Essex was brought before a court in York House and charged with making a dishonorable and dangerous treaty with the Earl of Tyrone, and also with contempt for the government. He had promoted the Earl of Southampton against the wishes of the Queen and Council and had distributed knighthoods when he had no authority to do so. It must have been galling to Essex to have the learned Counsel Francis Bacon taking part in the proceedings against him. It was not a trial, being entirely informal, and I believe that afterward Bacon tried to justify himself for speaking against the man who regarded him as a friend, by stating that in acting in this manner he was able to retain the Queen's confidence, which he hoped later to use in Essex's favor. However, the result of the tribunal was that Essex was dismissed from all the offices he held, and was to remain a prisoner in York House until further notice.
I could not forget him as I should have liked to. I had loved him, even though I knew his character to be too simple to give him any hope of fulfilling his high ambitions. He was too passionate and too candid; he was like a blundering but endearing schoolboy at his most charming; at his worst he was almost oafish. He was politically ignorant; he was vain in the extreme and there was no doubt that he had the power to fascinate the opposite sex. There had been many times when I had treated him as a lover—almost as I had Leicester; but he did not see it as a game I was playing. He had the myopia of the small mind which sees itself as a giant among pygmies. It was ridiculous for such a man to believe he could pit his wits against men such as Cecil. What a fool he had been. And because women liked him, he thought he could dominate me.
Meanwhile Mountjoy had been sent to Ireland and it was gratifying to find that he was beginning to make a success of that most difficult of tasks. I hoped Essex remembered that it had been my plan to send Mountjoy in the first place. How he must regret his opposition to that suggestion!
I did not want him to remain in confinement, and after three months he was released, but banned from any public posts and forbidden to appear at Court.
It must have been obvious, even to Essex, that his advancement at Court was over.
He was in a dire state; his health was failing; he had been cut off from the most influential men at Court, and he was in financial difficulties. One of the biggest sources of income for him had been the lease he had held on the sweet wines and which was a concession many longed for. I had given him a lease of ten years and that period was running out. If it were not renewed he would be poor indeed. He wrote to me begging me to renew it.
Why should I give this great concession to one who had flouted me? Moreover, I had heard that he was gathering together in his house a band of disgruntled men—those who had a grievance against the state and that meant against me; and much wild conversation took place there, which was occasionally brought to my ears.
So I refused to renew the lease on the sweet wines.
Perhaps it was not to be expected that he would sink into a life of obscurity. There would always be trouble wherever Essex was.
Tension was rising. Southampton, that man who displeased me so much, was visiting Essex House frequently. One day Southampton came face to face with Lord Grey near Durham House. The old enemies quickly picked a quarrel and during the fighting which broke out, one of Southampton's men lost a hand.
Such brawling was against the law and Grey was arrested since it was his man who had caused the damage.
Knowing Southampton's quarrelsome nature I agreed that Grey might not be to blame and he was released, much to the chagrin of Southampton—and of course of Essex.
I imagined Lettice's feelings at this time. How anxious she must have been for her son! She was clever enough to see that he was heading straight for disaster. One thing I was certain of: He should never come to Court again, though there were some who still believed that he would. They had seen my fondness for Leicester; they had marveled that after his marriage, which had so upset me at the time, I had received him back at Court and become as close to him as ever. They did not understand. With Leicester it had been a lasting love; with Essex it was a dream, a pretense, a ridiculous fantasy, which I had fabricated in the belief that I could catch at my youth again and be loved as Leicester had loved me.
Essex himself had brought real life into vivid existence when he had come face to face with an old woman.
The dream was over—and that could only mean the end of Essex, unless he was prepared to live quietly in some place far from Court. As if he ever would!
He was still writing pleading letters, still having bouts of illness; but although I sent him broth from time to time, I would not relent.
He had his enemies among the ladies of my Court—possibly those he had dallied with for a while and then deserted—and they did not hesitate to pass on gossip that was detrimental to him. I was shocked when I realized that his adoration of me had turned to vilification.
It was reported that he had said that now I was an old woman my mind was as distorted as my carcass.
And this was the man who, a short time before, had been extolling my beauty!
Clearly he knew that there was no chance of a reconciliation between us. If he had been wiser he would have known it from the time he strode into my bedchamber and confronted an old woman. But when had he ever been wise? When had he ever learned?
Desperate men were gathering at Essex House—men who had little hope of making their way in my Court. They were seeking a way to fame and fortune, and they knew that could not come to them through me. So they were looking elsewhere—some to the Infante of Spain for whom they could make out a remote claim; some to James of Scotland who was the next in line to the succession.
It seemed incredible that even Essex could be crazy enough to plan a revolution. But he had some to support him—all those failures who had not made their way at Court. Oh, the foolish boy! If ever anyone asked for selfdestruction, it was Essex.
When his followers persuaded the players at the Globe to put on William Shakespeare's Richard the Second, I presumed it was to show the people how easy it was for one king to abdicate and to be replaced by another.
Raleigh—Essex's old enemy—came to me in a state of some excitement. He had rowed himself down the Thames and as he was passing Essex House, he had been shot at. He had been to visit Sir Fernando Gorges, a great friend of Drake's, who in spite of his name had come from a family who settled in England at the time of Henry I—a man who had served England well and had been governor of Plymouth—hence his friendship with Drake. Gorges told Drake that Essex had made an effort to enlist him in his enterprise.
“Your Majesty,” said Raleigh, “the actions of Essex are now becoming dangerous. According to Gorges there are plots in progress, and Gorges does not like the sound of them. He says there will be bloodshed. And, as Your Majesty knows, Essex is capable of any wild act.”
“I think,” I said, “it is time some action was taken about the Essex House plotters.”
I called the Council together and I chose four men to call on Essex. The Lord Keeper, Sir Thomas Egerton, was one of them and John Popham the Chief Justice another. They went with the dignity of the posts they held, and accompanying them was Essex's uncle, Sir William Knollys, who would naturally show some sympathy to his kinsman; the Earl of Worcester, who had at one time been a friend of Essex, was also of the party. I sent these men because I thought Essex would understand why I had chosen them; they were more likely to bring about a peaceful conclusion to the trouble than such as Sir Walter Raleigh.
But at the same time I ordered troops to be gathered together, ready to march on Essex House if need be.
Then I went about the ordinary business of the day.