by G Lawrence
“I do not think God will see that in me,” he said. “And I would rather offend an earthly majesty than the heavenly majesty of God.”
“Then offend away,” I said through gritted teeth. “And suffer the consequences.”
Consequences came, sharp and sudden. Grindal was put under house arrest at Lambeth Palace, ceasing his control over my Church. I told Cecil to send word to my bishops, commanding them to suppress all Puritan methods of worship. I was the Supreme Governor of the Church, and the clergy would obey me, or end up in the same situation as my Archbishop. Men spoke for Grindal and I ignored them, replying only that if Grindal persisted, I would take away his See.
“Majesty, how long do you intend to leave the Archbishop of Canterbury a prisoner?” Cecil asked.
“For as long as it takes for him to discard the cloak of stubborn arrogance he wears and understand that I am Head of the Church.”
“And if he never does?”
“Then I hope he enjoys his retirement.”
My argument with the Archbishop was talked of everywhere, and many supported me. I was demonstrating I was England’s direct link to God, and I would not allow my power to be eroded by the likes of Grindal. Some men, even if they understood me, thought I was being unfair and petitioned me to release the Archbishop, but I would not. Allowing my own Archbishop of Canterbury to defy me was tantamount to a death sentence for my control over the Church.
“So the English Church will be left leaderless?” Robin asked.
Hard was the stare I threw at Robin. He had sense enough to add, “aside from you, of course, Majesty.”
“Aside from me… the God-chosen, state-sanctified and fated Leader of the Church,” I said.
From that day on I gave orders directly to my bishops and the Church was run as I wanted. I knew what was best for England. Fools like Grindal did not.
*
As I left for progress that year, Frobisher was setting off on another journey. It had been agreed he could go to Friesland to bring back more of the ore. He left accompanied by several ships, including one of my own, and with men numbering one hundred and forty. It was one of the largest expeditions we had sent out, and included men taken from London jails, offered a chance at freedom in return for becoming our first colonists of the new country Frobisher had found. They were to be armed, left with food, and instructed on how to win the favour of the native people.
As Frobisher sailed, I left London.
A particularly bad outbreak of plague meant we could not go far that year, but I had told my men that plague or no plague, I was going. Death was not about to tell me what to do.
“You have made your house bigger to fit your lordship,” I teased Keeper Bacon, referring to a jest I had made when last I stayed with him.
“I thought it fitting, Majesty,” Bacon said, leading me towards the house. “The house must fit the man.”
As Bacon showed me around, I noted all the alterations he had made since my last visit some five years earlier. Now twice its original size, the house was flanked by gracious, beautiful gardens, and Bacon had added a Tuscan-style colonnade. I was impressed, not only with the house but the offerings of its gardens; every meal we ate was laid on tables strewn with herbs and fresh flowers.
Robin was attentive, which pleased me, although I wondered if it had something to do with Lettice’s absence. She had left court, taking her daughters to the house of the Earl of Huntingdon, who was to become guardian to them and her son Walter. Walter had been sent on ahead, and when Lettice and her daughters reached the house, she had chosen to stay for a while to see them settled. I am sure it was hard for her to part with them all at once, but it was usual for the offspring of nobles to be sent to the houses of other nobles when they reached a certain age, so they might learn how to wait on their betters, in preparation for a life at court.
We tarried five days with Bacon, feasting outside under clement skies, surrounded by the trees of his orchards, now resplendent with pink and white blossom. Bacon leaned towards the Puritan way of life, but spared no expense. Performers and musicians were brought to entertain us, and we danced one evening under the setting sun, blazing amber and velvet yellow.
Whilst at Bacon’s house, I received a note from Shrewsbury, asking if he could take Mary of Scots to Chatsworth. I sanctioned the shift. But there was word that not all was well with the Shrewsburys.
“Bess thinks her husband is in love with the Queen of Scots,” Blanche told me. My lady had a maid in the household who reported to her. “In a letter, Bess called Mary Shrewsbury’s charge and love, Majesty.”
“I hope that is not the case,” I said. “But she did let slip something of that kind when I saw her last. It is not impossible, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I need someone to take a look at the situation, but without arousing suspicion. Shrewsbury and his wife have had enough false reports of disloyalty over the past years. I do not want to accuse him of preference if there is none.”
“You have a plan forming,” Blanche said. “I can always see it in your eyes, my lady. It is like the rising dawn.”
“I do have an idea. And it would aid me in trusting one in whom I have lost a little faith of late.”
“Whom?”
“The Lord of Leicester.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Greenwich Palace and Loseley House
Summer 1577
“I would have you go on a trip,” I said to Robin as we stood in the gardens.
“You want me to spy on Shrewsbury and his wife?” Robin asked after I had unleashed my mind, and fears, to him.
“In a way.” I lifted my nose to catch the scent of elder blossom, just starting to emerge on the trees. Elder trees were said to harbour the spirits of witches. But I adored its blossom.
I looked at Robin. “Shrewsbury and Bess have suffered. Many times they have come under suspicion, often for no reason. I would not treat them unjustly again, but if Bess’ fears are correct and Shrewsbury has fallen for my cousin, I cannot leave him as her gaoler.”
“What is my excuse for suddenly arriving at their house?”
“I want you to go to Buxton, and take the waters,” I said. “The Shrewsburys will hear you are there and will offer to entertain you.”
“And if they do not send an invitation?”
I offered him a sly smile. “Bess will not miss the opportunity to show her house off.”
I was right, for, when we reached Loseley House in Guildford, Bess sent a letter to Robin. Hearing he was to come to Buxton, she invited him to stay a few nights at Chatsworth. I wrote to Bess, thanking her for her care for my Robin, and telling her to beware his appetite.
“We think it meet to prescribe unto you a diet which we mean in no case you shall exceed,” I wrote. “That is to allow him by the day for his meat two ounces of flesh, referring to the quality to yourselves, so as you exceed not the quantity, and for his drink the twentieth part of a pint of wine to comfort his stomach, and as much of Saint Anne’s sacred water as he listeth to drink.”
“A twentieth part of a pint of wine!” Robin exclaimed in horror when I showed him the letter. “That is little more than a sip!”
“It is quite enough for you,” I said, a scolding note entering my teasing tone. “There is another reason I want you to go to the springs, Robin. You are not looking well, and I think your diet is the cause.”
“We cannot all eat like sparrows.”
“But no man needs to eat and drink like a bear, as you do. You hold too fast to the emblems of your house, Robin. Your face is quite florid recently. You take too much wine.”
“Am I to have no diversion this summer?”
“You are to go to a health spring. The idea is to get better, not worse.”
I touched his arm and his eyes met mine. For a moment, there was a spark like that of old, which flashed through my blood and into my bones. It was the touch of lightning, of desire and of a love so consuming
I had once thought I would gladly die in its arms.
“Besides,” I rushed on, taking my hand away. “If you feast and drink as you do at court, no one will believe you have gone to Buxton out of an earnest desire to better your health.”
“You fear for me, Elizabeth?” His tone was soft.
“Sometimes,” I said. “I want you here, always, Robin.”
“I will never leave you.”
“Then drink more sparingly so you do not tempt Death.”
I felt his hand on my back, but did not turn. All the hurt of the past year was in my eyes. I did not want him to see it.
“I will do as my Queen commands,” he said softly in my ear.
*
Cecil’s spies turned up a hare that summer. In early June, just as Robin was preparing to leave for Buxton, Cuthbert Mayne was arrested in Cornwall after a house search on the estate of a gentleman named Francis Tregian. Tregian had come under suspicion of concealing priests entering the country through Cornwall’s remote shores and coves, and when his house was ransacked by government agents, Mayne was found.
We had suspected Allen’s favourite student was in the country after hearing reports the previous year that he had been sighted. Mayne had taken refuge, disguised as Tregian’s steward, and had travelled back and forth from Truro to Launceston, saying Mass for recusants. Mayne had been in the gardens when my pursuivants, more than one hundred of them, rode up to the house. At their head was Sir Richard Grenville, the man who had first put forth the notion of finding the Northwest Passage. Once a captain in my army in Ireland, he was now the new High Sheriff of Cornwall. Handpicked by Walsingham for this troublesome Catholic county, Grenville was an experienced privateer, therefore wise to the ways men would use to sneak into Cornwall.
Mayne rose and left as fast as he could, but hiding would do no good, for Grenville had been sent information. Since his appointment Grenville had forged links with high ranking men, like the Bishop of Exeter, who had tipped him off about Tregian and his priest. Grenville had also set up watches to scour the countryside, and had men on the lookout for signs of sedition. He had vagabonds and gypsies in his pay, keeping an eye on coves, beaches and roads. Any stranger who looked suspect, they reported. Grenville was not a man to be underestimated. He was a soldier, a pirate and he abhorred Catholicism.
Grenville came not only with his own guards, but justices of the peace and the Bishop of Exeter’s chancellor, there to add ecclesiastical authority to the raid, since they did not possess a warrant. But from the information Grenville had, he was sure he would not need one.
Mayne was spotted fleeing the gardens, a foolish decision, as had the priest decided to run he might have escaped them in the countryside. Tregian stood his ground at his doorway, protesting my officers had no warrant and this was an unlawful raid, a disgrace, since he was a gentleman. Grenville dismounted and barked at Tregian to get out of the way. Grenville reportedly used every oath and curse he knew, and being both a soldier and pirate, that was plenty. He told Tregian he would search the house or else kill or be killed, and set his hand on his dagger to drive home the point.
Tregian might have hoped Mayne would have time to hide himself, but Grenville had already been informed where Mayne’s room was. He raced straight to it, beat his fists on the door and Mayne opened it.
“What art thou?” asked Grenville, to which Mayne replied, “I am a man.”
Grenville acted fast. Ripping open the front of Mayne’s doublet, he found an Agnus Dei case, concealing a small waxen disc made from Easter candles bearing an image of a paschal lamb which had been blessed by the Pope. It was now illegal to carry one in England. The penalty for disobedience was death. Grenville now had all he needed to justify a search of the house. All this was no accident. My Sheriff had a man planted in Tregian’s household.
Mayne’s room was ransacked and a chalice and Catholic vestments were found. But most damning of all was a papal bull of absolution, another outlawed item. It had expired, but possessing any papal bull was treason. Mayne was arrested, taken first to Truro where he was paraded through town as a traitor, and then to the underground dungeon at Launceston Castle. He would stand trial for treason. Tregian was permitted bail, but kept under watch.
“I want everything recorded,” I told Cecil. “This is a trial for treason, not religion.”
“He has already declared that if a foreign prince were to invade to restore England to Rome, it is the duty of all Catholics to rise and assist,” Cecil said.
“Then he is a traitor and will be treated as such. But make it clear, Cecil, this is about betrayal not beliefs. It is not Mayne’s religion I take issue with, but his loyalty.”
I was pleased he had been found, less pleased he appeared eager for martyrdom. Mayne continued to spill the sentiments of traitors from his lips, condemning him to be hanged, drawn and quartered, unless he recanted or perhaps became one of our agents. Walsingham was particularly concerned.
“Mayne and priests like him are the vanguard of Rome, Majesty. They see reclaiming England for the Catholic faith as a Holy Crusade.”
“For a crusade, you need more than one, or a few, men,” I said. “Punish Mayne if he will not recant, but do not become a beast of hysteria, Walsingham. Mayne may be a traitor, but that does not mean every Catholic in England is.”
“But every one of them must be held as suspect.”
“Not unless they do something to warrant suspicion.”
Walsingham had another idea. “I would like to set up a committee, to examine how recusants could be brought back into the bosom of the English Church.”
“That is more to my liking. I find it a little surprising, from you, however.”
“Reduce the numbers willing to shelter such men, and soon they will all be on the streets.”
I emitted a grim laugh. “So they will. I would have hoped there was an element of charity in your thoughts, but either way, this plan I like more than punishing people.”
A committee of bishops and councillors was set up to consider how Catholics could be converted. At the same time, known Catholic figureheads were arrested, or in some cases, rearrested. There was to be a census of known recusants, so we could gauge numbers.
I was troubled. All this was of use, I knew, as recusants who were also traitors could not be allowed to flit about the countryside wreaking havoc. But whilst I supported gathering information on them, I had to wonder what it would be used for.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Greenwich Palace
Summer 1577
“I have been presented to the Queen of Scots, and she has many complaints I am to pass on to you, Your Majesty, although you already know of them.”
As I read Robin’s letter, sent from Chatsworth, I could hear his voice. Do you know how I miss you? my mind cried. Do you hear my heart aching? To me, it was a sound I thought all could hear; a rending of my soul.
I walked to the window, thinking. My eyes caught a bloody sunset, crimson, scarlet and gold in the skies, as though God were bleeding. Robin was doing well on his mission. He, along with his brother and a few gentlemen, had gone to Buxton and spent a few days at the spring. He had enjoyed it, as Buxton was equipped with accommodation for noble guests, waterside chimneys where servants could dry clothes, and chairs set about the hot springs. There were games in the evening of bowls and archery, and bathing occupied his days.
He had written to his soon-to-be hosts, teasing Shrewsbury that the Earl would also benefit from a stay at his own house near the spring, and boasting of the meagre diet he was imposing on himself, because I worried for him.
I did hear, however, that Lettice, with her usual talent for appearing everywhere my favourite went, had turned up at nearby Kenilworth, and Robin had told Lettice and her eldest daughter, Penelope, they could use his park to hunt. Lettice sent several of the nine bucks she killed to friends, seeking noble support for her woeful cause, and this suggested she and Robin were growing close, since those d
eer were not hers to dispose of. Whilst this worried me, Robin’s letters were frequent and affectionate, and I believed he missed me as much as I did him.
I wrote back, asking Robin to procure some of the fabled water of Buxton for me, so I might alleviate my own bodily complaints. Cecil’s opinion was that if I married all would be well, for he thought any complaint was due to maiden greensickness, but I was certain my ailments were due to the strains of my position. Buxton water might not cure that, as it was unlikely to be capable of taking on my work, but it might help. Robin duly dispatched a barrel, but when it arrived I did not like the smell and did not drink it.
After a few days of eating clean food and drinking the blessed waters, Robin had gone to Chatsworth to be royally entertained by Bess, where he had also been introduced to Mary of Scots.
I wondered what they thought of each other. Once, I had suggested they marry, and Mary had turned him down. Of course Robin was no more the man he had once been, but his charm was still evident. I wondered if she regretted turning down my offer. I wondered still more if he did.
