by G Lawrence
Ahead of the wagons were my courtiers. Five hundred on horse, with empty litters carried by my gentlemen servers in case I or any of my ladies wished to rest rather than travelling on horseback. Our route was lined by common people, turning out to shout “God bless Your Majesty!” as I rode past. I often stopped to talk to them, and accept gifts. Progress was an important time, allowing my people contact with me, and I never tired of speaking to them. I was always friendly, and more than that, always grateful they wanted to be close to me. It washed away my loneliness to know that they loved me, and I never wanted them to cease. Sometimes, we even took up the offer of going to a nearby house, no matter how poor, to take a little ale.
I heard complaints, as well as blessings, and stopped to listen to petitions. When I promised to look into a matter, I did. People were frequently amazed. Kings often made promises with no intention of keeping them. I might do this to ambassadors, other princes and magnates, but never to my people. To them, I remained true.
On progress we usually made no fewer than two hundred stops. Some were in my palaces, but more often we stayed with courtiers. I was not an easy or inexpensive guest, as the Queen had be housed well, as did her court, but I was kind about houses that had little to recommend them, and always managed to find something to praise. The same was true of towns and villages. We planned progress well in advance, and if I knew nothing of the place we were to stay, I learned, so I could converse about it. If I visited a house, it could cause ruinous expense to the owner, but most courtiers welcomed a visit, knowing it would increase their opportunities at court.
Sometimes the roads were wet and hard to traverse, but this day there was no rain. The sun was shining, but there was a fresh breeze blowing, keeping me refreshed. A cloud-strewn sky was above us, a rumpled blanket of blue and silver, white and grey, crowning the horizon, casting gentle blue light and hot flashes of the sun’s rays upon our backs. In the air was the scent of late harvests of hay, the rich, pungent smell of hundreds of horses leaving offerings behind, and the alcoholic fumes of fallen apples and pears rotting on the ground, providing intoxicating treats for wandering wasps and drunken field mice.
But the sun and the sky and the air held no charms for me. Norfolk had ruined them all. How insidious a thing is cowardice, I thought. That it can not only affect the heart of one man, but despoil all happiness about him.
By the time we reached the Earl of Southampton’s house in Hampshire, I was in a rare mood, snapping and snarling at everyone. Only Blanche and Helena dared approach me, and in public, although for different reasons, I started to growl at Cecil and Robin, too.
I wanted Norfolk to understand the only element of the plot which truly troubled me was anything to do with setting Mary of Scots on my throne. It was therefore necessary for him to hear I was angered at this idea, but not necessarily at the notion of him marrying her. Afraid, but not too afraid, was how I wanted him. Robin and Cecil obliged me by becoming my players, putting forth the notion of Mary’s next marriage, so I could growl at it but not dismiss it.
Robin thought the plot had taken on two identities. De Spes was embroiled in the more dangerous aspect; getting northern lords to support Mary over me, whereas Norfolk was set only on marriage. I did not know if Norfolk was aware of the other plot, but I suspected he was. Phillip and Alba did not support de Spes, so I was less concerned the more perilous plot would come to anything. It still bore careful consideration, however, and Cecil instructed Walsingham to send men to discover what the northern lords were up to.
That night, in an effort to show Norfolk I could be merciful, Robin feigned illness, and told Norfolk that he would disclose the full extent of the marriage plot when I came rushing to his side. Norfolk agreed, and I came to Robin’s chambers, only to find him actually in bed.
“Are you really ill?” I asked worriedly as Cecil slipped in from another chamber, quietly closing the door behind him.
“No, Majesty,” Robin said, with a devious smile. “I simply thought I should play the part in case any of Norfolk’s men checked on me.”
“But… you are grey of face,” I said, reaching out to touch him. I drew back sharply as I felt a rough, dried paste upon my fingers. “You weasel, Robin!” I exclaimed. “You paint yourself to look like a sick man!”
“A trick I remember hearing you used once, Majesty, when your sister sent men to arrest you.”
“I will have to remember this. I will never again trust you are ill until I have felt your skin.”
Cecil, too, was regarding Robin with a touch of admiration, and not a little amount of wary suspicion. I could almost hear him tucking away this incident in a chamber of his mind.
“So, you are to tell me of the plot here?” I asked Robin. “And Norfolk knows?”
“He does, and thanks me for my aid.”
“Tell him Her Majesty cannot agree as she would be in the Tower within months if Mary was wed to Norfolk,” Cecil said calmly. “But that she is ready to receive him.”
“I will call him to me afterwards,” said Robin, turning his eyes on me. “So you see, it was good I made a paste for my face.”
“You are enjoying this masquerade far too much, my Eyes.”
“There is something diverting about the game.”
Norfolk called on Robin after Cecil and I had slipped away, and was told I was so worried about Robin’s health that I had pardoned him, giving good reason for Norfolk to think he, too, would be treated fairly. That afternoon, I sent for Norfolk.
The once so-arrogant Duke came to the long gallery at Farham looking not unlike a trembling fledgling. His continued cowardice angered me, and, tired of waiting, I told him I knew of the plot.
“I wonder at the depths of your disloyalty,” I said. “As my kinsman, you must have my permission to wed, and it has not been granted, so why would you continue with the idea?”
“I bear only a slight regard for the Queen of Scots,” he said, his voice shaking as much as his hands. “I had not thought seriously about the match.”
“That is not what I hear,” I said, fuming. “I hear you have written to her, announced your intention, and the whole court knows this, Norfolk!” I narrowed my large eyes. “I want you to swear, on your honour, that you will play this game no more. No more meddling, Norfolk. Deal no more in the Scottish cause.”
He swore, and I released him, hoping the matter was dealt with and done.
But that night, Norfolk slipped away from court.
*
I knew not that he had gone for some time. That night we danced in Southampton’s home as though we had not a care in the world. For me, this was entirely untrue, and yet a queen must pretend.
“Hatton dances like a creature born to do nothing else,” I said admiringly as Robin and I watched him with Kate Carey.
“I could send you a dancing master who would fare much better than Hatton,” Robin said in a sullen tenor, his fermented breath invading my nose.
“Pish!” I exclaimed. “I will not see your man. It is his trade. For Hatton, it is his calling.”
Robin stalked off to talk to his servant Topcliffe and I went back to watching Hatton.
The next day, when I rose, there were dispatches from Ireland waiting. Fitzmaurice, disturbed by his failure to unseat his rivals, had sent for aid. The Archbishop of Cashel had been sent by Fitzmaurice to Phillip and the Pope, asking for their help. According to reports, Fitzmaurice had instructed his Archbishop to tell them Ireland would accept any prince of the Catholic faith the Pope and Phillip wanted to set up as ruler in my stead. Phillip, apparently, was not overly interested in Ireland at this moment, which puzzled me, and had told the Archbishop he was more concerned with keeping negotiations about trade open with me. That, at least, was heartening.
Ormonde had arrived in Rosslare, only to find Sidney engaged in battle with his brother, Edmond. As Tom reached Sidney, his brothers came to him. Whilst complaining about their treatment at Sidney’s hands, they swore they had neve
r intended to revolt. They had been told I was about to marry Robin, and knowing Robin was Ormonde’s foe, they had risen against Sidney. They surrendered to their brother’s persuasions, and changed sides. Without the support of the Ormondes, Fitzmaurice was a reduced threat. One of my men, Humphrey Gilbert, a relative of Kat’s, had fought Fitzmaurice at Cork, and inflicted heavy damage. Tom wrote that Fitzmaurice was on the run and Gilbert went on to ensure that the rebels would not think to rise again, slaughtering anyone who resisted, not even sparing women or children. Revolted as I was to hear this, I was unwilling to punish Gilbert, since he was one of my dearest Kat’s kinsmen, and besides, I could not have Irish rebellion on my hands if one was rising in the north of England.
Sidney was coming home. He believed the rebellion in Ireland was broken, but was leaving Gilbert and Sir John Perrot behind to clean up the last of the resistance. I was a little unsure about either man. I would defend Gilbert’s actions, no matter how grisly, to the death for Kat’s sake, but he was unreliable at times and understandably unpopular, given his late actions. Perrot was rumoured to be my bastard brother, but he was hot-headed, pugnacious, arrogant and rather reckless. I could see the sense in him taking up position in Ireland, as that country sometimes required generals with different skills, but still, I worried. Sidney was a capable and popular Deputy. He would be better for Ireland than Perrot or Gilbert.
I consoled myself that Ormonde was still there. Although of Norman descent, he was popular. Hopefully he would hold Ireland together, as I concentrated on England.
*
“And how am I to believe that?” I asked Cecil and Robin as they tried to convince me Norfolk was not up to anything but had run away out of fear.
“Majesty, it is clear there are two plots,” Cecil said. “Norfolk is only involved in the lesser one.”
“I am by no means convinced, Cecil. If he is innocent, why does he run?”
I was furious, and anxious. Norfolk’s escape brought all possible horrors to mind. In the distance of distrust, all evil can and will be believed.
“Perhaps he thinks there is no honourable way to withdraw,” Robin said. “If he backs out now, his potential wife will think him weak.”
“But his Queen would be less inclined to part his head from company with its neck,” I said.
Blanche was less generous. “We have an old saying in Wales, Majesty,” she said rubbing olive oil into my legs. “Mae’r euog yn ffoi heb neb yn ei erlid.”
“Which means?”
“The guilty flee with no one chasing them,” she said, pausing to glance up at me. “I am inclined to think your Howard cousin is concealing much.”
On the way to The Vyne, seat of Lord Sandys, I sent a messenger to Norfolk. It was a royal summons, commanding his return. At the same time, Cecil placed de Spes under watch and sent orders to loyal subjects in all corners of England to prepare for trouble. Ports were closed, local militia were alerted, and preparations were made to move Mary somewhere more secure. Even if Norfolk was not up to anything, there was enough information trickling in from Walsingham’s men in the north to suggest something ill was afoot. Blanche, too, had been sent word from her nephew, John Vaughan.
“John has had word of many secret meetings,” she said, handing me the parchment. “And thinks Your Majesty is in immediate danger.”
Norfolk ignored my summons. He pleaded he was suffering an ague and needed treatment. Clearly my Howard cousin was taking a leaf from Robin’s book of fakery. Also clearly there were many masks being worn about England. I feared what lay beneath.
I knew it not, but I was about to enter one of the most dangerous times of my reign.
Rebellion was coming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Windsor Castle
Autumn 1569
Reaching my bedchamber at Windsor, I heaved a sigh of relief. I was fond of Windsor. My bedroom contained many items that were familiar, such as embroidery I had done myself, as well as a bird of paradise I had owned for many years. My bathroom had running water and its walls and ceilings were covered in mirrors, allowing me to take stock of my appearance from all angles.
There was much for me to take stock of that autumn.
We had come to Windsor primarily because it was a fortified castle which could withstand an assault. It might be required.
Norfolk had still not obeyed me. In fact, he had run farther from my clutches.
He had gone to Kenninghall, his fortified house in Norfolk. It was his greatest stronghold, and the fact he had gone there strongly suggested that he was in league with the northern plotters, and was planning to rebel. I sent another messenger to him, but also planned for the worst. If the north was about to rise, I had to be prepared.
News from Walsingham was not promising. Long had we known there was resentment malingering in the north. Local feuds, resentment at Crown interference with religion, and a desire for the restoration of the Catholic faith were the main issues. I was assured the majority of Catholics in my realm were loyal. If they were not, I would have faced an uprising long before this moment. But even if most were loyal, there were some who had never reconciled themselves to the alteration in religion.
It was not only in the north that resistance to my Church occurred. It was common knowledge that the Mitre Inn, the Catherine Wheel and the Swan Inn of Oxford harboured secret meetings of Catholics, and there were many places in London that did so too. This was not a problem, as long as it was kept somewhat secret. Catholics could avoid Anglican services if they paid the fine of twelve pennies, which was no more than the cost of a boat ride from the city to Greenwich with the tide against you, and no more was done against them than that. Most chose to attend, but some also engaged hidden priests to hold secret Catholic rites in their homes. I minded not. What mattered was a united front. As long as we appeared as one in terms of faith, I would not move against Catholics.
But now there was trouble from Catholic zealots. I needed all the resources I had, and that meant calling up a few favours. In addition to plans for our own army, I called upon the Sea Beggars. Allowing them to use my ports had paid off, and they were happy to help. My navy was put on high alert, and the Sea Beggars, along with my merchants, went to their aid. Hawkins and Drake, the latter of whom was back in England planning to be wed, headed into the Channel. They joined forty ships guarding the waters. With them patrolling the Channel, Alba was unlikely to get a single ship to England, should he change his mind about invasion.
Walsingham wrote that his people had infiltrated the northern conspiracy. The Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland were the prime conspirators. They had started to organise resistance, disguising meetings with other lords they meant to enlist as assemblies concerned with sports, rather than treason. There were plans for an uprising. Lords loyal to me in the north would be murdered, Mary would be set upon my throne, and Norfolk would become her King. Walsingham wrote that this plot was being backed by Spain, through the Italian banker Ridolfi, and would have military support from Alba.
This made us suspect our information on Alba was incorrect. Cecil worried that the dispatches we had intercepted about Alba’s reluctance were a false trail, deliberately sent to trick us into complacency.
If this was true, we could be immediate danger. Phillip was aware of England’s defences. During his marriage to my sister, he had been taken to inspect artillery, weapons, and stores of gunpowder. He had also had regular briefings on the state of the nation’s finances and ability to muster men. This posed a problem, but it also meant he was aware we could gather large forces quickly. Hopefully a deterrent.
But Walsingham also wrote that the plot was far advanced, set to be put into action any day. Shaken and full of rage, I considered sending men to take Norfolk’s head, but was held back by Cecil and Robin, who said Norfolk was a figurehead, not a conspirator.
“The same was done to you, Majesty,” Cecil pointed out. “During your sister’s reign, you were used as a focal point
by rebels.”
I nodded grimly, but I wondered if Norfolk was merely being used, or if he was cleverer than Cecil or Robin imagined.
More news followed. Some of the rebels only wanted to force me to surrender my advisors. Others wanted Mary on my throne. Walsingham wrote that the King of France had offered to send aid to the rebels, as he had received many letters from Mary, bemoaning her mistreatment.
Will Scotland join with Spain and France next? I asked myself. Is there anyone who will not make rebellion upon me? I was awash with fear, yet determined not to show it. If I quaked, my men would too. And I was not about to grant my foes the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
It was time to rally my troops.
My standing army was made up of two hundred royal bodyguards, my Gentlemen Pensioners, and a garrison of a few hundred men who guarded the southern shores. But there were more if I needed them. Any man between the ages of sixteen and sixty could be called upon to give military service. This certainly gave me numbers, but not all men were trained in warfare.
