Elizabeth I (54 page)

Nonsuch was the hunting lodge par excellence; whenever we came, the master of the hounds brought packs of the royal hunting dogs. But rather than hunt myself this time, I told the people of the area to hunt freely on the royal estate during this time of need.

We headed for the grove of Diana, a paean to hunting. A gentle wood, it had a platform at its entrance where I normally would stand to shoot, but today we passed under it and into the woods proper. A thick carpet of fallen leaves crunched under our feet, releasing a pungent, spicy odor.

“That smell is so peculiar to the season, it always means autumn to me,” said Catherine, from behind us. She was having trouble keeping up, and we slowed. Her plump body, swathed in mourning for her father, was not meant for fast walking.

“Some say cloves or cinnamon smell the same, but I disagree,” said Marjorie.

The golden avenue shone before us, beckoning us to its central feature, the cavern with its statue of Actaeon before it, surrounded by rocks and splashing water. Linking arms, we walked the autumnal aisle, three abreast, keeping faith and pace with one another. A great wave of gratitude swept over me, making me weak. These two women were the sisters I had created out of my own solitariness. My real-life sister could never have been a sister to me, with our mothers enemies; in any case, she was long passed away. I had taken friends and made them, as the Bible says, closer than a brother. Should I speak of these feelings?

As we reached the great statue of Diana, shielding herself from the intrusive eyes of the hapless hunter Actaeon, the fleeting sunlight dappled her white shoulders, caressing them. Her eyes were narrowed, and she gazed mercilessly on the huddled form of Actaeon beneath her, just as he was changing into a stag so his own dogs would leap on him to tear him to pieces for seeing the naked goddess in her bath.

“A lovely piece of work,” said Marjorie, “but the story always revolts me. The man saw her naked. He didn’t mean to. Why should he be killed for it?” She stared at the statue, challenging it, her jaw jutting as it did when she was annoyed.

“Careful, or she’ll get angry at you,” said Catherine in her soothing voice, as sweet as the dying light falling in the grove. “She’s a goddess and must never be insulted.”

“Virgins are touchy,” said Marjorie, slyly looking over at me. “We married women, well, it’s hard to insult us.”

“Both of you have husbands who would never insult you,” I said. “Neither Sir Henry nor Lord Charles would do such a thing. It is, I think, more often
you
who try their patience.” But I laughed as I said it. Sisters, after all, can tease.

“It isn’t I who tries Charles’s patience,” said Catherine. “What did you think of the letter where he cut Essex’s signature off?”

Marjorie gave an explosion of laughter. “The question is, what did Essex think?”

On the Cádiz mission, the rivalry between the two had exploded when Howard had enough of Essex’s always signing his name first on documents, so high that no one could ever sign above him, so he took a knife and cut Essex’s signature out.

“He probably challenged him to a duel, which Charles ignored,” said Catherine with a sigh. “He’s such a tiresome boy.”

A crackling alerted us that a deer was nearby. We stopped talking and waited. In a moment I glimpsed the deer’s nose, then his shoulders. He was wary, looking at the cavern. Shadows were fast growing, and he could not discern anything to alarm him. He ventured closer to drink, then he spotted us and bounded away, his tail flashing.

“This Actaeon will live,” I said. “Caution has served him well.” I turned to look at each woman. “You both are fearful for your husbands, I know. One is in danger on his own lands, and the other must defend us at sea again. Without such loyal subjects, this Diana would not be safe. Never think I do not value, or understand, their constant sacrifices. And yours—for the constant worry on their behalf, and for serving me all these years, even though it means absence from them.”

Wordlessly, they embraced me, silent in the moment.

Then, as was her wont, Marjorie spoke. “Well, are you not the imperial votaress? We are your vestals, even though we are not virgins. And I daresay, the young ones you have tried to keep as virgins, you have had little success in doing so.” She gave such a laugh that had there been any deer still nearby, they would have fled.

“The fair of face are often weak in resolve,” said Catherine. “Only you, Your Majesty, had both beauty and strength of will. The younger ones now in the privy chamber ... I don’t want to speak behind their backs—”

“Oh, do!” said Marjorie. “It takes my mind off the things that are weighing on it. You are so kind, mild, and quiet, they let down their guard with you.”

“They are exceptionally beautiful, but they seem so easily, well, seduced, like Bess Throckmorton was, and Elizabeth Southwell.”

“That’s over and done,” I said. “Both of them.”

“Mary Fitton is being pursued by that dirty-minded old uncle of Essex’s—William Knollys,” said Catherine. “He haunts our chambers, making excuses to seek her out. The man is married, yet pretends he isn’t.”

“Mistress Fitton has that look,” snorted Marjorie. “A look that says yes, even when she is shaking her head no.”

“And Elizabeth Vernon,” said Catherine. “I think she has a secret suitor.”

“Another beauty with inviting eyes and inviting perfume,” said Marjorie. “But after all, they come to court to make their fortunes, as the men do. The men’s fortunes are in offices and appointments, the women’s in making a good marriage. We cannot blame them for doing what comes naturally.”

Twilight was here, and chill was creeping through the grove. We must leave while we could still see. “Come, my ladies,” I said.

Carefully we made our way back to the palace grounds, feeling our way. Darkness grew so rapidly that by the time we reached the topiary garden, I could no longer make out anyone’s features. Ahead of us torches were already flaring in the courtyard. Stars appeared one by one in the sky; Venus glowed brightly near the horizon, as if she were taunting all the Actaeons of the world.

We ate a quiet supper in the privy chamber, the younger women joining us. I looked carefully at Mistress Fitton and Mistress Vernon, but their demeanor was perfectly proper. The usual gallants of the court had stayed behind, so I was reminded of the saying “All women are chaste when there are no men.” After supper they entertained us with sweet melodies on the virginal and offered us wines they had flavored with herbs from Italy. A few sips would suffice, as the taste was strong.

The young ones slept in the outer chamber, Marjorie and Catherine near me in the inner one. As we had a thousand nights and more, we made ready for sleep, they attending me, handing me my nightclothes and taking my day clothes away to be aired and then folded. I slipped into the adjoining room to my altar and prayer seat, there to pause at the close of my day, a nun keeping her own compline. The altar was quite bare, as befitted a Protestant one, but candles winked and jumped upon it, flanking the little vase of late-blooming musk roses and meadow saffron where a crucifix would be.

It was now full dark. I could hear the sounds of night animals, especially the cries of owls. The barren fields must be full of hungry rodents; the hunting was good for raptors. The owls were full, even if the farmers were not.

I continued the thoughts that I had spoken aloud to Catherine and Marjorie in the grove. Since then I had remembered the entire Scripture quote, from Proverbs: “There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” Catherine was my cousin, shared my blood on my mother’s side. Marjorie’s husband’s father had literally shed his blood for my mother, making him more than a relative. He was one of the men accused of adultery with her and executed. He had been a close friend and attendant in my father’s privy chamber, supporting him in his marriage. But he was swept away in the trumped-up evidence that Cromwell gathered against her. Perhaps what put it into Cromwell’s head was the May Day joust in which my mother dropped a handkerchief and Henry Norris picked it up and mopped his forehead with it before returning it. Arresting him, Cromwell promised to spare his life if he would confess to adultery and name the others who had indulged along with him. Instead, Norris offered to undergo trial by combat to defend my mother’s honor. Later, on the scaffold, when the others had cried, prayed, and made farewell statements, Norris was quiet, saying little. He knew it would avail him nothing and possibly cost his family their inheritance.

Some twenty years later the roles were reversed and his son—the present Henry Norris—was my jailer. During my sister’s reign, I was kept under house arrest at Woodstock, near Marjorie’s family lands at Rycote. He and Marjorie were my keepers, but gentle and kind ones. We all knew that his father had died for loyalty to my mother, and as I said, that made us closer than brother and sister. The Catholics say there are three baptisms: the baptism of water—the usual means; the baptism of desire—a fierce, committed longing for it; and the baptism of blood—dying for one’s faith. There are likewise many ways of becoming related.

Surrounded by such stout and loving loyalists, how could I ever feel the orphan I technically was?

44

LETTICE

November 1596

T
he November skies were leaden—as leaden as my spirits—while the carriage jounced along the paved remnants of the old Roman road north from London. I was headed to the Bacon house at St. Albans, there to join my son and his advisers. I did not really care where I was, as long as I was out of London. Essex House resounded with too many memories. I should never have allowed myself to let Will loom so large there, but it had happened invisibly.

I had lost interest in Southampton; he reminded me too much of Will, although they were nothing alike in looks or manner, as if the absence of one had caused his ghost to affix to the other. How ironic, since it was to preserve his feelings that Will had called an end to us—or pretended that was the reason. Perhaps it was not. Southampton could now invest all his considerable youthful energies in Elizabeth Vernon, whom he pursued with vigor. Well, happiness to their sheets, as Will said in one of his plays. To my own shame, I had attended some of those plays surreptitiously, slinking away afterward in embarrassment and vowing not to attend one again.

Oh, I knew the remedy. Find another. Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning. Will’s words again. His words were proving permanent, like darts embedded in my mind. Take thou some new infection to thine eye, and the rank poison of the old will die.

I slid my eye to Christopher, slumped over, dozing, in a corner of the carriage. With each bounce, his head jolted, but it did not wake him. As a soldier, he was used to sleeping in worse conditions.

Christopher gave a murmur and settled himself more comfortably, crossing his arms. I felt a great affection, but no desire, for him. I was grateful he had returned safely from the Cádiz mission, where he had performed well, leading land forces at both Cádiz and Faro. His cousin Charles had earned his knighthood there. The entire venture had been good for our family. But oh! Their return had spelled the end to my secret sin.

Christopher pulled the collar of his cloak up around his neck, nestling into it against the chill. He was in his midthirties now, no longer boyish in looks but a man in his prime. His dark hair was still thick and had no gray, his face seemingly permanently tanned from his soldiering. An attractive man—more attractive than the boy who had served Leicester in the Netherlands. Many a woman would find him tempting. Why could I not? If I could not change my feelings, he would take up with someone else.

I reached out to stroke his hand just as the carriage hit a nasty bump and awoke him. He opened his eyes, saw my hand against his, and smiled that drowsy smile that had always excited me. Today, however, all it did was reassure me that I could still please him.