"It would be a small loss," he replied.

"You would deeply regret it."

"He is trying to creep into the Queen's favor."

"If you are going to fight with every man at Court who is doing that, I don't give much for your chances of survival. Rob, I beg of you be careful."

"If I promise to, will that satisfy you?"

"No," I cried vehemently. "I can only have one satisfaction from this affair and that is for you to call it off." I tried to be calm, to reason with him. "The Queen will be very displeased," I said.

"It is her fault for giving him the token."

"Why should she not? He pleased her at the tilt."

"Dear Mother, I have already accepted the challenge. That is enough."

"My darling, you must give up this madness."

He was tender suddenly. "It is too late now," he said gently. "Don't be afraid. He hasn't a chance against me."

"His young brother is our Master of Horse. Poor Christopher is so upset about it. Oh Rob, can't you see how I feel. If anything happened to you ..."

He kissed me, and his expression was so tender that I was overwhelmed by my love for him, and my fears increased tenfold. It is so difficult to convey his charm, and it was always especially effective following his louring looks. He assured me that he loved me, that he always would; he would do anything in his power to make me happy, but the challenge had been made and accepted. He could not in honor stop it now.

I could see that there was nothing for me but to pray fervently that he would come through this unharmed.

Penelope came to see me.

"Rob is going to fight Mountjoy's son," she said. "He must be stopped."

"Can we stop him?" I cried. "I have tried to. Oh, Penelope, I am so frightened. I have begged him but he refuses to stop it."

"If you can't persuade him, no one can. But you must see his point. He has gone so far it would be hard to withdraw now. It's disastrous. Charles Blount is such a handsome man—as handsome as Rob, but in a different way. Rob should never have shown his jealousy so blatantly. The Queen hates duels and will be furious if either of her pretty young men is harmed."

"My dear, I know her better than you ever will. This is all her doing. She will gloat because they have fought over her favor." I clenched my fist. "If anything happens to Rob I shall blame her. I would be ready to kill her... ."

"Hush!" Penelope looked furtively over her shoulder. "Be careful, Mother. She hates you already. If anyone heard what you said heaven knows what might come of it."

I turned away. I could derive little comfort from Penelope, and I knew that it was no use pleading further with my son.

So there was nothing I could do to stop the duel and it took place in Marylebone Park. There was defeat for Essex, which was probably for the best, since Charles Blount had no intention of killing my son or dying himself—which would have meant the end of both their careers. There was a good deal of wisdom in Charles Blount. He was able to end the duel in the best possible way since Essex insisted on its taking place. He wounded my son slightly in the thigh and disarmed him. Charles Blount was unharmed.

Thus ended the duel in Marylebone Park, but it was to have far-reaching consequences.

It should have taught Essex a lesson, but alas, it did not.

When the Queen heard there had been a duel, she was angry and would reprimand both men, but knowing the temper of Essex and having had an account of what led up to the quarrel between them, she approved Charles Blount's behavior.

Her comment was: "By God's death, it is fitting that someone or other should take Essex down and teach him better manners, otherwise there would be no rule with him."

That was an indication that she was not pleased with his arrogance and that he should take heed and curb it. Of course he did not.

I tried to warn him, to make him see how dangerous it was to rely on her favor. She could change as quickly as the wind and one day she could be doting and fond and the next an implacable enemy.

"I know her," I cried. "In fact few know her as I do. I have lived close to her ... and look at me now ... banished, an exile. I have felt her malice and hatred as few have."

He retorted hotly that if I had been treated shamefully, it was Leicester who was to blame.

"By my faith, Mother," he said, "one day I will do for you what Leicester should have done. I will make her receive you and treat you with the respect you deserve."

I did not believe him but I liked to hear him champion me all the same.

Charles Blount came to inquire for him every day and sent him a doctor in whom he had great faith; and while my son's wounds were healing, the two, who had once been enemies, became friends.

Penelope, who went to nurse her brother, found the company of Charles Blount very stimulating, and through this incident Christopher and I were drawn closer together. His love and admiration for his brother and his anxiety for me, because he understood my fears for my son, made a stronger bond between us. He seemed to grow up and cease to be a mere boy; and when the affair was over we shared our relief that it had turned out far better than we had dared hope.

The matter of the golden chessman was soon forgotten at Court, but, looking back, I can see that it was an important milestone in our lives.

The year dawned with the main preoccupation, the growing menace of Spain. The Queen, Leicester told me, was constantly trying to ward off the final confrontation which she had been successful in eluding for many years, and now it was undoubtedly at hand. Men like Drake had raided Spanish harbors and destroyed them in a manner which was called "singeing the beard of the King of Spain." That was all very well, but it was not going to destroy the Armada, which even our most optimistic people had to admit was the finest in the world. There was a good deal of gloom throughout the country, for many of our sailors had been captured by the Spaniards, and some had become prisoners of the Inquisition. The tales they had had to tell of Spanish torture were so shocking that the whole country rose in fury. They knew that in those mighty galleons would come not only the weapons of war to destroy our ships and subdue our country, but the instruments of torture through which they vowed they would force us all to accept their faith.

We had made merry long enough. Now we had to face realities.

Robert was constantly with the Queen—restored to the highest favor again—all differences forgotten in the great fight to preserve their country and themselves. It was not to be wondered at that the stories about them, which had existed in their youth, should still be circulated.

At this time a man calling himself Arthur Dudley came into prominence. He was living in Spain helped by the Spanish King, who must either have thought the story was true or that the man's allegations could help to discredit the Queen.

Arthur Dudley was reported to be the son of the Queen and Leicester who had been born twenty-seven years before at Hampton Court. The story was that he had been put into the charge of a man named Southern, who had been warned on pain of death not to betray the secret of the child's birth. Arthur Dudley now alleged that he had discovered who he was, for Southern had confessed this to him.

This tale was circulated throughout the country but no one seriously believed it, and the Queen and Leicester ignored it. It certainly made no difference to the people's determination to keep off the Spaniards.

As the year progressed I saw even less of my husband than usual. The Queen made him Lieutenant General of the troops as a mark of her absolute confidence in him.

The fleet, commanded by Lord Howard of Effingham, assisted by Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher—all tried seamen of great courage and resource—was assembling at Plymouth, where the attack was expected. There was an army of eighty thousand men, all eager to hold the country against the enemy. There could not have been a man or woman in that country—save those Catholic traitors—who was not determined to do everything he—or she-could possibly do to save England from Spain and the Inquisition.

We glowed with pride and determination; a change seemed to come over us all; we had that unselfish pride. It was not ourselves we were anxious to advance, but our country which we wanted to preserve. This astonished me, who am by nature a self-centered woman, but even I would have died at that time to save England.

On the rare occasions when I saw Leicester, we talked glowingly of victory. We should succeed. We must succeed; it must be the Queen's England for as long as God gave her life.

It was a dangerous time, but it was a glorious time. There was with us an almost divine determination to save our country; some spiritual force told every one of us that while we had the faith we could not fail.

Elizabeth was magnificent and never so beloved by her people as at that time. The City of London's response was typical. Having been told that the City must provide five thousand men and fifteen ships as a contribution to victory, its answer was that it would not provide five thousand but ten thousand men, not fifteen but thirty ships.

It was a mingling of fear of the Spaniards and pride in England; and the latter was so strong that we knew—every one of us —that it would suppress the other.

Leicester spoke of Elizabeth in exulting terms and strangely enough I felt no jealousy.

"She is magnificent," he cried. "Invincible. I would you could see her. She expressed her wish to go to the coast so that if Parma's men set foot on her land, she would be there to meet them. I told her I would forbid it. I said she might go to Tilbury and there speak to the troops. I reminded her that she had made me her Lieutenant General and as such I forbade her to go to the coast."