by G Lawrence
“I would have more tests done,” I said to Walsingham. “We have enough, do we not?”
“Certainly, my lady. I will ask men of natural science to test the ore.”
“Put Dee on that list, and include a few men who have no connection to the voyage, and are therefore impartial. I do not want to hear the ore has only been tested by friends of Master Frobisher.”
*
The experienced diplomat, Doctor Thomas Wilson, was brought on that year to aid Walsingham. Mr Secretary was finding both the workload of his position and the trials of serving me taxing, and his health was not hale.
One matter which did grant Walsingham some relief was that I appeared to be thinking of stepping in, in the Netherlands. Although I remained reluctant to send men, events had occurred, leading me to believe English intervention could not be avoided forever. The escalation of the rebellion was one concern, reports of Catholic powers in France and Spain combining forces another, and there was word my erstwhile suitor, once Alençon, now the Duc D’Anjou, was set to interfere in the Netherlands with military might.
“No one knows on which side, as yet, however,” Walsingham informed me. “Some say he will lead armies for Spain, others claim him as a supporter of Orange, and the last group say he is being sent as an agent of France, to claim lands for his brother and prove his loyalty to his family.”
“His loyalties have always been a trifle ambiguous,” I said, thinking that I had much in common with the ugly Prince of France.
Although money was dispatched to the Dutch rebels, I held back my armies for now. Men were working in Spain and with Orange, attempting to bring about fresh talks, so I was cautious about striding in. My caution was borne out when, that autumn, the defensive league Walsingham had been working on fell apart.
“They will not unite, Majesty,” he said. “There is too much division amongst the Protestants of the north for them to come together.”
“Strange, is it not, that faith, which all men have, and therefore hold in common, should so often drive us apart?”
“Strange indeed.” Walsingham sighed. “Had I known the crumbling nature of these princes, I would not have advised you to send troops, Majesty. The irresolute nature of the rebels also grants me cause for concern. I come to think the Dutch would make poor allies, dragging us into a war we could not win.”
I blinked. Usually, Walsingham stuck to his opinions like a clam to a storm-tossed rock. He admitted now that he had erred.
“Then it is as well I held fast, is it not?” I asked, my tone vaguely teasing.
“It was, madam. You showed admirable sense.”
“Thank you, Walsingham.”
We were unnerved a little later when news came from Orange. The Prince claimed Don John intended to land an army in England, using the excuse it was taking refuge from a storm. Ports were put on alert and the militia were instructed to prepare, but both Walsingham and I wondered if this was an attempt by Orange to set us against Spain and therefore join with him.
Nothing came of it. Either Don John decided now was not the time to invade England and claim Mary as his bride, or the scheme had never existed. In light of our reluctance to join with him, Orange started to speak of forming an alliance with Anjou. That will need an eye keeping upon it, I thought. I had no wish for France to gain lands in the Netherlands.
*
Hatton did well that November. As a reward for his many services, but most recently for backing me against Grindal, he became a knight, as well as Vice-Chamberlain of my household, and a member of the Privy Council. Hatton was delighted, others less so.
“What you have there,” Cecil said, “Is a puppet.”
“That is unfair, Spirit,” I said. “Hatton often agrees with me, it is true, but it is not always the case. What I have found in him is a man willing to trust his Queen… a boon when I am surrounded by men who do nothing but question me.”
Seeing his face darken, I took his arm. “I need men who will question me, Spirit. Just as I need men to agree. Balance is what I seek. Hatton will offer that.”
Cecil did not believe me. He thought I was appointing Hatton as a buffer against him and Walsingham, which was true in a way, but false in another.
Moderate in religion and appreciating the need for duplicity in dealings with other nations, Hatton was just the man to restore balance to my Council. My other men were too rash, even Cecil and Walsingham. As had been lately proved, I had been correct in holding back from war, and mine had been the only voice to urge caution. I needed more minds like mine; cautious and careful.
Cecil was not the only one rendered miserable. Robin was displeased. “You listen to him more than me,” he grumbled.
“That is not true,” I said, wondering how many times I would have to defend my decision. “I listen to all men. If only they would listen to me, more might be done.”
Hatton immediately demonstrated he was no puppet by supporting military intervention in the Netherlands. I was not markedly pleased. But whilst my men were keen for obvious war, I had another plan, almost ready to put into practice. As one man entered Council, another was preparing to leave home.
“Drake!” I called as my favourite pirate entered my Presence Chamber. “I would be revenged on the King of Spain for divers injuries I have received.”
“The best way to achieve this, Majesty, is to prey on ships and settlements in the Indies,” he replied.
Drake was setting sail for the South Sea, long the territory of Spain alone. From our northern seas and through the treacherous Strait of Magellan he would sail. It was a highly dangerous mission. The southern seas were largely unknown and unmapped, and even Spain, whose men knew them best, understood there were many perils to such a journey. Men had attempted it and failed, not understanding the sheer scale of the oceans. Crews had mutinied, captains had been cast overboard, tales of giants, savages, monsters and gigantic sea beasts were told, and many ships had never come home. Some claimed the path to the South Sea might not exist, others declared any man who tried should be locked away in the Bedlam.
The fact that we English had small experience in far-flung sea voyages was also to our detriment. Most men only sailed in English waters to search for fish, and although more men were heading for Morocco, Africa and trying their luck against Spain in the Americas, their numbers remained small.
Few had any knowledge of ocean navigation. Most men used landmarks on the coast to navigate as they nipped about the shores of other lands. A pilot taking to the wide open water needed to know how to fix his position on the oceans using the speed of his ship, the stars of night, or the meridian of the sun. These were complicated matters, but Drake was one of the few master mariners of England who was learned in the arts of the sea.
All the same, such a foolhardy, as many called it, trip like this was thought lunacy.
But Drake was neither foolhardy nor mad. He was brave, and had long been forced to kick his heels in England. It was time to let him loose.
Phillip would be angered, I knew. Spain considered the Strait of Magellan theirs, and if Phillip learned of it, he was sure to attempt sabotage. Back when Richard Grenville had asked to embark on a quest for the South Sea, I had stopped him, as we had needed good relations with Spain. But I was growing increasingly irritated with Don John, and by Phillip’s refusal to make peace. Besides, my good brother of Spain had joined in with enough plots against me in the past. It was time for a little payback.
It was also a way to search for the Northwest Passage. Grenville claimed Frobisher was looking for it in the wrong place. Better to scout the southern seas to find a route to Cathay than the northern, where ice and snow made the route impassable. Grenville had asked to be captain, but I had granted the honour to Drake. Drake was more experienced, and, after Mayne’s arrest, it was obvious I required Grenville in Cornwall.
Drake had another reason to scout the seas. His friend John Oxenham had sailed some time ago, heading for New Spain, but nothing more
had been heard of him. Drake thought he had been captured, and wanted to know if there was anything to be done.
Finding the Northwest Passage was a good goal, as was exploration, but Drake had another mission. A secret one. Drake would raid and pillage Spanish ships along his way, and loot undefended coasts Spain drew treasure from. Phillip was using this wealth to raise new loans to fight Orange. I would cripple his purse, bringing about peace in the Netherlands by underhand means.
This was not, of course, put forth as the reason for his trip. If anyone came asking, we were sending out explorers, and although Phillip would be annoyed, that would not be perilous to our fragile peace. Since no one could hide a fleet of ships preparing in Plymouth’s harbour, it was said that we were conducting a peaceful trading mission. Hawkins put together a fictitious schedule, which showed the ships were off to Alexandria and Constantinople, carrying cloth, tin and lead.
The true route was rather different and vastly more ambitious. Drake was to sail from England to the east coast of the Americas, pass through the Strait of Magellan, into the South Sea, then sail northwards. There, whilst also plundering, he would make contact with natives not under Spanish rule, and trade for spices, gold or other precious items. Returning the way he had come, he would be gone a year and, I hoped, come home a rich man, with bounty for me. He had plenty of cargo and presents to trade.
And Drake’s mission was also a signal fire, a sign to Phillip that if he did not keep his promises in the Netherlands, and if he threatened my country with invasion, I would set Spain’s worst fear, El Draque, loose.
“If you do plunder the eastern coast of the Americas,” I told Drake quietly. “I will protect you when you return. If we can cripple Phillip’s resources, he will have to make peace in the Low Countries.”
“I will do all I can, Majesty,” Drake said.
Drake knew the risks. He had no commission from me and if captured he had no protection, but he understood I could not be implicated if this went awry. England was at risk if I was found to be involved, and Drake loved his country as he loved the sea; with a blinding passion.
“What is the name of your new flagship?” I asked.
“The Pelican, Majesty.”
I almost took a step back. So often had I been compared to that bird it seemed Drake had read my mind, but then realised he had not. Portraits, painted some time ago, had associated me with two birds; the pelican and the phoenix. Since that time, courtiers had offered gifts of jewellery and clothing containing those symbols.
“You named your ship for me?” I asked, genuinely touched.
“For you, and for myself, Majesty. We each sacrifice for the sake of our nation.”
Drake left on the 15th of November, with one hundred and sixty men, and five ships, carrying pieces for four pinnaces, to be assembled when required. For the sake of security, his crew were told they were heading for the Mediterranean. Once at sea, Drake would tell them where they were truly headed. There were carpenters, coopers, sailors, artisans and even a blacksmith, whose forge was on board the Pelican. Drake also took a small library of books and maps, and a company of musicians to entertain his men during tiresome days, as well as salted pork, beef, beer wine, honey, salt, cheese, bread and Italian pasta. There were carpenter’s stores of pitch, tar and rosin, as well as cordage, needles, hooks, plates and coal. Spades and axes were packed to construct forts and a hoard of muskets, crossbows and pikes went into the holds.
The last essential was, of course, Diego, who had stood loyally with Drake all this time. Diego was not only a skilled mariner, and expert swordsman, but could double as a spy if needed, sent into Spanish camps, pretending to be a slave, to gather intelligence. As a Cimarrone, he could also act as an ambassador to his people.
Although Walsingham was aware of the true purpose of the voyage, Cecil was not. Walsingham agreed that disrupting Phillip would only bring good, but Cecil was nervous about upsetting Spain, so I had not shared Drake’s other purpose with him. Cecil was just about the only one in the dark, however. Robin, Hatton, Walsingham and I all invested in Drake’s voyage in full knowledge of what he was up to.
And as Drake was unleashed, other men would be too. A wave of piracy was coming for Phillip. English pirates, sailing under their own commission and apparently without authority from me, although they all knew I was merry to see Phillip sweat, swept out from England, joining French, Barbary and Turkish raiders.
We were going to make life taxing for Phillip of Spain.
Chapter Sixty-One
Whitehall Palace
Autumn 1577
Something happened that November which I had never wanted, yet, in the end proved unavoidable.
It started because of Walsingham’s census of Catholic recusants, which brought some good, some shocking, news. There were one thousand five hundred and sixty-two names on the list. Our population was somewhere in the region of three and a half million souls, so numbers of known Catholics were not worrying, but a trend within the report was; there was not one parish without recusants, and one third of the number were gentlemen.
If a gentleman was compromised, it was likely his entire household were too. Allen’s priests, once in a household, could work to convert a small kingdom of people. One fact to our benefit was that fear of discovery was on the increase, therefore it was unlikely men harbouring priests would invite any but the most trusted of servants into Mass.
“And more recusants are in hiding,” Walsingham said.
“Those who remain hidden are of no matter to me,” I said. “It is those disobeying my laws I worry about.”
“Their numbers are growing.”
“Or your methods of finding them are becoming more accurate.”
“I want to send spies into these households,” said Walsingham, as though I had said not a word. “They will pretend to be Catholics, and that way we will discover if what goes on in these houses is merely bothersome or treasonous.”
“I agree.” I lifted an eyebrow as Walsingham looked surprised. “I, too, want an answer to that question. Traitors, we will deal with accordingly, bothersome gnats we will ignore.”
“As you wish, Majesty.”
“I am troubled you have included their worth in this report,” I said. Part of the census had been to detail finances and possessions. “This makes it seem as though we may target them for profit.”
“It is simply a way to gauge their influence.”
“Ensure it is used for that purpose and no other.”
Spies were sent out, instructed to sigh and show signs of Catholic devotion, especially if they suspected Jesuit or seminary priests were near. In addition, house raids were stepped up; an attempt to scare rebels into submission. Pursuivants rode up to a house early in the morning, before dawn. They surrounded the house, ensuring none could be sneaked away, and went inside, fanning out, knocking walls to test for secret chambers, shining torches into darkened spaces or cupboards to check for candles and altar cloths. Hayticks, lofts, barns, outbuildings, hen houses, attics, pantries, cellars and dovecotes were searched. Much was destroyed. Panels and flooring were torn out, walls were demolished and all spaces possibly hiding priests investigated. Raids sometimes took days, as my men knew if they missed their target on arrival, a priest might be forced to emerge later, due to hunger and thirst.
As we moved against obviously recusant households, more measures were taken. Books published in my realm had to be checked for content, and registered, granted licences to sell, but Catholic rebels employed other means. Portable presses, used to produce inflammatory texts, were hunted down and burned. Houses with bedsheets adorning their hedges on unusual days were inspected, as this was a known sign a Mass was taking place, and places where the monogram IHS, the Catholic sign of Christ, was painted on walls were put under watch.
But Catholics continued to find new ways to flummox my men. The Northern Rebellion had brought to our attention that many items, like altar-stones and holy water stoops, had b
een stowed away, waiting for the day of my death. Catholics sending secret messages used an ink of orange juice which would only reveal secrets when held against heat.
Women who wanted their children baptised in the Catholic faith sometimes hid pregnancies, for it was a crime for children to remain unbaptised. Sometimes they undertook dangerous risks to avoid baptising them as Protestants… travelling to other counties late in pregnancy, giving birth with no one else present, or taking their child to the house of a known Catholic to have them blessed.
Book running was a popular recusant pastime, and my pursuivants tracked down seditious texts. Oxford was a favourite hunting ground. Men found in possession of such books, or selling them, had their ears nailed to the pillory in their towns, given the choice of remaining there indefinitely or pulling themselves free.
Harsh measures, you might think, but it was nothing to what would have been done in any other country. Arrests, bodily harm, imprisonment… other sovereigns offered death. My aim was to scare obvious recusants into going quiet and ceasing to harbour priests. I could have sent them to the gallows, could have taken their property, leaving them vagabonds on the streets. I chose harsh, but not devastating measures. My men thought I was too merciful, even as Catholics cried out I was a monster.
