Life of Elizabeth I (59 page)

Elizabeth defiantly followed her chosen course, sending the Duke a stream of undated letters in her untidy 'running hand'. In them, she skilfully implied that, although they should perhaps renounce each 
other, since her people would object to his celebrating mass, given more time, she might be able to convince her subjects of the benefits of the marriage. Again and again, she praised the 'firm rock' of his constancy, and repeatedly managed to blame the delays in negotiations on the French. 'Our souls are meant to be united,' she insisted - but the burning question was when?

She let it be known, particularly in the hearing of the French ambassador, that she was still in love with Anjou, and wore his frog jewel to prove it. She often tucked a pair of gloves he had given her into her belt, and ostentatiously took them out and kissed them a hundred times a day. Once, during a court ball, she made the ambassador listen while she read aloud every single letter the Duke had ever sent her, with such warmth and feeling that he gained the impression she was trying to score a point over those who had opposed the marriage.

It was all pretence, of course, intended to keep the French happy. Yet although Elizabeth had almost come to terms with the fact that she could never marry Anjou, her councillors were nevertheless kept guessing, and Walsingham sighed, 'I would to God Her Highness would resolve one way or the other touching the matter of her marriage.' To Sussex, he wrote: 'If Her Majesty be not already resolved, it will behove her to grow to some speedy resolution, for the entertaining of it doth breed her greater dishonour than I dare commit to paper, besides the danger she daily incurreth for not settling of her estate, which dependeth altogether on the marriage.'

In July, Elizabeth was still reproaching Leicester for having prevented her marriage, and although her outbursts were less frequent, they were nonetheless bitter. After one such tantrum, the Earl was heard to sigh, 'Better for me to sell my last lands than to fall into these harsh conditions.' The coldness between them made him irritable with his colleagues, so much so that he felt obliged to write to Burghley to apologise. It would be some time before harmony was restored between Elizabeth and her erstwhile favourite.

The eccentric Oxford was also out of favour, having announced his conversion to the Roman faith. To counterbalance the effect of this upon the Queen, he disclosed to her the names of other courtiers who were secret Catholics, which led to all of them being placed under house arrest. However, his revelations did Oxford little good, for his former friends now shunned him, as did Elizabeth, who not only disapproved of his behaviour, but had also learned of his involvement with one of her maids of honour, Anne Vavasour, a 'drab' with a tarnished reputation.

The following March, when Anne gave birth to a son, Oxford immediately admitted paternity and made provision for the baby. But 
Elizabeth was not so easily mollified, being 'greatly grieved by the accident', and committed both Anne and her feckless lover to the Tower for several weeks.

The relative stability of the previous five years showed signs
of
crumbling when, in 1580, Pope Gregory XIII reissued his predecessor's bull against Elizabeth. During the summer, much to the alarm of the government, Jesuit priests from Rome began arriving in England. Their mission, which was to preserve and augment the Catholic faith, was headed by the radical priest Robert Parsons and the devout and inspirational figure of Father Edmund Campion, who would be largely responsible for the remarkable success of the Jesuit mission and the upsurge in Catholic resistance during the coming decade, not to mention the patriotic reaction which came in its wake.

The political situation was hardly encouraging. Mary Stuart had embarked upon a fresh round of plots against Elizabeth, this time in league with the Spanish ambassador, Mendoza, a dangerous association that was to last for the next three years. Relations with Scotland had cooled since James VI's assumption of power, for the young King had become increasingly involved with his mother's Guise relations for a time, and there were fears that Philip II would appropriate the Portuguese throne. With its strong navy and wealthy foreign territories, Portugal would further strengthen his empire and make him the richest monarch in history. In France, the wars of religion had broken out once more, preventing Elizabeth from looking to her ally for support, and England, once again, was vulnerable in her isolation.

In August, news arrived that Philip had annexed Portugal and been proclaimed its monarch. 'It will be hard to withstand the King of Spain now,' Elizabeth commented grimly. To counteract this new threat, she threw the weight of her support behind Don Antonio, the illegitimate Portuguese claimant, whose claim was far less sound than Philip's own. To further discountenance him, Elizabeth offered her support to Anjou in the Netherlands, and invited the French to send marriage commissioners to England as a matter of urgency.

To her dismay, the French did not respond, and it soon became clear that Anjou himself was more interested in becoming King of the Dutch than King of England. The Venetian ambassador in Paris had heard gossip that the Duke had become less ardent, remembering 'the advanced age and repulsive physical nature of the Queen'. In September, the Dutch rebels, weakened by a series of defeats by Parma, had offered Anjou the crown if he would help rid them of the Spaniards; it was now almost certain that, as a condition of the marriage, he would insist on military support from his future bride. Elizabeth reacted to this 
development with alarm: 'I think not myself well-used. If this matter comes to pass, God forbid that the banns of our nuptial feast shall be savoured with the source of our subjects' wealth,' she wrote. The marriage, she feared, would involve England in a costly war, 'considering that the Queen must
of
necessity be engaged in her husband's quarrel'. Anjou, ignoring her protests, accepted the proffered crown, and on 19 September was proclaimed Prince and Lord of the Netherlands.

On 26 September 1580, Francis Drake, in his ship,
Pelican,
now renamed the
Golden Hind,
dropped anchor at Southampton after a three-year voyage in which he had circumnavigated the world, the first captain to do so since Ferdinand Magellan's pioneering journey in 1522. As he disembarked, he inquired whether the Queen was still alive, and showed relief when he found that she was, for he needed her protection against the wrath of Spain, whose King would be demanding his head as punishment for wrecking Spanish trade and seizing 800,000 worth of Spanish treasure.

Far from treating him as a criminal, the Queen promptly invited Drake to Richmond Palace, where he entertained her for six happy hours with tales of his adventures. Amongst the treasures he had brought with him on packhorses was a crown set with five huge emeralds, which she was to wear in public on New Year's Day r58T. So pleased was Elizabeth with the great booty Drake had captured that she allowed him to keep a sizeable portion of it for himself. Her own share, amounting to 160,000, was placed in the Tower. None was returned to Spain, nor was Drake punished, despite Mendoza's near-hysterical protests and demands. Instead, by the Queen's command, the
Golden Hind
was moored on the Thames and exhibited to the public as a memorial to Drake's heroic voyage.

Thereafter, Drake was always welcome at court, and became a frequent visitor. Elizabeth received him affectionately and delighted in talking of his travels, while he brought her costly gifts, among them an exquisite diamond cross.

Elizabeth's position was becoming increasingly endangered, for from 1580 onwards Philip II was planning a military and naval offensive against England. In December of that year, asked by two anonymous English Catholic lords if it were lawful to kill the Queen, the Pope sanctioned the assassination of 
that guilty woman who is the cause of so much intriguing to the Catholic faith and loss of so many million souls. There is no doubt that whoever sends her out of the world with the pious intention of doing God service, not only does not sin but gains merit. And so, if these English nobles decide to undertake so glorious a work, they do not commit any sin.

The Pope's pronouncement was soon universally known, much to the dismay of the English government, which was painfully aware that it would not survive the assassination of the Queen. Only her existence, it seemed, prevented Rome from triumphing in England.

Both Parliament and the Council had repeatedly urged the Queen to take stern punitive measures against the Catholic recusants and missionary priests. Although by nature she loathed bloodshed, and had hitherto preferred to act with moderation, she now recognised that her peril was such that harsher sanctions were called for. Even so, Parliament was dissatisfied with the new Statute of Recusancy which was passed on 18 March 1581, which raised fines for non-attendance at Anglican services to a steep 20 per month, imposed a penalty of a year in prison for those caught participating in the mass, and classed as traitors any who converted to the Roman faith. Furthermore, anyone uttering remarks defamatory to the Queen would, for a first offence, be put in the pillory, have both ears cut off, and be fined 200; death was the penalty for a second offence. It was also declared illegal for anyone to cast the Queen's horoscope or prophesy how long she would live or who her successor would be.

From now on, missionaries such as Campion and Parsons would be regarded as dangerous enemies of the state, but even so, there was no wide-scale persecution. During the next twenty years, no more than 250 Catholics would be executed or die in prison. There is, however, evidence that about ninety of these persons were tortured, and although the Queen did not personally sanction it in any of these cases, she must have known about it. Personally, she preferred to punish such offenders with imprisonment or fines.

It was therefore with some relief that in January 1581, the Queen learned that the French had agreed to send their commissioners to England. For the next few months, she would be absorbed in the elaborate preparations for their reception, not because she wished to marry Anjou, but because she realised the necessity for concluding a treaty of friendship with France.

Anjou, deeply in debt and running out of resources, was once again seeking to ally himself in marriage with Elizabeth. In April 1581, the long awaited, and very high-ranking, French commissioners finally arrived at Whitehall, their objective being to conclude the marriage, or, failing this, to persuade Elizabeth to support Anjou in the Netherlands.

On their arrival, the commissioners presented the Queen with a posy of fresh flowers picked for her by the Duke, and she wrote to thank him for 'the sweet flowers plucked by the hand with the little fingers, which I bless a million times, promising you that no present was ever carried so gracefully, for the leaves were still as green as when they were freshly picked, a vibrant token of your affection, and I hope there shall never be any cause for it to wither'.

Shimmering in a gown of gold tissue, Elizabeth entertained the envoys to a sumptuous banquet in a luxurious new pavilion, 330 feet long, with 292 glass windows, and a roof decorated with suns and gilded stars, which had been built by 375 men at a cost of 1,744. There followed more dinners, plays and masques, pageants, a bear-baiting, a 'triumph' in the tiltyard, a grand ball, and many conferences with the Council. Mendoza commented that the Queen was more interested in 'ostentation and details of no moment than in points of importance for the conclusion of a treaty'.

When at last she did get down to business, she abruptly informed the commissioners that she was still concerned about the age-gap between herself and the Duke. She also felt that, if she married him, it would give unwelcome encouragement to English Catholics. Nor did she wish to become involved in a war with Spain. She preferred, in fact, to make an alliance which did not involve marriage.

When the stunned commissioners explained falteringly that their brief did not empower them to do anything other than conclude a marriage treaty, Elizabeth showed herself immoveable. Hoping she might relent, they remained in London.

On 4 April the Queen went from Greenwich to board the
Golden Hind,
then in dock at Deptford, to dine with Francis Drake and, in defiance of King Philip, knight him in recognition of his epic world voyage. She also brought the French commissioners with her. The banquet served on board was 'finer than has ever been seen in England since the time of King Henry', and during it the Queen was relaxed and animated. For her entertainment, Drake's crew put on Red Indian dress and danced for her, and for four hours their captain reminisced about the voyage. Although many courtiers wilted with boredom, the Queen was captivated.

When Drake escorted her around the ship, telling him that King Philip had demanded he be put to death, she produced a sword, joking that she would use it 'to strike off his head', whilst teasingly wielding it in the air.

Because Elizabeth wished to emphasise to King Philip her defensive alliance with France, she turned to one of Anjou's envoys, the Seigneur de Marchaumont, and, handing over the sword, asked him to perform 
the dubbing ceremony for her. Thus it was that the short, stocky adventurer found himself kneeling on the deck before a Frenchman, while the Queen looked on, beaming approval.

Later, her purple and gold garter fell off, and as she bent down to readjust it, de Marchaumont asked if he might 'capture' the garter as a trophy for his master. The Queen protested that 'she had nothing else to keep her stocking up', but on her return to Greenwich she sent him the garter for Anjou.