Chapter 24
Elizabeth shared the public's jubilation over Cadiz, which further enhanced her reputation in Europe - the Venetians were now calling her 'the Queen of the Seas' - but she was more concerned about cost than glory, and when Essex returned she did not heap praises and thanks on him, as he expected, but sourly asked him to account for his expenditure, desiring to know what 'great profit and gain' she was to get on her investment. Essex was forced to admit what she already knew, that there was none; in fact, more money was needed to pay his men. Elizabeth snapped that she had known everyone but herself would make a profit, and reluctantly loaned Essex ,2000 for wages, demanding that he pay it all back.
It was not only money that caused her irritation. She was also jealous of Essex's success and his all-too-evident popularity with her subjects. It made her feel insecure, for, given his instability, he could, under the influence of her enemies, prove dangerous when he commanded such support. She would not allow him to publish a pamphlet describing his heroic exploits, and when someone suggested that services of thanksgiving be held all over the country, she insisted that they take place in London only. She could not bear to hear people praising him, and made derogatory remarks in Council about his military strategies.
Essex bore it all patiently. 'I have a crabbed fortune that gives me no quiet', he wrote to Anthony Bacon, 'and the sour food I am fain still to digest may breed some humours. I assure you I am much distasted with the glorious greatness of a favourite.' But as it became clear to the Queen that it was not Essex's fault that the fleet had returned empty-handed, she softened somewhat, although when Burghley opposed a suggestion in Council that Essex should forfeit some of his profits from Cadiz, she berated him, shouting, 'My Lord Treasurer, either for fear or favour, you regard my Lord of Essex more than myself. You are a miscreant!
You are a coward!' Burghley had suffered such outbursts before, but they never failed to shake him, and he confided to Essex that he was between Scylla and Charybdis, 'daily decaying'. 'God be thanked!' said Anthony Bacon, who hated Burghley, though Essex wrote to the old man to express his sympathy. Nevertheless, his old rivalry with the Cecils had resurfaced, and was to become even stronger than before; the French ambassador noted that, 'It was a thing notorious to all the court; a man who was of the Lord Treasurer's party was sure to be among the enemies of the Earl.'
Essex now dominated both Queen and Council and was energetically involved in every aspect of state policy. The public regarded him with adulation as a near-legendary hero, and crowds gathered whenever he appeared. One poet referred to him at this time as 'Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder'. Of course, it went to his head, and Francis Bacon warned him that he must do his utmost not to trespass on the royal prerogative and assure the Queen of his utter loyalty. He should abandon martial pursuits and faction fights in favour of devoting himself to his conciliar duties, and should ask the Queen to appoint him to the vacant office of Lord Privy Seal, which carried 'a kind of superintendence over the Secretary'. But Essex, impulsive and headstrong as ever, was incapable of taking wise advice. Although he declared he had 'no ambition but Her Majesty's gracious favour and the reputation of well serving her', how could he, the renowned conqueror, ever confine himself to a civilian role?
Meanwhile, King Philip, indignant at the sack of Cadiz, declared his 'violent resolution' to be revenged upon the English, and ordered the building of more ships with the aim of sending an even greater Armada than in 1588.
For the third year running, there was excessive summer rainfall resulting in bad harvests and 'dearth'. Food prices were high and there was growing discontent and even rioting. Elizabeth ordered that her government bring in emergency measures to provide food for the poor, but that winter people were dying in the streets. Wednesdays and Fridays were declared fast days, when the wealthy were asked to forego their suppers, donating the money saved to the relief of their parish.
Discharged soldiers and sailors had swelled the labour market, and trade was going into a recession. There were fears that law and order were breaking down, and local JPs spoke out against the violent gangs of vagrants who terrorised many areas.
Sir John Harington was in disgrace yet again, not only because of his womanising, but for having written a book, The Metamorphosis of A ax, the title of which was a pun on his new invention, the water closet or 'Jakes'. Knowing that the Queen was fastidious about smells, he had presented her with a copy of the book, advising her to have his device installed in Richmond Palace. Elizabeth took offence, not because of the book's scatalogical detail, but because it contained witty and sometimes libellous references to several public figures, among them Leicester, whose memory she would not see sullied. She refused to grant Harington a licence to publish the book, but he defied her, and within a year it had sold out three editions. This resulted in him once more being banished from court.
Harington went to fight in Ireland, whence he wrote to Elizabeth, pleading for forgiveness. His cousin informed him, 'The Queen is minded to take you to her favour, but she sweareth that she believes you will make epigrams on her and on all her court. She hath been heard to say, "That merry poet, my godson, must not come to Greenwich till he hath grown sober and leaveth the ladies' sports and follies.'"
Expecting the Spanish to invade in the summer, Essex put pressure on the Queen early in 1597 to send another expedition. She was amenable, but indecisive as to what form the attack should take and who should command it.
In February, when Essex gave out that he was ill, Elizabeth rushed to his bedside. This effected a miraculous recovery, which was, strangely, followed by a relapse, attributed by many to the Queen's insistence that he share command of the fleet with Raleigh. For a fortnight he lay in his chamber, while Elizabeth appeared agitated and the court buzzed with rumours of a quarrel. These were confirmed when the Queen announced, 'I shall break him of his will, and pull down his great heart.' She added that he must have inherited his obstinacy from his mother.
Essex was further angered by the Queen's refusal to appoint his friend, Sir Robert Sidney, to the wardenship of the Cinque Ports, which she bestowed on his enemy Lord Cobham. Bacon suggested that Essex make a tactical withdrawal from court, so he 'recovered' and announced that he was going to visit his estates in Wales. This prompted the Queen to send for him, and 'all was well again', Elizabeth having agreed to make him Lieutenant General and Admiral 'of our army and navy' and appoint him Master of the Ordnance. It was her firm hope that he would achieve a victory to parallel Cadiz without putting her to too much expense.
Since the Cecils supported the venture, Essex was disposed to set all jealousies aside, and in April invited them and Raleigh to a dinner at Essex House, where they all bound themselves in a pact of self-interested amity. At the beginning of June, Essex and the Cecils persuaded the Queen to restore Raleigh to favour. Summoning Sir Walter to her presence, she informed him that he might resume his duties as Captain of the Gentlemen Pensioners and come 'boldly to the Privy Chamber, as he was wont'. That evening, she graciously invited him to ride with her, but he was never to enjoy the same favour as before.
Late in June, Essex took his fond leave of the Queen, and rode to the coast to supervise the final preparations for the voyage. During the fortnight before he sailed, they exchanged affectionate letters, repeating their farewells, Essex addressing her as his 'most dear and most admired sovereign', and telling her that, since 'words be not able to interpret for me, then to your royal dear heart I appeal. I will strive to be worthy of so high a grace, and so blessed happiness. I am tied to Your Majesty by more ties than ever was subject to a prince.' The Queen sent him gifts and a portrait of herself for his cabin, and told him that, if things went badly, he should 'Remember that who doth their best shall never receive the blame, neither shall you find us so rigorous a judge.' He thanked her for her 'sweet letters, indited by the Spirit of spirits'.
Reports were coming in that the Spanish fleet was nearly ready to sail, but the weather was appalling, with rain and floods for the fourth summer running. After the English ships put out to sea on 10 July, a terrible gale raged for four days over southern England and forced them to flee back to port. Elizabeth, having seen her palace buffeted by the winds and heard rumours that Essex had been drowned, wept with joy and relief on learning he was safe, and Cecil wrote to him: 'The Queen is now so disposed to have us all love you, as she and I do talk every night like angels of you.'
Cecil also told Essex how Elizabeth had dealt with the impudent Polish ambassador, who, in a crowded Presence Chamber, and against all accepted protocol, had made a long and threatening oration to her in Latin, 'with such a countenance as in my life I never beheld'. Rising from the throne, a furious Queen berated him in perfect, extempore Latin for his insolence, in a speech that would pass into English folk-lore and be repeated for generations. If his king was responsible for his words, she hissed, he must be a youth and not a king by right of blood but by recent election.
'And as for you, although I perceive you have read many books to fortify your arguments, yet I believe you have not lighted upon the chapter that prescribeth the form to be used between kings and princes.' Had he not been protected by diplomatic immunity, she would have dealt with him 'in another style'.
Turning to her courtiers, she cried, 'God's death, my lords! I have been enforced this day to scour up my old Latin that hath lain long rusting.' Everyone burst out in admiring applause, and when Elizabeth told Cecil she wished Essex had been there to hear her, he assured her that he would write to him of it. Essex replied: 'I am sure Her Majesty is made of the same stuff of which the ancients believed the heroes to be formed, that is, her mind of gold, her body of brass.'
In August, its damaged ships repaired, the fleet sailed again for Spain, but because of further gales it was unable to reach Ferrol, where the Armada was in port. Elizabeth had told Essex that he might go in search of Spanish treasure, but only after he had wrecked Philip's navy, yet he now informed her that he was going off in pursuit of the West Indies treasure fleet. This was not what she had sent him for, and she replied frostily, 'When I see the admirable work of the eastern wind, so long to last beyond the custom of Nature, I see, as in a crystal, the right figure of my folly.' She warned him that 'this lunatic goddess make you not bold to heap more errors to our mercy. You vex me too much, with small regard for what I bid.' She expected his 'safe return'.
Essex, sailing towards the Azores, ignored this. When he arrived on 15 September, the Spanish fleet was expected at any moment, but whilst he searched for them, his own ships became scattered. Raleigh landed at the island of Fayal, and on his own initiative, took a town and seized a great haul of riches. Essex, furious at having been upstaged, accused Raleigh of disobeying orders and of attacking Fayal with the sole purpose of gaining honour and booty, without thought for his commanding officer. He even considered taking his captains' advice to bring Raleigh before a court martial and execute him: 'I would do it if he were my friend,' he declared fiercely. But Raleigh was persuaded to apologise, and the matter was dropped, though his reputation suffered as a result.
Essex now rashly decided to take the island of San Miguel. However, by diverting his ships there, he missed, by three hours, the treasure fleet, which passed unmolested with its cargo of j,500,000 in silver bullion. Had the English seized the Spanish ships Philip would have been forced to sue for peace, but Essex had missed the opportunity, and had no choice but to return home empty-handed.
Learning that Essex's fleet was out of the way at the Azores, Philip ordered his Armada to sail, and on 13 October, as Essex was sailing homewards, 140 great galleons left Ferrol and made their stately way towards Falmouth, hoping to intercept and destroy the English fleet, which was in no state to resist. They would then occupy Falmouth and march on London. Southern England was placed on a state of alert, ready to repel the invasion, but by the end of October news had filtered through that the Spanish fleet had been wrecked and scattered by storms off Finisterre.
This disaster left Philip, who was a very sick man, prostrate with disappointment. He was bankrupt, his people were weary of this fruitless war, and he was now forced to face the fact that his great Enterprise of England would have to be abandoned for ever.
On 26 October, Essex reached Plymouth, where he was alarmed to hear that 'the Spaniards were upon the coast'; some galleons had even been sighted off the Lizard. He hastily refitted his ships and sailed to meet the enemy, though it soon became clear that the crisis was past. When he returned to face Elizabeth, the failure of the 'Islands Voyage' was notorious, and he had little to offer her beyond a few merchant ships captured on the way home. More seriously, by his folly, he had left England dangerously exposed to invasion, and the Queen received him icily.
'I will never again let my fleet out of the Channel,' she had told Burghley, and she now accused Essex of having 'given the enemy leisure and courage to attempt us'. Elizabeth was also angry because Essex's popularity had been in no way diminished by his undutiful behaviour. Most people thought he had been plain unlucky, or held Raleigh responsible for the expedition's failure. England's hero, it seemed, could never be guilty of incompetence.
Essex was furious: he could not understand why she should criticise him. 'We have failed in nothing that God gave us means to do,' he wrote. 'We hope Her Majesty will think our painful days, careful nights, evil diet and many hazards deserve not to be measured by the event.' How could 'others that have sat warm at home descant upon us'? He did not try to excuse his failure, and withdrew from the court to sulk at Wanstead, which the Queen had returned to him. Dejectedly, he wrote to her:
You have made me a stranger. I had rather retire my sick body and troubled mind into some place of rest than, living in your presence, to come now to be one of those that look upon you afar off. Of myself, it were folly to write that which you care not to know. I do carry the same heart I was wont, though now overcome with unkindness, as before I was conquered by beauty. From my bed, where I think I shall be buried for some days, this Sunday night, Your Majesty's servant, wounded, but not altered by your unkindness. R. Essex.
Essex's absence wrought, as usual, a change of heart in the Queen. After speaking affectionately of him to the Earl of Oxford, she wrote to him, inquiring after his health. Then she wrote again, implying that the time was now ripe for forgiveness.
Most dear Lady, your kind and often sending is able either to preserve a sick man that were more than half dead to life again. Since I was first so happy as to know what love meant, I was never one day, nor one hour, free from hope and jealousy. If Your Majesty do, in the sweetness of your own heart, nourish the one and, in the justness of love, free me from the tyranny of the other, you shall ever make me happy. And so, wishing Your Majesty to be mistress of all that you wish most, I humbly kiss your fair hands.
Delighted by these words, Elizabeth invited Essex back to court for the Accession Day celebrations. He would not come, for by now he was nursing another grievance, having learned that, as a reward for his distinguished services against the Armada and at Cadiz, Elizabeth had created Lord Howard Earl of Nottingham, thus giving him, as Lord Admiral, precedence at court above himself who was only Master of the Horse. The jealous Essex felt that he alone deserved the credit for Cadiz, and therefore informed the Queen that he was too ill to move from Wanstead. This plunged her into so bad a mood that all her courtiers were praying for Essex's return, and Burghley and the new Lord Hunsdon wrote urging it, but in vain.
Accession Day, now called Queen's Day, came and passed without Essex. Burghley wrote again, reminding Essex that it had marked the start of the fortieth year of Elizabeth's reign, and Howard wrote too, in a spirit of friendship. By now, Essex was becoming weary of his self- imposed exile, and replied that he would come if Her Majesty asked him to. But Elizabeth had had enough, and declared that 'His duty ought to be sufficient to command him to court; a prince is not to be contended withal by a subject.'
She refused to discuss the matter further, saying she was too busy, having the French ambassador to entertain. Henry IV wanted to bring about a general peace between France, Spain and England, and had sent a special envoy, Andre Hurault, Sieur de Maisse, to sound out Elizabeth. This proved impossible, for she was prepared to discuss anything rather than a peace, having heard what proved to be unfounded rumours that Philip was planning yet another Armada the following spring. She was courtesy itself: she apologised for receiving him in her nightgown,* but said she was feeling wretched due to a boil on her face; she offered him a stool, and permitted him to remain covered in her presence. But she seemed distracted: 'All the time she spoke she would often rise from her chair and appear to be very impatient with what I was saying; she would complain that the fire was hurting her eyes, though there was a great screen before it and she six or seven feet away, yet did she give orders to have it extinguished.' She told de Maisse she preferred to stand up at audiences, and mischievously added that she had often provoked weary envoys to complain of being kept on their feet. 'I rose when she did,' de Maisse recorded, 'and when she sat down again, so did I.'
*What would now be called a dressing gown.
On another occasion she suddenly claimed that Philip had plotted fifteen times to assassinate her.
'How the man must love me!' she laughed, then sighed, saying it was a pity they were so divided by religion. Her people were suffering as a result, and she loved her people, as they loved her. She would rather die than diminish by one iota their mutual love, but she feared for their future, since she stood on the brink of the grave. Then, seeing de Maisse's long face, she laughed again.
'No! No! I don't think I shall die as soon as all that! I am not so old, M. l'Ambassadeur, as you suppose.' Angling for a compliment, she said she was sorry that he, who had met so many great princes, should have come to see such a foolish old woman. She also spoke dismissively of her dancing and other accomplishments, 'so that she may give occasion to commend her'. When he duly praised her judgement and prudence, she answered 'that it was but natural that she should have some knowledge of the affairs of the world, being called thereto so young . . . When anyone speaks of her beauty, she says that she was never beautiful, although she had that reputation thirty years ago. Nevertheless, she speaks of her beauty as often as she can.'
De Maisse was amazed at the Queen's wardrobe. He learned that she had three thousand dresses. At his second audience on 15 December, she received him in a gown of silver gauze in the Italian style, edged with wide bands of gold lace. It had 'slashed sleeves lined with red taffeta', and was open in the front to display a white damask kirtle, beneath which was a chemise, both open to the waist, exposing 'the whole of her bosom', which was 'somewhat wrinkled'. Flustered with embarrassment, the poor man hardly knew where to look during the two-hour interview that followed. Whenever he looked at Elizabeth, he saw more than was seemly. To make matters worse, as she talked, 'she would open the front of this robe with her hands, as if she were too hot', so that he could see her stomach right down to the navel. She also wore a 'great reddish wig' with 'two great curls' down to her shoulders; it was laced with pearls and topped with a garland of rubies and pearls. De Maisse could only conclude that she was trying to bewitch him with her faded charms. 'So far as may be she keeps her dignity', but 'her face is very aged: it is -long and thin, and her teeth are very yellow and irregular. Many of them are missing, so that one cannot understand her easily when she speaks.' However, 'It is not possible to see a woman of so fine and vigorous disposition both in mind and body.'
On 24 December, arriving for his final audience, de Maisse found Elizabeth listening to a pavane played on the spinet. They talked of many things, and he observed that 'One can say nothing to her on which she will not make some apt comment. She is a great princess who knows everything.' Despite his warm admiration for her, he had accomplished nothing, and feared that 'the English will do nothing in the business' of making peace with Spain.
The ambassador soon sensed the tension at court, and correctly surmised that it was due to Essex's absence. Elizabeth told him that, had Essex really failed in his duty during the Islands Voyage, she would have had him executed, but she had investigated the matter and was satisfied he was blameless.
Essex wanted Elizabeth to change the wording of Nottingham's patent, but she would not. He demanded to settle the matter by a duel, but Howard refused, claiming he was ill. Essex was now attending neither the Council nor Parliament in protest at the way Elizabeth had treated him, and the court was in an uproar, all business being held in suspension. Obviously, this situation could not continue, and on 28 December, on the advice of Cecil, the Queen appointed Essex Earl Marshal of England, an office in abeyance since the execution of Norfolk; this was a signal favour, having the added benefit of restoring Essex's precedence over Nottingham, and it brought about the desired effect. Peace was restored and 'the gallant Earl doth now show himself in public'. Nottingham, meanwhile, retired in a huff to his house at Chelsea.
In the euphoria of reconciliation, Elizabeth bowed to Essex's oft- repeated entreaties that she receive his mother Lettice at court, but she insisted that it would have to be in the privacy of her Privy Chamber. Several times the Countess had waited in the Privy Gallery to see the Queen as she passed, only to find that Her Majesty had gone by another route. Then she had been invited to a banquet the Queen was due to attend, only to learn that Elizabeth had changed her plans at the last minute. Now, however, she was, albeit frigidly, received in the Privy Chamber: she curtseyed, kissed the Queen's hand and breast, embraced her, and received a cool kiss in return, but it was not enough for her son, who now demanded that Elizabeth repeat the charade in the Presence Chamber. 'I do not wish to be importuned in these unpleasing matters,' the Queen snapped, and that was an end to the matter.
Early in 1598, de Maisse left England, dejected after being told by Essex that he was not interested in peace negotiations since he, unlike the Cecils, did not believe in the possibility of peace between Spain and England. He had also informed the ambassador that the court was a prey to two evils, delay and inconstancy, 'and the cause is the sex of the sovereign'. It was true that the younger, masculine element at court were becoming restive under the governance of an ageing female sovereign, and some openly declared they would not submit to another female ruler.
Essex and many others who had a view to their future were already courting favour with James VI, but when Elizabeth discovered, early in 1598, that James, whom rumour declared might 'attempt to gather the fruit before it is ripe', had instructed his ambassadors in Europe to assert his claim to the English succession, she reprimanded him angrily: 'Look you not therefore without large amends. I may or will slupper up such indignities. I recommend you to a better mind and more advised conclusions.'
Generally, she was in good spirits, but Essex, under a 'great cloud' of gloom, had turned to ladies of the court for consolation. Both his wife and the Queen were unhappy at the rumours about his behaviour, and constant suspicion made Elizabeth depressed and vicious. Her maids were more than once reduced to tears after being unduly reprimanded, and when Elizabeth detected something going on between Essex and Lady Mary Howard, she became unbearable. Fortunately for everyone, Essex managed to convince her that her suspicions were groundless, and her good mood was restored.
Essex's friend, the long-haired dandy Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton - famous for his patronage of Shakespeare - had for four years managed to conceal a clandestine affair with Elizabeth Vernon, one of the Queen's maids, but they wished to marry, and in February 1598, he asked Elizabeth's permission, which she refused. When he asked leave to travel abroad for two years, it was granted. He sailed for France on 10 February, leaving behind 'a very desolate gentlewoman, who have almost wept out her fairest eyes'.
Elizabeth Vernon had good cause to weep: she was pregnant. Fearing she would be ruined, she begged Essex to summon Southampton home. He did so, in the strictest secrecy, and arranged for the lovers to be married at Essex House, where Elizabeth Vernon stayed when Southampton returned to Paris.
Elizabeth celebrated St George's Day in April with a great feast for the Knights of the Garter. Soon afterwards, a German visitor, Paul Hentzner, saw her as she went in procession to chapel at Greenwich, and left a description for posterity: 'Next came the Queen, very majestic; -her face oblong, fair, but wrinkled; her eyes small, jet-black and pleasant; her nose a little hooked; her lips narrow and her teeth black; her hair was of an auburn colour, but false; upon her head she had a small crown. Her bosom was uncovered, as all the English ladies have it till they marry. Her hands were slender, her fingers rather long, and her stature neither tall nor low; her air was stately, and her manner of speaking mild and obliging.'
As Her Majesty passed, 'she spoke very graciously, first to one, then to another, in English, French and Italian, for besides being well-skilled in Greek and Latin and fhejse] languages, she is mistress of Spanish, Scotch and Dutch. Whoever speaks to her, it is kneeling; now and then she raises some with her hand. Wherever she turned her face, everybody fell down on their knees.'
In May, Henry IV made peace with Spain, which provoked Elizabeth to refer to him as 'the Antichrist of ingratitude'. Burghley urged her to make peace also with Philip, but Essex was violently opposed to it. He wanted to launch such an offensive against Spain as would crush her naval power for good. Burghley criticised Essex for breathing nothing but war, slaughter and blood. Elizabeth was torn between these two viewpoints, and had her work cut out to maintain a balance between them, which did little to preserve her good temper. On the whole, she agreed with the Cecils that it would be foolish to finance a war effort when there was no longer any danger of invasion.
Essex retaliated by publishing a pamphlet containing his views, appealing to the people to support him, and thereby incurred the anger of the Queen. As it turned out, Elizabeth did not sign the peace treaty because her allies the Dutch, who had regained more ground since Philip had switched his military ambitions to France, refused to back it. They had seen too much of the cruelty of the Spaniards to want them as their allies.
Then news came from Ireland that, amidst a deteriorating political situation, Elizabeth's Lord Deputy had died. She decided to replace him with Essex's uncle, Sir William Knollys, but when she announced this in Council on July, Essex, wishing to have an influential enemy out of the way, argued that Sir George Carew, of the Cecil faction, was the better choice. When the Queen refused, Essex persisted, and there was a heated quarrel which led to Essex, with gross disrespect, deliberately turning his back on her.
'Go to the devil!' she shouted, and slapped him round the ears. 'Get you gone and be hanged!' This was too much for Essex, who reached for his sword and cried, 'I neither can nor will put up with so great an affront, nor would I have borne it from your father's hands.' Nottingham stepped between them before he could strike the Queen and, too late, Essex realised the enormity of what he had done.
Elizabeth stood in appalled silence. No one spoke. Then Essex stormed out of the room, uttering threats, and rode off to Wanstead, whence he wrote boldly to her:
The intolerable wrong you have done both me and yourself not only broke all the laws of affection, but was done against the honour of your sex. I cannot think your mind so dishonourable but that you punish yourself for it, how little soever you care for me. But I desire, whatsoever falls out, that Your Majesty should be without excuse, you knowing yourself to be the cause, and all the world wondering at the effect. I was never proud till Your Majesty sought to make me too base. And now my despair shall be as my love was, without repentance. Wishing Your Majesty all comforts and joys in the world, and no greater punishment for your wrongs to me than to know the faith of him you have lost, and the baseness of those you shall keep.
Most people expected the Queen to order his arrest and imprisonment in the Tower. Some anticipated that he would be executed. But Elizabeth did nothing, nor did she refer to the incident again.
The quarrel had been symptomatic of a subtle change in their relationship. Each was growing tired of the other and finding it more difficult to play their accustomed roles. Essex was weary of Elizabeth's fickleness and tempests, while she was determined that he should be governed by the same rules of behaviour as her other courtiers. She later told the French ambassador that she was 'apprehensive, from the impetuosity of his temper and his ambition, that he would precipitate himself into destruction by some ill design', and she had advised him at this time 'to content himself with pleasing her on all occasions, and not to show such an insolent contempt for her as he did; but to take care not to touch her sceptre, lest she should be obliged to punish him according to the laws of England, and not according to her own, which he had found too mild and favourable for him to fear any suffering from them'. Her advice, she added with hindsight, did not prevent his ruin.
In mid-July, Knollys wrote begging his nephew Essex to 'Settle your heart in a right course, your sovereign, your country and God's cause never having more need of you than now. Remember, there is no contesting between sovereignty and obedience.' When this had no effect, Lord Keeper Egerton informed his friend, 'The difficulty, my good Lord, is to conquer yourself. You are not so far gone but you may well return.' Essex had embarrassed his supporters, 'ruined his honour and reputation' and failed in his duty to his most gracious sovereign, so he should 'humbly submit', for his country needed him.
If my country had at this time any need of my public service, Her Majesty would not have driven me into a private kind of life. I can never serve her as a villein or slave. When the vilest of all indignities are done unto me, doth religion force me to sue? I can neither yield myself to be guilty, or this imputation laid on me to be just. What, cannot princes err? Cannot subjects receive wrong? Pardon me, pardon me, my good Lord, I can never subscribe to those principles. I have received wrong, and I feel it.
And having uttered such dangerous and subversive sentiments, he continued to stand his ground.
The fact was, as Essex's friends were trying to tell him, that Elizabeth really did need him, for Burghley had fallen seriously ill. Now seventy- eight, he was white-haired and shrunken, but still in harness because the Queen, having relied heavily on him for over half a century, would not let him resign, even though she knew he was deaf, in constant pain with gout, and could barely hold a pen.
As he lay in bed in his house on the Strand, worn out with age and overwork, she visited him and affectionately spoon-fed him his meals. She also sent him medicines, writing, 'I do entreat Heaven daily for your longer life, else will my people and myself stand in need of cordial too. My comfort hath been in my people's happiness, and their happiness is thy discretion.' She told him she had no wish to live longer than she had him with her, a remark that made him weep. 'You are, in all things to me, Alpha and Omega,' she declared. So distraught was she at the prospect of losing him that she could attend to nothing. He was the last link with the ruling caste of her youth, all the others having died, and without him she knew she would be isolated amongst the rising new men, many of whom resented her or discounted her as a spent force.
When Cecil sent his father some game broth, he was too weak to lift it to his lips. Again, Elizabeth came to the rescue, and after she had gone, he dictated a letter to his son:
I pray you, diligently and effectually let Her Majesty understand how her singular kindness doth overcome my power to acquit it, who, though she will not be a mother, yet she showeth herself, by feeding me with her own princely hand, as a careful nurse; and if I may be weaned to feed myself, I shall be more ready to serve her on the Earth. If not, I hope to be, in Heaven, a servitor for her and God's Church. And so I thank you for your porridges.
P.S. Serve God by serving the Queen, for all other service is indeed bondage to the Devil.
Burghley died on 4 August 1598, Elizabeth took the news 'very grievously, shedding of tears', then she shut herself away to mourn in private. For months afterwards, she would break down at the mention of his name.
By the time of his death, Burghley was being called the father of his country. 'No prince in Europe hath such a counsellor,' Elizabeth had said. He had been, wrote Camden in tribute, 'a singular man for honesty, gravity, temperance, industry and justice. Hereunto was added a fluent and elegant speech, wisdom strengthened by experience and seasoned with exceeding moderation and most approved fidelity. In a word, the Queen was happy in so great a counsellor, and to his wholesome counsels the state of England for ever shall be beholden.'
The Queen ordered that, although Burghley was to be buried in St Martin's Church at Stamford, he should be honoured by a ceremonial funeral in Westminster Abbey. Among the five hundred black-cowled guests at the impressive ceremony, Essex 'carried the heaviest countenance', but this was attributed by most people to 'his own disfavour' rather than to grief over his enemy's passing. Even in her desolation, Elizabeth had declared that 'he hath played long upon her, and that she means to play a while upon him, and to stand so much upon her greatness as he hath done upon stomach'.
Death was taking not only the Queen's trusted friends but also her enemies. On 13 September, after fifty days of intense pain, Philip of Spain died, ravaged by a terrible disease that had reduced his body to a mass of putrefying, stinking sores. By his own orders, his lead coffin had been placed at his bedside before he died. He was succeeded by his less fanatical, twenty-year-old son, Philip III, who was to continue the war against England in a desultory fashion.
Two weeks after Burghley's death, serious news arrived from Ireland. A large English army under Sir Henry Bagenal had been ambushed at Yellow Ford by the forces of the rebel Irish under Hugh O'Neill, Second Earl of Tyrone, leaving over 1200 dead or wounded and the English-held territory from the north down to Dublin unprotected. This was the 'greatest loss and dishonour the Queen hath had in her time', and she knew she had to act quickly before it was too late to reverse the damage done.
Tyrone was a fighter of great stature and ability, who had once been loyal to the Queen but had turned traitor in 1595 and succeeded thereafter in uniting his countrymen against the occupying English. He wanted freedom of worship, the withdrawal of English troops from the province, and a say in the appointment of government officials. Many Irish looked to him as their saviour, and great numbers had deserted their English garrisons to join his rebels, while the Spaniards were in league with Tyrone, having for years used Ireland as a springboard for harrying England. On his deathbed Philip II had dictated a letter of congratulation and support to Tyrone as his last act of defiance towards Elizabeth. To control such a man, the Queen knew she must appoint a Lord Deputy of great reputation and ability, someone who could crush the rebel forces and effect a peace.
Essex had remained at Wanstead, still waiting for Elizabeth to apologise, but when he heard of Tyrone's victory, he wrote to the Queen offering his sword against the rebels and, without waiting for a reply, rushed off to Whitehall, only to find that she would not see him. Spluttering with rage, he wrote to her, 'I stay in this place for no other purpose but to attend your commandment.' Back came the terse reply: 'Tell the Earl that I value myself at as great a price as he values himself.'
Desperate for some military action, and worried in case he might miss out on the redistribution of Burghley's offices, Essex feigned illness, which had the desired effect. Elizabeth's heart melted and she sent a sympathetic message and her physician to attend him, which led to a speedy recovery and prompted the Earl to write a flattering letter of gratitude. Charmed, Elizabeth agreed to receive him. Because she was so gracious at their interview, Cecil and many others gained the impression that matters were 'very well settled again', but it was not so. When Essex demanded an apology, the Queen refused it, so he flounced back to Wanstead in a foul temper. In fact, she felt it was she who should have an apology, but Essex was not prepared to give her one. Neither would relent, so a deadlock was reached. Egerton and others advised Essex that it was his duty to submit to his sovereign, but he argued that her behaviour had made it impossible for him to do so. Even his election, in Buckhurst's place, as Chancellor of Oxford University did not lift his spirits.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had sent a new commander, Sir Richard Bingham, to Ireland, but he had died soon after arriving in Dublin. Hearing of this, Essex again wrote to offer his services in the field, and this time the Queen accepted. Thus he came to court, and in a private interview they settled their differences. It is not known whether either apologised, but it may have been the Queen, for Egerton had showed her Essex's extraordinary letter of the previous July, and she had been much disturbed by it. Nor, after this, was she ever quite so affectionate towards him. Both retained a sense of injury, and this was to overlay their future dealings with each other.
Essex did not learn from his mistakes. Hoping to extend his following, he demanded from the Queen Burghley's old - and lucrative - office of Master of the Wards, but she told him she was thinking of retaining it herself. Essex stalked off in a temper, then sent her a letter of protest, in which he pointed out that none of her royal forebears had ever done such a thing. He told her she should think again, but this only stiffened her resolve, and the office remained unfilled.
Undaunted, Essex put himself forward as the new Lord Deputy of Ireland, insisting that he was the only man capable of conquering Tyrone, which everyone agreed would be no easy task. The Queen had proposed Charles Blount, now Lord Mountjoy, for the post, but neither he nor anyone else wanted it, and although she had reservations about giving it to Essex, she had no choice. Robert Markham, a courtier, wrote: 'If the Lord Deputy performs in the field what he hath promised in the Council, all will be well, but though the Queen hath granted forgiveness for his late demeanour in her presence, we know not what to think. She hath placed confidence in the man who so lately sought other treatment at her hands.'
The next two months saw Elizabeth and Essex wrangling over how his campaign should be conducted. He wanted the largest army ever sent to Ireland, and when she refused it, he sulked. 'How much soever Her Majesty despiseth me, she shall know she hath lost him who, for her sake, would have thought danger a sport and death a feast,' he raged. Already, he was having second thoughts about going to Ireland, yet 'his honour could not stand without undertaking it'.
In the end, his persistence got him what he wanted, the greatest army ever raised during Elizabeth's reign, comprising 16,000 infantry and 13,000 cavalry. 'By God', he told Harington, 'I will beat Tyrone in the field, for nothing worthy of Her Majesty's honour has [yet] been achieved.'
Meanwhile, Elizabeth Vernon was still living at Essex House. When the time came for her to be delivered, Essex sent her to stay with his sister, Lady Rich, who was just then engaged in an adulterous affair with Lord Mountjoy and was well versed in subterfuge. A daughter, Penelope, was born on 8 November.
Inevitably, the Queen found out, and ordered Southampton home at once. When he landed, he was arrested for having married without her consent, and committed for a short spell to the Fleet Prison. Essex was by then sheltering the Earl's wife and daughter at Essex House, and did his utmost to secure his friend's release. This did not make for harmony in his relations with the Queen.
He had also fallen out with Raleigh again. On Accession Day that year, Essex and his followers appeared in the tiltyard sporting orange tawny plumes, in an attempt to upstage Raleigh, whom Essex had learned intended to deck out his men in the same. Elizabeth was so disgusted at such petty behaviour that she left early, bringing the day's festivities to an abrupt end.
'To Ireland I go,' wrote Essex on 4 January, 1599. 'The Queen hath irrevocably decreed it.' Many would be pleased to have him out of the way because, as old age advanced, Elizabeth was finding it increasingly difficult to strike a balance between the rival factions at court, and to control Essex, whose 'greatness was now judged to depend as much on Her Majesty's fear of him as her love of him'.
But he faced no easy task. Most Englishmen had little understanding of the native Irish, accounting them savage tribesmen who had wilfully embraced their own form of Catholicism to undermine their English overlords. No Elizabethan Lord Deputy before him had succeeded in conquering them, and most English commanders found it impossible to apply their normal strategies to a land strewn with mountains and bogs, where guerrilla warfare was the norm.
Essex was dismissive of these difficulties, being confident that he would rout Tyrone and thus establish his supremacy in every respect over Cecil and Raleigh, whom he believed were working to undermine his influence. But he feared that, whilst he was away, his 'practising enemies' would poison the Queen's mind against him. 'I am armed on the breast but not on the back,' he told the Council, quite openly. It was this fear, more than any other consideration, that caused him, early in 1599, to have second thoughts about going to Ireland.
On Twelfth Night, Essex danced with the Queen before the visiting Danish ambassador. Elizabeth was at this time engrossed in translating the Ars Poetica of Virgil into English, and was still, at sixty-five, 'excellent disposed to hunting', going for long rides 'every second day'. That year, a German visitor, Thomas Platter, described her, certainly with exaggeration, as 'very youthful still in appearance, seeming no more than twenty years of age'.
It was gradually dawning on Essex that he had saddled himself with 'the hardest task that ever gentleman was set about'. On 1 March, we hear that 'new difficulties arise daily as touching the time of his abode, his entertainment, etc., upon which points he is so little satisfied that many times he makes it a question whether he should go or not'. And as the time for his departure loomed, he asked the Council to pity him rather than expect great victories.
Elizabeth was also having second thoughts about sending Essex to Ireland. His courage she did not doubt, but she had little faith in his judgement and stability, and nor, now, could she be sure of his loyalty. In February, she had been perturbed by the publication of Dr John Hayward's account of The First Part of the Life and Reign of King Henry the Fourth, which was dedicated to Essex. She was painfully aware that, since a performance of Shakespeare's Richard II in 1597, some of her subjects saw in Essex a second Henry of Bolingbroke, who might overthrow her as Henry had overthrown Richard. Aware that she was entrusting to Essex the greatest army she had ever raised, she declared herself offended by the book.
'Cannot this John Hayward be prosecuted for treason?' she asked Francis Bacon.
'Not, I think, for treason, Madam, but for felony,' he replied.
'How so?'
'He has stolen so many passages from Tacitus!' smiled Bacon. But Elizabeth was in no mood for jests.
'I suspect the worst,' she declared. 'I shall force the truth from him.' She even suggested the rack, though Bacon dissuaded her. Nevertheless, Hayward was arrested, condemned in the Star Chamber for having dared write of the deposition of a sovereign, and imprisoned in the Fleet for the rest of Elizabeth's reign.
Hoping that Essex would learn a lesson from this example, the Queen signed his commission on 12 March, giving him leave to return from Ireland when he thought fit. 'I have the best warrant that ever man had,' he observed.
The sun was shining on 27 March as a plainly-garbed Essex rode out of London at the head of his splendid army, cheered by the watching crowds, who cried, 'God bless Your Lordship!' Just beyond Islington, however, a thunderstorm broke, 'which some held an ominous prodigy'. Bacon wrote afterwards: 'I did plainly see his overthrow chained by destiny to that journey.'
With Essex rode Southampton (who was still, as far as the Queen was concerned, in disgrace), Mountjoy and John Harington, whom he would knight during the campaign; the Queen had vetoed him conferring any offices on the former two, fearing he would build up too great a military affinity. But Essex merely resolved to wait until he was safely in Ireland, and then appoint his friends to whatever offices he pleased.
His crossing was dogged by storms, and on 15 April, he arrived at Dublin, complaining of rheumatism. It had been agreed that he should advance on Ulster and attack Tyrone, but his Irish council urged him to wait until June, when the cattle would be fattened and there would be plenty of food for his army. Without informing Elizabeth, Essex decided, early in May, to march his army into Leinster and thence through Munster, to subdue the rebels in those provinces. Revelling in his power, he also set about creating thirty-eight new knights, despite having received from the Queen 'an express letter, all written with her own hand', commanding him not to; he also appointed Southampton Master of the Horse, again in defiance of Elizabeth's wishes. When she wrote ordering him to revoke the appointment, he flatly refused on the grounds that it would encourage the rebels to see the English disunited. June came, but although the cattle were fat, Essex made no move against Tyrone. So far, he had taken one small castle at Cahir. On the 28th, Elizabeth, furious at the delay, complained that she was 'nothing satisfied with the Earl of Essex's manner of proceeding, nor likes anything that is done, but says she allows him , 1000 a day for going on progress'. Essex therefore marched his exhausted army back to Dublin, arriving on 11 July. He was ailing and in a temper, having learned that, behind his back, Cecil had been appointed Master of the Wards, and he complained to the Queen:
Why do I talk of victory or success? Is it not known that from England I receive nothing but discomfort and soul's wounds. Is it not spoken in the army that Your Majesty's favour is diverted from me, and that already you do bode ill to me? This is the hand of him that did live your dearest, and will die Your Majesty's faithfullest, servant.
Elizabeth was unimpressed: she wanted deeds, not words. In a reply sent on 19 July, she pointed out:
If you compare the time that is run on and the excessive charges that is spent, with the effect of anything wrought on this voyage, you must needs think that we, that have the eyes of foreign princes upon our actions, and have the hearts of people to comfort and cherish, who groan under the burden of continual levies and impositions, can little pleasure ourselves hitherto with anything that hath been effected. Whereunto we will add this one thing, that doth more displease us than any charge or expense, which is, that it must be the Queen of England's fortune (who hath held down the greatest enemy she had) to make a base bush kern to be accounted so famous a rebel as to be a person against whom so many thousands of foot and horse, besides all the force of the nobility of that kingdom, must be thought too little to be employed.
Whilst Tyrone was blazing his conquests throughout Christendom, Essex could only write letters boasting of his supposed prowess, when in fact he had squandered men, money and resources.
Again, Elizabeth commanded him to proceed to Ulster and deal with Tyrone as he had promised: 'When we call to mind the scandal it would be to our honour to leave that proud rebel unassailed, we must now plainly charge you, according to the duty you owe us, so to unite soundness of judgement to the zeal you have to do us service, and with all speed to pass thither in such order.'
During that summer there was talk that the Queen was showing signs of her age. She was not riding out in the park so often, and after a mile or two would complain 'of the uneasy going of her horse, and when she is taken down, her legs are so benumbed that she is unable to stand'. When Elizabeth, who greatly feared the consequences of people believing she had lost her grip on affairs, learned what was being said of her, she embarked on a vigorous campaign to counteract it, riding off on private excursions with fewer attendants than 'beseemed her estate', and hotly castigating Lord Hunsdon when he asked her if it was wise for one of her years to ride horseback all the way from Hampton Court to Nonsuch.
'My years!' she roared. 'Maids! To your horses quickly!' Nor would she speak to Hunsdon for the next two days. Soon afterwards, one courtier was able to report: 'Her Majesty, God be thanked, is in good health, and likes very well Nonsuch air. Here hath many rumours been bruited of her, very strange, without any reason, which troubled her a little.' But she did not relax her vigilance. After reading 'an intercepted letter, wherein the giving over of long voyages was noted to be a sign of age', she deliberately extended her progress.
By the time the Queen's letter arrived, in the third week of July, Essex was pursuing another fruitless foray into Leinster, to drive out minor rebels. Early in August he was obliged to return to Dublin after suffering a minor defeat at the hands of the Irish at Arklow, after which he sent his secretary, Henry Cuffe, to inform the Queen, not only that the Irish Council had advised him that it was now too late in the year to proceed against Tyrone, but that the weather in Ireland was appalling and that, of his 16,000 men, only 4000 were left, the rest having been killed, deserted, or died of disease.
Elizabeth was appalled, and incredulous at the advice given Essex; greatly agitated, she sent 2000 reinforcements, and on 10 August told him she expected to hear in his next letter that his offensive against Tyrone 'is begun and not in question'. She angrily charged him, on his allegiance, not to leave Ireland without her permission until he had 'reduced things in the north' and accomplished what he had been sent to do. He must stop wasting his resources on 'inferior rebels'. 'We require you to consider whether we have not great cause to think that your purpose is not to end the war,' she added perceptively.
Essex, ill with dysentery and kidney trouble, and demoralised, now baulked at facing Tyrone, knowing he faced almost certain defeat, but the Queen, in a further trenchant letter, insisted that he do so, adding that no good success ever attended a man who refused to heed sound advice. Her courtiers marvelled that 'Essex hath done so little,' whilst Francis Bacon, whose abilities Elizabeth was grudgingly coming to appreciate, warned her that leaving the Earl in Ireland and putting 'arms and power into his hands, may be a kind of temptation to make him prove unruly'. He urged her to recall Essex. Grimly, she thanked him for having given voice to her own suspicions.
Essex, his ego bruised by the Queen's stinging criticisms and complaints, was becoming obsessed with fears of what the Cecil faction were doing at home to undermine his influence. He had been dismayed to learn that his enemy, Lord Buckhurst, had been appointed Lord Treasurer in Burghley's stead. There was no doubt that the Queen was displeased with Essex, and this he imputed to the machinations of his enemies rather than his own behaviour. Suddenly, he knew what he must do. He had no business to be in Ireland, pursuing elusive military success; instead, he would return to England to safeguard his interests. He knew, with a mounting sense of despair, that, thanks to his incompetence, his army was in no fit state to conquer Tyrone, and at this point all good sense deserted him.
He now announced to his astonished colleagues that he intended to cross to Wales with 3000 men, gather reinforcements from his estates in the principality, and march on London to insist upon the removal of Cecil and his party, whose misgovernment and desire for peace was, he believed, responsible for the ruin of the kingdom. That accomplished, he would force the Queen to accept him as her chief minister. That it could be done, he was convinced, knowing that he had the love of the people and an army at his back. He stressed that he intended no harm to the Queen, and would personally justify his actions to her, hoping that the joy of seeing him would quell any displeasure on her part. Detached from reality as he was fast becoming, it did not occur to him that she might not welcome such an infringement on her prerogative.
Mountjoy and Southampton tried to warn Essex that what he was contemplating was sheer madness and could lead to civil war, but he would not listen. To ensure his safety, therefore, they urged him to leave his army in Ireland and take with him 'a competent number' of his officers and new knights to support him in his demands. But first, they insisted, honour required that he finish this business with Tyrone.
At the end of August, Essex finally left Dublin for Ulster, with a much depleted force, having written in melodramatic vein to the Queen, 'From a mind delighting in sorrow, from spirits wasted with travail, care and grief; from a heart torn in pieces with passion; from a man that hates himself and all things that keep him alive - what service can Your Majesty reap? Since my services past deserve no more than banishment and proscription into the most cursed of all countries, with what expectation shall I live longer?' The letter was signed, 'From Your Majesty's exiled servant, Essex.'
On 3 September, against the Queen's express orders, Essex, whose army was outnumbered 2-1, sent secretly to the rebel leader (with whom he had been in contact for at least a fortnight), first offering to settle their differences by personal combat, and then, after Tyrone had declined on the grounds that he was too old, asking for a parley and holding out hope of a pardon. Tyrone agreed, assuring Essex that, if he would listen to his advice, he would make him the greatest man in England. This only served to strengthen Essex's resolve, and he conceived the idea of enlisting Tyrone as his ally.
Tyrone came to the meeting with Essex to demand that the English leave Ireland to the Irish. On 7 September, the two leaders met on horseback at the Ford of Bellaclynth on the River Lagon, near Carrickmacross. What was discussed during the half-hour meeting is disputed, for Essex had unwisely omitted to bring any witnesses, and made Southampton order everyone out of earshot. However, three men hid themselves in nearby bushes and their evidence, which was later shown to the Queen, suggested that the Earl informed Tyrone of his plans and asked for his support. Essex's enemies believed he had suggested that Tyrone and he join forces with a view to deposing the Queen and setting up Essex as king, but this is unlikely, although Essex certainly did not inform Elizabeth of everything that had been discussed.
The meeting ended with both leaders fixing a truce, to be renewed every six weeks until May 1600. Under its terms, Tyrone would remain in possession of the territory he now held, and the English would establish no more forts or garrisons. The Irish leader now had all the time he needed to reinforce his army.
Although he had promised Tyrone that he would personally lay his demands before the Queen, Essex was under the impression that the rebel leader had in fact submitted to him, and was unaware of the extent of his humiliation. In case the Queen should complain about his failure to secure a military victory, he persuaded his officers to sign a document branding any campaign in Ulster as useless. Then he marched his weary army back to Dublin.
A week later, Elizabeth was told of the parley, but not of the terms of the truce, which Essex had not thought fit to tell her, and wrote urgently to her Lord Deputy, demanding to know what had been said: 'We never doubted but that Tyrone, whensoever he saw any force approach, would instantly offer a parley. Ittappeareth by your journal that you and the traitor spoke half an hour together without anybody's hearing, wherein, though we that trust you with a kingdom are far from mistrusting you with a traitor, yet we marvel you could carry it no better. If we had meant that Ireland should have been abandoned, then it was very superfluous to have sent over a personage such as yourself She reminded him that Tyrone had broken his word before - 'to trust this traitor on oath is to trust a devil' - and insisted that Essex take the field against him as planned. 'We absolutely command you to continue and perform that resolution,' she concluded.
Essex never received her letter. On 24 September, he suddenly announced he was leaving for England, and, taking a substantial number of followers, took ship half an hour later, in defiance of the Queen's orders and having, technically, abandoned his army. Elizabeth, and many other people, would interpret this as desertion. In six months, he had wasted 300,000 of public funds, and his campaign had been an unmitigated disaster.
At dawn on 28 September, having ridden hard for three days, he reached Westminster, where he discovered that the Queen was at Nonsuch. Leaving his escort in the capital, he crossed the Thames by the Lambeth ferry and galloped south at great speed in driving rain, arriving there at ten o'clock the next morning. Then he strode into the palace, caked with mud, marched through the Presence and Privy Chambers, and burst unannounced into the Queen's bedchamber.