“Bess has been talking to you,” he said.

“I prized it out of the little harlot. As for you, you sly snake, I do not want to see your false face for a very long time.”

He began to protest. He had a way with words. He always had had, and it was one of the reasons why he had endeared himself to me. But I was hurt and angry. They meant nothing—these protestations of affection—except: What can I get by flattering the old woman?

My fury increased and I shouted: “Take him to the Tower.”

That was what I had said when Robert had married Lettice, and dear old Sussex had persuaded me that I could not send him to the Tower merely because he had married.

There was nobody to speak for Raleigh. In any case there had been no marriage. This was a case of seduction.

Let him go to the Tower. I would forget all about him. There were many handsome young men ready to dance attendance. Why should I regret the loss of one?

So with Bess Throckmorton banished from Court and Raleigh in the Tower, Essex was supreme—the favorite with no serious rival.

THE STAY AT the Court of France had changed Essex. He had been greatly influenced by the King of France who was, by all accounts, a very impressive man. He had that rare quality—which he shared with me—of winning the hearts of the people so that they would follow him even in disaster. He was a simple man; he lived with his men in battle; he did not stand on ceremony; his attitude said: I am one of you. I suffer with you. I share your lot in battle. We are of a kind. I just happen, by accident of my birth, to be your leader.

That was the right approach. He knew, as I did, that it was the ordinary people who decided whether or not the crown was secure on the sovereign's head.

But he had one great weakness—and that was his fondness for women. He had a host of mistresses and was constantly looking for more. His love affairs obsessed him while they lasted, even though they were of short duration.

When Essex came back, he had lost a certain honesty; he was becoming more acquisitive. He was promiscuous and neglected poor Frances shamefully and there was a scandal about one or two of the ladies at Court. This was kept from me in detail and I decided not to probe. He courted me with more finesse than he had shown hitherto and although I believed that genuine affection was still there, he had hardened, become ambitious; in other words the Essex who had set out for his sojourn at the Court of France was not the same man who had come back from it.

The Cecils were his enemies. It said much for the abilities of Robert Cecil that I was beginning to think of his father and himself as “the Cecils.” Burghley had superintended his son's education well and had brought him up to think as he did and work in the same way. I was not displeased by this. I knew that sooner or later I had to lose my dear Spirit; and it was comforting to know that when he went I should have his son Robert to help me.

Raleigh was in the Tower and therefore posed no threat, but it appeared that Essex was forming a party, rival to the Cecils, and people were beginning to gather about him.

In spite of my fondness for Essex, I never lost sight of his weaknesses. It soon became clear to me that he was not stable enough to form a party in opposition to the Cecils, and he confined himself to doing everything he could to damage them in my eyes—an impossible task.

He had made the acquaintance of the Bacon boys—Anthony and Francis—nephews of Burghley. They were two clever young men, particularly Francis, I believed; but they had not learned the art of graciousness, and Francis irritated me by his interference in political matters. They were disgruntled, both of them, because they had hoped their uncle would find them places at Court. That I was sure he was prepared to do, but he was so intent on looking after his own son, that he made sure no one should be given a chance to outshine him.

Francis should have been given something useful to do, but he was too sure of himself, too definite in his views, and not inclined to modify them; which brought him my displeasure.

Then an event took place which filled me with horror. Henri Quatre changed his religion with the cynical comment that Paris was worth a Mass.

I had helped him. I had sent Essex over with men, arms and money in order to uphold the Protestant Faith, in order to make sure that we did not have a menacing Catholic state close to our shores. And now he had given way… abjured his faith for the sake of a crown!

I wrote off in a fit of disgust to the King of France without giving myself time to consider.

“Ah, what grief! My God, is it possible that any worldly consideration could render you regardless of divine displeasure…”

After I had sent that letter I regretted it because I remembered the days before my accession when I had feigned to accept the Catholic Faith in order to keep alive. What had Henri done? Realizing that the French, by their very nature, were Catholics—just as the English by theirs were Protestants—and would never accept a Huguenot king, with that nonchalant good sense of his he had said: Very well. If the only king you will accept is a Catholic king, then, as I am determined to be your King, I must become a Catholic.

And so he had.

We were of a kind really. How many times had I said that the method of worship was not important? It was Christianity itself which mattered. He had not changed his faith; he was merely accepting the Catholic form of worship. He was too clever, of course, to have done otherwise. I could imagine his guffaw of laughter when he received my letter, for he knew, as well as I did, that if England had demanded a Catholic monarch, then I should have been a Catholic and as England wanted a Protestant ruler—I was that.

I was alarmed. That was at the root of my indignation; but I took some comfort from the knowledge that Henri would not be as fanatical as Philip, and I was sure would have too much good sense to attempt to invade us.

Essex had been very interested in Walsingham's secret service, and he knew that it had been of the utmost benefit to us during our conflict with Spain. He imagined himself as another Walsingham, having spies all over Europe to report to him so that he would know immediately the country was menaced.

He was no Walsingham, of course; but no doubt Frances had talked to him often about her father and had inspired him with the wish to follow in his footsteps.

It was because of these activities that he came to me with an astonishing story concerning Dr Roderigo Lopez, whom I had made my chief physician. The doctor had come to England about the time of my accession and he soon began to impress the medical world with his skill. He had become house physician at St Bartholomew's Hospital, where he had made a name for himself not only by his skill in purging and bleeding but by introducing a very efficacious remedy for many ills. This was known as Arceus' apozema and Dr Lopez had talked to me about it. I was interested in such things and he found me a ready listener. I was quite fond of the man, so when Essex came to me and told me that he was a Spanish spy and was receiving orders from his masters in Spain to mix poisons with the medicines he prepared for me, I did not believe him.

I knew that Essex, in his endeavors to send his spies out round the world, as Walsingham had done, had tried to enlist the doctor in his service and had wanted him to return to Spain and worm his way into the King's household. This was not unlikely for he was famous for his skill. Thus he could become a spy for Essex.

I knew this because Dr Lopez himself had told me. I was most annoyed. This was another example of Essex's taking matters into his own hands.

I summoned Essex and berated him, telling him to look elsewhere for his spies and not try to rob me of one of the best doctors I had ever had.

At this time the Spanish nobleman Antonio Perez, who was being persecuted by Philip, had arrived in England and Lopez acted as an interpreter for him.

Essex had the notion that there were Spanish spies in the household of Perez and that they had come to England with orders to poison me; and he was looking for proof of this.

“The doctor has received a valuable jewel which is said to have come from the King of Spain,” Essex told me.

I replied: “The doctor has many grateful patients—myself among them.”

“I will show you,” retorted Essex; and he was sullen and angry. I really wondered why I endured his overbearing temperament.

I sent for the doctor and was especially gracious to him. He was such a tender, gentle man, and I was not going to turn against him just because he was a Portuguese Jew.

Essex was not one to give way easily, nor was he afraid to act without authority.

He caused a member of the household of Antonio Perez to be arrested. This was a certain De Gama and Essex had the temerity to make the arrest when De Gama was visiting Lopez, so that the arrest was made at Lopez's house.

Essex was now certain that Lopez was involved and he acquired the Council's permission to make a search of the doctor's house. He was very crestfallen when this revealed nothing incriminating.

I was elated. I sent for Essex and told him he was a very rash young man and had no right to accuse people of crimes which he could not prove; and he had better not behave in such a way again.

“You are wrong!” he cried.

How dared he! No one told the Queen she was wrong.

“You presume too much,” I shouted.

“I would presume in every possible way to protect your sacred person,” he replied.

And with a bow he left me.

He was intolerable but the way in which he had delivered that last remark softened me toward him. He really was genuinely fond of me and refreshingly frank—such a change from the sycophants who surrounded me.

Essex was indefatigable in his attempts to prove the case against Lopez. Another of Perez's attendants was arrested and put to the torture, when he confessed that Lopez was involved in a plot to poison me.

There was nothing to be done but arrest Lopez and conduct him to the Tower. He was tried at Guildhall where Essex insisted on presiding over the court, and the case for the prosecution was conducted by Sir Edward Coke, the Solicitor-General.

“This doctor,” declared Coke, “is a perjured and murdering villain, and a Jewish doctor worse than Judas himself.”

Robert Cecil came to tell me the result of the trial.

“He is found guilty, Your Majesty,” he said, “guilty of treason.”

I was very saddened. “Who would believe, Little Elf, that one who appeared to serve me well should all the time have been planning my destruction?”

I was not completely sure that he was guilty. Essex had been so determined to prove him so ever since the doctor had refused to act as his spy. I have never trusted evidence which is wrung from a victim by torture. I deplored the use of it, but I knew it was necessary. Yet who could trust the information which came out of it?

I was very uneasy about Lopez. He was sentenced to death, and when they brought me his death warrant, I found it hard to put my signature to it—so I did what I had done in the case of Mary of Scotland; I delayed doing it.

Essex said Lopez was unsafe.

“What if there should be an attempt to rescue him? What if he escaped and went back to his masters in Spain? Think of the knowledge he would carry. Your Majesty must sign the death warrant.”

“Essex,” I said, “you must stop this habit of telling me what I must and must not do. No one tells the Queen how she must act.”

“It seems that Essex does.”

“Guard your tongue, my lord,” I said. “It will be your undoing one of these days.”

Then he repeated a phrase which he had used in one of his letters to me and which I read often.

“Your Majesty may turn from me, but I never will from you. While you give me leave to say I love you, my fortune is my affection, unmatchable. If ever you deny me that liberty you may end my life, but you will never shake my constancy, for it is not in your power, great Queen as you are, to make me love you less.”

All my anger against him melted. He truly loved me. He would never pretend; he could not speak with such heartfelt devotion unless what he said was true.

I softened toward him. If he were brash, it was in my service. Why should I complain of that?

I took a ring from my finger then. It held a ruby in a cluster of diamonds. I had chosen it because the unusual setting made it unique.