by G Lawrence
Dumbarton Castle had been held by Mary’s supporters since the start of the troubles in Scotland. As it transpired, Lennox’s men had succeeded by converting a deserter whose wife had been cruelly whipped by Lord Fleming, one of Mary’s men, and a small party of invaders snuck into the fortress on the Clyde. The castle was not easy to reach, or take, as it sat upon Dumbarton Rock, a strange little island, overlooking Dumbarton town. It was strategically important; control Dumbarton Castle, and one controlled the Clyde.
Attacking through mist, and although almost scared off by a will-o-wisp, the King’s Party had persevered. Their rousing cry, as they raced into the castle of “A Darnley! A Darnley!” was the only part of the escapade I found unpleasing, although Lennox, who visited some days later, no doubt found the call satisfying.
Not long after, however, and just as it appeared that civil war in Scotland might grind to a halt, Sir William Kirkcaldy of Grange, Keeper of Edinburgh Castle, defected from the King’s Party to the Queen’s. There began the “Lang Siege” as it was known, as Edinburgh was surrounded by Lennox’s men, and minor battles were fought around it.
“Perhaps you should be merry to think you are here, rather than there, coz,” I muttered to Mary as I stood at my window.
*
In mid-April a man was arrested by my port authorities. His name was Charles Bailly; a messenger sent by Ridolfi, bearing letters for the Bishop of Ross. Ridolfi sent word to Cecil two weeks before Bailly stepped ashore in England.
Ridolfi had sent him to us knowing he would be arrested. Bailly was our way of ‘discovering’ the plot without revealing Ridolfi as our agent. Bailly was a sacrifice.
Cecil had alerted port authorities to keep watch and search him upon arrival. His bags were found to contain a copy of A Treatise Concerning the Defence of the honour of Mary, Queen of Scotland, which granted cause for a deeper search. Coded letters to Ross were found. Bailly was arrested and sent to Marshalsea Prison.
But my wily Cecil was so far ahead of the game he might have written the rules…
Bailly’s cellmate was William Herle. He was no ordinary prisoner, but one of Cecil’s informants, and a deeply skilled agent. He told Bailly that his name was Doctor John Story, a name familiar to many, as he was a Catholic hero. The cell in which Bailly was held also had a great hole in its wall, though which he was able to talk to an Irish priest, a secretary of de Spes arrested for intrigue, and two servants of the Bishop of Ross. Had Bailly possessed a mind, he might have considered this was too good to be true.
And the fool talked. With Herle’s eager ears catching all, we were swiftly linking Mary to Norfolk and both of them to de Spes.
To keep Herle’s true identity a secret, Cecil went to Bailly to question him, and torture was threatened. Bailly confessed all he knew, which admittedly was not much. Bailly knew nothing of what was in the letters he carried, but he divulged that they were intended for English nobles, known to Bailly only by the code names ‘30’ and ‘40’. He had been told of Ridolfi’s meeting with Alba, and that the Duque had promised men and arms to invade England and free Mary.
Sent to the Tower of London, his cell was in the Beauchamp Tower. Bailly scratched a warning to others on the wall. “Be friend to no one. Be enemy to none. The most unhappy man in the world is he that is not patient with the adversaries they have, for men are not killed with the adversaries they have, but with the impatience they suffer.” He left an additional line in Italian, Gli sospiri ne sono testimoni veri dell’angoscia mia, My sighs are true witnesses to my sorrow.
Cecil went to the Bishop of Ross. Ross was questioned, his houses searched, and the Bishop was quickly scared enough to admit much. At first he tried to deflect the impending trouble, declaring Alba’s troops were to land in Scotland, to restore Mary to her throne. He protested ‘30’ and ’40’ were Mary and de Spes. Then, scared by the promise of torture, he admitted he had letters from Mary to Ridolfi, Phillip and Alba which detailed plans for funding an invasion of England.
Norfolk, Ross said, was the mysterious ‘40’ and ’30’ was Lord Lumley, a high-ranking Catholic courtier. Ridolfi had taken letters from Norfolk and Mary to the Pope, and Alba and Phillip had supported the idea of Norfolk marrying Mary. Ross said Norfolk had at first refused to countenance the invasion plan, but with the help of de Spes, he had been persuaded. Alba was to land on English soil at Harwich with six thousand arquebusiers, three thousand horse, and twenty-five pieces of field artillery. Forty Catholic lords of England had promised a further twenty thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry. Two thousand men would be sent to Scotland, and the same number to Ireland, to act as diversions.
“My cousin clearly needs to think more about the men she chooses to trust,” I said to Cecil. “You would think, after Darnley and Bothwell, she would be more cautious. The Bishop of Ross has all but condemned her.”
“Her own actions have condemned her, Majesty.”
“There is no solid proof, Cecil. Mary has set nothing on paper. You only have the Bishop’s word that she is embroiled.”
Cecil fell silent. He knew I was right.
At the same time as dispatching Bailly, Ridolfi sent something to Walsingham. It was a copy of the cipher Ridolfi used to communicate with his co-conspirators. Walsingham made a copy for himself and sent the original to Cecil.
The coded letters made hideous reading. They outlined the plan to assassinate me and place Mary on my throne. The one spark of good news was that France was not implicated. My efforts to persuade them I was in earnest about Anjou had paid off.
And there was more to comfort me. Despite Ross’ firm belief in the Duque, Alba did not trust Ridolfi. The number of Catholic lords willing to support Mary was also far smaller than estimated in the letters.
But the central figure in all this, Mary, remained elusive.
Many letters intercepted from Mary to other plotters were ambiguous at best. The recipients were not named, and whilst she thanked them for working for her restoration, she did not openly support plans to depose me. There was talk about suppressing “our usurping and underserved foes,” and quenching “the rage of erroneous tyrants,” but Mary had been cautious. The evidence against her was, at present, partial, based largely on supposition and innuendo.
And Cecil knew it.
“How much longer, Cecil?” I asked one night. I was growing increasingly anxious. Dark terrors assailed me. Would it not be safer to arrest the English traitors now? I wondered.
“Not long, Majesty. Soon we will have all we need. It is suggested in these coded letters that Alba will be sent detailed instructions soon by his master, and they will be sent to Mary. If Mary responds, we will have all we need.”
“I know not how much longer I can pretend all is well.”
“You are a skilled player, my lady. Keep courage. It will not be long now.”
Back in April, when Parliament had sat, Thomas Norton, the Lord Keeper, had claimed I was the “only pillar and stay of all our kingdom”.
Whilst it was beneficial for people to believe this, it was not wholly true. Cecil, Walsingham, and the brave men and women who worked for them, never expecting nor receiving recognition for the risks they took, were the true pillars of England.
Chapter Forty-Five
Richmond Palace
Spring 1571
As I attempted to pretend that I was not scared out of my wits, I had poor news. John Dee was sick.
He had recently returned from a trip abroad, where as well as gathering equipment in the Duchy of Lorraine for alchemy experimentation, he had also been gathering information for Cecil.
Travellers learn a great deal. There is an insistent need in all people to tell stories, and since travellers come with a fresh-minded innocence about the lands they visit, they hear the best tales. I had sent Dee on a passport with two of his servants as he needed equipment to aid him in his quest to make gold from base metals. I trusted Dee to do his utmost. Alchemy had not been profitable for me in t
he past, but if anyone could succeed, it was Dee. But in addition to this task, he had been making contacts with useful men in other lands.
When sending covert communications to court, Dee used the insignia of 007, and we sent word to him using the same symbol. Dee had chosen it, and always wrote it in a certain way, stretching the top of the seven so it roamed across the top of the double O’s. The stretched seven could be seen as a mathematical symbol, demonstrating his link to that art. Seven was also a sacred cabbalistic number, and a lucky one. The twin circles represented a pair of eyes. Dee was demonstrating he was my lucky charm, and my eyes about the world. In this sense, it was also an honour done to Robin, whose pet name was my Eyes, showing that Dee was an extension of my sweet Robin.
After he had reported to Cecil, Dee passed on a dispatch from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who had entertained Ridolfi en route to Rome. The Duke was concerned there was a plot against me, and had written with all the details he had gleaned. It was nice to know we had one firm friend in Europe.
Returning to his house, enthused to begin work, Dee had set to task, but many of the substances he was using were dangerous. He became sick, and it seemed serious.
Hearing of his frail condition and crippling pain, I dispatched doctors to his home at Mortlake and a little later when I heard my physicians were doing him good, I sent Mary Sidney, Robin’s sister, to Dee.
“He was very weak, Majesty,” said Mary from behind her heavy veil when she returned. “But he was heartened by the treats Your Majesty sent.”
Mary had nursed me some years ago when I had smallpox, and had caught the sickness herself. Since then, she had only seen the world from behind her veil. Once one of the most beautiful women of court, the disease had robbed her of her looks.
“You are a good woman,” I said. “And you have done well.”
I kept an anxious eye on Dee, and was wracked with guilt. Although he had been keen to take on the experiments, it had been a commission from me. I had encouraged him, and he had responded. I could not help but think had I not been so enthused, he might not be so ill.
“Nonsense, Majesty,” Robin said. “Dee only requires the slightest excuse to throw himself headlong into a task. He is like you, Majesty, completely addicted to work. You might have encouraged him, but he would have done the same anyway.”
“You always know how to comfort me,” I said.
But there was good news for some. It was strange that it should come because of bad news for others, but that is often the way of things.
In May, Anne Bourchier had died. She had been the wife of my uncle by marriage, William Parr, but they had been long separated. Her continued existence had meant Parr was unable to marry again without the union being called into question, as many did not hold that his annulment had been legal. But death released him, and finally he was able to honourably offer marriage to a lady he had loved long and faithful, and who loved him in return.
“I am delighted for you both,” I said to Parr and Helena Snakenborg when they came to ask permission to wed. “I know how innocent and honest your affection has been, and how long you have waited.”
“I would not wish to give up my position with you, Majesty, unless you insist upon it,” Helena said.
“I shall want you at my side as ever you have been,” I said with great affection. “And more than this, when you marry, I shall offer you my own closet in Whitehall for the ceremony, and attend personally, if you will have me as one of your witnesses?”
“We would be honoured beyond measure, Majesty,” breathed Parr, knowing how high a token of favour my offer was.
“Uncle,” I said warmly. “It would be my pleasure.”
Parr was fifty-seven to Helena’s twenty-two. It was striking that no one commented on the disparity between their ages, whereas there had been nothing but comment on the age difference between Anjou and me. But that is the way of the world, is it not? Women are seen as more valuable when they are flushed with the beauty of youth and the potential for many children.
What the world does not see is that older women, mature in intellect, and secure in themselves, as the young so often pretend to be yet are not, are the true movers and shakers of the world.
Chapter Forty-Six
Greenwich Palace
Late Spring 1571
That spring, Drake slipped out of England again. Although this voyage was not as secretive as his first, he went with as little show as possible. Backed by investors, he was making for the Caribbean in his ship, the Swan, and was to work with French corsairs.
“Spank the Spanish soundly for me, Drake,” I murmured in his ear as he bowed. “I want to hear Phillip’s screams of rage from my gardens.”
Drake promised he would do me proud, although in truth what he was up to was further reconnaissance. Little skirmishes to upset the King of Spain were all very well, but I wanted a grander scheme. This needed some work, as English maps of the New World were not the most accurate. Drake was to gather information on Spanish bullion routes, but he also had plans for the treasure house of Nombre de Dios.
Drake made for Panama, looking for quick returns for his investors, and working on long-term plans for me.
*
Parliament was like an ant warren under threat from a spider that year; frantic and febrile.
Hot on the trail of all that had happened, and with the Pope and Mary of Scots in mind, their priority was Catholics and how to deal with them. That year, to emphasise their loyalty, every Member had to swear the Oath of Succession anew before taking a seat. If any were found to be embroiled with Mary and Norfolk, the reiteration of the Oath would be their undoing.
Parliament swung into discussion. Some wanted Mary struck from the succession altogether, but I would not allow it. If Mary was excluded, that might affect James, and he was being raised a Protestant in a country presently allied to England. There was no sense in making his path to the throne harder than it had to be.
I considered him my heir. I would not name him, but he was my hope.
Other issues also not to my liking were brought up. There was a strong Puritan element in Parliament that year. I could not help but note the strength of their numbers, especially amongst the young and easily led.
Youth is the time when unbounded passion consumes us. It is too strong for us to contain. If it finds not release through love, it will find it in faith.
The irritating Puritans wanted further Church reform; bishops’ powers reduced, wedding rings banned and the abolishment of kneeling at Communion, church decorations, decorated altars, copes and surplices. With this in mind, they sent in a bill for discussion.
The first part of the bill argued that exemptions should no more be made which allowed men to hear Mass in their own homes. Anyone above the rank of gentleman was permitted to do this. Many Members agreed with the Puritans, saying no man should be treated differently to another in England… a ridiculous thought. There was no equality in England; none between the sexes and none between different men. If there were, there would be no nobility and no royalty, no rich and no poor, and however blissful such a goal might appear to those who had nothing, it was not the way God made the world, and, had the Members thought about it, was not a world any of them would have truly accepted, since they might have had to share their wealth.
The second part of the bill was worse. They wanted it to be made law that everyone in England must come to Communion and take the sacrament at least once a year. They had the support of many bishops and my traitorous Council, but I stood firm… because I saw straight through their veil of subterfuge.
Catholics who wanted to remain secret had kept their privacy by worshipping in private. Some of them also attended Protestant Mass, but those who could not reconcile themselves to it stayed away, and paid a fine, which I kept deliberately small. Some Catholics who absconded repeatedly from the Mass could be subject to loss of property, but there were well-known ways to get around the punishment. They could lease or se
ll their land to trusted family members, and avoid confiscation, gaining their property back later, when they were not in danger… as long as the trusted family members could, indeed, be trusted.
But to force people to Communion was a means to uncover Catholics, and to stop men worshipping in their own homes was a way to call out the Catholic nobility, such as the Earls of Arundel, Surrey, Northumberland and Rutland, or some of the Howards. Uniformity Laws already made it law for all to attend Protestant ceremonies, but they were not strictly enforced. Puritans wanted me to enforce the law, thereby branding all who failed to attend not only as Catholics, but traitors.
I had more sympathy with Catholics than I had with Puritans. Catholics were torn between loyalty to me and Rome. Puritans should have been grateful to have such a monarch as I bestowed upon them, and have done with their complaints. Tolerance was a most misunderstood virtue, but I would teach it to my people.
I was not about to allow loyal English Catholics to be singled out, ripe for punishment by paranoid people. Still less would I allow men to use the Commons as a tool to undermine my authority, masking their rebellion of power under a pageant of religious reform.
