Life of Elizabeth I (66 page)

The court did not pronounce sentence; that would be a matter for the Queen and Parliament, which had to ratify the verdict.

The English had initially fought well in the Netherlands, earning even Parma's admiration. In September, they were victorious at the Battle of Zutphen, near Arnhem, at which Essex fought valiantly and was knighted by Leicester, and Sir Philip Sidney received a serious wound in the thigh, having lent his leg-armour to a friend who had none. Weak from loss of blood, he had ridden a mile to camp, 'not ceasing to speak of Her Majesty, being glad if his hurt and death might honour her'. Her Majesty, however, who since his return to court after his disgrace had been 'very apt upon every light occasion to find fault with him', considered that his wound could have been avoided, and that his chivalrous act had been misplaced. Her subjects, however, applauded it, and also loved to recount how, parched with thirst, Sidney refused the water that was offered him, insisting that it be given to a dying soldier nearby. 'Thy necessity is greater than mine,' he told the man.

At first, it was thought that Sidney would recover, and Elizabeth was moved to send him a heartening letter in her own hand. But his wound festered and he lingered in agony for twenty-six days before dying, a legend already at thirty-one years of age. It had been a tragic year for the Sidney family: Sir Henry Sidney had died that summer, followed by his 
wife, Elizabeth's old friend Lady Mary Sidney.

Court mourning was ordered for the dead hero and there were outpourings of grief, for Sidney had been popular and was regarded as the epitome of the chivalric ideal. His body was brought home in a ship with black sails, and given a state funeral in St Paul's Cathedral. The Queen, who was 'much afflicted with sorrow for the loss of her dear servant', did not attend.

After Zutphen, the tide had turned against Leicester's forces, not as a result of Spanish retaliation, but because of the Earl's ineptitude as a commander and his gift for antagonising both his allies and his men. Many of the latter deserted, and it became obvious that the venture was doomed to ignominious failure. Elizabeth wrote complaining of Leicester's shortcomings, to which he dejectedly replied, 'My trust is that the Lord hath not quite cast me out of your favour.' In fact, after a year apart, Elizabeth was sorely missing him, and was fearful that his health would be broken by a second winter of campaigning. Thus, when he asked for leave to come home, she willingly granted it.

Parliament assembled on 29 October, setting aside all other business to settle the fate of the Queen of Scots, 'a problem of great weight, great peril and dangerous consequence'. The Queen resolutely distanced herself from these proceedings and remained at Richmond, refusing to stay, as she usually did, at Whitehall. She told her courtiers that, 'being loath to hear so many foul and grievous matters revealed and ripped up, she had small pleasure to be there'.

Both Lords and Commons loudly demanded Mary's head, and unanimously ratified the commissioners' verdict on 'this daughter of sedition', resolving to petition the Queen that 'a just sentence might be followed by as just an execution'. This petition, which was presented to Elizabeth by a delegation of twenty peers and forty MPs at Richmond on 12 November, plunged her into an agony of indecision.

She stressed to them that, throughout the twenty-eight years of her reign, she had been free of malice towards Mary. 'I have had good experience and trial of this world,' she reminded them. 'I know what it is to be a subject, what to be a sovereign, what to have good neighbours, and sometimes meet evil willers. I have found treason in trust, seen great benefits little regarded.' She went on to say that she grieved that one of her own sex and kin should have plotted her death, and she had even written secretly to Mary promising that, if Mary confessed all, she would cover her shame and save her from reproach, but her cousin had continued to deny her guilt. Even now, though, if she truly repented, Elizabeth would be inclined to pardon her.

She desired to satisfy her people, yet it was plain to her audience that 
she might never bring herself to do so. 'I tell you that in this late Act of Parliament you have laid a hard hand on me, that I must give directions for her [Mary's] death, which cannot be but a most grievous and irksome burden to me. We princes are set on stages, in the sight and view of all the world. It behoveth us to be careful that our proceedings be just and honourable.' All she could say in conclusion was that she would pray and consider the matter, beseeching God to illuminate her understanding, for she knew delay was dangerous; however, she vowed 'inviolably' to do what was right and just. Her speech, according to Burghley, 'drew tears from many eyes'.

Two days later, she sent a message to Parliament by Hatton, asking if 'some other way' to deal with Mary could be found. But short of keeping Mary in solitary confinement for the rest of her life, to remain a focus for rebellion, there was no alternative but the death penalty.

Mary, meanwhile, appeared 'utterly void of all fear of harm', even when, on 16 November, Elizabeth sent a message warning her that she had been sentenced to death, that Parliament had petitioned to have the sentence carried out, and that she should prepare herself for her fate. Mary, officially informed of the sentence on the 19th, took the news courageously, showing neither fear nor repentance.

'I will confess nothing because I have nothing to confess,' she declared. Instead, she wrote to all her friends abroad, including the Pope and the Duke of Guise, proclaiming her innocence and declaring that she was about to die as a martyr for the Catholic faith. When Paulet tore down her canopy of estate, informing her that she was now a dead woman so far as the law was concerned, and therefore undeserving of the trappings of sovereignty, Mary simply hung a crucifix and pictures of Christ's passion in its place.

That same day, she wrote thanking Elizabeth for the 'happy tidings that I am to come to the end of my long and weary pilgrimage'. She asked only that her servants be present at her execution and that her body be buried in France. It was her wish to die in perfect charity with all persons, 'Yet, while abandoning this world and preparing myself for a better, I must remind you that one day you will have to answer for your charge, and for all those whom you doom, and I desire that my blood may be remembered in that time.'

Paulet, reading this letter, delayed sending it, fearing the effect it would have on Elizabeth. His fervent hope was that Mary would be executed before Christmas.

On 23 November, Leicester, accompanied by Essex, returned home. 'Never since I was born did I receive a more gracious welcome,' he wrote afterwards. Not only the Queen, but also Walsingham and Burghley expressed their pleasure at seeing him, for they all needed his 
help at this time. Although his influence on the Council had declined during his absence, Hatton and others having risen to political prominence, the Queen still valued his opinions highly, and needed his support more than ever now.

That evening, after a private supper with the Earl, Elizabeth sent a note to the Lord Chancellor stating she would publicly proclaim the sentence against the Queen of Scots. But the prospect deprived her
of
sleep that night.

At this time, the French ambassador arrived to plead for clemency for Mary. Elizabeth told him that matters had gone too far for that. 'This justice was done on a bad woman protected by bad men,' she told him severely. If she herself was to live, Mary must die.

The Queen's plea for some other way to be found of dealing with Mary had been laid before Parliament without evoking a single response. The Lords were asked if the execution should go ahead, at which every peer 'answered that they could find none other way of safety for her Majesty and the realm'. Having unanimously reaffirmed its sentence of execution, Parliament, on 24 November, sent another deputation to Richmond to urge the Queen, with many 'invincible reasons', to have it carried out, for the preservation of religion, the kingdom and her own life. As before, in her reply she was distracted and undecided.

Since it is now resolved that my surety cannot be established without a princess's head, full grievous is the way that I, who have in my time pardoned so many rebels and winked at so many treasons, should now be forced to this proceeding against such a person. What, will my enemies not say, that for the safety of her life a maiden queen could be content to spill the blood even of her own kinswoman? I may therefore well complain that any man should think me given to cruelty, whereof I am so guiltless and innocent. Nay, I am so far from it that for mine own life I would not touch her. If other means might be found out, [I would take more pleasure] than in any other thing under the sun.

She concluded with a typically obscure statement:

If I should say unto you that I mean not to grant your petition, by my faith I should say unto you more than perhaps I mean. And if I should say unto you I mean to grant your petition, I should then tell you more than is fit for you to know. I am not so void of judgement as not to see mine own peril, nor so careless as not to 
weigh that my life daily is in hazard. But since so many have both written and spoken against me, I pray you to accept my thankfulness, to excuse my doubtfulness, and to take in good part my answer answerless.

Burghley remarked scathingly that this parliament would be known as 'a parliament of words', not deeds.

That evening, the Queen, having tremulously drafted a formal proclamation of the sentence on Mary, commanded the Lord Chancellor to read it out to Parliament. Her scrawl was so illegible that Burghley had to decipher it for Bromley, yet before the Lord Chancellor could publish it, he received a message from Elizabeth commanding him to stay his hand and adjourn Parliament for a week.

On the following day, the commissioners reassembled in the Star Chamber and formally condemned Mary to death. After that, Leicester, Burghley and others used all their powers of persuasion to compel Elizabeth to do what her people would expect of her. If she did not, they pointed out, she would lose all credibility, and men would say that the weakness of her sex was clouding her judgement.

When Parliament reassembled on 2 December, the proclamation of the sentence had been redrafted by the Queen and Burghley, and its publication on 4 December prompted an outburst of great public rejoicing, London being lit up by torches and bonfires, and echoing to the sound of bells and psalms. Yet the Queen had yet to sign the warrant for the execution, which was drafted by Walsingham that same day, and had in fact prorogued Parliament until 15 February, in order to give herself ten weeks in which to steel herself to it. Throughout that period, her councillors would do their utmost to force the reluctant Queen to face the inevitable and sign.

She was torn two ways, for the French and Scottish ambassadors were to be equally vigorous in trying to persuade Elizabeth to show mercy to Mary, and she was anxious not to offend either of these friendly neighbours. James VI wrote reminding her that 'King Henry VIII's reputation was never prejudged but in the beheading of his bedfellow,' a reference to Anne Boleyn which greatly offended her daughter. However, James was more concerned about his future interest in the succession than in saving his mother's life; he had heard that Mary had bequeathed her claim to Philip of Spain, and was determined to circumvent this. In his opinion, his mother was fit 'to meddle with nothing but prayer and serving of God', although he told Leicester that 'Honour constrains me to insist for her life.'

Public opinion in Scotland had, however, been influenced by the publication of the death sentence on Mary, who was now viewed with 
rising nationalist sympathy as something of a heroine; some lords had even threatened to declare war on England if she was executed, and James could not afford to ignore them, although he was not prepared to go so far on his mother's behalf- too much was at stake for that. He therefore made token protests, while telling his envoy, Sir Robert Melville, to say privately to the Queen, 'There is no sting in this death.'

Elizabeth faced the most agonising decision of her life. If she signed the warrant, she would be setting a precedent for condemning an anointed queen to death, and would also be spilling the blood of her kinswoman. To do this would court the opprobrium of the whole world, and might provoke the Catholic powers to vengeful retribution. Yet if she showed mercy, Mary would remain the focus of Catholic plotting for the rest of her life, to the great peril of Elizabeth and her kingdom. Elizabeth knew where her duty lay, but she did not want to be responsible for Mary's death.

For weeks she existed under the most profound stress, which affected her judgement and brought her close to a breakdown. Her scruples isolated her from her advisers, and she made excuse after excuse to the Council, using her well-tried delaying tactics to avoid having to make any decision.

Paulet could not delay sending Mary's letter to Elizabeth indefinitely, and it is known to have reached the Queen by 23 December, when a worried Leicester confided to Hatton that 'It hath wrought tears, but I trust shall do no further harm.' After this, Paulet forbade Mary to communicate with Elizabeth again.

At Christmas, the court moved to Greenwich, where the Queen agreed that Burghley should prepare a formal warrant from Walsingham's draft. Once this was done, it was given to Sir William Davison, recently appointed joint Secretary of State with Walsingham, for safe-keeping.

On 6 January, Melville suggested to the Queen that there would be no need to execute Mary if she formally renounced her claim to the succession in favour of her son, who, as a Protestant, would not become a focus for Catholic plots against Elizabeth. But Elizabeth saw the flaws in this immediately, and her anger flared.