CHAPTER EIGHT
May 7th, 1625
I am just come from the old King's funeral, so exhausted I could have jumped on the bier with his effigy. All through his reign public occasions have been marked by confusion and disarray and this was no exception. Elizabeth would have turned in her grave. I was so impatient of the waiting and the self satisfied smirk on Robert Johnson's face, I came near to walking home in disgust until I remembered the miserable fee and the fact that I must keep this place warm for you, Rob. They say the funeral cost more than fifty thousand pounds and who will pay for it dear knows. Ever since Jamie came to his 'land of milk and honey' he stripped it bare and was extravagant even in death. Blacks for nine thousand, indeed! Well, mine will be the last I shall need.
~
Sir Philip Sidney's matched any royal funeral. Eight days after the execution of Mary of Scotland (and none there to mark the truth of my prophecy) it was both Walsingham's triumph and his downfall, for what with Sir Philip's debts, which Leicester refused to settle, and the princely obsequies, my spy-master bankrupted himself and, when his own death came, had to be buried hugger mugger at night to avoid his creditors.
Have you noticed that after the fine funeral orations, poisoned tongues begin to wag? They hardly waited for the earth to be on Robert Cecil's coffin to blacken his name, if that was possible. But I did not expect Sir Philip's friends to delay his praises. It was nine years before Spenser published his 'Astrophel' and then, I think, at Raleigh's urging, and Greville's "Life of Sidney' is not yet in print and, I wager, will be more about his paltry doings than his hero's. James was prompt with his memorial poem, give him credit for that, though the allowance Sir Philip sent him cost him more than a few words scribbled on paper.
With the party of the Reformed Religion, it was a case of 'Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi' and Sidney's successor was Robert Devereux, the young Earl of Essex, Leicester's stepson, knighted by him at Zutphen, inheriting Sir Philip's sword and his cause. He was rather too young at eighteen for the task of Protestant champion, but just the right age to bewitch the fifty-three year old 'Virgin Queen', which Sidney had failed or scorned to do. May and December became inseparable.
I might have returned to Court with Master Henry Noel, who never used the knighthood bestowed by Leicester, but, to tell true, in the studious atmosphere of Wilton, my taste for learning had come back to me. Moreover, I knew that there would be no chance at Court for me to continue my musical forays into the past to which I was now addicted. Master Adrian Gilbert had a last word for me before I left for London, advising me to apply to his half brother, Sir Walter Raleigh for a post.
"Few know that he keeps a school at Durham House. His hero has always been my brother, Sir Humphrey, who was the Queen's page when she was Princess Elizabeth. Sixteen years past, Humphrey planned a new sort of Academy, not hidebound like the Universities and the Inns of Court, but where all the new learning might be freely taught - modern languages as well as classical, natural philosophy, mathematics, cosmography and astronomy, not forgetting engineering, physic and chemistry..."
"I am surprised you do not mention music," I interrupted.
"That will gain you entry," Master Gilbert continued. "Humphrey did not see his plans come to fruition but Walter has persuaded Elizabeth to make the Queen's Academy his memorial. Three years ago, she gave him part lease of Durham House and commanded a number of young nobles and Royal wards, who had hitherto been in Burghley's charge, to accept Walter as their mentor. Old William even sent his precious son Robert to his care."
I must tell you, Rob, that one of Cecil's greatest fears, when James came to the throne of England, was that he might discover his attendance for a time at that 'school of magic and atheism', as Raleigh's enemies dubbed it, which is, no doubt, one reason why he maligned his old friend and former teacher in letters to Jamie and felt safer with Sir Walter in the Tower, though the block would best have silenced his free tongue.
Master Gilbert wrote me a letter of recommendation, assuring me that,once in Durham House, I should find the means not only of teaching but of attending classes in which I was interested. Rather than apply to Sir Walter directly, I went to find my old master, Henry Noel, who introduced me himself to Raleigh with a warm testimonial of his own, so that all went well for me.
What's that I hear you say, Rob? You've never heard of Raleigh's Academy? Few knew it then and fewer now it has been destroyed, though I heard that Prince Henry thought of reviving it. After Sir Walter's execution (seven years ago already), although Lady Raleigh pleaded to have her husband's library and papers, the Commissioners of the King's Warrant confiscated them and they all disappeared, onto other folk's book-shelves, I should guess, and, above all, those of Francis Bacon, in some of whose late writings, I discern Sir Walter's hand.
You may find one reminder of the Academy's work in a volume printed two years ago and dedicated to the Countess of Pembroke's sons, William and Philip Herbert - the plays the young gentlemen and others wrote in keeping with the traditions of the schools and Inns of Court. How Kit Marlowe would have crowed to see his pupils' work gathered together (much of which he did not live to see staged) though it would have taken many pints of good ale to wash the taste of Shakespeare's name out of his mouth. That was the second time Will was used for colour and got the best of the bargain with a grand house at Stratford, the name of gentleman and enough money to retire on.
Read the play 'Love's Labour's Lost', which I don't suppose will be staged again since the time Southampton showed it off to James when he first came from Scotland - too many cryptic allusions and downright schoolboy bawdy, going back thirty years - old and out of date like me. It was written to mock Raleigh - his strict rules at the Academy against philandering, his 'school of night', punning on his humble title. Some of the young nobles thought a saucy, upstart knight should mind his place and not presume to teach his betters. Southampton especially resented being put by the Queen to the Academy. He had obtained his degree at sixteen by disputing for it, which was rare, and objected to learning subjects like navigation and seamanship, which he felt were far beneath someone who had been an earl since the age of eight.
He was only one of those who chafed at Sir Walter's habit of calling his pupils 'sirrah' as if they were schoolboys and that word came into the play too, only it was put into the mouth of the Braggart, an apt description of Giordano Bruno, who was asked to lecture to the students on heliocentricity when he was in England. He held forth in Latin, pronouncing it in the Italian way - 'chentrum, 'chirculus' and chircumferenchia', words which the students imitated with glee, staggering around as if in their cups. So he is commemorated in the play by the word 'chirrah', which he added to his meagre English vocabulary, together with 'Tanchi maester', as he wrote in his 'Ash Wednesday Supper'.
One of Robert Parsons' pamphlets also had mention of Raleigh's 'school of atheism where no small number of noble youths may mock at the old law of Moses and the new law of Christ'. I promise you , Rob, it was not my tongue that wagged this time. I held Sir Walter in some regard. Did you never wonder for whom 'Mr. Knight's Galliard' was written? Or who was the knight in Barnfield's poem who loved Dowland and Spenser both?
You now know that Kit Marlowe taught poetry and playwriting. Thomas Hariot and Thomas Digges, Doctor Dee's 'son in mathematics' taught that subject and astronomy. John Florio taught modern languages and Francis Bacon, Raleigh's deputy, taught the ancient ones. As the youngest son of the late Lord Keeper, he had inherited little and his mother kept him short of money, hoping to keep a rein on his pederasty. A school for young gentlemen was a happy hunting ground for him. Did you not know that our great but now fallen Lord Chancellor was once a plain dominie? Or do you put all this down to the maundering of an old man?
~
It was comfortable at Durham House, where I had a cubby-hole of my own in which to practise matching words and music and to continue with my musical magic, though that was seldom. A Catholic family, the Darcies, occupied the other half of the house. They had a charming niece, Katharine, who inspired a galliard. I was much in demand to compose and play for the entertainments held in her honour, which the Academy pupils were eager to attend. Raleigh's duties as Captain of the Guard kept him at court, especially after dark, and, as Bacon was needy and not above taking bribes, the monastic nature of the school went by the board.
My ambition to study further was fulfilled. Most tutors welcomed me to sit in their class-rooms, playing soothing music. If my interest was not completely held, it amused me sometimes to change the pupils' mood with varying Greek modes to the discomfort of their mentors. I never played such tricks on John Florio, who was fiery tempered and quick to retaliate. Besides, I was far too set on improving my French and Italian , which I could speak better than I could write.
Matthew Gwinne, Florio's friend (both of whom Giordano Bruno put in a book) taught musical theory and we had some good discussions, joined sometimes by Tom Morley, who came to London to court his Susan and would call to tell us how he was faring with an introduction to practical music which he wrote in moments of leisure from his work as choir master of Norwich Cathedral. Walsingham's underlings called him 'Morley the singing man' to distinguish him from Kit, who always signed himself Morley, but was called Marlowe, just as we called our little Susanna 'Annie' to avoid confusion with her mother, Suzanne.
My 'family' were also in London now, where Robert Sidney had brought them to his house to have them near at hand, convenient for me, too, as he told me with a wink. He came to court one day when I was there, playing for Master Henry Noel.
"Suzanne is teaching Lady Barbara French and helping her with embroidery and suchlike fallals. My wife is easily bored and needs new interests. She spends time gossiping with the servants and wastes my money on trifles. I don't see why you shouldn't give her some lute lessons now you are a proper teacher. Raleigh won't mind."
He failed, as ever, to mention the matter of remuneration, so I quickly dismissed the thought of Lady Barbara from my mind. From what little I had seen of her, her surrounding colour was as dingy as her husband's, who had been my least rewarding pupil.
~
Though I had pitiful success in making out the speech of musicians from the past, I held to the ambition that, one day, I should speak to the first Orpheus and understand his answer and, to that end, I worked painfully at Greek. Francis Bacon was a hard taskmaster, as his scholarly mother had been to him from the earliest age. She was one of the Cooke sisters, all brilliant classicists, such as are seldom found among ladies today, Of the two other sisters, one married Lord Burghley and spawned crook-back Cecil and the other was wife to Sir Thomas Hoby, whose translation of Castiglione's 'Courtier' was the Bible of Raleigh's Academy, as it had been Sir Humphrey Gilbert's. The drawback with Bacon was that, unlike the rest, he demanded payment for his tuition to help buy his scented boots and compliant boys. Still, it was worth it. One day I would hear music played by the first Orpheus and I readied myself to speak with him in his own tongue.
The Countess of Pembroke had not forgotten our musical magic and sent me an Italian book, published in Venice in 1536, which contained, she alleged, a picture of a lute player, none other than the great Francesco da Milano, himself whom Luca had praised. Following the correct procedure, and keeping to my room for twenty-four hours with the excuse that I was taking physic (no one interrupts when they know you are busy emptying your bowels and belly) I was fortunate enough to hear in my mind the most exquisite playing, more than justifying Luca's praise, which I transferred to paper, as before.
Now I had the idea of making an Orpheus book of my own, holding the annotated manuscripts of Albert de Rippe, Don Luys Milan and the copy of the music played by Francesco da Milano. Over the years, my collection of glorious music slowly grew, but, though I could hear the words of the songs, I was not often quick enough to capture them as well as the music and, for some reason, no 'Orpheus' answered me more than once, so that what I missed the first time was gone for ever. Some freak made me loath to summon up the recently dead, such as John Heywood or Alfonso Ferrabosco of Bologna and I kept to my vow never again to summon the living. The lutenists of the past had a youthful style and it lessened my fear of death to know that those who drank of the water of Lethe kept the skill of their prime.
We had heard that Doctor Dee and Edward Kelly were still practising angel magic in Bohemia, where they were staying with Count Rosenberg and most like had more frequent opportunities than I who could not often shut myself away for the appointed time without food, perhaps taking more wine than water, nerves highly strung, ears ever at the ready, and, lacking sleep, appear fresh for my teaching when the magic was ended.
It was hard enough to keep the students to their work. Now that Mary of Scotland was dead, Philip of Spain was ready to claim the throne of England and the news that he had a great invasion fleet waiting at Lisbon brought the young nobles' excitement to fever pitch. 1588 was prophesied as a year of great portent. Selfishly, I rejoiced that Doctor Dee was absent and Sir Philip Sidney no more, so there was none to demand a 'seeing' to foretell the outcome of the expected battle.
In France, emboldened by King Philip's readiness for war, the Guises took Paris and King Henri was forced to flee from the Louvre. All was in the balance, and Elizabeth as slow as ever to arm. Sir Walter had the Ark Raleigh built to a new design and sold it to the Crown, busying himself with paperwork as a member of the Council of War. At least, the navy was armed and provisioned.
On July 8th, when the Armada was on its way, Tom Morley and I were called to Oxford to receive our degrees in music, Walsingham's reward to us for our work as his intelligencers. Not long before, Kit Marlowe had been awarded a Cambridge degree. The roads were busy with cart-loads of men and provisions making their way to the coast. There was excitement abroad but also great uncertainty, for King Philip had the advantage in numbers of ships and the Duke of Parma, whose strength we well knew, was to meet the Spanish fleet when it reached the Channel.
We were saved by the wind, as though by a miracle. All went awry for the unwieldy ships of the Armada and the rendezvous with Parma failed. Before August ended, the beaten enemy ships were running north and, now that it was safe, Leicester hastily prepared a show at Tilbury where the Queen, on horseback and wearing armour, inspected the untried troops to great acclaim. Those of the old religion, who had come out of hiding to greet the Spaniards, had to go to ground again.
~
Sir Robert Sidney, in great haste and, as ever, full of his own importance, came to call on Sir Walter, demanding my services. He was to lead an Embassy to King James of Scotland, thanking him for not sheltering the fleeing Armada and promising help from the Queen if he resisted the blandishments of the Pope. Sir Robert must have spent a deal of his wife's money on making a splendid show, with me as lutenist in his train, on a good horse, for a change. Arthur Throckmorton, whom we had come across in Germany, was most impressed at the fine sight. I was also supposed to repay Walsingham for my degree by bringing back fresh information about James, whom Sir Francis more or less supported as Elizabeth's heir without altogether trusting him.
King James, at twenty, was no more prepossessing in youth than he was in old age, fiddling with his codpiece and dribbling at the corners of his slack mouth. He was all over Sir Robert, who, truth to tell, was not unhandsome then. It was not long since Jamie's ill-fated cousin, Esme Stuart, had introduced him to the peculiar pleasures of the dissolute French court. Robert tried not to recoil from the young King's slobbery advances but I could see he was in fear for the velvet of his expensive, new cloak.
James launched into one of his long speeches - he ever loved the sound of his own voice. "We much admired your late, noble brother, Sir Philip, and ourselves went so far as to compose Latin verses in his memory. No doubt you have read them."
Robert mumbled something suitable. He wrote bad English verse himself but was not fond of the compositions of others.
James rambled on, "We realise that your late brother was instrumental in obtaining for us an allowance from our royal sister, Elizabeth..."
"Most of it came out of his own pocket," Robert could not resist adding but sufficiently under his breath for James, now in full flood, to ignore.
"And," continued the king, "there is the matter of back payments, which we must ask you urgently to raise with her, especially since, after my mother's unfortunate demise, we are indubitably heir to the throne of England."
I could tell from Robert's expression, that he knew better than to risk having a royal slipper, or worse, thrown at his head with practised aim should he dare mention to the Queen the forbidden subject of the succession.
"We shall recall the Master of Gray and send him to negotiate a full recognition of our rights." Here James sniggered and went on with a knowing look, "He was a great friend to Sir Philip and exceedingly popular with your Queen."
James continued to discourse at length, boasting of his prowess at hunting, extolling his 'Essays of a Prentice in the Divine Art of Poetry' and some translations of the Psalms on which he was engaged, so that it was some time before Sir Robert could deliver his message and thankfully withdraw to find much needed refreshment. It seemed a dismal court and such entertainment as we obtained was meagre. Remembering Patrick Gray from Paris days, I wished he had been recalled from exile in time to give us a more lively welcome.
Unexpectedly, the King summoned me to a private interview. There was one other present, whom James introduced as Alexander Dickson, a pupil of Giordano Bruno, who was instructing James in his master's famous Art of Memory.
"We have heard through Dickson, who was known to Sir Philip Sidney, that you are capable of seeing the future. If there is a ceremony you would wish him to perform, this may be arranged."
Taken by surprise, I yet had no intention of undergoing one of my awesome 'seeings' for this ungainly youth. Instead I said, "Your Grace, no ceremony is needed. I shall go behind this curtain and, when I emerge, shall gaze into my palm and appear to sleep. I may answer three questions only. When I have replied to you, I beg your Grace to clap your hands, whereupon I shall come to myself again."
It was with some trepidation, for I had not attempted Doctor Dee's 'seeing at the stage of the albedo'on my own before, that, stepping behind the arras, I took the Spanish diamond from the chain around my neck and placed it on my little finger with the stone to the inside. As I gazed with fixed attention on its brilliance, I heard the three questions.
"What will befall my cousin, the Duc de Guise? When will the present King of France die? What will be my fate?" Then I heard my own voice, strange and high, give the answers. "The Duc will die at an assassin's hand in December. The same fate will be the King's in August of the year following. You, your Grace, will die in your own bed."
I opened my eyes to the sound of the King's clap. Had I known him then as I did later, I should not have trusted him. He was quite capable of holding back the clap merely to see what might befall. I could tell that James believed me and, indeed, there was nothing false about my prophecy, but he was not satisfied with my last answer, pressing me to be more explicit and was much displeased when I told him that my powers were exhausted. You know well, Rob, that he ever after slept surrounded by thick, padded bedding, just as his daytime wear was grotesquely stuffed, for he never ceased to dread the assassin's blade.
I received no thanks and no reward but the King had somehow discovered that I carried messages for Walsingham and promised me a small retainer if I would do the same service for him, an offer I was not in a position to refuse. This part of the interview I was able to divulge to satisfy Sir Robert's curiosity, and, as we were running short of money and James's largesse was notable by its absence, he told the king regretfully that we must return to England since he was expected to take up Sir Philip's post as Governor of Flushing and I had to resume my service with Raleigh. The King was not satisfied and demanded to keep me with him, but, when Sir Robert explained that I was often summoned to the English Court and that Queen Elizabeth would be most angry at my absence, the King gave way, ungraciously.
~
Hardly had we crossed the Border, than a messenger met us with news of the Earl of Leicester's sudden death, so Sir Robert hurried off to consult with the lawyers and hear the will read. Not long after, I went to visit Suzanne and Annie, taking them such poor gifts from Scotland as I had been able to obtain. Because I disliked using the servants' door, I risked leaving at the front and, awkwardly enough, almost collided with Sir Robert, scarlet with anger and gobbling like a turkey cock.
"I am just returned from the reading of my uncle's will and must tell someone or I shall run mad. All has gone awry since Philip's death and this is the worst blow. How could my uncle behave so shabbily after all the Sidney family has done at his command in the past? My Lord Essex and I are left mere tokens, so how I shall afford to keep up Penshurst I cannot think. Aunt Lettice has only her jointure, Wanstead and Drayton Basset and the Queen is forcing her to sell all the contents of Kenilworth to repay the loans she had made to Uncle Robert. The rest goes to Uncle Ambrose, who won't live long, and then - you won't believe this, Johnny, that young bastard, Robert Dudley, is to have the lot - the money, Kenilworth and Warwick Castle.
"All we can hope for is that the little hound comes to a bad end before he is twenty, then, according to the will, Essex and I can divide the spoils. But he looks as healthy as can be and, before we know it, the whoreson upstart will be lording it at court with the Queen saying how much he resembles his dear father..."
Hardly pausing for breath, Sir Robert continued, reckless with fury, "It's enough to make one think of slipping poison into his cup like.....Oh, well, you must have heard the story, servants always do, how Uncle Robert discovered Lettice's carryings on with Chris Blount (and he young enough to be her son) and had the poison all ready to finish her off, but she was too clever for him, switched cups, and there he was, hoist with his own petard, as they say. I shouldn't be surprised if some scribbler puts it into a play," and he made a sick face.
Not long after Leicester's death, his fool, Dick Tarleton, passed on, leaving an old mother and his little son, named after his godfather, Sir Philip Sidney. I had written a jig for him once and later I composed 'Tarleton's Riserrectione', which commemorated him in the play 'Hamlet'. But I digress.
~
News came from Bohemia that Edward Kelly had succeeded at last in making gold, so Master Edward Dyer, who was skilled in assaying metals, was sent post haste to Prague to fetch him back. But Kelly had been made a knight by the Emperor, who, naturally enough, would not part with him. Doctor Dee returned alone without the secret and, on his way, visited the German states where Sir Philip had made friends earlier. He was rudely received in England for having left Kelly behind and all he would vouchsafe was that 'Edward did injure me unkindly.' I am certain that crop-eared villain cheated my innocent friend over the angel magic. He had his just reward, however, as his powers deserted him, and he was killed attempting to escape from prison.
Sir Walter Raleigh was one of the few still loyal to Doctor Dee and said he would be proud to have him lecture at the Academy. The students could make neither head nor tail of Steganography, though Bacon was interested in the ciphers and boasted that he had invented one of his own when he was in Paris. The Doctor took me to one side and said that I had been right about the King of Denmark's death and that he was making plans for the new child king, Christian. The old man had to return to Mortlake to supervise the repair of his house, damaged by the ignorant mob, and I decided to keep the news of my musical magic to myself till a more suitable time.
Meanwhile, Essex continued to see Raleigh as his chief rival at court. He escaped with Sir Roger Williams to take part in Drake's expedition to Portugal, hoping to replace Don Antonio on the throne usurped by Philip of Spain. The Queen failed to prevent this act of disobedience and was mad with worry but, like a mother whose son has strayed, her anger on his safe return soon dissolved and she was more besotted with her boy than ever. Sir Walter, on the same principle that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', took himself off in turn to manage his estates in Ireland, leaving Essex triumphant. He was soon back, however, bringing Edmund Spenser with a new poem of chivalry which made him a court poet at last and gave him promise of a pension, though the Lord Treasurer, who for some reason hated him, was slow to pay. Spenser was brought to Durham House to lecture. I was so incensed by the uncalled for remarks he made about the Irish that I stalked from the room, though I had wished to hear what he said on poetry writing and had tried my hand more than once in the attempt to match words and music.
Kit Marlowe was not then at Durham House to be annoyed by the overweening Spenser. To fill his place at various times we had Peele, Nashe (a most amusing fellow) and, later, George Chapman. There was no trouble finding penniless University wits to come and teach - they were ever on the look-out for rich young patrons. Not that all the students were wealthy. There were some free places and that is how Thomas Campion and John Donne came to be my pupils. I never asked Tom if he was kin to my true master though I am sure it must have been so. He had to put up with enough gibes from the other students. I was partial to him and he became my best pupil on the lute and made great strides at composition. When the time came for him to move to the Inns of Court to learn the necessary smattering of law, I feared for him, as Francis Bacon still had the use of his father's chambers there and Gray's Inn was not known as the 'Inn of Glaucus' for nothing. I hope your classical studies taught you, Rob, that Glaucus was devoured by horses for spurning the charms of Venus.
Where was I? Oh yes, Kit hadn't quarrelled with Sir Walter.
Recently, our Principal had become very thick with Burghley and I believe he learned from a mocking remark of the Lord Treasurer's of the agreement between Leicester and rich, old Bess of Hardwick to marry his now only son, base-born Robert Dudley, to her grand daughter , Lady Arbella Stuart. When Bess came to court with the young Arbella and asked for a suitable tutor to take back to Hardwick for her young prodigy, Raleigh recommended an unwilling Christopher Marlowe. I was only grateful that she was more of an intellectual than a musician, or I might have been sent in his place. From the grandmother's point of view, he was a better choice than I. Arbella's precious maidenhead was safe with Kit, who only cared for boys and tobacco, which the old lady denied him. Arbella had seen young Robert at court and liked him well, as he was a handsome youth. Kit's task was to sing his praises and keep his memory bright. Our poor poet languished in Derbyshire for three years, until he risked Sir Walter's wrath and ran away. All the same he was there long enough to cement a liking on Arbella's part, which was intended, when the time was ripe, to put a new young queen on the throne with Robert as her consort and set an end to the ambitions of James of Scotland.
Meanwhile, the Admiral, Sir Charles Howard, Robert's guardian, sent him to the Academy, where he was an outstanding pupil, especially in practical subjects like navigation and engineering, which stood him in good stead in later life. He knew nothing of his father's marriage plans and when the Earl of Warwick died and he inherited a fortune, used his independence to marry where he liked, ignorant that the betrothal to Arbella took precedence over any later union.
In my classes, I noticed that Robert Dudley resembled the scions of the old nobility, like Cumberland and Northumberland (later to be another 'wizard earl') in being hail fellow well met with all, whereas those whom the French court classed as 'Tudor upstarts' (Robert Sidney, for instance) were by turns over familiar or condescending. Another such was Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, who, with his girl's face, long hair and full pockets never lacked hangers-on. I was surprised that Essex, whose manners were better, took that mother's boy in tow, except that they had both suffered as Burghley's wards and held their former guardian in equal detestation.
This hatred they now extended to Sir Walter Raleigh, whom, though he persuaded Hooker to trace his ancestry back to a descendant of Henry 1, named D'Amarie de Clare, they regarded as a parvenu of the first water. The Queen, indeed, with her fondness for nicknames, called him 'Water', which he poeticised to 'Ocean'. I believe he was impervious to the coarse gibes which staled the air of Durham House. For a wise and witty man he was a great innocent and was slow to believe ill of others, though some said he was too proud to accept that he had enemies who might do him harm. He was magnanimous too. When Thomas Howard set tongues wagging for abandoning Raleigh's cousin, Sir Richard Grenville, to the Spaniards in the Azores, Sir Walter wrote in defence of the man he might have castigated as a murderer. He always took the unexpected stand and, as folk distrust the unpredictable, small wonder he was reckoned the most hated man in England.
~
You must forgive my awkward writing. Since the funeral I have had a set-back and am in pain again. I cannot help thinking that James was the younger man. True,his heavy drinking and unwholesome practices told against him, but my life of constant travelling, infrequent meals and broken sleep has not been a recipe for long life either. When you see your pupils die like Tom Campion, and members of your own family, which I am loath to recall, you begin to wonder how soon your turn will come and whether you are ready for it.
