Just a Queen Page 13

  I slumped back onto the sill and raised my fingers to my forehead. I suddenly felt desperately weary. ‘Tell me Cecil, am I or am I not a merciful sovereign?’

  ‘Indeed, good madam, you are. Too merciful at times.’

  ‘Do I or do I not try to give people the benefit of the doubt and encourage them to follow me out of love rather than fear?’

  ‘Indeed, Your Grace, you do.’

  ‘Do people tremble when I pass as they did for my father?’

  Cecil shook his head.

  ‘Do I enquire into men’s souls? Do I try to force them to believe what they would rather not believe, as did my sister and as would my brother, had he lived?’

  ‘No, good madam, you do not.’

  ‘Is my realm not more peaceful and more prosperous than it was when first I came to the throne?’

  At this, Cecil broke into one of his rare and therefore precious smiles.

  ‘Aye, madam, that it is.’

  ‘I see you smile at this, Sir Spirit, as you should, for you share much of the credit.’

  He bowed, but immediately demurred. ‘Nay, Your Grace. I am merely your servant. You alone have ruled so wisely and well these past ten years.’

  ‘You are mistaken in that, my lord. You have more than fulfilled my early judgment of you that you would give me advice as you truly saw fit with neither fear nor favour, and you will not find me lacking in gratitude.’

  Cecil looked up at this, wondering what I meant. Unbeknown to him I had already begun the process to raise him to Lord Burleigh in recognition of his steadfast counsel. To be honest, I still cannot imagine what I would have done without his calm presence beside me. He is the man whose advice I rely on more than any other. Indeed, it is another resentment I hold against my cousin Mary that our different views about her fate drove a wedge between us, a wedge that has seen Lord Burleigh (as Cecil now is) banished from my court. I was so angry with him for taking matters into his own hands and allowing the Queen of Scots’ execution that I simply could not bear to see his face, and yet – I miss him too.

  He was about to say something, but I raised my hand. ‘If all that is so, my lord, why then is the gratitude I receive from some of my subjects – even those I have shown great mercy to – so lacking that they would countenance treachery?’

  Cecil looked up at me with a shrewd, solemn expression. He scratched at his chin with the end of his quill as he often did when concentrating. ‘Foolish men have foolish ambitions, Your Grace, and can be manipulated by others very easily. Norfolk, like many, sees the world as he would like it to be and brushes aside anything that would make him see the world or himself realistically. It is my judgment of you, Your Majesty, if you would allow me to repay your great compliment to me, that you see the world as it is and that is your great strength. It is a rare asset indeed in monarchs.’

  I looked at Cecil, more moved by his words than I trusted myself to express. I may have been his queen, with the power to have him arrested and killed at any moment had I been so foolish, but it was I who sought his approval rather than the other way around. He was the greatest in a long line of clever, serious older men who I wanted to please and, yes, impress. I loved Robin Dudley as a woman loves a man. I loved William Cecil as a daughter loves a much-admired father. He gave his approval rarely. Most often I felt like a schoolgirl under his tutelage. I think I enjoyed that feeling – still enjoy it – never mind that I am past my fiftieth year. The schoolroom was always where I felt happiest as a child, with my books, studying under the instruction of learned scholars like Roger Ascham and John Dee.

  Such musings have brought me back from the past and into the terrible present. However dangerous the past may have felt while I was living it, I survived. The past is always a safe place to dwell; the present always dangerous. If I claim to see the world as it is and not as I would like it to be, I must accept that I and no one else signed the order for the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. However much I may protest, I have always known that it was so. Secretary Davison was merely my messenger and I have wronged him by sending him to the Tower. Cecil merely did what had to be done and it is wrong that I have sent him from my court.

  I have admitted it. The blood of my cousin is on my hands and mine alone. But I get ahead of myself. It is the blood of another cousin that I am considering now.

  ‘My spies tell me that the duke was contacted by Ridolfi and when the full treachery of the plot against you was revealed to him, he did not gainsay it.’

  ‘What was his response? Did your spies tell you that?’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty, they did.’

  ‘What was it? Tell me, Cecil, tell me his words exactly.’

  ‘He is reported to have said, “Well”.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well.’

  ‘Did he mean the plot was well done, the information well relayed?’

  Cecil shrugged and shook his head.

  ‘Foolish man. I suspect that he did not know what to say. No doubt the thought of my demise and the glorious fate that might therefore await him both thrilled and terrified him. He did not know which of his reactions to follow.’

  ‘Surely, as your loyal subject, he should have known.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. Surely he should. As a loyal member of my privy council he should have arrested Ridolfi on the spot and brought him to me for trial immediately.’

  And then I was overwhelmed with a feeling of utter sadness. ‘He carried the crown at my coronation. Do you remember, Cecil?’

  ‘I do, Your Grace, I do.’

  I leapt from my chair, suddenly furious. I paced up and down in front of Cecil, shaking my fist and venting my fury. ‘How dare the first lord of my kingdom betray me in this way? Am I surrounded by such weak and vain fools that their sworn allegiance can turn on the mere promise of riches and glory? Who can I trust on my council if I cannot trust my lord of Norfolk? I will have his head for this. Surely he must know that?’

  ‘He must, Your Grace.’

  ‘Who else is involved in this plot of the Italian banker – what was his name?’

  ‘Ridolfi, Your Grace.’

  ‘Is he safely arrested, at least?’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And the traitor Norfolk?’

  ‘My agents search his house at this very moment.’

  ‘And the Queen of Scots, what of her? Does she know of this plot, my lord?’

  ‘It is hard to say, Your Grace, although she has sent you a most curious letter.’ Cecil searched through the sheaf of documents he held, found the one he wanted and passed it to me. I began to read. Once I had absorbed the gist of my royal cousin’s communication, I looked up at him in astonishment.

  ‘My cousin claims to know a great secret that she can only confide to me in person.’

  ‘You must not allow yourself to be drawn into her presence under any terms but your own, Your Majesty.’

  ‘But what great secret could she be referring to, my lord?’

  ‘I imagine she is ready to betray Norfolk, or perhaps bargain a passage to Europe in return for what she knows.’

  I gave Cecil a sharp look. He and I still differed over the rights and wrongs of deposing a queen. He met my gaze steadily.

  ‘You must not meet with her, Your Majesty, certainly not on her terms. If she has something to tell you, let her tell you in a letter. You must not appear to be at that shameless woman’s beck and call.’

  In response I took up my quill and began to compose my reply. Once I had finished, I signed the letter and blotted it carefully. Then, with a flourish I lifted the paper and read aloud what I had written.

  ‘You have caused rebellion in my realm and you have aimed at my own life. You will say you did not mean these things. Madam, I would that I could think so poorly of your understanding.’

  Cecil chu
ckled.

  ‘Those who would work on me through my fears know little of my character. You tell me you have some mystery which you wish to make known to me. If it be so, you must write it. You are aware that I do not think it well that you and I should meet.’

  ‘Touché, madam, touché.’

  I handed the letter to an attendant and commanded it be delivered immediately. Then I turned back to my closest advisor. ‘I am glad you approve, Sir Spirit.’

  ‘It is the letter of a wise ruler, Your Grace, who cannot be easily manipulated by a scheming woman.’

  ‘What is the next order of business?’

  ‘We must recall parliament, I think, Your Majesty. The times demand it.’

  My buoyant mood faded immediately and my smile with it. ‘“Must” is not a word to be used to princes.’

  ‘My advice is to recall parliament. We need money to deal with the threats to your safety and that of your kingdom and only parliament has the power to give it to you.’

  ‘I hate parliament. They always want to lecture me about my unmarried state and lack of children and to preach sermons about correct religious observance. They are dull and sanctimonious and do not know their rightful place.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Your Majesty, they have powers which even you do not and they have not been called together for over ten years. It is time you let them have their say so that you may get your money.’

  He was right, of course. I knew that I needed parliament to help me deal with the traitor Norfolk. My heart sank when I thought of his now inescapable fate. Silly, vainglorious man, he had sealed his destiny not with anything definitive or courageous, however foolhardy. No, entirely in keeping with his vacillating character, he had sealed it with an equivocation. With ‘well’. Sadly it would not go well for him.

  Sixteen

  The robes of state I had to wear to open parliament made movement difficult, forcing me to look regal. The weight of the crown meant that I could only move my head slowly and I had to tense my neck to keep it upright. I looked down my nose at people, no doubt, but as much from necessity as choice. That night, after I had removed the crown and my attendants had placed it reverently back into its velvet-lined case, the relief from its weight left me feeling light-headed and giddy, as if my head really did float on air. The next morning, I woke to find my neck stiff and sore and as hard to move as when it actually bore the weight of the crown. To this day, whenever I must don my royal regalia, I know that my muscles will exact a price from me. Indeed, as I age and the ague intensifies, the weight of the crown grows heavier.

  One evening when Blanche Parry and I tarried late over our supper, Blanche told me what my mother had said when told she was to be executed the next morning.

  ‘I remember it like it happened yesterday, Your Grace.’ Blanche put her own hands on either side of her neck. I said nothing, terrified that if I interrupted, she might stop speaking.

  ‘The rest of us were reeling from shock, but Queen Anne laughed and circled her neck with her fine, long fingers – like this.’ And she demonstrated the gesture.

  ‘We watched her in horrified silence, but she looked at her gaoler and spoke. She had a lovely voice, low in tone and with the very slightest of French accents; I can hear it still.’

  I was impatient to know the words of the woman who bore me, so dear to me and yet so unknown, but I held my tongue and let Blanche take her time.

  ‘“Such a little neck,” she said and then she laughed. Not hysterically, mind you; she was in control. It was an eerie kind of laugh, Your Grace. It contained within it the knowledge of all the futility of everything she had done and everything that had happened. I think she was laughing at herself. She often laughed in moments of despair, at the irony of it all and the absurdity of life. She was a slight woman, as she said, Your Grace, but I never met a larger soul.’

  I spent the day of the first sitting of parliament for ten years more conscious of my own neck than I had been since my sojourn in the Tower, when I had lived in daily fear of it being severed. I knew I was recalling parliament because I needed the money only they could provide to help preserve it – and theirs.

  I had learnt the tricks of majesty well. I knew I had to impress those who occupied the benches of the House of Commons with my authority and my power, so I intended to employ all the pomp and ceremony at my disposal and count an aching (but intact) neck a very small price to pay. We must have made quite an imposing sight, my dignitaries and I as we sat in state in the parliamentary chamber.

  As usual, even after a hiatus of so many years, the House of Commons and I were at cross-purposes. I suppose I should be more generous in spirit towards them – Cecil often chides me about my disdain for the parliamentarians – but they never fail to annoy me. They see themselves as having the right to lecture me on subjects that are none of their business.

  The clerk of the parliaments, a nervous little man that Cecil later informed me went by the name of Fulk Onslow, began the proceedings, calling upon the new speaker. Sir Christopher Wray stood slowly and, after making the suitable obeisance in my direction, began his oration. No doubt the things he said were serious and meaningful, but I can recall not one word now. What I do recall is the fly that buzzed about me during Wray’s speech. I could not easily shoo it away because I was afraid that too sudden a movement might dislodge my crown. Instead I waved my fan furiously in front of my nose to keep the creature at bay – I mean the fly, of course, not the honourable speaker.

  It was hot inside the closed hall and soon the assembled multitude began to sweat. I was sweating too, beneath my ornate gown. A stench began to assail my nostrils of unwashed bodies packed too close together. I waved my fan even more furiously in front of my face. Otherwise, I sat perfectly still, impassive and immovable as befits a great queen. I noticed that others on the benches were also feeling the heat and discreetly fanning themselves with the sheaves of paper that MPs and councillors seem never to be without.

  Sir Christopher talked on. He spoke slowly and occasionally jabbed the air to emphasise a point. He must, at last, have said something about the moneys that had caused me to recall parliament after so long, for I felt Cecil suddenly stir behind me.

  When Wray finally resumed his seat, however, the ordeal was not over. Others on the benches had to have their say. Someone proposed a bill to reform the Book of Common Prayer. I kept my expression under control with some difficulty as the mover of the motion fulminated about the blasphemous idolatry the Book of Common Prayer contained. Why couldn’t people leave well enough alone? It was popular with the common folk and as many people would object to any suggested ‘improvements’ as would praise them. God save me from self-righteous men, convinced that they and they alone know how other people should worship. When the man resumed his seat, I had trouble restraining an urge to sigh out loud. I restricted myself to a cough, but fixed him with a cold stare as he resumed his place and had the pleasure of seeing an uncomfortable flush rise over his features in response.

  Then someone else got up and chastised me directly. This MP warned me sternly against becoming a tyrant and cautioned against behaving like the ‘Great Turk’. The memory of this effrontery offends me still! All I could do at the time was oscillate my fan at an even more furious speed. Great Turk indeed! Am I not the most reasonable and merciful of sovereigns? I am only harsh on traitors and those who would have my throne from under me and even then I wish most heartily that I did not have to shed their blood to save my own. I may have begun to tremble a little with suppressed rage because Cecil – or Lord Burleigh as he had just become – leant discreetly forward and whispered in my ear. ‘Not much longer, Your Grace. Allowing a few foolish hotheads to spout words that disappear into the rafters as soon as they have been uttered is the price we must pay for access to the money we need.’

  Then the discussion took a more pleasing turn. The House of Commons debated the re
cent Papal Bull and agreed that it would be high treason for anyone to declare that I was not their rightful queen, or that I was a heretic, schismatic, infidel or usurper. A voice at the back interjected ‘or tyrant’ and I could not help turning my head (very slowly) and smiling at the source of such a welcome interjection.

  As the debate proceeded, it was agreed that any Catholic priest discovered to be travelling about my kingdom in disguise could be whipped and set in the stocks like a common gypsy or vagrant. Finally, after what seemed many hot and tedious hours, a bill was passed declaring it treason to import any papers, writings or religious icons, objects or beads from the Bishop of Rome.

  My royal cousin’s name came up often in the seemingly endless pontificating of my MPs. Irritant although she was to me, I did not like to hear the name of a queen who was my closest living relative bandied about. One MP got so carried away he called her ‘a monstrous and huge dragon, and a mass of the earth’. If he thought to please me with such high-flown protestations he was deeply mistaken. I wished to squash him as fervently as the persistently buzzing fly. At least I eventually had the satisfaction of doing the latter. Towards the end of the session, I terminated that annoying creature’s life with a well-timed swat of the heavy ivory stem of my fan.

  Almost as an after-thought, parliament at last voted to give me the 100,000 pounds I needed for my treasury. Once this motion was passed I sensed Cecil almost slump with relief behind me. Poor Sir Spirit, his feet ached easily and as the years passed he suffered more frequently from the gout, so the many hours spent standing had not played kindly with him. I would have nodded my head at him encouragingly but the crown had grown heavier by the hour and I now felt as if I could no longer trust my poor aching neck to move my head at all.

  ‘The Queen of Scots is deeply involved in this conspiracy, Your Majesty.’

  Cecil, Winchester, Knollys and Robin Dudley were gathered in front of me, their faces stern with the urgency of their mission.