I would show him that he could not go against my wishes.

Immediately I sent guards to bring him back, and his grandfather Sir Francis Knollys himself went to Plymouth.

I heard then that for days he had shut himself away making preparations. He had gone to the house of his brother-in-law Lord Rich to dine, to allay suspicions, for he feared he might have been watched. Outside his lordship's house was Essex's secretary and a groom waiting with horses ready to ride with all speed to Plymouth. They had ridden for ninety miles on the horses and then Essex had taken a post horse and sent his companions back to London with the horses and a letter to Lord Rich containing the key to the desk in which he had locked the letter to me so that it could be delivered after his departure.

Drake and Norris knew that I had forbidden him to go and I relied on them to send him back. But they did not see him, for Essex, guessing they would never let him board a ship, had made a secret arrangement with Captain Roger Williams who had agreed to take him. Thus Essex was able to board Williams's ship, the Swiftsure, and put out to sea.

So Essex had defied me again. I was so angry. I swore this should be the last time.


* * *

WAR NEVER PAYS. I could have told them that before the expedition set out; and I reminded them that I had only agreed to go on with their schemes because they had all worn me down with their importunings.

However if there was enough booty to come out of it I supposed I would consider it worthwhile.

I was worried constantly about Essex. He could be so foolhardy and I knew he was reckless. He would take such absurd risks and I wanted him back at Court. I was unwise, I knew, to set such store by him but I was missing Robert so much and I was desperately anxious to put someone else in his place. I needed that very special person in my life and I had no doubt that I had chosen unwisely in Essex.

Although I could never think of him as a possible lover as I had Robert, he did give me that very special brand of affection which I never quite sensed in the others; and because he was a young man who disdained to flatter and dissimulate, I knew it was genuine affection.

I sent urgent messages to Drake and Norris. Essex was to be sent back. But, of course, he was not with them and it was some time before the Swiftsure joined up with the rest of the fleet, and then there was not a ship available in which to send him home.

I wrote angrily to him:

“Essex,

“Your sudden and undutiful departure from our presence and your place of attendance, you may easily conceive how offensive it is, and ought to be, unto us. Our great favors bestowed on you without deserts, hath drawn you thus to neglect and forget your duty; for other constructions we cannot make of those your strange actions. Not meaning, therefore, to tolerate this your disordered part, we gave directions to some of our Privy Council to let you know our express pleasure for your immediate repair hither…

“We do, therefore, charge and command you forthwith upon receipt of these our letters, all excuses and delays set apart, to make your present and immediate repair unto us, to understand our further pleasure. Whereof see you fail not, as you will be loth to incur our indignation, and will answer for the contrary to your uttermost peril.”

When he received such a letter written in my hand, he knew he dare not disobey, and he set sail for home.

The expedition was at an end. The Portuguese had not welcomed Don Antonio as he had believed they would. They did not like their Spanish masters, but they were too lethargic to bestir themselves sufficiently to make the change.

It would have been a disastrous affair but for Sir Francis Drake, who brought home enough booty to have made it just worthwhile.

I was prepared to upbraid Essex and banish him from Court until it pleased me to recall him, but when I saw him, looking a little pale from battle, and kneeling before me raising those fine dark eyes to my face, so full of loving admiration, I relented.

I was so pleased to have him back safely.

I said: “Never behave so again. If you did that could be the end of your hopes at Court.”

That was all; and within a few days he was installed in his old place. And to prevent his going abroad again in search of fortune, I granted him a lease of the farm of sweet wines—which had been Robert's before he died and which would give him a large income that might settle outstanding debts and, I hoped, in future enable him to live within his income.


* * *

HE WAS RESTLESS. He was not suited to Court life. He lacked Robert's ambition as well as his tact; and he lacked Robert's shrewdness. Why had I thought there could ever be anyone to take Robert's place?

And yet he fascinated me. In a way, I thought of him as a son, loved none the less because he was wayward, and I was content only when he was near me. He could change my mood; he could make me feel young. He was in love with me in a way that most young men had been when I was a young woman. There was no question of a union of any sort between us, but it was love…of a rarefied kind. But I wanted that. It had to come naturally. It was not, as with such as Raleigh, for favor at Court. Essex did not seek favor; he was indifferent to honors. He supported lost causes. And he was honest. He could forget the respect due to me. Anger would flare up and he would not watch his words; but this was honest Essex; so that when he did show his affection for me I knew it was genuine.

He was something of a reformer. For instance, he told me frankly that I had been wrong in my treatment of Davison. He should not be in the Tower, he said. It was not due to him that Mary of Scotland had been executed. That specter still bothered me and I did not want to think of Davison. I could not bear to hear any speak his name—so no one ever did in my hearing. Essex knew this and yet he came to me and said that Davison should be released and given the post of Secretary of State which had become vacant on the death of Walsingham. He was such a reckless, foolhardy young man, I trembled for him. I discovered later that he had written to James of Scotland asking him to use his influence in the matter. Did he not realize that at any time his enemies could accuse him of being in communication with a foreign power, which could be made to look like treason?

I have to admit that he almost persuaded me. I did feel guilty about the treatment meted out to Davison. I should have liked to make amends; and the post of Secretary of State, which he was quite capable of holding, would have been a compensation for the injustice he had suffered.

I spoke to Burghley about this. He was against the idea. He did not think Davison could hold the post. He was efficient but not brilliant. I tried to argue in Davison's favor until I realized that Burghley wanted the post for his son Robert. And, of course, he was right. Robert Cecil—that little elf of a man, with his crooked back and slouching walk, had the same balanced outlook as his father. He had been coached by his father from the very earliest, and it was clear that if the post were given to anyone else, there would inevitably be trouble with Burghley.

So Davison did not get the post, but he was released from the Tower and went to live in his home in Stepney where he remained for many years.

Essex was still looking for adventure and when Henri Quatre of France asked me for help, he wanted to take a company of men over to fight for the King, who had come to the throne when Henri Trois had died. As a Huguenot he looked to England for help against the Catholic League which was determined to oust him on account of his religion. “It is necessary that we go to help,” said Essex. “He shares our faith. He would be our friend if we helped him to hold his throne.”

His eyes were shining with enthusiasm. He was somewhat nave. Did he not know that kings were friends of other kings only when it was expedient to be so? But it was true that we did not want the Catholics to prevail in France. We had subdued Spain but France could be as great a menace. Essex threw himself onto his knees and begged to be allowed to take command of an expedition. His friends—and his mother, I believed—advised him against going abroad. He should stay behind and make his name at Court as all the most successful men had done. He should model himself on the lines of Leicester, Walsingham, Burghley … those who held first place in the Queen's regard. Perhaps they realized that he lacked the temperament of a great general. He was too rash, too impulsive, too careless of himself.

However he wearied me with his importunings and as it had been decided that we should aid Henri, I finally gave in and allowed Essex to command the expedition.

It was a sad day for me when he sailed from Dover with four thousand men.

He took with him Lettice's other boy, Walter Devereux, and I wondered how she felt at the prospect of two sons going to war.

I waited eagerly for news. I heard that Henri took a fancy to Essex and that they frolicked together. There was some fighting though, and in a skirmish outside Rouen young Walter Devereux was killed.

I was almost sorry for Lettice then, for I believe that she did love her children.

I heard that Essex recklessly exposed himself to danger and had come near to capture on two occasions. He was popular for he shared his men's hardships and then distributed honors on the battlefield, which he had no authority to do.

I made Burghley write to him in my name, disapproving and forbidding him to act in such a way. Moreover, he had no right to bestow honors. That was the Sovereign's prerogative.