Treason in Trust

by G Lawrence

  I trusted them, but I was not, as yet, sure about Mary.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Whitehall Palace

  Spring - Summer 1570

  That spring, primroses nestled on the hilltops, clustered like cream. Birds winged into England seeking nests, and daffodowndillies and tulips erupted in abundance. The lawns of Whitehall, stretching long and sinuously before the eye, were fed by fresh rain and turned a brilliant green. They were always well-kept, for lawns were a mark of nobility. Who else could afford to surrender so much land to mere grass?

  Amidst this picture of pastoral peace, Thomas Cartwright, a Cambridge Professor of Divinity, decided to upset the sweetness of the season, and took it upon himself to criticise the structure of my Church.

  As one rebellion falls, so another begins, I thought.

  The nature of the English Church was Episcopal, meaning it was governed by bishops. Puritans were becoming outspoken. They liked not the surplices priests were to wear, by law, and objected to sections of the English Prayer Book, but their main complaint was being ruled by my bishops. They saw this as a Catholic tradition, and thought the Church should be ruled, not by a hierarchy of clergy, but by setting its management loose upon the entire body of worshippers. They wanted ministers elected by their congregations to lead, which would lapse my Church back into a primitive structure. Inspired by Calvin, and uninspired by my bishops, thinking them unable or unwilling to work for further reform, they wanted a preaching ministry in every parish, believing this would lead to good and godly discipline.

  A perfect recipe for chaos, I thought. If every man suddenly found himself in charge of religion, anarchy would ensue. I was in favour of showing trust in my people, but this was insanity.

  Bishops studied for their roles in the schoolroom, and although not all were equal in intelligence and skill, they understood their task. Setting untrained men up in their place would lead to mayhem, and, I was sure, to more stringent controls over Catholics.

  Cartwright’s lectures were the first true rebellion I had encountered in religion since the formation of my moderate Church. I had been warned that my way would please no one, for some wanted no reform, and others too much, but my way was the only way. I was not about to back down to an ignorant little man who simply wanted more personal power for himself, and would sacrifice the harmony of England to get it.

  Cartwright wanted to extract the bones from the body of my Church, not seeing this would cause the whole to collapse.

  He did not call for a Calvinist system, as some of his supporters urged, knowing such a thing would be anathema to me, since Calvin had taught his followers that they were honour bound to overthrow and spit upon their prince if he were ungodly. But Cartwright’s proposals were revolutionary enough. They caused a stir, especially amongst the higher clergy, who, understandably, did not want their power eroded.

  I was not about to alter my Church for the likes of Cartwright. The Church needed a hierarchy. There had to be order, or all would revert to chaos. There was no alternative system I could see that would work in England, and besides, to move to such a radical and entirely Protestant arrangement would further alienate Catholics. With the Pope’s sentence of excommunication in mind, I was not about to irritate those who followed Rome in their hearts.

  That meant upsetting some Protestants… but I was on safer ground there. Protestants had no viable adult contender for my throne left. There was Mary Grey, but no one wanted her. There was Margaret Lennox, but a question remained over her birth, and most knew her as a troublesome woman and a Catholic. Her remaining son, Charles, was seen as far removed from the throne and of the wrong faith, and the Earl of Huntingdon, Robin’s brother-in-law, who was twice descended from Edward III, had no link to the blood of my father, which counted against him, and although he was almost a Puritan, his younger brothers were quiet Catholics. Katherine Grey’s sons were still children, and there were questions about their legitimacy, and Margaret Clifford, another of the Brandon line, was a suspected Catholic.

  If I died or was deposed, my people would have to face the unhappy prospect of Mary of Scots on my throne, for her claim remained the strongest.

  I ignored Cartwright, although others moved against him. Some months later he lost his chair at the university as a punishment for his radical lectures.

  In truth, however, he was but one part of a growing movement. Faith was not a simple creature anymore. My father had seen to that. Before his break with Rome, there were Catholics and there were heretics and that was all. Simple. Easy. A situation which demanded no effort to understand. After the split with the papacy, as my father executed Catholics for being allied to Rome, and Protestants for being heretics, there was only one way to be safe, and that was to agree with him. During his reign, my father was God in all but name, and however heretical that may be to claim, it was the truth. If a man wanted to keep his head, or escape the flames, he agreed with Bluff Harry. But my father’s choice to break with Rome and make himself Head of the Church had repercussions that he never could have imagined.

  My father ploughed a middle way between the faiths, but in doing so he unwittingly created many divots on the edges. In each of these little paths in the fertile earth of faith, a new belief system had sprung up. Protestants had been divided, even in his time, as to methods of worship and practices of faith, and this became only more apparent as time went on. My brother had made Protestantism the official faith of England, and had granted those with more radical notions the space to flourish. My sister, although she would be appalled to think it, had only increased the fervour for Protestantism in all its many forms by burning those of my faith. By the time I took my throne, ready to embrace both sides of the Christian divide, a vast gully had formed, and people of many practices, ideologies, faiths and philosophies had been pushed to the edge of the field of faith, and were hanging by their fingertips to the edge of this crumbling cliff of Christ.

  No one belief, faith or practice could be fully appeased, for in order to do so the others would have to be repressed. The only way was the path I had created; a middle track, a compromise. In many ways, my Church was a reflection of my own soul. I had been born in the midst of the religious divide, one foot in the old ways of the Catholic Church, and the other planted by my parents in the new Protestant faith. My birth had marked the break with Rome. It was therefore fitting that I would remain a creature whose soul was split between the old and the new.

  Many thought me hesitant and incompetent when it came to the Church, but it was not so. God loves peace, of that I have always been assured. He understood my way was the only one that could appease the majority, and keep harmony in company with England.

  Of course there were plenty of people willing to stand in my way: Protestants and Puritans who thought I was not going far enough; Catholics who believed I was betraying the true faith, and of course the Pope, Spain and France.

  But my path had many strengths, too.

  There was a patriotic identity to English Protestantism. The impact of my sister’s reign had brought it to life. Although in the latter part of my father’s reign, Catholics had been viewed as suspect, loyal to a foreign power, the notion of the foreignness of Catholicism had not been felt until my sister took the throne.

  The suspicion that Catholics were loyal to Rome created this. It was common for people to mention the hearts of Catholics were papal purple, rather than Tudor green. Common enough, indeed. But that which we repeat as common wisdom is often erroneous.

  It is easy to alienate a people based on supposition; easy to think that because one Catholic wanted me dead that must mean all others did too, but if this was true, I would be dead already. If every Catholic was against me the northern uprising would have been an impossibly powerful onslaught and I would have been deposed. It is tempting, when one hears of plots or atrocities, to blame every member of the offending faith for them. It makes it easier for us to see the enemy, to keep ourselves safe, to demonize ou
r foes and justify violence against them.

  But, as any logical person understands, this idea is pure, undiluted codswallop.

  Life is not so simple. People are not mindless drones, or at least, most of them are not. There was not just black and white in the faiths, there was a whole palette of colours, blending into a forest of hues. Some Catholics wanted me dead, others supported me. Some Protestants wanted me gone, others upheld me. The truth was that it was not faith that determined loyalty to me. Faith was simply given as a reason for betrayal or loyalty, but each individual had their own thoughts and ideas, both about religion and my reign. Casting people into simple roles, based on faith, as though they were players enacting a scene, was not helpful. We had to compromise in order to live in peace, as God must surely have wanted for His children.

  But there were some who were less secure in their faith than I. Some who needed everyone to agree with them. People who require this kind of attention are the most insecure in their faith. Look to a man shouting that all will perish in the flames of Hell for their sins, and you find an unsound soul, quivering with uncertainty about his faith and hoping to conceal it under loud words, blazing eyes, hellfire and fury. Look to the quiet man if you want to see a creature secure in his beliefs. He has no need to shout, lay blame on others, or attack everyone. Christ was such a man; quiet, patient, kind and although he lost his temper occasionally, which offered me hope, as I was perpetually losing mine, he was in general a compassionate, clement, and enduring soul, who took time to explain his beliefs, and instil them in others, by demonstrating calm, godly and charming conduct.

  I had often thought that if the followers of Christ could actually follow the teachings of their own books, rather than make their own up as they went along, the world would be a peaceful place.

  I have also thought the word Christian should not be regarded as a noun. It is a verb. A ‘do’ word. Christians must act as Christ did if they are true to their beliefs.

  The patriotic nature of English Protestantism had been fuelled by a book. John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments was popular. It was hard to go a day without seeing someone carrying a copy about court. It was a list of Protestant martyrs who had died in my sister’s reign, and the tome spent some time criticizing my sister, England’s half-Spanish Queen, as well as her Spanish husband and the Pope. The fact that my sister had been also half-English, and had never set foot in Spain, mattered little to Foxe. Mary, to his eyes, was foreign, and this was emphasised in the tome. In this book, English Protestants had become the new Children of Israel, emerging from horror and bloodshed to a world of victory and harmony. The English were the elect of God, the chosen, and were assured places in Heaven.

  Whether this was true, I knew not. I would like to think that the Almighty would welcome my people, but I retained doubt about an elect of God. Besides, there were plenty of Protestants who argued different ideals, such as William Tyndale, the great translator who burned for his faith in the same year my mother died. Tyndale had claimed that access to Heaven is granted upon confession to God, repentance of sin and making amends for wrongs done in life. This seemed more rational than thinking there was a specific, pre-chosen elect of God, and only they were allowed to pass into Heaven, no matter what they did.

  That being said, there was much, too, that was irrational in the Catholic faith. Of all they rejected about Protestantism, I believe Catholics resented most the notion that God’s grace could not be manipulated for their own causes. Protestants were adamant about this. “That which we call fortune,” one of my bishops once wrote, “is nothing but the hand of God working by causes and for causes that we know not. Chance or fortune are gods devised by man.”

  I was disposed to think he had a point, but yet I understood the need people have to think they are exacting a measure of control over their lives. The world is chaos enough to grant anyone fear of it.

  Lay people mingled archaic Catholics beliefs with even more ancient ones, born of the pagan times of our ancestors, in order to alter their futures, banish sickness and gain good spouses. Boys still went singing for apples on the feast of St Valentine. Whitsun Lords ruled village festivals and ghosts and goblins haunted certain houses and forests, making travellers more wary of them than of thieves. Bullocks hearts would be stuck full of pins and thrust up a chimney to keep witches away, and bees swarming about a roof meant the occupier of the house was about to die. Shepherds would not count their spring lambs until all the ewes had birthed, as it would bring about disaster, and if the first lamb dropped was black of coat, or worse, twins with black coats, then misfortune was soon to come. Women tested the faithfulness of their lovers and husbands by putting apple pips into the fire. If they popped, all was well, if they burned in silence, he was false. People told tales of Welsh fairies who hid in foxgloves and rode small dogs like horses. Doctors presented toadstones, extracted from the heads of magical toads, to cure headaches and toothache, and farmers planted crops on Good Friday, assured the blood of the Lord would bring them fertility. Many observances were made, even if the observer knew it not, to the rites of our ancient ancestors.

  I had sympathy with this, for the thought that we are, in reality, wholly out of control of our lives, futures, and world, is a terrible one.

  For my part, I was sure God heard me when I prayed, but I was just as sure the Almighty had no intention of interceding on my behalf. God granted free will for a reason. He wanted to see what I would do with the blessings He offered. If He interceded every time He was called upon, how would we humans ever learn anything?

  Acts and Monuments had another benefit. One of its teachings was that literate people should ensure illiterate souls had the opportunity to hear not only the tales in Acts and Monuments, but stories of the Bible too. Since Acts and Monuments was a useful tool in showing my people the clemency of my rule compared to that of my sister, I ensured all parish churches had at least one copy. Its mission of teaching people to read grew and flourished. The result was that literacy was improving in England.

  But some men, like Cartwright, did not think the benefits that came from my Church were enough. He will have to remain unhappy, I thought. I was not about to make radical changes and upset the peace. My Church was, by necessity, a hybrid, and I thanked the Almighty for it. There were many times I became despondent about my religious settlement, but much more often I knew I had done right.

  And Cartwright was not the only one causing me headaches. On the other side of the Christian gulf there was another; the Pope. Something had to be done, and I had a mind as to what.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Whitehall Palace

  Summer 1570

  As summer dawned, a statement about my excommunication was issued. It was impossible to keep it silent anymore, and to try would only encourage others to nail it to more church doors. Wishing to keep my churches from looking as though an infestation of woodworms had descended, and to head off trouble, I issued my proclamation. Cecil did not like it. He thought I was showing weakness.

  “I thought it courageous, considering the circumstances,” I said mildly. “I will act not on the Pope’s tantrum, and will not punish my people for his misguided choices.”

  “Whereas certain rumours are carried and spread abroad among sundry Her Majesty’s servants that Her Majesty has caused, or will hereafter cause, inquisition and examination to be had of men’s consciences in matters of religion; Her Majesty would have it known that such reports are utterly untrue and grounded either of malice, or of some fear more than there is cause. For although certain persons have been lately convented before Her Majesty’s Council upon just causes, and that some of them have been treated withal upon some matter of religion, yet the cause thereof hath grown merely of themselves, in that they have first manifestly broken the laws established for religion in not coming at all to the Church, to common prayer and divine service… Wherefore Her Majesty would have her loving subjects to understand that, as long as they shall openly continu
e in the observation of her laws and shall not wilfully and manifestly break them by their open actions, Her Majesty’s meaning is not to have any of them molested by an inquisition or examination of their consciences in causes of religion, but will accept and entreat them as her good and obedient subjects. And if any shall otherwise by their open deeds and facts declare themselves wilfully disobedient to break her laws, then she cannot but use them according to their deserts, and will not forbear to inquire of their demeanours and of what mind and disposition they are, as by her laws Her Majesty shall find necessary.”

  The proclamation assured my people that nothing had changed. It said that as long as people turned up for Mass, used the Prayer Book, and did not plot against me, nothing would be done against them. It was a secret message, to all English Catholics, that as long as they upheld the law, they could do as they liked in their own homes, and in their own hearts.

  It was a testing time for my resolution. Everyone was anxious, Protestants because they feared invasion and unrest, and Catholics because they feared to be suspected of plotting against me. Refugees from the Low Countries and France, of which there were perhaps ten thousand in England by that time, spun tales of horror about the persecutions they had endured at the hand of Catholics in France and the Netherlands. My proclamation was intended to maintain national unity. I hoped it would work.