Pain or pleasure, now may you plant, even which it please you steadfastly;

Do which you list, I shall not want to be your servant secretly.

•   •   •

After the New Year’s celebrations had passed, the queen made good on her promise to knight Thomas. His accolade was held before our friends and other courtiers, but was solemn, and for Thomas, one of the most important days of his life.

I ensured that he was dressed splendidly in the finest fabrics and leathers we could find; the London merchants thrived under the queen and therefore it was not difficult to procure the best goods. One morning, after the queen, too, dressed in high finery, she had Thomas kneel before her on the knighting stool. I stood nearby, with our children: Elizabeth, who was nine and imperious and beautiful; Frances, seven, quiet and dignified and a scholar in the making; Edward, five, and Theobald, four, locking arms, the very best of companions and already steady horsemen; and baby Bridget, who was three, and the precious joy of all.

The queen rested the flat side of a jeweled sword on Thomas’s right shoulder, then lifted it above his head and placed it upon his left. He then stood, thanked the queen, and kissed her ring, after which she presented him with his new insignia.

We made our way back to Sheen, where we were to sponsor some fine entertainment and celebrations that evening. The children teasingly called Thomas “Sir Papa” all the long ride home, and he reveled in tickling and teasing them. He sternly jested that there would not be any Lord of Misrule in his household, now that it was run by a knight, but Edward took exception.

“Nay, Papa, next Christmastime I intend to be the Lord of Misrule at our home!”

Thomas had smiled at me during the ceremony, but he kept a margin of space between us and I wondered, to myself, what kind of home I would have by next Yuletide. There was much ill will betwixt my beloved and me.

Did he yet love me? I sorrowed as I realized, nay. Perhaps not.

Nigh on seventy courses were served for dinner, and we had mimes and puppet masters before the children went to bed for the evening, then there was music and dancing. The Pembrokes came, of course, and I had arranged for them to bring young Upjohn as well.

“Do spend some time with him,” I urged Sofia. “If you do not show him some affections, there are other ladies waiting who will!” Indeed, there was a fair line of young women surrounding Upjohn, which did draw Sofia’s interest and competitive nature. But she would not take her eyes off Essex, who would not take his eyes off the queen.

Mary Herbert, only a few years older than Essex herself, but settled, with a mature husband and children, not to mention a large estate and her own writing, came alongside me and slipped her arm through mine. After reassuring me of Upjohn’s continued interest in Sofia, she said, “I see Essex pays mind to the queen whenever possible.”

“Under Lord Robert’s watchful eyes,” I commented.

“Perhaps the attentions of someone beautiful and young, the flattery of being looked up to and wanted in spite of one’s wearying life experience, makes one feel virile and desirable again,” wise Mary said.

I looked firmly at her, surprised that she was speaking so boldly about Her Majesty when the queen was just across the room. Then it occurred to me that perhaps she was not speaking about Elizabeth and Essex at all.

Later that evening, before she retired, the queen drew Thomas and me near to her. “Sir Thomas, we are well pleased to be able to knight you at long last. We have recognized your faithful service in the past and we know we shall be able to depend upon you as the storms batter our coast,” she said. “We thought it particularly apt that you be knighted in reward for service in regards to a Scotswoman. Your father was knighted at Flodden, fighting Scotsmen. We do not forget your family’s long service to the crown.”

Thomas looked pleased and surprised that she knew. “Yes, Your Grace, that is true. I am honored that you have remembered my father and me, and I will serve you to the best of my abilities until my last breath.”

She smiled at him. “And now, Lady Northampton, if you will show me to my chamber for the evening, I will be well pleased.”

Thomas bowed low, but before he did, I saw the smile flex to a frown. Later that evening, I tapped upon his chamber door. He opened it and let me in, though he was already prepared for sleep.

“I am certain that the queen will continue to promote you.”

He nodded but said nothing.

“Thomas”—I took his hand in mine—“what is it?”

“She still calls you Lady Northampton,” he said quietly. “I know ’tis the way of things, but no matter what comes my way, I cannot have one day without being reminded that my wife is more highly titled as the wife of another man.”

“Long dead,” I said, irritated.

He shrugged.

“Mary Herbert told me that Upjohn is interested in Sofia’s hand,” I said. “I’d like that for her.”

“Does she want it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s time she’s married and with a household of her own.”

“One she likes to live in, with a man she wants, I should say,” Thomas said, and then, perhaps realizing he had overstepped, continued, “but that is up to you. I shall take my leave tomorrow—the Rose Theater has officially opened in London. Pembroke’s men and the lord admiral’s men will be performing and I shall attend.”

“I should like to come,” I teased.

“No lady is seen at the Rose,” he said. “Only women of low morals.”

“Do you know such women?” I jested, perhaps a bit sharply.

He didn’t answer. “And then Effingham has asked me to go up and down the coast recruiting sailors and making sure that the ports, including Hurst Castle, of which I am still governor, are secure.”

“Spain?” I asked quietly.

He nodded. “Spain.”

“Can we withstand them?”

“We can pray,” he said. And then, perhaps moved by the thought that we may be under a siege from which we could not recover, he reached out and drew me into his arms for but a moment. I felt him fight with himself not to take me closer, but his will won and at length he withdrew. “Good night, Elin,” he said, holding himself firm.

I’d been dismissed. My eyes filled with tears. “Good night, Sir Thomas.” I despaired as I trudged back to my elaborate, rich chamber, where I lay alone in a beautifully carved bed.

My marriage was dead.

Thomas left the next day for the coast and I returned to court, a careworn, unwelcome pattern.



TWENTY-ONE

Years of Our Lord 1587, 1588