Treason in Trust

by G Lawrence

“The strain upon Phillip’s resources is lessening,” Cecil went on. “His fight against the Ottomans is diminishing, and the men of the Low Countries cannot hold out forever. A time may come when he is able and willing to turn on England.”

  “Then we must distract him,” I said. “Send word to the Sea Beggars to step up their activities. The navy will be improved, too and we will send more secret aid to William of Orange. We cannot face Phillip in all-out war, but we can disable him, reduce his income, and make it less likely he will have the funds for conflict.”

  “I would like to pursue the idea of a defensive league with Denmark, Sweden and the princes of Saxony,” he said. “And strengthen coastal defences.”

  “We will find the money,” I said, grimacing. Why did everything cost so much? “But as for Norfolk, Cecil, you must watch him, and not only for my sake. He wants you gone, and will work to undermine you.”

  “I understand, my lady,” he said. “And I have a thought on that.”

  “And what is this thought?”

  Cecil smiled, his beard ruffling. “I wish to ask one of your greatest friends for a favour.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hampton Court

  Winter 1568 - 1569

  “What a fool Phillip is!” I exclaimed.

  “A fool indeed,” said Cecil. “This act goes against all our existing treaties, and without any legal justification.”

  “And it shall be met by retaliation.”

  Cecil had just informed me that de Spes had written to Alba and Phillip protesting about our confiscation of the Genoese money. The bankers had written to Phillip to inform him that the loan had been legally passed to me, and they would arrange another for him, but de Spes, consumed with wrath about Cecil’s trick, had demanded that action be taken against England.

  So angry was de Spes that he had been entirely lacking in caution. His letter to Alba had been sent un-ciphered, and had been intercepted.

  Unwisely listening to his spluttering ambassador, Phillip had told Alba to order all English property in the Low Countries sequestered. This was completely disingenuous in political terms, as our treaties held that no reprisals could occur without a refusal to return seized goods or an unreasonable delay in returning them. Since the bankers had made their coin mine, Phillip had not a legal leg to stand on. This was a serious tactical error, and he was not going to get away with it.

  De Spes was placed under house arrest, and although he complained, I was perfectly within my rights to do so. It also meant he could interfere in Mary’s cause no more. Since there were rumours he had attempted to bribe my judges, his removal was valuable. Phillip’s error also meant we could detain Spanish ships in English waters, and allow the Sea Beggars more freedom.

  I issued a proclamation. “Her Majesty commands all and every, her justices and officials within her towns, cities, ports and other places under her government, to take steps to detain and arrest with all their goods, chattels, and ships, all subjects born in the dominion of the King of Spain, in order that they might be held as security and pledges for the damages and loss received, without just or apparent cause, by the subjects of Her Majesty.”

  It was licence for my people to act against Spanish merchants in retaliation. I also included an explanation of the confiscation of the gold, so my people would see how unjustly Phillip was behaving.

  It also meant if my good brother of Spain attempted to respond to Mary’s pleas by sending spies to England, we would find them swiftly.

  My people were angry at Phillip for his mistreatment of our merchants in the Low Countries, and although my merchants had been impeded in Antwerp, they were already discussing new trade routes.

  In attempting to limit us, Phillip had set us free. His own trade in the Low Countries grew weak for the loss of our resources, and he had granted me another reason to offer letters of marque and reprisal against Spanish ships. Alba realised how dire a mistake this was quicker than his master and sent his ambassador to attempt to make friends again, but whilst I talked to him, I had no intention of releasing Spanish merchants or goods.

  The good ambassador’s advice wounded Phillip far more than me. Phillip, when annoyed, often did not think very far ahead. English wool was the best raw material there was, and as we started to trade more with France, Phillip realised what his wrath, and listening to his hysterical ambassador, had cost him. I do not deny there was some annoyance in the embargo. We were forced to deal with different ports, and that took time, but a little irritation was a fair price for the damage I was able to do to Phillip.

  Ignoring de Spes, who urged for more restrictions and even hinted at outright war, Phillip began to write to me, negotiating to resume trade. I took great pleasure in being as impudent as possible, as well as not answering his letters for weeks.

  I had good reason for doing so.

  Drake was on his way to secretly inspect Spanish shipping routes. It was a slow start we made, but a sure one.

  Quietly, the English had been set loose upon the waters of the world.

  *

  By January, my royal cousin had entered a state of limbo, and I along with her. Mary was in no doubt of her situation; she was being held illegally. I am sure, in her mind, this offered ample justification for all she did in the years that followed. In many ways, I could not blame her.

  I would have done the same… only better.

  In January, Shrewsbury rode out to take on his new charge. Shrewsbury was sent with a letter from me to Mary, along with detailed instructions. He was to reduce her household again, and was also to keep a close eye on her spending, regulate her diet, and only rarely permit his wife, Bess, who was to join him so Mary might have elevated company, to meet the Queen rarely. He was not to allow any other to call unless they had written permission from me.

  “And… Shrewsbury?” I called as he made for the chamber door.

  “Majesty?”

  “Do not fall for her charms,” I said, playing with a nail. “She has curled other men about her finger. I do not wish to hear she has done the same to you.”

  “If I so dared, Majesty, my None would have my head long before you.”

  I chuckled. Bess was deeply in love with her new husband. It was one reason I had asked her to join the party.

  Bess had gone ahead to Tutbury Castle, Mary’s new home, and had written to say she thought it inappropriate. It had been used for years only as a hunting lodge, and Bess wrote it was in a state of disrepair, as well as being cold, dank and unwelcoming. Bess and Shrewsbury had suggested Mary be kept at Sheffield Castle, one of their properties, until Tutbury was ready, and initially I agreed, but swiftly changed my mind. A spell in unwholesome Tutbury would demonstrate to my cousin that she was dependent on my goodwill. But I did not want her kept in truly horrible conditions. To do so would be to open myself to censure from France and Spain. Bess requested permission to bring furniture and cloth from Sheffield and I agreed. The good Countess all but stripped Sheffield Castle; tapestry, chairs, beds, feather mattresses, bolsters, carpets, bed hangings of gold and crimson as well as cushions were brought to Tutbury, and the heavily guarded party bearing Mary prepared to set out.

  It was then that Catherine Knollys took a turn for the worse. I was called to her bedside by a frantic Blanche. “She is fading, Majesty,” said my old friend, twisting her hands. Blanche was close to Catherine.

  “I will come,” I said, my heart in my throat.

  With Mary Radcliffe and Helena Snakenborg in tow, I raced to my friend.

  Catherine was grey. The fever had robbed her of strength, that vital energy she had always possessed even in the darkest of times. There was a sense of resignation upon the air of the chamber. It struck me hard, a slap about the face, as I entered. As I approached, she offered a wan smile. “It is good to see you, madam,” she said. “I wanted to hold on until you came.”

  “Do not speak so wild.” I took her hand. “You will be well. Francis is almost ready to come home. When he
is here you will recover.” I offered her a shaky smile. “You could not disappoint your husband, could you?”

  “I think this will not be, no matter how much I would love to see him again,” she said. “I feel Death, Majesty. He will not wait. I know I have seen my husband for the last time, but I am glad you are here.”

  “I will not lose you.” Tears sprang to my eyes and I clutched her hand as though, together, we could hold Death at bay.

  “You will not, not in life and not in death,” she murmured. “Always, Majesty, I am your servant.”

  “You are more to me than that.” Leaning in to her ear, I whispered, “You are my sister. Always have I known, and always I have been grateful.”

  “Then let me die as such,” she said. “Not as servant, not as cousin, but as your sister. For you have always been the same to me, and more. You are hope, Majesty. You were our hope in the days of exile, as you are the hope of England now. There is no greater gift that could be given to one in despair. You took our dreams and joined them to yours, bringing England to a place of safety, and happiness. No sister could have done more, and no mistress either.”

  She smiled, her pale face brightening under the power of her benign expression. “And know that whilst we could not share our bond of blood whilst we lived, I will be waiting for you, in the Kingdom of Heaven. I will keep a chair for you, Majesty, so you might regale me with your tales for the rest of time, and we will sit and celebrate them together, as sisters.”

  “As equals,” I said, my throat caught in a spasm of grief, my heart breaking.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness for two days, and was granted the last rites for fear that she would pass at any time. When finally Catherine left, it was done so gently that no one realised. I had fallen asleep at the end of her bed, my head gently pillowed by her legs. When I woke, I found Blanche putting a hand to Catherine’s throat. She was already growing cold. In sleep, Death had taken her, showing mercy to this woman I loved so well.

  Francis did not make it back to see her. Of all the things I had done, I regretted this keenly. I had to put duty before affection, and although I sometimes rebelled, I had not on this occasion. Francis was distraught, not only that his wife was dead, but that he had not seen her one last time. He could not even write, and had to ask his brother to send messages in his stead.

  Guilt consumed me. When I opened my mouth, all I could speak of was Catherine. I listed the reasons I had not recalled Knollys to Kate Carey and Helena, to assail my writhing guilt. I was shamed, full of remorse, and attempted to excuse myself by saying I had acted for England. This was true, but in protecting my country, I had deprived my sweet sister of the best, and last, comfort I could have granted.

  “Madam, Catherine loved you more than anything,” said Helena, her bewitching hazel eyes filling with tears. “She understood that you needed her husband elsewhere, as she understood all the pressures upon you. She never spoke of you unless it was in praise. Truly, my lady, you were her greatest friend, and she would never have judged you as you do yourself, now.”

  “I should have brought Francis home,” I said, clutching her hand, comforted by Helena’s supple skin and scent of rose upon her. “Perhaps her husband could have made her well again.”

  “If your doctors could not work miracles, Majesty, Francis Knollys cannot either,” said Helena. “Truly, madam, you did all you could. Sometimes, it is just someone’s time. The hourglass tipped, the sand ran out.”

  “My aunt is at peace,” said Kate Carey, dropping to crouch at my side. “She lived a good life, and was proud to serve you, Majesty. She would be distraught to know that you pour shame upon yourself. She would only have wanted you to be at peace.”

  Blanche tried to comfort me too, as did my other ladies, but nothing they said could wash away my guilt. I brought Catherine’s daughter, Elizabeth, to me and each day we talked of her mother. Each evening, I spoke of Catherine; her steadfast loyalty, her spirit and energy, her caring, capable hands which ordered and controlled her large family. Until she died, I do not believe I had ever realised how important she was to me.

  It is often the way. We humans are foolish, blind creatures. We desire what we cannot have and value it more highly than that which we possess, even if what we possess is worth more than anything else in the world.

  I could not sleep. Visions of Catherine came to me. I remembered when she had lived with my sister and me at Hatfield when we were young, and the stories she told me of my mother. She had often told me of my mother’s gowns, which were, Catherine said, so beautiful they took her breath away. Catherine had copied them for her dolls, but she said they never looked the same. “It was the way she moved,” Catherine had said once, her tone wistful. “It could not be replicated on a doll of wax and bone. No other I ever saw moved like her… besides you, madam.”

  Catherine had granted me a link to my past, and constancy in my present. She was a woman without equal amongst my many talented, intelligent and beautiful friends. Many nights I lay awake, trying to hold on to the sound of her laugh, trying to catch the echo of her voice and preserve it in my mind. Anything I had of her, I kept, locked away in the box hidden in my chambers, which contained keepsakes of all my family who were now dead.

  One day, I stepped out of my rooms and caught the scent of lavender. There was no reason for it to be upon the wind. It was winter and the bushes were not in bloom.

  It was Kat, her ghost upon the breeze, come to tell me that Catherine was with her. It may seem foolish, but that thought granted me more comfort than any words my ladies spoke.

  “Keep them all safe, Kat,” I whispered. “Hold them close. Tell them to have patience, for one day I will be with you all again.”

  I turned my face from the scent. As much as it comforted me, it made me aware of all I had lost. The people I had loved were leaving me. The weight of loneliness fell, crushing my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hampton Court

  Winter 1569

  In an effort to distract myself, I concentrated on Norfolk.

  Norfolk and Arundel wanted Cecil gone. They were conducting not-so-secret meetings with Pembroke and others who had reason to dislike Cecil, and the old rumour of Norfolk wanting to marry Mary had resurfaced. They were up to something, and we needed to know what. The time was ripe to sow the seeds of Cecil’s plan, and I sent for Robin.

  “We want you to make friends with Norfolk and Arundel,” I told him as Cecil looked on. “Enter their conspiracy and find out what they are up to.”

  “They have never been friends to me, Majesty,” Robin said, his face doubtful. “Why would they believe I was in earnest?”

  “You will tell them I am preventing you from marrying the Queen,” Cecil interjected. “They will believe that.”

  “I have instructed my ladies to spread gossip that Cecil is trying to remove you from the Council,” I said. “And you will complain bitterly of this, starting today.” I watched Robin as the plan worked its way into his able mind. “They will not reject you. They know how close we are, Robin, and they know, too, how often you and Cecil have come to blows. They will appreciate your influence, and seek to use it. They will think they are playing you.”

  “Whilst I spy on them?”

  “Indeed.”

  Robin looked elated by the idea and I shook my head. “Do not overplay your hand, Robin,” I warned. “You tend to elaborate when you lie. Norfolk and Arundel are not blessed with able minds, but they may become suspicious.”

  “I have learned to conceal my intentions from everyone but you, my lady,” he said. “With you, I can hide nothing, but I am better at dissembling with others who do not know me so well.”

  “See that you do,” I said. “This is of great importance, Robin. I want to know what they are planning. It may be their plot to unseat Cecil will lead to an attempt at murder. You will watch them, join in with their plans, and report everything to me. I will hand the information on to Cecil.”r />
  I handed him a book of codes. “This is so we can communicate if you are away from court. Guard it carefully. If they have our code, we are undone.”

  Since ancient times, people had sent messages in secret. Pliny the Elder had left instructions on how to use the milk of the thithymallus plant as ink that was rendered invisible to the naked eye. Some spies wrote using their urine, an ink that would only reveal itself if heated. Other methods might be to send a letter, supposedly about nothing of importance, but place a pin mark under certain letters, to spell out a hidden message.

  But there were ways to hide secrets in plain sight; ciphers and codes.

  It was often safer to use cipher, rather than codes. Ciphers were either rearrangements of the letters in words, or they were letters, symbols or numbers used in place of other letters, such as a reversal of the alphabet, z in the place of a, and so on. In order for them to be understood by the intended recipient, however, they had to follow a straightforward, prearranged system. Random jumbling of letters and words was useless.