Elizabeth I (107 page)

“We will demolish the house and everyone in it,” he said. “Surrender now!”

More men joined Essex on the roof. “’Tis better to perish by cannon fire than the rope or the ax,” cried old Lord Sandys.

But the younger men were of less fiery mettle. After much deliberation, Essex walked to the edge of the roof and cried, “We will surrender under three conditions!”

“What are those?” answered the admiral. “Her Majesty will not compromise herself.”

“First, that only you shall arrest us, and that we are treated in a civil manner, not as criminals. Second, that we are granted a fair and impartial trial,” he said.

“I can guarantee that,” said the admiral. “And your third condition?”

“That I be permitted my personal chaplain, Abdyias Ashton, to attend me in prison.”

“Granted!” cried the admiral. “Now surrender yourselves.”

In a few moments the men came out and knelt before the admiral. Essex put his shining sword into the admiral’s outstretched hands, and Southampton likewise. Slowly and deliberately, so did the others following behind them.

It was ten o’clock, a cold and windy night. The rebellion had lasted only twelve hours. Now the tide was against them, and they could not go downstream to the Tower. Instead, they were ferried across the river to Lambeth Palace. The oars dipped in and out of the fretful water, conveying them to their perpetual enclosure. Freedom was gone.

When Cecil told me, I sank down on my cushions in my inner chamber.

“It is over, then,” I said.

“Yes, Your Majesty. God be thanked, it is over,” he said.

“Go to your rooms; rest,” I said. “What a long night. But they are not yet in the Tower.”

“They will be soon,” he said. “We are only waiting for the tide to turn. It should, by two o’clock.”

“Until I know they are in the Tower and locked up, I shall stand vigilant,” I said. “You may rest—your job is done—but I may not.”

“Your Majesty, I think you can trust your servants to do the rest,” he said.

I laughed. “It is no reflection on you if you sleep now.
Your
task is done; but I still must guard the gates and entrances to my realm.”

He bowed. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he said.

I was alone in my chamber. Catherine, at my request, had retired to another sleeping place. I wanted it that way. My windows overlooked the river, and I stood at one and kept my eyes fastened on the dark, rippling water, alert for any movement. Even in the moonless night, I could make out the towers and buildings of Lambeth slightly upstream. They were not so very far away; perhaps a half mile or so.

I could see, by the ripples in the water, exactly when the tide turned. The little clock on my table had just struck two.

A slight movement on the water from the faraway Lambeth dock. A boat had set out, its rowers heading downstream to the Tower. It was a swift one; the lesser rebels would follow. This one must hold only Essex.

The boat drew abreast of Whitehall. I pressed against the window glass, as if it would grant me enhanced vision to see inside the vessel. But it passed, shrouded in darkness.

83

F
ive more hours, and then the dawn brought in the new day. I felt purged of all emotions, as if they had been taken captive along with Essex. But that was an advantage: It meant I could act quickly, untroubled by clouded feelings.

I ordered details of the treason to be printed up and distributed throughout the City. I summoned lawyers to study the mountain of evidence and prepare for the trials. I posted over two thousand men levied from the home counties to keep order in London—some were stationed at Charing Cross, others to patrol the pleasure grounds of Southwark, with the theaters, cockpits, and bear gardens, and more around the Royal Exchange. I could take no chances.

In all, eighty-five men taken from Essex House were in custody. In truth, only a few of those warranted close examination or trial. Essex himself, of course, was the prime mover. After him, Southampton. Then the lesser ones: Rutland, Sandys, Monteagle, Bedford, and Blount. The commoners and servants of Essex—Danvers, Cuffe, and Meyrick—would also be held responsible for their actions.

It was four days since the uprising, and at last I was sleeping again, unwinding like a tightly coiled spring slowly loosening. My appetite had crept back and I was looking forward to my supper for the first time since the ordeal had begun. I even agreed to have it out in the privy chamber so more people could share it with me. To chase away the gloom, I chose a red gown. But before I could traverse from my inner chambers to the privy chamber, three of Raleigh’s guards surrounded me. I tried to shake them off.

“Gentlemen, the danger is past,” I said. “I merely go to sup with my attendants and friends.”

“There is more danger,” one of them said, his throat rumbling, “and it was heading for your chambers.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I looked around; the corridor was empty. “I am trying to calm the court, not agitate it.”

“Do you know a Captain Thomas Lee?” another said.

“Yes, he served in Ireland and was Essex’s messenger to O’Neill. But he was not part of the rebellion.”

“He is now,” said the first man. “He was caught just outside your door with a knife. He has already confessed that he meant to take you hostage and force you to release Essex.”

“My God!” How had he gotten so close? “Where were you, then, when he sneaked into the apartments? What good your liveries, your embroidered golden roses, if you cannot guard me properly?”

“He said he had soldierly business with you.”

“He said you knew him well. We would never have believed him, but one of us recognized him. ‘He served in Ireland,’ he said. ‘And besides, he’s cousin to the Queen’s old master of the tilt.’”

“A questionable member of that family,” I said. I was remembering something unpleasant about him. Oh yes. He had once sent me the severed head of an Irish chieftain, thinking it would please me. I shuddered. It had proved not only that he was uncouth but that he knew how to sever heads. “Where is he?”

“Bound and waiting for you out here,” the tallest of the guards said, pointing to the privy chamber.

“Very well, then, let me see him.”

This was not the quiet dinner I had envisioned. The tables were still set, and the crowd assembled, but on his knees on the floor was the captain. The courtiers made a wide semicircle around him, staring.

I walked over to where he knelt, two huge guards on either side, their hands on his shoulders.

“Captain Lee,” I said. “This is the second time I have met you. There will not be a third.”

He glared up at me. “Let him go! Set the Earl of Essex free!” he muttered.

“Why? Because you say so? He is a traitor. And now so are you.” Suddenly I was weary of this. I did not even have the stomach for any further talk. “Take him away,” I ordered the guards. “Try him ahead of the others. His case is clear-cut. It does not require much legal review.”

As he was dragged out, I made a show of inviting everyone to take a place at table as if nothing had happened. But now I knew this would not be over until Essex was dead. Like the Scots queen, as long as he lived there would be plots on his behalf and I could not draw my breath in safety.

“My good friends, let us drink to health and peace!” I said, holding my goblet high. My hand did not shake.

Things moved swiftly in the next few days. I called peers of the realm to come posthaste to London to act as witnesses in the trial—nine earls and sixteen barons. The Privy Council selected the Queen’s counsel to prosecute the trial—seven lawyers of the realm, including Francis Bacon. Lord Buckhurst would preside as lord high steward over eight judges. The trial would take place in Westminster Hall, where so many others had been held.

If by a trial one means a way to determine guilt or innocence, this was not a trial but a hearing to determine just how guilty these men were—not
if
they were guilty. They would be allowed to speak and defend themselves, but the hearing satisfied the need to have all the facts presented and recorded, and punishment meted out. In years to come someone could revisit the hearing and know what had passed. That was its purpose—to marshal the facts and enter them into the public record.

In preparation for the trial, it was necessary to prepare the minds of the public. The most efficient way of doing that was to order all the preachers in the realm to present the facts of the case in their sermons. Since attendance at church was mandatory, most people would hear the message.

That was Sunday, February 15. As a precaution, five hundred soldiers were sent to St. Paul’s Cross, where the most important sermon would be heard.

On Monday, Captain Thomas Lee was tried at Newgate Prison; on Tuesday he was executed at Tyburn, the prescribed traitor’s death of hanging, disembowelment, and quartering. At the same time, the Privy Council from Star Chamber published indictments of the men in the rebellion. These were that the Earl of Essex, the Earl of Southampton, the Earl of Rutland, and Lord Sandys had conspired to depose and slay the Queen and overthrow the government.

On Wednesday, the lawyers put the finishing touches on their case. I instructed Francis Bacon to leave out anything pertaining to the succession or
Richard II
or deposition.

“The rebellion speaks for itself,” I said. “We need not go into these peripheral matters.”

“But, Ma’am, we mentioned them in the sermons and in the indictment,” he said.

I looked at him. I had not seen him in many months. The strain was showing on his face, in the lines and look around his eyes. “Francis, I know this is difficult for you. It is very rare that a man is called to prepare a case against his erstwhile friend. While you had forsworn his political path, friendship is a different matter. One can still love beyond politics. I believe my father always loved Thomas More, and I am sure you will always love Robert Devereux. God knows he is easy to love—that was his downfall.”

Francis merely stood, clutching his hat. A slow smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Your Majesty is wise,” he said. “But my loyalty is entirely yours, even as I grieve for my friend.”

“I grieve alongside you,” I said. “You understand why I wish to pass over the deposition part. Why allow people to picture something? An image burns itself into the mind. Likewise with
Richard II
. It gave a vision and script to something nebulous. Treason ... abdication ... Those are abstracts. But once you have seen it enacted before you ... it becomes possible. In a sense it has already happened, and you have embraced it by watching it.” I pulled myself up. “In any case, we have a trial to conduct. Your task is to prove that Essex’s actions were premeditated. If he is mad ... that absolves him. He may have tipped over into the realm of madness, but he was in complete command of his senses when he challenged me, parleyed with O’Neill, came back to England against my express orders, gathered his followers at Essex House, and encouraged them—” I caught my breath. Reciting these things enraged me. “You understand,” I said, putting a stop to it.