I did not mean to imply that I alone had driven off the Spaniards. I knew our success had been due to our brilliant seamen and the planning of my ministers. But I had been at the head of affairs. I was the figurehead. I was the Queen for whom men fought; and I knew full well that a share of the triumph was mine.

So the celebrations continued and all the time there was a dark shadow over my life. He was gone. I should never see my sweet Robin again.

LOOKING BACK, I WONDER WHY I LOVED ESSEX SO MUCH. IT must have been because I was looking for a substitute for Robert. It was a hopeless quest, because there could never be one to take his place, and in any case I was not the same young woman as that one of twenty-five who had fallen so deeply in love that I had almost been ready to share my throne with him.

Essex was handsome; his name was Robert; he was different from the other young men of my Court. His manner, which could be sullen, singled him out. Although why I should have been attracted by that, I cannot imagine. Perhaps somewhere in my mind was the niggling thought that he was her son and in winning him to my side I was taking him away from her.

Whatever it was I was more drawn to him than to any other—even dashing and often impudent Raleigh, who ran him rather close.

Essex never made concessions. I remembered him as a boy, not long after our first meeting at Chartley when he had been brought to Court and I offered to kiss him, for he had very handsome looks even then; he had quietly rejected the offer, which I had found amusing then, but which seemed to me now an indication of what was to come. I remember, too, that he wore his hat in my presence and it had to be snatched off his head for he would not remove it.

So perhaps I should have been prepared.

He was openly defiant. He presumed on my favors and there were many incidents when I almost felt I would send the young man from Court to teach him a lesson. If Robert had been there I should have done so. I should have had no need of him then; but talking with him, accepting his indifference to my crown, in some way helped me to forget that other Robert—and I needed to forget all the time.

Essex wanted his own way, but he was impulsive and there was nothing calculating about him; that was where he was so different from my other men. There had never been anyone quite like him. I knew it was unwise to indulge him too much, but whenever I saw that slightly stooping figure coming toward me, and when I looked up into the blazing admiration— which must be genuine for he would never pretend—my heart warmed toward him and I felt happier than I had believed I could possibly feel without Leicester.

A typical example of his behavior was when we were paying a visit to Warwick's place at North Hall. Essex's sister, Penelope Rich, was staying there, and I did not care to receive her. For one thing she was Lettice's daughter, and if that were not enough to damn her in my eyes, she was conducting an adulterous intrigue with Charles Blount, who had become Lord Mountjoy on the death of his elder brother. Mountjoy was one of my favorite young men, being accomplished and handsome, and I deeply resented his indulging in this affair with Penelope Rich. If they had kept it secret, it would have been a different matter, but Penelope had openly left her husband and set up house with Mountjoy.

“Her mother's daughter” was my wry comment, when I heard of it.

And so I came to North Hall with my courtiers. We were met by Essex himself, who had come out to welcome us.

I soon learned the reason for his coming. He wanted to warn me that his sister was at North Hall and to beg me to receive her.

I should have welcomed him more warmly if I had thought he had come to greet me rather than to plead for his sister, so I coldly said that I would not receive his sister and that it would be better for her to remain in her apartments during my visit.

The color flamed into his face. He demanded to know why I received Mountjoy and banished his sister.

I replied that I had no intention of bandying words with him and turned away; but he remained beside me. I was unfair to his family, he said. I would not receive his mother at Court yet she had done nothing…officially… to displease me.

I could not say: She married Robert and she was not even faithful to him. So I signed to one of the others to take Essex's place beside me and he had no help for it but to fall back. He was really angry when, arriving at the house, I gave orders that Penelope Rich should stay in her apartments as long as I was at North Hall, as I had no wish to see her.

He was a hot-headed fool. He could never realize when it was wise to stop. Indeed that was his downfall. At supper he again tried to talk to me. Why should I not receive his sister? Was it not unfair to blame her? Had I not received Mountjoy? Surely I could not be prejudiced against my own sex?

“Your Majesty, I beg you to receive my sister…to please me.”

I knew that many present were waiting on my words. They were beginning to say: She is as fond of Essex as she was of Leicester. But Robert would never have been so foolish as to pursue a matter such as this when I had clearly made my feelings known!

I said: “You are mistaken, my lord Essex, if you think you can persuade me to do something which I have determined not to. I shall not have it said that I received your sister to please you.”

“No,” he cried hotly. “You will not receive her because you wish to please that knave Raleigh.” He was shouting. “You will always pleasure that pirate. You would disgrace both me and my sister because that country churl asks it.”

“Be quiet, you young fool,” I said. “I order you to say no more on this subject.”

But he would not be quiet. He began to shout abuse of Raleigh, for the two of them were more jealous of each other than any two men I have ever known—and I had seen some jealousies at Court! I was alarmed for him— angry as he made me—for Raleigh was actually a member of this party. Quite clearly he was out of earshot at this moment, but I could picture those two fighting each other to the death of one of them.

I lost my temper too—which I did even more easily than I had in my youth. I said: “How dare you shout at me! How dare you criticize others in this way! Be silent! Or you will find there is no place for you at my Court. As for your sister, she is another such as your mother. It seems to me you are birds of a feather, and I should make sure that none of your breed enter my Court. I should send you away.”

“Then do so,” he cried. “I have no wish to serve a mistress who allows adventurers to fawn upon her. Raleigh wants me gone. Very well. I leave you to your favorites. I shall go away from here and take my sister with me.”

No one had ever seen such a display of insolence before. If anyone else had attempted it, I should have ordered an immediate arrest.

But he looked so young, with the anger in his eyes, so I merely said: “I am weary of this foolish boy,” and turned away.

He strode out of the hall.

The next morning I learned that he had left North Hall. He had sent his sister home with an escort and made his way to Sandwich, intending to embark for the Low Countries.

I immediately sent a party of guards to bring him back.

He was already on a ship which was about to sail so I caught him in time. When told that my orders were that he should return at once, he defiantly refused to do so; but the guards informed him that if he did not accompany them willingly, they would take him by force.

So he returned and in due course I sent for him.

He came to me—quite unabashed.

“You are a foolish boy,” I said. “Never do that again or I shall send you to the Tower. I have been lenient with you and your tantrums, but you should take care that you do not try me too far.”