CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Memories of that shameful day renew my sadness, Rob, and I was glad when my writing was interrupted by a visitor, that clever fellow, Hugh Holland. He, too, had travelled in Italy, where his careless tongue had got him into trouble, but it was in reminiscing of the old days that he brought to mind another matter much to my discredit, so his presence comforted me little.
"D'you recall when Farnaby came to this house, proudly bearing the manuscript of his Canzonets? You leafed through it rather disdainfully, I thought, and when he asked us both to write poems of recommendation, I was sure you would refuse. It was just before you left us all for Denmark and I thought you would make some excuse about time being short, but you took a poem out of a drawer, furbished it up in a trice and handed it to Giles, who was delighted. None of us understood the poem, but it was enough to have your famous signature. What in the world did it mean?"
After some searching, I found the book and this was the poem;
THOU ONLY SHALT HAVE PHYLLIS,
Only thou fit (without all further gloses)
Crowned to be with everlasting Roses,
With Roses and with Lillies
And with Daffadowndillies,
But thy songs sweeter are (save in their closes)
Then are Lillies and Roses;
Like his that taught the woods sound Amaryllis.
GOLDINGS; you that have too, too dainty NOSES,
Avaunt, go feed you them elsewhere on ROSES.
It all came back to me. I had once written a poem for Luca to remind him of our adventures with the Roman courtesans, also referring to a mistake in the last part of one of his songs, which I never let him forget. The word 'gloses' referred to those 'explaining' the 'Shepherds' Calendar' ( set down more to mystify than make clear) and reminding Luca of how Spenser had put his name falsely to the poem and then mocked me as the 'donkey', Cuddie. I remembered now that to have Farnaby publish the poem was a means of ensuring that Spenser would one day read my ridicule of him. I changed the envoi, addressing it to Essex's party, the orange clad Marigolds. They could take it as a bit of bawdy, such as Southampton liked, or could think that, like Apuleius' Ass, they needed to eat roses to turn into proper men. I cared not what they read into it. I was off to foreign parts to play for a king who recognised my merits and had promised to pay me well.
I altered the poem in a black mood, jealous of Edmund Spenser's success and I made sure that almost every line ended with his initials so that he would be doubly sure for whom the doggerel was intended. How could I guess that, within a year, he would be back in England, his castle burned by rebels, his wife and children left behind, the youngest dead and himself dying of a broken heart?..... I saw Hugh's reproachful expression and realised I had spoken my thoughts aloud.
"The word went round that you had cursed Spenser in that poem. They say it was Cecil who first spoke of witchcraft and roused your few unfriends to blacken your name. Did you not wonder when you first returned from Denmark that some looked at you askance?"
I had forgotten that. "It must have been the time I came over to buy instruments and engage musicians for King Christian and found few willing to travel abroad with me. Do you mean to say that they thought me one of the Devil's brood? I have sometimes been accused of looking with an evil eye but it is merely that I am abstracted and unobservant."
"It was all a long time ago," murmured Hugh, "and there are not many left now to recall the old days." He soon took his leave, leaving me somewhat shaken. Two misdeeds for which to atone, and another to confess in its turn!
~
1601 was the year Essex went to the block. February it was, while I was in Denmark. Robert Sidney had turned his coat and came over from Flushing to join Sir Walter and Robert Cecil (whom he still thought his friend) for the kill. After that, the Queen showed favour to Sir Robert and went down to Penshurst to visit him and my Barbara with another child, her namesake, clinging to her skirts.
My Second Book of Songs was selling well in London at that time. The proceeds were intended for Suzanne's use but she let it go for only twenty pounds and the profit went to the printer and publisher, who took to law over it in their greed. In my absence, Tom Morley had by some underhand means obtained Byrd's music paper and printing monopoly so that he and Chris Heybourne, his partner, got almost as much as we did. That did nothing to improve my temper, I can tell you. Out of sight out of mind, even with so-called 'friends'.
For fear of Cecil's spies, when I returned to England, I dared not go to Mortlake to look for Doctor Dee, so called on Sir Edward Dyer at Winchester House and found the magus there. The Monas link was swift and sure for transmitting brief messages, and their superior speed could be used to circumvent our enemies, but there were times when a face to face encounter was best. Doctor Dee asked me to explain to Sir Edward how Cecil had trapped me.
"He has intercepted my letters to King James since 1596, no doubt adding lies of his own, and his spies read all my personal correspondence. I write nothing of real moment to James and Doctor Dee advises me how to lead them both astray without putting any of us in jeopardy. Thank God we are always a jump or two ahead, thanks to the Monas magic. I am sure you know that the hunchback blackmailed me into a false vision where I had to tell King James that I saw Cecil placing the crown of England on his brow. To assuage my guilt at this deception, I sacrificed my Orpheus book to him and, no doubt, he believes that the heavenly rays, which Patrick Gray affirmed he saw descending on his head, shine down on him each time his lutenist plays what he thinks is the true music of Orpheus."
I forbore to add that, even had I played Ficino's Orphic hymn, there would have been no descent of heavenly rays. Although I had played and sung it for all the German princes, only the rapport between myself and Maurice of Hessen and his noble character had brought about that magic. I blamed myself for failure more than any lack on the part of the princes. What atonement could compensate for the evil that lay in me, John Dowland? I was ashamed to reveal my true feelings to these two good men.
"You have told me your chapter of accidents, and I will tell you mine, for, since Philip's death, little has gone as we would have wished," said Sir Edward, now sadly aged since the days at Wilton, when he wrote poems for the sixteen year old bride. "I, too, have been governed by the Cecils, father and son. I must tell you that, after my master, Walsingham's death, old Burghley angled for the Secretaryship on young Robert's behalf and, when the Queen showed signs of offering it to me, which would greatly have advanced our cause, our great Lord Treasurer threatened to call in my debt to the crown - eleven thousand pounds (and all my lands, such as they were, sold long before.) I dared not risk ruin, so what could I do but withdraw my claim to the post? Now Robert lets me off my debt six months at a time, so that the threat still hangs over me like the sword of Damocles.
"I was given the sop of a knighthood and made Chancellor of the Garter when Henry Lee was installed, but that was only so that our votes might hold Essex in check, once his mad pranks had begun. After Fulke Greville and myself had acted as bear leaders to him for all those years, the 'great boy' turned against us. He regarded us as enemies, just as he did Cecil and Raleigh, because we were loyal to the Queen.
"As you know, it all came to a bad end. Have you seen the play, 'Hamlet'? Essex wrote it in the Tower with worse madness and the fear of death on him. He worked off his bitterness against his mother's marriage to Leicester and other pent up rancour besides. Now that we have no priests to hear our confession, to write it out in a play is no bad means to absolve one's conscience. I admit to the attempt myself.
"Poor Anthony Bacon, who worshipped Essex, and was no traitor to him like his brother, had just time to pass the play to Shakespeare for performance, before, heart-broken, he followed his master to the grave. He was portrayed as Horatio and Greville and I disguised as the royal spies, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - the rosy wreath and the golden stars of our belief mocked in their Danish names. I tell you both, I am weary of the whole game. Thirty-six years since, I sold a manor and paid Leicester to get me to court and what have I to show for it but debts, ill health and white hairs?"
"Say not so, Edward," encouraged Doctor Dee. "You have been our chief stand-by all these years, loyal to Sir Philip, to the Queen and to our cause. As Chancellor of the Garter, you are in a position to draw in more German princes to the ideal of peace in Europe. You made a good beginning with young Mompelgard, to whom Elizabeth has promised the Garter. Continue to advocate the chivalry of Raymond Lull, who died in the cause of uniting all religions, and who has always been our inspiration."
"At my time of life," rejoined Sir Edward, "I might do better to retire and follow Essex's example and write out my bitterness for the groundlings, though all they understand is the dumb show and the foolery."
"That is what the German public enjoys also, but their princes grasp the deeper meaning. I was in Cassel when Robert Browne's company played at the Landgrave's court. The play, too, is a kind of magic for transmitting our beliefs," I added.
"You know well, Edward," Doctor Dee reminded him, "that Leicester sent his players all over Europe and laid the foundations for our work, and so now does the Lord Admiral. If you are determined, as you say, to keep away from court, who better to write for us now, for, as Philip averred, what greater poet have we in the whole of England?"
"Oh, I burned most of my poems long ago, so disgusted was I at that first pirating of Philip's 'Arcadia', which was a most private work. But let us change the subject," said Sir Edward. "John, what of Denmark and Christian, whom I have not seen since he came to the throne as a boy?"
"Another language to master and a rough tongue at that. Yet another spelling of my name. Much hatred from the Lutheran nobles, who think my music devilish and harmful to the King. I play the Orphic hymn for him in private and he allows me to travel all over Germany to do the same for the other princes. He pays me well, though his Treasurer, like Burghley in his day, is loath to open the purse-strings."
"Now to another subject, John, which brings us nearer home," pronounced the Doctor significantly. "You will receive a message presently from one who will gaze into the Spanish diamond and transmit secret words to which you may reply by looking on your ruby ring. I know you will listen eagerly for this. Now, Edward, go to the door with John so that, to a watcher, it will seem that his visit was to you alone. I will leave under cover of darkness. Shall we never be free of the curse of deceit and fear?" He shook my hand heartily, saying that I should hear from him soon by our private means.
~
I hastened to Fetter Lane, where I shut myself in my room, trembling with excitement at the thought of hearing Barbara's voice at last. Very early next morning, there came into my mind's ear her reproachful tones. "Jean, my letter.... Why have you not replied to my letter?"
Not wishing to cause her alarm, I told her as little as possible of Robert Cecil's machinations. I explained that it was long ere her letter reached me and what heavenly bliss it was to know that she still loved me and that we had made a son together. I assured her that I had never so much as looked on another woman but had lived only on the memory of our brief happiness and would do do ever.
My dear one interrupted me. "Oh, Jean, I can hardly concentrate on the diamond, such is my trembling. While there is time, I must tell you that Sir Thomas Monson is in town for the Parliament and I beg you to plead with him for the return to you of our Robert. Now that Suzanne is no longer with him, I can discover nothing of his welfare."
I promised and said that I would try to find some safe way of visiting her at Penshurst.
"Sir Robert is to spend a month in Rutlandshire with Sir John Harington and other lords, so I shall be alone with the children....." Her voice faded before we could even renew our vows of love. I too had found difficulty in gazing with fixed purpose on the ruby ring when my heart was pounding. Indeed, as Barbara's words were lost, my eyes were blinded with tears.
~
Sir Thomas Monson's London home discovered, I wrote, asking to see him and was soon granted an interview.
"It must be about the boy." He looked the sort of man to go straight to the point. "If it were left to me, you should have him back straightway, for Lady Monson is over-indulgent with the lad, who runs to her skirts as soon as he is corrected. Little good comes of his music or any other of his lessons. He would be far better with his own parents yet, I fear, my wife will never part with him. She is so besotted she would not even accompany me to London lest he pine for her. The truth is, it is she who cannot bear him out of her sight. I am afraid that your request is a hopeless one. But tell me your lodging and I promise to inform you if circumstances should change."
As I left the house, my heart sank. What was I to tell Barbara? Suzanne was full of sympathy and we sat down to devise a means of entering Penshurst Place without arousing the suspicions of Cecil's spies or Sir Robert's servants. Suzanne was the first to break the silence.
"It is December already and, in Lincolnshire, at Christmastide, mummers come to each house and sing and act a play. Men and women exchange garments..... Ah, now I have it, Jean, that is how we will leave London, disguised in each other's clothing! Now I am glad to be more than common tall, which makes us much of a size. Mall will go with you to market, two women together, and I will change into my male attire at a friend's house and we will meet at the stables and hire ourselves horses. Through your magic means ask Lady Barbara if they have mummers in Kent and, if so, that is how we shall safely cross her threshold."
First, I told my love through the rings not to lose hope of seeing our Robert, as Sir Thomas was less intransigent than his wife. Barbara explained that the local custom was called Hodening and how we might meet the farm horsemen, or Hodeners, and join their party, thus gaining entry to her house without arousing suspicion. Sir Robert, she told me, had already left on his visit.
Suzanne and I spent a night or two at the village inn, she taking well to her disguise, myself robbed of my beard, and my white-streaked hair partly hidden by a kerchief. Ale flowed, money changed hands, there was talk of a wager and before long, the rustics agreed to bring forward their festivity to a time that best suited us. So we found ourselves, the week before Christmas, surrounded by a merry throng, myself in old woman's blacks, as the Mollie, a long, mop-like grey wig obscuring my face, a besom in my hand, next to me a hideous Hooden Horse with iron nails for teeth and a lantern inside its horse's skull, made with hinged jaws which snapped open and shut.
Rough country music and loud knocking announced our arrival and, as the Hooden Horse pushed its way in, crouching and snapping, I played my part, which was to attack the servant's feet with my besom. The noisy party erupted into the great Baron's Hall, Suzanne swaggering among them. Two long trestle tables were laden with food and drink, and before the huge fireplace, Lady Barbara and her children stood to welcome us, little Barbara hiding her face in her mother's wide skirts at the wild incursion and the boy, Robert Sidney, almost mad with delight at the Hodeners' antics. Then, as arranged, while all partook of cakes and ale, the Horse neighed out that old Mollie was a fortune teller of high renown and wished to tell the future for the lady of the house.
Barbara was prepared for this and, entrusting her daughter to her nurse, led the way into a side room. No sooner was the door closed than I set down my broom, flung off the wig and the voluminous black cloak and faced her, resembling to some extent at least the old Jean. As she held out her hands to me, her beauty seemed undiminished by the years and our grasp was so passionate I thought our fingers would remain entwined for ever.
None in the noisy hall might overhear, but our first words came out in broken murmurings of renewed love, whisperings so soft that they might have come from the distant past when we two were one. What exchanges were made as the minutes sped by, I cannot now repeat. We allowed ourselves only the time a fortune telling would consume and it was woefully brief. One embrace and I had to resume my ridiculous disguise, promising as I did so to bring her our Robert soon.
"I have a message from Lady Mary," were my love's last words. "She expects you at Wilton shortly where she is at the Dower House. Now leave me and do not turn your head as you go to join the rest. No goodbyes. We shall be together always through the rings."
Once again in the hall, I was swept away with the merry, clamorous throng, and Suzanne slipped a comforting hand into mine.
~
We decided to ride straight on to Wilton. Barbara had sent a trusted servant after us with a purse of money, so that we were able to rest and refresh ourselves on the way. Suzanne had taken well to her disguise, riding like a man and strutting like a boy actor. I was less at ease in my skirts and had to play the hoyden, as I could by no means mince like a lady. Once safely at the Dower House, we were able to resume our own attire and glad I was of that when I found Sir Robert Dudley one of the company, as I had no desire to play the fool before one who had been my pupil.
"We are expecting Edward Dyer at any moment,"explained Lady Mary, as we settled ourselves with cups of mulled ale before a roaring fire. " We are to have quiet festivities while William and Philip make merry in their own way at the great house. My eldest son swears it will take much carousing to wash the taste of the Fleet prison from his mouth, and Robert, here, was a jailbird too, as he was foolish enough to join with Essex." And, smiling, she shook her head at him.
Suzanne slipped away to rest after her exhausting journey and Sir Edward Dyer was not long in joining us. As he sipped his ale and stretched out his booted legs to the blaze, he appeared even more weary than when I saw him in London.
"The last time we met, I told John here that I was weary of great affairs. Doctor Dee has persuaded me to change my mind. I must ask you all three to swear to disclose nothing of what I am about to divulge and never to use my name in this connection. As you will realise, this secret imposes a most dangerous risk on all involved.
"You know that I was a faithful servant to my Lord Leicester until his death and privy to his most confidential affairs. Thus I am aware of your actual relationship to him, Lady Mary, and how close you are, therefore, to Sir Robert, who is the Earl's true-born son. Yes, I was a witness at your mother's wedding, Robert, which meant that the Earl's marriage to Lady Essex was bigamous. This I may pledge on my honour, though I dare not affirm it openly. Sir Thomas Drury is brave enough to promise that he will act as your informant and will swear in court that you are the Earl's legitimate son and will produce other witnesses to the same.
"My silence has not deprived you of material wealth, which you inherited, Robert, as your father's 'base-born son', a status with which, to your credit, you had long come to terms. Yet now there is a necessity to bring all into the open. These days we must realise that the Queen is not immortal. Cecil and his henchman, Henry Howard, are already in communication with James of Scotland and intend to offer him the crown of England. As Chancellor of the Garter, I am honour bound to remain loyal to the monarch, yet it would go sadly against the grain to serve James....."
"Who else is there," broke in Sir Robert, his voice shaken by Sir Edward's revelation, "but Isabella of Spain or Arbella Stuart? England needs a man, not another ruler in petticoats." (This was dangerous talk, indeed, I thought.)
"Exactly," rejoined Sir Edward. "You will soon see how my argument is tending. Your father, Robert, was proud to trace his ancestry back to Henry III. I have here a copy of the family tree. The Earl's father, who became Duke of Northumberland, intended to give your uncle, Guildford, a double right to the throne of England through marriage to Lady Jane Grey. When that failed, my Lord of Leicester hoped for years to marry Elizabeth and himself become King but her wish to retain the throne unchallenged was greater than her undoubted love for him and his hopes came to naught. He then made plans, of which you knew nothing, Robert, for his son to rule England in his stead. His untimely death prevented him from taking you into his confidence. The truth is that, since the age of four, you have, by the agreement of the Earl of Leicester and Bess of Hardwick, the lady's grandmother, been betrothed to Arbella Stuart, who, being English born, has a better claim to our throne than James of Scotland. Mary Queen of Scots learned this when Bess was her jailer and I believe Queen Elizabeth is not ignorant of this binding troth."
The news came as no shock to me, but Lady Mary and Sir Robert were severely shaken. He was deathly pale as he spoke.
"I hardly know how to contend with such revelations, Sir Edward. It seems that all my life others have been privy to secrets of which I know nothing. I must have time to think. I have a wife and daughters. What can Arbella Stuart be to me?"
"Her betrothal to you as a child renders all subsequent marriages null and void. She can be your Queen," replied Sir Edward, solemnly, "but, first, you must prove your legitimacy in a court of law." To this, Sir Robert made no answer, but soon excused himself. He now had a heavy burden to carry which he had by no means expected.
The next day the two knights were closeted together for the whole morning. I was then summoned to perform the Orphic hymn and, I must confess, that I did so with my eyes tight shut. I longed, yet hesitated to believe that Sir Robert's venture would be crowned with success and, in my mind, I did my best to imagine the golden rays descending, which would confound the plans of the hated Cecil and his master, James.
Sir Edward remained at Wilton for the Christmas season, and, as she bade us farewell, Lady Mary said, shaking our hands warmly, "I shall not be here, John, when you next return from Denmark. The house I am building in Bedfordshire is near completion. You will be most welcome there."
Disguised as before, we followed Sir Robert to Kenilworth, where we were able to resume our rightful roles. At the castle there assembled many I had played for in the past. Some were young men who had plotted with Essex, one of them, Robert Catesby, married to Sir Robert's sister-in-law, Catherine. Two brothers, Robert and Thomas Winter were former guests and I recalled that I had written Mistress Winter's Jumpe for Robert's wife, Gertrude. In truth, all the old music was requested and it would have been quite like the old days, had not serious conversations taken place among the gentlemen, which confirmed my belief that Sir Robert had not faltered in his determination to fall in with Sir Edward's scheme.
For the most part, wherever I was, it was my task to receive the Monas dispatches, since I could memorise and reproduce the longest messages without the need to write them down. The waiting was tedious, but I could fix my gaze on the symbol as I practised my lute, and I picked up the transmission immediately, whereas others, less accustomed, were slow and clumsy. Thus it was, I was the first to hear Doctor Dee's familiar tones.
"I have had some talk with Sir Walter Raleigh and he, too, approves our plan, which he has had in his mind for some years. Now we must pray that the Queen lives for another twelve month. We already know that 1603 will be her last, and from Joachim of Fiore's ancient prophesy, in that year the New Age will be born.
"However, we need time, for legal processes are tardy and Sir Robert's legitimacy must be fully proved before he can accede to the throne. We must also work for the support of the old nobility. The Howards are his close relatives and, with the exception of Lord Henry, should give their fullest aid. Shrewsbury and Northumberland at least are sure and will work for the unity of the two religions. I am less happy about Sir Robert's hot-headed young friends but we must use whatever help affords. I pray daily that it will be a peaceful undertaking."
~
All these high matters did not prevent Suzanne and myself from seeking means to bring you from the Monsons before my return to Denmark. We decided to ask Sir Robert's friends for help. They were enthusiastic at the prospect of a new pastime.
"A kidnapping!" exclaimed Francis Tresham. "What a way to see in the New Year!" His companions chimed in with suggestions. Sir Robert provided a coach. On New Year's Eve, the whole party were to disguise themselves as mummers and sing on the Monsons' doorstep, while Suzanne, in her male attire, gained entry as the First Footer and whispered in Sir Thomas's ear that she was come with her husband to spirit away their lawful son. The mummers would crowd into the hall, perform their play and, in the general hubbub following, cover you, Rob, with their cloaks and sweep you outside to the waiting coach, escorting us back to Fetter Lane and repeating the process to gain us safe entry to our house.
We had a set-back at first. The servant who opened the door told us there must be no noise as the lady of the house was very ill but Sir Thomas, red-faced and far gone in drink, came to the door himself and said there must be New Year cheer or worse luck would ensue. When he recognised Suzanne, he pulled off her tall, wide brimmed hat and let her lovely hair fall over her shoulders.
"A fair haired First Foot brings the best luck in the world," he cried, embracing her in a maudlin fashion. (But the servants muttered that it should never be a woman who first entered the house as that would bring misfortune in its train.).
Sir Thomas was perfectly agreeable to our plan, though he was unwilling to part with Suzanne, and all went well. You were overexcited at being brought from your bed, Rob, and what with the late hour, the mummers and the cakes and ale, you soon fell asleep in the coach with your head in Suzanne's lap. We galloped through the night and you did not even wake as we carried you into the house at Fetter Lane. I could not take my eyes from your face, which was the very image of my own.
It was a different matter when you woke in a strange bed, as you surely remember. We were deafened by your screams and cries of "Mother!" It was Mall Sims who produced sweetmeats and calmed you. She stood us both before a mirror.
"Now tell me Master Dowland is not your father. You're as alike as two peas in a pod. Mistress Dowland is your father's wife and here she stands, so what mean you by calling for your mother?" And your cries turned to quiet, obstinate sobs.
You complained that the house was too small and that your bed was too hard and narrow. "Where were the rest of the servants?" you asked and demanded a personal lackey to dress you. We told you that you would soon be living in a house much grander even than the Monsons' where you would enjoy every luxury and act as page to the most beautiful lady in all England.
"Mistress Dowland will take you there," explained Mall, (for you would have nothing to do with me) "and I shall stay to serve your father in this house, which is plenty large enough for our needs." We had met with success so far and, as Sir Robert Sidney might by now have returned from his junketing, I dared not myself visit Penshurst again, loath to endanger Barbara, though I yearned for another sight of her. You, my son, hardly threw me a glance as you left.
When Barbara communicated with me on the night of your arrival, she could hardly speak for tears of joy. You had run straight to her and buried your face in her lap. "Your face, Jean," she sobbed. "It is almost as if you were with me, each time I gaze on our Rob. I shall call him that from this day forward. Thank you, thank you, for sending him to me."
Sir Robert was delighted to welcome Suzanne back into his household and made no bones about his wife's new page, who, he said, could be a companion for their own Robert. He soon returned to Flushing and I to Elsinore.
