When we were alone together I was always particularly affectionate with him. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated what he had done for me and for the country.

Of course he had put forward his son. What good father would not? He had kept Francis Bacon from office out of fear that he would displace the Elf. He never would. I wanted to make use of Robert Cecil's services because I recognized in him his father's particular qualities. Francis Bacon might be brilliant but that tutorial attitude of his would never have suited me.

It was a pity that Essex was in the opposing camp. I should have liked him to work with Burghley. But that was impossible. There could not have been two people less alike than Essex and either of the Cecils.

So when Burghley came to me I feared before he began to tell me that there was some fresh complaint against Essex.

“Pray sit down, my dear friend,” I said. “I know it tires you to stand.”

Gratefully he did so.

“First,” I said, “tell me this: Have you been taking the possets I recommended?”

“Without fail, Your Majesty.”

“Well, I trust they will do good work. My Spirit must take more care of himself. Why should he not rest more? He has that very able son of his to take over much of the work.”

“It is a great pleasure to me that Your Majesty finds my son satisfactory.”

“A clever little Elf. Yes, he pleases me, Master Cecil, and not only because of his good work. He is your son and that gives him special favor in my eyes.”

Now the pleasantries were over, he came to business, and, as I had feared, it concerned Essex.

“Since the regrettable death of Walsingham we have sadly missed his excellent service,” said Burghley, “but there are those among us who have tried to make sure that there are no secret plots which might put Your Majesty's life in danger…”

“Essex works well in that direction,” I said.

“Ah, Essex, Your Majesty.” He paused and I was full of foreboding. “I have made an alarming discovery and I have come here to tell you expressly of it. Essex is corresponding with the King of Scotland.”

“That is impossible!” I cried.

“Alas, Your Majesty, I have evidence. I had discovered this was going on and have secured some of the correspondence.”

“For what purpose was this?”

Burghley looked at me and lifted his shoulders. “The correspondence started when Essex was trying to restore Davison and wanted the King of Scotland to join in the pleas for him since the trouble was about the execution of the King's mother. From that… the letters have continued.”

“How did you discover this?”

“I planted a spy—one Thomas Fowler—at the Scottish Court. The letters have been copied and sent to me. It seems that the prime mover is Lady Rich. Her husband is with her in this.”

“But she is with Mountjoy now.”

“That is so, Your Majesty, but it seems the one thing Penelope Rich has in common with her husband, is a love of intrigue. They are all working for the aggrandizement of Essex. They have code names: Penelope Rich is Rialta, Lord Rich, Ricardo; Your Majesty is Venus and Essex the Weary Knight.”

“It sounds like madness.”

“Not such madness, Your Majesty. Essex is the Weary Knight because he is weary of his bondage to you. He looks for a change.”

“He can have his change!” I cried. “He can go into exile at once. That is the change he will get.”

“If I may advise…”

“Certainly, my friend.”

“At this time the correspondence with the King of Scotland is not treasonable. It is clear to me that Penelope Rich—who is a schemer if ever there was one—is trying to ingratiate herself with James of Scotland, who some say would be the next in line to this throne. I think that is the reason for this correspondence.”

“So they are waiting for my death, are they?”

“It would seem so.”

“Traitors! Villains! By God's Precious Soul, they should all be in the Tower.”

“They are disloyal to Your Majesty, but I beg you to restrain your anger. I want this correspondence to continue, for who knows when it might break into something of significance. If we let them remain in ignorance of our discovery, they will go on writing to each other, and if we are vigilant we can by this means discover whether they have some ulterior motive and are plotting and hoping for James's help. But we must not betray our knowledge of what is taking place. I am sure this is the way Walsingham would have worked.”

“Oh my dear, dear Moor! How I wish he were with us now.”

“Amen! But Your Majesty, you still have loyal servants here to work for you.”

“My dear Spirit the chief of them.”

“Then I have Your Majesty's permission to keep this matter dark? No indication shall be given to the conspirators—if conspirators they be—that we have made this discovery?”

“Yes, let it be so,” I said.

“I have a letter here which was sent to Essex by Sir Francis Bacon in which he warns him of his treatment of you. I thought it would amuse you and let you know what these young men are thinking.”

“The letter came to you through the same sources, I presume?”

“I have many men who are ever watchful of all that concerns Your Majesty.”

I was in truth faintly amused by Francis Bacon's letter. He was telling Essex how he should treat me. Not too much blatant flattery, he advised; there were times, he wrote, when Essex appeared to be paying fine compliments rather than speaking sincerely. That should be changed. He should not slavishly imitate Hatton or Leicester, but as those two courtiers managed that sort of flattery very well, it would be advisable for Essex to study their methods.

Francis Bacon, I commented, was a young man who thought himself very clever. As for Essex… his behavior hurt me more than anything else.

I helped Burghley to his feet. His joints were very stiff.

I embraced him warmly.

“We are getting old, my friend,” I said. “We notice it … and so do others.”

MY FEELINGS FOR Essex were changing. I could not entirely abandon him, for he still had the power to charm me, and when he was with me, in spite of everything, I was still able to forget his faults. But there were times when I could not escape the thought that he was waiting for me to die. He wanted a new King—young James—and he and his sister were endeavoring to make sure of his favor when the change came.

It was perfidious of him. How could he pretend to love me! And how foolish I was, because I missed Leicester so much, to turn to this cruel young man.

He was philandering with one of my maids of honor, a Mistress Bridges. I pretended not to see what was going on, but it was really quite blatant. I heard that poor Frances was very unhappy on account of his infidelities. It had been a very sad day for her when she had married Essex.

He was his mother all over again. What could one expect from the cubs of the she-wolf!

I dismissed Mistress Bridges from Court for a few days—not because of her liaison with Essex, which I pretended to know nothing about, but because she had used the privy gallery to watch a tennis match, and the rule was that ladies should not use it unless they first asked for permission.

Essex knew that I was annoyed, for it was his game the girl had gone to see, and as I was very cool to him—and had been since Burghley's revelation—he retired from Court with the excuse that he had overexerted himself at the game and had a return of his fever.

Henri Quatre, having changed his religion, was fairly firm on the throne of France and, like myself, he was one who believed that peace brought prosperity. He was therefore trying to bring about a peace with Spain in which he wanted me to join.

Burghley was in favor of this, Essex against it. Burghley said that we needed peace and there was more to be gained from it than war. Essex made a fiery speech in which he extolled the bravery of the English, who had once defeated the Spaniards and would do so again.