Then rumour had it that he had fallen ill and was ‘troubled with a flux’. He asked that the Queen’s own physician might come to him, but this was refused until early in November, when the Queen relented, and sent Dr Brown to York House. The physician did him little good, apparently, for by the end of the month the Earl was suffering from ‘the stone, strangullion, and grinding of the kidneys, which takes from his stomach and rest’. His wife, dressed all in black, went to Court hoping to move the Queen for her husband, but she was refused the royal presence, and told not to appear at Court again. His sisters the Ladies Northumberland and Rich fared little better, and the French ambassador, Monsieur de Boissise, who had been instructed by His Majesty King Henri IV to intercede for the Earl’s liberty, found her Majesty ‘very short and bitter on that point’.

  It was a very different story amongst the common people. The Earl was still widely popular, and that the hero of Cadiz should be confined to York House in custody, not allowed to see his wife and child, aroused great hostility. Pamphlets were scattered in the streets and pinned upon walls, the Queen was blamed for excessive harshness, preachers denounced his secret enemies from the pulpit. When the Earl of Southampton went to the playhouse—which he did that autumn almost every night—he was acclaimed because his friendship with the hero was well known.

  And Anthony Bacon? Not one letter to or from him survives this anxious period. His correspondence with friends, with agents, ceases. No letter to his mother. No letter to his brother. The only significant record, indeed, dates back to the preceding autumn, while Essex was living in retirement at Wanstead, having temporarily fallen from the Queen’s favour. The letter, written on September 24th, was from Sir William Cornwallis to Sir Robert Cecil, and said, ‘Mr Anthony Bacon, who lies at Essex House, has sent a gentleman to me to entreat he might be my tenant at Bishopsgate, saying that since he can never hope to live but like a bird in a cage, he would very fain have a fair cage. I could be content he had it so I might get some other place in the other end of the town for the dead time of winter; which makes me presume to make the question if I might be your tenant, if you mean to leave your lodging next my Lord your brother’s, as I have heard.’

  Bird in a cage Anthony certainly was, whether at Essex House or elsewhere, and becoming, it would seem, increasingly crippled. Nor is it surprising that he should have written to Sir William Cornwallis for asylum. This gentleman wrote essays after the style of Michel de Montaigne, and lived a life of ‘studious retirement’. They would have suited one another well.

  Nothing came of the request, and the reason for it remains a mystery. Anthony stayed in his lodging at Essex House, and continued there throughout the following year, during which Essex became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and returned home to face disgrace. It was not Anthony, possibly bedridden by now, who could offer himself as mediator between her Majesty and his beloved Earl, but brother Francis.

  21

  It had been towards the end of August or very early in September, while the Earl was still in Ireland before proceeding north to meet Tyrone, that Francis had occasion to attend the Queen at Nonsuch Palace upon some legal business. He had done so before from time to time, but it is significant that this appears to be the first occasion when she drew him aside for personal conversation. Her Majesty, one of the most astute persons in her own kingdom, knew very well that Anthony Bacon had been employed by the Earl since he had returned from France in 1592, and that he now lodged at Essex House—indeed, the fact that Anthony had never come to Court and paid her his humble duties had been an omission she could hardly have passed over. She knew the brothers were close to each other, that Anthony handled all the Earl of Essex’s foreign intelligence and private correspondence besides, and by drawing the one she might probe the other, so informing herself of matters pertaining to Essex.

  How alert Francis was to this manoeuvre on the part of his sovereign it is difficult to tell. He wrote of it later, after the death of the Queen, and there is no other account of these encounters between sovereign and subject.

  ‘The Queen one day at Nonsuch,’ wrote Francis, ‘a little, as I remember, before Cuffe’s coming over [Francis alludes to the Earl’s private secretary, who brought letters to the Queen from Ireland in early September], I attending her, showed a passionate distaste of my Lord’s proceedings in Ireland, as if they were unfortunate, without judgement, contemptuous, and not without some private end of his own, and all that might be, and was pleased—as she spoke of it to many that she trusted least—so to fall into the like speech with me. Whereupon I, who was still awake and true to my grounds which I thought surest for my Lord’s good, said to this effect: “Madam, I know not the particulars of estate, and I know this, that princes’ actions must have no abrupt periods or conclusions, but otherwise I would think if you had my Lord of Essex here with a white staff in his hand, as my Lord of Leicester had, and continued with him still about you for society to yourself, and for an honour and ornament to your attendance and Court in the eyes of your people, and in the eyes of foreign ambassadors, then were he in his right element; for to discontent him as you do, and yet to put arms and powder into his hands, may be a kind of temptation to make him prove cumbersome and unruly. And therefore if you would send for him and satisfy him with honour here near you, if your affairs which, as I have said, I am not acquainted with, will permit it, I think were the best way.” ’

  Francis says nothing of her Majesty’s reply to this advice, which, if she had followed it and sent straightway for the Earl, would have prevented his rash decision to return of his own accord. The Earl did return and was confined to his room, and Francis saw him for a brief interview. Afterwards Essex was taken in custody to York House. Francis takes up his account once more.

  ‘During the while since my Lord was committed to my Lord Keeper’s, I came divers times to the Queen, as I had used to do, about cause of her revenue and law business, as is well known; by reason of which accesses, according to the ordinary charities of Court, it was given out that I was one of them that incensed the Queen against my Lord Essex. These speeches, I cannot tell, nor I will not think, that they grew any way from her Majesty’s own speeches, whose memory I will ever honour; if they did, she is with God.’

  It was inevitable, of course, that those at Court should gossip in such fashion, the Queen never having singled out the young barrister Francis Bacon before, indeed, having disapproved of him strongly in earlier years and prevented him from gaining promotion in his profession. She now acted even more strangely, though it must have encouraged Francis at the time that his own particular star was likely to be in the ascendant at long last.

  ‘Being about the middle of Michaelmas term [i.e., late October or early November] her Majesty had a purpose to dine at my lodge at Twickenham Park, at which time I had (though I profess not to be a poet) prepared a sonnet directly tending and alluding to draw on her Majesty’s reconcilement to my Lord, which I remember also I showed to a great person, and one of my Lord’s nearest friends, who commended it: this, though it be, as I said, but a toy, yet it showed plainly in what spirit I proceeded, and that I was ready not only to do my Lord good offices, but to publish and declare myself for him: and never was so ambitious of anything in my lifetime, as I was to have carried some token or favour from her Majesty to my Lord.’

  The Queen’s sudden curiosity to see Twickenham Lodge, having lived opposite it for years without interest whenever the Court moved to Richmond Palace, shows an intense desire on her part, surely, to learn more of Anthony Bacon’s relationship with the Earl of Essex, which, by dining privately with his brother Francis, might be revealed. Was Anthony staying at Twickenham that night? Was he at last presented to the Queen? If so, why the secrecy? Even more intriguing is the mention of the sonnet which Francis had prepared for the Queen, ‘tending to draw on her Majesty’s reconcilement to my Lord’.

  The quality of mercy is not strain’d,

  It droppeth as the gentle raine from heaven

  Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest,

  It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes,

  ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomes

  The throned Monarch better than his Crowne.

  No sonnet, true, but pertinent to the subject discussed; and remembering Francis Bacon’s experience with Mr Sympson the goldsmith the year before, and what idle pens at Twickenham might have made of it, the link with Shylock’s bond and Portia’s speech is interesting. The first quarto of The Merchant of Venice was printed in 1600. The Queen dined at Twickenham Lodge in October 1599. As to the ‘great person’ to whom Francis’s sonnet was shown, the Earl of Southampton, Will Shakespeare’s patron, comes readily to mind, though Francis does not name him. Nor does he record what the Queen thought of his verse, but that her interest had been aroused in certain other literary matters is shown by a further discussion that apparently took place between sovereign and subject.

  Francis About the same time I remember an answer of mine in a matter which had some affinity with my Lord’s cause, which though it grew from me, went after about in others’ names. For her Majesty being mightily incensed with that book which was dedicated to my Lord of Essex, being a story of the first year of King Henry IV, thinking it a seditious prelude to put into the people’s heads boldness and faction, said she had good opinion that there was treason in it, and asked me if I could not find any places in it that might be drawn within case of treason.

  Now, here is another example of probing on the part of the Queen. John Hayward’s book on Henry IV had been published just after Christmas 1598, and had greatly incensed her Majesty, being an account of the deposition of Richard II by Bolingbroke, afterwards King Henry IV. The dedication to the Earl of Essex offended her in particular. John Hayward was tried in the Star Chamber and sent to the Fleet. Why, then, did the Queen wait some nine months before asking Francis Bacon what he thought of it? And did she connect it with a play on the same theme, entitled The Life and Death of King Richard II, which had appeared in quarto in the same year as Hayward’s publication, and had been acted by the Lord Chamberlain’s players? The Queen evidently thought there was some collusion somewhere, and suspected that Francis and his brother Anthony knew the answer.

  ‘Her Majesty asked me,’ continues Francis, ‘if I could not find places for treason [in Hayward’s book], wherein I answered, “Treason, surely none, Madam. But for felony, very many.” ’

  The Queen Wherein?

  Francis The author has committed very apparent theft, for he has taken most of the sentences of Cornelius Tacitus, translated them into English, and put them into his text.

  The Queen was apparently not content with this reply, and brought up the subject again.

  The Queen It hath some mischievous author, other than he whose name is upon it. I will have him racked to produce the real author.

  Francis Nay, Madam, he is a doctor, never rack his person, but rack his style; let him have pen, ink, and paper, and help of books, and be enjoined to continue the story where it breaketh off, and I will undertake by collecting the styles to judge whether he were the author or no.

  Francis then seems to have led the Queen back to the main subject of the Earl and away from discussion of the offending history, beseeching her not to bring his Lordship’s case into public discussion, but to ‘wrap it up privately, and to restore him to his former attendance, with some addition of honour to take away discontent’. And when she informed him that she was minded to have the case brought before the Star Chamber, Francis told her he was utterly opposed to this.

  ‘The people, Madam, will say that my Lord is wounded upon his back, and that Justice hath her balance taken from her, which ever consists of an accusation and a defence.’

  This plain speaking seems to have offended her Majesty, for writing of the months that followed, November, Christmas, and into the new year of 1600, Francis admits that ‘her face and manner were not so clear and open to me as it was at the first’. Furthermore, she disregarded his advice about not taking the case to the Star Chamber. A Court was held on November 29th before a large assembly. The Lord Keeper, the Lord Treasurer, the Secretary of State and the Lord Admiral were all present, as well as Lord Cobham, Sir Walter Raleigh and Fulke Greville—friend to both Essex and Francis—but Francis Bacon himself, though expected to be present, did not attend. This may have been a factor contributing to her Majesty’s cooler attitude towards him.

  A statement was issued afterwards, listing the Earl’s offences in Ireland which had caused him to be confined in custody, and warning the public that it was no concern of theirs. The statement reassured no one. The hero of Cadiz continued to gain sympathy among the masses, the Queen and Council to lose what popularity they held. Essex himself grew worse in health, according to common report. Eight doctors attended his bedside on December 15th, sent, so it was said, by her Majesty; they told the Queen that ‘they found his liver stopped and perished, his entrails and guts exulcerated, they could not tell what now to minister but gentle glisters to keep him clean within’. Hearing this, the Queen sent another of her own physicians, Doctor James, to see him and take him broth; she also permitted his wife to visit him at long last.

  On December 19th the Earl was not expected to live more than a few days, and the city bells began to toll for him. The Countess was allowed to sit beside her husband every day, but neither his sisters—who were now staying at Essex House—nor his mother were granted access.

  Still no record of how Anthony Bacon received this grave news, and whether, like his loved employer, he also was confined to his bed. No record either of whether his brother came to Essex House to condole with him. It seems possible that the rumours circulating at Court and elsewhere of Francis having prejudiced the Queen against the Earl may have actually arisen under the roof of Essex House itself. If this were so, Francis would certainly not have been persona grata at his Lordship’s house, or made welcome by his staff.

  That he was unpopular amongst the Earl’s supporters is evident from two letters he wrote about this time, one to the Queen and one to Sir Robert Cecil. In the first, to her Majesty, he apologises for not having attended the deliberations in the Star Chamber, saying, ‘I most humbly entreat your Majesty, not to impute my absence to my weakness of mind or unworthiness… Never poor gentleman had a deeper and truer desire and care of your glory, your safety, your repose of mind, your service: wherein if I have exceeded my outward vocation, I most humbly crave your Majesty’s pardon for my presumption… My life hath been threatened, and my name libelled, which I count an honour. But these are the practices of those whose despairs are dangerous, and yet not so dangerous as their hopes.’

  To his cousin, Secretary of State Sir Robert Cecil, he writes, ‘It is blown about the town, that I should give opinion touching my Earl of Essex’s cause, first that it was a praemunire; and now, last, that it reached to high treason… The utter untruth of this report God and the Queen can witness; and the improbability of it every man that hath wit more or less can conceive… The root of this I discern to be, not so much a light and humorous envy at my accesses to her Majesty, which of her Majesty’s grace being begun in my first years, I would be sorry she should estrange in my last years; for so I account them, reckoning by health not by age, as a deep malice to your honourable self, upon whom, by me, through nearness, they think to make some aspersion. But as I know no remedy against libels and lies; so I hope it shall make no manner of disseverance of your honourable good conceits and affection towards me; which is the thing I confess to fear. For as for any violence to be offered me, wherewith my friends tell me to no small terror that I am threatened, I thank God I have the privy coat of a good conscience; and have a good while since put off any fearful care of life or the accidents of life.’

  These letters show that Francis wished it known, both by the Queen and by her Secretary of State, that he was first and foremost loyal to the Crown and desired to place this on record. A third letter, dated December 3rd 1599, was to Lord Harry Howard, that devious nobleman who liked to have a foot in either camp, and who had always been a far closer friend to Anthony Bacon and to Essex than he had to Francis. In this letter Francis reiterates much of what he had said to his cousin Robert Cecil, and continues, ‘And therefore, my Lord, I pray you answer for me to any person that you think worthy your own reply and my defence. For my Lord of Essex, I am not servile to him, having regard to my superior duty. I have been much bound to him. And on the other side, I have spent more time and more thoughts about his well doing, than ever I did about mine own. I pray God you and his friends amongst you be in the right. For my part, I have deserved better than to have my name objected to envy, or my life to a ruffian’s violence. But I have the privy coat of a good conscience. I am sure these courses and bruits hurt my Lord more than all.’

  It was evident that Francis hoped this letter would be shown to one of the Earl’s family, possibly the Countess of Essex, and its contents conveyed to the sick man himself. Had he been granted access to Essex House, or been in communication with his brother, this would not have been necessary. Speculation indeed arises as to whether the brothers had become estranged since Essex had been confined to York House, and Anthony’s silence was deliberate. Where was Anthony’s confidant, Tom Lawson, at this moment? Where was Francis’s trusted attendant, Henry Percy? Did rumour and counter-rumour pass between them? When Francis wrote, ‘I have deserved better than to have my name objected to envy, or my life to a ruffian’s violence’, to what ruffian did he allude? Some hanger-on amongst the Earl’s staff? The questions are manifold, and no answer is forthcoming.