believe—which can be a wonderful antidote to the sorrows of life. On the other hand if one would be wise, one must know when one is doing it and perhaps allow oneself the indulgence as long as one recognizes it for what it is. The great secret of success in life, I was coming to believe, was self-awareness; and I was fortunate in having those two selves—the wise and the frivolous—and to know when one must give way to the other.

I fancied this was something which my sister of Scotland was lacking.

That was very soon to be proved true.

IT WAS HARD
to believe that we were hearing the truth. Surely even Mary could not be so stupid.

Rumor was rife, and wild rumor at that. Bothwell was Mary's lover. There was even a tale of his having raped her in the Exchequer House in Edinburgh. I thought about that a great deal imagining her horror—or was it delight?—to be so subdued by the man who, according to all accounts, was something of a brigand and in complete contrast, I should imagine, to young ineffectual Darnley.

There followed the story of that mysterious night in Kirk o' Field when Darnley had been murdered. I could scarcely wait for the news. My messengers from Scotland were ordered to bring me any news immediately. I wanted to piece together the evidence. I desperately desired to know everything that was happening. I could not help being reminded of the death of Amy Robsart. She had been an unwanted wife; Darnley was an unwanted husband; and a bold lover was seeking to take possession of a wife and a crown.

Oh Mary, I thought, you are in acute danger. Do you realize that? I did, when something similar happened to me.

There was a difference. This was
proved
murder. Nobody could say that of Amy's death.

There had been an explosion which had clearly been intended to kill Darnley but when the premises had been searched the bodies of Darnley and his servant were found in the garden in their nightgowns. They were untouched by the explosion yet… mysteriously dead.

There could only be one explanation. The two men had been murdered and the explosion arranged to hide the crime.

This it had failed to do. Villainy was exposed.

And who wanted to be rid of Darnley? Who but the Queen and her lover Bothwell?

More news came.

Bothwell riding through the streets of Edinburgh, brandishing his
sword, calling on any who accused him to come out and he would tackle them single-handed. He must have been a magnificent man for all his crudity and villainy.

He was tried for murder, but of course it had been arranged that he should not be found guilty, and the verdict should be: “James, Earl of Bothwell, is acquitted of any art or part in the slaughter of the King.”

And there he was riding through the streets of Edinburgh once more shouting to the people of Edinburgh to come out and tackle him if any thought it was not a true and just verdict.

Who could have doubted that it was unjust, but who would have the courage to come out and say so?

You are in mortal danger now, Mary, I thought. Did she ever think of me and wonder what my feelings had been when Robert's wife was found dead at the bottom of a staircase? If she did not, she was a fool. She should remember how I had acted and see that her only chance was to be as aloof, calm and wise as I, now very forcibly, realized I had been. But when had Mary ever been calm or wise or strong?

She threw away her hopes, her life, her crown most likely when she married James Bothwell.

It was not even as though he had been free. He was married to a virtuous lady and it was necessary for him to obtain a divorce before he could marry Mary.