by Jean Plaidy
However, wherever Mary was there was trouble with men, so Shrewsbury was recalled. I sent Sir Ralph Sadler to take charge of her. He was over seventy and would be a stern jailer, so it would be amusing to see if rheumatic-racked, forty-four-year-old Mary Stuart could work her charms on him.
Although I did not know what was happening at the time, I learnt it in detail afterward and I realized that Walsingham could not be expected, after the Throckmorton affair, to allow matters to lie dormant. He was determined for the sake of my safety and the future of England to bring Mary Stuart to the scaffold. In a way I suppose he set up his own plot and this time he was going to make it absolutely foolproof.
He had working for him an able spy called Gilbert Gifford. Gifford was particularly useful because he was a Catholic and had been trained for the priesthood and could move with ease among Catholic communities, sure of their trust.
Walsingham set Gifford to work on a certain Thomas Morgan, a Welsh Catholic who had been involved in the Ridolfi conspiracy. For some reason he had been allowed to escape and had settled in Paris. He was taken into the employ of the Archbishop of Glasgow, who was Mary's Ambassador in Paris. From there he wrote to Mary in cipher and arranged for her letters to be sent to the Pope and to smuggle them to Catholics in England.
When Walsingham brought me news of his activities I agreed with him that it would be advisable to arrest this man and bring him to England where he could be dealt with, but it was not easy.
It was at this time that William Parry was in touch with Morgan. William Parry was a Catholic member of Parliament for Queensborough in Kent. He had always put forward the case for tolerance toward Catholics and I was at heart in agreement with this. I wanted tolerance for any form of worship, but at the same time the burning zeal of the Catholics could bring disaster to a country, particularly if they introduced that Inquisition which had caused as much misery as anything in the world.
When Parliament passed a bill against Jesuits, seminary priests and such like disobedient persons, Parry rose in the House and denounced it as “a measure savouring of treason, full of danger and despair to the English subjects.”
The House was amazed at such rebellion and Parry was arrested. I ordered him to be released for I did not care for men to be imprisoned for their religious opinions, and as long as they did not try to make trouble— which Parry had not—I was in favor of their having their liberty.
Walsingham's men discovered only six weeks after his release that Parry was plotting to murder me when I was riding in the park. He was arrested and executed but before he died he implicated Thomas Morgan in the plot to murder me, so I immediately asked the French to send Morgan to England. This they refused to do; but they did send him to the Bastille in deference to my wishes. But it was evidently not a very rigorous imprisonment and Morgan was allowed to receive visitors. This fact gave Walsingham an idea, and very soon Gifford was paying a friendly call on Morgan, for, as Walsingham said, since all our efforts to get this man extradited had failed, we could turn this to an advantage.
He had already intercepted letters between Morgan and the Queen of Scots, so clearly the French were not serious in their imprisonment of Morgan. Walsingham thought they might be preserving him to use against us, and Gifford as a trusted Catholic could carry letters between Mary and Morgan. Morgan rather naturally fell into the trap so cleverly prepared for him and had absolute faith in Gifford.
This was typical of Walsingham's work. Gifford had been primed and instructed continuously and he played his part well. He returned to England and was soon in touch with all the Catholic factions. He was entertained by them in their country houses; he learned their secrets, all of which were passed on to Walsingham.
Then he went to Chartley where Mary was at the time.
I had memories of Chartley. It was where I had gone after that splendid entertainment at Kenilworth. It had been the she-wolf's home at the time when she was married to Essex. Now of course she had the grander homes of Wanstead, Leicester House and Kenilworth. I ground my teeth with rage when I thought of her enjoying all that splendor.
But back to Gifford. Poor Sir Ralph Sadler had complained so bitterly of his health and his desire to be released from the task of guarding the Queen of Scots that I had at last relented and sent Sir Amyas Paulet in his place. Sir Amyas was a stern Protestant—a puritan in fact. He had been my Ambassador in Paris and Mary was most put out that such a man should be put in charge of her for, while in Paris, he had behaved in a most unfriendly manner toward her agents.
Indeed he had! I thought. He was working for me, the Queen of England, and not for the Queen of Scots! I wrote back to Mary and told her that Sir Amyas had done his duty well while he was in Paris and I was sure that he would to her.
But I knew she was far from pleased to be in the charge of such a stern man and one on whom, I commented to Hatton, she might turn her aging charms in vain.
It was interesting to see the letters which passed backward and forward, all of which Gifford brought to Walsingham; and I was amused that Mary was using her well-known powers of fascination on poor old Amyas, and to hear through her that Paulet was a man who thought little of anything but his own self-righteousness and was quite unprepared to accept bribes and to allow concessions in the hope of good things to come.
Gifford had had many talks with Mary. She told him that she feared Amyas Paulet might be suspicious of the letters she was sending and she did wonder whether he had means of intercepting them as it appeared—to her spies in England—that a great deal was known of secret matters. She would hesitate therefore to write anything of any great importance unless she was assured that it would reach its destination.
Then Walsingham had an idea. Let Mary believe that the letters were being smuggled out of the castle without Paulet's being able to get his hands on them; then she would be completely frank in what she wrote.
It seemed an excellent idea and Gifford went into the matter with a local Catholic brewer who professed himself willing to help. Full barrels of beer were delivered regularly to the castle and empty ones were taken away. Why should they not have a box in which Mary's letters could be placed and the box secreted in the empty barrel? This could be taken out of the castle without any suspicion. The answers could be sent in full barrels.
It was thus that we learned the full details of the Babington Plot.
First we heard of John Savage. He was a most ardent Catholic who had joined the Duke of Parma to fight for Catholicism in the Low Countries and believed that the only way to bring the Catholic Faith back to England was through my assassination. This was the ultimate goal. When he was in London he got into touch with John Ballard, a Jesuit, who was a member of a band of young men led by Anthony Babington which was plotting to bring about my death and those of my leading statesmen, as well as a rising of Catholics in England. This was to result in the release of Mary and to place her on the throne of England.
Ballard was in touch with people on the continent who were ready to support the rising once I was out of the way and Mary at the head of an army. Philip of Spain and the Pope would help; and certainly the French would, for the Guises wanted to see their kinswoman Queen of England.
There were two sets of conspirators—one under Savage and the other led by Anthony Babington. Gifford carefully brought the two together so that we had only one plot to deal with.
All through the June of that year they met in secret places—sometimes in taverns, sometimes in Giles's Field; and often in Babington's house in Barbican for Babington was a young man of some means who could afford to entertain his friends.
When he was young he had been in Sheffield Castle at the same time as Mary had been imprisoned there and he had acted as her page. As was to be expected, she charmed him and he must have made up his mind then that he was going to do everything he could to bring her out of prison and to my throne.
Foolish young man!
He proved himself to be even more foolish. It
is a pity that the young can make such misguided mistakes and then have to pay for them in such deadly manner.
Walsingham was beside himself with glee—but that is not the way to describe it. He could never really be gleeful; but he was going about with an air of immense satisfaction. He told me that he would soon have something very important to report to me.
He now had letters which had come to him—by way of the brewer's barrels—in which Babington mentioned plans for killing me. He had the encouragement of Spain and the promise of help from them. My assassination and that of my most important ministers was now clearly stated as the first objective, and two who must most certainly be eliminated were Burghley and Walsingham. Their deaths—with of course that of myself— would be the signal for the Catholics to rise.
Walsingham went on playing the game, while he kept the conspirators under strict surveillance. There were thirteen of them including Savage and Ballard. They thought they were fourteen for they imagined that Gifford was one of them.
Walsingham made it clear to me that Mary Stuart was as deeply involved in this plot as she possibly could be, and when it was exposed—as it would be at the right moment—there could really be no escape for her this time.
Ballard was arrested first. He was committed to the Tower and racked. Walsingham wanted a confession from him, which he got, but the man would not betray any of the others. Not that it mattered. Walsingham knew them all and was ready to bring them in when he considered the time to be ripe.
His great aim was to implicate Mary and he wanted a complete search made of her apartments, so it was arranged that Paulet should tell her that he was a little concerned for her health and she was to leave Chartley for Tixall, the home of Sir Walter Ashton, who would be delighted to entertain her and there she might enjoy a little hunting. She knew that she would be well guarded at Tixall but she must have welcomed the change which would be good for her health.
While she was absent a thorough search was made of all her possessions at Chartley. Documents were found and many letters which would have incriminated her completely if Walsingham had not had enough evidence from the correspondence he had seen—but of course that was sufficient to send her to the scaffold.
Meanwhile Babington had become suspicious that they were being watched. Ballard had disappeared. He had a strong feeling that the plot might have been discovered and he applied to Walsingham for a passport to France where he wanted to go in order to spy on the Queen's enemies, he said. He stated that he knew these existed and that as he was a good Catholic, he would have an entry into Catholic strongholds.
Walsingham was intrigued by such a request. He wondered then if Gifford was suspected since here was Babington offering himself for the same role in which Gifford had been employed.
He did not reply immediately. He was a great believer in devious methods and he suggested to some of his servants that they try to strike up an acquaintance with Babington, invite him to dine, ply him with drink and see if they could get him to betray anything.
One of them subsequently made friends with Babington in a tavern and the invitation was given.
But here Walsingham's plan went a little awry. Babington did not get drunk though some of his hosts did, and it must have occurred to Babington that his application for a passport and this invitation to dine were connected in some way. He took the opportunity of being in Walsingham's house to explore his private sanctum and, looking through the papers on the great man's desk, he saw his own name on one of them and something written beside it which he could not understand.
But it was enough. He was on his guard. Walsingham knew something and as there were very dangerous things to know, Babington decided to flee. He slipped out of Walsingham's house and went to that of a Catholic friend in Harrow where he changed his complexion by staining it with walnut juice, cut his hair and decided to lie low with his friend until the hunt—if hunt there was—was over.
His capture was not long delayed. Walsingham had too detailed an account of his friends to be at much disadvantage; and very soon, with the rest of the conspirators, Babington was in the Tower.
There could be no other verdict than guilty. Walsingham had so much evidence against them; and right at the heart of the conspiracy to assassinate me and my ministers and to bring the armies from Spain and set up the Catholic Faith under a new Queen, was Mary Stuart herself.
Walsingham was triumphant.
“There can be no way out for her this time,” I said, when her fellow conspirators were all sentenced to the traitor's death of hanging, drawing and quartering.
Crowds assembled in a field at the upper end of Holborn where the execution was to take place and first Ballard was subjected to the most horrible of deaths while Babington looked on. When Ballard had uttered his last cry of agony and his mutilated body was still, it was the turn of Babington.
He suffered horribly and when the news was brought to me I felt ill and I immediately said that the rest of the conspirators should not be cut until after death. They should merely suffer hanging.
I was glad I had done that. I did not want my people looking on such horror and remembering that the order of death came from me.
So Walsingham brought to an end the Babington Plot, which he had set in motion in a desperate attempt to bring Mary of Scotland to the scaffold.
Mary remained. She was as guilty as Babington himself. What should be done with her?
“She must never again be given the opportunity to threaten Your Majesty,” said Burghley.
“We might not be so fortunate next time,” pointed out Walsingham. “She could succeed. Your Majesty must see that the situation is too grave to be lightly set aside.”
I did see it. But I deplored what they were urging me to do.
Five days after Babington and Ballard died so cruelly in the Holborn field, Mary of Scotland was lodged at Fotheringhay.
I WISHED THAT I could have gone to Fotheringhay to be present at her trial. But I could not do that. As we had never met in all the years she had been in England, it was hardly the time for it now. I told both Walsingham and Burghley who were present that I wanted a detailed account of all that was said, and this was promised me.
The trial was held in the great chamber at Fotheringhay Castle. Walsingham had arranged that a throne should be set on a dais. This was for me, and although I should not be sitting in it, its presence meant that those who conducted the trial did so on authority from me.
A chair covered in red velvet had been put out for the prisoner but when she came in she went straight to the throne thinking it had been provided for her. When it was explained to her that the throne was for the Queen of England, she said: “I am the Queen by right of birth and so it should be my place.”
What a foolish woman she was! She would put her judges against her before the trial started.
“How did she look?” I asked Burghley.
He said: “She looked like a queen.”
“Beautiful?” I insisted.
“I suppose one would say that.”
Maddening man! How could she have looked beautiful?
She was forty-four and suffering acutely from rheumatism. She had spent—was it twenty years?—in cold damp castles.
“How was she dressed?” I demanded.
He could answer that. “In black velvet.”
“And on her head?”
“Oh…a white headdress… rather like a shell.”
I knew it. I had seen a drawing of it.
The charges against her were read out. She had been involved in a plot to assassinate the Queen of England and to destroy her realm, to take her crown and bring the Catholic Faith to these shores. What had she to say?
Mary had replied haughtily that she had come to England to ask my aid, and not as a prisoner. She was a queen and answered to none but God. “I will say,” she added, “that I am not guilty of that of which I am accused.”
The facts were then laid before her—the whole story of
the planning of the Babington Plot. She denied that she had been involved, but was told that her letters, which had been placed in a box in beer barrels, had been intercepted and she was proved guilty.
Burghley then reminded her that she was also guilty of carrying the arms of England on her shield and calling herself the Queen of England, to which she replied that she had had no choice in that, for her father-in-law Henri Deux of France had commanded it and she had no alternative but to obey him.
“But,” said Burghley, “you continued to state your claim to the throne after you left France.”
“I have no intention of denying my rights,” she retorted.
How tiresome she was! How reckless! But then she always had been. If she had been as wise after the murder of Darnley as I was after the death of Amy Robsart she might still be on the throne of Scotland and not fighting for her life in the hall of Fotheringhay Castle.
She was allowed to state her case and defend herself. From what I heard I think she was a very tired and disillusioned woman. I think she was not prepared to fight very hard for her life. She said sadly that she had been humiliated, treated as a prisoner ever since she arrived in England; and she longed to be free. She declared that she had had no part in the plot to murder me. It was true that she was a Catholic and her religion meant more to her than anything else on Earth. She may have written to foreign princes. She was a sick and weary woman. All she longed for was to be free and live in peace. She insisted that she had never desired my death.
The court broke up with Walsingham's declaration that he would bring the findings to me. She was guilty but it was for me to pass sentence.
