Her dear sister of Scotland must understand that nothing would delight her more than to hear that the truth had been discovered and Mary proclaimed innocent of her husband’s murder.
So Mary had to be content with her captive state; and the Queen waited, ever watchful of her dear sister, yet determined to show the people that Queens were above reproach, no matter what charges were brought against them.
This was necessary, for Amy Robsart had a disturbing habit of rising from the grave now and then. The people must not be allowed to make unhappy comparisons.
It was at this time that the rift with Spain became too wide to be ignored.
To England the Queen was a symbol. She gathered handsome and chivalrous men about her; they must be gallant and adventurous. She wished to be to them a fair ideal, the mistress they all wished to serve because they were in love with her perfections; yet she was the mother, and their welfare was the clearest concern of her life. She was Woman, warm and human, yet because she was an anointed Queen, she was invulnerable and unassailable. She wanted her men to be bold, to perform feats of courage and adventure for her sake; these she rewarded with her smiles and favors. She was a spiritual mistress; they must be faithful to her; they must perpetually seek to please her; their words to her, their thoughts of her, must be the words and thoughts of lovers. They must all be in love with her; to them she must be the perfect woman. But they must never forget that she was mistress of them all. And while to her handsome and gallant courtiers, to her statesmen and soldiers, she was the queenly mistress and beloved woman, they must constantly remember that to her people she was Mother—the all-embracing Mother—and her thoughts and her energies were directed toward the good of her people. She wished England to be a happy home for her people—a prosperous home—and as, to her belief no home could be happy and prosperous unless it were peaceful, she abhorred war.
Often she would say to her ministers when she reproved them for urging her to some action, of which she did not approve, against a foreign power: “My father squandered great wealth in war. I have studied the histories of many countries, and I have never yet seen any good come out of war. There is a great waste of a nation’s substance and its man-power; there is poverty, famine, pain, and heartbreak but never good. I am not a King to seek military glory. That has no charm for me. I am a Queen—not the father but the mother of my people; and I wish to see them content in their home. I know this contentment can be brought about by our prosperous merchants, by good harvests. My people would love me less if I wrung taxes from them to pay for wars, as others have done before me. And I am a mother who wishes to keep her children’s love.”
So did she hate the thought of war that she would grow angry if any spoke of it; and often during a meeting of the Council she would slap a statesman’s face or take off her slipper and throw it at him, because she believed he was urging his fellows toward a war-like policy.
But at the same time she longed to make England great; and England was beginning to be aware of her sea power. John Hawkins had begun the slave trade, which was proving profitable for England; he was taking cargoes of men and women from West Africa to Central America and the West Indies for the local planters. His young cousin, Francis Drake, had given up dreaming dreams on Plymouth Hoe and had joined Hawkins. These two intrepid seamen of the West Country had already come into stormy contact with the Spaniards on the high seas and off the coasts of Mexico and Peru. Martin Frobisher was wondering why the sea and the new lands should be left a prey to Spain and Portugal. Were not the English as bold—if not bolder—than the Spaniards! If English ships lacked the elegance of Spanish galleons, the bravery of English seamen made up for that. Moreover, did they not serve a Queen before whom they wished to show their mettle!
She applauded them, but silently. She was the mistress before whom they might strut, at whose feet they must lay their treasures. But it was to be clearly understood that they must bring no harm to her family. If these adventurers looked upon the Spaniards on the high seas as their natural enemies, if they took on the role of pirates and stole the plunder which the Spaniards had already stolen before them—that was all well and good; but her family must remain safe. She would not go to war on behalf of her pirates. What they did was their own affair. They must finance their own adventures; she would not tax her children to provide the funds. Let them show themselves true men—men who believed in their ventures; she would love them all the better for that.
Thus she secretly encouraged her adventurers while openly she washed her hands of them. Spain looked on in puzzled irritation. What could be done against such a woman? She made her own rules. She was perversely feminine when it suited her to be.
She had always had the common touch, but during these years the affection of the people deepened for her. They accepted her at her own valuation—as someone more than human. Yet she was continually showing them how human she was, continually discarding formality, which she said was made for her, not the Queen for it. She had pet names for those who served her. First, of course, was her beloved Eyes; and now a new young man, Christopher Hatton, had won her favor. Handsome, charming, capable of making flowery speeches, he was also the most excellent dancer she had ever known. She called him her “Lids.” Meanwhile Cecil had become her “Spirit.”
The trouble with Spain had increased with the dismissal of her ambassador, Dr. Mann, from Madrid. Elizabeth bridled. The Queen would not, she said, lightly forget this insult from Spain. She added that Philip had never forgiven her for refusing to marry him, and that was why he had sent that odious de Spes as ambassador to replace his charming predecessor. De Spes did not compliment her nor flatter her, and she disliked him intensely; she was sure he was determined to misrepresent her to his master.
She was in this mood when four Spanish ships on the way to Flanders were chased by French pirates and forced to take refuge in Southampton, Falmouth, and Plymouth.
When Cecil and Robert brought the news to her she smiled complacently.
“And what do these ships contain?” she asked.
“Bullion,” Cecil told her. “It comes from Genoese merchants, and is a loan on the way to Alba in Flanders.”
“And Your Majesty knows well for whom that money is intended,” said Robert.
“I do. It is to pay those soldiers of his who are making it possible for him to stay in that wretched land and torture its people.”
“I fear so, Your Majesty,” said Cecil.
“It makes me sad to think of those poor souls,” she said, “at the mercy of Alba and his Inquisition.”
“Many of those who have escaped have found refuge in this land,” Robert reminded her. “They will bless Your Majesty until they die.”
“Poor men! Poor men! And this bullion is to pay those wretches … those soldiers who serve such tyrants. What think you, my dear Eyes? What think you, Sir Spirit, would His Most Catholic Majesty do if that bullion never reached his tyrant Duke?”
“He would say that of Your Majesty which I would not dare utter,” said Robert.
“I did not ask what he would say, Robert. I asked what he would do.”
Cecil said: “His hands are tied. He could do nothing. His forces are not at his disposal. He has too much territory to guard. If the bullion did not reach Alba it is possible that his soldiers would mutiny.”
She gave her high laugh and her eyes sparkled. “Then, my dear lords, the bullion must not reach Alba. Have not the French pirates attempted to attack the ships in my ports? Let the bullion be brought to London for safekeeping. It is private property, is it not? It is the property of Genoese merchants. I cannot see that it belongs to His Most Catholic Majesty any more than to me. We could use a loan, could we not? And here it is on our very shores.”