by David Field
‘You employ pirates to challenge the right of Spain to exclusive passage across the oceans of the world and when my master insists that these thieves be handed over for trial in my country, you refuse to comply!’
‘I was not aware that I was answerable to the King of Spain for the legitimate actions of English mariners when their vessels are attacked without just cause,’ Elizabeth replied coldly. ‘And if you are referring to Captains Drake and Hawkins, I can advise you — since it would seem that the true facts have been withheld from you — that they were acting solely in their own defence when attacked without lawful justification by Spanish ships.’
‘They stole much gold!’ de Spes shouted, even redder in the face. ‘Gold that should now rightfully be in the hands of my master.’
‘As I understand the matter,’ Elizabeth replied coolly, keeping the smile from her face, ‘that gold would now be on the bottom of the ocean, since it was on board several vessels that my sailors were obliged to sink in order to preserve their own lives and those of their crews.’
‘They had no right to be where they were,’ de Spes insisted, ‘since those waters belong to Spain.’
‘I had always assumed that the only king they belong to is Neptune,’ Elizabeth jested as the smile finally broke through. ‘Has your master recently acquired the use of a trident and learned to breathe underwater?’
‘Do not jest in this matter,’ de Spes replied angrily, ‘since my master claims title to all the seas on which Spanish ships have sailed.’
‘And the seas that they have not sailed?’ Elizabeth countered, to which de Spes had no answer. Taking advantage of his silence, Elizabeth pressed her point. ‘No one monarch can claim to rule the oceans, Ambassador. England insists on its right to plough the seas in the course of legitimate trade with other nations and will not be deterred in this by acts of aggression on the part of your sea captains. You may so advise your master, while adding that should ownership of sea lanes depend upon which nation sails them first, then Spain shall soon learn to its cost that England has the braver navigators and explorers. If there is nothing else, good day to you. And see to it that you bow on future occasions.’
A few minutes later, Elizabeth was joined at the supper table by Blanche Parry and complaining about the looseness of another tooth, when the arrival of Robert Dudley was announced. Elizabeth rose from the table and hurried to meet him, kissing his cheek and steering him to the table by his arm.
‘I’ve missed you, where have you been? There’s so much to tell you, particularly about the woman I almost had you married off to. If you’d done my bidding, she wouldn’t be posing such a threat to England now.’
‘And I wouldn’t be free to take supper with you here at Whitehall, would I?’ Robert replied flippantly as he took the seat next to hers. ‘As it happened, I dined with Cecil — at his request no less — earlier today and he told me of the mischief that the woman is waging up north. I had of course known of the uprising, since it was what we mostly talked about when I was last here. As for what has kept me from your side since then, I am in the middle of repairing my castle at Kenilworth, which has fallen into grievous ruin in recent years. When it is finally completed, you must visit me and bring the Court with you — it will be splendid enough for that purpose, I warrant.’
‘I wish you to return to Plymouth without delay, Robert,’ Elizabeth insisted.
‘Whatever you wish,’ Robert replied breezily. ‘Master Hawkins has more keels laid and will soon have a fleet worthy of the name with which to defend our shores.’
‘And where is Master Drake?’
‘Resting in Plymouth, ahead of his intended voyage around the globe. It seems that he no longer lacks the funds.’
‘This is good,’ Elizabeth confirmed. ‘I wish you to lose no time in advising him that while we can commit no finance to his venture, he goes with my blessing and may fly the English flag from his stern wherever he journeys. In particular he is to take no nonsense from the Spanish. He sails in the name of England and its Queen.’
‘What did the Queen say?’ Tom asked breathlessly as he followed Cecil towards his inner office, where another man sat waiting for them. Cecil waved his arm in the air for Tom to come inside, then pointed to the remaining seat.
‘You will need to work harder for your coveted estate, Tom Ashton, but all is not lost. You are to journey to Bolton Castle, wherever that may prove to be and you are to do so in the company of this man. His name is Francis Walsingham and he is twice as skilled in underhand dealing as you, particularly since he does not go about it by seducing innocent maids. Francis, this is the young rogue I mentioned briefly before attending upon the Queen.’
Tom held out his hand, which Walsingham ignored, although he nodded in recognition of the gesture. Tom looked back at Cecil with raised eyebrows and a pained expression. ‘Why must I journey away again, what reason did the Queen give for not granting me my estate now, for the valuable work I have already done and why am I condemned to work alongside a man who will not even shake my hand?’
‘That is something else you must earn, Tom Ashton,’ Walsingham replied with a soft but confident voice. ‘I know nothing of you other than what Cecil here tells me and it is not good. If you prove to be as devious, treacherous and debauched a man as Cecil has described, then we are destined never to shake hands. If, however, you can employ your depraved talents in my service without covering me in your own shame, then perhaps we might get on well enough.’
‘Cecil obvious did not also advise you that I am a changed man,’ Tom protested. ‘Nor am I a man who takes kindly to being so insulted. I withdraw my offer to shake your hand and will only replace it when I deem it appropriate.’
‘This is most amusing,’ Cecil smirked, ‘but perhaps the pair of you could arrange to bicker like country neighbours at some other time, since I have an important mission for you both.’ It fell silent and Cecil continued. ‘I’ve been busy and have already made arrangements for Tom to enter service at Bolton Castle. I seem to recall that he has experience and skill with horses, so he’ll be employed as a stable groom and will report anything he learns to Francis, who will then take steps to confirm its veracity.’
‘Why will that be necessary?’ Tom bristled. ‘Do you not trust in what I may be told by Jenny Spittell?’
Cecil nodded towards Walsingham. ‘Tell him, Francis.’
Walsingham smiled unpleasantly as he explained, ‘It seems to me, and Cecil agrees with me, that you may be the victim of subterfuge yourself, young man. He and I have a wealth of experience in underhand dealings and with all due deference to your past successes with simple young country girls, this latest one sounds too confident by half. She has wormed herself into your confidence with ease, playing you at your own game and may seek to use you, either by passing on information that is false, or by gaining knowledge, through you, of what arrangements Queen Elizabeth has made to spy on her. For that reason I will be lodging in nearby towns, posing as a merchant of some description. When you confide in me what you may be told by this Mistress Spittell, it will be my duty to investigate it further.’
Tom opened his mouth to protest, then realised that he would probably be wasting his time. He’d go along with it until such time as both men who were employing him came to realise that he was not being duped and that the least reward the Queen could give him for his invaluable underhanded work was an estate large enough to impress Jenny’s father.
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few other urgent matters to attend to, but we shall meet again in here first thing on the morrow,’ Cecil told them by way of a polite request for them to leave, which they did. The mutual antipathy between Tom and Walsingham that had already begun to manifest itself was further underlined when, upon leaving Cecil’s chambers, they stalked off in different directions.
The following morning, shortly after breakfast, they sat back in the chamber in which they had been introduced the previous afternoon, waiting for the arriv
al of Cecil and avoiding eye contact. After over half an hour of excruciating silence their discomfort was ended as Cecil busted into the inner chamber, bleary eyed and in urgent need of a barber.
‘I have barely slept, so please do nothing to further invoke my ill humour,’ he snarled as he threw himself into the chair behind his desk, before extracting a crumpled sheet of vellum from his tunic and handing it to Walsingham. ‘These directions will guide you both to Bolton Castle, which you can approach by way of Barnards Castle. You are expected there and Tom should report to Sir Francis Knollys, whom the Queen has appointed as Mary’s custodian, although the castle itself belongs to Baron Scrope. Francis, it would be best were you to avoid abiding in the same inn for more than a few days at a time, since it would ill suit your pose as a merchant. But of course you must let Tom know where you may be found at any given time.’
‘I know my duties and how properly to conduct them,’ Walsingham growled and Cecil glared at him through red-ringed eyes.
‘I do not doubt that, else you would not have been commissioned for a task that has now become all the more urgent.’
‘What task?’ Walsingham asked.
Cecil seemed to sag as he replied, ‘The Pope has excommunicated Elizabeth, which is why I have enjoyed little sleep. I have yet to convey the grim tidings to the Queen herself.’
Walsingham snorted derisively. ‘Why should she — or any of us — concern ourselves if that over-fed, self-opinionated and blasphemous monk has taken to waving bell, book and candle in her direction?’
Cecil sighed. ‘Clearly, not for that reason alone. But he has also absolved all her subjects from any obedience to her commands and has threatened excommunication to anyone who does obey her. This can only inspire the Catholics of this nation, of which there are still far too many and it makes the Catholic Mary the obvious icon around whom to unfurl their banners of rebellion. Your mission has suddenly become all the more vital for England.’
XVI
They had been on the road for over a week, with barely a word between them. Walsingham had kept his mount slightly ahead of Tom’s, whether in order to more accurately follow the crude map with which Cecil had supplied him, or to avoid conversation with his travelling companion, it was difficult to tell. Not that Tom was in the mood for conversation anyway — he was still brooding deeply over the seeming disregard for the valuable information that Cecil had been able to pass on to the Queen and the fact that he was returning to Jenny’s side without a better estate of his own.
Even when they were obliged to break their monotonous journey overnight at some wayside inn or another, Walsingham had seemed disinclined to talk, citing the need for discretion in all their actions and conversations and taking himself off to their shared chamber so early in the evening that Tom had been able to hear his snores well before he opened the chamber door to take his own rest for the night.
However, once they were two days north of Lincoln Walsingham was obliged to say something, given the sickening sights that met their eyes. More than one isolated village appeared to have been consumed by fire and every country crossroad they came to had retained the rotting and grisly remains of men, women and even children who had clearly been hanged some weeks previously.
‘Should you ever have cause to doubt the importance of the mission on which you have been sent,’ Walsingham muttered grimly as they held their breath against the stench from the latest collection, hanging in the faint breeze and crawling with flies, ‘then cast your mind back to scenes such as this.’
‘Who are they?’ Tom asked, sick to the stomach.
‘It is more a case of who were they,’ Walsingham replied with a knowing grimace. ‘While I cannot give you their names, I can all but guarantee that they were once Catholics.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Tom asked.
Walsingham shrugged. ‘Almost everyone this far north is of the old faith, blindly following the heretical preachings of the fat Bishop of Rome. This is why it was so easy for the rebels to recruit men in the cause of the pretender, the Scots Mary. What we are passing almost hourly is Elizabeth’s response; while they may not have fought for the treasonous cause personally — and certainly their wives and children would not have done — it doesn’t matter to her. They are Catholic, this is Catholic country and the message must be spread without mercy that support for either Rome or Mary Stuart can only mean death.’
‘The Queen is crueller that I had been led to believe by Cecil,’ Tom mumbled in horror as he watched the decomposing remains of a young girl slip from an inadequate rope and slither to the ground, where they received immediate attention from a pack of ravening dogs.
‘The Queen is fearful for her own life, which is why she displays such cruelty, in the hope that it will discourage others,’ Walsingham replied, apparently without any emotion. ‘She fears rebellion because she has witnessed so many in her life, particularly during the reign of her late sister Mary, when Elizabeth’s own name was often falsely added to the list of conspirators. She now sees intrigue and betrayal at every turn — in every nook and cranny of her palaces, even — and is apprehensive that Mary Stuart will be the rallying beacon for a Catholic uprising aimed at removing her from her throne.’
‘I was informed by Cecil that the Queen was tolerant of Catholics,’ Tom objected.
Walsingham nodded. ‘So she was — once. But they have proved themselves treacherous and now, in her fear, she begins to persecute them just as vigorously as her sister persecuted Protestants like ourselves. I assume, since you still retain your head and since you serve Master Cecil, that you are of the Protestant persuasion?’
‘Insofar as I am anything,’ Tom replied reluctantly. ‘Religion has never been important to me.’
‘Hence your Godless ways,’ Walsingham reminded him bluntly. ‘However, God has a purpose for every one of His children, even the wicked ones such as yourself and once we reach our destination you may resume your licentious ways in England’s cause. Just remember that your higher duty is to report to me, without fail and without delay, anything you may learn of Mary’s involvement in plots against Elizabeth.’
Late on the afternoon of the tenth day their tired mounts all but limped down the single street through a village called Leyburn and Walsingham consulted his chart as he pulled gently on the reins and looked up at a dust-coated sign that hung outside an equally dusty looking inn.
‘Here we are — “The Kestrel”. Its landlord is apparently expecting a Flemish merchant called Felix Westerhaus, a gem dealer from Antwerp. You will find me here for the next few days and should I choose to move on so as to give rise to no suspicion as to my true purpose, I will leave word as to where I may be found. Now on you go.’
‘Where to?’ Tom asked. ‘You have the piece of parchment that Cecil entrusted us both with.’
‘And I shall retain it, as further evidence of my trade as a travelling dealer,’ Walsingham said teasingly. ‘But if you continue along this track for a further hour or so, you should then see the turrets of Bolton Castle and if you do not know what to do next, then I was correct in my belief that you are not fit for this work.’
Still stinging from this insult to his ability, Tom dismounted at the stables of Bolton Castle and strode to the front entrance, where he advised a somewhat doubting Steward that Sir Francis Knollys was expecting him. He was kept waiting for a considerable time in a small room to the front of the building, some of the outer walls of which still bore the remains of scorch marks from the days when it had been burned in retaliation for its involvement in the Pilgrimage of Grace and had never since been repaired. From where he was standing Tom could see much coming and going in and out of the south-west tower, which he assumed housed the owner. He heard movement in the doorway and turned to see an elderly man whose facial expression suggested that he was carrying the burdens of the entire world on his shoulders.
‘You are Cecil’s man?’ he enquired.
Tom nodded.
‘I
am Sir Francis Knollys,’ the old man told Tom, ‘and my daughter Lettice attends upon the Queen as one of her Ladies. The Queen Elizabeth, of course. As for the other so-called queen who resides in that tower that you were so admiring when I entered, it is my thankless task to keep her secure, but to allow her such modest comfort as she seems to regard herself as entitled to. You are to assume duties in the stables, as I understand the dispatch I received from your master?’
‘That is correct,’ Tom confirmed. ‘Where will I be accommodated?’
Knollys reacted with a frown of disapproval. ‘It is easy to see that you are not accustomed to such work. You will reside in the loft above the stables, along with the other grooms. I ask only that you do not damage the horses — perhaps it would be best if you attend only to your own.’
‘I have worked as a farrier,’ Tom replied stiffly, ‘and was brought up around horses. And so I bid you a good day and will proceed to my new quarters, lest anyone should question why the lord of this fine estate is entertaining a mere stable groom in the house.’
‘It is not my estate,’ Knollys explained. ‘It belongs to Lord Scrope and I am, like yourself, merely employed here. In my case, as the jailor of a most difficult and demanding prisoner. But do not let me delay you.’
For the next few days Tom relaxed in the familiar surroundings of a large stables, with its reassuring smells of straw and dung, far removed from intrigues and challenges to the brain that were not really his strong point. He had almost forgotten why he was really there when, shortly after sunrise on his fourth day, he froze to the sound of a familiar voice.
‘Tom — is that really you?’
He turned, the rake full of the detritus from the empty stall that he was in the process of cleaning still in his hand and there stood Jenny, her facial expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Tom grinned as he propped his rake up against the side of stall, then looked hastily from side to side before striding the half dozen paces to where she stood just inside the stable entrance. As he embraced her and kissed her hotly and passionately on tightened lips, he felt her recoil slightly from him and break off the kiss, then look him up and down with a look of distaste.
