73:  Newes of My Lord

A young and fluffy black, white, and orange cat.
Gib’s Niece

I’ve writ little of late.  My niece was fire-hot for her lessons, and that kept me occupied.  Then she disappeared.

Gone to find a handsome stone-cat or two that might occupy her.  Or so I believe.  Such is the way of the world.

I went to the Cat’s Field, but did not see her there.

Linkin gave newes.  He sayt Her Majestie was wearie of the Earl of Essicks [Essex], and had showed our Earl some favour.

Linkin oft knows newes from London.  He hears it from his mistress, whose son dwells there.

But I knew more of this than Linkin did.  True, Her Majestie was most kind to my lord, but then she offered him an insult.

My lord went to hand her to her horse, and she disdained him before all.  He was so shamed he had no choice but to quit her household.

He’s back there now, but I do not think he will forgive her.  Nor would I.

The Earl of Essex (and his horse) dressed for jousting. Attributed to Nicholas Hilliard.
The Earl of Essex (and his horse) dressed for jousting.

My lord never wisht to take the place of Essicks, who is his friend.  But the truth is, our Earl and his friends must strive to please the old Queen, because they can do nowt without she say so.

Should they wish to marry, travel over sea for their education, or join an expedition to have at the Spanish or some other enemie, they must seek her permission.  And she loves to say, No.

The other cats could scarce believe their ears when I told of this.

One arrkst, “Which among us ever sought permission from any?  Save our mother?”

Another added, “And not always her, if truth be told.”

At our next meeting I gave newes of the great celebration that is held every year to mark the day Her Majestie first took her place.

Dressed for jousting: George Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland (1558-1603) - by Nicholas Hilliard.
The Queen’s Champion: George Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland (1558-1605) – by Nicholas Hilliard.

All love a celebration, even if they no longer love the reason for it.

Many lords and horses don fine armour and make a great show of theirselves.  Play-fighting, that they call the just [joust].

My lord rode in the just as Bevis of Southampton.

A great screech went up then.  All hereabouts know the tale of Bevis, and what an evil woman his mother was.

They begged to hear some scandal about our Earl’s mother, the Countess.

I would not tell any.  True, I have slandered our Countess in my poetick fictions, but she was a good wife to her second husband, who died not long since.

“She poisoned him!” came a call.

“No, friend,” I sayt. “That was in our play, and is not true.”

Gib's lord, the Earl of Southampton, with his armour. Artist unknown; probably painted c1598.
Gib’s lord, the Earl of Southampton, with armour.  Artist unknown; probably painted c1599.

But, as all wisht to hear something to make them merrie, I sayt, “Friends, when last my lord was here I caught a scent of queen about him.

“I do not mean a queen-cat, nor Her Majestie.  I mean a young woman.  It was not his sister, Lady Moll.  This was a woman I do not know.

“Has our Earl a sweetheart?  Have they done no more than touch noses and cleanse each other’s ears, as we cats do in amity?  Or has she hoist her tail and let him seize her by the scruff?”

Linkin thought this woman’s name might be Puss Fur-None [Bess Vernon], but he could not swear to it.

“They all called Puss,” he sayt.  “The old Queen is Puss, and all the hot young queens are Puss too.  Many are given to hoisting, which displeases Her Majestie mightily.”

And we arrkst ourselves if that was why the Queen had snibbed our Earl.


Toutparmoi - Note from the EditorGib probably wrote this at the end of 1595.  The Earl of Southampton turned 22 in October that year.  A few points:

The young Earl was briefly tipped by court gossips to become Queen Elizabeth’s new favourite.  She was growing weary of the sulks and self-promotion of the brilliant but erratic Earl of Essex.  However, nothing came of it.  Perhaps the Queen was using Southampton to show Essex he was disposable.  A tricky situation for Southampton, who wouldn’t have wanted to annoy either Essex or the Queen.

The annual celebration Gib refers to is Accession Day on 17 November, when an elaborate display of jousting was put on.  The poet and playwright George Peele wrote an account of the 1595 occasion in Anglorum Feriae: England’s Holidays.

Puss Fur-None, better known as Elizabeth Vernon (c1573-1655?) was Essex’s cousin, and one of Queen Elizabeth’s maids-of-honour.  Southampton’s interest in “the faire Mistress Vernon” was court gossip by September 1595.

The Queen wouldn’t have approved.  Her maids-of-honour were the most junior of her well-born female attendants, and there to learn courtly ways.  Queen Elizabeth may have resented their flirtations (sometimes innocent, sometimes not) with her male courtiers.  But she – as that rare being, a single woman ruler – had also to consider the reputation of her household.

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8: A Painful Interview

Gib's Uncle sees red - coloured detail from a Clara Peeter's painting.
Gib’s uncle sees red.

My uncle dealt me such a blow I feel his claws to this day.

He sayt, “I told you to keep your nose out of the matter betwixt the Earl and the Countess.”

“No, you told me to keep my nose clean, and I do.” 

But when I lifted my head to show him, my eyes chanced to meet his.  So then I get another blow for insolencie.

That set me yowling, I confess.  “But I’ve learnt my letters,” I wailed.  “And I read of Bevis in a book.  How can I not seek truth in books when I wish to know it?  You never tell me nothing.”

“Well,” he sayt, “I can tell you this, for it is gossips’ talk.  The Countess believes the gentleman that carried lies to the Earl is Master Tommik.  He is always at the Earl’s elbow.  You must be most loving to him, for the Countess says there is no place in the Earl’s house for any that does not think this Tommik is a god.”

Then my uncle told me that the fellow some say the Countess hoist her tail for is called Donesame.

That was near to what my sister had said.  Doon or Dunn.  “Yes,” I sayt, keeping my head down.  “Donesame must be his name, for he done same as the villain in the Bevis book.”

“Only fools comb old books like they was hair and words were lice and truth lay hid in everie louse’s belly,” sayt my uncle.  “Books tell lies that none should spread.”

“I spread nothing,” I sayt.  “All knew the Bevis tale.  It was my embellishments they liked.”

“Your embellishments,” he sayt, “slandered our Countess.”

It come to me that my uncle always spake most respective [respectfully] of the Countess.  So what had turned him from the Earl to her?

Then he sayt, “Your newes may be worth the telling, but it must be what you hear with your own ears and has not festered in your head.  If you tell another fantastical tale, I will bite your head clean off.”

“But fantastical tales are what the others wish to hear,” I whispered.  “And I’ve read of a lady who hoist her tail for a bull.”

“You will tell no tales of ladies.  Swear it on your life.”

I so swore.  Then I sayt, “I can make her a milkmaid.  Oh, I see her now, she has a big straw hat, and her eyes are green as grass.  Her face is smooth as cream, and her yellow hair do flow like custard.”

Indeed, I could see her, and hear her too.  Oh, the buttered words she was dropping into that poor bull’s ear as he waited (so he thought) for the cow.

Book and Pen detail from Michael Conrad Hirt - VanitasMy uncle lifted a paw.  “Books have put a maggot in your brains.  Be off with you.”

No need to tell me twice.

But I arrkst myself, did the Bevis book put a maggot in the Earl’s head?  Or did some gentleman who knowed this book drop his own maggot in the Earl’s ear?

I besought the Queen Cat of Heaven to protect my little lord.  And I thanked her that cats do not have fathers.  A gib uncle is trouble enough.  Or so I thought, but there was more trouble to come.


Toutparmoi - Editor's Note.For a little more about the rift between the Earl and the Countess, see Domestic Difficulties.  The man Gib’s uncle refers to as “Tommik” would be Thomas Dymock, one of the Earl’s gentlemen.  The Earl seems to have been extraordinarily reliant on him.

By “maggot” Gib’s uncle means a weird idea.