Treason in Trust

by G Lawrence

  “I think they may be simply reacting to the appointment of Sir William St Leger as President of Munster,” Tom said. “They would never be disloyal to you, Majesty.”

  “Yet they joined in rebellion with Fitzmaurice, against my own Deputy, Sidney,” I said. “Fitzmaurice has caused trouble in the past, and is a known, and fervent Catholic. He would happily act against me.”

  “Let me go to Ireland, Majesty,” Tom said, his eyes troubled. “I will bring my brothers to reason.”

  “That is what I was going to command in any case.” I stopped and smiled. “It saddens me to be angry with you, cousin. I like it more when we are friends.”

  “I too, Majesty.”

  “Then get you gone. Bring your brothers in line, so we might be the best of friends as once we were.”

  As Ormonde made for the door, I called out to him. “And, Tom? You will obey Sidney, in whatever he commands. I want that rightly understood.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  *

  That month, Robin’s advice paid off. Cecil had made a fine show of appearing afraid of Norfolk, and the Duke clearly took this to heart. Soon, rumours that Cecil was about to be sent to the Tower died, and the lords of court who had been fervently baying for Cecil’s blood fell silent. And there was more.

  “He confessed all, Majesty,” Cecil said, telling me of a recent meeting with Norfolk. “He wishes to marry Mary of Scots, and desires my support.”

  “And what of mine?” I asked. “The only sanction he requires comes from me. It would appear Norfolk has forgotten this.”

  “I told him to confess to you, my lady. I think he is scared of the other implications of the marriage, so hesitates in case you think he is after your crown.”

  “It certainly sounds as if he is scared, but he cannot be so blind. Norfolk must know confiding in you is as good as telling me.”

  “He thinks I will say nothing.”

  “Then he is more a fool than I took him for.” I closed my eyes. Norfolk was giving me a headache. “Just what does he want, Cecil? Simply to wed my royal cousin, or to use this banker and de Spes to engineer an invasion of England?”

  “I think he is backing away from radical suggestions,” Cecil said. “Those are coming from de Spes, not Norfolk. But the Duke is too scared of you to bring the marriage proposal forth.”

  I chuckled, my eyes opening. “I often wonder that grown men, who could easily overpower and kill me, are scared of me.”

  “You are an almighty force when enraged, madam. Even I fear for my life when you turn a glittering eye upon me.”

  “It is the dragon of Wales peeking out. There is fire in the blood of Tudors.”

  “Mary of Scots has petitioned the Pope to release her from her marriage,” Cecil went on. “She says since it was done through Protestant rites it is not valid.”

  “Did you ask Moray about it?” I asked. We had anticipated Mary would use this excuse, and I had wanted to know what Moray thought.

  “He was in favour, at first, but has come to reconsider. Much as he wants Bothwell removed from Scotland’s affairs for good, he believes Mary will use this to get back into her homeland. He also knows of the plot between Norfolk and Mary, and worries Norfolk might stake a claim to your throne, restoring Catholicism. He has, actually, written to you to divulge the plot. He says he sends this information in order to protect you.”

  “How sweet of him,” I said dryly. “Moray is a fool to think I know nothing about it, but men always do suppose women to be simpletons.”

  “Not all of us, madam.”

  “True, you are right to censure me. I grow annoyed when men speak of women as a group. I should not lower myself to the same… however true my statements are.”

  Cecil chuckled. “The prevailing thought that women are foolish and weak lends you power, my lady. That is why you always manage to catch other kings by surprise. To them, a woman with a mind is most unexpected.”

  “I never said it was not useful, Cecil, only that I resent it.” I made an arch of my fingers and set them under my chin. “What is to be done? I do not wish to uncover Norfolk right now. I would prefer to see what he is plotting, and how far he is into this. He might have lied to you. He might be deeper into this than we thought. We need more time.”

  “I fear we will not have time on our side much longer,” said Cecil. “Norfolk and Arundel are not talented at subterfuge. There is a much underrated art in going unseen and unheard which they have not mastered. Grouping together in dark corners, stopping conversation abruptly and glancing about as though they are players performing a dark and dastardly murder on stage is most noticeable. People are talking. Snippets have been overheard, and news is leaking out. Soon you will have to take action, madam, or look like a fool for remaining unaware.”

  “I care not what others think of me.” I allowed my fingers to stroke my throat as I thought. “It is a shame they are not more talented,” I said, “like your man Walsingham and his minions. They would not be caught out so.”

  “Indeed not,” said Cecil. “Walsingham knows everyone watches him, which is why he speaks little, and his men and women are careful and discreet. They do not submit to dramatic urges in their craft.”

  “I should think not. What use is a spy if they look like a spy?”

  “That is why we are coming to enlist women, Majesty. Especially ones who seem innocent, empty-headed, blather-mouths… No one suspects them.”

  “Another fine use of prejudice,” I said. Setting my hands behind my back I stretched, cracking my knuckles, which made Cecil wince and the pins in my gown strain. “We will let the plot continue a while longer. I want to see if Norfolk can gather his courage and come to me. I also want to know if his sights are only set upon an advantageous marriage. Robin thinks he has retreated from treason. I would like to be sure.”

  “No one can be certain what lies in the heart of another, Majesty.”

  We had further news that week. Letters intercepted from Alba to de Spes were brought to me, once they had been deciphered, copied and the originals sent on their way again with unbroken seals. Walsingham had a man who was talented at this delicate art. Alba made clear that he was too busy in the Low Countries to consider an invasion of England on Mary’s behalf, and his royal master was in agreement. Whilst reassuring, this suggested de Spes had indeed requested an invasion. Alba also said that de Spes was not to engage in plotting against me, but remain impartial.

  “De Spes has not taken heed,” said Robin. “He is urging Norfolk to head down radical and dangerous paths.”

  “And what says Norfolk?”

  “He retreats,” Robin said. “I am not party to these discussions, for they think that would be a step too far for me, but I hear much. De Spes appears to be in contact with northern lords. He is plotting something beyond Norfolk.”

  I had much cause to mourn the loss of de Silva. The pleasant interlude of peace he had created was long gone. De Quadra’s true heir had come to England.

  De Spes was a menace.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Richmond Palace and Oatlands

  Summer 1569

  We prepared for progress as usual that summer. I embarked on a grand progress every two years, but did smaller ones in between, visiting a few select and honoured households, to demonstrate favour.

  My plans to escape London should have brought happiness, but I was both uneasy and depressed to consider that one of my own blood was potentially plotting against me. I should have been accustomed to betrayal: my father had killed my mother and my cousin; my brother had removed my sister and me from the succession; a Grey had stolen the throne; my sister had been tempted to kill me quite a few times, and since coming to the throne I had had two Marys, one Katherine, and two bastard boys after my throne. Yes… I should have been used to it, but I was not.

  Plots against me were personal, and not only because they might involve my demise. The throne was my power, the only thing which kept me
at liberty. It was a strange liberty, for it held me in chains as it set me free, but it was the only freedom I had and I cherished it.

  But my liberty came at a price; intimacy.

  I paid it willingly because I knew what it was to be in the power of another. I had been a prisoner, and had brushed close to losing my head on more than one occasion. I had almost been sold to a man in marriage without my consent, and had been hunted as a child by a predator.

  I knew what it was to live in fear, to have no power, to be vulnerable, weak and helpless but for the mind within my head. Oh yes… I knew what it was to dwell in terror, and I never would again. When I came to the throne, I swore I would suffer no master but God.

  By July, court was afire with news of the proposed marriage. Cecil was right. Norfolk and his men were poor at concealing their intentions. Perhaps surprisingly, some of my Council were quietly in favour of the match. They, like me, were uncomfortable with keeping Mary as a prisoner. It shook the established order, set in place by the Almighty, and if the top of the tree was shaken, apples would fall from below, too. They feared Mary’s imprisonment would bring about a shift in loyalties; that men might no more obey noble masters if it became clear even those anointed by God could be criminals. Not knowing of the more extreme parts of the plot, they supported Norfolk’s desire to wed Mary, but despite knowing this, Norfolk still lacked the courage to come to me.

  I tried to make myself easily available. Richmond was famed for its gardens, and in the bright days of early summer, I took to them a great deal, and made it known I was there, hoping to tempt him to come. If he could gather his courage, and confess all, I was of a mind to be generous. I would not allow him to wed Mary, but if he was only involved in this part of the plot, I would not accuse him of being a traitor.

  I walked for hours each day, strolling along the covered passageways, glazed with golden badges of roses and portcullises, with my great pouch of notes swinging merrily from my waist. Silver weather vanes sang in the wind, and as I obambulated through my orchards, surrounded by peach, apple and damson trees, or meandered past herb beds, rich with lettuce, rosemary, thyme and borage, I waited for Norfolk. I took time to pause in Richmond’s great hall, its walls decorated with murals of past kings, long since dead, and made sure I was available in my Presence Chamber daily, in the three-storey stone tower my grandfather had built, where the royal lodgings and chambers set aside for my favourites were.

  Day after day I waited. Day after day he failed me.

  Whilst I was at Richmond, Robin received the visitor I was waiting on. Whilst fishing at his house in Kew, Rob found Norfolk at his elbow. He told Robin that I had become aware of court gossip, and he thought the subject of his marriage should be broached.

  “He is not in line with the radial notions spewing from de Spes,” Robin said as we rode from Richmond to Oatlands, our first step on progress.

  “But still he will not approach me,” I pointed out. “Is Norfolk really such a coward?”

  “Yes,” Robin said simply. “He thinks you will believe there is more to the plot, and fears your wrath.”

  “There may well be more to the plot,” I reminded him.

  “If there is, it is of de Spes’ making, not Norfolk’s,” said Robin. “I would stake my fortune on it.”

  “From what I hear, Rob, you do not have a fortune to wager.” Robin was a spender. He was constantly in debt, despite the large benefits and offices I granted him.

  I adjusted my special riding hood, fashioned to stay on the head no matter if I rode wild, as I often did. My riding skirt was fastened at the waist, and covered my feet, keeping my skirts from flying up. My ladies wore similar garments, and our gowns were also tied to our stirrups, which was practical, but somewhat dangerous. If a rider fell, they might be dragged under the horse rather than tumbling clear of the churning hooves. Cecil thought our skirts were horrors, but my ladies and I were skilled horsewomen. We would not be taken by surprise.

  “I will try to conjure up more patience with Norfolk,” I said. “But you must be my alchemist, and get him to produce golden courage.”

  Feeling pity, I personally approached Norfolk a few days later. “I hear you are thinking of marriage, Your Grace,” I said conversationally. “Do you have news to tell me?”

  Norfolk flushed, denied it, and scurried away like a frightened field mouse. I watched his retreat with a weighted heart.

  “He left you and came to me,” Robin told me that night as we lounged before the decorated hearth at Oatlands. “He asked for my aid.”

  “I offered him a chance this morning and he did not take it.” I stared at the hearth, flush with budding branches. Despite the fact that Oatlands had been built by my father for his third wife, Jane Seymour, who had displaced my own mother, I was fond of the palace. It was happily situated, quiet, and afforded excellent hunting.

  “He is scared, Majesty. He thinks you will take his head.”

  I smiled ruefully. I knew the reason. A few days ago, when we had reached Oatlands, I had been engaged in conversation with Fenelon, the French Ambassador. Thinking to blow a sharp wind behind Norfolk and send him scuttling to me, I had talked of Mary and her plots, saying I would, “like to take a few heads” and knew the identity of those causing trouble. Clearly this had not worked as I had wished.

  “When we get to Loseley,” I said, speaking of our next stop. “Keep your promise and tell Norfolk I am interested in the idea, but will not offer my consent yet. That may grant him the courage he lacks.”

  “You are inclined to believe me… that his intentions are foolish rather than treasonable, then?”

  “I trust you, Robin, but I remain unsure about Norfolk.” I rubbed my head, feeling a pain, like a serrated dagger, tearing at my mind.

  It was not only Norfolk offering me headaches that summer. Regent Moray continued to cause problems when he and his men declared formally that Mary would not be accepted back to Scotland. I swore to continue to work for her restoration. The only solution, however, was to go to war on Mary’s behalf. I was not about to do that.

  When we reached Loseley Park, seat of Sir William More, Robin came to enact our latest little scene. I sat on a seat at the front door, in full view of the court who were milling in the summer sunshine. I was listening to one of More’s children play the lute. Norfolk was not far away.

  “Is he watching?” I asked.

  “He is.”

  I allowed a dark frown to encase my features as we pretended to be speaking of Norfolk and Mary. “Tell the Duke later that I want to speak to him,” I said. “He has the chance to come clean, Robin. I can do nothing for him if he does not take it.”

  A few days later, when we reached Farnham, I invited Norfolk to dine with me. This was a rare honour, and one which I hoped would unfurl his reluctant tongue. I offered every opportunity for him to tell me his plans, but he would not. As the meal came to an end, I pinched his side.

  “I would wish that you would take good heed to your pillow,” I said, referencing his words about the dangers of marrying Mary of Scots earlier in the year. This was the prime moment for him to admit his part, but even though Norfolk thought Robin had disclosed the scheme to me, he said nothing.

  “What a craven soul that man is,” I said to Blanche as she and Kate Carey prepared me for bed.

  “Perhaps he fears to lose his scheme as greatly as he fears your Majesty’s wrath,” she replied.

  “You mean he hesitates in case I refuse?”

  “It is a possibility.” Blanche set a small silver knife to my bodice and broke the threads holding it to my back. I was sewn into fine court dresses each morning, and released at night. It was a daily task. “Sometimes we fear to speak of our dreams in case they fail to come true by being heard.”

  “You are a wise old soul, my Blanche,” I said.

  “Merely observant, my lady,” she said, setting a pin between her lips as she set to removing my gossamer ruff, made of lawn and thick with pearls.


  “Perhaps they are the same creature,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Titchfield, Hampshire and The Vyne, Basingstoke

  Summer-Autumn 1569

  Riding through the countryside, on our way to Titchfield, I should have been in a sweet and merry mood. Progress was a time of luxurious liberty for me under normal circumstances. Not so, this year, I thought despondently, gazing back at the vast snake of carts, horses and people.

  Far behind me, wagons trundled along the dusty road, taking care to avoid pot-holes and ditches. Carrying furniture, cushions, mattresses, state papers, tents, food, drink and clothes, there were six hundred in total. Plumes of dust rose in the air, floating up, gathering to dance in the glimmering sunlight.