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I was so angry with him. He did not seem to understand that, although I had allowed him to return to Court, I now regarded him in a different light. I no longer had the same love for him. I was prepared to give it, it was true, because I needed to fill the gap left by Leicester, but I had made a discovery—that great affection comes about naturally and it ca
I looked at this brash young man. He was very handsome with that brand of interesting looks which appealed to me. I was sixty-six years of age. Was I going to inspire that romantic love I had had from Leicester? Never! It was over.
I turned on Essex and said: “My Lord Essex, you do not like my choice of a man for Ireland any more than you did before. I can see that you believe Mountjoy not to be worthy of the task. Well, perhaps there is one other who might be chosen.”
I saw the satisfied smile play about his lips. I thought: Yes, Essex. You see me as a foolish, doting old woman. I am in some ways; but there is always my serious self looking on at my folly and never failing to make me aware of it.
“Yes,” I continued. “You, my lord. I have decided to send you to Ireland.”
HE WAS TAKEN ABACK. It was not what he wanted. He had pla
When he realized he could not evade the appointment, I will say that he set about the adventure with enthusiasm.
He selected his followers with alacrity, and I was interested to see that his stepfather, Christopher Blount, was one he had chosen to go with him. I heard that there was a deep friendship between those two, and that Blount worshipped Essex—as I believe the whole family did. I wondered what the she-wolf thought about losing her husband and her son at one time.
I was interested to hear that Southampton was going with him. Oh well, I thought, that will rid us of that troublesome gentleman for a time.
It was a day in March when he set out for Ireland and when his cavalcade reached Islington there was a great storm and such a downpour of rain that the men had to take cover from it. People shook their heads over this and said it was a sign that the expedition would not be a success.
The prophecy was not far wrong.
Essex had no love for his task once the first enthusiasm had waned. He knew that to bring law and order to a people like the Irish was an impossibility. He made mistakes. He was unsuited to the mission. I wished that I had sent Mountjoy, who was a clever and steady young man, and who would not take an action without first giving serious thought to it.
Essex bestowed honors on those of whom he was fond. He had made his stepfather Marshal of the Army—a ridiculous appointment and one Blount could never have aspired to but for his relationship with Essex. My policy had always been to favor those whom I liked, but only if they were good enough to do the work. But I could not expect such wisdom from Essex.
He sent word to me that he was proposing to make Blount a member of the Council of Ireland. I promptly replied that there should be no such appointment.
As a result Christopher Blount returned to England. His health was not good, said Essex. Whether this was to be construed as petulance on his part or whether it was actually true, I did not know; and, as I had no intention of displaying the slightest interest in Lettice Knollys's husband, except to forbid him to take posts for which he was unsuited, I did not inquire.
Then came the most startling news. Essex had appointed the Earl of Southampton General of Horse, although he must have known that it was an appointment of which I would disapprove. How dared he give command to such a man—one to whom I had shown my dislike! The post should have gone to Lord Grey who was Southampton's superior in military skill in every possible way. Moreover when the appointment was made official, Grey would be serving under Southampton; and in addition to Grey's being the man of superior knowledge, he was also an enemy of Southampton, who had once intended to fight a duel with him—and would have done so if I had not stepped in.
What was Essex thinking of? He cared nothing for the cause. All he wanted to do was honor his friends—and one who was in disgrace at Court and had shown his defiance of me!
I wrote at once forbidding the appointment.
Essex's answer was that it had already been made and could not be rescinded. I heard too that Southampton, no doubt because he was robbed of the presence of Elizabeth Vernon, was becoming very friendly with the most handsome of the men. He shared a tent with a very good-looking young captain—one Piers Edmonds—and, said my informant, Southampton would hug him in his arms and play wantonly with him.
I was horrified. I sent orders to Essex that the command must be taken from Southampton without delay, and I did this in such authoritative terms that even Essex realized he must obey.
It was not surprising that affairs in Ireland were going badly.
VERY SOON IT became clear that the appointment of Essex had been a disaster.
He ignored my instructions, which were arrived at with the help of the Council. He would go his own way, which was the wrong one. He was defeated everywhere. His excuses were that there was sickness in the army before the battle commenced, or that the weather had been against him.
Why wasn't action taken when the army was in better state? I demanded. And why was the campaign started at the approach of winter? Why had not July or August been chosen? It seemed that none of the seasons of the year had been considered favorable. A messenger arrived to tell me that Essex had been parleying with Hugh O'Neill, Earl of Tyrone, after having come face to face with him at Ardee in Louth where Essex did not attack, his forces being so few in number compared with those of Tyrone. He should have known that it was Tyrone's custom to make agreements that he might break them when it suited him to do so. In any case, Essex had no right to make agreements without first receiving instructions from England.
That infuriated me. Essex was hopeless. There were some who were suggesting that he was serving the Irish better than the English, and that was tantamount to saying that he was a traitor.
It was Michaelmas time and I was at the Palace of Nonesuch. I had risen from my bed and was seated at my dressing table while my ladies were gathered about me ready to assist at my dressing.
I yawned for I was still sleepy. My hair, quite white now, hung about my face in disorder. I was sitting there in my bedgown when the door burst open and a man—muddied from a long ride, disheveled and his clothes awry—came bursting into the apartment. At first I thought he was an assassin—and then I recognized him.
“Essex!” I cried.
“Your Majesty!” He flung himself at my feet and kissed my hand fervently.
He had come from Ireland. He feared evil had been spoken of him. He had ridden through the night and had just arrived at Nonesuch Palace, and had been unable to wait longer before seeing his fair and beauteous Queen.
Fair and beauteous Queen! An old woman of sixty-five, her face pale and unadorned, her white straggly hair awry about her face!
He must be very frightened to talk so, I thought. This means great disaster in Ireland.
Then I was thinking how I must look. He had never before seen me in this state of undress—nor had any man, except one from my window and that was years ago when I had been younger. It was suddenly borne home to me that he must be as astonished to see me as I was to see him—though for different reasons.