The Queen replied tartly that she did not mean 'to minister anything to you but as you should in truth deserve', and dispatched two further summonses, insisting that the Duke must travel to court even if he was ill, if need be in a litter. Cecil and other councillors wrote urging him to obey her.

At last Norfolk capitulated. He was aware of what was being planned in the north and, fearful of being implicated, sent a messenger to Westmorland to beg him to call off the rising: 'If not, it should cost me my head, for that I am going to court.'

On 3 October Norfolk was arrested on the way to Windsor. Cecil had assured him that, if he submitted to her, the Queen would not deal harshly with him, but ten days later, as he had feared, he was committed to the Tower. Elizabeth's rage was truly majestic, and she was resolved to make him suffer in return for the months of anxiety and worry he had caused her. At the same time, Throckmorton was questioned about his part in the conspiracy, and confined to his farmhouse at Carshalton in Surrey; Arundel and Pembroke were likewise placed under house arrest. Pembroke was quickly released, only to die the next year, while Arundel remained under guard at Nonsuch Palace until the following March, when he was released at Leicester's instigation.

On 16 October, Cecil warned Elizabeth that the real threat to her throne lay with Mary Stuart, and used this information to remind her where her duty lay.

There are degrees of danger. If you would marry, it should be less; whilst you do not, it Will increase. If her person be restrained, here or in Scotland, it will be less; if at liberty, greater. If found guilty of her husband's murder, she shall be less a person perilous; if passed over in silence the scar of the murder Will wear out, and the danger greater.

Elizabeth announced in Council that she wanted Norfolk tried for treason, but Cecil did not consider the Duke's actions to be 'within the compass of treason. Whereupon I am bold to wish Your Majesty would show your intent only to inquire into the fact, and not to speak of it as treason.' In fact, there was scant evidence that Norfolk's intentions had been treasonable, and certainly not enough to convict him.

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The Queen, however, was out for his blood, and threatened that, if the laws of England did not provide for the Duke's execution, she would proceed against him on her own authority. She was so overcome with anger that she fainted, which brought her councillors running with vinegar and burnt feathers.

As usual, when her rage had cooled, she realised that Cecil had been right: to proceed against Norfolk without recourse to law was tyranny, pure and simple, and she was no tyrant. Eventually, she conceded that the Duke might not have had treasonable intentions and agreed to leave him to cool his heels in the Tower for a time, whereupon Cecil suggested that she divert Norfolk from ideas of marrying Mary Stuart by finding another, more suitable, bride for him.

On 26 October, Elizabeth dispatched to Sir Henry Norris, her ambassador in Paris, an eight-page draft in which she had written down her version of recent events, which Norris was to communicate to Charles IX and Catherine de' Medici. Elizabeth insisted that, 'By our means only, [Mary's] life was saved in her captivity, and since her flying into our realm, she hath been honourably used and entertained and attended upon by noble personages, and such hath been our natural compassion towards her in this her affliction, that we utterly set apart all such just causes as she had given us of sundry offences, whereof some were notorious to the whole world.' Regarding the inquiry into Darnley's murder, 'such circumstances were produced to argue her guilty'. The Queen now wished, however, that she had not authorised the inquiry. She had been 'fully determined to see Mary restored', but then she haci discovered 'a disordered, unhonourable and dangerous practice', which had been going on since the inquiry opened at York.

According to Elizabeth, her cousin had bombarded her 'with frequent letters, tears and messages', promising 'She would never seek nor use any means to be helped but by us, nor would attempt anything in our realm but by our advice.' Instead, she had intrigued behind Elizabeth's back to marry Norfolk. Contrary to what Mary's supporters had been spreading about, Elizabeth had 'never thought' of naming Mary as her successor. She was 'right sorry, yea, half ashamed, to have been thus misused by her, whom we have so benefited by saving of her life'. Norris should emphasise that Mary's complaints about the conditions she was held under were simply untrue.

In November, having learned of Norfolk's fate and received a promise of Spanish aid, the northern earls mobilised their rebel forces, numbering over 2500 men, and marched southwards, sacking Durham Cathedral and moving on towards their ultimate goal, Tutbury, where Mary Stuart was held - 'her whom the world believed to be the hidden 211.

cause of these troubles'. Elizabeth shared this view, and for the first time gave serious consideration to her councillors' exhortations that Mary be executed. She even allowed them to draw up a death warrant to be used if her cousin was discovered to be behind the rebellion, or in the event of its appearing likely to succeed.

There were simultaneous smaller risings in other northern districts. On 25 November, at the Queen's command, Mary was removed to Coventry in the Protestant Midlands, and the Earl of Huntingdon was appointed to assist Shrewsbury, who was ill, in his task of guarding her. All ports were closed and the militia placed on alert. Windsor was prepared for a siege.

Realising they had no hope of reaching Mary at Coventry, the rebel earls lost heart, for her liberation had been central to their plans. By 20 December the rising had collapsed, and the rebels were fleeing in all directions in order to escape the avenging royal army, 28,000 strong, sent northwards, under the command of Sussex at Elizabeth's order. Sussex pursued the leaders, Northumberland and Westmorland to the Scottish border, whence they escaped into Scotland. 'The vermin are fled to foreign cover,' observed Cecil on Christmas Day.

During the rising Elizabeth had displayed to the world a cool, fearless front, remaining at Windsor with Pembroke, now restored to favour and deputed to guard her in the event of a foreign invasion, and Leicester, who could lend her moral support. Her cousin, Lord Hunsdon, had been sent north to provide military backing to Sussex. When the rebels retreated and the danger was past, Leicester went home to Kenilworth for Christmas.

Perhaps the most worrying aspect of the Northern Rising had been Philip's willingness to support it, which demonstrated just how hostile he had become towards Elizabeth. He had also instructed Alva to send Mary Stuart 10,000 ducats. Urged on by Cecil, Elizabeth determined to show her subjects that any rebellion against her authority would be punished with the utmost severity. 'You are to proceed thereunto, for the terror of others, with expedition,' she commanded Sussex. 'Spare no offenders. We are in nothing moved to spare them.'

The Earl wasted no time in rounding up the lesser rebels and making an example of them. Reprisals were unusually savage, and no village was to be without at least one execution, 'the bodies to remain till they fall to pieces where they hang'. By 4 February 1570, between 600 and 750 commoners had been hanged and two hundred gentry had been deprived of their estates and goods, which were distributed to loyal noblemen; the Queen, however, thought it unfair that those who had helped to plan the revolt had escaped with their lives, while lesser men suffered the ultimate penalty.

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Norfolk was degraded from the Order of the Garter, his achievements being removed from his stall at Windsor and, as custom demanded, kicked into the moat. From his prison cell, the Duke wrote to the Queen: 'Now I see how unpleasant this matter of the Scots Queen is to Your Majesty, I never intend to deal further herein.'

As for the ringleaders, Westmorland fled into exile in Flanders with the Countess of Northumberland, who deserved, according to Elizabeth, to be burnt at the stake for her involvement in the rebellion. The Earl of Northumberland managed to evade capture for several months, but in August 1570 he was captured by the Scots, handed over to the English, and put to death in York. Plans to execute Mary Stuart were quietly abandoned.

Yet no sooner had one northern rising been quelled, than another erupted, led by the powerful Lord Dacre, who was resentful of the erosion of his territorial influence in the north. This was ferociously suppressed within a week by Lord Hunsdon, who was afterwards warmly congratulated by the Queen upon his victory: 'I doubt much, my Harry', [she wrote], 'whether the victory given me more joyed me, or that you were by God appointed the instrument of my glory, and I assure you, for my country's good, the first might suffice, but for my heart's contentation, the second more pleased me. Your loving kinswoman, Elizabeth R.'

Elizabeth's position was now very much stronger, and in a happier frame of mind on 23 January 1570, she opened the Royal Exchange in London, built by Sir Thomas Gresham as a central trading place for the City's merchants and bankers. John Stow recorded: 'The Queen's Majesty, attended with her nobility, came from her house on the Strand, called Somerset House, and entered the City by Temple Bar, through Fleet Street, Cheapside, and so by the north side of the bourse [Exchange], through Threadneedle Street, to Sir Thomas Gresham's in Bishopsgate Street, where she dined. After dinner, Her Majesty, returning through Cornhill, entered the bourse on the south side, and after she had visited every part thereof above the ground, she caused the same bourse by an herald and trumpet to be proclaimed the Royal Exchange.'

On that same day, the Regent Moray was assassinated at Linlithgow by rival lords who feared he had ambitions to be king. When Elizabeth heard the news she shut herself in her chamber to contemplate the awful prospect of political turmoil north of the border. There was indeed chaos in Scotland, with William Maitland forming a faction dedicated to restoring Queen Mary. When news of this reached England, Mary rejoiced and tried to contact her son, James VI, but Elizabeth took steps 213.

to prevent her from doing so, realising that the majority of the Scots did not want their Queen back.

However, the kings of France and Spain were demanding that she seize this opportunity to restore Mary to the Scottish throne. In view of Mary's involvement in the recent plots and risings, Elizabeth would only consider it on the tightest conditions, the chief of which was Mary's long-desired ratification of the Treaty of Edinburgh.

The continuing problem of the Queen of Scots was greatly exacerbated when, on 25 February 1570, Pope Pills V, inspired by outdated reports of the Northern Rising, impulsively published a bull, 'Regnans in Excelsis', 'Regnans in Excelsis', excommunicating Elizabeth, 'the pretended Queen of England, the serpent of wickedness'. The bull deprived her of her kingdom, absolved all true Catholics from their allegiance to her, and extended the anathema to all who continued to support her. This was effectively an incitement to Elizabeth's subjects and to foreign princes to rise against her in what would amount to a holy crusade. It also actively encouraged Mary Stuart's supporters to set her up in Elizabeth's place. Most sinister of all, it subverted the loyalty of Elizabeth's Catholic subjects and made every one of them a potential traitor to be regarded with suspicion. From now on, each one of them would face an agonising choice of loyalties, for it would no longer be possible to compromise on matters of conscience. excommunicating Elizabeth, 'the pretended Queen of England, the serpent of wickedness'. The bull deprived her of her kingdom, absolved all true Catholics from their allegiance to her, and extended the anathema to all who continued to support her. This was effectively an incitement to Elizabeth's subjects and to foreign princes to rise against her in what would amount to a holy crusade. It also actively encouraged Mary Stuart's supporters to set her up in Elizabeth's place. Most sinister of all, it subverted the loyalty of Elizabeth's Catholic subjects and made every one of them a potential traitor to be regarded with suspicion. From now on, each one of them would face an agonising choice of loyalties, for it would no longer be possible to compromise on matters of conscience.

This led, in turn, to the hardening of attitudes on the part of English Protestants, who became more patriotic and ever more protective towards their Queen, their zealous loyalty prompting them to press increasingly for Mary Stuart's execution and for tougher laws against Catholics. The bull's ultimate effect was to turn Catholicism into a political rather than a religious issue in England, and because of this it failed in its purpose. Most English people ignored it; a man who nailed it to the door of the Bishop of London's palace in St Paul's Churchyard was arrested, tortured and executed. In the north, where the bull might once have been well received, Catholic power had been effectively crushed.

Nor did the great Catholic monarchies of Spain and France hasten to invade England. On the contrary, both Philip II and Charles IX angrily condemned the Pope for taking such hasty action without consulting them first. Elizabeth herself announced defiantly that no ship of Peter would ever enter any of her ports; otherwise she was dismissive, and the mainly Protestant Londoners echoed her feelings when they described it as 'a vain crack of words that made a noise only'.

Elizabeth had a concept of Church and State as equal partners in one body politic, and considered it her duty as sovereign to deal with all matters affecting that body politic on a political basis. After the bull, her 214.

policy was to treat Catholic intrigues as treason, or crimes against the state, rather than as heresy. Those Catholics who were condemned were not to be considered as martyrs for their faith, but traitors to their country.

The Queen had never demonstrated any personal animosity towards Catholics in general. So long as they conformed outwardly, she was not interested in their private beliefs. Only when those beliefs led to conspiracy would she invoke the law.

It was at this time that Cecil began organising an efficient espionage network that could detect conspirators, for there was a minority of English Catholics who were prepared to risk death for their loyalty to the Pope and for the woman they believed to be their true queen. These people referred to Mary as 'the Queen' and to Elizabeth as 'the Usurper', and believed it their duty to depose her.

In late April, Elizabeth's Council warned her that, if she forced Mary's restoration in Scotland, she would never feel safe in her kingdom, but the Queen refused to listen, having been threatened with war by the French if she did not keep her word. Soon afterwards, she sent Mary a list of stringent conditions that must be agreed to before she would consider helping her to regain her throne. Not only had Mary to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, but she also had to send her son James to England as a hostage for her good behaviour. Cecil warned the Queen that she was endangering her own person, but this provoked such a violent storm of tears and temper that the Secretary backed off. Sir Nicholas Bacon faced a similar tantrum when he insisted that it would be madness to contemplate freeing Mary. These outbursts appear, however, to have been staged for the benefit of the French ambassador.

Throughout the summer, to placate the French, Elizabeth maintained that she was working for Mary's restoration, when in fact she was employing her usual delaying tactics to keep Mary safely under lock and key. No one could guess her true feelings on the matter. When Leicester suggested that Mary be restored with only limited powers, the Queen accused him of being too friendly towards the Queen of Scots, whereupon he left court in a temper. But the spat was soon over, and he was back and reconciled with Elizabeth within days.

The Queen's irritability was exacerbated by the appearance of what was probably a varicose ulcer on her leg. It did not heal and she suffered a good deal of pain, but still insisted that she would go on progress as usual. Meanwhile her courtiers had to put up with her sulks and uncertain temper.

In June, as a token of goodwill, Mary sent Elizabeth a bureau with a lock engraved with a cipher used by the two Queens in the years before Mary's abdication. Fingering it, Elizabeth sighed, 'Would God that all 215.

things were in the same state they were in when this cipher was made betwixt us.' It was October before Mary agreed to Elizabeth's terms.

On 12 July, Lennox, Elizabeth's favoured candidate, was appointed Regent of Scotland until such time as his grandson the King came of age. The new Regent wasted no time in hanging the Catholic Archbishop Hamilton for complicity in the murder of Darnley, thus provoking more bitter feuds between the noble factions. Meanwhile, Elizabeth kept Lady Lennox at the English court as a hostage for Lennox's loyalty to herself.

Early in August, Cecil and Leicester managed to persuade the Queen that Norfolk, who was popular with the people and had been foolish rather than malicious in his offence, be taken from the Tower - where plague was rife - and placed under house arrest, on condition that he solemnly undertook never again to involve himself in the Queen of Scots's affairs. Norfolk promised, and was duly moved to his London mansion, the Charterhouse, near Smithfield.

Mary Stuart's presence in England and the recent plots and conspiracies against the Crown had lent urgency to the argument that Elizabeth should marry and produce an heir as soon as possible. The birth of a Protestant successor would go a long way towards neutralising Mary's claims, especially if the child were a son. Without that child, Elizabeth stood alone, unguarded against foreign invaders, traitors at home, and the constant fear of assassination. If she died childless, there would be no bar to Mary's succession, and all that Elizabeth had worked for would be overthrown.

Which was why, in August, although she was still 'as disgusted with marriage as ever', Elizabeth sent an envoy to the Emperor to try and revive the Habsburg marriage project. The Archduke was still single, but made it clear that he was no longer interested, and the Queen pretended indignation at his rejection of her. Shortly afterwards he married a Bavarian princess, and in later life became a fanatical persecutor of heretics until his death in 1590.

Then, in September, a new proposal of marriage arrived, this time from Charles IX's brother and heir, the nineteen-year-old Henry, Duke of Anjou. Charles and Catherine de' Medici hoped, by this project, to unite England and France in a defensive alliance against Spain. Elizabeth was interested, if only for the political advantages and much-needed friendship that prolonged negotiations with France could bring her, and Cecil began drawing up lists of the 'commodities' to be gained from the union, putting out feelers as to how serious the French were about it. To this end, he sent the fiercely Protestant Sir Francis Walsingham to Paris to act as Elizabeth's envoy.

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Walsingham was nearing forty; he had been educated at Cambridge, Gray's Inn and Padua, and become an MP; later, he had come under the patronage of Cecil, who had offered him a post at court and later placed him in charge of his secret agents. Because of his swarthy complexion and black clothes, Elizabeth nicknamed Walsingham her 'Moor', and although she liked him and was an occasional guest at his house in Barn Elms in Surrey, she sometimes found him more than a match for her intellectually. He was a serious, disciplined and cultivated man with deep convictions and formidable abilities, and was drawn to Leicester because of their shared religious beliefs. He spoke four languages besides English, and was a skilful diplomat with a wide knowledge of international politics. As a Puritan, he had a special loathing for and distrust of Spain and the Queen of Scots. Elizabeth knew she could rely on him implicitly, and that he would carry out her orders, even if he disagreed with them. Her preservation was his ordained mission in life, and to that end he devoted his energies, his wealth and - ultimately - his health.

As usual, religion was to prove a major obstacle in the marriage negotiations, because Elizabeth was as insistent as ever that her husband should abide by her country's laws, and the priest-dominated Anjou was adamant that he would never abandon his faith. Elizabeth might well have felt revulsion for the match on personal grounds, because it was well known that Anjou was bisexually promiscuous: at this time he was notorious for being a womaniser, but he was also attracted to men, and in later years became a blatant transvestite, appearing at court balls in elaborate female costumes and with a painted face. A Venetian envoy observed, 'He is completely dominated by voluptuousness, covered with perfumes and essences. He wears a double row of rings, and pendants in his ears.' Although Anjou's mother, Catherine de' Medici, backed the marriage because she was ambitious for him to gain a crown, he himself was less than lukewarm about it. Nor did the puritanical Walsingham favour it.

In November, the Queen sent Leicester to summon Fenelon, the French ambassador, to an audience. She had dressed to impress, and was playing the coy virgin, saying how she regretted having stayed single for so long. Fenelon replied that he could help to alter that state of affairs and would deem it a great honour if he could bring about a marriage between herself and Anjou. The Queen protested that, at thirty-seven, she was too old for marriage, but nevertheless managed to convey the impression that she was eager for it. She did voice concern that Anjou was so much younger than she was, but laughed when Leicester quipped, 'So much the better for you!'

Soon afterwards Fenelon sounded out Leicester on the project, and was surprised to find that the Earl supported it. Armed with this and 217.

Elizabeth's obvious interest, Fenelon informed Queen Catherine that the time was ripe for an official proposal.

Eleven years of peace and stable government, coupled with the provocative action of the Pope, had securely established Elizabeth in the affection and imagination of her people as an able, wise and gracious ruler, and that regard found its expression in November 1570, when her Accession Day was first celebrated throughout the kingdom as a public holiday. Prior to that year it seems to have been marked with just the ringing of church bells, but the English were now determined that the day should be 'a holiday that surpassed all the Pope's holy days'. In 1576, 17 November officially became one of the great holy days of the Church of England, veneration of the Virgin Queen, who was hailed as the English Judith or Deborah, having replaced the worship of the Virgin Mary that was now banned. Indeed, some Puritans feared that Elizabeth was being set up as an object of idolatry.

Accession Day was celebrated with prayers of thanksgiving for a sovereign who had delivered the land from popery. There were sermons, joyful peals of bells, nationwide festivities and the famous Accession Day jousts at Whitehall. Special prayer books incorporating a service composed by the Queen herself for use on the day were printed, and ballads and songs composed. Throughout England the Queen's subjects would drink to her health and prosperity, feast and light fireworks and bonfires, whilst royal ships at sea would 'shoot off their guns.

Camden relates how, 'in testimony to their affectionate love' towards the Queen, her people continued to celebrate 'the sacred seventeenth day' until the end of her reign. After the Armada victory of 1588, the festivities continued until 19 November, which was, appropriately, St Elizabeth's Day. Nor did this observance cease with her death, for her successors encouraged its continuance in order to emphasise England's greatness, and Accession Day was celebrated right up until the eighteenth century.

The Whitehall jousts, customarily attended by the Queen herself, were the most splendid aspect of of 'the Golden Day', as it was termed. Presided over by the Queen's Champion, Sir Henry Lee, until his retirement in 1590, when he was replaced by George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and attended by up to 12,000 spectators, they presented an opportunity for the young men of the court to display their knightly prowess in the lists and so win fame. The pageantry at these occasions was breathtaking, with contestants appearing in the most elaborate and inventive costumes, often on mythological themes. Each would present a gift to Elizabeth as she sat with her ladies in the gallery overlooking the 'the Golden Day', as it was termed. Presided over by the Queen's Champion, Sir Henry Lee, until his retirement in 1590, when he was replaced by George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and attended by up to 12,000 spectators, they presented an opportunity for the young men of the court to display their knightly prowess in the lists and so win fame. The pageantry at these occasions was breathtaking, with contestants appearing in the most elaborate and inventive costumes, often on mythological themes. Each would present a gift to Elizabeth as she sat with her ladies in the gallery overlooking the 218.

tiltyard, which occupied the site known today as Horse Guards Parade. Often the Queen would appear in the guise of Astraea, the virgin goddess of justice, or Cynthia, 'the lady of the sea', or Diana the huntress, Belphoebe, or, in later years, as Gloriana, the Faerie Queen. In these unearthly roles, the Queen would acknowledge the homage and devotion of her gallant knights. Her Champion, wearing her favour -Clifford was painted by Nicholas Hilliard in full costume with her glove attached to his hat - would then defend her honour against all comers in the jousts, and afterwards, the contestants' shields, adorned with intricate symbolic devices, would be hung in the Shield Gallery in Whitehall Palace. Thus were the ideals of chivalry - of which this was the last flowering in England - kept alive by the Queen and her courtiers.

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Chapter 13.

'Gloriana'

'To be a king and wear a crown is more glorious to them that see it than it is a pleasure to them that bear it,' Queen Elizabeth once famously said. At the same time, she revelled in and jealously guarded the privileges of sovereignty: 'I am answerable to none for my actions otherwise than as I shall be disposed of my own free will, but to Almighty God alone.' God, she believed, had preserved her through many trials to bring her to the throne, and she was convinced that she reigned by his especial favour. In 1576, she told Parliament, 'And as for those rare and special benefits which many years have followed and accompanied me with happy reign, I attribute them to God alone. These seventeen years God hath both prospered and protected you with good success, under my direction, and I nothing doubt that the same maintaining hand will guide you still and bring you to the ripeness of perfection.'

As 'God's creature', a divinely-appointed queen, hallowed and sanctified at her coronation, Elizabeth believed that she alone was able to understand fully the complexities and mysteries of Church and State. 'Princes', she declared, 'transact business in a certain way, with a princely intelligence, such as private persons cannot imitate.' If she felt that anyone was encroaching upon this sacred privilege, she was quick to reprimand them. 'She was absolute and sovereign mistress,' remembered one courtier, Sir Robert Naunton. 'She is our god in Earth', declared Lord North, 'and if there be perfection in flesh and blood, undoubtedly it is in Her Majesty.'

What was more important to Elizabeth than anything, however, was that she reigned with her subjects' love. She proudly pointed out that she was There English', as they were, and constantly proclaimed that she was as a mother to her people, and cared deeply for the 'safety and quietness of you all'. 'She is very much wedded to the people and thinks 220.

as they do,' observed one Spanish envoy. She had their interests at heart and her instinct told her what was best for them. A stickler for justice, she 'condescended' to 'the meaner sorts', received their petitions on a daily basis, and often stood up for their rights. Sir Walter Raleigh told James I that 'Queen Elizabeth would set the reason of a mean man before the authority of the greatest counsellor she had. She was Queen of the small as well as the great, and would hear their complaints.' Her affection for her subjects is evident in contemporary sources, where her most frequently repeated utterance is, 'Thank you, my good people.'

Sir John Harington, the Queen's godson, reveals how well she understood how to deal with her subjects: Her mind was oft-time like the gentle air that cometh from a westerly point in a summer's morn: 'twas sweet and refreshing to all around. Her speech did win all affections, and her subjects did try to show all love to her commands; for she would say her state did require her to command what she knew her people would willingly do from their own love to her. Herewith did she show her wisdom fully: for who did choose to lose her confidence, or who would withhold a show of love and obedience, when their sovereign said it was their own choice, and not her compulsion? Surely she did play her tables well to gain obedience thus, without constraint. Again, she could put forth such alterations, when obedience was lacking, as left no doubt whose daughter she was.

In an age of personal monarchy, it was important that the monarch was on show as often as possible, and Elizabeth ensured that she was highly visible, travelling on annual progresses, riding out frequently through the streets of London or being rowed in her state barge along the Thames.

She also thought it important to justify her actions to her subjects in a series of carefully composed speeches, many of them written by herself, printed pamphlets and proclamations. She was a gifted orator and actress who could speak 'extempore with many brilliant, choice and felicitous phrases', and who knew well how to manipulate her audience so that she had them eating out of her hand. 'Princes' own words be better printed in the hearers' memory than those spoken by her command,' she told Parliament. In the latter decades of her reign, her style of writing and public speaking became more florid, mannerist and extravagant, in keeping with the prevalent trend for Euphuism, a prose form invented by John Lyly in the earliest English novel, Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit, Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit, and at which Elizabeth became one of the foremost exponents. and at which Elizabeth became one of the foremost exponents.

Few realised how subtly the Queen dealt with them. 'I have seen her 221.

smile - with great semblance of good liking to all around,' recorded Harington, 'and cause everyone to open his most inward thought to her; when, on a sudden, she would ponder in private on what had passed, write down all their opinions, draw them out as occasion required, and sometimes disprove to their faces what had been delivered a month before. She caught many poor fish, who little knew what snare was laid for them.'

Not for nothing was she Henry VIII's daughter: she expected instant obedience and respect, and would have her way 'as absolutely as her father'. 'Majesty', she declared, 'makes the people bow.' She was fond of talking about Henry, and even seems to have modelled some of her speeches on his. She liked to remind her councillors how much sterner her father had been, and when they had the temerity to challenge her views, she would thunder, 'Had I been born crested, not cloven, you would not speak thus to me!' In 1593, she acknowledged her debt to Henry VIII before Parliament, as one 'whom in the duty of a child I must regard, and to whom I must acknowledge myself far shallow'. Nevertheless, she admitted that her style of government was 'more moderate' and benign than Henry's had been.

Elizabeth's command of politics and statesmanship was as exceptional as her intelligence was formidable. She was astute, pragmatic, very hardworking, and never afraid to compromise. In the face of rebellion and war, she displayed remarkable courage. The coarse buccaneer, Sir John Perrot, her deputy in Ireland, once said of her, 'Lo! Now she is ready to be-piss herself for fear of the Spaniards!' but was later forced to revise his opinion and admit that she had 'an invincible mind, that showeth from whence she came'.

Elizabeth's chief concern was to provide England with stable, orderly government. She had the gift of knowing instinctively what was right for her kingdom, her priorities being to maintain the law and the established Church, avoid war and live within her means. She told her judges, whom she selected herself, that they must 'stand pro veritate pro veritate (for truth) rather than (for truth) rather than pro Regina pro Regina (for the Queen)'. She loved peace, and frequently offered to mediate between warring foreign powers. Not for nothing did James VI of Scotland describe her as 'one who in wisdom and felicity of government surpassed all princes since the days of Augustus'. (for the Queen)'. She loved peace, and frequently offered to mediate between warring foreign powers. Not for nothing did James VI of Scotland describe her as 'one who in wisdom and felicity of government surpassed all princes since the days of Augustus'.

'There was never so wise woman born as Queen Elizabeth', wrote Cecil in tribute, 'for she spake and understood all languages, knew all estates and dispositions and princes, and particularly was so expert in the knowledge of her own realm as no counsellor she had could tell her what she knew not before.'

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For all this, there still remained in Elizabethan society a deeply ingrained prejudice against female sovereigns in general. The unhappy example of Queen Mary seemed to confirm the general view that women were not born to rule. In 1558, in his First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, John Knox wrote: 'I am assured that God hath revealed to some in this our age that it is more than a monster in nature that a woman should reign and bear empire over man.' Women, he asserted, were naturally weak, frail, impatient, feeble and foolish, the port and gate of the Devil, and insatiably covetous. The Swiss reformer John Calvin believed that the government of women was 'a deviation from the original and proper order of nature, to be ranked no less than slavery'. John Knox wrote: 'I am assured that God hath revealed to some in this our age that it is more than a monster in nature that a woman should reign and bear empire over man.' Women, he asserted, were naturally weak, frail, impatient, feeble and foolish, the port and gate of the Devil, and insatiably covetous. The Swiss reformer John Calvin believed that the government of women was 'a deviation from the original and proper order of nature, to be ranked no less than slavery'.

A typical example of male prejudice occurred when a French envoy asked for the Council to be present at his audience with the Queen, implying that the matters of state he had come to discuss were beyond female understanding. Back came a furious answer from Her Majesty: 'The ambassador forgets himself in thinking us incapable of conceiving an answer to his message without the aid of our Council. It might be appropriate in France, where the King is young, but we are governing our realm better than the French are theirs.'

Elizabeth herself was no early feminist; she accepted the creed of her day, that women had serious limitations, speaking of herself as 'a woman wanting both wit and memory'. In a self-composed prayer, she thanked God 'for making me, though a weak woman, yet Thy instrument'. To combat prejudice and underline her position, she invariably referred to herself as a prince, comparing herself with kings and emperors, and with some success, for according to William Cecil, she was 'more than a man and, in truth, something less than a woman'. 'My experience in government', she told Henry IV of France at the end of her reign, 'has made me so stubborn as to believe that I am not ignorant of what becomes a king.'

'Although I may not be a lioness', she was fond of saying, 'I am a lion's cub, and inherit many of his qualities.' Her apologists felt bound to point out that her reign fulfilled one of the ancient prophecies of Merlin: 'Then shall a Royal Virgin reign, which shall stretch her white rod over the Belgic shore and the great Castile smite so sore withal that it shall make him shake and fall.' The 'great Castile' was, of course, Philip of Spain, whose kingdom incorporated that of Castile.

By exploiting 'my sexly weaknesses', Elizabeth converted them into the strengths she needed to survive in a man's world. She used her femininity to manipulate the men who served her and make them protective of her. Her calculated flirtatiousness kept her courtiers loyal, and by playing off one against the other, she preserved a balance of 223.

power at her court. She established the convention that, as sovereign, she was above normal social mores. She asserted before the Venetian ambassador, 'My sex cannot diminish my prestige.'

So effective was she as a ruler that she managed to overcome the prejudice, and her subjects came to regard her as one of their most successful monarchs. She was certainly one of the best loved.

Being a woman was to Elizabeth's advantage when it came to creating her own legend, because then she could assume the allegorical and mythological personae assigned her by chivalrous courtiers, writers and poets. She was the 'Rosa electa', 'Rosa electa', the chosen rose, around whom a cult of adoration flourished, and who came to be regarded as little less than divine. By the end of her reign she was being referred to in Acts of Parliament as 'Her Sacred Majesty'. The composer John Dowland wrote a song entitled 'Vivat Eliza for an Ave Maria', which plainly showed how the worship of the Queen had replaced the people's need for a female deity in the post-Reformation years. the chosen rose, around whom a cult of adoration flourished, and who came to be regarded as little less than divine. By the end of her reign she was being referred to in Acts of Parliament as 'Her Sacred Majesty'. The composer John Dowland wrote a song entitled 'Vivat Eliza for an Ave Maria', which plainly showed how the worship of the Queen had replaced the people's need for a female deity in the post-Reformation years.

Elizabeth herself, making a virtue of a necessity, promoted the image and cult of the Virgin Queen who was wedded to her kingdom and people. She took for her personal emblems those symbols of virginity that had been associated in earlier times with the Virgin Mary: the rose, the moon, the ermine or the phoenix. She also, like Henry VII, made much of her alleged descent from King Arthur, whose legends were a dominant theme in the pageantry of her reign.

It was the poets and dramatists, however, who did most to promote the cult of Elizabeth. In his epic poem, The Faerie Queen The Faerie Queen (1596), Edmund Spenser referred to her as and 'Belphoebe'. William Shakespeare, Ben Jonson and Sir Walter Raleigh called her Cynthia or Diana, Diana being the virgin huntress, 'chaste and fair'. Other poets eulogised the Queen as Virgo, Pandora, Oriana, or 'England's Astraea, Albion's shining sun', while the Protestant establishment saw her as a new Judith or Deborah. Throughout her reign, poems, songs, ballads and madrigals sang her praises and called upon God to preserve her from her enemies, or commended her for her virtues and her chastity. No English sovereign, before or since, has so captured the imagination of his or her people or so roused their patriotic feelings. (1596), Edmund Spenser referred to her as and 'Belphoebe'. William Shakespeare, Ben Jonson and Sir Walter Raleigh called her Cynthia or Diana, Diana being the virgin huntress, 'chaste and fair'. Other poets eulogised the Queen as Virgo, Pandora, Oriana, or 'England's Astraea, Albion's shining sun', while the Protestant establishment saw her as a new Judith or Deborah. Throughout her reign, poems, songs, ballads and madrigals sang her praises and called upon God to preserve her from her enemies, or commended her for her virtues and her chastity. No English sovereign, before or since, has so captured the imagination of his or her people or so roused their patriotic feelings.

As well as inspiring her subjects, Elizabeth could be infuriating, as her close advisers often found. A mistress of the subtle art of procrastination, she was marvellously adept at delaying and dissembling, and would usually shelve problems she could not immediately solve. Her courtiers, lacking tier subtlety and not understanding her motives, because she did not normally disclose them, were driven mad by her behaviour, yet they were forced to concede, in the long run, that she had often served her 224.

country better by deterring decisions than by making them hastily. Whenever she could, she would play for time.

'It maketh me weary of my life,' Sir Thomas Smith, one of her secretaries of state, complained in 1574, when Elizabeth had been particularly difficult. 'The time passeth almost irrecuperable, the advantage lost, the charges continuing, nothing resolved. I neither can get the letters signed nor the letter already signed, but day by day, and hour by hour [it is deferred until anon, noon and tomorrow.' And Cecil once fumed, 'The lack of a resolute answer from Her Majesty drives me to the wall.'

As she grew older, she became increasingly reluctant to sign any document. Her secretaries would therefore 'entertain her with some relation or speech, whereat she may take some pleasure' to take her mind off what she was doing.

One of the Queen's mottoes, appropriately, was 'Video Taceo' 'Video Taceo' - 'I see all and say nothing', and like her father, she kept her own counsel. 'For her own mind, what that really was I must leave, as a thing doubly inscrutable, both as she was a woman and a queen,' wrote the courtier Dudley Digges. She had learned early on that it was never wise to show one's hand. Harington recorded that 'Her wisest men and best councillors were oft sore troubled to know her will in matters of state, so covertly did she pass her judgement.' As princess and as queen she never knew what it was to feel secure: there was always the threat of poison or the assassin's dagger, and always enemies seeking to destroy her by one means or another. She knew she might never die peacefully in her bed. - 'I see all and say nothing', and like her father, she kept her own counsel. 'For her own mind, what that really was I must leave, as a thing doubly inscrutable, both as she was a woman and a queen,' wrote the courtier Dudley Digges. She had learned early on that it was never wise to show one's hand. Harington recorded that 'Her wisest men and best councillors were oft sore troubled to know her will in matters of state, so covertly did she pass her judgement.' As princess and as queen she never knew what it was to feel secure: there was always the threat of poison or the assassin's dagger, and always enemies seeking to destroy her by one means or another. She knew she might never die peacefully in her bed.

Elizabeth could be resolute and tough when she had to be, and on two known occasions did not shrink from authorising the torture of offenders, which was officially illegal but, in her view, necessary in the interests of national security; in both cases, the victims were involved in plots against the Queen's life, but even so the gaolers in the Tower were aware that her anger would fall upon them if they exceeded their warrant. She hated executions and issued reprieves to condemned felons whenever possible, so long as justice had been seen to be done. She was, as Cecil called her, 'a very merciful lady'. She followed major trials with interest, and intervened if she felt it necessary.

She was in most respects a conservative, who respected the old medieval ideal of hierarchical order within the Christian universe, and cherished traditional notions of 'degree, priority and place'. 'Her Majesty loveth peace. Next, she loveth not change,' observed Sir Francis Bacon. One of her secretaries, Robert Beale, warned his successor to 'avoid being new-fangled and a bringer-in of new customs'.

Her councillors found her infuriatingly unpredictable. For all her 225.

common touch and geniality, she remained very much on her dignity, and woe betide those who stinted in their outward show of respect towards her or failed to show the proper humility in her presence. Etiquette required that anyone addressing the Queen should do so on bended knees and remain in that position until given leave to rise. No one might sit while she stood, and it was seen as great condescension on her part when, in later years, she permitted Cecil, aged and lame, to sit upon a stool in her presence.

One of the criticisms often levelled against her was that she was mean. In fact, having inherited huge debts from her sister, she was determined not only to clear them but also to live within her means. This meant making stringent economies that were often unpopular, but these measures kept England solvent at a time when most European countries were virtually bankrupt. Out of a relatively small annual income that rarely exceeded - 300,000, she had to defray her own expenses as well as those of the court and the government. In achieving this within her budget, Elizabeth showed that she had inherited the financial acumen of her grandfather, Henry VII, for throughout her reign she managed to accomplish much with very limited resources.

She did not, however, stint on outward show, because in an age of personal monarchy, pomp and splendour were regarded as the visual evidence of power. 'We princes are set as it were upon stages in the sight and view of all the world,' observed the Queen. Therefore no expense was spared on court ceremonial, furnishings and entertainments, nor on the Queen's wardrobe, for these were all aspects of sovereignty designed to impress foreign ambassadors and visitors to the court. It had, indeed, been the policy of successive Tudor sovereigns to maintain a magnificent court that would not only impress but also overawe all who visited it.

In the midst of all this pomp and ceremony, Elizabeth could display a very human face, as when she tickled Dudley's neck as she created him Earl of Leicester. She had the common touch, and was no slave to convention. It was not unusual for her to interrupt solemn addresses and even sermons: she would order the speaker to be quiet if he had rambled on too long for her liking. Yet when it came to an oration she admired, she was quick to praise it, as when she affectionately put her hands around the neck of a new Speaker in the Commons who had delivered an eloquent opening speech. She was sorry, she told her ladies, 'she knew him no sooner'.

Sovereignty in the sixteenth century was still viewed as an almost mystical institution, and Elizabeth I participated wholeheartedly in its ceremonies. Since the thirteenth century monarchs had touched for the 226.

King's Evil, laying their hands on scrofulous persons whom their touch was believed to cure. At Whitehall and on progress, Elizabeth would regularly 'press the sores and ulcers' of the afflicted 'boldly and without disgust', sincerely believing that she was doing some good.

Each year, just before Easter, clad in an apron and with a towel over her arm, she presided over the Royal Maundy ceremony, and, in imitation of Christ at the Last Supper, washed the feet of poor women (which had been well scrubbed beforehand by her almoners) before distributing to them lengths of cloth, fish, bread, cheese and wine. Tradition decreed that not only the towels and aprons be given to the beneficiaries but also the monarch's robe, but Elizabeth did not want the poor fighting over her gown, and initiated the custom of giving out Maundy money in red purses instead.

When it came to the government of her kingdom, Elizabeth was unusually blessed in her advisers and councillors, whom she selected herself for their loyalty, honesty and abilities, with almost unerring perspicacity. Although she told one ambassador, 'We do nothing without our Council, for nothing is so dangerous in state affairs as self- opinion,' it was she who, after sounding out all her councillors, took the major decisions, especially in the field of foreign policy, which was her prerogative. She did not feel bound to take her councillors' advice, and frequently shouted at them or banned them temporarily from court if they disagreed with her. Many were prepared to risk this minor punishment for the sake of putting their views across.