Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I (35 page)

I had borne Thomas four sons; three of them yet lived, but he had not named any son for himself. I knew that I wanted to name this child for the queen, because in spite of her harsh remonstrance, I knew she loved me well. But I could not ask that of Thomas.

He returned home in two days, and sat near me. “The wrecked galleon is loaded with silver and gold,” he said. “I’ve sent some guards out in skiffs to surround it till I hear back from Her Majesty on what she wants me to do with it.”

“What do you think she’ll say?” I asked, holding our new babe tight to my chest.

“I suspect she’ll ask me to account for everything and then send some of her men to Hurst to convey it to the treasury,” he said. “But I do not know. She has not written to me since we left court some weeks back. She may relieve me of Hurst, and the Wardrobe, Chancery, and everything else.”

I nodded. “It’s well that you asked her,” I said. “And here is your
fine new son.” I handed the wrapped babe to him and he drew him near and then kissed the baby’s soft cheeks.

“Have you named him?” Thomas asked.

“Without you?” I said. “Never!”

He teased, “You had named our last babe Bridget without me, though you feigned that you had not thought of it well ahead of time.”

“It is good to be known,” I teased. But then I grew more serious. “We have not named a son after you, dear husband.”

“And yet . . .” he said.

I shrugged. “With Lord Robert’s death, I thought, I thought perhaps we would name him Robert.”

He laughed. “Placating the queen?”

I nodded and smiled. “Perhaps. But freely offered as well. And the next babe will be named Thomas. I promise.”

He agreed with me and I asked my secretary to please take a letter in which I told the queen that I was safely delivered of a son, and asked her to stand as godmother. This, then, would be the true test of whether she had forgiven me or not.

Within a week came a note from court saying that although the queen wished that she could attend the christening of my child, she could not leave court just then because it was nigh unto Christmas. It was too rough and cold for the queen to travel, but she would send Lady Mary Radcliffe in her stead.

Thomas had not yet heard back about the wrecked Spanish ship.

•   •   •

When I arrived at Windsor the next spring for a visit with Her Majesty, I found that my quarters had not yet been reassigned but that the queen had saved them for me. I sent a quick note asking if
Thomas and I might bring our young son, her godson whom she had not met, with me as I presented myself to her. She sent word that yes, I might.

I dressed him in satin and we three made our way to her chambers, where her pages let me in. I saw instantly that Anne Dudley, who had no children, and Mary Radcliffe, who had not married, were now her principal ladies and it would be a mistruth to say I minded not. But as my babe wriggled in my arms, I knew I’d made the right choice.

I handed the child to Anne, who kissed and cuddled him, afore I knelt before the queen.

“I wish for you to meet my son, Majesty,” I said, taking him in hand again from Anne Dudley. The queen held out her arms and took the child in them; I had seen her talk to children and tease and banter with them, but I had never seen her hold a child. “His name is Robert.”

She looked at me, her black eyes soft. “We should have liked to have had a son named Robert.”

“Yes, Majesty, I know that,” I said. “It is my gift to you.”

She held him for but a moment longer, drawing in his baby scent. The child did not flinch from her, nor cry, but looked her straight back in the eye.

“You shall have to teach him better manners,” she teased. She handed him back to me, and as I drew near to take him, she kissed my forehead, which filled my heart.

“You have another fine son, Thomas,” she said, beckoning my husband to draw near. “We thank you for your continued work on our behalf, at Hurst and elsewhere.” I could see her suppress a grin and wondered what she could possibly be about to say.

“It is my privilege and honor, Majesty,” Thomas said.

She nodded before continuing. “We are gifting to you, and to Lady Northampton, jointly and permanently, everything aboard the sunken ship you reclaimed off Hurst Castle.”

Thomas stood up. “Majesty, please excuse me, I must have been remiss in conveying exactly what was aboard. It was loaded with silver and gold. I remitted the contents to your treasury. I shall endeavor to find out where the bill of contents was mislaid.” All knew that Her Majesty kept a firm grasp upon her purse.

“We are well aware of the contents, Sir Thomas. You are to use them to build your house.”

I looked at Thomas and he nodded at me before we bowed before her. There would be money enough to rebuild Langford entirely.

“We are awestruck and grateful, Majesty,” he said. I could hear the quiver in his voice. “I know not what to say.”

She grinned. “In light of the fact that you have ever made your fortune by boarding foreign vessels, we see no reason for you not to persist withal.” At that she laughed aloud, giving us permission to do likewise and the loving tease she was so well known for. We all laughed with her and then I stood, unbidden, and kissed her hand and she ran it over my hair once before I returned to Thomas’s side.

“Thank you, thank you, Majesty, for the gift of the galleon,” I said. “I shall never be able to repay you of that. Words to express my thanks toward and love for you cannot be found.” I bowed my head again and she raised it.

“The heart needs no words to understand what has been long unspoken but understood,” she replied, quoting me from just after Lord Robert’s death.

“We do not forget those who serve us well,” she said, turning toward Thomas again. “We should like for you, and your wife, to attend upon us from time to time at court throughout the year.”

“Indeed, we shall,” Thomas agreed.

“That was not a request, Sir Thomas, but a command.” I could see her restrain a smile.

He bowed his head in acquiescence and as he did, she burst out in laughter, and then Mary Radcliffe joined her in it, and Anne, and me. Thomas looked at us, wondering, I supposed, about women and the inability to truly know what to expect from us, and left us in the chamber.

We stayed at court for nearly two weeks, then took our leave as the queen prepared for Progress. Just before I left, the queen called me to her.

“Helena, I have a gift I should like to give to you, a token to take back to Langford.”

“No, Majesty, you have given me too much already!” I protested.

“One does not contradict one’s sovereign,” she said. “Follow me.” I walked after her down the long hallway, and soon I saw where she was taking me. To her aviary.

She called for one of her servants to bring forth a gold and jeweled cage in which were two songbirds.

“Since we know you so enjoyed caring for our songbirds at court, we thought it right for you to take some to Langford,” she said.

Songbirds.
Milde makter.

I forced a smile, and then I saw the twinkle in her eye. She knew!

“Do you know everything?” I asked, as I had oft done.

“Perhaps,” she yet replied, with a smile.

Early Spring: Year of Our Lord 1603

Richmond Palace

The Palace of Whitehall

Westminster Abbey

I
returned to court for the new year, 1603, and did not leave as expected. My dearest friend Anne Dudley had taken ill; her beloved husband had died some years before, but she had served the queen as a widow since. Although Anne had rallied some, the queen was in need of ladies to assist, because another beloved friend, Catherine Carey, Countess of Nottingham, had taken ill as well.

When Lady Nottingham passed away in February, we could see the life flicker in Her Majesty, who was now a frail seventy years old. I had not thought to live to see the day when her spirit wavered as well as her body, but that day had come.

“I have never seen her fetch sighs,” Lady Nottingham’s brother, Robert Carey, told me after the funeral for his sister.
“I have not heard her sigh so since Mary, Queen of Scots, was beheaded.”

I agreed with him; it worried me, too.

Within a few weeks, Her Majesty was having trouble swallowing and grew yet more faint. I did not think she ever recovered from the death of Catherine Carey, but she was not afraid of her own death, either. When, so many long years back, Parliament had hoped to scare her into naming a successor by discussing her death, she had responded, “I know I am but mortal and so therewhilst prepare myself for death, whensoever it shall please God to send it.”

By mid-March she would not take remedy or even food. She lay, prone, on her pillows in a withdrawing chamber and would not move. She rarely spoke, though in a moment with less fever and pain she would grace us with a smile. Finally, Lord Howard of Effingham, her lord admiral and dear friend, coaxed her to her bed, where she reclined with her ladies surrounding her.

Robert Dudley was gone, Sussex was gone, Lady Knollys was long gone, Essex was executed, and Kat and Blanche were both long dead. Anne Dudley was ill unto death. Elizabeth had secured her kingdom. She knew she could die in peace.

We sent for the Archbishop of Canterbury, himself no young man, and he prayed at her bedside for hours, shifting from bony knee to bony knee in his discomfort. She would not let him leave, indicating with a squeeze of her hand that she wished for him to remain. I softly rubbed sweet-smelling oil into her thin hand skin, and willow bark near her jaw, which ached.

She spoke no more to us, but as the night grew on, her face turned from gray to white again, but not the white, at first, of death, but of an ethereal quality. Between two and three in the morning, she slipped from mortal life to eternal life, one of her
courtiers later said, “mildly like a lamb, easily like a ripe apple from the tree.”

Of all the honors that came with my high rank, there was one that brought me true satisfaction. As the highest-ranking woman in the land, it was my position to be Chief Mourner for the queen.

I stood near her coffin as arrangements were made for it to make its way by lit barge down the Thames. She had not wanted her body to be prepared, but I tucked one bay leaf near her head, to represent a laurel of sacrifice and victory. I knew she was at peace and with those she best loved: in the embrace of the Lord Jesus, then next, perhaps her Robin, and then finally, finally, resting enfolded in the arms of her mother.

I quoted Holy Writ, and the queen herself, as her men closed the casket. “ ‘And have ye not read this scripture; the stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner: This was the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.’ ”