and the state of his mount, had ridden at full pelt to catch up. Throwing the reins to another man, he gal-loped on ahead. Minutes later, he was back.
'I caught up with Grey!' he spluttered, spitting mud out of his mouth. 'Asked him to parley with you — to wait for you. He rode on even harder. My horse is blown or I would have knocked him off his mount.'
'My Lord!' shouted another man, 'I'll ride ahead, kill Grey, get to Cecil before he can be warned!' There was a roar of approval from the others.
Suddenly Essex was aware of a figure by his side. Through the caked mud he could just make out the features of Henry Gresham, calmly taking a swig from a water bottle. He offered it to Essex, who shook his head.
'Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?' muttered Gresham, and let his horse fall back.
It was a gamble; Essex was an educated man and knew the story of how rash words from King Henry had sent rough knights off to murder Thomas a Becket, the crime from which Henry's reign had never quite recovered.
'Hold!' said Essex, the old Essex now, flamboyant, alive, radiating energy and command. 'Let the old man warn the little man! My business is with the Queen!' He dug his spurs into his horse, and the exhausted beast picked up its feet and lumbered into an apology for a gallop.
They thundered into the courtyard of Nonsuch. There was no sign of Sir Edward Grey. Essex jumped off his horse, threw the reins to an astonished soldier and barked at him, 'Show proper respect to an Earl!'
The pikeman drew up his pike, stood to attention, his other hand holding the reins.
Essex half walked, half ran into the Palace. He simply walked through two startled guards on the main gate who were unsure whether to cross their pikes to bar the intruder or bring them to attention. Everyone who served in a royal palace, and most of London, knew the Earl of Essex. Sweat had drawn little rivulets of white through the mud caking his forehead, and patches of mud marked his path through the Palace.
On he went without halting, his spurs jangling, sword scabbard flapping against his thigh. He stormed through the Presence Chamber, a dark expression of determination on his face. Again he brushed the guards aside. He grasped the rough wooden handle of the door at the end of the Presence Chamber, swung it down and to one side. The double doors crashed open. He was in the Privy Chamber. Facing the Earl was the door to the royal bedchamber. If any man had ever been invited in there, the world had never been told.
'Stand aside!' roared the Earl of Essex, and the two guards fell back. Essex raised his foot, with its mud- stained and blackened fine leather boot, and kicked at the door. It flew open with a great crash and rending of wood.
The Queen was standing by her bed, looking as if she had just got up. Without her wig, her head was nearly bald, some thin, wispy strands of grey marking all that was left of her once pride and joy. With no make-up, her face was like a sand beach across which the wind has blown, ridged and wrinkled with the scars of time. Her neck was like a plucked chicken's, and her breasts hung down inside her nightdress like the drooping dugs of a worn-out sow.
Essex advanced towards her. She could not know his intentions, must have assumed that a man who broke into her room might easily be there to kill her. Yet to her credit, she did not flinch.
Essex flung himself to his knees before her, bowed his head, and reached out for her hand. He smelt foully of the road, of mud and sweat and of horse. His clothes were dank, dripping, and like a slug he had left a trail across the floor where he had advanced towards her.
'Welcome, my Lord,' she said without a trace of irony. Essex started to babble, some speech of mixed excuse and self-justification that could hardly be heard as he sought to cover his Queen's hand with kisses.
Incredibly, Essex had not realised there was a man standing in the doorway. Henry Gresham, the colour of earth, stood there, outstretched sword in one hand, the other hand clutching a dagger with which he was warding off the guards.
If there is a noise, if he thinks he is being attacked, I do not know what he will do. Could he kill the Queen? Yes, in extremis. Best by far if he was not given an excuse.
The Queen looked up at Gresham. Still unflinching, she raised the poor ruin of what had once been an eyebrow at him. 'Am I safe?' she said wordlessly to Gresham.
He nodded twice, very carefully. Glancing quickly behind him, he saw the two guards being bundled off by Essex's men, who had gathered now in the Privy Chamber. Gresham carefully eased the door shut as best he could. Half the Court would be here in minutes. They should not see the Queen in this state, for the sake of her dignity and that of the country. Gresham touched his sword to his forehead, and stood back, half shrouded by a tapestry.
The Queen was cradling Essex's head in her hands, with him still kneeling at her feet. Minutes, was it? Gresham was keeping no count of time. He heard the Queen speaking softly to Essex, overriding his protestations, like a mother gently chiding a child. He heard her suggest they might meet 'at a better time', when they had both washed and dressed. Stumblingly, almost in tears, Essex agreed, rose to his feet and bowed low to Elizabeth, retreating backwards. Hurriedly, Gresham realised that if Essex banged his arse on the door Gresham had just shut, it might reduce the poignancy of the event. He moved over to ease the door open. There was an expectant hush in the chamber outside. As soon as Essex had gone, Gresham closed the door again, and bowed to his Queen.
'Does he have an army with him?' The tone was clipped, almost ferocious, so totally at odds with the soft, cooing tones she had used a few seconds earlier that Gresham wondered if it was the same woman speaking.
'No,' said Gresham not raising his eyes from the floor, head still bowed in respect, 'he has no army. Just the usual suspects — Southampton, Rich, Rutland, Mountjoy — who have ridden with him. In four days. My Lord of Essex is… exhausted, Majesty.'
'You make excuses for this man?' The tone was peremptory, sharp. 'You encouraged him in this… this extraordinary intrusion? You were responsible for it, perhaps?'
Gresham was very, very tired, and his body ached ferociously in parts he never knew it had.
'I hope I'm in part responsible for the fact there's no army outside, Your Majesty, only a weeping Earl and some of his sycophants. And I entered after the Earl simply to protect you. I keep my word.'
'I think you do,' said the Queen. 'And, by God, I will keep mine. As you will keep your counsel over what you saw this early morning, if you wish similarly to keep a head on your shoulders. Here, there is a private door at the back. It leads to the dressing room, and thence out into more public areas. It will do neither of us good if you are seen to leave my room.'
So there was a secret door into the Queen's bedchamber at Nonsuch.
'Two guards saw me enter, Your Majesty.'
'Two guards who will not speak of the matter.' She paused. 'Would the Earl of Essex have come with an army? If you had not spoken to him?'
'It is easy to overrate one's influence, Your Majesty. The honest answer is, I do not know. Yet I think it was never his intention to rebel against you. To win your favour, yes. I do not think the Earl is your enemy. I think he needs you too much as his friend.'
He could not tell the Queen that Essex loved her. Not as a man loves a woman who excites him. As a man loves his mother.
'Leave now. Leave the Court.' Gresham's shoulders must have sagged. Damn! How dare his body disobey his mind! 'You are not banished. By your absence I need to make it clear that you are not part of Essex's clan. You lose usefulness for me if you are seen that way. We shall talk again when I have decided what to do with my turbulent Earl.'
Essex was outside, holding Court. His men were smiling, laughing. Their Lord had been well received by the Queen. They had talked. All would be well. The liars and the slanderers would be put in place. The true significance of the Irish treaty would be realised, the appalling difficulties of any Irish campaign understood. Essex cut a dramatic figure, still dripping and covered in mud from his four day journey.
'I have suffered much trouble and many storms abroad,' he announced to the mass of people who had now gathered in chattering excitement. 'But I find a sweet calm at home.'
With that he left to spruce himself up and prepare for the meeting at eleven o' clock he had arranged with the Queen. Clearly he had a store of clothes at Nonsuch as well as at other palaces. His audience lasted for over an hour and a half. His followers were elated, all the more so when the Earl came out smiling, happier than many of his men had seen him for months, if not years. At the meal which followed, men and women crowded round Essex. It was as it had always been — the Earl the candle around which the others flocked, the centre of attention.
