“Not yet,” admitted Piper, “but we’re going downstairs to discuss it with Alistair. We thought you’d want to be there, too.”
“Lead the way!”
The four of them clattered down the stairs, talking excitedly. The issue we now face, thought Perdita, as they almost ran down the corridor to Alistair’s suite of offices, is finding Hannah White and seeing if we can persuade her to sell us the ring.
PART FOUR: July, 1586
Chapter One
“Pembroke Castle has fallen.”
Elizabeth stared at Walsingham; her face livid with terror. “The birthplace of my grandfather,” she gasped. “When?”
“In the early hours of this morning,” said the spymaster. “My messenger informed me only moments ago. Once again, it was silent and bloodless. Men loyal to Philip have been disguising themselves as soldiers and servants, infiltrating the castle over the past few months. With all eyes on the sieges of Carew, Tenby, Llawhaden and Haverfordwest, they timed their attack well, waiting until the garrison led by the duke of Hereford had left to add their support at Carew, then those left behind took control.”
“And where is the duke?” asked Elizabeth.
“He is at Lamphey Hall with George Devereux. They’re planning their next assault from there.”
“And the duchess and their son, William?”
“His wife and son didn’t accompany him; they’re safe at the duke’s country seat, Orleton Hall in Leominster.”
Elizabeth felt a flutter of relief amidst the turmoil of emotions racing through her but it was quickly engulfed by the danger of the situation. The king of Spain had now successfully taken five of her Welsh strongholds. Each one may have been centuries old but these buildings were still solid, defendable lines of protection. A wall of grey stone that Elizabeth had always thought was impenetrable, a barrier between the sea and the broad Welsh coast. It was the first line of defence and this ancient barrier was falling to the Catholics.
“Walsingham, we must stop this invasion,” said Elizabeth. “We can’t allow the Spanish to gain any more of a foothold. I always thought Pembroke Castle was the strongest and safest of all the coastal defences — it’s the heart of the Tudor dynasty. This is a devastating blow.”
She turned away from the men around the table. Her privy councillors exchanged nervous glances. For weeks she had been pressing Walsingham and Burghley to take her suspicions of strangers fanning out across the Pembrokeshire coast towards the border with England seriously; yet none of them had heeded her words of warning. Without fail, they had dismissed her questions as the nervousness of a woman trying to rule when she was incapable. Elizabeth had once again been underestimated by her privy council. When the threat was dealt with — if it could be resolved in their favour — she would make them pay for their transgressions and they were aware this punishment would follow.
“What is your plan, Walsingham?” Elizabeth demanded, taking her position on the great chair of office under her cloth of state, her brown eyes staring across the room, the fire within them a malediction all of its own.
All eyes turned to the spymaster; no one else dared to speak.
“We are awaiting more news from the duke of Hereford,” he said. “Until we know the position of his men and the numbers we can muster, we must proceed with caution…”
“Caution?!” Elizabeth bellowed, rising to her feet. “It was caution that allowed this disaster to develop! This is the time for action, Walsingham. When I warned you about this growing threat, you dismissed me. Perhaps if you had heeded my words we would not be having this discussion.”
Lord Burghley cleared his throat as though to speak but Elizabeth flashed him a furious look at his interruption and he subsided.
“You will send your fastest men to discover exactly what is happening. I suggest you begin with Morgan Philipps of Picton Castle, Thomas Revell of Forest, the Wogan brothers: Morris and William of Wiston, Alban Stepney of Prendergast and, with utmost urgency, John Howell, Mayor of Tenby. You may or may not be aware but there is a network of tunnels running down to the harbour…”
“Your Majesty, this is a legend…” began William Paulet, 3rd Marquess of Winchester, his tone dismissive.
“Do not speak unless you are able to improve the silence,” growled Elizabeth. “These tunnels exist as certainly as I stand before you. It was thanks to these passageways that my grandfather, Henry VII, and his uncle Jasper Tudor were able to escape from Tenby when they had been routed by the York king, Edward IV. Do you understand now why it’s imperative to send word to the mayor of Tenby? These tunnels must be blocked up. I will not have Philip of Spain or his men using them to either escape from our troops or to try and smuggle more men into my realm.” Seating herself again, she glared at each member of her privy council in turn, her sweeping look of contempt scorching them. “Why are you all still here?” she asked after a long moment of tense silence, her voice ringing with sarcasm. “You are needed to save my realm. Why are you not hurrying to muster your men?”
She watched as they scrambled to leave, a few trying to retain their dignity, most wishing to be away from her. The feeling is mutual, she thought. If these are the great men of my realm, thank goodness for my women.
“Walsingham, Burghley and Sir Francis Knollys, you will remain,” she called.
Her three most senior councillors paused and she sighed inwardly as they exchanged looks of satisfaction. Did they really think they were staying because she wanted their advice? The men returned to their seats and waited while the hall emptied. Elizabeth rang a bell and four women entered. Elizabeth rose from her chair on the dais and beckoned to the women to join the three elder statesmen at the table.
Kate Howard, Lettice Dudley, Katherine Newton and Bess of Hardwick sat two on either side of Elizabeth, facing the three men. Sir Francis was in the middle, flanked by Walsingham and Burghley. Lettice nodded to her father, Sir Francis Knollys.
“Gentlemen, there is something else of importance that we wish to divulge,” said Elizabeth and indicated to Katherine Newton who placed a pile of paper on the table. She selected the top document and passed it to Elizabeth. “This quiet Spanish invasion is a smoke screen,” said Elizabeth. “It is taking place in order to distract us from Philip’s true plan.”
“Which is what?” blustered Burghley.
“An attack that would give him the excuse he needs to launch a full-scale invasion of my realm,” Elizabeth continued. “As you are aware, I take information from those close to me very seriously and Bess’s granddaughter, Elizabeth Pierrepont, the daughter of Bess’s eldest child, Frances Cavendish and her husband, the MP, Sir Henry Pierrepont, has sent disturbing news. She is betrothed to Claude Nau, one of your most trusted double-agents, Walsingham.”
Elizabeth pushed the paper towards Walsingham. His face curious, he reached out and taking the parchment, he read the short note.
“And you say this is from someone you trust?” he confirmed.
Elizabeth nodded. “This states that the Spanish sympathisers and their masters plan to kidnap the Scottish queen but to stage the crime so it looks as though it is on my orders,” Elizabeth said. “So it is my soldiers, my men, who will appear to hold her hostage. They have said to make it brutal, to harm her.”
“But for what purpose?” asked Lettice, sickened by the words.
“Don’t you see, Lettice? It is very simple but very clever. Mary is a Catholic and I’m a Protestant. If I am seen to be ill-treating her, Philip has the perfect excuse to ride into my country on a Holy War,” said Elizabeth. “He will be one Catholic monarch rescuing another. It’s possible this is another reason why he has been placing those sympathetic to Spain across the land.”
“Your men have been following the traitor, Anthony Babington,” said Sir Francis Knollys to Walsingham. “What have you discovered? If this information is indeed true, then we are dealing with a far more complex plot than we first expected.”
Walsingham shuffled
the pile of documents in front of him and removed a lengthy scroll. He hesitated, unsure whether to pass it to Elizabeth or Katherine Newton who had reached towards him. Elizabeth nodded to Katherine and with a disgruntled snort, Walsingham handed it her. She unrolled the parchment and held it close while she read.
“Explain in brief, Walsingham, while Katherine absorbs the details,” said Elizabeth.
With a scowl, the spymaster spoke: “Through the efforts of my trusted agents, Thomas Phelippes, Gilbert Gifford and Robert Poley, we have been able to ascertain the names of the ringleaders of the Catholic plan to kidnap the queen of Scots on behalf of the Spanish king, however, we were not aware this assault would be made to look as though it was a direct order from yourself, Your Majesty.”
Elizabeth shifted. Mignonne’s note had named one man, a young, easily led scholar, Chidiock Tichbourne, as being one of Babington’s loyal men.
“I may be able to persuade him to tell me their secrets,” she had written in her last note to her grandmother, Bess. Walsingham, it seemed, may have discovered others.
“Tell me their names,” demanded Elizabeth, wondering which of her subjects had once again betrayed her.
“John Ballard, a Jesuit priest who has long been under our observation, has been trying to recruit young scholars, through his links with Caius College, Cambridge. He has already recruited Chidiock Tichbourne and has also approached Charles Paget,” began Walsingham.
“Approached?” asked Burghley. “What do you mean by approached, Walsingham? Speak clearly man, you’re not among your spies and thieves now.”
“Charles Paget has not taken Ballard’s bait but came to me with the information that Ballard, who sometimes goes under the name Black Fortescue, is using his position to smuggle Jesuit priests from the school at Douai into the country to help him carry out Philip’s schemes.”
Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the table and stared at Walsingham.
“Who else?” she snapped.
“Your Majesty, the spy Julius is involved but he works alone — those around him have no knowledge of his association with the Catholics and the Spanish,” said Walsingham.
“Julius and his wife, Douglas, are in France,” she informed the men. “As far as we know they are in the court of the de Medici’s.”
“And while they are there, they are unable to hurt you, my dear,” said Sir Francis Knollys. “If they have fled, let us leave them where they are. It is only if they return we need to deal with them.”
Elizabeth was about to protest but his experience and wisdom had highlighted the truth. Her troops were spread thin: the bulk of her men were in Holland with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. There were more riding to support the duke of Hereford in the defence of the Welsh coast — he also had a battalion mustering men along the border between England and Wales in order to delay or stop any other invaders. To send men to pursue Edward and Douglas Stafford in France would be a waste of resources.
Elizabeth gazed into the elderly man’s gentle blue eyes — his words were wise and she heeded them. Giving a small nod of understanding, she returned her gaze to Walsingham and Burghley.
“For now, then, Your Majesty, we will set men to watch the Staffords but we will focus our attention elsewhere,” said Burghley.
“Other’s under observation,” continued Walsingham, “are the Welsh Roman Catholic priest, Owen Lewis, along with known Catholic sympathisers James Beaton and Thomas Morgan. Both Claude Nau and Gilbert Curle, the two secretaries to the Scottish queen, are in my pay. Of the lords, it is more difficult, as most claim to be Protestant, although the earls of Westmorland and Northumberland are suspected Catholics, as are Baron Vaux and his family, and also Baron Ughtred. They are all in contact with the Welsh cleric, Richard White, but as yet I have no firm intelligence on their involvement in the coup. My men Nicholas Berden and Francis Mylles continue to work to place these traitors at the heart of the conspiracy. We do know that the Spanish ambassador in Paris, Bernadino de Mendoza is providing a safe house for anyone of noble birth fleeing from this country.”
He paused and Burghley butted in. “Your Majesty, considering the religion of the Scottish queen, do you not think she could also be involved in this treasonous plot?”
Elizabeth glared Lord Burghley into silence. “The Scottish queen is our guest and remains under our protection,” she said, her voice calm. “I assume the guard around Mary has been increased.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She is currently at Chartley Manor and has guards watching her day and night. However, if we need a dwelling with stronger fortifications, she has suggested a move to Tixall Castle.”
Elizabeth gave a small smile of acknowledgement. “And are there updates on Babington? I understand he has fled now that his name and his involvement in this plot have been made public?”
“He is still at large,” replied Walsingham. “However, we are tracking his movements and at present, it is more conducive for us to have him free. He thinks his contact with the Scottish queen is going unwatched but we are reading every communication he sends. We are also checking Mary’s responses, which are being written under our instructions in order to lure Babington further into the plot. He is a dangerous man, though, Your Majesty, and we will not allow him to continue this endeavour for too much longer.”
His tone was light but his eyes were cold. If even half the rumours about Babington’s vile behaviour were true then the man was a monster. The sooner they had him locked in the Tower of London the better.
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking. Elizabeth started and looked to Walsingham in astonishment. The door was flung open and Lord Zouche, another member of the privy council, entered.
“What is it?” asked Elizabeth, her voice urgent.
“A note from my wife,” he said, looking puzzled. “She insisted I bring it to you at once.”
Burghley began to bluster but Lettice was already on her feet and hurrying towards Lord Zouche. The remains of red wax were on the outside and Elizabeth saw the outline of the mermaid seal used by the Ladies of Melusine.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“She has overheard a conversation suggesting there is ‘hunting afoot’,” said Lettice.
“I have had the same from Richard Bagot,” confirmed Walsingham. “He heard it from my man, Phelippes, but we didn’t think it could be true. Do you trust this source, Your Majesty?” He nodded towards the letter and encompassed Lord Zouche into the question, who looked affronted at the accusation.
“It is well known that Lord Zouche and his wife Lady Eleanor Zouche are estranged — why would she write to him?” whispered Burghley.
“Because he is at court and can pass the information straight to the queen,” snapped Katherine. Burghley glared at her but before he could retort, Elizabeth spoke over him.
“What is ‘hunting afoot’? Walsingham, tell us.”
“This is the worst news, Your Majesty.”
Elizabeth stared at him, baffled, awaiting an explanation. She noted the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the edge of the table. Her heart thundered in her chest; she could feel the icy grip of fear enveloping her as she strained forward, wanting but also not wanting to hear the terrible meaning behind the two seemingly innocent words.
“What does it mean, Francis?” she urged him.
With great reluctance, Walsingham met her agitated brown gaze. “It means, Your Majesty, that the plans to take the Scottish queen have advanced and the Spanish are ready to act. Her life hangs in the balance and we must move immediately if we are to save her.”
Chapter Two
Hunting afoot.
Two small words, yet they spelled disaster, possibly death. Cold fury rose in Elizabeth as once again she cursed the men of her privy council for not heeding her warning sooner.
Pacing her private chamber in Oatlands Palace, Elizabeth tried to control the rising tide of anger and panic. Despite the fact she was Queen, in this escalating situation she knew he
r age and her gender worked against her. At 53 years old, she remained fit and healthy, thanks to her love of hunting and other outdoor pursuits, but even she had to admit that the three-day hunts she used to partake in during her youth were past forever. These days, she could manage a few hours, maybe a day of riding, but any more would leave her tired and in need of a longer recovery time. Being a woman in a position of power was a daily battle to assert herself over the men who believed her incapable. As her fears escalated for the silent invasion, her dread also grew that in not being a man and therefore able to ride at the head of an army, she might prove her doubters correct. How, as a woman, could she defeat this threat?
Pausing by the window, she shut her eyes, rolling the problem around in her mind, searching for a solution, but she had barely begun to tease apart the nest of thorns when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Your Majesty?” came Katherine’s quiet voice. “Are you well? I have a note for you.”
From her tone, Elizabeth knew she was about to be served another devastating blow. Holding out her hand, she took the square of parchment and read Katherine’s beautiful flowing script. Elizabeth felt tears spring to her eyes. At such a time, when there were so many upheavals, to hear such news.
“This cannot be so,” she snapped, despair making her voice sound harsh, thrusting the letter back into Katherine Newton’s hand. “You must have mistranslated it. Check it again.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” said Katherine, her eyes lowered, “the content was so shocking, that I checked and re-checked. Bess, Lettice and Kate drew the same conclusions when they translated the words, too.”
“But this…” Elizabeth waved towards the piece of parchment. “How is this possible?”
“Elizabeth, you’ve known for some months that Artemis was ailing,” said Lettice.
Elizabeth walked away and stared out of the window at the unbearable, mocking beauty of an English summer’s day. Behind her, the loyal four ladies on whom she always relied exchanged a concerned glance. Kate, Lettice, Bess and Katherine: the core of Elizabeth’s inner court, her most reliable and trustworthy Ladies of Melusine.
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 15