That's...Elizabeth I?!
Elizabeth's image wasn't far removed from some of the more iconic portraits that had been painted of her, but now that Grace was standing right in front of the Queen she could see, quite distinctly, that her facial features were similar to—no, exactly like—Fran's. The likeness seemed almost impossible.
"Mistress O'Malley!"
Before Grace could consider the resemblance any further, Elizabeth spoke to her, her voice high in pitch. Grace didn't respond, remembering what Lord Burghley had said to her outside. It didn't seem like a question.
"I expect you are wondering why I was so willing to see you today," Elizabeth continued. It was rather peculiar for Grace to find that Elizabeth was speaking to her in Latin. What was more bizarre was the fact that Grace understood every word that she was saying. It had become apparent that language barriers did not take effect on this side of reality. "You will understand that I do not allow anybody into my palace without good reason. However, upon receiving your letter, I found it to be most interesting. You see, Mistress O'Malley,"—Grace expected such a use of her name was no more a sign of friendship than it was a gesture of courtesy—"it is rather unusual for a female like yourself to be in such a peculiar position, and to be so proud of it of as well! And you are from Connacht, is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Grace managed to respond.
Elizabeth leaned over to whisper something in the ear of the guard who had been standing next to her. He was average in height with a length of blonde hair by his neck. His face was motionless, void of all expression.
As Grace nervously watched Elizabeth speak to the guard, she noticed a faint tickle on her arm. She reached up to discreetly scratch at the area, but as she touched her chemise she noticed that there was something inside her sleeve. As cautiously as she could she edged it down. She didn't need to remove the object all the way before she noticed her name at the top of the parchment.
It was unmistakably the same letter she had found inside Gráinne's boot when she had first discovered the portal at the top of her stairs. Without having to fully remove the letter to read it, its words began filling her with their support and courage.
"Right away, Your Majesty."
Grace's attention snapped back as the guard spoke. She watched him bow and exit the room, and took advantage of the opportunity to stuff her letter firmly back up her sleeve and out of sight.
Elizabeth turned to her again: "It cannot be denied that your courage is admirable, Mistress O'Malley. It is not every day that somebody can stand in front of me, dressed as you are, and neither kneel nor show any sign of remorse. So often I must look down on pleading, pitiful faces. Your unusual confidence is almost a welcomed change."
Grace was fairly certain she didn't feel confident, but she was pleased that she was managing to appear so. Perhaps this admission was all she needed to summon her strength.
The guard returned almost immediately and held open the side door. Another man appeared with his back turned as he pushed Tibbott inside. Grace was unable to see his face as he walked with his body turned away from her. Tibbott, however, she could see quite clearly.
James?!
"Tibbott!" Cathleen screamed.
"Silence!" Elizabeth cried out, stunning Cathleen. The poor girl was shaking as she huddled closer to Donal. He tried to calm her but his own eyes were ablaze with fury at the sight of his nephew chained in front of him.
It was not the sight of her surrogate son that had disturbed Grace, but the fact that, as far as she could see, it was James standing before her. His bright blonde hair was unmistakable, even though it was now dirty and matted, and his watery blue eyes were identical.
Tibbott was pushed to the corner of the room, his hands and feet remaining tied together as the man who had brought him in fiddled with the chains to ensure he could not escape. The young boy looked up at his mother, but he knew better than to speak to her. Grace could feel her own eyes watering as she looked at the broken, fragile boy, so close yet so far away from her.
"Thank you, Lord Bingham," Elizabeth said to the man standing beside Tibbott.
Grace's sorrow quickly changed to anger when she heard the name spoken that she knew had brought so much turmoil to Irish soil. Her blood began to boil as he tightened Tibbott's chains.
Her anger quickly changed again to confusion when Lord Bingham finally turned around. Grace had thought she had come to accept the situation, but seeing her boss standing right in front of her as he held tightly onto the iron chain that was connected to the boy she recognised as her fresh-faced colleague, altered that. Lord Bingham appeared to be the double of Mr Barrie, with the same bitter smirk spread over his face.
But there was no time for contemplating how any of this could be possible as Elizabeth demanded her attention.
"Now, Mistress O'Malley," she pressed her hands onto either side of her throne and lifted herself, "please move a step closer."
Grace obeyed, taking a step forward.
"Thank you." Her words were soft, not at all as threatening as Grace had first perceived. Elizabeth also stepped forward, leaving behind the support of her bronze high-backed throne, and poised herself.
"Mistress O'Malley, I expect you think that you are in ownership of the sea..."
'I have earned the respect I am shown in Connacht, Your Majesty. I would never expect anything. It is a trait most unflattering." Grace heard the words as they left her mouth. She couldn't deny that she had spoken them, but they were not her own.
"I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman," Elizabeth began, "but I have the heart and stomach of a king. Do you think that I am not able to see right through you? You have been a traitor to England for many years. This meeting has been long awaited, I can assure you."
"I do nnot deny that, Your Majesty."
"You appear overly proud of this identity you have fashioned for yourself. It is hardly conceivable!" She threw back her head and laughed loudly. Lords Bingham and Burghley joined in her mirth.
"Hush!" she ordered them to silence. They obeyed immediately, straightening up to reassert their positions.
"Dear boy Tibbott," Elizabeth continued without looking at him, "I do not know how you are able to remain upright when your mother partakes in such a filthy, masculine activity as piracy. If I were you, I would most certainly find myself crippled with shame."
Tibbott lifted his head for a chance to exchange a glance with Gráinne, but as soon as Bingham detected his movement he slammed his hand onto the back of his head, forcing his eyes back down to the ground.
"Lord Bingham, there will be no need for that. Please, allow the child to look at his mother. It is the least we can allow him. After all, if it was not for him, I would not have the pleasure of inviting Mistress O'Malley here today, would I?' Her eyes widened into a sinister glare.
Grace looked at Tibbott for a moment before he returned his attention to the floor. He knew better than to take advantage of what was offered to him so reluctantly. He knew Bingham would punish him for it later, but it was worth it just to look upon the woman who had raised him, the mother he knew he had let down. He would never be able to forgive himself if any harm came to her in England.
Elizabeth's voice heightened in both pitch and pace as the conversation snapped to the treason of her prisoner. "Your son, Mistress O'Malley, has been a mischievous little boy. Fortunately for me, Lord Bingham—a loyal servant to me—put a stop to your son's miscreant behaviour. Locking him up was but a simple precaution to ensure that he was in no position to further seek the destruction of my empire."
Tibbott's head remained bowed but Grace was certain she could see him wincing as Lord Bingham tugged at the chains to tighten them, snarling as he moved.
"So you are here to request that I set your son free," Elizabeth continued. "However, I do not believe that it would be a wise decision. My throne is much safer while this Irish brute is locked away. Wouldn't you agree, my Lords?" She didn't turn to face Lords Bingham and Burghley as they agreed with her in unison. Instead she kept her eyes locked firmly upon Grace.
Grace, in turn, did not look away from Elizabeth. She was transfixed by her wig of rich red hair, large enough to hide a thousand secrets, and the giant skirt of her dress which must have made it nearly impossible for her to walk.
Elizabeth was silent now. Grace took this as her cue to speak. She swallowed to clear her throat, straightened her posture in preparation for addressing Queen Elizabeth I. "Your Majesty, Tibbott's actions may be reprehensible, but I have come here today to offer an explanation for the behaviour of my clan, and that of the people of Ireland. We are continuously looked down upon, repeatedly spat at and gibed. That much we can endure. Such insults do not affect our ability to survive. However, it is the undermining of our physical conditions which have made it nearly impossible for us to live harmoniously.
"Perhaps the extent of our suffering has not been fully revealed to you, Your Majesty. The force with which we are punished for merely existing is stronger than that with which we are able to cope. We try to stand up, but repeatedly we are pushed to the ground, and that ground we fall onto is diminishing. The reason for Tibbott's revolt was a consequence of further land reduction on the west coast. Lord Bingham has seized another plot, which was being used to grow crops to feed our people. Every time one of your subjects helps himself to our land, we are forced to face further hunger.
"Your men do not pay for what they take, and so we do not have the means of exchanging with other landowners. We are quickly running out of land sufficient for growing food. We have but a few patches of malnourished grass, which must be kept for the cattle to graze. Our animals are weakening as rapidly as our crops are failing. People are becoming ill, and many of them are dying because they do not have the strength to recover.
"Mothers have become too weak to feed their babies, children too fragile to grow and develop. Our men have little strength left to bring in enough fish to sustain our population. I am here today to request that you consider not the way in which my son has behaved, but the reasons why he felt he needed to respond the way that he did. In our time of desperation, we depend on the arrival of change, and this change is something only you can command, Your Majesty."
Grace bit into her lip nervously. Elizabeth remained silent. Grace could feel everybody's eyes upon her. Lords Bingham and Burghley glared at her. Donal and Cathleen, who had remained as motionless as possible, looked at her with hope, Cathleen's eyes streaming with tears. Tibbott had lifted his head just enough so that he was able to look at his mother. He prayed silently that the Queen would find no derision in what had been said. If she did, then the consequences would be dire.
"Mistress O'Malley," Elizabeth finally said, "you speak to me in a manner I find fascinating. It is unusual for one to address me so boldly. If nothing else, I admire your approach."
"Your Majesty, if I may," Lord Bingham interrupted.
"I am not finished, Lord Bingham," she snapped before returning her attention to Grace. "However, I still struggle to see exactly why I should allow your son to go free. How can I be sure that he will not repeat his despicable actions? After what you have done against my people, I must wonder why I should not lock you up with your wretched son and throw away the key!"
Cathleen gasped.
"Your Majesty, I shall not be restrained. I will not hide who I am."
"So many have died at your hands—"
"That has often been beyond my control."
The room returned to silence as Elizabeth paused to think about what had been said. She concentrated on Grace, focusing her attention on her eyes.
At that moment it was as if there was nobody else in the room. A sadness in Elizabeth's eyes reflected in the eyes of Gráinne O'Malley, nad in the eyes of Grace Byrne. In that moment they looked at each other not as opposing figures of authority, but as two women living in a world where they were continuously challenged. The pain of Elizabeth's own suffering was silent but unmistakable, and it was not hatred and venom that looked back at Grace, but understanding and empathy.
"Perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding. An agreement," Elizabeth finally said. "I will allow young Tibbott to return to Ireland—"
"Yes!" Cathleen was unable to refrain from squealing. Donal held onto her to stop her from running toward Tibbott, who had to force himself to keep looking at the floor. A look of horror had spread across Lord Bingham's face.
"Quiet, please! Allow me to finish. Mistress O'Malley, I shall allow your son to return to Ireland, and Lord Bingham will return to you the land he has most recently confiscated." Grace was sure Bingham was about to weep. "However, I must ask in return that you do something for me." Her request could be absolutely anything, and Grace knew it. "I ask only that you never return to England. This rule also applies to the men under your command, and to anybody with whom you find yourself acquainted. I will cooperate with your request on the condition that you do the same with mine. If I am ever informed of your presence near English soil again, I will have your entire clan put to death. Do we have an agreement?"
Grace considered the offer. She quickly realised that she had to accept it.
"Your Majesty, your proposal is one to which I am happy to agree."
Elizabeth smiled. "Good. Well then, Lord Bingham," she continued to look at Grace as she addressed him, "Release the prisoner!"
There were tears in Bingham's eyes as he began to unchain Tibbott. Elizabeth remained standing in front of her visitors, her lips pressed tightly together. It was a moment Grace knew she would never forget. Never had she imagined she'd be standing in a room with this striking monarch. Her power was undeniable, but her beauty was eternal.
No final words were exchanged between Grace and Elizabeth. Nothing more needed to be said. Between them a recognition had been sealed, an understanding that neither could have predicted. There was just enough time before Grace was led away for Elizabeth to lower her head in a subtle nod. As Grace caught the gesture she bowed, a mark of her own newfound respect for the woman with whom she had presumed to have nothing in common. How wrong she had been! In their final moment together, both women looked at one another and smiled ever so subtly.