The events which took place in France from 24 August 1572 almost wrecked the Anglo-French alliance. On the occasion of the marriage of King Charles's sister, Marguerite de Valois, to the Protestant Henry, King of Navarre, the zealously Catholic Guise party, backed by Catherine de' Medici, tried to murder Admiral de Coligny, the Huguenot leader, who had incurred the Queen Mother's jealousy through his increasing influence over the King. The attempt failed, but it provoked riots and panic in Paris. On 24 August, St Bartholemew's Eve, Catherine, reluctantly backed by the King, gave the order for the Huguenots to be cleared from the capital. A bloodbath ensued, since the Catholics rose and slaughtered every Huguenot they could lay hands on, to the number of 3-4000. During the next four days, similar orgies of killing erupted in the provinces, bringing the total number of dead to around 10,000.

King Philip, hearing the news, in the privacy of his bedchamber danced for joy, and Mary Stuart stayed up all night celebrating, while the Pope expressed his satisfaction at the annihilation of so many heretics. But the Massacre of St Bartholemew, as it became known, profoundly shocked Protestants throughout Europe and provoked an outcry against the French government and Catholics in general. Huguenot refugees who had fled to England brought with them dreadful tales of atrocities, of rivers of blood in the streets and streams choked with bodies. Burghley was so appalled that words failed him, and Walsingham, who had hidden during the killings and barely escaped with his life, was profoundly shaken.

However, despite her outrage, and her conviction that the blame for the massacre should be laid at the door of the Queen Mother, Elizabeth 288.

knew she could not seek to avenge the slaughtered Huguenots because she dared not compromise the French alliance, which was so necessary to her and England's security. All she could do was express her deep shock and anger, whilst secretly sending arms to the Huguenots and using her diplomatic influence to protect them.

When, on 5 September, the French ambassador, Fenelon, requested an audience in order to impart to Elizabeth the official explanation for the massacre, which he referred to as an 'accident', Elizabeth kept him waiting for three days at Oxford. When he was finally admitted to her presence at Woodstock, he found the Queen and the entire court dressed in deepest mourning and standing in reproachful silence as he advanced to kiss the royal hand. With a stern countenance, Elizabeth led him to a window seat and said she hoped that King Charles would clear his name in the eyes of the world. Lying through his teeth, Fenelon explained that King Charles had uncovered a deadly Protestant plot aimed against himself and his family, and had had to act quickly to avoid assassination. However, it was not His Majesty's intention to persecute the Huguenots, nor to revoke his edicts of religious toleration.

Such provocation, Elizabeth pointed out, did not excuse widespread violence. She had wept, she said, when she read reports of the killings. However, because he was a monarch and a gentleman, she was bound to accept Charles's explanation, and was comforted by Fenelon's assurance that nothing was more important to His Majesty than the alliance with England. She hoped that, in the weeks to come, Charles would do everything in his power to make amends for so much blood so horribly shed, if only for his own honour, now blemished in the eyes of the world.

She would not, however, discuss the matter of her marriage to Alencon, even though the Duke had had nothing to do with the massacre and had spoken out against it.

'How should we think His Majesty's brother a fit husband for us, or how should we think that love may grow, continue and increase, which ought to be betwixt the husband and wife?' she demanded of Walsingham. For a time, therefore, negotiations were left in abeyance, although the French were desperate to revive them. When the Queen Mother suggested that Elizabeth meet with Alencon on neutral ground, perhaps in Jersey, the Queen declined. She would reach no decision, she declared, until she was satisfied that King Charles meant to treat his Huguenot subjects well in future.

In October, relations began to thaw somewhat when Charles IX sent a special envoy, the Sieur de la Mauvissiere, to London to ask Elizabeth, an excommunicate, to be godmother to his new baby daughter. After much procrastination she agreed, even though the baby was to be 289.

baptised into the Catholic faith. However, she deemed it too dangerous for Leicester, a well-known champion of the Protestant faith, to go to France to represent her, and sent the Earl of Worcester instead with the gift of a gold salver, which was regrettably looted from his ship by pirates on the Channel.

Not surprisingly, the Massacre of St Bartholemew had provoked cries for Mary's head from those of Elizabeth's subjects who saw it as part of a Catholic plot. Elizabeth, however, did not want to provoke Philip or the Pope by executing Mary herself, so on 10 September, on her instructions, her councillors secretly requested the Earl of Mar to demand Mary's return to Scotland and there try her for the murder of Darnley, a trial that would almost certainly lead to Mary's execution. Mar, however, would only agree if English soldiers were present at the scaffold, and since this would implicate Elizabeth in Mary's death, the Queen was obliged to abandon the idea.

By October, when the crisis had passed, it was clear that there would be no repercussions from the massacre in England. It was as well for Mary, since when the Earl of Mar died that autumn, he was replaced as regent by the Earl of Morton, one of Mary's most implacable enemies.

At this time, Burghley attempted to revive England's trade with Spain and the Low Countries, which had been under an embargo since 1569, to the loss of both sides. Despite the state of cold war which existed between England and Spain, the pragmatic Alva could see that the restoration of trade would bring benefits to everyone, as well as a lessening of tension, but Philip was unconvinced.

'Sometimes, Sire, it is necessary for Princes to do what displeases them,' Alva pointed out. Still Philip could not bring himself to treat with the English, and it was not until March 1573 that the embargo was lifted.

After thirteen years, the relationship between Elizabeth and Leicester was no longer the passionate affair it had once been, although there were still scandalous rumours. Elizabeth and Leicester behaved, in fact, like a long-married couple, sharing interests and offering each other affection and support. Their mutual devotion and loyalty had fostered deep bonds that would never be severed, although it was at last becoming clear even to Leicester himself that she would never marry him. For a man in his position, this was difficult to accept, because like all his class, he greatly desired to have heirs to whom he could bequeath his vast wealth and title. On the surface, however, he played the part of adoring suitor, along with Hatton and Oxford.

Hatton, who was prone to expressing his resentment in tears or sulks, deeply resented the favour shown by the Queen towards Oxford, because he had recently apparently been given cause to believe that he 290.

himself stood higher I her affections than anyone else. His enemies claimed he had 'more recourse to Her Majesty in her Privy Chamber than reason would suffer, if she were so virtuous and well-inclined as some noiseth her', and there was probably some truth in this.

In fact, matters may have gone further than either of them intended. There is possible evidence for this in a letter written to Hatton in October 1572 by his friend, Edward Dyer, the poet, in whom he seems to have confided. Dyer wrote: 'Though, in the beginning, when Her Majesty sought you (after her good manner), she did bear with rugged dealing of yours until she had what she fancied; yet now, after satiety and fullness, it will hurt rather than help you. Never seem deeply to condemn her frailties, but rather joyfully commend such things as should be in her, as though they were in her indeed.'

There has been much conjecture as to what Dyer was referring. Had Elizabeth at last set aside her scruples and surrendered her much-vaunted virginity? Or had she, which is more likely, gone so far as to obtain sexual satisfaction while remaining, technically, a virgin? If it was Hatton's body that had drawn her, and she had surrendered in some way to him, it seems that she had regretted it, and wished him to behave towards her as if she were still the Virgin Queen. It has been claimed that Hatton's letters to her are platonic and do not support such a theory, but, as we have seen, they are intensely passionate. However, he himself later swore to Sir John Harington that he had never had any carnal knowledge of the Queen.

At the end of the year, the Queen moved to Hampton Court for the Christmas season and Shrovetide; on Twelfth Night, Leicester gave her two glittering collars set with precious stones. Soon afterwards, however, she fell out with Burghley for reasons that are not clear. Leicester offered to intercede for him, and fortunately encountered the Queen in a forgiving mood. 'I assure you I found Her Majesty as well disposed as ever', the Earl wrote, 'and so I trust it shall always continue. God be thanked, her blasts be not the storms of other princes, though they be very sharp sometimes to those she loves best. Every man must render to her their due, and the most bounden the most of all. You and I come in that rank, and I am witness to your honest zeal to perform as much as man can. Hold, and you can never fail.'

In May 1573, Shrewsbury's son reported to his father: My Lord of Leicester is very much with Her Majesty, and she shows the same great good affection to him that she was wont. Of late, he has endeavoured to please her more than heretofore. There are two sisters now in the court that are very far in love with him, as they have been long: my Lady Sheffield and Frances Howard.

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They (of like striving who shall love him better) are at great wars together and the Queen thinketh not well of them, and not the better of him. By this means, there are spies over him.

The indications are that Leicester and Douglas, Lady Sheffield had been romantically involved for months, if not years, but had kept their love secret for fear of incurring the Queen's wrath.

Lady Sheffield was now twenty-five and acclaimed a great beauty. She was the daughter of the recently dead William, Lord Howard of Effingham, the Queen's great-uncle and councillor, and had been married, whilst still very young, to Lord Sheffield, who had died in 1568, leaving Douglas a widow at twenty. Shortly afterwards, she had been appointed a Lady of the Bedchamber and had come to court, and some time after that had attracted Leicester's attention. It is possible that resentment of Hatton's influence with the Queen led Leicester to begin the affair.

The court gossips later alleged that it had even begun in Sheffield's lifetime, and had become adulterous during a visit by Leicester to Belvoir Castle. It was said that Sheffield had found a letter which incontrovertibly compromised the couple, but that, when he had ridden to London to petition Parliament for a divorce, Leicester had had him poisoned. No other evidence corroborates this tale, and as Leicester was invariably accused by his enemies of poisoning those about him, even such a friend as Throckmorton, little credence can be given to it.

In time, Douglas had indeed become Leicester's mistress, and was soon demanding marriage, though he repeatedly made it clear to her that his relationship with the Queen precluded such a commitment. In a letter to an unknown lady, whom internal evidence strongly suggests was Douglas, he explained his position and offered her two alternatives: she could either remain his mistress, or he would help her to find a suitable husband. Needless to say, neither was acceptable to the lady, even though she had been assured of his continuing affection: 'I have, as you know, long both liked and loved you. Albeit I have been and yet am a man frail, yet am I not void of conscience towards God, nor honest meaning toward my friend, and having made special choice of you to be one of the dearest to me, so much the more care must I have to discharge the office due to you.'

By the spring of 1573, people had begun to gossip about the affair, and rumour had it that in 1571 or 1572, Douglas had become pregnant by Leicester, and had given birth secretly at Dudley Castle, the home of her sister, who was married to Leicester's cousin, Edward, Lord Dudley. The baby was a girl, who died before she could be baptised. Douglas would later deny the rumours, but many believed them.

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It was now becoming almost impossible to keep the liaison secret, and Douglas realised that her reputation would be ruined if the details were made public. She therefore put increased pressure upon Leicester to marry her, and may even have threatened to tell the Queen everything if he did not. Already, Elizabeth was becoming suspicious, although she was only aware as yet that there was rivalry between Douglas and another of her sisters, Frances, for Leicester's attentions.

In May, Leicester agreed that he and Douglas would marry secretly. The ceremony took place at a house at Esher, with at least three witnesses present. The bride was given away by one of Leicester's friends, and married with a diamond ring given to Leicester by the Earl of Pembroke. Although the validity of the marriage ceremony was later disputed and the parties behaved as if they were free agents, the evidence strongly suggests that it was entirely legal.

After his marriage, Leicester divided his time between the two women in his life, continuing as before at court with Elizabeth, whose suspicions seem to have been allayed, and secretly living with Douglas at Esher and Leicester House when he was away from court. He was well aware that his enemies would have seized any chance to discredit him, and in this case, he knew they could ruin him. Thus, when Douglas insisted that her servants serve her as a countess, he forbade it, in case word of it leaked out.

In July 1573, when Charles IX announced that his Huguenot subjects were free to follow their consciences with regard to religion, it seemed that there might be an end to religious strife in France. Following on from this, the French made new overtures to Elizabeth about the Alencon marriage, the Queen Mother claiming that peace had been made mainly for her sake. In fact, Alencon had urged his brother to it. Since relations between England and Spain had improved, King Charles and the Queen Mother feared that Elizabeth might abandon them, and offered to allow Alencon to come to England without conditions. Perversely, Elizabeth's own enthusiasm had cooled, and she insisted that the Duke would have to promise not to take offence if she rejected him. Thus it went on for several months, while the French besought her for an answer and Elizabeth played for time.

On 7 September, Elizabeth was forty, rather too old to be contemplating marriage and motherhood in Tudor times. To mark the event, Leicester gave her a fan of white feathers with a handle of gold engraved with his emblem of the bear and hers of the lion.

In December that year Walsingham, who had been recalled from France, was appointed Chief Secretary of State in place of Burghley. His 293.

main responsibility was to be foreign affairs, and in this capacity he would concentrate his energies on bringing 'the bosom serpent' Mary, Queen of Scots to justice. He would also, at his own expense, progressively set up a superbly efficient and powerful network of spies, the best in Europe, that would enable him efficiently to counteract Catholic plots and preserve the Queen from harm.

By this time, Elizabeth was so enshrined in the affections of her subjects that the common purpose of the vast majority of them was her preservation. They realised that she was the sole bulwark that stood between England and its enemies, and their love for her was such that, when a Doncaster man dared slander her, the magistrates had to intervene to prevent him from being torn apart by the mob.

In Council, Walsingham was to enjoy the support of Leicester, who was now recognised as the leader of radical English Protestants, but he often clashed with the Queen, who at times fiercely resented his dictatorial manner and dogmatic views, although she admired his shrewdness and respected his advice - even if it was not always welcome. He was never afraid to speak his mind to her and she allowed him the freedom to criticise her, knowing that he had her interests at heart.

In March 1574, it was at last agreed that the Queen and Alencon should meet near Dover, but before this could come to pass, the Duke was implicated with Henry of Navarre in a series of intrigues against his brother, and was placed under house arrest at St Germain. The French continued to urge the marriage, to which Elizabeth responded by saying she thought it not unreasonable of her to expect that her husband should be a free man.

Then, on 30 May 1574, Charles IX died, probably of the congenital syphilis which was the scourge of the Valois. 'Well could he be spared, considering his bloody disposition,' commented the Queen. Charles was succeeded by his brother Anjou, who, hastily summoned from Poland, ascended the French throne as Henry III. He was known to be a fanatical, priest-ridden Catholic who was under the domination of the Guise party, and in England fears were expressed that he would end religious toleration in France and might even abandon any alliance with Elizabeth.

In response England moved closer to Spain, and diplomatic relations were restored in July when a new ambassador, Bernardino de Mendoza, arrived in London to be civilly received by the Queen. In August, the Treaty of Bristol brought about a cautious peace between England and Spain.

By this time, it had become evident that Henry III intended to follow 294.

the moderate policies of the Queen Mother, which came as a relief to the Protestant community in France. However, relations between Henry and Elizabeth were to remain cool, and when, later that year, she sent Lord North as ambassador to France, he was discourteously received by the King. He was also forced to watch with the Queen Mother as her two female dwarfs were dressed up to resemble Elizabeth; Catherine then asked Alencon, now released from confinement but kept under his mother's eye, what he thought of his intended. North was mortified, and when a furious Elizabeth made plain her displeasure, Catherine apologised, with the excuse that North's French was insufficient for him to have properly understood her joke, although no insult had been intended.

Shortly afterwards news reached England that Alencon had escaped his mother's surveillance and was now wandering aimlessly around Europe, a prey for any ill-intentioned princes. Elizabeth wasted no time in informing Catherine de' Medici that she would not marry the Duke in these circumstances.

The new Spanish ambassador, Mendoza, was as much of a troublemaker as his predecessors had been, and in September 1574 confidently reported that Elizabeth had borne Leicester a daughter who had been 'kept hidden, although there are bishops to witness'.

In fact, Mendoza may have been confused by court gossip about another birth, for a month earlier, on 7 August, Douglas Sheffield had borne Leicester a son, Robert, the Earl of Warwick and Sir Henry Lee standing as sponsors at the christening. Although the birth was not kept secret, and the Queen must have heard of it, there is no record of her expressing her displeasure. As far as she was concerned, the child was a bastard: had she known that its parents were married, her reaction might well have been stronger. In the circumstances, she presumably accepted that even the best of men could succumb to temptation, especially when she herself kept them at arm's length. Leicester was in a difficult position. He had long desired a son, but now that he had one he dared not acknowledge him as his heir, and would always refer to Robert as his 'base son' or 'the badge of my sin'.

In April, Elizabeth had sent troops to Edinburgh, where they had successfully crushed an attempt by Mary's supporters to take control of the castle and thereby put paid for ever to Mary's hopes of restoration. However, the presence of the Queen of Scots in England could only be prejudicial to the recent entente with Spain, and in 1574 Elizabeth tried to persuade the new regent of Scotland, Morton, to request Mary's return to Scotland to be tried for Darnley's murder. But even he, an 295.

inveterate enemy of Mary, refused, and Elizabeth had to resign herself to keeping Mary a prisoner in England.

By now, Scotland having abandoned her, Mary's sole ambition was to ascend the throne of England. She saw herself as a champion of the Catholic faith, overthrowing the heretic Elizabeth and restoring the true religion. It was her mission in life, a crusade she would pursue to the death. She had no scruples about what she was doing, and little grasp of reality. 'I will not leave my prison save as Queen of England,' she once declared, and events proved that she meant it.

Shrewsbury was so careful a guardian that escape was out of the question, 'unless she could transform herself into a flea or a mouse'. What she did manage to do, with the help of her attendants and friends outside, was engage in a clandestine correspondence, with numerous letters in cipher being smuggled out to the Pope, King Philip and others. Thus she not only plotted ceaselessly against her cousin, but was able to keep up with events outside her prison. She also managed to reward her supporters and pay bribes with 12,000 she had saved from the income from her dower lands in France. Elizabeth, when she heard of it, cut her allowance from 52 to /J30 per week in 1575.

Mary was now thirty-two and had been a prisoner for six years. She spent her days reading, praying, conversing with her ladies, writing letters, playing with her numerous pets, and doing beautiful embroidery. From time to time she would send Elizabeth little gifts, such as a crimson satin petticoat she had embroidered herself, or sweetmeats, or a wig. The Council suspected her motives and feared that the gifts might be poisoned, but Elizabeth accepted them nevertheless. They did not, however, soften her attitude towards Mary, for Walsingham's agents had intercepted enough of Mary's letters for Elizabeth to know that she was only waiting for the day when she could supplant her cousin.

During 1574, Elizabeth had cause to believe that Darnley's mother, the Countess of Lennox, had become reconciled to Mary. The Countess denied it, but Elizabeth did not believe her and, hearing that the Countess was travelling north, sent a message commanding her not to attempt to visit her daughter-in-law.

Lady Lennox, accompanied by her younger son, Charles Stewart, went instead to stay at Rufford Abbey near Chatsworth, where she was visited by Bess of Hardwick, Shrewsbury's wife, with her young daughter from an earlier marriage, Elizabeth Cavendish. With the connivance of both matriarchs, the young couple were thrown together. Then Charles fell ill, and tradition has it that Elizabeth Cavendish tended him. Love flowered, and within a month the pair were married.

Since Charles was her cousin and subject, the Queen had every right 296.

to be consulted about his choice of bride, and when she discovered what had happened she exploded with rage and summoned both mothers to London, where they were sent to prison for a time as punishment for their presumption.

The following year, Elizabeth bore a daughter, Arbella Stewart. Both grandmothers would have preferred a son to further their ambitions, but it was not to be, for Charles died of tuberculosis in 1576 and Elizabeth followed him to the grave in 1582. But in Arbella, who was brought up by Lady Shrewsbury at Hardwick Hall, the Queen saw a new dynastic threat to her crown.

Nor was she the only threat, for from 1574 onwards highly-trained, committed, and often militant Catholic priests from the Jesuit seminaries in Europe began arriving in England to work undercover for the restoration of the old faith. Most of them hailed from the college at Douai in France, founded by a Catholic exile, the future Cardinal William Allen, in 1568, under the patronage of King Philip and the Pope. Here, priests were trained especially for the English mission, and in time, similar colleges were opened at Rome, Valladolid and Seville.

Many of these seminary priests were deeply devout and simply saw their task as providing spiritual comfort for beleaguered English Catholics, who were thus encouraged to remain true to their faith. Other priests undoubtedly did their best to undermine the English Church and state. The government did not distinguish between the two types, regarding all as traitors who deserved the severest punishments, and before long the word 'seminarist' was synonymous to all true Englishmen with 'conspirator' or 'traitor'.

By 1580, there were a hundred seminary priests in England, and their work had led to a noticeable increase in recusancy, a trend that justifiably alarmed the government. Even by the mid-1570s, there was talk in the seminaries of 'the Enterprise of England', in which King Philip would invade England and overthrow that 'she-devil' Elizabeth, replacing her with Mary Stuart, to whose cause most seminarists were committed. As usual, such talk did not take into account the realities of the political situation, but it was widespread enough for the English government to take it seriously, and many priests who were caught suffered torture to make them reveal what they knew, and often faced the terrible death reserved for traitors.

Given the activities of the seminarists, the ambitions of Mary Stuart, the hostility of King Philip and the Pope, the effects of the Bull of Excommunication, and her lack of an heir, Elizabeth could not feel secure on her throne. That she would remain there is a tribute to her political skill and tenacity, and the loyalty and abilities of her advisers.

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'Princely Pleasures'

In January 1575, the leaders of the Protestant states of the Netherlands, in gratitude for her constant support, asked Elizabeth to accept the crown of Holland and Zeeland. Personally, she disliked the Dutch Protestants, and had disapproved of their hitherto republican sentiments: her help had been given purely with the intention of keeping Alva's army occupied. But although it was both flattering and tempting to be offered a crown, the Queen found herself confronting once again the same principles that had stayed her hand against Mary Stuart: Philip was an anointed king, the hereditary ruler of the Netherlands, and divinely appointed to rule there. If Elizabeth accepted the sovereignty, she would be supporting the rebels in the overthrow of a fellow monarch, even if she would be relieved to see the back of the Spanish presence in the Netherlands. It was an impossible dilemma, and she could not reach a decision. The eventual result was that the Dutch took offence at her prevarication and there was bitter criticism from her own subjects.

Nevertheless, by 1575 Elizabeth had cleared most of her debts, and with the restoration of trade with the Low Countries, England entered a period of economic prosperity. Friendlier relations with Spain had been established, and in April 1575, Henry III ended a year of tension when he requested a renewal of the Treaty of Blois, to which Elizabeth responded by honouring him with the Order of the Garter. Finally, Walsingham's spies had at last infiltrated Mary Stuart's household. For a while, it appeared that international affairs had stabilised.

On 17 May 1575, Matthew Parker, Elizabeth 's first and most tolerant Archbishop of Canterbury, died. In considering his replacement, Burghley made one of the greatest blunders of his career by nominating Edmund Grindal. Grindal turned out to be an unacceptably strict Puritan whose 'prophesyings' were, in the opinion of the Queen, 298.

seditious and subversive. His faults were not immediately apparent, but would become a matter of concern during the next two years.

Rather than strive in vain to keep the restless Earl of Oxford at court, Elizabeth gave her blessing in 1575 to him travelling abroad. He went first to Italy, where he squandered much of his inheritance. When he returned, he presented the Queen with a pair of embroidered gloves, but he would not return to court until she gave him an assurance that his wife would not be there. This was arranged, and the dissolute Earl was soon back in favour - so much so, that shortly afterwards the gossips were claiming that he and the Queen were lovers. In later years, it would even be said - without the slightest foundation - that the Earl of Southampton, who was born at this time, was their bastard child.

Another royal favourite was also causing a stir. In the spring of 1575, Christopher Hatton expressed a desire to acquire Ely Place in Holborn, the London residence of the bishops of Ely which had pleasant gardens. Elizabeth, pleased that Hatton would have a fine town house in which to entertain her, also saw this as a means of discountenancing its proprietor, Richard Cox, Bishop of Ely, with whom she had often clashed over religion. Cox was understandably reluctant to lease Ely Place to Hatton, resenting the appropriation by court 'harpies and wolves' of Church property, but the Queen was determined he should do so. She therefore instructed Lord North to write threatening the Bishop with interrogation by the Council for exploiting Church lands, an offence that could cost him his see and even lead to his being defrocked. Cox immediately yielded to the Queen's 'known clemency', and Ely Place passed to Hatton.

In the summer of 1575, the Queen went on her most famous progress of all, which culminated in the now legendary at Kenilworth, where her host, Leicester, provided the most extravagant and costly entertainments of the reign over a period often days. Several eyewitness accounts survive, notably those by George Gascoigne, the playwright, and Robert Laneham, Leicester's gentleman-usher.

On this, her third visit to the castle, the Queen arrived on Saturday, 9 July, Leicester having ridden out to greet her seven miles away at Long Itchington, where he had entertained her to dinner in a sumptuous pavilion erected specially for the purpose. At eight o'clock in the evening, after an afternoon's hunting and a frantic search for some suitable ale for the Queen to drink on this very hot day, he escorted her up to the castle, which was illuminated by thousands of torches and candles. The pillars of the drawbridge were decorated with cornucopias of fruit and vines, to symbolise earthly bounty. On some were hung musical instruments, and on others armour, to remind the Queen that Leicester was ready to lay down his life for her.

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When Elizabeth came to the outer gatehouse, her attention was focused on the lake, where there had just appeared 'a floating island, bright blazing with torches, on which were clad in silks the Lady of the Lake and two nymphs waiting on her, who made a speech to the Queen of the antiquity and owners of the castle', linking its history to the Arthurian legends and offering the castle to the Queen, who was heard to comment that she was under the impression that it was hers already.

Musicians played, and at the castle gate, a sybil clad in a white silk robe recited verses of welcome and prophesied that the Queen would enjoy long life, peace and prosperity. She was joined by a tall Oxford scholar dressed as 'Hercules the Porter', who performed a comic routine and affected to be put out by the noise and stamping made by the Queen's retinue. He was then prevailed upon to present to Her Majesty the keys to the castle. When she entered the Base Court to the sound of trumpets, she was greeted by gentlemen in the guise of King Arthur's knights, and as she was escorted to her apartments in the new tower called Leicester's Building, with its beautiful oriel windows, guns sounded a salute and fireworks exploded in the sky; the noise was heard twenty miles away. Fortunately, the Italian expert in pyrotechnics who had been hired for the occasion was persuaded not to carry out his original plan to shoot live dogs and cats into the air.

Leicester had made further improvements to Kenilworth since Elizabeth had last visited, and it was now one of the 'wonder houses' of the age, restored, not in Renaissance style like most Elizabethan houses, but in a medieval style in keeping with its twelfth-century structure. It had, wrote Laneham, 'every room so spacious, so well lighted and so high-roofed within, so glittering of glass a-nights by continual candle- fire and torchlight'. On the lake was a fountain with statues of naked nymphs that Laneham thought would 'inflame any mind after too long looking'. To the west was an extensive deer park and hunting chase. Leicester proudly wrote to Burghley, 'I assure you, I think Her Majesty never came to a place in her life she liked better or commended more, her own lodgings specially.'

It is said that, when the Queen pointed out to Leicester that she could not see the formal garden from her windows, he ordered a similar garden to be laid out below them overnight, engaging an army of workmen for the purpose. When Elizabeth looked out the next morning, there, to her astonishment and pleasure, was the new garden. Both gardens have gone now, as has most of the castle: only a ruin stands to bear mute witness to the former glories of Kenilworth.

On Sunday morning the Queen attended the parish church, and after dinner in John of Gaunt's magnificent great hall, was entertained by 'excellent music of sundry sweet instruments' and dancing. A second 300.

firework display took place that evening, continuing until midnight.

It was very hot the next day, and Elizabeth rested in her room, emerging late in the afternoon to go hunting. Four hours later, returning in a torchlit procession, she was surprised to encounter a 'wild man' who turned out to be George Gascoigne, who had been commissioned by Leicester to write the speeches and entertainments. On this occasion, Gascoigne was dressed in a costume of moss green with ivy leaves attached, and was accompanied by a player representing 'Echo'; the two of of them engaged in a rhyming dialogue, and then the 'wild man' submitted to the Queen's authority by breaking a branch over his knee. Unfortunately, one half ricocheted and barely missed the head of the Queen's horse, causing it to rear in terror. But Elizabeth expertly calmed it. them engaged in a rhyming dialogue, and then the 'wild man' submitted to the Queen's authority by breaking a branch over his knee. Unfortunately, one half ricocheted and barely missed the head of the Queen's horse, causing it to rear in terror. But Elizabeth expertly calmed it.

'No hurt! No hurt!' she cried, as Gascoigne quaked with relief.

She was out hunting again on Tuesday, 12 July, and two days later attended a bear-baiting in the inner court of the castle, featuring thirteen bears against some small mastiffs. There were fireworks again that night, with some burning below the surface of the lake, and an Italian acrobat who was so agile that it seemed, according to Laneham, that his spine was made of lute-strings.

Bad weather put a stop to outdoor entertainment during the next two days, but on Sunday the 17th it was fine again, and after church the Queen was guest of of honour at a country wedding feast or bride-ale in the castle courtyard. The rustic bridegroom, who had broken his leg playing football, arrived limping and wearing a tawny doublet of his father's, in the company of sixteen other men, all of whom had a try at tossing the quintain. This was followed by Morris dancing, after which spice cakes were served while the bride-cup, from which the newlyweds' health would be drunk, was borne by someone who appeared to be the local village idiot. Then came the bride, past her prime at thirty, ugly and foul-smelling, attended by a dozen bridesmaids. She was so puffed up at the prospect of dancing before the Queen that she gave herself airs and carried herself as if she were as pretty as her bridesmaids. After the dancing, the guests sat down to watch a pageant performed in the open air by a company of players from Coventry. The Queen, for whom such occasions as this were a novelty, watched the proceedings from her window, and requested that the pageant be performed again two days hence. honour at a country wedding feast or bride-ale in the castle courtyard. The rustic bridegroom, who had broken his leg playing football, arrived limping and wearing a tawny doublet of his father's, in the company of sixteen other men, all of whom had a try at tossing the quintain. This was followed by Morris dancing, after which spice cakes were served while the bride-cup, from which the newlyweds' health would be drunk, was borne by someone who appeared to be the local village idiot. Then came the bride, past her prime at thirty, ugly and foul-smelling, attended by a dozen bridesmaids. She was so puffed up at the prospect of dancing before the Queen that she gave herself airs and carried herself as if she were as pretty as her bridesmaids. After the dancing, the guests sat down to watch a pageant performed in the open air by a company of players from Coventry. The Queen, for whom such occasions as this were a novelty, watched the proceedings from her window, and requested that the pageant be performed again two days hence.

That evening, she graced an 'ambrosial banquet' with her presence, the table being laid with a thousand pieces of glass and silver and three hundred dishes being served by two hundred gentlemen. She only picked at her food, although she enjoyed the masque that was presented afterwards.

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On Monday the 18th she knighted five gentlemen, including Burghley's son Thomas, and touched nine scrofulous persons for the King's Evil. It was very hot again, and she was obliged to keep to her chamber until five in the afternoon, when she went hunting. A water pageant was staged upon her return, for which had been built an eighteen-foot-long model of a mermaid and a twenty-four-foot-long dolphin, in which was concealed a consort of musicians and a singer representing the god Arion. The Lady of the Lake made another appearance, in company with the sea-god Triton and a villainous knight, Sir Bruce sans Pitee.

The Coventry pageant was repeated on the Tuesday, and on Wednesday, 20 July was to come the climax of the festivities, a richly- costumed mythological masque which Leicester had commissioned from George Gascoigne at 'incredible cost'. The story told how two goddesses, the virgin huntress, Diana, and the goddess of marriage, Juno, each tried to persuade a nymph, Zabeta - a near-anagram of the Queen's name - to follow their example. It ended with Juno warning Zabeta that she should not heed Diana, but should find more reason to marry like Juno. The underlying message was that Elizabeth should do likewise, and it was intended that in due course the company were to be left in no doubt as to whom she should marry. No one, of course, knew about Douglas Sheffield, who was not present during the royal visit, and it seems that, by this time, Leicester had tired of her and regarded himself as not legally bound in marriage.

Unfortunately for Leicester, it rained on that Wednesday, and, as the masque in which his message was to be delivered was to have been staged in a pavilion three miles away, it had to be abandoned, for the Queen remained indoors. The Earl was deeply disappointed: Elizabeth was due to leave on the following day, and he asked Gascoigne to write some farewell verses with a similar message.

On Thursday the 19th Elizabeth left Kenilworth, her courtiers declaring that they had never known anything to equal their experiences there. As she rode away, Gascoigne, in the guise of Sylvanus, sprang from a holly bush and walked and then ran beside her, declaiming his hastily composed doggerel, in which he described the heavy rain as the tears of the gods, weeping at her departure, and begged her to stay. When Elizabeth pulled up her palfrey, he cried breathlessly that she did not need to slow her pace, as he would run with her for twenty miles if need be to complete his tale. So the Queen rode away; Gascoigne, of course, could not keep up with her, and consequently, she never heard his verses.

Leicester and his household had worked very hard to ensure that the programme ran smoothly, and there was no doubt that the visit had been 302.

a great success and would never be forgotten by the courtiers or local people. Nor would Leicester's coffers ever recover from the huge expenditure. However, the purpose of it all, which was to convince the Queen that she should marry him, had been defeated by, of all things, the weather, and he knew that such a chance would never come again. It is no coincidence that, after Kenilworth, he began to seek comfort elsewhere.

From Kenilworth, the Queen, accompanied by Leicester and his talented young nephew, Philip Sidney, moved to the Earl of Essex's house at Chartley; the Earl was away in Ireland, but Elizabeth was made welcome by the Countess, who was her cousin, Lettice Knollys. Lettice had been a guest at Kenilworth, and although several courtiers guessed that she and Leicester were harbouring a secret passion for each other, the Queen remained oblivious to it.

After the progress, Philip Sidney came to court, and was soon afterwards appointed Standard Bearer to the Queen. Although he was the godson of Philip of Spain, he had been brought up in the Protestant faith and educated at Oxford, after which he had travelled in Europe, where he met and impressed many statesmen and scholars with his erudition, sense of chivalry and obvious ability. The Massacre of St Bartholemew had prompted him to call for the forming of a Protestant league of princes to counteract Catholic aggression, and in this, he was supported by his uncle, Leicester. Although Elizabeth was wary of Sidney's militant views, she began in 1575 to send him on routine diplomatic errands.

On T3 August, Elizabeth arrived in Worcester, her visit being intended to boost the declining woollen-cloth industry. Frantic preparations had been made on the orders of the city fathers: the gates were painted grey, with the arms of England mounted on them, and all the houses on the royal route had been lime-washed.

Ignoring the rain, Elizabeth came riding into the city and graciously accepted the mandatory silver-gilt cup. Soaking wet, she expressed delight at the laudatory verses of welcome and only when they were finished did she call for a cloak and hat. She then toured the cathedral, where her uncle, Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales, lay entombed, and where she was entertained by a consort of cornets, sackbuts and voices. Afterwards, she went to her lodging in the bishop's palace. On Sunday, as the crowds roared themselves hoarse, she rode in an open coach to morning service in the cathedral, repeatedly calling, 'I thank you! I thank you all!' When she left the city two days later to dine with her cofferer nearby, she was escorted by local dignitaries to its boundaries. When the time came to say farewell, they made to dismount and kneel in the mud, but Elizabeth raised her hand, saying, 'I pray you, keep your 303.

horses and do not alight.' On her return to Worcester that evening, it was pouring again, but she remained on horseback, greeting the people with 'cheerful, princely countenance' and conversing with them.

After leaving Worcester, the Queen stayed for a few days with Sir Henry Lee at Woodstock, where she saw a play depicting the triumph of patriotism over love, before returning home.

By the end of 575, Leicester had tired of Douglas Howard and was in hot pursuit of the Queen's cousin, Lettice Knollys, daughter of his friend and fellow councillor, Sir Francis Knollys, by Katherine Carey, and wife of Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex. Leicester and Lettice had enjoyed a brief flirtation in 1565, and if they thought that this time their relationship was a secret, they were much mistaken, for a Spanish agent reported in December: 'As the thing is publicly talked of in the streets, there is no objection to my writing openly about the great enmity that exists between the Earl of Leicester and the Earl of Essex in consequence, it is said, of the fact that, while Essex was in Ireland, his wife had two children by Leicester. Great discord is expected.'

Lettice was thirty-five and her portrait at Longleat, painted in 1585, bears witness to her sloe-eyed, seductive beauty. She had been married at twenty to Walter Devereux, then Earl of Hereford, and had lived thereafter mainly at Chartley, but although the couple had five children, it seems they were incompatible.

Essex headed a military expedition to Ireland in 1573, where he earned great renown for his courage and ruthlessness. He returned to England in November 1575, and it could not have been long before he heard the rumours about his wife and Leicester. Although many of them - including that reported by the Spaniard, which is the only source for the allegation that Lettice had borne Leicester two children - were probably wildly inaccurate, there can be little doubt that some were based on truth. For a knight to seduce the wife of another knight was a gross breach of the code of chivalry, and it was probably this that influenced Essex's decision to alter his will to the effect that, if he died while they were still young, his children were to be brought up under the guardianship of the Earl of Huntingdon, his most influential relation, whose wife was Leicester's sister. According to Sir Henry Sidney, who could not 'brook' the man, Essex was set to become the violent enemy of Leicester.

In July 1576, the Earl of Essex returned to duty in Ireland. His marriage was foundering and he had quarrelled with Leicester over Lettice. Two months later, when he and several other people fell ill with dysentery in Dublin Castle, he concluded that he had been poisoned with 'some evil' in his drink. Neither he nor anyone else at the time 304.