by G Lawrence
“She will prove dangerous, my lady.”
“We are used to dealing with danger, Cecil, are we not? I would rather have her here than lose her somewhere about Europe.”
“She has already sent letters to the Queen of Spain, her sister-in-law, saying she wishes to restore Catholicism to England.”
Cecil had intercepted these missives, written in cipher. Fortunately for us, Mary’s cipher was not sophisticated. It relied on a transposition of letters, easily enough re-transposed to reveal the true message. French ciphers were a great deal more demanding. Spanish ciphers, although they had increased in sophistication since my father’s day, were a great deal easier.
Mary’s were not hard to break, which I found surprising seeing as she had been brought up in France. But perhaps it was not so astonishing. We English had lagged behind our neighbours in the art of ciphers. That had altered when I claimed the throne. Cecil’s paranoia about my safety had led to England jumping ahead in this shadow game. We had some of the best decipherers in Europe working for us, but we kept it quiet. Far better for Phillip, Charles and Mary to think we remained ignorant. Then they would not work hard to conceal their messages, allowing us to read them freely.
And it seemed Mary thought us blind, obtuse and foolish, for her cipher was based on one Julius Caesar had used, and was therefore easy to recognise.
Yet even in cipher, Mary had been cautious. There was no crime in her saying that she wished England might become Catholic again. Were she one of my subjects, she would be in trouble, but Mary was a foreign monarch. Phillip of Spain expressed similar sentiments, and no one thought to call him a traitor. Mary, of course, was my prisoner, and on English soil, so there was the chance this might lead to danger, but saying she wished for something was not treason and Mary had been careful to keep it that way.
“I know, Cecil, but do you not see? Mary is a danger wherever she goes. No one wants her, but everyone wants to use her.”
I left Cecil to go to my Carey kinswoman. Her nieces, Kate and Philadelphia Carey were in constant attendance, and I smiled at them as I entered. Catherine was feeble in body and her mind wandered in its fever. Francis had written in high terror, asking to return from his post, but I could not allow it. I assured him we were taking care of Catherine, but told him he had to stay where he was. As soon as I had a suitable replacement he could be released. He was not happy, and tried to petition me through Cecil.
“Francis misses you,” I said to my cousin.
She was asleep but seemed to hear the name of her husband upon my lips, and smiled. Brushing the hair back from her hot forehead, I stared down with tears in my eyes. “I am so sorry, cousin, that I cannot bring him to you,” I whispered. “The woman in me would allow it in a moment, but the Queen must have her men where they are needed, even if it seems cruel.”
“The Queen is my friend and mistress,” Catherine murmured, her head shaking from side to side. “She is all we have in this world… Speak not ill of her. She has trials enough.”
Tears slipped from my eyes. Even in fever and sickness, my cousin was entirely loyal. Set apart from all others by virtue of my position I was, but there were some who understood me.
Chapter Twelve
Hampton Court
Autumn 1568
The trial opened on the 4th of October, and it was immediately both complex and confusing. I could not write to my cousin whilst it went on, as it would hardly be proper for the judge to communicate with the defendant. Mary was not happy about this, and continued to write to me. I did not read her letters. I was in a miasma of confusion about the whole process, unsure whether she was complicit in Darnley’s death or not, and unwilling to deliver a sentence unless it was of innocence, which I already knew was impossible. Cecil understood my mind, and little as he agreed with me, had sworn to follow my commands.
Mary was not allowed to attend the trial in person. I thought it would stain her name to do so, and Moray agreed, since her absence would do him only good. She was permitted to send commissioners to represent her, but Moray attended in person.
The casket letters were enough to defame Mary in the eyes of my Council. I declared I thought them genuine, even though I did not, to appease Moray, but asked for further proof of honesty, such as authenticating the handwriting, as well as other measures, such as re-translating some which were suspect. Cecil adhered to all my suggestions.
As the court deliberated, I had a message from Cecil. His spies and the French Ambassador had uncovered a plot to marry Norfolk to Mary. The idea itself was not outlandish. Cecil and I had agreed that marrying her to an English lord might be useful, for it would allow her to be kept in England, but as a citizen rather than a prisoner. Such a situation would bring her firmly under English law, granting no ambiguity if she resorted to treason. Although to me, marriage was as much a prison as the one Mary was presently in, the suggestion was worth consideration if we could legally separate her from Bothwell.
The idea was not without merit. The potential groom, however, was highly objectionable.
Norfolk was conspicuously Catholic, which did not worry me overly, but he was also arrogant, hot-headed and possessed a drop of royal blood. This might have made him eminently suitable for Mary, but it also made him dangerous. He was also the High Commissioner of her trial, making any such suggestion, were it true, high treason.
I wanted to talk to Norfolk and discover the truth, but could not call him to London whilst the trial was sitting in York. I wrote to Cecil and asked him to shift the tribunal to Westminster, saying I was wary of Norfolk’s sympathies, and wanted answers. He wrote back, telling me they would arrive soon, but urged me to move Mary to Tutbury Castle in the Midlands, for greater security. I would not. To act thus would make it appear as though I had decided Mary’s fate.
“But she is a danger, Majesty,” said Robin, his hand playing with a cameo of me, set in gold, worn at his waist.
“She is innocent until proven guilty,” I retorted. “I will not become a tyrant, Robin.”
After a month, where nothing had been decided, the hearing was adjourned to Westminster, and Cecil came straight to my rooms.
“A foolish move,” I said as Cecil explained his reason for coming to me. “My cousin thinks to bribe you, Cecil.”
Hearing of the casket letters, Mary had become unsettled, and sent a message to Cecil saying she would agree to the establishment of a Protestant Church in Scotland. The fact that Scotland already had a Protestant Church did not seem to occur to her.
“She demonstrates her desperation,” he said.
“Indeed, especially in contacting you, Cecil. Long has she supposed you her greatest enemy, and now she tries to tempt you with a sugar stick.”
I wrote to my cousin, telling her the proceedings were merely a way of examining evidence which would aid her in regaining her throne. Mary responded by refusing to plead either guilty or innocent, harming her own cause.
*
“I am well, Majesty, I promise you that,” said the plaintive voice of Catherine Knollys.
“So I hear. Yet to me it would seem you are still in a fever.”
To my utmost relief, my Carey cousin was out of danger, yet the moment she was on the mend she became determined to put herself back into peril. Hearing of her husband’s concern, and reading his many, many letters, Catherine had decided the best way to aid her recovery was to take to a horse and head into the freezing north to be with Francis.
“I am as clear of head as I am troubled in heart,” she said. “My husband is frightened for me, but he cannot leave his post. Therefore I should go to him.”
“What you should do, Lady Knollys, is rest, eat, drink and sleep. That way you will get better rather than worse.” I stared at Blanche and clicked my tongue. “Can you not talk sense into her?” I asked.
“I have tried, many times, Majesty,” said Blanche, glowering at Catherine with a stare that would have caused the bravest Spartan to crumble. “Many times.�
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“Perhaps you are losing your touch, Blanche,” I said, allowing a whisker of a smile to brush my lips.
“I shall have to practise, my lady,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Catherine. “On whomsoever is delivered unto me.”
Catherine sighed and her shoulders drooped. “It is no good, coz,” I said. “Try to flee that bed and I shall send every guard at my command after you.” I sat beside her and put my hand over hers. “I am sorry for Francis’ pain, but I will not allow you to travel north, not in your condition and not in this wild weather. Your wifely concern does you credit, but this plan is madness. Get better, then I will allow you to go.”
She smiled suddenly. “What is it?” I asked.
“There are times, Majesty, when you remind me of your mother,” she said. “She too would not be crossed.”
I smiled. “I hope you do not simply remember her as a harpy.”
Catherine shook her head. “No indeed… Even when she was strict, I was not afraid of her. She was always gentle and kind to me. When I was a child, she used to note if I admired her gowns, and sent me the same cloth to make dresses for my dolls. She was good at noticing the little things, Majesty. She had a hot temper, and my mother often told me she had cause to fear it, but my mother also said when her younger sister was kind, it was as though there was a gentle sun shining upon you, and only you.”
“I wish I had known your mother, and mine, better.”
“I am sure they wished the same, Majesty.” Catherine set back her shoulders and huffed out a great breath. “Well then,” she said, looking at Blanche. “If I must get well before I leave, I must get well soon. Bring on the broth, Mistress Parry, for I must prove myself able to ride a horse!”
We both laughed. Catherine, even when ill, was a delight.
*
The trial reconvened at Westminster on the 25th of November. The very next day, Moray accused Bothwell of Darnley’s murder and went further, claiming that Mary had knowledge of this, and had allowed it to happen. Mary’s representatives demanded that Mary be brought to Westminster to answer the charges in person, but I would not allow it. If there was ever going to be any chance of restoring Mary she had to be kept apart from these accusations. I told them that Moray must produce better proof. The trial went on, and as it did, I sent for Norfolk.
“Maitland made the suggestion, Majesty,” said my kinsman when I confronted him about the notion of him marrying Mary. “I had no hand in the plan.”
“I understand the idea behind the suggestion, Your Grace,” I said, “but your position as chief commissioner means that to accept such a proposal is tantamount to a death sentence.”
“I did not accept, Majesty,” Norfolk rushed to say. “I said I could not, and not only for my office, but for my own safety. Should I seek to marry her, being so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress and murderer?”
“Sentence has not been passed, Your Grace,” I reminded my Chief Commissioner, who was supposed to be objective in this trial. “My cousin is proved nothing of the sort.”
“I love to sleep on a safe pillow, Majesty,” he gabbled, ignoring my comment. “I count myself, by Your Majesty’s favour, as good a prince at home in my bowling alley at Norwich as she is. And if I should think to marry her, knowing she pretends a claim to Your Majesty’s crown, Your Majesty might justly charge me with seeking to remove your crown from your head.” Norfolk’s eyes were awash with fear. “I did not countenance the suggestion, Majesty. I swear, upon my blood, upon all that is sacred, I did not birth the idea, nor desire any part in it.”
“I am of a mind to believe you, Norfolk, but do not get any ideas of your own. There may come a time when my cousin might well wed a man of England, but if and when such a time comes, it is for me to decide whom.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Norfolk left looking visibly relieved, and I went back to my thoughts.
Additional judges, five in total, had been added to the trial. They were opposed to Mary, and both she and Moray knew it. I was trying to keep the Regent appeased, for he was not going to like the outcome of the trial. No one was. My plans for Mary were rather like my religious settlement; no parties would be entirely satisfied, and none wholly aggrieved. It was the only way.
I told Moray that if the letters were found to be genuine, I would hand Mary over as long as he guaranteed her safety. If not, I would keep her and recognise him as regent. This was what he wanted, so he formally charged Mary with complicity in Darnley’s murder.
Mary was aghast at my change in position. She refused to acknowledge the trial as legal, and told her men to withdraw. As the trial went on, a new ambassador from Spain came to court and my dear de Silva was called away.
“I am lost for words,” I said when he came to take his leave. “You have been not only a good ambassador, de Silva, you have been a good friend.”
“I take comfort in knowing I hold a place, no matter how small, in your heart, Majesty.”
“It is no small place,” I said. My heart ached to think de Silva would no more be with me.
“Worry not, Your Majesty,” he said, a cheeky little smirk on his face. “I shall write and regale you with tales of lords stumbling and ladies falling from their seats. You will miss nothing of amusement by my leaving.”
“You have been a light in my darkness, my friend. I think your replacement will not be so illuminating.”
“Perhaps not,” said de Silva. “But my master worries, Majesty, that you and I are too close, and my purse can no longer afford the strains put upon it by this embassy. But I take with me my memories of England and of you. The weather in your country, madam, is as diabolical as it is changeable, but there is unsurpassed warmth to be found, when one stands in the presence of the sun.”
“This sun will miss you, de Silva. She will find it hard to shine without you.”
“The sun may miss me,” he said. “But she shines only brighter, knowing she must illuminate the lives of her friends, far away.”
De Silva left court the next day, bound for Venice where he was to become ambassador. I was miserable for days, and there were many times I thought of de Silva, knowing much would have been different had he stayed in place. But my sagacious friend was correct; Phillip distrusted our friendship. That was the true reason de Silva was called away, and why another man had been sent.
Don Guerau de Spes was Phillip’s man through and through. He was deeply, unapologetically, Catholic and possessed that mania of faith where men think all must believe as they do, or die. He was a man dedicated as much to disruption, as to his beliefs.
De Spes expressed immediate concern for Mary, making Cecil suspicious from the start. My Spirit set men on his trial, and Cecil found de Spes had already penned letters speaking of ways Mary might escape, and of her supporters in England, whose numbers he grossly overestimated.
This, added to my cousin’s letters to Spain speaking of restoring the Catholic faith, were enough to convince me that Mary was not, as she had sworn, my good sister and friend, but was indeed, as Cecil surmised, a viper waiting to strike. But I would not send her away. The worst thing you can do is turn your back on a snake.
Running does no good, for they are fast beasts. You must keep your eyes on it, watching for the strike, so you may slip in the other direction.
Chapter Thirteen
Hampton Court
Autumn – Winter 1568
Perhaps it was irritation at Mary, or annoyance at de Spes, but Cecil did something that autumn which at first glance appeared recklessly out of character.
That November, a fleet of four Genoese ships arrived at Plymouth in distress. Storms had driven them off course and they had been assaulted by the Sea Beggars. Orange was putting his men to good use, disrupting Spanish interests in the waters approaching the Low Countries. Secretly, and in addition to allowing the Sea Beggars to operate from my ports, I had allowed one of my captains, William Hawkins, to loan his ship to Jacques de Sores
, the great Huguenot corsair. I had no wish to see Spanish fleets sailing close to English waters.
The Genoese ships that floundered into our port were supposed to be delivering a payload to Alba for his troops in the Low Countries, and were therefore a viable target for the Sea Beggars, but the amount of money the ships were carrying was astounding; eighty-five thousand pounds in all, loaned by Genoese bankers to the King of Spain.
Cecil promptly pinched it.
Sending the ships to dock, and commanding they would be held, he confiscated Phillip’s treasure… something that did not go unnoticed by the new Spanish ambassador.
“Have you decided to embark on a career in piracy, Cecil?” I asked with a merry smile upon my lips when he entered my privy gallery. Light reflected from the golden thread of gorgeous tapestry and jewels encrusted on the surface of my throne sparkled on his careworn face. It made my Cecil look uncannily like an angel, but if the Spanish ambassador were to be believed, Spirit was anything but.
