The Palace of Whitehall

Just after the new year, Lady Knollys, who had been unwell, grew fainter and more ill. She was confined to her bed and the queen visited her daily, often more than once. The queen was sore vexed and could scarce think of anything else but Lady Knollys and her illness. As I was serving her I noticed that her hands, of which she was inordinately proud, were red from wringing.

“Your Grace, may I apply a salve upon your hands, and some gloves, for your comfort?” I asked.

The queen silently nodded. I rubbed them with a lightly herbed ointment and slipped a pair of the gloves she was known for over her hands. The next day, she called me aside. “We thank you, Lady von Snakenborg, as our hands are less tender and raw.”

“I shall salve them each evening, madam,” I said.

Within days, Lady Knollys died. Her Majesty could not be consoled for a week or more; her eyes were red-rimmed and every conversation turned to good Lady Knollys. Sir Francis was recalled. When I saw him, I was shocked. He’d aged more than ten years and his gaunt face was stone struck with grief. Blanche Parry asked me to assemble into trunks Lady Knollys’s belongings, and to care for Her Majesty’s birds, which had been Lady Knollys’s responsibility. I readily agreed.

To my shame, I read, while packing, portions of Sir Francis’s final letter to his wife. In it he pleaded for her to consider a quieter manner of life, to retire from service and live a poor country life with him.

It was too late for that.

•   •   •

Several days later I was salving Her Majesty’s hands before she retired for the evening when I noticed her shoulders were hunched. “You are Atlas, my lady, carrying the weight of the heavens on your shoulders,” I said. “Let me rub some valerian ointment into them, as we would do in Sweden.”

She agreed, and for the first time since Lady Knollys’s death, I saw her uncoil. “You do well,” she said. “Tell me, have you been reading about Atlas of late?”

I shook my head. “Not of late, Majesty. I love stories and have plucked some from your library. I must say, your library is rich with myths and tales of Greece and Rome; however, there are no stories in them of the myths from the north. There is much to learn from our legends, too.”

The queen smiled, and as she did, the others in the room put themselves at ease.

“Tell us about one of them, Helena,” Anne Russell Dudley urged. No hint of the lady’s bedstraw awkwardness remained . . . at least between us two. “Her Majesty loves a story!”

I knew Anne was hoping to brighten the queen’s gloom, so I eagerly sought a story to do that. I indicated that Eleanor Brydges should come near, and I whispered into her ear. She smiled and took her leave. No one asked where she was going; they expected that we were to amuse the queen and let her go, relishing the suspense.

“I shall tell you of our legendary Idun,” I said, continuing to knead the knots from Her Majesty’s neck and shoulders. “She is most beloved, the goddess of youth and spring and rebirth, and she lives in Asgard, the mythological home of the gods.”

Anne Dudley clapped and bid me continue. She smiled in my direction, confirming that I had chosen the right tale for Her Majesty.

“Because Norse gods are not immortal of their own accord, they need to eat of extraordinary apples, protected by Idun, in order to retain their immortality. One day, the evil trickster Loki was captured by a giant, Thiassi. The giant refused to free Loki until he brought Idun and her apples to him as a ransom. Loki, readily turncoat, agreed.”

The room was quiet and Her Majesty began to relax. I stopped for a moment and she spoke up. “Do proceed, Lady von Snakenborg!”

“Loki sped back to Asgard, and because Idun was trusting and kind, she believed Loki when he told her that he had found better apples that could be of help to both Idun and the other gods. He urged her to trust him and she did, following him into the woods. Once there, Thiassi, who had disguised himself in the form of an honorable eagle, swooped down and dug his talons into well-believing Idun and her basket of apples, and carried her away.

“Without Idun and her magic apples, the story goes, the other gods grew gray, feeble, and old. They gathered together and confronted Loki, demanding that he return Idun and her apples or they would banish him from Asgard. Loki, who had no pride and was willing to barter with either side, agreed. He turned into a falcon, flew to Thiassi, and once there, changed Idun into a nut. He clasped her in his claws and flew back to Asgard, furiously chased by Thiassi, who disguised himself in the form of an eagle once more.

“Loki safely made it within the confines of Asgard, where he dropped Idun and she changed back into a goddess again. Thiassi, the evil giant, did not make it into Asgard. Instead, he crashed into the wall guarding it. The gods lit a fire on the walls and Thiassi’s wings caught the flame and he died, a victim of his own treachery.”

“And Idun, Lady Helena? What of Idun?” Anne urged me on.

“The goddess was as beautiful as ever, and once she returned to her rightful place, the gods grew young and virile again. She served them her apples and they all dwell in Asgard today, safe from giants and old age.”

At that, I bid Eleanor come forth. She handed me the basket of apples, which I had sent her for. I knelt and presented them to the queen. “Idun?”

The queen laughed and clapped her hands. Then she accepted them. After the women scattered again to their sewing and reading, Her Grace called me close to her again. Eleanor looked up, expecting to be called, too, I guessed. When she wasn’t, she scowled.

“We understand that you have taken over the care of my songbirds after Lady Knollys’s untimely death,” Her Majesty said.

“Yes, madam,” I said. “I have.”

“We thank you,” she said. “We shall consider other such things as might keep you occupied.”

I curtseyed. “Thank you, Majesty.”

“We have shrugged off Atlas’s burden this afternoon, thanks to your ministrations, though the valerian has, perhaps, a strong savor.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace. I shall find a scent to disguise the valerian next time.”

We chatted comfortably then, for a few moments, and I answered her questions about the north myths with authority and friendship as well as humility. I think she liked that, as she spoke to me more as an equal than she ever had. I then went to find Eleanor, to thank her and to invite her to sup with me at William’s estate the next week, but she was suddenly, and surprisingly, nowhere to be found.

•   •   •

The following autumn, the trickle of rumors regarding Norfolk’s intended wedding to Mary swelled to a river. The queen called him into her Presence Chamber to answer the accusations.

“We have heard that you, lately bereaved of your wife, have plans to take another,” she began.

He held his peace. “I know not of what you speak, Majesty,” he said. “Did you have someone in mind? I should be humbly thankful to take your counsel in this matter.”

“I understand,” she said with a sharp tone and a look that matched it, “that you already have someone in mind, our cousin Mary, Queen of the Scots.”

“Nay, Majesty, those are rumors planted by my adversaries that they might sprout enmity between us. I would not be able to sleep upon a safe pillow beside so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress and murderer.”

“I was unaware that you had adversaries, my Lord Norfolk,” she said. “Pray tell us whom these may be so we may defend you.”

Norfolk smiled weakly. “Whoever is spreading malicious lies about me, my queen. Those are my enemies.”

“We shall keep our ears, and our eyes, open to better hear and see these enemies of yours,” the queen said. At that, Norfolk flicked his gaze to Lord Robert, whom the queen affectionately referred to as her “eyes.” Lord Robert smoothed his beard and met Norfolk’s gaze with a confident smile.

After Norfolk left the room, the queen remarked to Lord Robert, “I know full well that if that marriage comes about, within four months I shall find myself in the Tower.” I wondered how heavy was the burden knowing that from the moment of your conception, there were others wishing for and plotting your death.

Within the month Norfolk had lost his nerve and fled court without the queen’s permission. She moved to Windsor Castle, her strongest defensive residence, and then sent for Norfolk to be placed under arrest and taken to the Tower on suspicion of treason.

“Madam,” Cecil reasoned with her shortly thereafter, “I cannot see how his acts are within the compass of treason. And if you consider the words of the statute, I think you will agree.”

She stood up and shouted, “If the laws of England do not provide for Norfolk’s execution, then we will proceed against him on our own authority!” She pounded her fist against the table for effect, and what an effect it had. It ushered in the silence of a corpse, which Cecil looked as if he shortly might become. He bowed and left the room. We ladies trailed after Her Majesty, who paid us no mind.

In the end, though, she would be proved right. Within a month there was a revolt in the north of Catholics who sought the throne for Mary.

“Why don’t they love and obey me, for as I live I love them and seek only their best?” the queen mourned.

“Her Majesty has sorrow for her people but rage for her nobles,” I said to Eleanor as I sprinkled scented water on the queen’s linens and she organized onto tufts of satin the queen’s hundreds of dress pins.

Eleanor looked at me for a minute before speaking. “It’s true. There is rage for the earls of the north who led this, too.”