The Most Dangerous Enemy Read online

  The Most Dangerous Enemy

  By G. Lawrence

  Copyright © Gemma Lawrence 2016

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this manuscript may be reproduced without Gemma Lawrence's express consent

  For my nieces and nephews…

  Lara, Matilda, Eliza and Amy

  Cameron, Harrison and Elsie

  May you ever be as confident and

  bold as you are now…

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty- Four

  Chapter Thirty- Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Thanks…

  About The Author

  “I grieve and dare not show my discontent;

  I love, and yet am forced to hate;

  I do, yet dare not say I ever meant;

  I seem starkly mute, but inwardly do prate.

  I am, and not; I freeze and yet am burned,

  Since from myself, another self, I turned.

  My care is like my shadow in the sun,

  Follows me flying, flies where I pursue it,

  Stands, and lies by me, doth what I have done;

  His too familiar care doth make me rue it.

  No means I find to rid him from my breast,

  Til by the end of things it be suppressed.

  Some gentler passion slide into my mind,

  For I am oft, and made of melting snow;

  Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind.

  Let me float or sink, be high or low;

  Or let me live with some more sweet content,

  Or die, and so forget what love e’er meant.”

  Elizabeth Regina

  Prologue

  Richmond Palace

  February 1603

  Death smiles at me.

  He has ceased to sigh at me for my reluctance to follow Him, for He knows which story comes next in my tale. And this is a story He likes. He is happy to listen to me, as I remember this time, this tale, this part of my life where His actions caused the course of my life to alter... forever.

  Death comes to all men, and to all women…

  And yet, with the taking of but one life, this one lady, Death won something of me which could never be replaced.

  So often had I danced around Death, thwarting His efforts to take me, prancing clear of His grasping grip…. I had lost many who were close to me; my mother, my father, my brother, my sister, stepmothers aplenty… men and women of the court who played too close to fire of the Tudor line… Each loss had changed the course of my life, but with this one death, I believe my path was altered the most…

  Death smirks. He settles back, comfortably, and nods for me to continue. He knows how it ends, and He knows what it cost me. It is a tale of His triumph, but not my own. Without this one death, without this change, my life may have been different in ways I cannot imagine.

  Did Death take from me, then, or did He save me? Was Death truly my adversary or my ally at this pivotal time of my life, of my reign? How will I ever know? For we cannot know the paths we may have taken, the tracks we might have trod, had different choices been made, had other events occurred. We can only live the one life we are given, and strive to do the best we can with the powers and abilities we are granted.

  Would my life have been different? Would I have known the comfort of a husband, of a family… of love? I know not. Perhaps Death knows, but He is not the one telling the tale. He will leave it to me to tell of what was, and to wonder on what might have been.

  It was, at first, a time of hope and joy, a time when a new queen rose to take the place of her hated sister in the hearts and minds of the English people. And yet, those first few years when I sat upon the throne of England were perhaps more testing, more telling, than any other. For it was then that my heart and my mind were set against each other, in a war as challenging as any my father or grandfather ever fought with sword. It was in the battlefield of my own body where I faced the greatest enemy I would come to know… It was the time when I was tested more than any other. The time when I came to know myself, truly. The time when I almost lost all that I had worked for, had survived, to become.

  It was the enemy within whom I faced as I rose to take my place as the Queen of England.

  The heart is the most dangerous enemy.

  Chapter One

  Windsor Palace

  9th September 1560

  I rose early that day as was my habit.

  Long before the court woke I would dress simply, kneel to say my prayers, then slip from my chambers to walk for an hour under the fresh skies of the dawning day. My privy gardens were protected by high walls, so that here, and just for an hour or so before the hectic day began, I could be alone with my thoughts.

  I was not a creature made for mornings… The hours of the night were often hard for me as I wrestled and fought with fears or aspirations that battled in my mind. Sleep was often a stranger. I found it hard to be gracious and magnanimous as the first rays of the dawn came to linger in my bedchamber. I required some time, to myself, to set aside the thoughts that had plagued me through the night, and gather myself for the coming of a new day.

  Most mornings it was only the birds and I, with my silent Captain of the Yeoman Guard, William St Loe, watching over me, who graced the gardens with our presence. Sometimes my poor ladies-in-waiting stood sh
ivering at my side, trying to mask their lack of enthusiasm to face the cold air of the dawn with me, as loyalty and duty dictated. But their reluctance I could often feel intruding upon my thoughts as I tried to become still and calm, so often I relieved them of this duty. That morning, it was just me and St Loe, who stood a little way from me, out of respect for the person of his Queen.

  The birds burbled their jumbled song to the new day as it peeked over the horizon. The light of the sky turned from a dusky blue to a fresh azure, with streaks of orange and red filtering through the clouds. As the sun rose, the last warmth of summer stole through the damp autumnal chill of the dissipating darkness. The smell of the air was glorious; fresh and clean. It soothed my fractious mind. The worries that come in the night often seem to be made lesser, to be brought lower, by the coming of the day.

  I wandered the paths; my new shoes of fine Spanish leather tapping on the pathways, providing a background beat to the disorderly hymn of the birds. The birds do not take turns to present their melody, but all have to sing at once when they see the sun. Perhaps it is because of their joy in the new day coming; another night passed where they have escaped death from the jaws and maws of the fox or the owl. They sing for the joy of seeing another day after brushing close to Death Himself who may at any time steal upon them like a thief in the darkness. Even if this is not the reason they sing, I like to believe it is. Perhaps that is why I like to be with the birds as they sing their anthems to the skies each morning, for I too relish my own survival; not from the night, but from the dangers of my past…

  Yes, like the wild birds of England, I, too, am a survivor; the last true child of the house of Tudor, the last pure blood of my great father, King Henry VIII. Many dangers I had faced and triumphed over, many obstacles I had overcome. And in the morning chorus of the birds, I, too, felt the sensation of joy that flowed in their song; to simply rise to see another day, and another; each new morning had become a part of the victory of survival to me… Each new brilliant dawn was another day when I could rise to walk amongst the cold dawn and say that I, too, had cheated Death once more.

  That morning I walked the paths at Windsor Castle, stopping now and then to smell flowers, or crush scented herbs between my long white fingers, and my guard followed. I made sure Cecil, my Secretary of State, knew to choose only those men with the quietest of presences to guard my mornings. It is hard to be alone, when one is the Queen. St Loe was my favourite; he understood my need for silence.

  After much time kept as a prisoner in one castle or another during the reign of my sister, Mary, I had come to value the space and freedom of the outdoors. I liked not to linger within the palaces that were now mine… I liked to feel the wind on my skin, and even the light rain of the skies as it fell upon my head. I would rather be lost in the forests of England, than found upon my throne. The court followed me wherever I went; of course they did. To be close to the Queen was to be close to the seat of favour and power. I was surrounded by flocks of noble ladies of the realm; gangs of courtiers, all eager to amuse me, dogged my every step; and volleys of men, princes and lords, all eager to marry me, to capture my heart and take unto themselves the power of my crown, were at my side whenever they could find me. Which was why, often, I liked not to be so easily found…

  Twirling a stalk of rosemary in my hands I smiled to think of all the court gallants and foreign princes who presently danced for my hand. I had become the most eligible Queen in Europe, and whilst my country was still poorer and smaller than many others, the strategic importance of England was well known. A small nation we might be, but it was often our hand that could determine the tilt of power amongst the constant squabbling of the other kingdoms of Christendom… It was enough to ensure that since coming to the throne, there had been a boundless ocean of men spread out before me, each of whom thought they were the best candidate to be my husband.

  But I would be the one to decide on that matter; of that truth, I was assured.

  That morning in the gardens, it was just a few days since my twenty-seventh birthday and I had now been two years on the throne. All my advisors and Councillors wanted to see me married off and breeding, securing the country and my own line with squalling babes, but I preferred the life of a woman without a master. Many thought it unnatural, for a woman to rule, and not in the stead of a dead husband, or for an infant son… but without a husband, this Queen was also King; the one, sole master of England, ungoverned by another power, with the authority to control her people, her realm and her own future.

  I was not ready to give away my power and influence so easily, no matter how long and hard they pestered me to give up my virgin state.

  I twirled the sharp green stalk in my long fingers…. There was one man though, one man amongst all those many who courted me who had managed to penetrate my heart deeply enough to make me wonder on marrying him… Lord Robert Dudley. My Robin. My Eyes.

  Robin had been my friend since childhood. We had been imprisoned in the Tower of London at the same time, both suspected of treason by my sister. At different times, by different methods, we had found ways to free ourselves, and rise once more to glory. Like me, he had lost loved ones to the gaping maw of court politics and power; he, too, had suffered and lost his freedom. But it was not just this alignment of our destinies that caused me to ponder longer on my Robin than anyone else prancing to court me…

  Tall, strong and darkly handsome, quick, clever and witty; Robin stood out from the crowds of handsome men at court. He always would. He danced like a pagan god of the forests, and he always knew what to say to brighten my mood; he could make me laugh as no other could, tease me without causing offence. His eyes glittered with mischief and love of life. Perhaps that is why I loved him so, for Robin, much like me, was wont to seek out the amusing in life; was capable of humour even in the most miserable of times. For someone, like me, who had seen so much of the suffering and troubles that life could bring, he was a refreshing spirit.

  He, like me, had learned that life was hard and finding sweet amongst the sour was a vital ingredient of survival. He was a kindred spirit walking beside me on this earth. He was always thinking of new ways to amuse me, to lighten the burden of my throne. There was no man or woman who could so ably read my feelings and find balm or comfort for whatever mood I was in that day. I called him my Eyes for he was always watching for me, and watching out for me… and my little pet name was given for another reason, and one I did not share with others… My Eyes had his name for it seemed he could see to the centre of my soul. Oh yes, Robin Dudley was a friend most dear to my heart, and perhaps not only a friend, but something much, much more…

  But there was one thing that had allowed me to enjoy the company of my Master of Horse without fear… He was already married. The presence of a wife, no matter how distant and removed in the country, meant that Robin was mine to enjoy, to flirt with, to spend time with…. But with a wife holding him back from the possibility of being mine, he could form no serious design on becoming my consort, on becoming King of England. As he was, Robin posed no threat to my desire to retain the power of the throne as my own; to never have to give up that power to a husband who, by law of the realm and of God, would then have authority over me. With Rob safely married, I could enjoy all the pleasure of his company and not have to fear that he would try to take from me that which I valued the most; my position as the ruler of my beloved England. At first, at least, this had made me feel safe enough to enjoy the pleasures of his company in full…

  At first…

  But I was forced to admit that my feelings of admiration for my sweet Robin had grown into something more. Long had my practical head kept this man at bay from the deepest depths of my heart. Long had I managed to exclude him, as I had all others, from the very pit of my soul. But now… the time I had spent with him had caused me to open my heart to this man in truth. My heart longed for him when he was not with me, and exalted in his company when he was near. We were together all the t
ime. He had become my greatest and closest friend. Although our friendship caused rumour and gossip, there was nothing more between us than that which everyone saw. Despite rumour to the contrary, I had never forgotten the dignity of my position, nor my own maiden values, by taking our relationship any further. But a choice was coming for me. I knew I was becoming dependant on him for my happiness, and I wondered if more happiness might be granted to me, if I made a particular choice.

  It was not only my heart that called out for his… for my love was returned. Robin told me he loved me; not for the throne on which I sat, nor for the crown upon my head… but for the woman I was under the mask of the Queen.

  And how much I wanted to believe him!

  There is so much of life that is false flattery, especially when a woman comes to a throne. Power, influence, wealth… all these things can make a woman beautiful in the eyes of ambitious men. Many professed to love me, and I knew that all of them were false… but one. All of the nobility of England and Europe danced about me, all wanting to be the one to capture my heart, and thereby take my power as their own. But amidst these false players, I had come to believe that there was one man who knew me, knew the beating of my heart as he knew his own… One amongst all those who sought me not only for my power… One who might truly love me.

  And of late, I had had reason to believe that such a love might be mine in truth. Of late, I had cause to re-think my compulsion never to marry, to never give the reins of my life to another to share, or to control. Long had I believed that I would remain an unmarried Queen, that my people would be as my own children, and my throne would be as my own husband. I had seen enough of marriage within the blood of my own family to view it with caution. My father’s history with his wives would surely be enough to make any child with a good eye understand the notion that marriage was a dangerous state for a woman to be in, especially for royal women who had so much more to lose, lower to fall. I had seen stepmothers crushed when my own father exercised his power over them. My sister’s mother, Katherine, had been the first to understand this, to find herself abandoned, locked away, like a princess in a chivalric romance, but with no prince to save her. My own mother had tumbled before the force of his will and died a disgraced, fallen queen. And when my sister married her Phillip of Spain, it had brought her only pain, humiliation, and the loss of her people’s love.