He had offended me never so much as he had by his marriage. With anyone else it would have been the end. Not with Robert. There could only be one ending to my love for him and that was Death.

Robert believed entirely in himself. Since I had shown that my affection for him was unimpaired, he had become more egotistical, more self-seeking, even more ambitious. If he had not been so, I doubted whether I should have admired him as I did. Robert never gave up. He had failed to marry me and in desperation had at last turned to Lettice. He had wanted his son to be heir to the throne, but he had had to make do with Lettice's child instead of mine. But he still had plans, and when I heard what those plans were I was almost as overcome with rage as I had been when I heard of his marriage.

Sussex told me of them. Trust Sussex. He never failed to bring me notice of anything concerning Robert which he thought would weaken my regard for him. He need not have bothered. I knew my Robert better than anyone else did.

Sussex said: “I trust my lord Leicester has consulted Your Majesty regarding the arrangements for the marriages in his family.”

“Arrangements,” I gasped. “What arrangements?”

“Those of his son and his stepdaughter.”

“That baby! And his stepdaughter. Wasn't she married a little while ago to Lord Rich?”

“That was Penelope, the elder daughter, Your Majesty.”

“A saucy wench, that one. She has something of her mother in her. A wanton brood … all of them. She was after young Philip Sidney at one time. He wrote some verses for her. Then she married Rich and young Sidney turned to Walsingham's girl. What marriages do you speak of?”

“There is another daughter—Dorothy. And Leicester is sending out feelers to Scotland to James, for he fancies a match between his stepdaughter Dorothy and Mary of Scotland's son.”

I was dumbfounded. Dorothy Devereux! That she-wolf's cub to be Queen of Scotland! Aye, and if some would have it, Queen of England! What was Robert thinking of? He must be mad to think I would ever agree to that!

“I thought Your Majesty should know of my lord Leicester's ambitions. Moreover he suggests Arabella Stuart for his son.”

“I find this impossible to believe,” I said. “I always knew my lord Leicester had pretensions to grandeur. Send for him without delay.”

Robert came, all eagerness. The rascal could not know that I had heard of his latest schemes, or perhaps he thought I was so besotted with him that I would agree to them. I admitted to myself that I must have given him grounds for believing that. After my initial rage, I had accepted his marriage and the only consequence of that was the banishment of Lettice Knollys from Court. Yes, I could see that Robert believed he could act in whatever way he fancied and still keep my affection. He had a lesson to learn.

When he saw my face he paused for I was glowering at him.

“So, my lord Leicester,” I said, “you are making plans to advance your wife's family.”

He was a little taken aback. How long, I wondered, had he been working in the dark to bring about these marriages behind my back? That made the whole project even worse. It was deceitful. He was a wicked man, my Robert.

“I…er… thought there was no harm…Of course my son is but a baby yet…”

“Royal princes are often betrothed in their cradles and grand alliances are made for them,” I cried. “It is a pretty pass when plans are made for royal marriages and kept in secret from the only one who could give permission for them to take place. You have too high an opinion of yourself, Robert Dudley. You and that she-wolf give yourselves too many airs. How dare you seek to set your son on the throne!”

“Your Majesty, I never thought for one moment—”

“You never thought for one moment! You would marry your son to Arabella Stuart. I can see how your mind works, my lord. Arabella Stuart, daughter of Charles Stuart, whose brother Darnley married Mary of Scotland. Arabella's father is the grandson of my father's sister. Royal connections, eh? Claims to the throne. And born English too. The English like an English Queen, do they not? Just in case James Stuart does not reach the throne, Arabella might. Two chances … Dorothy Devereux for James— your stepdaughter, no less—and your son for Arabella. What reasoning, Robert! Two lines to success. But first of all the old lady has to die…or to be put out. What are your plans for that, master plotter?”

Robert had turned pale.

“How can you talk so? You know that if aught happened to you, my very desire for living would be at an end.”

“I should not let that trouble you, Robert Dudley. You would have your she-wolf to comfort you … and her cubs all bringing you close to the throne.”

He said: “It was merely an idea. When one has responsibilities to others, one has to seek the best for them.”

“Oh yes, indeed. I tell you this: I will see that no such glory comes to your wife… through her cubs. You will regret the day you married her. Her daughter is like her… leading Philip Sidney on to write poems about her and then to marry Rich…I suppose because he lived up to his name.”

“She married Rich most reluctantly,” said Robert.

“Oh? Had she her eyes on James of Scotland?”

“You misjudge her.”

“Poof! I am glad Philip Sidney is having Walsingham's girl and not marrying into that breed. That must be a comfort for your sister. And as for your plans, they are at an end. Do you understand?”

“They had not gone very far. Just an idea…”

“Robert Dudley, I advise you to curb your ideas. They could carry you into trouble.”

He did not speak and as always when he was downcast I was sorry for him.

I had already made up my mind that the suggestions for these grand marriages had come from her not him. After all, they were for the glorification of her children.

I dismissed him, pretending to be angry with him, but after a few days he was back; and it was as though that incident had never happened.


* * *

I SUFFERED A sad loss that year. I had a great affection for my men, and although it was a different kind of love I had for some than for others, my feelings went deep. Sussex was a man I had admired; he was not exactly in the courtier class; there had never been any frivolous flirtation with him, but I had respected him. He lacked the brilliance of men like Burghley and Bacon, nor had he the astuteness of Walsingham; he lacked the charm of Robert, Hatton and Heneage and such. But he was a good man—a man of high principles. Many were the differences I had had with him, but I respected him for that. He had been ill for some time and I hated illness. It frightened me. They all knew this and did not speak of it in my presence— except in the case of Robert, who used it to extricate himself from difficult situations. That was different. Real illness was a depressing subject and because those about me knew how I felt regarding it, they behaved as though it did not exist.

I had seen Sussex laboring to get his breath and trying to pretend this was not so. I had insisted on one occasion that he go to the baths at Buxton, and he had gone. He had hated leaving Court, partly because he believed that, without anyone to curb him, Leicester would be more powerful than ever.

He loathed Leicester and greatly deplored my devotion to him. Like most upright and somewhat self-righteous men, Sussex imagined that others were worse than they were. He saw himself as an honest man, a man who would put his life at risk rather than act against his principles. While I respected such attitudes I often distrusted the men who held them. They grew into fanatics, and I had found that those who set themselves up as of impregnable virtue could often be much more cruel than those who suffered from ordinary human frailties. I knew Robert was ambitious, greedy, selfseeking, devious, ruthless and perhaps even capable of murder. But he was still the most exciting and attractive man I had ever known.

Understanding them all, seeing clearly into their minds and not being of a very upright nature myself—except perhaps where my country was concerned—I could forgive men their foibles and love them none the less for them. I was as good a statesman as any of my men, but in addition I possessed a certain insight which was entirely feminine. It was not merely intuition—but that might have been part of it; it was an immense interest in people, which most men lack. They are too absorbed in themselves to bother much with other people's motives. Women want to know what is going on; they are insatiably curious. This gives my sex that extra knowledge of how people's minds work; it helps us to assess how they will act in certain circumstances. I had this quality in excess; I was entirely female; but at the same time I could grapple with state matters as skillfully as my most able councilors. Since I could bring to problems my feminine flexibility and did not mind a little not-always-honest juggling, I was more fitted to rule my country than any of my men would have been, clever though they were. I owed this to the fact that I picked my advisers with skill; I understood them; I accepted their foibles; and I gave them my loyalty, which is the best way of getting that most essential gift in exchange.

Another fact was that I loved them all. They were my men and my children. They knew this and because in every man there is a desire for a mother figure…I was that too. I scolded them as though they were my wayward children, and they loved me for it. Even to those who looked upon me as a mistress—by which I mean a lover—I was a mother too. I looked to their health and when any one of them was ill that gave me great concern, which was what I felt for dear old Sussex at this time. He was fifty-seven years old—not so much older than I, seven years to be precise. A sobering thought.