The Heart of a King: The infamous reign of Elizabeth I (The Tudor Saga Series Book 6)

by David Field

  It was therefore with some trepidation that Cecil sought audience with Elizabeth and found himself, instead, alone with his cousin Blanche Parry.

  ‘Where is your mistress?’ he asked.

  Blanche gestured towards the dividing doorway. ‘In there, dressing for the day’s business, beginning with your morning audience.’

  ‘Will she be long, think you?’

  ‘Long enough. She takes great care with her many layers of garments.’

  ‘Dear cousin,’ Cecil said softly, ‘sit here with me for a short while, for I have something of great matter to discuss with you.’

  They took a seat on the banquette under the window and Cecil placed an urgent hand on Blanche’s sleeve.

  ‘You have heard the rumours, of course?’

  Blanche dropped her gaze and blushed. ‘Regarding my Lady and Robert Dudley?’

  ‘Are there any other rumours?’ Cecil grimaced. ‘In truth, I hear nothing else, from my Steward to my stable groom, all agog with the prospect that I know more than I am telling. So what do you know that you are not telling, cousin?’

  Blanche continued to blush, but remained silent and Cecil came at the issue from another direction.

  ‘The chamber that lies between Elizabeth’s and Robert’s — it is empty, is it not?’ When Blanche reluctantly nodded, Cecil pursued his line of questioning. ‘Why do you not occupy it? It was surely intended that someone such as the Queen’s Senior Lady would be accommodated in there, that she might be in attendance on her mistress at any hour of day or night?’

  This prompted a reluctant nod from Blanche. ‘This was the original intent, no doubt, but in truth I have never occupied that chamber, since as you know I have my own suite of rooms on the floor below. It is being held empty in prospect of royal children, should there be any.’

  ‘It is kept locked on both sides?’ Again Blanche nodded, but her expression became more furtive as she anticipated the next question. ‘And the keys thereto?’

  ‘With the Chamberlain, but...’ She bit her lip and lowered her head even further.

  ‘But what, Blanche?’ Cecil demanded sternly. ‘We both serve Elizabeth, but we would both best serve her by your revealing the truth.’

  Blanche’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It may not be truth, but rumour has it that my Lady has a spare set, on a string that she wears around her neck and close to her skin under her chemise, that none may see it.’

  ‘None but those who are in there as we speak, dressing her?’

  ‘Yes. She ordered new servants of the wardrobe some weeks ago and when I questioned why I was being excluded from those duties she claimed that it was to preserve my dignity as her Senior Lady.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Cecil muttered, just as there was movement from the inner doorway and Elizabeth appeared, dressed as if for a day among her Courtiers. She held her hand out for Cecil to kiss like any other Courtier, then took her usual seat at the table set for breakfast, while Blanche scuttled away with her head down, after muttering that she would order food from the kitchen.

  ‘Is this breakfast or dinner, Your Majesty?’ Cecil asked pointedly.

  Elizabeth shot a defiant look back at him. ‘I obviously over-slept, but is that such a sin?’

  ‘That rather depends upon what led to it, does it not?’ Cecil replied guardedly, ‘and you will forgive me for my presumption, but there are ugly rumours in circulation regarding why you might require to sleep late. On the subject of which, where is Robert?’

  ‘I will forgive your impertinence, given our long friendship, Cecil, but am I to assume that you have also succumbed to those rumours?’

  ‘I had hoped to obtain Robert’s guidance, as a soldier, as to what we must do to assist our friends in Scotland.’

  ‘I was not aware that we had any and Robert has not been in battle since his last hopeless foray into the Low Countries at the side of Philip of Spain. You surely do not expect me to commission him back onto his warhorse?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but it were best discussed when he is present. When do you expect him?’

  ‘By the hour. He has merely ridden to organise his house in Kew, ahead of an anticipated visit by his wife. The second this year.’

  ‘You resent her?’ Cecil asked suspiciously.

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I am not one of those who you may undo with sideways questions, Cecil. At least while Robert has a wife, those ugly rumours to which you refer cannot grow into wild suggestions that we are about to wed. Although that would relieve me of one of the more tedious unresolved matters of which you are no doubt here to remind me. If so, this will be a brief conversation. But given that the food is arriving in front of us, please join me.’

  It was some minutes and several helpings of cheese and manchet loaf, later that Elizabeth recalled their earlier conversation.

  ‘You have news from Scotland?’

  ‘Indeed, Your Majesty, and of the gravest. As you will know, Queen Mary now holds both it and France in her Catholic grip and our Protestant friends in Scotland are seeking our aid in driving out the French troops brought in by the Regent Mary of Guise. They have recruited to their cause the former Scottish Regent James Hamilton, the Earl of Arran, who is distantly related to Mary but resents that the Scottish crown belongs to her and not himself. He is also a Protestant and has written to me offering a permanent peace and a final end to the so-called “Auld Alliance” with France if we will send English troops to enable him to retake Edinburgh, overthrow the Guise faction and rid Scotland forever of French men-at-arms.’

  Elizabeth’s face lit up. ‘This is good, is it not?’ she asked.

  ‘It would be, Your Majesty, had we the money with which to equip an army.’

  The page announced Robert Dudley’s entry and he threw himself into a vacant chair and reached across the table for the wine jug.

  ‘Cecil here is just advising me that we have no money to raise an army,’ Elizabeth told him.

  ‘Are we being invaded?’

  Cecil shook his head. ‘We are being invited to invade Scotland.’

  ‘Presumably not by the Scots?’ Robert conjectured with a truculent grin.

  ‘Some of them, anyway,’ Cecil replied. ‘They style themselves “The Lords of the Congregation” and they are united in their wish to see the Church in that nation governed by presbyteries, in defiance of Catholicism. They have converted the Earl of Arran, the former Protector and Regent of the French Queen Mary and he seeks our support to drive the French and all their ambitions out of Scotland. This would mean a friendly Protestant nation to our north and an end to the pernicious alliance between Scotland and France that has ever been a thorn in our side.’

  ‘But Cecil also advises me that we have no money to raise an army,’ Elizabeth added.

  Robert’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘I would be honoured to raise a force in your name, my sweet, and allow my men to sack Edinburgh in order to reward themselves, thereby avoiding the need to pay them from the royal coffers.’

  Cecil sighed. ‘You are two hundred years too late for that, Robert. Our forebears may have conducted warfare in that manner, living off the conquered lands and bringing back plunder and hostages, but this will be a matter of State. A royal army commissioned in the Queen’s name, bearing the battle banners of England and handing over any captured wealth to the Exchequer. How many men could you raise on those terms?’

  ‘Whether it be a hundred, or thirty thousand,’ Elizabeth asserted forcefully, ‘he is not going. I forbid it!’

  It fell silent as both men dealt with their embarrassment and it was Cecil who recovered first, when he remembered an earlier conversation in a hallway.

  ‘If I might suggest the Duke of Norfolk, Your Majesty? He is Earl Marshall of England and your Lieutenant of the North. He has a sizeable following under his own livery and would be the most appropriate man to lead an army over the Scottish border in your name. I am tempted to add that should he lose his life in the process, then your Co
uncil would be rid of one of its more irritating members.’

  Elizabeth smiled despite herself, leaving only Robert with a sour expression on his face as he saw the prospect of military glory slipping from his grasp.

  ‘It shall be as you advise, Cecil,’ Elizabeth announced. ‘Have him commissioned without delay.’

  ‘And what of me?’ Robert asked petulantly.

  Elizabeth reached out to grip his hand. ‘You have duties closer to home, Robert, since I thought we might transfer to Windsor for a few days, from where we can organise a hunt. I am advised by the Chamberlain that Whitehall needs to be aired and sweetened, and since I have sent my Council to reflect on their impertinence over the matter of a royal marriage there is nothing to detain me here.’

  For three months, from March to July of 1560, the English forces led by Thomas Howard laid siege to Leith. They seemed to be making little progress until they were greatly assisted by the death of Mary of Guise, in response to which the French seemed to lose heart and Howard was able to return home triumphant, bearing the English copy of the Treaty of Edinburgh, under which the French undertook to remove themselves from Scotland, which was henceforth to be governed by a Reformation Parliament in the name of its absentee Queen Mary. Scotland entered into a new peace treaty with England that was to replace the Auld Alliance with France and from this position of strength Elizabeth was able to secure, via her Ambassador in France Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, a further treaty of non-aggression with France itself.

  Back in London for a brief family visit following his success in Paris, the English Ambassador to France, Nicholas Throckmorton, was invited to dinner with Cecil at his private house in The Strand.

  ‘Thanks to you there will now be less French dishes served up in Edinburgh,’ Cecil told him.

  Throckmorton smiled. ‘Indeed, I was at the Palais du Louvre when the French commanders came wandering back with their tails between their legs. I could tell from the general malaise around the Palace that the French had lost their enthusiasm for supporting Scotland and was by this means able to persuade them to accede to an end to the Auld Alliance.’

  ‘For which the whole of England and most importantly Her Majesty, will forever be in your debt,’ Cecil acknowledged. ‘But think you not that we might play the French at their own game?’

  ‘Your meaning?’

  ‘How strong is the Protestant faction in France?’

  ‘Growing by the week, as more and more of those of the Calvinist belief flock into Paris to avoid persecution by the Guise brothers in the more rural and therefore Catholic, areas. They are known collectively as “Huguenots” and they have benefitted considerably from the more tolerant policies of that old battle-axe the Queen Dowager Catherine de Medici. It’s all to do with the age-old feud between the Bourbons and the House of Lorraine, with which I will not bore you, but the Guise faction at the French Court — the irredeemable Catholics — have fallen somewhat from favour since the sister died in Edinburgh and the rival House of Bourbon has gained ascendency under Louis, Prince of Condé, who is a leading light of the Calvinist faith and therefore the Huguenot cause. But I see your eyes glazing over, my friend — do I proceed too quickly for you?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Cecil replied, ‘it was like listening to one of my own perorations before the Privy Council. But do I take from what you have said that these Huguenots would benefit greatly from English support?’

  ‘Undoubtedly, but do you propose to occupy Paris, as the French occupied Edinburgh?’

  ‘Clearly not,’ Cecil replied, ‘but presumably, were England to supply money and perhaps a few closely disguised agents, into your control, this would assist the Huguenot cause and thereby further undermine the Catholic rule in France?’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Throckmorton assured him.

  ‘This House of Bourbon of which you speak,’ Cecil continued, ‘does it have within it any princes of the royal blood that we might consider as a husband for our own dear Queen?’

  ‘There are the younger Valois brothers, Henry of Anjou and Francis of Alençon, whose brother Francis is currently King of France, with the Scots Mary as his consort. They are notional Catholics, but known to be tolerant of the Huguenots, if only in order that they may enjoy a quiet life.’

  ‘So they would be unlikely to disapprove of Elizabeth’s preference for religious tolerance?’

  ‘Quite the opposite, my lord. They would applaud it. Do I detect that you wish me to sound out the possibility of marriage between one of these two princes and our own Queen?’

  ‘If you could persuade either — or indeed both — of them to offer their hand in marriage to Elizabeth, then not only would it silence a few strident voices in Council, but it would serve as a further public insult to Philip of Spain, while perhaps hosing down the flames of passion between Elizabeth and another less suitable.’

  ‘You speak of Robert Dudley?’

  ‘Dear God, have the rumours even travelled across to France?’ Cecil groaned.

  Throckmorton shook his head. ‘I heard it from my wife’s Steward when I returned to visit her in her sickness. I regret that my intelligence service in France is not so well developed.’

  ‘So you would also welcome further recruits into the web you must weave to support the Huguenot cause?’

  ‘Indeed I would, my lord. Have you someone in mind?’

  ‘I do, although it will be for you to train him in matters of subtle enquiry and underhand dealing. He has approached my office several times seeking preferment and he is both skilled in law and so steeped in the Protestant cause that he was forced to flee into exile in Switzerland on the accession of the late Queen Mary. He speaks many of the languages of Europe, including French. His name is Francis Walsingham.’

  VI

  Cecil sat staring, unseeing, through the open door to his temporary chamber on the ground floor of the State Apartments at Windsor Castle, where he seemed destined to spend many months due to another outbreak of plague in London. His brain was spinning with the implications of the news that had been brought to him of Amy Dudley’s death, and the suggestion that Robert had pushed her down the stairs. The rumour was now ringing around the Castle like a fanfare. Robert Dudley had received the news privately via his Steward, Thomas Blount and had immediately gone into virtual seclusion at his house in Kew, refusing to receive even messengers from Cecil, such was reported to be his grief and anguish.

  Whichever it was and howsoever Amy Dudley had come to die, the consequences would be momentous. On the one hand, Cecil mused, his scheming to interest Elizabeth in the hand of some royal prince — and preferably a French one — would suffer a massive set-back now that her adored Robert was free to marry. Not only that, but if she continued to show him such favour, including his recent elevation to the Order of the Garter, his growing unpopularity might flare into rebellion, no doubt led by Thomas Howard, who Cecil could ill afford to oppose on Robert’s behalf, given his proven and ongoing ability to raise an army.

  But there was another and darker, way of reading the situation. What if Amy had been killed by Robert, or at least on his order? What if his motivation had been to leave him free to marry Elizabeth and become her consort? Could either of the loving couple survive such a scandal, and might Robert not then be assassinated, either by someone who heartily detested him, or someone who thought it best for England and its reputation abroad, if Dudley were dead? And might his demise be skilfully linked with a rebellion against Elizabeth’s reign by disaffected Catholics?

  He looked up as a page appeared in his doorway, resplendent from head to foot in the royal livery. Cecil anticipated his message. ‘You come from the Queen?’

  ‘No, Master Secretary, from her Senior Lady Mistress Parry. She bids you attend upon her urgently and she is in the Withdrawing Chamber above.’

  Cecil lost no time in answering the summons and found Blanche pacing backwards and forwards across the carpet, wringing her hands like a washerwoman and muttering something u
nder her breath. As she caught sight of Cecil, she ran over to him and grabbed his hands pleadingly. ‘Dearest cousin, what are we to do?’ she moaned.

  ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘Have you not heard the dreadful tidings? Amy Dudley is dead, seemingly at the hand of another and rumour is rife that it was Robert’s doing.’

  ‘Where is your mistress?’ Cecil asked sharply as he finally realised that they were alone.

  Blanche jerked her head backwards. ‘In her Bedchamber, bawling her eyes out. She will see no-one, not even me, and she refuses either food or drink.’

  ‘That will assist no-one,’ Cecil replied firmly. ‘Go in there and bring her out.’

  ‘I dare not, William — in her present humour she would have me hanged!’

  ‘Then let us see if she’ll put to death her Secretary of State,’ Cecil replied as he strode towards the dividing door.

  Blanche screamed at him to come back, just as the doorway in question filled to the sight of Elizabeth, her hair tousled and hanging loosely to her shoulders, dressed only in a long nightgown, red at the eyes and nose and with bare feet. She smiled weakly at Cecil. ‘I will preserve you from the risk of losing your head, Master Secretary. And more to the point, I will also preserve my maidenly reputation from further ribald rumours regarding who enters my Bedchamber.’

  Blanche gave a squawk of disapproval and squeezed past Elizabeth into the bedchamber, re-emerging seconds later with a long cloak that she draped over the nightgown and a pair of silver-embroidered pattens that she stooped to force onto Elizabeth’s feet.

  Cecil walked calmly towards Elizabeth, took one of her hands in his and led her towards the fire that had been lit three hours earlier. ‘On this occasion I will not presume to pass comment on your late rising,’ he jested lightly as he pressed her gently down into one of the padded chairs before the fire. ‘I presume that the cause of your distress is the news regarding Amy Dudley?’

  ‘What must I do, Cecil?’ Elizabeth wailed pathetically. ‘They are already laying the deed at Robert’s door and how long before I am also implicated? Help me, Cecil!’