“Identify yourself, sir!” snapped Captain Hynde but Elizabeth had recognised him the moment he had spoken.
“Ralph Fitzalan, Duke of Hereford, I should have your head for this,” Elizabeth gasped. “You, sir, are supposed to be surrounding Fotheringhay Castle with your men.”
“We are, Your Majesty, but this is not the place to explain,” he said and there was an urgency to his voice. Elizabeth noticed he was continuously scanning the area beyond their small copse. “We must escort you to safety at once. There are games afoot and until we have secured the area, you must remain hidden.”
Elizabeth scowled but she nodded her head, acquiescing to his order. Ralph Fitzalan turned his horse and allowed Elizabeth to bring hers level with his own. There was a dark slope leading to the encampment of tents where Ralph had been holding the castle to siege conditions for the past four months.
“Do you see the large pavilion in the centre?” he murmured to her and Elizabeth nodded. “You might be my big sister and you might be queen but I bet I can beat you to flag outside my tent…”
He grinned through the darkness at Elizabeth and in the moment it took for her to process his words and their challenge he had taken off down the hill. Seconds later, she was fast behind him, laughing, exhilarated, high on the adrenalin of the moment as she chased her younger brother through the night.
“Things are becoming worse,” said Ralph, as he guided Elizabeth to a chair and handed her a goblet of wine.
Elizabeth was thankful for the glowing stove in the centre of the luxuriously appointed pavilion. Frost was biting in the February air and, although the wild race had been a moment of excited fun bringing a flush to her pale cheeks, now she was cooling, the chill of the encampment was unpleasant. As she listened to Ralph’s report, she understood his caution.
“Mary’s belongings have been confiscated and they have taken her money,” he continued. “There has been another development, too. In the past week, there have been hourly patrols sent from the castle.”
“Have they tried to engage you again?” asked Elizabeth.
“No. In the first week when there were still soldiers at Fotheringhay, they sent a few squads out and there were skirmishes. However, we were able to repel them and since then, thanks to our spies within the walls, it has been apparent that there is a minimal military presence inside.”
“Philip has no soldiers here?”
“None. The few who remain are English traitors — the Spanish have melted away.”
“What do you think the patrols are about?”
“We think they’re lookouts,” said Ralph, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“For what?”
“A rescue force,” he replied.
“To rescue Mary?” Elizabeth was bemused by this answer.
“No — to rescue Black Fortescue and his men,” said Ralph with a grim smile. “The Welsh invasion has failed. We’ve had reports from Walsingham that there are still a few ships off the Pembrokeshire coast, but they’re anchored away from shore and appear to be waiting, rather than coming closer. The soldiers Philip had thought he was spreading through the country have vanished — it seems they were not as loyal as he imagined, but then from the few pieces of information we’ve gleaned, it’s probably because he was so careless of his men, treating them harshly and never paying them, so most of them have deserted at the first opportunity.”
Elizabeth considered this information. It was typical of Philip to abandon a plot halfway through. His need to control every single detail was his biggest weakness, never allowing those he appointed to carry out the jobs he had given them. His arrogance drove him to assume he knew better, that he was the most experienced soldier, sailor, leader, and due to his constant interference his plans lost momentum — the lines became blurred as he issued constant conflicting, over-complicated advice which resulted in strategic disasters, wasted time and a loss of funds, loyalty, men and arms. Throughout her reign, she had witnessed the mistakes made by the king of Spain and she prayed that his grasp of this particular plot was also slipping away.
“Who has charge of Mary?” she asked. “Whoever it is, we must have leverage somewhere?”
“Most of the remaining men are Catholic or Jesuit preachers from the school of Douai,” said Ralph. “Few have families, and those who do have been disowned. Gaspar de Quiroga y Vela hasn’t been seen for some days. It’s our belief he has left. We did not witness it but our most recent communiqué with Mignonne suggests this grim and cruel band of brothers is losing faith with one another. A message arrived last week and since then the men have become increasingly nervous. Black Fortescue, as his men call him, has no wife or siblings, neither does James Beaton, Owen Lewis, or Thomas Morgan — they are desperate men. Erasmus Saunders was here until a few days ago but he has also vanished. We think he may be trying to work his way across country back to Tenby.”
“Could he have been given instructions in this letter?” asked Elizabeth.
“It’s possible, but I think he left without the other’s knowledge. There was a huge row the morning they discovered he was no longer in the castle. From this we’ve surmised he has abandoned them and their scheme. Mignonne is trying to persuade Chidiock to read the letter and reveal the contents to her but Fortescue has it locked away. We have concluded that either Philip has given the order to execute Mary, which they are loathed to do without solid guarantees he will immediately send men to remove them to Spain, or Philip has abandoned them and they are considering their best move. The patrols are a way of checking to see whether there is a force of Spanish sympathisers preparing to swoop in and rescue them.”
“And is there?”
“No,” he replied, “and if there were, we would ensure they never reached the castle.”
It was the first time Elizabeth had heard such bitterness in her half-brother’s voice. He was usually the most optimistic of men but it seemed living in siege conditions for four months, in the constant shadow of looming death, his resilience had been dented. Although, she reasoned, his discovery of a twin sister at the point they were to be separated by Mary’s illness could not be dismissed as a reason.
Elizabeth understood how he had felt — despite having siblings and cousins, her royal blood had always marked her as different and as such her childhood had been solitary. Ralph Fitzalan thought he had been orphaned at the age of ten and he had believed himself to be alone in the world. Yet the truth of his lineage had been revealed to him by Sir Francis Knollys some months ago and with this, the discovery that he had a twin sister, who like him had been hidden. The fact he also had the other Tudors as family — Mary, Edward, Elizabeth and their string of illegitimate half-siblings, too, must have come as a strange new reality.
“And Mary, how is her health?” Elizabeth broke the silence that was growing between them.
“Her physician, Dominique Bourgoing, continues to do all he can to keep her pain at bay but she’s bedridden. Her legs are so painful, it’s impossible for her to stand for more than a few moments,” said Ralph. “From what we’ve learned from Mignonne, the rest of Mary’s staff remain loyal — Bastien Pagez, Andrew Melville and, her groom, Hannibal Stuart. Mignonne attends her, as do Mary Beaton, Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle. Your emissary, Sir Thomas Gorge, was there until a few days ago, but he was forcibly ejected and has been living here with us ever since. He says the conditions within the castle are reasonable but they are not good.”
Elizabeth shot Ralph a concerned glance. “Do they have food? You and your men have been holding them to siege conditions for many months now. Has this damaged Mary’s health further?”
Ralph shook his head and joined Elizabeth by the small brazier in the centre of the pavilion, topping up her goblet with hot, spiced wine.
“We have ensured sustenance and medications have been passed to Mary. It’s the men who are holding her whose supplies we have halted. Mignonne is truly Bess’s granddaughter, she is indomitable. She is th
e one who has kept everything together inside the castle. It was also thanks to her that we were able to clear and reuse the passage through the walls. It was once part of a system of delivery tunnels to bring food up from the river. We’ll use it to get inside tonight.
“Thanks to her grandmother, who has taught her how to read architects plans, Mignonne searched through the piles of paperwork in the library and discovered early drawings showing the first stages of the building works of the castle. It was she who sent men to search these tunnels out and cleared them, so we had a way in and, if necessary, they had a way out. The only reason they have not fled is because Mary is too weak to endure such a journey. Even when Fortescue threatened Mignonne, demanding to know how she was smuggling in medication for Mary, she refused to tell him. She has been magnificent.”
Elizabeth placed her goblet on the table and stood, reaching for her cloak.
“I must see Mary,” she said. “It concerns me that if we wait too long, the opportunity will be lost.”
“Of course,” said Ralph, “but Elizabeth, it will be dangerous. These are ruthless men, and if they discover you, they will have no compunction about killing you. If they can deliver you to Philip along with Mary, they will be feted as heroes.”
Elizabeth swallowed. She was aware of the danger but fear would not stop this last visit to her sister.
There was a pause. Ralph looked at her.
“Sister,” he began. “I still don’t understand how this can be so. If I was the heir to the throne, would the duke of Norfolk not have proclaimed it to the world? He would have been in a powerful position to act as regent if he had been able to place me on to the throne after Edward died.”
“Thomas Howard was a changed man from the moment he discovered your mother, Catherine Howard, in such a terrible state after the beating our father had administered,” Elizabeth replied. “His ambitions were exposed in all their shallowness and cruelty. He saw his true self and he never recovered. Protection of Catherine’s children became his objective.
“He knew your sister would be safest in the royal nursery in Scotland where she was re-christened Mary, while you, who were a smaller baby, were left with your mother until she, too, ailed. The life she had lived with our father had weakened her and in March 1552, she died from a fever and was buried in the Marquess House chapel. The Devereux’s had been loyal friends to Catherine and they took you into their household, even though they were aware of the risks.
“You may not have known then, Ralph, but the key to your identity was the locket, given to you by your mother. It had been a present to Catherine when she first arrived at court in December 1539 from Lady Isabel Baynton and her husband, Sir Edward. If anything should happen to me this evening, Sir Francis Knollys holds a casket which contains written testimonies from the Lady Anne of Cleves, Thomas Howard and myself, telling the whole story.
“Our cousin, Lettice, currently masquerades as me but she, too, knows of your existence and your claim to the throne. If our venture is unsuccessful this night, she will continue as ‘queen’ for six more months before ‘dying’. In this period, you will take your position in court and when the day comes for her to name an heir, she will name you.”
“No, Elizabeth, this is maudlin…” began Ralph, but Elizabeth simply smiled.
“No, it is practical and it is just,” she said. “You should be king, Ralph. I should be your spinster sister, living quietly in the countryside somewhere.”
Ralph’s expression was one of grief as he hugged Elizabeth, squeezing her to him.
“We will keep you safe, this night,” he said, as he released her, his unusual grey eyes staring deep into her brown ones. “You will return to London and we will never speak of this again. I do not want to be king.”
Elizabeth shrugged. Walking to the entrance of the tent, she allowed Ralph to drape her dull brown cloak around her and pulled the hood over her bright hair.
“Come,” she said, her voice low. “Let us visit our sister. For a few hours the three of us can be together.”
Chapter Two
The icy February air bit into the delicate skin of her face as Elizabeth followed the broad-shouldered back of Ralph Fitzalan. The new watch from the castle had returned to the gatehouse only moments before and would not patrol again for another hour. This was their chance. Behind her were two guards and another led the way in front of Ralph.
Kate, exhausted and overwhelmed from the journey, had begged to be allowed to stay behind with Captain Hynde. He would assume responsibility for the camp while Ralph and his second-in-command, Golding, escorted Queen Elizabeth on her perilous quest, and had promised he would protect Kate with his life. Elizabeth, on seeing her exhausted cousin, had understood she had no choice but to agree, but it did not stop her from being nervous about venturing into the darkness without Kate’s strength and support.
“Watch your footing, Elizabeth,” murmured Ralph, “the castle is built on a marsh and the ground is boggy.”
“Is it far to the tunnel entrance?” she asked, for the first time doubting the wisdom of her plan.
“Not far but the path is steep,” he replied.
Gripping the hand he offered, Elizabeth steeled herself for the difficult descent. Clouds scudded across the moon, creating eerie silver shadows as they prowled the night-time world. The distant howling of nocturnal animals unnerved Elizabeth and unbidden, frightening thoughts of angry spirits, ghouls and witches filled her mind. The further they walked, the more the dense, strange night threatened to overwhelm her. Her nerve was at breaking point when Ralph pulled her towards an oddly positioned rock.
“Here,” he whispered, “Golding will go first, you will follow, then I will be behind you. These two fellows, Merrick and Abel, will remain here to guard the entrance. Once inside, Mignonne will meet us and escort us to Mary’s chamber. If we’re lucky we will have 20 minutes to say our goodbyes, but no longer — the men check on her every half an hour.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, unsure whether her courage would hold. Think of Mary, she told herself — this might be the last time you are able to be together.
The ground was slippery but she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. She knew if she focussed on simple things, it would keep fear and panic from consuming her. Feeling her way through the darkness, aware of Ralph behind her and the enormous figure of Golding prowling his way like a force of nature in front of her, she kept walking. Water dripped from the ceiling, glistening on the stone walls like poison, while under her feet loose stones and puddles caused the going to be slow. There was the occasional crunch as one of them crushed a mouse skeleton, sickening Elizabeth to the stomach. Each noise seemed to be magnified and with every step forward she felt sure that at any moment they would be captured by one of Philip’s men.
Suddenly, Golding stopped.
“We’re here, Your Majesty,” he whispered. “Please stay in the shadows while I check all is well.”
Ralph reached forward and pulled her behind him, sheltering her from the tunnel entrance. There was creaking and a sliver of light spilled into the blackness as Golding opened a thick wooden door, sliding through a gap Elizabeth felt was far too small for someone of his girth. In front of her, Ralph was silent, tense, his hand resting on his sword hilt. She shut her eyes, composing herself, checking the belt at her waist and ensuring the small leather pouch remained attached. Light flashed into the tunnel and a female voice hissed,
“Quickly, Your Majesty, we must hurry.”
Ralph caught Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her forward into the stone-floored corridor. The slim figure of Elizabeth Pierrepont — Mignonne — waited, a candle flickering, casting shadows of monstrous size up the walls.
“The Scottish queen is this way,” said Mignonne and turned, walking swiftly into the gloom, her candle the only beacon of hope. Time and terror eradicated the need for the bowing and scraping Elizabeth so loathed and she hurried on silent feet behind Bess’s granddaughter, bra
ver now she was inside the castle, ready to fight to see her sister. It took only minutes to weave their way through the servants’ passageways and up the winding staircase to Mary’s room, but before they approached the door, Mignonne pushed them into a shadowy window alcove.
“Wait here,” she hissed. “The guard sometimes come at unusual times.”
Melting into the darkness, she left Elizabeth and Ralph helpless, pressed against the cold walls in the shadows.
“Your Majesty, Your Grace, this way!”
A door opened across the corridor, firelight flickered and the smell of burning sage wafted towards them.
“It’s supposed to purify the air,” explained Mignonne. “I dried it during the summer months. Quickly, before the guards return.”
Summoning her courage, Elizabeth shook back her concealing hood and hurried into the room.
It was warm, dry and comfortable, which gave her great relief. A bed dominated the space, heaped with delicate embroidered throws and piled with soft cushions. Sitting up, her auburn hair now faded with illness and sorrow, caught in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her face drawn and lined from years of pain, was Mary. Hints of her good looks remained around her eyes and in the elegance of her bone structure but her alabaster skin was now tinged a waxy yellow and the shimmering brown of her eyes was dulled. She was smiling, though, and in her joyous expression was her true beauty.
“Mary!” exclaimed Elizabeth, running across the room to embrace her sister.
“Elizabeth!”
The greeting was warm, heartfelt, full of love.
“Oh my sweet Artemis, together again at last.” Tears of joy streamed down Elizabeth’s pale cheeks.
“…and those days in Buxton, taking the waters with Bess, Lettice and Kate,” laughed Mary. “Do you remember the day I engraved my name on the window in order to prove to Robert it was a real diamond in my ring from Bothwell and not glass as he insisted.”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 29
