Authors: Victoria Lamb
‘You surly dogs!’
Sir Walter Raleigh appeared behind her in the shade of the chestnut tree, showing his teeth.
‘I will make you show your queen respect.’
He half drew his sword, sparking furious shouts from the young men before them, only to sheath it again on Elizabeth’s swift command, ‘Put up your weapon, sir!’
‘Your Majesty,’ Raleigh protested, taking up a position at her right hand, ‘you must permit me to teach this young puppy some manners.’
‘Puppy, is it?’ Essex baited him, perhaps taking heart from her refusal to allow Raleigh to act against him. ‘Best hope I do not grow into a hound with teeth and claws enough to tear you from this court, Raleigh.’
Elizabeth drew a slow breath, trying to control her temper. No doubt Essex and his followers thought her weak, not seeing how she struggled to keep this broken court together, to knit these different factions into a coherent whole. To be united in a common cause was the only path to peace for England now; if her best men should fall to fighting among themselves while they were still at war with Spain, what hope was there for England’s survival?
‘At least I am not in thrall to a woman, and must seek to hide my sins from her for fear of punishment,’ Essex continued insolently, more flushed than ever.
Raleigh’s mouth tightened, but to Elizabeth’s surprise he did not respond to this bewildering insult.
‘What do you mean by that, my lord?’ she demanded, glancing from Raleigh to Essex. ‘Is there some secret you share which should be made known to me as your queen?’
‘Best ask Mistress Throckmorton there,’ Essex said shortly, looking over her shoulder at one of her younger maids of honour. ‘For she is as near to this sin as Raleigh.’
Elizabeth turned and stared at Bess Throckmorton, a pretty maid, and one about whom she had heard no scandalous whispers. But Essex seemed to be suggesting that she and Sir Walter Raleigh had been intimate. Since Raleigh was guardian of the Maidens’ Chamber, and held a key to that private sanctuary, such a betrayal of Elizabeth’s trust would be serious indeed.
Bess Throckmorton flushed scarlet as all eyes turned to her, and exchanged such a speaking glance with Raleigh that their guilt was all but confessed.
Elizabeth longed to box the girl’s ears, trembling with fresh anger as this new outrage against her authority was revealed. Her gaze dropped at once to Bess’s waist, but if the girl was with child, her sin was cunningly concealed by the drapes and folds of her broad-skirted gown. For now, she would have to give the foolish girl the benefit of the doubt.
‘Get you to the Maidens’ Chamber, Bess, and there await my summons. I shall speak first with Sir Walter Raleigh, and discover if there is any truth behind this shocking accusation.’ She tried to control the temper in her voice, not wishing every busybody at the court to hear. ‘Until then, you will not leave your chamber, nor seek to speak with Raleigh.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ the girl whispered, then turned and fled.
Elizabeth did not dismiss Raleigh, though in truth she would bring down a sharp punishment on him if it was found that he had kissed any of the maids under his charge. If his guilt was proved, he would suffer a stay in the Tower. And young Bess would join him there, if she had indeed lost her virtue to the saucy man. But just now Elizabeth needed Raleigh and his sword, and suspected he would be all the keener to serve her with his life and liberty at risk.
‘Now, my lord Essex,’ she continued, her voice sounding clear across the gardens, ‘will you and your men give up your swords? For you know it is not permitted to come thus weaponed and rebellious before your queen.’
Essex was looking about himself again, clearly determined not to yield to her will. ‘I promise you this, I shall give up my sword to no man. No, and no woman either, Your Majesty.’ He raised his voice when he saw the palace guards closing in around them, their pikes levelled towards the would-be rebels. ‘Friends, who is with me?’
After some hesitation, the Earl of Southampton, a handsome dark-eyed youth who had been ward to Lord Burghley as a child, laid a hand on Essex’s shoulder. ‘I am, my lord.’
Two beardless youths stepped forward to stand beside them, their hands on their dagger hilts. The rest stood more uncertain, muttering among themselves. Several slipped quietly away, noticed by Essex as he threw his cap aside and cried out, ‘By God, you brave fellows, what are you afraid of? For shame, are you not Englishmen?’
‘Yes, and therefore we serve the Queen,’ one youth replied, and drawing his sword, laid it glinting before Elizabeth on the grass. He knelt awkwardly, and bowed his head. ‘I take no further part in this, Your Majesty, but yield to your mercy.’
‘And you are forgiven, Master Bacon,’ she replied, recognizing the boy, the weaker of two brothers who had often been about the court in recent years.
‘Anthony!’ Essex exclaimed angrily.
Master Bacon turned and gestured Essex to lay down his sword as well. ‘Be sensible to your place, Robert. You have been recalled from France, and must accept the Queen’s reprimand. Your campaign is over. Now lay down your sword.’
It seemed that Anthony Bacon’s influence over Essex was strong, for after a moment’s hesitation, his face torn between fury and despair, Robert obeyed his friend. He unbuckled his sword belt and threw it down, sword and all, at Elizabeth’s feet. Then, again after some urging, he fell to his knees before her, and was joined by the Earl of Southampton and their remaining followers, their heads bowed.
‘Your Majesty,’ Raleigh began urgently at her elbow, but she hushed him, shaking her head.
Once, yes, she would have imprisoned Essex gladly for this outrage. But with Leicester and Walsingham gone, their country stood in dire need of strong young nobles like Essex and Southampton. Essex in particular seemed to have the rare gift of inspiring followers among his peers and making the commoners love him. She would not yet give up hope of moulding this recalcitrant boy to her will, for the benefit of England’s future.
‘Rise and follow me,’ she told Essex coldly, then swept back towards the safety of the palace, accompanied by an entourage of her guards and her whispering ladies.
Having turned the bustling servants out of her bedchamber, Elizabeth ordered her ladies to wait outside until she was ready for them, then closed the door on the world. The captain of the guards tried to protest, declaring it too dangerous for her to be alone with a man who had just threatened rebellion, but she merely shooed him out as well. The boy was headstrong, but he would do her no real harm. He needed to be trained, that was all.
As though to confirm her thoughts, Essex stood watching her, his arms crossed, a sulky look on his handsome face. She wished he would grow into some good habit of diplomacy soon, for he had none at present, nor good sense, which might have kept him from her displeasure if he had only waged his campaigns a little less wildly in France.
Elizabeth shook her head at him wearily. ‘My lord, my lord.’ She cast up her eyes to heaven. ‘Why must you continue to think of me as your adversary?’
‘Are you not?’ Essex responded bitterly, not meeting her gaze.
‘Tell me this. If I did not love you, both for your own sake and that of your departed stepfather, would you be here now, alone with me in my bedchamber?’
‘You play too deep a game for me,’ he muttered.
‘Oh Robbie.’
She approached him, admiring the handsome turn of his cheek, his dark, shoulder-length hair that curled charmingly like a young boy’s. In this dim light, she could almost believe herself a girl again, closeted with Leicester. Surely this boy must indeed be his base son, as so many had whispered on seeing the young earl, conceived on the Countess of Essex in an adulterous liaison. How else could they look so alike?
‘I play no game,’ she reassured him. ‘I am your queen, that is all, and I must have your respect or lose everyone else’s. Do you not see that?’
‘And am I not deserving of some respect in return?’ he demanded, his arms still crossed, his look brooding as he contemplated the portrait of Leicester on the wall. ‘I am not merely a courtier. I am a nobleman and a soldier too. I have led your armies into Spain and into France. I served at my stepfather’s side in the Low Countries. I have …’ He hesitated, then blurted out, ‘I have skills you have yet to measure.’
She had to smile. ‘Skills, my lord?’
‘Of diplomacy and scholarly understanding,’ he asserted, then looked at her directly, his eyes hungry. ‘You have made me your Master of the Horse, Your Majesty, and for that I am grateful. Now admit me to the Privy Council as you did Leicester, and I shall not disappoint your trust in me.’
Elizabeth stared. ‘The Privy Council?’
‘Why not?’
The Earl of Essex, to become a member of the Privy Council, the highest council in the land, a body of noblemen and diplomatists whose decisions, ratified by her, governed England? It did not take Elizabeth long to envisage the turmoil he would create if given a place around that revered table, even for a day.
She was horrified. But how to refuse him gently?
‘I must admit,’ she began carefully, ‘that I had no idea your ambitions inclined that way, Robbie. Except that you had asked me to appoint you Archbishop of Canterbury, I could not have been more surprised by this request. Though I am delighted to discover that one so young should take such a keen interest in governance.’
‘You have considered others for the position who are not much older.’
She lowered her gaze, a little disturbed by that remark. Had Essex heard that young Robert Cecil, Lord Burghley’s son, was being tacitly prepared for a position on the Privy Council? He showed such promise, a true scion of his father, and as blessed with intelligence as he was cursed in looks. Indeed, she hoped to see the younger Cecil installed on the council as soon as it was safe to do so, which would be once Essex had returned to France and could raise no trouble over the appointment.
But Essex seemed unaware of her plans for the promising Cecil. Instead he watched her with eager eyes. ‘And your decision?’
‘It is a delicate matter, I must think more on this,’ she demurred, turning away. ‘And consult with the other members of the council.’
His face lit with a sudden fury, the earl seized her by the arm and spun her to face him. ‘Those old men? They hate me, their minds are mired in the mud, they will say no! You are the Queen, this decision is for you to make, and you alone.’
Elizabeth was shocked and taken aback by his violence towards her. Had he no respect indeed? She almost feared he would strike her, such was the anger in his face. She ought to shout for her guards, knowing that one cry from her would bring the door to her bedchamber crashing open, with Essex dragged to the Tower for daring to lay hands on her royal person.
Yet she did not cry out.
The intensity in his face both alarmed and excited her. It had been a long time since any man had held her this way, had shown her such passion.
‘Robbie,’ she whispered, touching his face.
He inhaled sharply, standing very still beneath her touch. They were so close, she could see warm amber flecks in his dark eyes, his skin rough where the cold winds of northern France had chafed it. Then he gave a small laugh, as though amused. He captured her hand and drew it to his mouth, planting a kiss on her open palm.
‘Forgive me if I raised my voice to you, but my ambitions are such, they will not stand to be thwarted. As you love me, Your Majesty,’ he said huskily, ‘you will appoint me to the Privy Council where I belong.’
Her eyes widened on his face as his words took root in her mind. She felt light-headed, an odd flush in her cheeks as though she were afflicted by fever. ‘As … I love you?’
Essex dropped her hand and caught her by the shoulders instead. He stared back at her, his gaze compelling. ‘What, is this not love between us? Or have I read the signs amiss? We are so different in years, and yet so alike in thought. I see the way you look at me. I have only to enter a room at court and your gaze turns to seek me out.’ She gave a small cry of shame, and he smiled grimly. ‘Do not fear its power, love strikes where it will and we would be fools to deny it. You watch me as I watch you, Elizabeth, for our hearts know what we secretly desire. Yes, you are a star out of my reach. Out there in your state rooms, you are the Virgin Queen, a goddess of pure gold and ice …
untouchable
!’
His hands stroked her shoulders through the fine sleeves of her gown. ‘Yet here in your bedchamber, you are but a woman, and I am a man. And a man can love a woman.’
Before she could even gather her confused thoughts, Essex drew her close and kissed her.
His hands gripped her shoulders, refusing to release her, and his mouth took hers with a boldness even Leicester had not possessed. His knee pushed between her skirts, his body hard and youthful, and he seemed oblivious to the possibility that they could be discovered in this embrace. Elizabeth had not experienced such intimacy in years, and although she was afraid, she did not push him away but allowed that old familiar heat to rush in and consume her.
‘My love,’ he groaned against her mouth, ‘my darling Elizabeth. Give me joy of your body. Let me love you.’
She had not thought of Essex as anything but a handsome youth, like so many others at her court. Now though, with his mouth on hers, his hands frankly attempting to open her stiff gold bodice, Elizabeth knew she was in danger of allowing herself to be seduced.
‘My lord,’ she managed hoarsely, turning her head aside, ‘we cannot.’
‘My love, we can,’ Essex whispered, then took her chin, kissing her more deeply.
Things had gone this far between her and the French duke, Alençon – indeed they had gone further, truth be told – but they had been secretly promised to each other, and such intimacies were acceptable when undertaken in private by a betrothed couple. But if she were to permit the married Earl of Essex to make love to her here, with the door to the royal bedchamber unlocked, her women and guards in the next room, that was an indiscretion that would not be hushed up.