by G Lawrence
De Spes was not happy. Since he was still under house arrest, he sent a letter to me. I had no doubt other missives were sneaking from his house, bound for Spain and the Netherlands. Yet I was within my rights to capture Phillip’s ships. He had acted against me without legal cause. All I was doing was seeking redress, and I told de Spes so.
Innocence can be such an enchanting game to play.
As I was gloating over Phillip’s discomfort, Robin came to me. Arundel and Norfolk had accepted him as an ally and he had found out much. Although Norfolk and his cronies hated Cecil, and certainly wanted him removed, there were more dangerous thoughts forming in their heads… of Norfolk’s plot to marry Mary of Scots.
“Throckmorton is encouraging it, and de Spes is involved too,” said Robin. “But I think the ambassador is up to something else. Mary has been writing to de Spes in secret. Someone is smuggling out letters from Tutbury, but I have not found out whom.”
“I will set Bess on their trail,” I said.
“There is more,” said Robin. “Mary has declared she will not surrender her throne and promised that if Phillip would aid her, she will be Queen in three months hence. Norfolk and Arundel are also communicating with de Spes in secret. They told me that de Spes said Mary had only claimed she would be Queen again, implying she meant Scotland.”
“If she thinks being ambiguous will protect her she knows me not at all,” I said. “I am the master of ambiguity. Mary remains a pupil.”
“Not satisfied with defiling one crown, she moves on to smear another,” was Cecil’s answer late that night. “I had already heard of this, my lady. One of my men in de Spes’ household heard his master dictating a letter to Mary. It was clear from what he said that the Scots’ Queen lusts for England’s throne.”
“Robin thinks there may be more than one plot unfolding,” I said. “De Spes may be up to something else entirely, but as to Norfolk marrying Mary, Robin says Throckmorton suggested it so she might be restored to her own throne, under the provision she will maintain the Protestant faith. They think rendering her loyal to England will make her safe.”
“They think to make her no more a focus for Catholics,” said Cecil, the three warts on his right cheek shaking as he sought to contain his irritation. “And therefore acceptable as your heir.”
“At this stage, nothing Norfolk has said or done is treason. The idea of Mary marrying an English lord was proposed some time ago, and I supported it.”
“Mary’s claims about your throne are much more dangerous,” Cecil pointed out.
“But that is plotting between Mary and Spain,” I said. “We sent Robin to investigate Norfolk and he does not seem to be involved in Mary’s ambitions for my throne.” I sighed. In looking for answers, we had found only more questions. “Robin says many northern lords support Norfolk, but he does not know all the names as yet. They do not fully trust him.”
“What would it take to bring him into their trust?”
I waggled a finger. “I am already ahead of you, Spirit. Norfolk and his men are sending a letter to Mary, signed by all who are involved, to enlist her support to marry her to Norfolk. I have told Robin to put his name to it. That way, he will have committed himself in writing, so they cannot deny his conviction, and he will be able to see all the names of lords who are a part of this scheme.”
“I thought Throckmorton might have more sense than this,” Cecil said with a measure of sadness.
“You know he has long adored my cousin. I do not think he is moving against me so much for treason, but out of an honest desire to see her restored.” I paused. “There is more, and this part more worrying.”
“What?”
“Norfolk has sent for a Florentine banker,” I said. “The idea is that he can back their scheme, and provide money, if and when it is required. Robin says that Norfolk has been careful about divulging details, but he managed to overhear that they will use the banker to inform de Spes they intend to establish a Catholic government in England. That sounds like Norfolk is up to something other than marriage.”
“They hope to lure Spain into this,” Cecil hissed.
“Perhaps they hope to draw Alba from the Low Countries,” I said. “With an army, what might they achieve?”
Cecil looked suddenly fraught. “This is more serious than I thought,” he said. “If Norfolk is plotting a coup, and Spain is offering money and men…”
I shook my head. “At present, Spain has offered nothing and I doubt Phillip will send his warlike Duke to England. He is struggling to take control of the Low Countries and the Ottomans are causing him problems too, as you yourself have told me.”
Cecil sat back on his chair and exhaled. “That is true.”
The candlelight revealed strands of grey in his moustache and beard. Oddly, this made me feel protective. We were all not as young as once we were.
“Do not suffer a fit of dropsy, Cecil,” I teased, although my heart was far from light. “I may need you someday very soon.” I breathed in and let it out slowly. “I agree this is more dangerous than we thought, Cecil, but we do not know Norfolk is plotting to overthrow me. Talk of establishing a Catholic government could simply be a way of saying he will get rid of you, with aid from Spain, and put men sympathetic to the Catholic cause in your place. De Spes’ involvement is worrying, but I still think we are dealing primarily with Norfolk, and my Howard cousin is a fool.”
“Many a fool has managed to unseat a king, Majesty. It only takes luck.”
“Audentis fortuna iuvat, Cecil,” I said. “And the brave. Norfolk is brash, reckless and stupid, but he is a coward at heart. We must unseat his schemes, keep Robin in post, and quench Norfolk’s resources.”
“The banker, then, is key.”
“I had the same thought.”
“What is his name?”
I checked a scrap of parchment at my elbow. “Ridolfi,” I said, balling up the slip and tossing it into the fire. “Roberto Ridolfi.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hampton Court
Spring 1569
“I will see her buried in glory, Francis,” I said to my heartbroken servant. “That is all I can do for her now. But know I will always protect and uphold your family in her name.”
Francis had come home, sorrow-bowed and broken. It became swiftly apparent that Catherine had been the one to organise their affairs, for he admitted himself at a loss when it came to his household and family.
“She took care of everything, Majesty,” he said with a catch in his voice. “So well that I never had cause to notice.”
“She was the best of wives,” I said.
“Without her there is no order,” he mourned.
I was not sure if he was talking of his household or of the world in general.
I, too, mourned my sister. My only comforts were my morning walks, but even these sought to plague me when I came down with a heavy cold.
“It is all that air!” Blanche exclaimed as she hastened me to bed like an infant.
“We need air, Mistress Parry,” I reminded her, coughing. “To breathe, for one thing.”
“Too much of anything and the body sickens,” she chided. “To bed, Majesty, or feel the back of my hand!”
I laughed. Blanche could get away with a great deal more than most women in my chambers. But if she could get away with much I could not escape Catherine. Unassailable guilt troubled me. I should have sent for Francis sooner, I thought. I should have taken better care of Catherine.
Guilt is not the most useful of emotions. It is easy to see what should have been done in hindsight. And the hard truth was, if faced with the same choice, knowing Catherine would die not seeing her husband, I probably would have done the same. England had to be my first concern. Mary had come before Catherine, in politics if never in my heart.
As I lay ill, Catherine was sent to her eternal rest, interred in Westminster Abbey. I thought it fitting. If Catherine was my father’s daughter, she was a princess of Engl
and. A bastard princess, she might have been, but I had borne that same title. She was laid to rest with all the care I could take; a testament not only to my guilt, but also in recognition that she was the daughter of Henry VIII.
I paid for her funeral, spending the audacious sum of six hundred and forty pounds. Her hearse was so beautiful that the Dean of Westminster wrote, asking if his men could keep it. Her epitaph called her “a mirror pure of womanhood”. It was true. Catherine’s daughter, Anne, became a paid member of my household, and the next year I made her son, Henry, one of my Gentleman Pensioners. I kept my promise. I would shelter and advance her family.
Thomas Newton was called upon to write her epitaph. One section read:
There seemde between our Queene and Death,
Contencion for to be,
Which of them both more entire love,
To her could testifie.
The one in state did her advance,
And place in dignitie,
That men thereby might knowe, to doe,
What princes able be.
Did Death take you for love, Catherine? I asked when I read this. Was this why Death came, so frequently, for my dearest friends? Because He was lonely?
Whilst I lay in bed, my ladies tried to cheer me with games. Kate Carey brought Primero to me, a card game, and I played chess with Robin and Cecil. I listened to my ladies play the virginals, and offered hints to improve their skills, which they accepted happily, as I was a known master of that instrument. I tried to think less on my cousin. I failed.
One distraction came from France, but it was not welcome. In March, the Prince de Conde was slain at the Battle of Jarnac. Conde was one of the Huguenot leaders in the civil war, and he had seemed a good man. France was busy ripping itself apart, as were the Netherlands. Alone in Europe, England was the only major country not at war… at least, not yet.
When I rose, I concentrated on the Norfolk plot. Robin was still having trouble casting an eye over the list of lords who would support Norfolk, so we staged a little play for the Duke’s enjoyment.
On Ash Wednesday, whilst I was at supper before the higher nobles, Robin came to me. Generally, I preferred to eat alone. Aside from in the case of feasts and official functions, where it was expected, having everyone watch me as I ate was, to my mind, a curious and annoying affectation of court life. Why does anyone need to know how another sips their pottage, or dips their meat in sauce… and more bafflingly, why would anyone be interested? Having said this, however, it is easy to forget the court was a tiny world, bound in little rooms. We might control a nation from these walls, but in general court was a place of intense and grating boredom; a minute world of people all related to each other. Almost anything was noteworthy. It was also why plots became commonplace. People need entertainment, and in the absence of a dance, or something to do, they will make things to do.
I have often considered that boredom may be the root of all evil.
And just how bored is Norfolk? I wondered, looking up from my game pie to peer at him. My eyes had never been strong at long distances. I did not mind. The sacrifice I made was balanced by a benefit. The fact that I could not see far made my pupils large. Dee told me it was because they were attempting to gather information, and since they were weak, they had to spread wide to do so. It gave me a curiously unsettling stare. My eyes, black and dark as night, seemed to penetrate the heart. “It is like looking into the eyes of God,” Robin once said. “No man may hide from you.”
“Many men hide much.”
“But when you gaze upon them, they think you see all.”
If others thought as Robin did, this was a useful talent, and one I would much rather possess than to be able to see into the distance. In truth, I rather liked my world a little blurred. It was softened, sweetened.
As I took up some roasted meat, Robin approached. I saw him glance swiftly at Norfolk, and the Duke inclined his head. Norfolk pretended to resume his conversation with Bertrand de la Mothe Fenelon, the French Ambassador, but I could see he was watching. Robin had told Norfolk he would try to reach me about Cecil, try to get me to see reason. When this was done, Norfolk would have solid proof Robin was opposed to Cecil, for if a man was willing to censure my talented friend, he knew the risks.
“Majesty,” Robin said, bowing.
“My lord Earl,” I said, lifting my head.
God forgive me! I almost laughed! His face was twisted into such a sorry expression that I almost burst out laughing and revealed the whole pageant as a farce. Fortunately I managed to restrain myself. “What is wrong, Robin?” I asked, high concern riding my tone.
“I come to you not only as a magnate of this realm, but as a friend.”
“You are always both to me, you know that.” I touched his hand and could almost feel Norfolk’s eyebrows dart up with disgust at my familiarity. “Speak freely, Robin. Have no fear.”
“There is a great sadness in England.”
“From what quarter, and for what reason?”
“From all quarters, Majesty, and for one reason.”
“Which is?” Robin affected to hesitate and I snapped at him. “God’s death! Get on with it, man!”
“William Cecil, Majesty,” said Robin, rushing on as I made my face darken. “The people of England are in despair, Majesty. The country is being managed by Master Cecil so badly that the people feel there is no hope. Either England must be damaged, perhaps permanently by him, or he must be removed.”
“I forbid you to say another word against Cecil,” I said, pressing my lips together.
“Majesty…”
“Did I not just say you will not say another word?” I screeched.
Robin jumped backwards, genuinely surprised, and I had to curtail another wave of mirth. “I thought I made myself clear, my lord Earl,” I went on, tossing my linen napkin angrily onto the table. It landed in a pot of broth, throwing a wave of fish, herbs and liquid into a dish of lamb stew. “Cecil is my most trusted man. I will hear nothing against him.”
“Many lords share my Lord of Leicestershire’s opinion of Cecil,” Norfolk interjected. I looked around. There was a glimmer of disapproval in his eyes, and I knew we had him. He thought me weak, unable to do without Cecil, for in Norfolk’s eyes it must be Cecil running the country. No mere woman could do such a thing.
“Were you invited to speak, Your Grace?” I demanded. “I was talking to the Earl of Leicester, not you. Take care to remember that when a prince speaks, she needs not the flapping tongues of other men to join in.” I waved a hand. “Go to!” I commanded. “God’s death! I need no buzzing flies swarming about me!”
As Norfolk retired to the other end of the room, he turned to Northampton. “Look how Lord Leicester is favoured and welcomed by the Queen when he endorses and approves Cecil’s opinion, but now that he quite rightly wishes to state his good reasons for opposing them, she looks ill on him and wants to send him to the Tower.”
Northampton replied. “No, no! He will not go alone!”
I made no comment, but turned to leave. Sweeping past Robin, with my back to Norfolk, I allowed the swiftest wink ever you did see to emerge. Poor Robin turned his face away, ostensibly to hide rage at being upbraided before the court, but really because he was about to laugh.
“That was cruel, Majesty,” he said later, when he had come to ‘apologise’ for his behaviour. Norfolk could not be allowed to think Robin was in disgrace. Such a state would lessen Robin’s influence, and that was what Norfolk needed him for.
“It was payback,” I said. “You almost made me laugh out loud when you came to me with that expression on your mischievous face.”
“What expression?”
“That one you must have stolen from a puppy abandoned in the street,” I said. “Like this.” I pulled my chin down towards my throat, opened my eyes wide and hung my bottom lip out.
“I did not look like that!” Robin laughed.
“Yours was better,” I conceded. “Now tel
l me, do we have Norfolk?”
“Oh, I think so,” Robin said. “I also think it would be worthwhile to get Cecil to pretend he is afraid of Norfolk.”
“You are getting good at this, Robin.” I selected a candied piece of walnut and orange peel from the bag he had brought me. “I will have to keep an eye on you.” I popped it into my mouth and smiled.
“My days of plotting without you are done,” he said. “I am your man, in heart, mind and body.”
“As I am yours.”
He shook his head. “You belong to another, Elizabeth. That I have known for a long time.”
“To whom am I bound, if not you?”
