We sent for the Archbishop of Canterbury, himself no young man, and he prayed at her bedside for hours, shifting from bony knee to bony knee in his discomfort. She would not let him leave, indicating with a squeeze of her hand that she wished for him to remain. I softly rubbed sweet-smelling oil into her thin hand skin, and willow bark near her jaw, which ached.
She spoke no more to us, but as the night grew on, her face turned from gray to white again, but not the white, at first, of death, but of an ethereal quality. Between two and three in the morning, she slipped from mortal life to eternal life, one of her courtiers later said, “mildly like a lamb, easily like a ripe apple from the tree.”
Of all the honors that came with my high rank, there was one that brought me true satisfaction. As the highest-ranking woman in the land, it was my position to be Chief Mourner for the queen.
I stood near her coffin as arrangements were made for it to make its way by lit barge down the Thames. She had not wanted her body to be prepared, but I tucked one bay leaf near her head, to represent a laurel of sacrifice and victory. I knew she was at peace and with those she best loved: in the embrace of the Lord Jesus, then next, perhaps her Robin, and then finally, finally, resting enfolded in the arms of her mother.
I quoted Holy Writ, and the queen herself, as her men closed the casket. “ ‘And have ye not read this scripture; the stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner: This was the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.’ ”
AFTERWORD
Did Elizabeth really hate other women?
I don’t believe she did, though some still think so. I started this series wanting to know more about the hearts and innermost thoughts of the queens I was writing about, and I approached each story through their closest friends, those who principally served them, their ladies. It was a much different task to write about a queen consort than a queen regnant, though, and not only a queen regnant but perhaps the most famous queen regnant of all. Would I find a woman who was a true, lifelong friend to Elizabeth Tudor?
Indeed, I found more than one.
Because of her sovereign position, she was never really able to be an “equal” with anyone, and while she clearly enjoyed her power, I think she keenly felt the loss of the kind of intimacy that we all desire. Elizabeth adored Katherine Knollys, her cousin and perhaps half sister, as well Kat Ashley and Blanche Parry, who were like mothers to her. Catherine Carey, the Countess of Nottingham, was also a cousin; she died shortly before Elizabeth did and it was said that her death was the loss Elizabeth was unable to bear.
The author Antonia Fraser said, “Her [Elizabeth’s] household resembled a large family, often on the move between residences, and as a family it had its feuds when factions formed around strong personalities. It was not out of malice that Elizabeth opposed her maids of honor’s plans to marry, but because marriages broke up her own family circle.” Happy marriages and babies born did remind Elizabeth of her loss, but perhaps the greater loss was the breaking up of the “family” she’d built, and rebuilt, for herself, having been denied a family of her own.
Elizabeth liked bold friends. The story is told of Sir Walter Raleigh writing on a window where the queen would see it, “Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.” She responded, underneath it, “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.” I also believe that Elizabeth chose her closest friends from among those who were a foil and balance to her personality, those who were softer, and perhaps motherly. And in truth, who among us can count more than a handful of very close friends over the course of a lifetime?
While Elizabeth did not allow her women—or anyone!—to meddle directly in her kingdom, she took counsel from those she trusted, among them Cecil, Walsingham, Lord Howard of Effingham, and, I believe, the women she relied upon. Cecil, who loved and admired her so much that he dedicated his whole life to her service, once said the queen was “more than a man and, in truth, something less than a woman.” She had to be able to rule like a man and relate like a woman, often at the same time. No easy task, and I think she might have communicated more overtly with the men in her council and more subtly with the women in her chambers.
Then in 1566 came Helena von Snakenborg.
How had I missed her in a lifetime of reading the Tudors? I stumbled across Helena’s tale while writing the second book in this series, focusing on Kateryn Parr. I have had to infer some into the friendship between Helena and Elizabeth, but I did try to keep all known facts. The queen did intervene, unusually, with another monarch in order to allow Helena to remain in England, and she who was as famous for counting her pennies as was her grandfather Henry VII, awarded, unusually, rooms, a servant, and a horse to Helena within months of her arriving in England. Helena was known as never being able to be bribed for access to the queen. According to several sound sources, Elizabeth did allow Helena and Thomas to keep the silver and gold from the wrecked Spanish ship, though she’d had Thomas count every last yard of silk and pound of spice from Drake’s voyage. Although parsimonious, Elizabeth could be generous with those she loved.
Elin von Snakenborg’s journey to England is even more fantastic than I described in the book. It took ten months, mostly over frozen land, as they tried to dodge the Danes. For a heavily pregnant princess and her mostly young female attendants, it was a bold journey. It does seem that, once Elin arrived in England, Parr fell immediately in love with her. I believe that he came to love her for her person, though he may have been instantly attracted to her physically, as she looked like his second wife, who had not been dead for long.
I do not know why Helena decided to stay in England, but she did. She didn’t seem to have a gold-digging personality, so although Parr’s title was attractive, I’m sure there had to be a bit more behind it. Her sister Karin did marry Philip Bonde, and as much of the story was about personal betrayal, the motivation of a fiancé who loved her sister, who loved him back, seemed to fit.
It is uncertain whether Gorges and Helena married in 1576 or 1577; I chose 1577 to fall in line with my story and also because I believe that a punishment of months was more in line with Elizabeth’s treatment of favorites who irritated her (Lord Robert, Cecil, even perhaps Mary Shelton) rather than years or forever for people who threatened her crown or whom she simply did not like (Katherine Grey Seymour, Lettice Knollys, Bess Throckmorton). Thomas was imprisoned, though, and Helena banished, and Sussex really did have to intervene for them.
Thomas’s role in the arrest of Mary, Queen of Scots, is absolutely true, though I do not know if he feigned his faith; I do not know the story behind the other Gorges and the Poyntz who were arrested in the Babington plot, either, but there was one of each, according to records that can still be accessed. And, of course, Thomas’s mother was a Poyntz and his father a Gorges.
Helena did name her first child Elizabeth, and the child she bore just after Robert Dudley died, Robert. And there was a long gap between the children she “brought every year” that can be explained by physical and emotional estrangement, which was resolved before the conception of baby Robert Gorges. It’s interesting to know that Thomas and Helena’s daughter Elizabeth eventually married the man who would be the first governor of the state of Maine; the current Duchess of Norfolk is also one of Helena’s descendants. Thinking upon Helena’s encounters with Norfolk in this book only makes that more satisfying! The current princes William and Harry are descended through their mother from Amias Paulet, the stern Puritan guard finally in charge of Mary, Queen of Scots. I’m sure there are many other connections; it would be fun to find them all.