My Enemy the Queen

The Overseas Adventure

The circulation of Leicester's Commonwealth could not fail to have its effect, even on me. I began to wonder how much of it was true and to look at my husband through fresh eyes. It was indeed a strange coincidence that the people who had stood in his way had been removed at remarkably convenient moments. He was, of course, rarely on the scene of the crime, but then he had his spies and servants everywhere. I had always known that.

I was overcome by uneasiness. How much did I know of my husband? If there was even some truth in what I was reading, I had to admit my position must be a precarious one. What if the Queen after all decided she might marry him, what would he do? Would he find the prospect irresistible? Should I be found at the bottom of a staircase with a broken neck? It seemed a logical outcome.

I considered us all—the three who formed this unholy trio. We were all complicated people, and none of us overscrupulous. Both Robert and Elizabeth had lived dangerously all their lives. Elizabeth's mother and Robert's father had both died violent deaths on the scaffold, and they themselves had come within a few paces of a similar fate. As for myself, I had been required by the Queen to live more in the shadows; but I was married to a man who, according to Leicester's Commonwealth, wielded the poison cup and other lethal weapons without compunction. The mystery of Amy Robsart would never be cleared; all that was known was that she died at a time when her death could have brought Robert's elevation to the side of the Queen. I thought of Douglass Sheffield, who had at one time become an embarrassment to him. Her nails had started to disintegrate and her hair to fall out. She had not died, but had apparently come near to it. What did we know of the dangers through which she had passed? At least she was now the most contented of wives, for Edward Stafford adored her.

I was growing more and more dissatisfied. It seemed to me that the Queen would never relent towards me. If she had denied her presence to Robert, I should have been somewhat reconciled. He was rich, and even if he had had no more favors from the Queen, we could have lived in great style at Kenilworth, Wanstead, Cornbury, Leicester House—or one of his manors—and I should have been romantically regarded as the woman for whom he considered the Queen's favor well lost.

But it was not so—and, being determined to punish me, she took a malicious delight in keeping him from my side. For what? For being preferred by him! She was anxious to show me—and the world—that he would desert me any day for her. And he did.

On his brief visits we made passionate love, but I wondered if he realized that even our old ardor was changing for me. I wondered if Elizabeth noticed the change in him. A man who had lived as Robert had could not expect to escape unscathed. He had lived too richly, indulged himself too freely in what people call the good things of life, and the result was periodic visits to Buxton, where he took the waters and lived on simpler fare and hoped his gout would subside. Being so tall, he was still an impressive figure, and the aura, which had made him stand out like a prince in a crowd, remained. He was a man who created his own destiny. The legends which were attached to him would always make people speak his name with awe. He remained the most discussed man in the country, a role he thoroughly enjoyed and sought. The Queen's devotion to him, which had lasted for nearly a lifetime, would never be forgotten. But he was an aging figure now, and when I saw him after absences I was always a little shocked by his appearance.

I took great care of myself, determined to appear young as long as I could. Being denied the Court, I had time to experiment with herbs and lotions which kept my skin beautiful. I bathed in milk; I made special washes for my hair which helped to keep its shining color. I used paint and powder with a skill unrivaled by the Queen's women, and so I preserved a youthful look which denied my years. I thought of Elizabeth—older than I—and I took a distinct pleasure in studying myself in my mirror and examining my complexion, which appeared—aided by those adjuncts to beauty which I could apply with such skill—as fresh as a young girl's.

Robert always declared himself astonished when he saw me after being away for some time. "You have not changed since the day I first saw you," he said. An exaggeration but a welcome one; yet I did know that I had preserved a certain flowerlike freshness, which gave me a look of innocence so ill matched by my nature that it may have been this contrast which set me apart and was the secret of my appeal to men. In any case I was kept aware of my attractions on which Robert never failed to comment. He often compared our Vixen with his Lamb—to the detriment of the former course and this he did to put me in a good mood. He did not want the time we spent together wasted in recriminations. He desperately hoped that we should have another child; but I was not eager for that. I would never really get over the loss of my little Robert, which may sound false in a woman of my nature, but is nevertheless true. That I was selfish, I knew, sensual, looking for admiration, seeking pleasure. ... I recognized all this. I had learned too that I was not overscrupulous in the manner in which I reached my desires—but in spite of this I was a good mother. I take pride in that even now. All my children loved me. To Penelope and Dorothy I was like a sister, and they confided their matrimonial secrets to me. Not that Dorothy had trials at this time; she was blissfully happy in her runaway match. It was different with Penelope. She told me in detail of the sadistic habits of Lord Rich, the husband she had never wanted, of his taunts because of Philip Sidney's passion for her, and of the lurid life of their bedchamber. Such was her nature—so similar to mine —that she was not entirely cast down by all this. Life was exciting to her: the long battles with her husband; the sublime devotion of Philip Sidney (I often wondered what his wife, Frances, thought of that); and the constant looking forward to what adventures the day would bring. So I had my girls.

As for my boys, I saw Robert, the Earl of Essex, now and then. I insisted because I could not endure the separation. He was living in his house at Llanfydd in Pembrokeshire, which I protested was too far away. He had grown into a very handsome young man. His temper was a little uncertain and, I had to admit, that there was a definite waywardness, an arrogance in his nature; but the mother in me quickly protested that this was overshadowed by his perfect manners and an innate courtesy which was very appealing. He was tall and slender, and I adored him.

I urged him to join the family but he shook his head and a stubborn look I well knew came into his eyes.

"Nay, dearest Mother," he said, "I was not meant to be a courtier."

"You look like one, my darling."

"Appearances often lie. Your husband would want me to go to Court, I believe, and I am happy in the country. You should come to me, Mother. We two were not meant to be apart. Your husband is, I hear, often in close attendance on the Queen, so he perhaps would not miss you."

I noticed the contemptuous curve of his lips. He was one who had great difficulty in concealing his feelings. He was not pleased by my marriage. I sometimes thought he resented Leicester because he knew how much I cared for him, and he wanted all my affection bestowed on him. And of course hearing how Leicester neglected me for the Queen would make him angry too. I knew my son.

Young Walter idealized his brother Robert and spent as much time as he could in his company. Walter was a dear boy—a pale shadow of Essex, I always thought. I loved him, but the feeling I had for any of my children could not approach the intensity of that I felt for Essex.

But those were happy days when I could gather my family around me and we could sit at the fireside and talk together. They recompensed me in many ways for the loss of my life at Court and the company of my husband who was often there.

Being content with the children I had, I did not want the inconvenience of bearing more. I reckoned I was too old for that. Childbirth would be an ordeal for me now and I had had my share of it.

I did remember how eager I had once been to have a child by Robert. Fate had given us our little angel, our "Noble Impe"; but with him had come great anxiety and sorrow. I should never forget his death and those nights I had spent at his bedside after one of his fits. And now he was gone, but while I mourned his loss deeply, a great anxiety was lifted from me. There was compensation in knowing that my little darling was suffering no more. Sometimes I would ask myself whether his death had been a punishment for my sins. I wondered whether Leicester felt the same.

No, I did not want more children and this might be a sign that I was falling out of love with Robert.

When I was at Leicester House, where I liked best to be because of its closeness to the Court—so near and yet so far for those excluded from it—I saw more of Robert because it was easier for him to slip away for brief periods. But we could not be together for more than a few days before the Queen's messenger would arrive to demand his return to Court.

On one occasion he came to me rather preoccupied. After his protestations of eternal fidelity to me and that consummation of our passion which I fancied he tried to endow with the eagerness we had both known when we had snatched our secret meetings, I realized what had brought him this day.

It was a man named Walter Raleigh who was causing him some disquiet.

I had heard of him, of course. His name was on everyone's lips.

Penelope had met him and said he was undoubtedly handsome and possessed of great charm; the Queen had quickly brought him into her intimate circle. He had leaped into prominence, the story went, one wet day when the Queen was returning to the palace on foot and had paused before a muddy stretch of ground over which she had to cross. Raleigh had taken off his elaborate plush cloak and spread it over the dirty ground that she might walk on it. I could picture the scene: the graceful gesture, the expensive cloak, the glitter in those tawny eyes as she noticed the handsome looks of the young man; the speculation in those of the adventurer who no doubt counted the cost of an elaborate cloak well lost for the sake of rich benefits to come.

It had not been long after that incident that Raleigh was at the Queen's side, delighting her with his wit, his compliments, his adoration, and his accounts of past adventures. She had grown very fond of him and had knighted him that very year.

Penelope told me that at one of the palaces—Greenwich, I think—when he was in the company of the Queen, he had tested her affection for him by scratching on a windowpane with a diamond the words:

Fain would I climb

Yet fear I to fall.

as though asking her to assure him that he would have nothing to fear by trying to rise in her favor.

Characteristically she took the diamond from him and beneath his couplet scratched the words:

If thy heart fails thee

Climb not at all.

which was in a way stressing the fact that her favors must be sought at all times and that no one should believe he would be favored without merit.

Robert had believed, after he had been taken back into favor, that his position was secure. So it was, I was certain; whatever he did she would never forget the bond between them. At the same time he was anxious that no young man should rise too high in her favor, and it appeared that this was exactly what Raleigh was doing. It was galling to Robert to see a younger man constantly beside the Queen; ever present was the fear that someone younger would replace him in her favor. She knew this, of course, and loved to tease him. I was sure that she showed Raleigh more favor when Robert was near than she ever did in his absence.

"Raleigh is giving himself airs," he told me. "Soon he will be thinking himself the most important man at Court."

"He is very good-looking," I replied slyly. "He has the qualities, it seems, which appeal to Her Majesty."

"True enough, but he is inexperienced, and I will not have him giving himself such airs."

"How will you stop him?"

Robert was thoughtful. Then he said: "It is time for young Essex to come to Court."

"He is happy enough in Llanfydd."

"He cannot spend his life there. How old is he now?"

"He is but seventeen."

"Old enough to begin making a way for himself. He has great charm and should do well at Court."

"Don't forget that he is my son."

"That's one of the reasons why I wish to bring him to Court, my dearest. I want to do everything I can for him ... because I know how fond you are of him."

"He is a son to be proud of," I said fondly.

"Would he were mine! But the next best thing is that he is yours. Let him come here. I promise you I will do everything possible for his advancement."

I looked at him shrewdly. I understood the way in which his mind worked. It was true that Leicester liked to advance members of his family, for it had always been a policy of his to put what he called "his own men" in high places.

"But the fact that Rob is my son is enough to make our Vixen chase him out of Court."

"I don't think she will ... when she sees him. In any case it's worth a try."

I laughed. "You seem greatly put out by Raleigh."

"He is of little moment," he said abruptly. "I think young Essex will amuse the Queen."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I will ask my son to come to me, and then perhaps if your mistress will allow you to leave her for a short time, you can meet him here and assess him."

Robert said he would be delighted to see my son, and I could rest assured that he would do all in his power to bring him forward at Court.

When Robert had gone I continued to think about it. I pictured his presenting my son to the Queen. "My stepson, the Earl of Essex, Your Majesty."

Those tawny eyes would be alert. Her son! The She-Wolf's cub! What chance would he have? It was true he had been born before I had fallen from favor, before she knew of her darling Robin's passion for me. But she would never accept my son.

Of course he was extraordinarily handsome; he had a unique charm; he was the kind of young man the Queen liked to have about her—except for one thing: he would never flatter her.

It would be amusing to see what effect he had on her. I would do what Leicester wanted and attempt to persuade him to go to Court and see what happened.

How often have I wished that I had the gift of prophecy. If I could but have seen into the future! If I could have glimpsed the anguish to come—then I should never have allowed my darling to go to her.

But her life and mine were linked by some tragic caprice of fate. We were doomed to fix our love on the same object—and what bitter suffering that was to cause me! And I do not believe that she escaped unscathed.

"Raleigh?" said Penelope. "He is a dashing fellow. Tom Perrot was talking of him when I spent a few days with him and Dorothy on my way here. Tom says he is quick-tempered. An ill-chosen word directed against him can plunge him into violent rage. Tom himself had a fracas with him, and they both landed up in the Fleet and spent six days there before their release was brought about. He said that a short while after, Raleigh was in the Marshalsea following a fight on the tennis court with someone named Wingfield. He's an adventurer. He's like the Queen's darling, Francis Drake. You know how she loves such men."

"So she loves this one?"

"Oh, he is one of her admirers! How she can listen to such false compliments I can never understand."

"Few understand the Queen—nor does she intend them to.

Leicester wants to present Essex to her. How think you that will work?"

"Well, he's good-looking enough to please her and can be charming when he wishes. Has he agreed to come to Court?"

"Not yet. I am sending a messenger asking him to come to me. Leicester will then arrive to turn on the persuasive powers."

"I doubt he'll come. You know how stubborn he can be."

"Stubborn and impulsive," I agreed. "He has always acted without much thought. But he is over young. He'll change, I doubt not."

"He will have to change a great deal—and quickly," commented Penelope. "He will never be able to pay those extravagant false compliments which the Queen demands from her young men. You know, he always speaks his mind, Mother. He has been thus since he was a boy."

As Essex had spent a good deal of time with the Riches in recent years I could be sure his sister knew what she was talking about.

I said: "Well, I don't think the Queen will receive him, since he is my son."

"She received us," replied Penelope, "though I have to admit she gives us some odd looks now and then and snaps at us rather sharply. Dorothy said the same."

"She's thinking all the time that you are the She-Wolf's cubs, as she so elegantly calls you."

"Who knows, perhaps between them your husband and your son will be able to persuade her to have you back."

"I doubt Essex would be able to do what my Lord Leicester has failed to."

Although she wanted to cheer me, I could see that Penelope agreed. Even after all these years it was unlikely that the Queen would relent.

Then we talked of family matters and how she hated her husband, and how difficult life was with him.

"I could endure him more if he were not so religious," Penelope told me. "But it is maddening, the manner in which he kneels down and prays before getting into bed and then proceeds to ... well, I will leave that to your imagination, for I would prefer not to remind myself of it. He is demanding my dowry now and says he has had little from the marriage. And I have already given him his sons Richard and Charles and—curse of curses—I am pregnant again."

"He should be delighted that you are so fruitful." "I assure you I don't share his delight." "Philip does not seem to find you any less delectable." "It is pleasant of course to be honored in verse, but Philip seems content enough with that."

"What does Frances think of these poems to another woman?" "She raises no objection. He pays some attention to her clearly, since she has been delivered of a daughter whom, most loyally, she has named after Elizabeth our Queen. Her Majesty has shown a certain interest in her namesake."

Thus we chatted, and the time I spent with my daughter passed merrily as always.

In due course, Essex obeyed my summons and came to Leicester House. How proud I was of him when I presented him to his stepfather!

He was indeed a son to be proud of. Every time I saw him I was astonished by his handsome looks because I always felt that I underestimated them in my thoughts. His coloring was similar to mine. He had abundant hair, though his was more auburn than mine, and the large dark Boleyn eyes. He was very tall and, I suppose because he so often had to look down to people, he stooped slightly. He had delicate, beautiful hands, and the fact that he left them unadorned seemed to call attention to their elegance. His Venetian breeches—very full at the top and narrowing towards the knee—were in the finest velvet and slashed and puffed, but not in the height of fashion when compared with those in the French style, which Leicester, the courtier, was wearing. Essex's cloak was embroidered with gold lace, I remember—but what did it matter what he wore? He could never look anything but completely distinguished. He wore all his clothes with an indifference which accentuated his natural elegance; and I was fondly amused to notice his determination not to be impressed by the Queen's favorite. In fact, he was not going to hide his contempt for a man who allowed his wife to be disdainfully treated, even though it was by the Queen.

He was clearly suspicious of Leicester's intentions—and I was fully aware of them. I had previously found my husband's desire for friendship with my family endearing, but now under the influence of Leicester's Commonwealth I looked for other motives behind the affectionate interest. By entering his orbit they became his men and women and their function would be to further his ends.

I was a little resentful and uneasy. I did not want him to use my son. Perhaps after all I was at that time not without a little foreknowledge. Then I dismissed my fears. It would be amusing to see whether Leicester could persuade young Rob to do what he wanted, and even more so to learn how the Queen received him.

Before Leicester's arrival I had told my son that his stepfather had something to discuss with him. Essex had replied rather curtly that he was not interested in Court matters.

"You must please be courteous to members of my family," I reproved him.

"I do not like matters as they stand," retorted my son. "Leicester spends his days dancing attendance on the Queen in spite of the fact that she will not receive you at Court."

"He has other duties besides dancing attendance. He holds many posts in the government."

Essex looked mulish. "If she won't receive you, he should refuse to see her."

"Rob! You are talking of the Queen."

"I don't care. Leicester should first be loyal to you. I hear talk and resent it. I always will to see you humiliated."

"Oh, Rob my darling, I love you for your folly. There is nothing else he can do. Please see that. The Queen hates me for, marrying him. She is determined to keep him from me. You must understand it would be disastrous for him to disobey her."

"If I were in his place ..." muttered Rob, clenching his fist in a manner which made me laugh tenderly and happily. It was wonderful to have such a champion.

"You have lived overlong in the country," I told him. "Leicester owes his fame and fortune to her ... and so will you."

"I! You will never make a courtier of me. I prefer a life of dignity in the country. I learned that in Burleigh's household. To see a wise old statesman like that tremble at the command of a woman! No, it is not for me. I will keep my freedom, my independence. I will live my life my own way."

"I doubt not you will do that, my son. But you do understand, do you not, that your mother wants the best for you."

He turned to me then and embraced me. My love for him overwhelmed me.

Then Leicester arrived, all charm and bonhomie.

"What a pleasure it gives me to see you," he cried. "Why, you are indeed a man. I wish for us to grow better acquainted. You are my stepson now, remember, and families should cling together."

"I agree with that," said Essex sharply. "It is wrong that a husband should be at Court when his wife is not received there."

I was aghast. Essex, I knew well, had never been one to consider his words, but he must know something of Leicester's power and how unwise it was to offend him. Hadn't he read Leicester's Commonwealth! I did not believe he would harm my son, but no man should make an enemy of Leicester.

"You don't know the Queen's temper, Rob," I said quickly.

"Nor do I want to," he retorted.

I could see that it was not going to be easy to persuade him.

As always I had to admire Leicester's tact. It was obvious how he had managed to hold his place at Court. He smiled indulgently, giving no sign that this green boy, who was clearly ignorant of Court matters, irritated him. He was patient and gentle, and I believed Essex was a little bewildered by him. I could see his opinion changing as Leicester talked easily and affably, and then listened with rapt attention to my son's views. I admired him as much as I ever had and, as I watched the two of them together, I thought how fortunate I was to have two such men holding such a place in my life—Leicester, a name to inspire awe and respect throughout the country; and Essex ... ? Perhaps one day his would be the same.

In that moment I could snap my fingers at the Queen. Leicester might dance to her tune, but only because she was the Queen. I was his wife. I was the woman he loved. And in addition I had this wonderful son. Leicester and Essex. What more could any woman ask?

I realized that Essex was asking himself where was the villain of Leicester's Commonwealth and, in his impulsive way, dismissing this work as nonsensical libel. Watching them, I thought how different they were ... these two Earls of mine. Leicester so clever, so subtle, speaking usually with exceeding caution—and Essex, hotheaded, never pausing to think what effect his words and actions might have.

Knowing so well their natures, I did not find it surprising that, within a short time, Leicester had persuaded Essex to go to Court.

I was resentful, of course, that I should have been excluded from that first presentation. How I should have enjoyed watching those hawk's eyes studying my handsome son.

But I had to hear it secondhand.

Penelope, who was present, told me.

"Of course, we were all anxious because she would immediately think of his being your son."

"Oh, she still hates me as much as ever."

Penelope did not answer that. She meant that she did.

"There was a moment when it seemed that she was uncertain. 'Madam,' said Leicester, all charm and smiles, 'I wish to ask the favor of presenting, my stepson, the Earl of Essex.' She looked at him sharply and for a moment did not speak. I thought she was going to burst into a tirade."

"Against the She-Wolf," I commented.

"Then Essex came forward. He is so tall and he has that haughty look ... but that stoop of his is not without appeal. He has a way when meeting a woman—so courteous, gentle almost, I have seen it with the humblest serving wench. One thing we do know, my lady. He likes women. And the Queen is a woman. It was as though something flashed between them. I have seen it before with her and men she is going to favor. She held out her hand and he kissed it with great charm. Then she smiled and said: 'Your father was a good servant. I regret his death. It was too soon... .' She had him sit beside her and she asked him questions about the country."

"And he? Was he gracious?"

"He was overcome by her. You know her well. You may hate and rail against her in private ..."

"It must be in private," I commented ironically.

"Certainly, if one is wise. But even hating her, one cannot help but be aware of her greatness. Essex was aware of it. His haughtiness dropped from him. It was almost as though he was falling in love with her. It is what she expects from men and they all feign to be dazzled by her charm, but Essex would never pretend, would he, so with him it must have been genuine."

I said: "So your brother seems to have been taken into the intimate circle."

Penelope was thoughtful. "It might well be. He is very young, but the older she grows the more she likes the younger men."

"But this is strange indeed. The son of the woman she hates more than anyone else."

"He is handsome enough to overcome that obstacle," replied Penelope. "But perhaps it is part of the attraction."

I felt myself grow cold with sudden fear. She had taken to my son. Did she know how much I loved him? Sooner or later he would betray to her that there was a special bond between us. He would never stoop to subterfuge to keep her favor as Leicester had done. He would defend me if my name were mentioned. He would not allow her to insult me in his presence.

I was deeply apprehensive.

According to Leicester, Essex had made a good impression on the Queen; she was turning away from the upstart Raleigh towards my son. He amused her. He was different from the others-young, brash, outspoken.

Oh, my beloved son, I thought, have I allowed Leicester to lead you into her web?

Being immersed in my personal affairs and exiled from Court, I had allowed myself to become oblivious of many clouds which were beginning to form over the country.

For so many years I had heard talk of those menaces: The Queen of Scots—about whom there were constant plots to put her on the throne and depose Elizabeth—and the Spanish enemy. I had come to accept them as facts of life. I think this applied to a great many of my countrymen and women; but certainly in the minds of the Queen and Leicester they were ever present.

My exile from Court was like a canker in my heart, particularly now that Essex was there. It was not that I wanted smiles from the Queen; I merely wanted to be there—a firsthand observer. There was small satisfaction in riding through the streets, clad like a queen, and entertaining people in my splendid houses where I could only learn of Court matters through others. So I yearned to be there, and it seemed as though I never would. That was her revenge on me.

Leicester talked often of the Queen of Scots. He wavered between seeking her favor and eliminating her altogether. While she lived, he said, there would be little peace for him or Elizabeth. He feared that one day one of the many plots on her behalf might be successful; in which case those who had supported and adhered to Elizabeth would be most unpopular with the new Queen. And he would be at the head of those to be deposed from power. Stripped from his power and his riches, he would doubtless be sent to the Tower to emerge only to his execution.

Once when we lay in bed together, and he was languorous and not mindful of his words, he said he had advised the Queen to have Mary strangled, or better still poisoned.

"There are poisons," he said, "which leave little trace ... and in due course none at all. It would be a mercy to the country and the Queen if Mary were not there. While she is, there will always be danger. At any time one of the many plots could succeed, despite all our efforts."

Poison! I thought. It leaves no trace ... in due course. There was time enough for those traces to have disappeared when the search was made for them.

Oh, I was haunted by Leicester's Commonwealth.

I wondered whether the Queen ever talked to him of me when they were alone. I wondered if she ever said: "You were too hasty, Robin. If you had waited, I might have married you."

She was capable of that. She would be prepared to talk longingly of marriage now with a man who was not free to marry her. I could imagine her taunting him: "You lost a crown when you married that She-Wolf, Robin. But for her, I could marry you now. I might have made a king of you. How well a crown would look on those graying locks."

I could not stop thinking of Amy Robsart.

When I went to Cornbury in Oxfordshire, I passed Cumnor Place. I did not go in, for that would have created gossip. But I should have liked to see the staircase down which Amy had fallen.

It haunted me, that staircase; and sometimes when I was about to descend a long flight of stairs I would look furtively over my shoulder.

I was mentioning that we had the ever-present menace of the Queen of Scots and the Spaniards. There was alarming talk at this time that Philip of Spain was building a great fleet of ships with which he intended to attack us. We were working feverishly in our dockyards; men like Drake, Raleigh, Howard of Effingham, and Frobisher were buzzing around the Queen like so many bees urging her to prepare for the Spaniards.

Leicester said she was anxious and afraid that one day the Spaniards would come against her, and that was why she felt a campaign in the Netherlands was so important.

I knew that after the deaths of Anjou and William of Orange, deputations had come from the Netherlands offering her their crown if she would protect them. This she had shrunk from taking. She had no wish to increase her responsibilities, and she could imagine what the reaction of Spain would be if she accepted this offer. They would consider it an act of war. But this did not mean that she would not send money and men to fight in the Lowland campaign against the invading Spanish.

One afternoon Robert came to Leicester House in a state of great excitement. I heard his horse's hoofs clatter into the courtyard and I hurried down to him. I knew as soon as I saw him that something of great importance had happened.

"The Queen is sending an army to fight for the States-General," he told me breathlessly. "She has decided that she must choose its commander with great, care and send the man best suited to the task even though she would prefer to keep him at home."

"You are to lead the army, then," I replied sharply. My heart was filled with sudden anger. She would hate to lose him, but as, at the same time, she was taking him away from me, that was compensation to her. I could imagine her gloating. He is her husband but it is I who decide whether she shall be with him.

He nodded. "She was most affectionate and she even wept a little."

"Touching!" I said with a sarcasm he pretended not to notice.

"She has done me this honor. It is one of the greatest she could bestow on me."

"I am surprised that she lets you go. But at least she has the satisfaction of knowing that I, also, will be deprived of your company."

Leicester was not listening. Vain as he was, he must already be seeing himself winning honor and glory.

He did not stay long at Leicester House. She had implied that since he was soon to leave her, he was to spend as much time as possible with her before he left. With her! I thought bitterly. She was telling me that although I was his wife, she was the important woman in his life. She commanded and he obeyed and every hour he spent with her was an hour in which I could not share.

A few days later I heard that he was not to go to the Netherlands after all. The Queen was suffering from an indisposition and she felt that she had not long to live. She could not therefore allow the Earl of Leicester to leave her. They had been together too long for them to part with the thought that they might never meet again. So he must stay behind and she would consider the matter of whom to send to command the army in the Netherlands.

I was seething with rage. I was certain that all her actions were directed against me in order to humiliate me more than she had already. She said my husband must go to the Netherlands, so he prepared to go. She said he must remain and so he remained. He must be there at her command. She was so ill that she wanted him with her. If I had been ill he would have had to go. She wanted me to know that I was of little importance in his life. He would abandon me if she commanded it. How I hated her! My only consolation was that her hatred of me was equal to mine of her. And I knew that in her heart she knew that I would be the chosen one ... were it not for her crown.

It was while I was in this mood that I became an unfaithful wife. I committed the act quite deliberately. I was tired of brief visits—stolen from the Queen—as though she were his wife and I his mistress. I had braved her wrath to marry him, knowing that wrath could be relentless; and, having done that, I was not prepared to be treated in this way.

Leicester was growing old and, as I had long noticed, there were some handsome young men in his service. The Queen liked handsome young men about her, to pander to her whims, to flatter her, to do her service—well, I also liked them. I had been thinking more and more of this since I saw so little of my husband. I was still young enough to enjoy those pleasures I could share with the opposite sex. Looking back, I think perhaps I hoped Leicester would find out and then he would know that others valued me enough to risk his revenge.

At one time it had seemed that Leicester alone could please me. I wanted to prove to myself that that was no longer the case.

There was a young man in my husband's retinue—a certain Christopher Blount, a son of Lord Mountjoy—whom Leicester had made his Master of Horse. He was tall, of excellent figure and extremely handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed with an appealing look of innocence which pleased me. I had noticed him often and I knew that he was aware of me. I would always give him Good Morrow when I passed, and he would always stand at attention and regard me with something like awe, which I found gratifying.

I made a point of speaking to him whenever I saw him, and I soon realized that he put himself in the way of being spoken to.

After I had seen him I would go to my room and think about him. I would look in the mirror and study myself critically. It seemed incredible that in five years I should be fifty. I shuddered at the thought. I should not be chary of snatching at the good things of life, for before long I should be too old to enjoy them. Previously I had always congratulated myself that the Queen was eight years older than I and Robert slightly more. But now I was seeing myself in relation to Christopher Blount. He must be twenty years my junior. Well, not only queens could play at being young. I wanted to prove to myself that I still had the power to attract. Perhaps I wanted also to be assured that Leicester was not as important to me as he had once been. If he must always be at hand to amuse the Queen, I could find amusement elsewhere. I felt in some way that I was not only scoring over Leicester but, just as important to me, over the Queen as well.

A few days later I saw Christopher in the stables and dropped a kerchief. An old trick but ever a useful one. It gave him an opportunity, and I wondered whether he would have the courage to take it. If he did, he deserved a reward, for he would know something of Leicester, and I doubted not he had read the Commonwealth. Then he would know it could be dangerous to dally with Leicester's wife.

I knew he would come.

He was at the door of my chamber holding my kerchief in his hand. I went to him, smiling, and, taking his hand, drew him into the chamber, shutting the door on us.

It was exciting, for him no less than for me. It was that element of danger which had so appealed to me in my first days with Robert. It was exhilarating to be with a young man, to know that my body was still beautiful and that my age seemed to be an additional attraction because I was so much in command of the situation and my experience filled him with wonder and respect.

Afterwards I quickly sent him away saying that it must never happen again. I knew it would, of course, but that made it more precious and exciting. He looked very serious and tragic, but I knew he would have braved the wrath of Leicester again and again rather than to have missed it.

When he had gone I laughed at myself and thought of Leicester's dancing attendance on the Queen.

"Two can play at that game, my noble Earl," I said.

The Queen had changed her mind once more. She had recovered and no one but Leicester, she had again decided, was worthy to lead the armies in the Netherlands.

He was in a state of great excitement when he came to Leicester House. He saw a wonderful future opening out before him, he told me. The crown of the Netherlands had been offered to the Queen; she would not accept it, but he saw no reason why he should not.

"How would you like to be a queen, Lettice?" he asked; and I replied that I should not refuse a crown if it were offered to me.

"Let us hope she will not stop your leaving again," I said.

"She will not," he replied. "She is eager for victory there. We need it. I promise you this: I will drive the Spaniards out of the Netherlands." He looked at me suddenly and saw the coldness in my eyes, for I was thinking how absorbed he was in his coming glory and how little concerned to leave me. But then she had seen that we had so little time together that his separation made little difference to the life we had been living for so long. He took my hands and kissed them. "Lettice," he went on, "I'm going to make it up to you. Don't think I don't understand what it has been like. I couldn't help it. It has been against my will. Understand please, my dearest."

"I understand well enough," I replied. "You had to neglect me because she wished it."

"It's true. I would to God ..."

He seized me and held me to him, but I sensed that his excitement stemmed not from his passion for me but from the contemplation of the glory that would come from the Netherlands.

Philip Sidney was going with him and he would find a place for Essex. "That will please our young Earl. You see how I care for my family."

It was going to be a triumphant march into the Netherlands. He was already planning that. Now he would see his Master of Horse, as he had much to discuss with him.

I was amused, wondering what Christopher Blount's reactions would be. There was something very innocent about Christopher, and since what I secretly referred to as "the incident" had occurred I had seen expression of many emotions on his face. There were guilt, excitement, hope, desire, shame and fear all mingling. He would be seeing himself as a villain for having seduced his master's wife. I wanted to tell him that it was I who had seduced him. He was very charming, and although I had been tempted to repeat the experience, I had not done so. I did not want to spoil it for Christopher by making it an entirely physical relationship.

However, I was interested to see how he behaved with Leicester, and whether he would betray anything. I was sure that he would make a tremendous effort not to. And since he was to leave for the Netherlands with Leicester, I told myself, there could be no immediate repetition of the incident. But I was wrong.

The Queen was determined that Leicester should not spend his last night in England with me. I thought at least he would do that and was expecting him to come to Leicester House. He did not come. Instead, a messenger arrived with the news that the Queen insisted he remain at Court as she had much to discuss with him. I knew, of course, that she was showing me that, although I was his wife, it was she who had first call on his services. I was angry and frustrated. I hated his going. I suppose in my heart I still loved him, still wanted him. I knew then that there could never be anyone in my life to take his place. I was sick with frustrated jealousy when I thought of those two together. She would doubtless dance into the early hours of the morning, and he would be there offering her those sickening compliments, telling her how wretched he was to leave her. And she would listen, her head on one side, her hawk's eyes soft ... believing her Sweet Robin, her Eyes, the only man she could ever love.

It had been a cold December day but the weather could not be more wretched than my mood. I decided I was a fool. To hell with Elizabeth, I said to myself. To hell with Leicester. I ordered my servants to make a good fire in my bedroom and when it was warm and cozy I sent for Christopher.

He was so young, so naive, so inexperienced. I knew he adored me and his adoration was salve to my wounded vanity. I could not bear that his opinion of me should change so I told him I had sent for him to assure him that he must feel no guilt for what had happened. It had come upon us spontaneously before we had had time to realize what we were doing. It must never happen again of course, and we must forget it had.

He said what I expected him to. He would do all I asked of him except forget. That was something he could never do. It had been the most wonderful experience of his life, and he would remember it always.

The young are so charming, I thought. I understood why the Queen was so fond of them. Their innocence refreshes us, renews our faith in life. Christopher's rapture brought him near to idolatry, and this did much to restore my belief in my power to attract, which, because of Leicester's eagerness to leave me for the glory of the Netherlands, I had begun to doubt.

I took my leave of Christopher—or pretended to, as I fully intended that he should stay the night. I placed my hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the lips. Of course that was the tinder to the flame.

He was charmingly full of apologies, believing that he was to blame, which was so appealing.

I sent him off before the dawn and he went saying that if he died in battle in the Netherlands, would I honor him by remembering that he could never have loved anyone but me if he had lived to be a hundred?

Dear Christopher! Death seemed glorious at that moment, I was sure. He saw himself dying for the Protestant faith with my name on his lips.

It was very romantic and charming, and I had enjoyed the episode. I wondered why I had denied myself so long.

They left the next day, Leicester taking his farewell of the Queen and placing himself at the head of the party which also contained my lover and my son.

I heard later that they were lavishly entertained at Colchester, and the following day went to Harwich, where a fleet of fifty sail was waiting to take them across to Flushing.

Robert wrote to me in great exultation, telling me of the tumultuous welcome he had received everywhere, for the people regarded him as their savior. At Rotterdam, where it was dark when the fleet arrived, Dutchmen lined the bank, every fourth man holding aloft a fiery cresset. The crowds cheered him and he was taken through the market place to his lodging, where a life-size statue of Erasmus had been erected. From Rotterdam he had gone to Delft, and there he lodged in the very house where the Prince of Orange had been murdered.

"The celebrations," he wrote, "grew more splendid as I passed through the country. Everywhere I was regarded as their savior."

The people, it seemed, had suffered greatly for their religion and, being in dread of defeat from the Spaniards, saw the coming of Leicester with money and men from the Queen of England as their great hope.

He had gone there to command an army, but there was no fighting at this stage. It was all celebration and what Leicester— and England—were going to do for the country. I had been somewhat surprised when the Queen had chosen Leicester for this task as he was a politician not a soldier; he had a way with words not swords. I wondered what would happen when the fighting started.

But he had his triumph first. For several weeks the revelry continued, and then came the great moment of decision. He wrote to me at once, for this was something he could not keep to himself.

"It was on the first day of January when a deputation was making its way to my lodging. I was not dressed and while my toilet was being completed one of my men told me that the ministers had come to say something to me. They were going to offer me the Generalship of the United Provinces. I was uneasy, for the Queen had sent me to fight for them and with them, not to govern them; and attractive as such an offer was, I could not accept it without consideration."

I pictured him, his eyes gleaming. Was it not what he had wanted? He had been the Queen's man for so long. Like a little dog on a chain, I had once gibed. "My sweet little creature, let me pet you ... and you may only go as far as the chain by which I hold you will allow you to."

What it must have meant to him to be offered the crown of the Netherlands!

I turned back to his letter.

"I made no answer and continued to consider the matter. You will be pleased to hear that I have made Essex General of the Horse. I spent much time listening to sermons and singing psalms, for these are a people who take their religion very seriously. Now I must tell you that I have discussed this matter with the Queen's secretary, Davison, who is here, and with Philip Sidney and they are both of the opinion that I must satisfy the people by accepting the offer. So, my dearest Lettice, I am now Governor of the United Provinces."

There was a later note.

"I have been installed at The Hague. I wish you could have seen this impressive ceremony. I sat beneath the arms of the Netherlands and England, on a chair of state, and all about me were representatives from the principal states. Thanks were given to the Queen and to me, the Lieutenant General, now Governor of the United Provinces. I took the necessary oath and swore to protect them and work for their good and that of the church. How I wish you were here! You would have been proud of me.

"Now, my dear Lettice, I want you to join me. Remember you come here as a queen. You will know how to do that. We shall live here and you will no longer be in exile as you call it. I long to see you."

I read and reread that letter. I was to go as a queen. I should be royal as she was, and beautiful as she never could be. Life was going to be exciting. I was exultant. What would she say, what would she do, when she heard that I was going to the Netherlands as Leicester's Queen?

I lost no time in beginning my preparations. I would go as a queen. I would be more splendid than Elizabeth had ever been.

So at last I was coming to my triumph. I was realizing what it meant to be Leicester's wife. I should be Queen with no one to command me, and if it must be at The Hague instead of Greenwich and Windsor, what cared I?

Merchants came to Leicester House with the finest materials that existed. I planned my wardrobe with frantic haste and the seamstresses were busy night and day. I ordered coaches with the arms of the Netherlands entwined with those of Robert. I designed rich ornaments for myself, my companions and even the horses. I had decided to take a company of ladies and gentlemen with me. The cavalcade which rode to Harwich would excite the people of the countryside because they would never have seen anything so splendid before. What I would show them would be a hundred times more rich, more luxurious than anything the Queen had ever possessed.

Those were exciting weeks. I longed to begin my journey.

One February day, when I was in the midst of these preparations, I heard that William Davison, the Queen's secretary, who had accompanied Robert to the Netherlands, had arrived at Court to give the Queen a full account of what had happened.

Robert Governor of the United Provinces! Accepting such an office without consulting her! Taking a post which meant his living out of England! Her rage was terrible, said those who saw it.

Someone—who must have liked to ferment trouble—mentioned that Robert's Countess was also preparing to join him with the state of a queen.

How she swore! They said that her father never surpassed her in that. She swore by God's blood that she would teach Leicester and his She-Wolf a lesson. So they were playing at King and Queen, were they? She would teach them that royalty was not something to be taken up by commoners, simply because they were misguided enough to think themselves—erroneously— worthy of it!

She sent Heneage off at once. He was to go to Leicester and tell him he must arrange another ceremony. And in this he would give up his governorship and tell the people of the Netherlands that he was but a servant of the Queen of England and was now in deep disgrace for having acted without her permission. Then he could come back and kick his heels in the Tower.

Poor Davison was berated and hardly allowed to speak, but after a while she listened and then when her rage had subsided a little she must have thought of the humiliation she was imposing on Robert and modified her judgment. He would, of course, give up the governorship, but it must be relinquished in a manner which would bring the least humiliation. But he must not think she was not furious. She had declared publicly, so that foreign princes might know, that she was determined not to take the Governorship of the Netherlands, and now one of her subjects had snatched it, seeing in it a prize which he could enjoy. It would appear that she had given that permission—for none would believe that a subject could have dared presume so much— and it would be believed that she had broken her word.

"As for that She-Wolf," she cried, "she can unpack her jewels. She can lay aside her fine gowns. She can give up all thought of riding in glory to The Hague. Instead she can go humbly to the Tower and beseech the privilege of seeing the prisoner, making sure how she conducts herself, lest she find a long stay awaiting her in that place."

Poor Robert! How brief was his glory. Poor me, who had thought to come out of the shadows only to find myself back in them. And the hatred of the Queen grown even more intense towards me, for I knew that she would convince herself that I, not her beloved Robin, had planned and schemed to put myself upon a throne.

After that disastrous Netherlands adventure, none but Robert could have survived. I had always known he was no soldier. He would have been wonderfully impressive during those parades through the streets. I could picture him at the ceremonies; but it was a very different matter when it came to facing the experienced and ruthless Duke of Parma, who could not be expected to stand aside while Robert indulged himself and the people with great spectacles.

It was a great blow when Parma struck where it was least expected and took the town of Grave, which Robert had thought to be well fortified—and afterwards that of Venlo.

The wrath of the Queen added to his difficulties, for no money was coming from England for the soldiers' pay and the officers were quarreling among themselves. Robert told me much later of the nightmare he lived through and how he never wanted to see the Netherlands again.

The entire campaign was a disaster, and for us there was a personal tragedy.

I was very fond of the Sidney family, and Philip was the favorite of us all. Mary, his mother, and I had become friendly since we were both exiles from Court—she voluntarily and I most reluctantly. She still wore a fine veil over her face and rarely went to Court although the Queen continued to welcome her and respect her desire for privacy in her own apartment in the royal residences.

In May I had news from Mary that her husband's health was worsening. He had been ailing for some time and had refused to rest; so it was not surprising to hear soon after that he was dead. I went to Penshurst to be with her, and I was glad I did, for in August, Mary herself died. Her daughter, Mary, Countess of Pembroke, came to Penshurst to be with her mother at the end, and we deplored the fact that Philip was with the armies of the Netherlands and could not be present.

It seemed a blessing in a way that Mary Sidney should die before the great tragedy befell her, for I knew her feelings well enough to understand that what was about to happen would be the cruelest blow of her life.

It was September—a month after the death of Lady Sidney— when Leicester decided to attack Zutphen.

The story of what happened was pieced together afterwards, but it is one of recklessness and heroism, and I often think that if Philip had been more realistic and less knightly it need never have happened.

A series of incidents led to what followed. When he left his tent he fell in with Sir William Pelham, who had forgotten to put on his leg armor. Foolishly, Philip said that he must not have an advantage over a friend and discarded his own. It was a ridiculous gesture for which he paid a high price, for later, during the action, a bullet struck his left thigh. He was able to remain on horseback, but suffered greatly from loss of blood and, surrounded by his friends, he cried out that he was dying of thirst rather than loss of blood. A water bottle was thrust into his hands, but just as he was about to drink he saw a dying soldier on the ground who called feebly for water.

"Take it," said Philip in words which have become immortalized. "Thy necessity is greater than mine."

He was carried to Leicester's barge and taken down to Arnhem and lodged in a house there.

I called on his wife, Frances, and found her, although heavily pregnant, preparing to leave. She said she must go to him, for he would need careful nursing.

"In your condition, you are unfit," I told her; but she would not listen, and her father said that since she was of such a determined mind he would not stop her.

So Frances went to Arnhem. Poor girl, her life had not been such a happy one. She must have loved him, though. Who could help loving Philip Sidney? Perhaps Frances knew that the love poems he wrote to my daughter Penelope were not to be taken as a slight to herself. There were not many women who would have accepted such a situation but Frances was an unusual woman.

Philip suffered acute agony for twenty-six days before he died. I knew his death would be a great blow to Robert, who had looked upon him as a son. His gifts, his charm, everything about Philip had been of such a nature to win admiration, and he was not one to inspire envy as men such as Robert, Heneage, Hatton and Raleigh did, for Philip was not ambitious. He was a man possessed of rare qualities.

I heard that the Queen's grief was intense. She had lost her dear friend Mary Sidney, whom she had always loved, and now Philip, whom she had so much admired, was dead.

The Queen hated war. She declared it to be senseless and to bring no good to any. All her reign she had sought to elude it, and now she was thrown into depression because of the loss of her dear friends and the ever more closely encroaching threat from Spain, which this rash and foolish adventure in the Netherlands had done nothing to ward off.

Philip's body was embalmed and he was brought home on a ship the sails of which were black and which was therefore called the Black Pinnance; and in the following February there was a memorial service for him in St. Paul's Cathedral.

Poor Frances had already been delivered of a stillborn child, which perhaps was to be expected after all she had endured.

Leicester came back to England, for the winter was no time for military campaigns, and with him came my son Essex.

First Leicester went to Court. There would have been trouble if he had not, and his position was precarious. I could imagine his misgivings when he presented himself to his royal mistress. Essex came to me. He was very upset by the death of Philip Sidney, and he wept as he told me that he had been at his deathbed.

"A nobler man never lived," he cried, "and now he is dead. He was pleased that the Earl of Leicester was with him. There was a deep love between those two, and my stepfather was in great grief at his passing. Philip left me his best sword. I shall treasure it always and hope I shall be worthy of it."

He had seen poor Frances Sidney—a brave woman, he said, for she had been in no fit condition to cross the sea. He would do all he could to help her, for that was what Philip would have wished.

After reporting to the Queen, Leicester came to me. The latest adventure had aged him, and I was shocked by his appearance. He had had a return of the gout and was weighed down with depression by the manner in which the adventure had turned sour.

He talked to me earnestly: "God be praised the Queen has not withdrawn her favor from me. When I came to her and knelt, she made me rise and she looked at me earnestly with tears in her eyes. She saw that I had suffered much, and she said that I had been a traitor to her. But what hurt her most was that I had been a traitor to myself, for I had wantonly ignored my health when I knew that the care of that was the first command she gave me. Then I knew that everything was forgiven."

I looked at him—this poor parody of the once glorious Leicester, and I was amazed at the woman. He had defied her and believed he had found a way to wear a crown in the Netherlands which would have meant deserting her and, greatest blow of all, had planned to send for me to share it with him. Yet she forgave him.

By God's truth, I said to myself, she loves him. Indeed she does.