December 15: Elizabeth I - A Story
Thank you to historical novelist Wendy J Dunn for sharing this Elizabeth I short story with us today. It's beautiful writing.
When the maidservant took away the wash bowl and closed the door behind her, the queen’s bedroom at Whitehall seemed to release a sigh of relief. Now only we—Kat and I—remained alone with our queen. Smaller than most of the royal bedchambers in the many palaces of England, more airless and darker than I liked, I welcomed its warmth on a cold summer day like this. My babe stirred in my belly and kicked hard, stretching out its legs to push against my ribs. Almost gasping, I bounded out of the narrow seat below the chamber’s one window. Bess, to my wonder, seemed oblivious to my sudden movement. Seated in her chair, she leaned forward, examining her stockinged leg. Her loose, undressed hair cascaded over one shoulder, hiding her face. Morning light streamed in through the window, turning her hair a fiery red. I could not resist raising a hand to my hair. My hair, now dulling with grey, was once the same colour as Bess’s. The same colour as the hair of a dead king. Strange. Our father had been dead for the past decade or more, but his ghost lived on—even if but in memory. A memory growing in magnificence with each new year, outgrowing the terror of his reign. Passing his portraits, I felt his eyes upon me—eyes considering me, assessing me. Eyes speaking of what we all knew, but what he never ever spoke of. At least, not to me.
As if knowing my uneasy thoughts, my child kicked again. I rubbed my belly and lowered myself gingerly back on to my seat. Focusing on the sunlight dancing on the gilt ceiling, I tried to find a comfortable position, wishing my child would do the same.
Next week, I returned to our nearest manor at Oxfordshire for my baby’s birth. I was so weary with pregnancy, the long days and nights of serving Bess, that day could not arrive soon enough. Today, my thirty-six years of life weighed so heavily on me. The baby kicked again before somersaulting in my womb, astonishing me. So close to its birth, it moved, night and day, in the little space allowed to it. But then, most of my babes were as active, up to the time of their birth. Ever since my marriage at sixteen, I spent my life in bearing children. I called up in my mind eleven faces, from infant to young adult—eleven living offspring. Francis and I had lost only two of our babes—both born too early to live during our unsettled and difficult years of exile. My queen’s laughter returned my eyes to her. I was thankful that my belly excused me in these days from the duty of kneeling on the rush mat, as Kat Ashley did now, to put Bess’s stockings on.
My queen laughed before stretching out her other leg. The sheen of black silk shimmered in a beam of light.
“I shall tell Rob his gift pleases me. I swear, I’ll want nothing other than silk on my legs from this day on.”
Still on her knees, Kat jerked back, her face drained of all colour. She raised her eyes to our queen. “Madam, I beg you, watch your behaviour with Dudley. You’re too free with him.”
I stared at Kat’s white face. I knew what had driven her to speak in such a manner. Only this morning, we had overheard two men-servants talking of rumours that Bess now bore Rob a child. We knew the rumour false, but hearing the men’s laughter after speaking of it shook us to the core.
Bess’s golden eyes darkened and became like her mother’s black eyes. My queen rose from her chair, her silk gown whispering as it settled around her. The gown still lacked the jewels Bess wanted to wear today. Blanche and Margery had gone to the treasury to gather them. I felt glad they had not yet returned. The fewer of us part of this conversation, the better. “You…” She inhaled and released a sharp breath. “You dare to speak like that to me? Do you forget I am your queen, Kat?”
“I dare because of the rumours that fly around the court. I implore you to marry, Bess. Marry, I beg you, and put an end to these disreputable rumours. Your closeness to your Master of Horse causes evil talk around the court.”
“I am gracious to Robin because he deserves it.” Clutching her gown, Bess stepped away from Kat. “I cannot see how anyone can object to our friendship. Every moment of the day and night, I am surrounded by my women. You see for yourself that there is nothing dishonourable between us.” She laughed—laughter bitter, and brittle. “And if I ever have the wish or will for a dishonourable life—from which, may God preserve me—I do not know of anyone who could forbid me.”
“Your Majesty…” Half turning towards Bess, Kat rubbed her wet eyes. “My Lamb, sweet Bess, all these rumours will only damage your reputation. Today, Kate and I heard two men laugh about you and Dudley. They spoke of you bearing Dudley’s child.”
Bess stared at Kat. “I bear Rob’s child? We all know that is impossible. I’m never alone with him.”
“Bess—such rumours may end up causing your subjects to rise against you. And we witness enough of your love games with Lord Robert here, in your bedchamber. I blush at your behaviour in sight of us all. If I knew you’d ever behave like this, I’d have strangled you in your cradle.”
While I realised she spoke out of fear, I stared at Kat, shocked at her words. In all the years I had known her, she had never spoken to Elizabeth in such a way. It was true Elizabeth and Robin played with fire. For months, pretending not to see, we had watched them on her bed, their kisses becoming more and more passionate. The only physical barrier between them were the clothes they wore. Nay—there was more than that keeping them separated. Robert’s wife, for one.
Saying nothing, Elizabeth padded over to her favourite bed, holding on to its post. The light from the window lit up the bed’s different woods and its bed hangings of Italian silk. An embroidered silken quilt covered the bed, overtop a thicker, velvet one. Fit for a queen, Bess had the bed made for her as a princess. It spoke of her unspoken hopes in those years.
Bess lifted her head to meet my eyes. Many times, I also spoke to Bess about the risk she took with Robin. He was a man—a virile man. I saw that with my own eyes. She was driving him mad with desire and unconsummated lust. I thanked God that he loved her, really loved her. He understood her as well as we all did in this chamber, but sometimes I feared what he may do—out of desperation, out of ambition. I had heard his men speak of wishing for the death of his gentle, sweet wife. Now I had no words for Bess. All I could do was shrug and shake my head.
Bess turned back to Kat. “I know you speak out of your devotion to me—and I thank you for that. Rumours or not, I cannot simply take a husband. I must weigh up the advantages and disadvantages, for England, not for myself.”
“I understand this, Bess. Can you not distance yourself from Dudley in the meantime? That may help remove the teeth of these the rumours before they hurt you.”
Bess leaned on the bedpost, wrapping her arms around it. “How can I distance myself from Rob? I need him. I swear, there’s nothing improper about our relationship. I cannot stop seeing him. I’ve had so much sorrow and tribulation in my life, and so little joy. You cannot ask me to give up the only joy I have as a woman.”
I shivered. In my mind, I heard her mother’s voice, Keep her safe. Keep her safe for me. Promise me, keep her safe. I had heard my aunt speak those words to Matthew Parker, then her chaplain. Parker’s promise had resulted in me making the same, albeit silent, promise. Remembering my long-ago vow, I heaved myself up. Waddling over to my queen, I took her into my arms. “Dear Heart, Kat is right.” I glanced at Kat as she pulled herself up from her knees. “I confess, I do not agree with our good Kat about the need to marry. She never witnessed close up those last months of your mother’s life—or her end, like I did. You must be careful. We protect you with our lives—but we cannot protect you if you forget yourself with Robin. There are men waiting for you to fail. Wanting you to fail. They’ll tear you piece by piece from the throne. I’ve told you this from the time of my return from exile: you have a choice, Bess, be a woman, or be a queen.”
“I can be both.”
I shook my head, fighting my tears. I wished I could tell her yes—but I swore at thirteen to never fail my cousin… my sister.
“You know the lessons of Mary’s reign—how difficult…no impossible to both a queen and a woman. You know the lesson of your mother’s life. She vowed to succeed as queen, but her failure in the birthing chamber put an end to that—you could say the same of Mary. You wear a crown - a crown you’ve always wanted; England’s crown. Marry, and a man would want to rule too. There’s too much at stake. You cannot trust a man to share the crown with you — or trust him with your life.”
“Not even Rob?”
“Not even Rob.”
The baby kicked between us, drawing Bess’s eyes to my belly.
“Must I sacrifice so much?”
I swallowed and kissed her cold cheek. “Your mother sacrificed more.”
Wendy J. Dunn is an award-winning Australian author, playwright and poet. Her first Tudor novels were two Anne Boleyn novels: Dear Heart, How Like You This? and The Light in the Labyrinth. Wendy’s most recent publications are two novels inspired by the life of Katherine of Aragon: her Falling Pomegranate Seeds duology: The Duty of Daughters (a finalist in the 2020 Chaucer award) and All Manner of Things (2021), silver medalist in Readers’ Favorite for historical personage, long listed for 2021 Chaucer Award and a finalist in The Coffee Pot Book Club Book of the Year Award (Tudor and Stuart category).
Wendy tutors in writing at the Swinburne University of Technology. She’s currently writing a novel set in 2010. Of course, it includes a Tudor story. She is also writing her first full length Tudor biography, commissioned by Pen and Sword.
