The Wild Irish - Robin Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page B

son.”
    “Why do you suppose Richard Bingham is persecuting you and your family, Mistress O’Malley?”
    “He ’s a woman hater, pure and simple. He most loathes a female with power, sees her as an unnatural creature, an abomination. He said so to my face. I’d wager that in his heart of hearts, your Governor Bingham despises you above all women.”
    Elizabeth, far from offended, nodded sagely, then with her eyes, requested Essex’s arm to help her up the two steps to her throne. Once she was seated she gazed down mildly at Grace O’Malley.
    “We shall consider your petitions with the utmost gravity.”
    “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am most grateful.”
    “Is that all then?” said Elizabeth.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Are you quite sure you have no other demands?”
    “I would call them requests , Majesty, never dema—” Before she could stop herself, Grace O’Malley sneezed loudly, just managing to turn her face away from the queen.
    Even so, Elizabeth reflexively sat back farther in her throne.
    “Begging your pardon,” said Grace, clearly attempting to stifle another sneeze.
    Essex stepped forward instantly, holding out to her a fine linen and lace handkerchief.
    “Thank you, Lord Essex,” she said, and in the next moment blew her nose loudly and vigorously into it.
    At once the room was awash with whispers. Of all Grace O’Malley’s actions and words, this was the most outrageous. One never took such a personal liberty in the presence of the queen.
    Elizabeth herself was altogether nonplussed, shocked into silence and further taken aback when, without her leave, Grace O’Malley turned from the royal presence, strode to the fire blazing in the hearth, and tossed the handkerchief in.
    Dismayed gasps were heard from every corner, but the woman seemed entirely oblivious. She returned to her place before the queen as if nothing at all had happened.
    “My good woman,” said Elizabeth, regaining her voice, “that handkerchief was a gift from Lord Essex.”
    “Aye, and I soiled it with the contents of my nose, I’m afraid.” Suddenly Grace was aware that her actions had been perceived as a blunder.
    “What would you have had me do, Your Majesty, put the filthy rag in my pocket?” She looked round at the assembled nobility with an incredulous expression and, unable to hide her amusement, added for all to hear,
    “It appears we Irish hold to a higher standard of cleanliness than do the English.”
    Essex blanched and Elizabeth sat as still as a post. The silence in the chamber was complete, all but the sound of the crackling fire and the rustle of the ladies’ taffeta dresses. In the next moment, Essex thought, the queen would certainly put an end to this rude and preposterous performance.
    Instead she laughed.
    All eyes turned to Elizabeth, who was roaring like a Drury Lane whore.
    Essex, who best understood the queen’s bawdy humor, was the first to join in, but before long, as Elizabeth’s guffaws showed no signs of abat-ing, one after another of her courtiers, counselors, and ladies joined in the merriment, until the Presence Chamber resembled nothing less than the pit at the Globe Theatre during one of Mr. Shakespeare ’s comedies.
     
    The Earl of Essex caught sight of Grace O’Malley. She too was laughing, but nothing, he saw quite clearly, could mask the fierceness of purpose that burned in the old woman’s eyes.
    NOT TWO HOURS later Essex found himself on a secret mission.
    He was mildly chagrined that the queen had made him a messenger boy. There were few people about, for the queen, after her audience with Grace O’Malley, had dismissed her court, announcing that there would be no entertainment this evening, none at all. The disappointed ladies and gentlemen had quickly dispersed, some of them no doubt headed for London’s taverns and others to the Bankside brothels.
    The path to Greenwich landing was entirely deserted and dark, save for the torches flickering at intervals along