Blood of my Blood

by G Lawrence

  “And what of the plots Walsingham warns of here?”

  “I will take heed.”

  Walsingham, by intercepting a letter from the Bishop of Ross, had found Mary of Scots was using a London bookseller named Henry Cockyn to send and receive letters. They were being sent to the Pope, to what was left of her supporters in Scotland, to her Guise kin in France, and to Phillip of Spain. Walsingham had said, when the last secret courier was found, he suspected a wider web, and he had found it.

  But what he wanted of me I would not do.

  Walsingham thought this was motive to move against Mary, but if I had not done so when she had been embroiled in an actual plot to unseat me, I was not about to act against her simply because she was sending secret letters. Did my men really think she would just settle in her prison and calmly await death? I had always expected she would plot, often and well, but my wishes for her remained unchanged. Mary was an anointed Queen, no matter how disgraced or dangerous. I could not execute her.

  Cockyn was arrested and although he admitted he knew all the men named as part of the message channel, he protested they were simply his customers. Walsingham started an investigation, hoping it would lead him to Mary. Under questioning and threat of torture, Cockyn confessed and named men of court as conspirators, as well as Alexander Hamilton, who had been implicated before. Some of Shrewsbury’s household were also named.

  One of the troubling aspects was that one of my lords, Henry Howard, was embroiled. Since he was also my cousin, the younger brother of Norfolk, this was embarrassing. Walsingham had Howard arrested. He wanted Howard executed, and the same for Mary if possible, and was aghast when I released Howard and forgave him. The man went away quite stupefied by my mercy, and Walsingham raged from his sick bed.

  One of the accused men, a Thomas Morgan, fled to France where he became part of the household of Archbishop Beaton of Glasgow, a relative of one of Mary’s Maries, and started to organise Mary’s financial affairs. Morgan became her supporter on the Continent, drawing in others to uphold her as the true Queen of Scotland and England. Morgan had spent time in the Tower during the Ridolfi plot as he had been found tipping Mary off about searches of her chambers, and had hidden papers for her.

  I was disappointed in Howard, but he had remained loyal during the Northern Rebellion, and I hoped that by showing mercy I would bring him back into friendship. I had no wish to execute another of my blood.

  I stalled Walsingham’s investigation, released the men from the Tower and refused to shift Mary to a more secure prison. It was good to know of her ways, but probing too far might lead to evidence that would offer me no choice but to act against her. I would not allow that, not only for the sake of sacred royalty, but because to do so would hand an excuse to every single one of England’s enemies to invade.

  Walsingham wrote, calling my methods dishonourable and dangerous. It was a mark of how highly I valued him that he did not see the inside of the Tower. He thought I was being unreasonably foolish, putting myself and England in danger, but he did not see more danger would come if I acted against Mary.

  I was sufficiently content. Walsingham had found and broken Mary’s means of communication. It would take a long time to set up another channel so sophisticated. We knew the names of the men involved, and they would be watched. I would not show mercy so willingly if they were once more found conspiring with my royal cousin.

  “It is better they are left at large,” I said to Walsingham when he returned to court. “Then, you can keep an eye on them.”

  “It would be better to remove them.”

  “Cut off this hydra’s head and more will sprout. Keep the present head in place, and we recognise it easily.”

  One of the interesting elements that came from this plot was the discovery of letters sent between Margaret Lennox and Mary of Scots. One stated that Mary was desirous of the union between Charles Darnley and Elizabeth Cavendish, and the date showed that she had known of this union, and been consulted about it, long before the marriage took place. This seemed proof that the Darnley marriage had been part of a wider plot, but try as he might Walsingham could find no further evidence.

  “Perhaps there is none to find,” I said.

  In truth, I was relieved. Whilst the two mothers had clearly harboured dynastic ambitions for their children there was nothing to suggest a plot that would put Mary on my throne. A future threat remained, for I had heard Elizabeth Cavendish was with child, but for the present, there was little danger.

  It was not the first argument between my Secretary and me, nor would it be the last. Walsingham thought me too hesitant, and I thought him too eager to take action. Each thought the other was putting England in peril. Cecil was more inclined to follow my way, and maintain a balance of power. He was often in conflict with Walsingham and Robin because of it. But Spirit understood me. Walsingham was the one who did not. He wanted a revolution in terms of policy, a hard line. That had never been my way. Walsingham wanted clarity, but I was more comfortable working in shades of light and night, keeping my true intentions secret, thereby keeping England safe.

  But, I reasoned, with one taking one extreme and the other another, between us we will find the balance I desire.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Greenwich Palace

  January 1575

  “What do you think of the man and his proposal?” Robin asked as the Privy Council retired.

  “I find both interesting,” I replied, watching them file out.

  Only six had attended that day. There were seventeen, but only thirteen had ever shown daily interest in attending and of them only a few were truly important; Cecil, Robin, Walsingham and Sussex. I did not mind when others were absent. Too many people meant too many voices, and wrangling between men made me irritable. My father and sister had favoured huge Councils, although my father had seen his Council more as a ceremonial body than as genuine advisors, but then, he had always only listened to himself.

  My sister had tried to bridge the gulf between the faiths by taking on many men, but her attempt at religious tolerance had become as confused as her daily Council meetings, all the more so when she had resurrected antiquated heresy laws my brother had repealed. I preferred smaller groups, of select, talented men, rather than feeling as though I had entered a squawking hen house when I came to Council.

  We had just had a visit from a Master Martin Frobisher. Brought by Cecil into Council, he had put forth a proposition to find the fabled Northwest Passage.

  The possibly mythical Passage was not only of interest to us. Whilst consort to my sister, Phillip had encouraged English sailors to find it, thinking it would cripple Portuguese trade with the Far East. Attempts had been made by men in my grandfather’s and father’s reigns too, but at that time the principles of navigation had been badly understood. Most men navigated by coasting about the shores of known countries, and it was only of late we English had caught up with our Continental cousins and learned the arts of navigating by celestial bodies and mathematical calculation. The time to find the Passage, if it existed, was now.

  Frobisher, working from the findings of a previous expedition led by Richard Chancellor, who had succeeded in opening up trade routes with the Tsar of Russia, believed he knew where to head. Chancellor had been lost on a second attempt to find the Passage, and the Muscovy Company, who had financed his trip, had refused to back any further expeditions. But Frobisher possessed an active mind and restless arrogance. He was ambitious, and wanted to become known as the Columbus of England. He had taken part in voyages to Africa, was a skilled cartographer, and was clearly not lacking in courage. He told the Council that Spain had dominated the southern seas and had reaped great wealth in doing so, but England had been held back by the fears of the Muscovy Company, and had been damaged in goods, trade and ambition by their reluctance. He called for a new mission to find the sea route which passed along the northern coasts of the New World, to Cathay. Frobisher wanted to explore the eastern
coast of New Spain. The Northwest Passage was in his sights.

  Frobisher was not unknown to me. He had been jailed for piracy in the past, and his uncle was Sir John Yorke, one of the leading men of the Muscovy Company, who had led talks on trade with Guinea. Yorke was also a steward of the Tower of London and mint. Frobisher had taken part in one of Robin’s schemes to establish a fort on the Gold Coast, and had ingratiated himself with Ambrose Dudley, who supported his plan to find the Passage.

  Frobisher was not experienced in crossing oceans, but he had great faith in himself, and was willing to accept advice from those with more knowledge.

  “Do you think he can do it?” Robin asked.

  “He certainly thinks he can,” I replied, taking a seat at the fire. Outside, the weather was clear and cold as a diamond. “Arrogance is a helpful trait in sailors.”

  “But there is spare proof the Passage exists.”

  I nodded. That was true. Humphrey Gilbert had been working for some time on a treatise examining arguments for and against the existence of the Northwest Passage, largely based on the work of the ancients. Ptolemy, the world’s foremost authority on geography, had produced a map which showed the world as three continents, Europe, Asia and Africa, but seeing as the New World had been found, it would seem this ancient was a touch remiss in his knowledge. Plato had challenged Ptolemy, writing of another land mass that was much larger than the others, and since Spain found the New World, this view had been upheld. Some called the New World Atlantis, or thought that country had been a part of the New World at some point in time. The New World, or the Americas, as it had started to be called, was an island, it was thought, and therefore there must be a way about its most northern shore, leading in theory to the Northwest Passage, and then to Cathay. Tales of Cathay, its rulers, like the fabulously wealthy Kublai Khan Marco Polo had found, and its valuable spices, had spread. We already gained goods from Cathay, but upheavals in the Mongolian and Ottoman Empires had made the land route unsteady at best. If a sea route could be found, England would have a huge advantage over our neighbours.

  Gilbert thought the New World was Atlantis, and that part of it had survived the rising of the oceans. Dee agreed, and had been working with him, studying the accounts of Columbus, especially his maps. Knowing this, Frobisher had approached Dee and asked for aid. Dee was clearly the man to speak to when it came to plotting a course to the Northwest Passage, and when they had run into trouble attempting to get the Muscovy Company to support them, they had come up with the idea of coming straight to me.

  Walsingham, a shareholder in the Muscovy Company, wrote from his sickbed to tell me the company did not want to support these men not only because previous trips had wasted men and money, but because the company were doing well from trade with Russia. Were another trade route to open, they might lose out.

  “I will send a letter to the Muscovy Company,” I said. “Telling them to grant Frobisher a licence.”

  “Dee says they will want one of their own men along on the voyage,” said Robin. “And Frobisher does not seem like a man who likes to accept the authority of others.”

  “He will have to better himself, then. If this Passage is found, it will not simply be for Frobisher, but for all of England. The Muscovy Company are important, and I want them involved. Frobisher will have to learn to share, if he is to see any spoils.”

  I dispatched the letter, and the Muscovy Company did, indeed, want one of their men on the voyage as treasurer. Frobisher was not happy, but he ceded. The man they chose, Michael Lok, turned out to be an enthusiast in any case. A veteran of trade, Lok had worked in France, Flanders, Spain and Portugal, and threw all effort and enthusiasm into the planning. He founded the Company of Cathay for the voyage, and started persuading people to back the trip financially. The final list was impressive. Not only was my name there, but Cecil, Robin, Ambrose, Walsingham, Phillip Sidney and Sussex invested too. Close to nine hundred pounds was raised, a mighty fortune, and with the coin of so many prominent men in their hands, Dee was brought in to advise and instruct them, so money would not be wasted, and their patrons would not rip them asunder if failure occurred.

  Dee was in a position to speak about the possibility of financial ruination. He was in trouble in that regard. The main problem was he often failed to charge nobles for astronomical readings. He also often failed to charge if a man was on business for the state, even though I told my reading partner to do so.

  “You are not running an almshouse, Dee,” I said. “Charge. Nobles can afford it and your wife will cease to go to bed in wakeful terror.”

  But he did not listen. Dee was not as practical as one might think. He was often in a dream, lost in work, and people with those kinds of minds are often not talented at understanding something as base as money. He understood the necessity of it for others, however, and advised the Muscovy Company well with regards to investments, but in his own matters, he was lax.

  Dee did ask that he might be offered a small sum, two or three hundred pounds a year, so he might work on matters for the state. Dee knew that others gained similar grants from me, nobles in particular, but they had the money to pay back these loans. Dee had nothing to offer as security, and his experimentations with alchemy had not borne fruit. Fortunately for him, he had ceased to work on experiments in this art for the Sidneys after hearing through Paul that I was less than pleased about their arrangement. But even with his efforts concentrated on alchemy for me, nothing had come of his work.

  He did, however, have another idea.

  “He suggests he may be able to find buried treasure,” Cecil said.

  I arched an eyebrow. Treasure lying in wait in the ground was something a great deal of people were utterly obsessed with. It was not unexpected. Large hoards of ancient coins had been found now and then by nobles, or more accurately, by commoners working the land of nobles. But although nobles had grown richer from the discovery of such hoards, yeomen farmers and freemen had too. Although some had found only copper, others had unearthed silver, even gold on rare occasions. When famine struck, the hunt for treasure only became more noticeable, and there was a good reason people believed it was there.

  During times of civil war or rebellion, it was often safer to entrust riches to the earth rather than leaving them about your house. Abbeys and monasteries were sought out by treasure hunters, knowing that monks, nuns and friars of my father’s era would have hidden much so his investigators could not get their sweaty paws on the riches of the clergy. Castle ruins were another favoured haunt. Wayside crosses, ancient burial mounds, old trees, stone circles, and any point in the landscape that seemed noticeable, since the burier would need to find their treasure again, were targeted by hill-diggers, an abusive term for those who sought out treasure by the pitch of night.

  Success was, however, limited. The best tools were to be vigilant about the bumps and humps of a landscape, so new digs or old could be found, find a map with directions on it, or, as Dee suggested, to turn to the world of the spirits to find treasure.

  “He may have treasure maps already,” Cecil pointed out. “He does spend most of his time buried in old books.”

  “If he had the maps, would he not have already gone to find treasure?”

  Cecil smiled. “Perhaps, Majesty, perhaps not. I could easily see Dee becoming so engrossed in a book that he would forget to go and dig even for the lost Crown Jewels of King John.”

  I chuckled. “But you forget one thing, Cecil. Finding such treasure would mean Dee could buy all the books he wants. If he had such a map, he would have gone by now.”

  Cecil smiled wider. “Perhaps they are in code. He asks permission to visit the Keeper of Records at Wigmore Castle, and examine the archives.”

  “So it would seem there is a plan.”

  “He thinks the new star is a sign of a great treasure to be found soon,” Cecil added.

  “Do you think God as literal as that? If the star predicts anything, I would hazard it would no
t be something as base as worldly riches.”

  “He thinks to use mirrors and lenses to pick up astral spirits, and they will lead him to treasure,” Cecil said. “And says portents offered in the dreams of some of his clients may lead him to what he seeks.”

  “It is mine, Cecil.” Treasure-trove was, by law, mine, but plenty of people failed to announce their findings.

  “Of course. He says he did not act before as some already think him a wizard, and magical divination is prohibited by law and God.”

  “As is alchemy, but I can allow it.” I rapped my knuckles on the table. “But I worry, Cecil, about granting one man the rights to treasure-trove. Dee is already marked out by his enemies as a sorcerer, and this will not aid him. I would rather he concentrate on the Northwest Passage. Indeed, often with Dee I think it best if he has only one project. If he takes on more, each do not get his full attention and suffer for it.”