Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I (10 page)

The queen patted Lady Knollys’s hand fondly and rewarded her soon thereafter with the fees from a license for selling worsted cloth reverted to the crown after its owner had displeased the queen. I wondered if Sir Francis was warmed by these fees during his long, lonely journey to and stay at Carlisle Castle. That decision made it hard for me to serve the queen with anything approaching enthusiasm for several days, though I’m certain I hid it well.

Some months later, Lord Robert approached the queen in her Presence Chamber to speak to her of what had been discovered regarding the Queen of Scots.

“Come, Robin.” The queen beckoned him to her side. He drew near her, near enough to kiss, which he did not, but also near enough to share breath, and I thought that, perhaps, they did.

“They have found letters between Mary and Bothwell declaring their love, describing their physical intimacy, and slandering Lord Darnley, all dated from before Darnley’s death,” Dudley said after moving back and sitting beside her.

“Why have we not heard of this, Robin?” the queen marveled. “We instructed Norfolk to learn what he will and report back to us.”

Robert shrugged. “I’ve heard it said that Norfolk is particularly keen to keep this quiet, thus protecting Mary’s reputation from those who might otherwise be abhorred by her shameful conduct.”

At this, the queen sat up. I took the goblet from her hand; she handed it to me without acknowledging my presence. There was only one reason that Norfolk, who was rumored to be secretly practicing Catholicism while acting outwardly Protestant, had to protect Mary. He was plotting on her behalf.

“We will have the next meeting of the council here, at Westminster,” she declared. “And then Cecil will attend as well. We will not condemn a crowned queen based on hearsay.”

We women looked at one another, all thinking, perhaps, of Elizabeth’s mother, Queen Anne Boleyn, convicted and beheaded on whispers and a lone, pitiful, racked confession.

“I shall look upon this evidence myself,” she finished. Within weeks, she did, as did many of her courtiers, all of whom were shocked by the unsavory contents. To those gathered the queen sadly pronounced, “The letters contained many matters that cannot be repeated before honest ears, and may be easily drawn to be clear proof against the queen.”

She looked tired. In light of the findings, there was no way to receive Mary at court, but the queen did send clothing and finances and promised to underwrite her household expenses, which was no mean amount. It didn’t please her vanity, either, when her own
courtiers seemed taken with the much younger Mary’s beauty and charm. After returning from a visit to Carlisle, one of Elizabeth’s courtiers told Cecil, when he was unaware that we ladies were nearby, “Mary has an alluring grace, a pretty Scottish accent, and a searching wit, clouded with mildness. Fame might move some to relieve her of her miseries,” he finished, “and glory might stir others to risk much for her sake.”

William told me that Norfolk had asked to take some of William’s birds on a hawking expedition he was undertaking with Maitland, who had once been secretary to Mary, Queen of Scots, but was now an emissary on behalf of the new Scottish government.

“Do you doubt Maitland?” I asked.

“I doubt him not at all,” William replied. “I am certain he is in the employ of the Scots queen and arranging with Norfolk for marriage between them, and then from there to rule England. Norfolk has already pressed the Privy Council to agree that Mary will be freed if she is safely married to an English lord. I’m certain he has just such a lord in mind.”

We talked for some time and then I grew weary. “Good night, William,” I softly said, preparing to leave for my own chamber. I’d felt increasingly odd kissing him knowing that he was still married, even though his “wife” had not spoken to him for decades and had left him for another man, and so I didn’t. He respected that but I know it pained him. He continued to treat me with the utmost respect and affection, and we spent time together at court, hawking, dancing, and studying Italian, but we’d grown distant. I sorrowed that, but I could not give my heart to a man I knew was not mine.

“Good night, Helena,” he replied.

We were in
ginnungugap,
the Nordic place of void and in-between. I finally determined that, should another suitor appear while William’s wife still lived, I was free to consider him. I had acted charitably and in good faith, but I couldn’t allow feelings for a married man to grow, nor set aside my own life forever.

Year of Our Lord 1569

The Palace of Whitehall

J
ust after the new year, Lady Knollys, who had been unwell, grew fainter and more ill. She was confined to her bed and the queen visited her daily, often more than once. The queen was sore vexed and could scarce think of anything else but Lady Knollys and her illness. As I was serving her I noticed that her hands, of which she was inordinately proud, were red from wringing.

“Your Grace, may I apply a salve upon your hands, and some gloves, for your comfort?” I asked.

The queen silently nodded. I rubbed them with a lightly herbed ointment and slipped a pair of the gloves she was known for over her hands. The next day, she called me aside. “We thank you, Lady von Snakenborg, as our hands are less tender and raw.”

“I shall salve them each evening, madam,” I said.

Within days, Lady Knollys died. Her Majesty could not be consoled for a week or more; her eyes were red-rimmed and every conversation turned to good Lady Knollys. Sir Francis was recalled. When I saw him, I was shocked. He’d aged more than ten years and his gaunt face was stone struck with grief. Blanche Parry asked me to assemble into trunks Lady Knollys’s belongings, and to care for Her Majesty’s birds, which had been Lady Knollys’s responsibility. I readily agreed.

To my shame, I read, while packing, portions of Sir Francis’s final letter to his wife. In it he pleaded for her to consider a quieter manner of life, to retire from service and live a poor country life with him.

It was too late for that.

•   •   •

Several days later I was salving Her Majesty’s hands before she retired for the evening when I noticed her shoulders were hunched. “You are Atlas, my lady, carrying the weight of the heavens on your shoulders,” I said. “Let me rub some valerian ointment into them, as we would do in Sweden.”

She agreed, and for the first time since Lady Knollys’s death, I saw her uncoil. “You do well,” she said. “Tell me, have you been reading about Atlas of late?”

I shook my head. “Not of late, Majesty. I love stories and have plucked some from your library. I must say, your library is rich with myths and tales of Greece and Rome; however, there are no stories in them of the myths from the north. There is much to learn from our legends, too.”

The queen smiled, and as she did, the others in the room put themselves at ease.

“Tell us about one of them, Helena,” Anne Russell Dudley urged. No hint of the lady’s bedstraw awkwardness remained . . . at least between us two. “Her Majesty loves a story!”

I knew Anne was hoping to brighten the queen’s gloom, so I eagerly sought a story to do that. I indicated that Eleanor Brydges should come near, and I whispered into her ear. She smiled and took her leave. No one asked where she was going; they expected that we were to amuse the queen and let her go, relishing the suspense.

“I shall tell you of our legendary Idun,” I said, continuing to knead the knots from Her Majesty’s neck and shoulders. “She is most beloved, the goddess of youth and spring and rebirth, and she lives in Asgard, the mythological home of the gods.”

Anne Dudley clapped and bid me continue. She smiled in my direction, confirming that I had chosen the right tale for Her Majesty.

“Because Norse gods are not immortal of their own accord, they need to eat of extraordinary apples, protected by Idun, in order to retain their immortality. One day, the evil trickster Loki was captured by a giant, Thiassi. The giant refused to free Loki until he brought Idun and her apples to him as a ransom. Loki, readily turncoat, agreed.”

The room was quiet and Her Majesty began to relax. I stopped for a moment and she spoke up. “Do proceed, Lady von Snakenborg!”

“Loki sped back to Asgard, and because Idun was trusting and kind, she believed Loki when he told her that he had found better apples that could be of help to both Idun and the other gods. He urged her to trust him and she did, following him into the woods. Once there, Thiassi, who had disguised himself in the form of
an honorable eagle, swooped down and dug his talons into well-believing Idun and her basket of apples, and carried her away.

“Without Idun and her magic apples, the story goes, the other gods grew gray, feeble, and old. They gathered together and confronted Loki, demanding that he return Idun and her apples or they would banish him from Asgard. Loki, who had no pride and was willing to barter with either side, agreed. He turned into a falcon, flew to Thiassi, and once there, changed Idun into a nut. He clasped her in his claws and flew back to Asgard, furiously chased by Thiassi, who disguised himself in the form of an eagle once more.

“Loki safely made it within the confines of Asgard, where he dropped Idun and she changed back into a goddess again. Thiassi, the evil giant, did not make it into Asgard. Instead, he crashed into the wall guarding it. The gods lit a fire on the walls and Thiassi’s wings caught the flame and he died, a victim of his own treachery.”

“And Idun, Lady Helena? What of Idun?” Anne urged me on.

“The goddess was as beautiful as ever, and once she returned to her rightful place, the gods grew young and virile again. She served them her apples and they all dwell in Asgard today, safe from giants and old age.”

At that, I bid Eleanor come forth. She handed me the basket of apples, which I had sent her for. I knelt and presented them to the queen. “Idun?”

The queen laughed and clapped her hands. Then she accepted them. After the women scattered again to their sewing and reading, Her Grace called me close to her again. Eleanor looked up, expecting to be called, too, I guessed. When she wasn’t, she scowled.

“We understand that you have taken over the care of my songbirds after Lady Knollys’s untimely death,” Her Majesty said.

“Yes, madam,” I said. “I have.”

“We thank you,” she said. “We shall consider other such things as might keep you occupied.”

I curtseyed. “Thank you, Majesty.”

“We have shrugged off Atlas’s burden this afternoon, thanks to your ministrations, though the valerian has, perhaps, a strong savor.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace. I shall find a scent to disguise the valerian next time.”

We chatted comfortably then, for a few moments, and I answered her questions about the north myths with authority and friendship as well as humility. I think she liked that, as she spoke to me more as an equal than she ever had. I then went to find Eleanor, to thank her and to invite her to sup with me at William’s estate the next week, but she was suddenly, and surprisingly, nowhere to be found.

•   •   •

The following autumn, the trickle of rumors regarding Norfolk’s intended wedding to Mary swelled to a river. The queen called him into her Presence Chamber to answer the accusations.

“We have heard that you, lately bereaved of your wife, have plans to take another,” she began.

He held his peace. “I know not of what you speak, Majesty,” he said. “Did you have someone in mind? I should be humbly thankful to take your counsel in this matter.”

“I understand,” she said with a sharp tone and a look that matched it, “that you already
have
someone in mind, our cousin Mary, Queen of the Scots.”

“Nay, Majesty, those are rumors planted by my adversaries that they might sprout enmity between us. I would not be able to sleep
upon a safe pillow beside so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress and murderer.”

“I was unaware that you had adversaries, my Lord Norfolk,” she said. “Pray tell us whom these may be so we may defend you.”

Norfolk smiled weakly. “Whoever is spreading malicious lies about me, my queen. Those are my enemies.”

“We shall keep our ears, and our eyes, open to better hear and see these enemies of yours,” the queen said. At that, Norfolk flicked his gaze to Lord Robert, whom the queen affectionately referred to as her “eyes.” Lord Robert smoothed his beard and met Norfolk’s gaze with a confident smile.

After Norfolk left the room, the queen remarked to Lord Robert, “I know full well that if that marriage comes about, within four months I shall find myself in the Tower.” I wondered how heavy was the burden knowing that from the moment of your conception, there were others wishing for and plotting your death.

Within the month Norfolk had lost his nerve and fled court without the queen’s permission. She moved to Windsor Castle, her strongest defensive residence, and then sent for Norfolk to be placed under arrest and taken to the Tower on suspicion of treason.

“Madam,” Cecil reasoned with her shortly thereafter, “I cannot see how his acts are within the compass of treason. And if you consider the words of the statute, I think you will agree.”