Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I Read online

  “Loki safely made it within the confines of Asgard, where he dropped Idun and she changed back into a goddess again. Thiassi, the evil giant, did not make it into Asgard. Instead, he crashed into the wall guarding it. The gods lit a fire on the walls and Thiassi’s wings caught the flame and he died, a victim of his own treachery.”

  “And Idun, Lady Helena? What of Idun?” Anne urged me on.

  “The goddess was as beautiful as ever, and once she returned to her rightful place, the gods grew young and virile again. She served them her apples and they all dwell in Asgard today, safe from giants and old age.”

  At that, I bid Eleanor come forth. She handed me the basket of apples, which I had sent her for. I knelt and presented them to the queen. “Idun?”

  The queen laughed and clapped her hands. Then she accepted them. After the women scattered again to their sewing and reading, Her Grace called me close to her again. Eleanor looked up, expecting to be called, too, I guessed. When she wasn’t, she scowled.

  “We understand that you have taken over the care of my songbirds after Lady Knollys’s untimely death,” Her Majesty said.

  “Yes, madam,” I said. “I have.”

  “We thank you,” she said. “We shall consider other such things as might keep you occupied.”

  I curtseyed. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  “We have shrugged off Atlas’s burden this afternoon, thanks to your ministrations, though the valerian has, perhaps, a strong savor.”

  “My pleasure, Your Grace. I shall find a scent to disguise the valerian next time.”

  We chatted comfortably then, for a few moments, and I answered her questions about the north myths with authority and friendship as well as humility. I think she liked that, as she spoke to me more as an equal than she ever had. I then went to find Eleanor, to thank her and to invite her to sup with me at William’s estate the next week, but she was suddenly, and surprisingly, nowhere to be found.

  • • •

  The following autumn, the trickle of rumors regarding Norfolk’s intended wedding to Mary swelled to a river. The queen called him into her Presence Chamber to answer the accusations.

  “We have heard that you, lately bereaved of your wife, have plans to take another,” she began.

  He held his peace. “I know not of what you speak, Majesty,” he said. “Did you have someone in mind? I should be humbly thankful to take your counsel in this matter.”

  “I understand,” she said with a sharp tone and a look that matched it, “that you already have someone in mind, our cousin Mary, Queen of the Scots.”

  “Nay, Majesty, those are rumors planted by my adversaries that they might sprout enmity between us. I would not be able to sleep upon a safe pillow beside so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress and murderer.”

  “I was unaware that you had adversaries, my Lord Norfolk,” she said. “Pray tell us whom these may be so we may defend you.”

  Norfolk smiled weakly. “Whoever is spreading malicious lies about me, my queen. Those are my enemies.”

  “We shall keep our ears, and our eyes, open to better hear and see these enemies of yours,” the queen said. At that, Norfolk flicked his gaze to Lord Robert, whom the queen affectionately referred to as her “eyes.” Lord Robert smoothed his beard and met Norfolk’s gaze with a confident smile.

  After Norfolk left the room, the queen remarked to Lord Robert, “I know full well that if that marriage comes about, within four months I shall find myself in the Tower.” I wondered how heavy was the burden knowing that from the moment of your conception, there were others wishing for and plotting your death.

  Within the month Norfolk had lost his nerve and fled court without the queen’s permission. She moved to Windsor Castle, her strongest defensive residence, and then sent for Norfolk to be placed under arrest and taken to the Tower on suspicion of treason.

  “Madam,” Cecil reasoned with her shortly thereafter, “I cannot see how his acts are within the compass of treason. And if you consider the words of the statute, I think you will agree.”

  She stood up and shouted, “If the laws of England do not provide for Norfolk’s execution, then we will proceed against him on our own authority!” She pounded her fist against the table for effect, and what an effect it had. It ushered in the silence of a corpse, which Cecil looked as if he shortly might become. He bowed and left the room. We ladies trailed after Her Majesty, who paid us no mind.

  In the end, though, she would be proved right. Within a month there was a revolt in the north of Catholics who sought the throne for Mary.

  “Why don’t they love and obey me, for as I live I love them and seek only their best?” the queen mourned.

  “Her Majesty has sorrow for her people but rage for her nobles,” I said to Eleanor as I sprinkled scented water on the queen’s linens and she organized onto tufts of satin the queen’s hundreds of dress pins.

  Eleanor looked at me for a minute before speaking. “It’s true. There is rage for the earls of the north who led this, too.”

  “Earls led this?”

  She laughed. “You don’t think peasants organized it, do you? There are those in very high places who had a guiding hand. The Earl of Westmoreland, whose wife is sister to Norfolk. Also Henry Percy, Eighth Earl of Northumberland.” She stopped pinning and turned to me. “His father was martyred in the Pilgrimage of Grace, when Her Majesty’s father sought to put down a Catholic uprising some years ago. And his uncle Henry Percy was said to have been Queen Anne Boleyn’s first love.”

  Her voice had grown quiet; I couldn’t determine if she was implying that Queen Anne had a girlhood affection for Henry Percy or that she had known him.

  Norfolk was eventually released from the Tower as the queen reminded him to take good heed of his pillow. He promised that he would never again deal in the marriage of the Queen of Scots.

  • • •

  Just before and after Christmas the court was at its most festive. It was the season of revels, and plays were performed for Her Majesty’s enjoyment. Many courtiers had their own troupe, of professional players, and sometimes men of the nobility snuck in and took a role upon themselves, to the amusement of the queen and her ladies.

  The first week in December, playwright John Lyly had the Earl of Sussex’s men perform Endymion. It had both romance and comedy, each of which Her Majesty enjoyed in turn. William did not attend; his gout pained him more and more frequently, but the Earl of Sussex had pleasant words for me, remembering me from both my arrival from Sweden and also his friendship with William.

  We gathered in the great hall, and the stage had been prepared for us with sumptuous settings and costume. The tale began with poor Endymion complaining to his friend Eumenides of his unrequited love for the moon goddess, Cynthia.

  “Come to, man, you have lost your senses!” Eumenides rebuked him. “Cynthia is much too high a reach for an earthborn mortal like yourself.” At that, Endymion reached high into the air and made as though he was trying to clasp the moon, just beyond his reach.

  The court laughed, but something, or rather someone, had caught my attention. I felt certain that I knew the player who was portraying Endymion. He was well favored and fair to look upon; all the ladies’ eyes were trained on him though they feigned not to have such interest. But how and when would I have chanced upon a player? I found his lines funny, touching, and well delivered; I enjoyed watching him perform.

  Tellus, a woman who had formerly held Endymion’s affections, could not abide his new love interest, so she hired a sorceress to cast a deep sleep upon him from which he could not awaken. Eumenides, too, was in love, but with a woman who scorned him. The true nature of his character was tested when he reached a magic fountain and was allowed one, but only one, question.

  “I must think upon this,” he said. “Do I inquire how to pick the lock of my own love’s heart, or do I inquire how to awake my sleeping friend?” At that, the room hushed; we, used to having to choose between duty
to others and loyalty to self, understood his dilemma.

  “I must choose Endymion,” he proclaimed, as all knew he must.

  The fountain spoke, “Endymion can be awakened, but only by a kiss from fair Cynthia.”

  Eumenides pled on bent knee the case of his friend with the goddess, and she agreed, in her kindness and compassion, to offer one kiss to Endymion to rescue him from a life of sleep.

  After a feigned kiss, Endymion awakened and, seeing his love, shouted with joy. He well understood, though, that it was not for him to marry a goddess. “Never before have her lips been touched, nor would they ever again be soiled by such condescension, though could that be true I would then wish to be placed under a spell every day!”

  As the play was clearly a reference to the chastity and status of the queen, nearly every eye was upon her and she smiled her approval. The player speaking the lines, however, looked directly at me as he spoke them. I looked back into his striking blue eyes and remembered where I’d seen them before. Afterward, he found and spoke with me. “Thomas Gorges, Lady Elin von Snakenborg,” he said.

  “I remember you, Sir Thomas,” I said, keeping a cool reserve though I felt rather warm. “At the joust. And I am named Helena now, as I am an Englishwoman.”

  “I’ve certainly not forgotten you,” he answered. “But it’s not ‘sir’; it’s Mr. Thomas Gorges. However, Her Majesty has late appointed me as the watch of Hurst Castle, one of her most important coastal defenses.”

  I teased him. “A player defending the realm?” He looked taken aback for a moment, so I sought to reassure him. “No, no, Mr. Gorges, I know that oftentimes highborn men slip into player groups for the pleasure of it. Lord Robert is said to do that himself!”

  At that he relaxed. “Yes, that’s true. I am not often at court and thought to surprise and thank the queen for her appointment by appearing in Lyly’s play. Her Majesty,” he said with some pride, “is my cousin through her mother, Queen Anne Boleyn. I’m also a cousin of the Earl of Sussex”—he flourished with a hand—“into whose company of players I snuck this eve!” He indicated some chairs nearby. “Would you care to sit and talk?”

  “Certainly, thank you,” I replied.

  He waved down one of the serving men, who brought us some wine, which loosened my tongue the smallest amount, and my heart a bit more. For quite a while we talked about his time spent in troubled Ireland on behalf of the queen and his hobby as an actor; and he recited some humorous lines from plays he had performed with other highborn men at various courtier gatherings. I laughed until I had to stop him from sharing them so I wouldn’t draw the queen’s ire at my indiscreet displays.

  At his prodding, I spoke of Sweden and shared with him a myth of the north, since he’d been so good to share some of his own tales. He asked after my family, and our customs, and my loneliness or well-being in a new land, which was something that no one, not even William, had inquired after, and it brought tears to my eyes, which I quickly brushed away. He helped me recover by asking if I liked to bow hunt. I told him I had not learned how to, and he raised an eyebrow and said, “That must be remedied!”

  Within an hour, I could see that the queen was readying herself to leave. We ladies always left when she withdrew. “I must go now, Mr. Gorges,” I said. “Though it was a true pleasure to see you again.”

  “Thomas,” he said, with a slightly impish smile. “Perhaps I shall come to court more often. I hope I may continue to call you Elin. It’s unexpected and comely, and it befits you well.”

  I blushed like a girl and nodded my assent.

  • • •

  We followed Her Majesty back to her chamber, where the long process of helping her undress began. Away from the prying eyes of the courtiers, we would carefully take off her makeup and unpin her hair and the ruffs and sleeves, stomachers and undergarments that held together her gowns. She was a real woman, flesh and blood, who grew fatigued and angry, who loved and lost and felt anxiety and pain like the rest of us mortals. But to her kingdom, Cynthia must always remain goddess and queen. Her Majesty had to be the most constant, convincing player of all. I imagined that grew tiresome.

  I looked about me, and as the queen readied herself for bed, many of her ladies slipped away. Those who remained were mainly relatives on her mother’s side. The queen often surrounded herself with her mother’s relatives, including Lady Hunsdon, married to Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon, the brother of poor passed Lady Knollys and son of Mary Boleyn.

  “One of your cousins introduced himself to me this evening, Majesty, after the play,” I said while I prepared scented water for her wash.

  “Indeed!” she responded. “Pray, who would that be?”

  “Thomas Gorges,” I said. “He told me he was a relative of your mother, Queen Anne Boleyn.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, all motion in the room stopped. I myself stopped, due to the reaction of those around me. I looked about me, but all gazes were dropped downward. “I’m sorry, madam.” I fell to my knees. “Have I misspoken?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, Lady von Snakenborg, you have not. My court is unaccustomed to mention of my mother. As you are not from here, you did not know.”

  “Forgive me, Majesty. It’s only that, well, I am here at your court, in which I delight and am greatly honored. But no one speaks of my mother or my sisters, and as time passes by I long to hear their names, to remember that they are, and were. When they go unspoken, it’s as though they did not exist.” Someone inhaled sharply, but I had spoken my mind, and had been given leave, and I was not going to back away now, nor did I believe that the queen expected me to.

  She raised me up then and drew me closer, so much more woman than queen then with her white bed dress on and no makeup. “Just because I do not speak of my mother in public does not mean I do not speak of her at all. You have done no wrong, be not afraid.”

  The room sighed a relief, and the ladies went back to their tasks. I pulled, from under my gown, a long chain with a locket on the end. “May I show this to you, Majesty?”

  She looked curious. “Indeed.”

  I unclasped the locket and held it toward her. “This one is me,” I said, pointing to a sketch of a young girl. “And this is my mother, on her wedding day.”

  She looked at them for a long time before raising her black eyes to meet my gaze. “So she is kept close, though hidden away.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Nothing more needed to be said.

  “We are sorry that you yearn for your family. Especially as things are not yet settled with Northampton. But that may soon change.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” I said, though I had no idea what she was talking about. She held out her hand for me to kiss, and I did.

  Lady Hunsdon came forward then with the evening’s devotional books.

  “Lady von Snakenborg,” the queen said to me in a kind voice, before I withdrew. “The past cannot be cured. But the present can be held, and the future can be grasped.”

  I curtseyed and backed away.

  I could not sleep that night. I rehearsed the lines of the play over and over in my head, and in my heart, and thought upon Thomas Gorges. I was ready to grasp my future.

  SEVEN

  Year of Our Lord 1570

  Winter: Year of Our Lord 1571

  The Palace of Whitehall

  For the new year, the queen gave me a brooch that was fashioned as a jeweled apple. I could not hold back my joy and reached forward to embrace her upon its presentation. She did not rebuke me but allowed me to show my affection before kissing her hand, perhaps because Princess Cecelia had already made a royal precedence of indiscriminate shows of affection from Swedes. I gave the queen an elaborate lace ruff I had tatted myself, starched, and then wrapped around hot rods to shape it.

  “This is marvelous,” she said with real enthusiasm. “I much prefer gifts made with the hand and the heart to those concealed within purse strings.” She indicated to her Mistress of Wardrobes that she wi
shed to wear it the very next day.

  Soon thereafter she raised Mary Radcliffe and me to Gentlewomen of the Bedchamber. I continued to care for the queen’s gifts; among them that year were not only precious gems and those purses filled with coins but monkeys and, of course, noisome songbirds in gilded cages. I delivered them to Her Majesty’s aviary with great displeasure. They squawked, rather than sang, while under my care. I covered their cages with a degree of smug satisfaction at their displeasure at being snuffed, but I was thrilled to be in charge of something so dear to Her Majesty’s heart.

  Mary took over the job of tasting each of the queen’s dishes before they were served to her. She tasted boldly, unafraid, honored by the position. Though we were raised to the bedchamber at the same time, Mary did not warm to me. I did not know why. Was it because I was a foreigner? Had I misspoken? Was she cool to everyone? I should have to seek a way to win friends, as the time when I was not serving was very lonely indeed. I read, I did needlework, I attended church. I looked out the window and hoped that life would lighten soon, like dawn. I wondered about my mother. I wondered if my sister Karin had children. I turned quickly from that thought, as it pained me.

  One Sunday in early January we followed the queen to the Royal Chapel for the morning’s worship. Her counselors, some of whom leaned toward Puritanism or Calvinism, disapproved of the fact that she held with her clergy’s wearing vestments and had a silver cross and candlesticks near her altar. Her Majesty had said that while she was bred, born, and would surely die in her Protestant faith, she preferred to worship this way and none would browbeat her to change. Too, it was an acknowledgment to her Catholic subjects that she had not stripped away all they held dear.

  Partway through the morning sermon, there was a commotion in the hallway. The preacher stopped his lesson and someone came in and whispered into Her Majesty’s ear. She nodded mutely, signaled for the sermon to continue, and listened until the end. Shortly thereafter she led us to her Presence Chamber, where she met the Scots’ ambassador. The Earl of Moray, the Protestant leader of Scotland, and Mary, Queen of Scots’s illegitimate half brother, had been assassinated. The way was now made clear for Mary’s return to the throne in Scotland.