Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I (17 page)

He shrugged. “After you married Northampton, you became
a marchioness. It seemed”—he recalled his turn as Endymion—“impossible to reach for the moon.”

I nodded. He spoke truth. This could not be easily overcome.

“The queen has only just recalled me to more active service. She has not yet knighted me,” he said. “But I have hope that as I grow in her favor and usefulness, she will.”

Soon it was time for me to return to the queen, and as we stood up and he walked partway with me, he stepped upon my gown’s long train, tripping me, and I fell headlong to the ground. I pulled him down with me and as we fell my hand was firmly, and indelicately, planted upon his thigh. Our faces were within an inch of each other; I could sense his desire to lean forward and kiss me, but he pulled away as others drew near.

“Oh, forgive me!” I said, mortified to have found myself in that position, with my hand thusly placed, and in public.

“No, it is completely my fault,” he said. Others politely looked away and I hurriedly bid him good night, told him I wished to see him forthwith, and went to inspect the damage to my train. Truly, though, I was horrified to have made such an undignified spectacle of myself and my position.

The next day the queen was guest of honor at a play given on her behalf, and afterward, there was a banquet, but with fewer attending. As she circulated we saw Thomas with a large ribbon wrapped around his right leg.

She made her way to him. I shan’t lie; I had some concern over what he might say and how she might respond. “Cousin Gorges,” she said. “What is that garment around your leg? And is that a medal tied to it? Are you a player again today?”

He drew near, grinning at me. “No, Majesty, I do not wear a costume. But last night I had the pleasure of a dance with the lovely
marchioness. We were in the garden, and I stepped on her train, causing her to lose her balance. We tumbled and her hand fell upon my right leg. It was thus honored in a way I fear my left leg may never be, and it desired to boast its achievement to all. And—I know not if the good lady will forgive me for tripping her thusly.”

The queen broke out in cheer and laughter. “We are certain in her kindness she will forgive you.” At that she laughed again, put her hand fondly upon his face for a moment, and then her Robin came to lead her to dance, leaving Thomas and me alone.

“I did not discomfort you with my jest?” he asked, as if it mattered not.

I shook my head. “On the contrary, I am thrilled! No one has ever so boldly breached protocol for my favor. And you knew just what the queen would esteem, and,” I added, “it brought pleasure and joy to my life, which can, sometimes, be one of lonely privilege.”

“Have I won it, then?” he asked. “Your favor?”

“Yes.” I nodded, my face hot with pleasure, his eyes alight. “Yes, indeed. That was never in question.” We spent the evening talking. I recited some poetry to him that I had memorized the night before, to please him. We danced till nigh everyone else had left, and at the end of the evening I asked, “Will you be coming on Progress with us next month?”

“I cannot,” he said. “The queen called me to court to award me the dispensation of suits in the Court of Chancery,” he said, “and collect and keep the many fees therein. It shall greatly raise my estate, though I shall be busy in London and then in the countryside on sundry duties for Her Majesty. Perhaps until the new year.”

My heart dropped. “It’s well that she thinks so highly of you,” I said. “She will soon even better esteem you as you carry out these undertakings on her behalf.”

“Yes,” he said. “It will be to our advantage. If you’ll wait.”

In spite of the fact that she favored us both, I knew the queen would not be pleased when she found out the depth of Thomas’s feelings for me, and mine for him. Perhaps this would raise him to knighthood, which she awarded infrequently. “I shall wait,” I said.

Before we left on Progress, Her Majesty settled some new estates on me. She gave me all of the goods and chattel of William Barker, who had been attainted in the affair of Norfolk and Mary, Queen of Scots. I was named first of the ladies accompanying her on Progress, a great honor and a mark of her friendship and affection, which I greatly esteemed.

•   •   •

The Sunday before we set out on Progress the queen honored the two composers of her court, William Byrd and Thomas Tallis, by accepting their dedication to her of their
Cantiones sacrae,
though the Church of England no longer used Latin in their services. It was the composers’ understated way of asking if they would be permitted to quietly practice Catholicism, as they remained loyal to her. By her acceptance, she was showing that she allowed them the freedom of worship and continued to value their service to her. Court language was more often unspoken than said.

She was eager to set out. We were eager to set out. The gossip around court was that Lord Robert, having set aside Douglass Sheffield and claiming that he had not married her at all, was going to make one last, grand, romantic effort to win the forty-two-year-old queen’s hand, and it was a distinct possibility that she would say yes. Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, after all, had given birth to children into her forties.

When we arrived at Kenilworth Castle, the theme of the
entertainments was immediately clear. The Arthurian Lady of the Lake greeted the queen, who arrived, of course, at the head of the four hundred courtiers and servants who came with us.

“This had been my lake and my abode, until your Royal arrival,” she said. “And now that you are here, you are mistress of all.”

“Thank you, good lady,” the queen responded. “But withal we had understood that this castle was ours before it was given to you, and mayhap return likewise.”

I hid a smile. Lord Robert had meant to make her mistress of all that was his, but she had gently rebuked him by reminding him from whom his largesse came. The queen gave, and the queen could just as easily take away.

Otherwise, she allowed herself to be refreshed in the mild countryside. Fireworks took place nearly every evening, and because the queen loved birdsong, Lord Robert had built a gilded aviary outside her apartment windows. Each morning when she awoke, she rose to the sweet song she loved, and she loved Lord Robert more for it. He joined her in her chamber each morning, and we left them by the window to talk.

“What else can I do to show my love to you, Elizabeth?” he asked. I knew of no other who called her by that name. “Shall I bring in other jugglers or finer jewelers? Gifted playwrights or poets who can better declare what is inside my heart than I can do with my ill-timed words and inadequate expressions?”

She shook her head and turned her back to us so we could not hear her response. But his face lit, and so he had hope, and so we who loved her did, too.

Lord Robert had players perform mystery plays of biblical miracles, hoping to show, perhaps, that nothing was impossible with God’s help, and he surely felt God meant for them to be together. He
had players act out Arthurian legends as an homage to Elizabeth’s Tudor Welsh roots. He mostly had plays of romance and love performed, though, and very often, when it was a small group of us, he took the part of the lead so he could declare to her publicly what I knew he said in private. That softened her, and those same words softened me, too. Although I had been approached by other men of the court, some very highborn, I found them hidebound.

We stayed for nineteen days, and on the eighteenth, I dismissed her other women and said I would ready the queen for bed myself that evening. The married women welcomed a night with their husbands without duty and the others trusted me enough to know the queen’s mind that they did not question me. The queen herself, though, was surprised when she returned from her bath. She dismissed her lady maid, though. I had served her trustworthily for ten years.

“I shall help you this evening, Majesty,” I said, combing through her hair, which was still fiery, though beginning to be shot through with a few gray strands. I mixed up a small bowl of vinegar, honey, and fresh mill water, and then handed her a tooth cloth and golden pick so she could clean her teeth.

“Lord Robert has put on an amazing display for you, Majesty, these past weeks,” I began. “He loves you well.”

“And I, him,” she said. I realized that she was not speaking in the royal sense, but woman to woman, using
I.

“In like manner?”

I held my breath, wondering if a rebuke would be forthcoming, but none was. Blanche had told me that Kat Ashley had often been able to speak freely with the queen, as she had been as a mother to her. I hoped that the queen would take my rare, forthright questions as those of a younger sister who both admired and loved her well.

“They’ve said Lord Robert is ill suited for me.”

“A finely bred falcon will not be best suited to a dove, madam, but rather to a high-flown hawk.”

“And Lord Robert is a high-flown hawk,” she responded.

I grinned. “Yes, madam. Or a peacock.”

The queen laughed aloud. “Women commend a modest man but like him not.”

“Though you are queen, you are a woman, too,” I said softly.

“Yes,” she agreed. And after a minute, “I have known the love of a man. I have held the hand and heart of a man, but I have not known the touch of a man. The flesh and heart want what the mind forbids. I decided at a young age that my head must be that which rules, not my heart, lest I lose both.”

I understood that.

“Do you not long for such a touch?” I dared ask.

“I have loved Lord Robert since I was a girl,” she said. “I am given to him in all manner but one. I had, and have, passion. But I put it under glass, Helena, lest it set my kingdom on fire.”

“Glass will snuff out a fire, Majesty,” I said, brushing her long hair.

“As Saint Paul wrote to the Corinthians, ‘There is difference also between a wife and a virgin. The unmarried woman cares for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: but she that is married cares for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.’ I am both virgin to the world and wife to my realm, and it is him whom I must first serve and please.”

I glanced at her coronation ring, which she never removed, and recalled reading a script of her speech in which she declared, “I have
already joined myself in marriage to a husband, namely the kingdom of England.”

“Then what, my lady?” I asked.

“Within weeks of my marriage to Robin this kingdom would fracture into factions like a shattered platter, never to be whole again.”

My mind returned to the portrait Nicolas Hilliard had so recently painted, of the pelican that pricks its own breast to feed its children, sometimes mortally wounding itself in the process. “Does Lord Robert know?” I whispered, wishing I could somehow stanch that mortal bleeding for her.

She nodded, wiped her tears with the back of her hand, blotted out the deep misery etched upon her fair face. And then Elizabeth reverted back to queen. “We informed him tonight.”

Autumn: Year of Our Lord 1575

The Palace of Whitehall

Years of Our Lord 1576, 1577

The Palace of Whitehall

Autumn: Year of Our Lord 1577

Blackfriars, London

T
hat September, we traveled to Woodstock, where Sir Henry Lee wrote a play,
The Hermit’s Tale
, and then had it performed for the queen’s entertainment. The story centered around two lovers who end up parting from one another due to her duty to her father and his dukedom. Elizabeth enthusiastically clapped throughout the play and at its end commended Sir Henry for his fine writing. Her duty came before her lover. He would not have dared perform it for her if he had not known it would meet with her approval. I began to understand even more about my mistress; as with the acceptance of the
sacrae
dedication, her support here was not only personal, it was strategic; it was a method in which she guided and ruled.

It would behoove us at court, I thought, to better pay attention
to what she did and not only to what she said. She showed us all what she told very few.

•   •   •

I had one other occasion that year to ask to see the queen privately, just before the Accession Day celebrations in November. “Majesty, may I see you in private?” I asked. She indicated that yes, in the afternoon she would dismiss the others and speak with me. I arrived after the noon meal.

“Do you recall that I wear a locket necklace with a sketch of my mother and myself?” I asked.

She nodded. “Of course, Helena.” She wasn’t abrupt, but her tone said, “Do get on with it!”

I handed a golden ring box to her. “I commissioned this from Robert Brandon and Nicolas Hilliard.”

She opened it up, and nestled within was the ring, gold and surrounded with rubies and pearls with a diamond
E
on the front. She drew in her breath and let true pleasure shine upon her face. “It’s marvelous!”

“I know it’s not typical to present gifts to you other than at New Year’s, but I wanted this to be given in private, not public.”