by G Lawrence
“If Phillip thinks he can get away with inciting rebellion in my kingdom, he is much mistaken!” I roared at Cecil. “I will have my revenge.”
“In light of this,” Cecil said. “There can be no mercy shown to the rebels. They are twice traitors, Majesty… once, for rising against you, and secondly, for accepting money from foreign princes.”
I gazed at him with a stark face and empty heart. I had no desire to punish foolish people, but I understood. This had been the first, and I hoped, last, English rebellion of my reign. I was normally a clement mistress, but to show undue mercy in this case would encourage dissent, and the fact that this revolt had been funded by Spain could not be ignored. Orders were dispatched to Sussex and Hunsdon, telling them to act brutally, but not unjustly. One man from every village which had sent men to join the Earls was to be hanged, along with all the ring-leaders. “You are to proceed thereunto, for the terror of others, with expedition,” I wrote. “Spare no offenders. We are in nothing moved to spare them.”
This was untrue, I was moved, but Cecil and my other lords convinced me a strong hand had to be shown. My father had shown no mercy when quashing the Pilgrimage of Grace. I had to demonstrate the same resolve. This rebellion had to be dealt with harshly, so harshly that men would fear to rise again.
Each church bell that had rung for the rebels was stripped out, leaving but one bell in each parish to sound its call in support of my crown. Over the next two months, almost eight hundred people were hanged. Although it was a staggering amount, I had been merciful. The rebel army had numbered perhaps five thousand. I could have dispatched them all to death.
Bodies were left dangling from trees and gibbets as a warning. I commanded they were not to be taken down until their desiccated corpses fell to bits. Local nobles who had joined in lost their houses and estates, but my Council urged me not to take their lives.
“Why should the nobility lose only land and goods?” I demanded, “when common men go to their deaths?”
My outburst was met with a wall of silence. That was the way the world was, and I knew it. Commoners died for their crimes, and rich people lost their property.
Rebels who had fled to Scotland, we were told, had quickly taken to ships to flee to the Continent. In Paris or Rome, they met up with other exiles, mainly Catholics fled abroad for their faith. There, united, they began to plot against me.
Despite this, I should have been merry. No battles had been fought, yet the rebellion was put down. My capital had not come under threat, and neither had my person… But staring at the list of those who had been executed, I could find little peace.
As the rebellion faded, I sent for Mary’s death warrant and destroyed it. Cecil wanted me to use it, but I would not. I knew not how deeply involved Mary was with the rebellion and I was not about to order her death based on rumour and gossip.
But there was a way to test her. A way to find out much we did not know.
Roberto Ridolfi, the Italian banker, had been arrested as the rebellion erupted, and was found to have bulls of foreign exchange on his person for Norfolk and the Bishop of Ross, Mary’s ambassador. But Ridolfi was not sent to the Tower. He had been taken to Walsingham’s house, and the reasons for this were explained to me.
“If turned, he would be useful,” said Cecil.
“You think to make him work for us?”
“Walsingham does,” said Cecil. “Ridolfi has already shown much potential. He was scared, when arrested, and told Walsingham about his links to the Bishop of Ross, and the marriage plot with Norfolk. He is the reason we know money was sent from Phillip to the rebellion, and to Mary from the Pope.”
“And Walsingham thinks this man is now our man?”
Cecil paused, rubbing a finger down his jaw. “He thinks he could be useful,” he said, evading my question. “If Ridolfi were set free, he could go to Rome and Spain, find out how committed the Pope and King Phillip are to deposing you, and report back. He might induce Mary of Scots to break the law, thereby granting us leave to hold her under charges of treason.”
“And if he is only promising this in order to be set free?”
“He has been offered a great deal of money for his information, and Walsingham has rooted out a man to follow him, a servant already in Ridolfi’s household,” said Cecil. “Even if Ridolfi is not truly our spy, with our man on his tail we will learn all we need to.”
“I would prefer a truly loyal man.”
“So would we all, Majesty, but sometimes we must work with what we have.”
I nodded. Although I disliked the notion of entrapping Mary, I understood it was the only way I was ever to be sure of her intentions. If Ridolfi could stir up trouble, induce Mary to commit treason to parchment, I would know whether she was truly friend or foe.
Walsingham was brought to me a day later.
I never knew quite what to make of Walsingham. No one did. His tall frame, dark colouring, and habitually black clothes made him appear like a shadow. He was always just in the background… a shade disappearing about the corner as you glanced up. Quiet and reserved, he was unremarkable in many ways, yet there was something in the long tunnels of his eyes which showed that he missed nothing. Cecil liked him, not only because he was a zealous Protestant, but because he was highly, unsettlingly intelligent.
“What should I know of this Ridolfi before I meet him?” I asked Walsingham.
“Would you prefer a comfortable lie or an uneasy truth, Majesty?”
“You do not know if you have converted him,” I said. It was not a question.
Walsingham inclined his dark head. “I do not.”
“Then how do we know we can trust him?”
“We do not.”
I sighed. “Walsingham,” I said. “Has anyone ever told you how excruciatingly irritating you are?”
The faintest hint of a smile twitched at his stern lips. “My wife, Majesty, many times.”
“Wise woman,” I said grimly. “I should like to meet her.”
“She would be honoured, Majesty. Ursula speaks most highly of you.”
“Tell her the feeling is mutual. Having a husband like you must be an ongoing test of her patience and diplomacy.”
“My wife, indeed, has many talents.”
For a moment it seemed Walsingham was about to crack a smile, but if his lips had been wending that way, they desisted. “What should I do with Ridolfi, then?” I asked.
“Flatter him, Majesty. Ridolfi is susceptible to compliments. He likes attention.”
“And you would have me grant it to him?”
“I would. With Ridolfi working for us, we will uncover much, and even if he is not a true convert, we will learn a great deal.”
Walsingham explained that Ridolfi had been in London for almost ten years, and was a prominent member of the banking community, as well as a suspected papal spy. Walsingham believed Ridolfi’s passion for attention had led him to become embroiled in the plots against me and Cecil.
“His loyalties are not fixed,” Walsingham said. “He will work for whoever offers the most money, and the most excitement.”
Offering the banker a great deal of money to secretly turn on his former allies and work for us, Walsingham had struck a deal. It was a necessary evil. There was word of a plot devised by Phillip to continue the trade embargo on England and impose the Catholic faith, and others from France which involved killing me and setting Mary on my throne. The two appeared to be separate. Phillip might shout about Mary’s imprisonment, but he did not want her upon my throne.
“And this is why, perhaps, Phillip did not send the intended troops to the rebels?” I asked.
“I think that is the case, Majesty,” said Walsingham.
I nodded, understanding Phillip’s mind. Catholic she might be, and therefore at first glance preferable to me, but Mary remained heavily allied with France. Phillip did not need a French puppet on my throne. I was the lesser evil, in that regard.
“If there is to
be a new sovereign of England,” Walsingham said. “King Phillip thinks it should be him. Supporting the rebels was therefore to his advantage, at first. If you were deposed or held captive, madam, he would press his claim, but when the rebels announced they were to depose only your advisors, he stood back.”
I inclined my head. “Phillip and Charles saw that my people were loyal, including all the Catholics who failed to rise. That unnerved them. Merely destroying my government was not what my good brothers had in mind.”
“Phillip thinks he is the true King of England,” said Cecil.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course he does,” I said. “Phillip thought he should have been named King of England both whilst my sister was Queen and after her death. He is a descendant of John of Gaunt, and that is the basis for his claim, but if every descendant of Gaunt’s overactive loins were to clamber upon my throne, it would collapse.”
Walsingham went on to explain that Ridolfi had made a large sum of money available to the rebels, apparently on the demands of de Spes. Given that Phillip did not want Mary on my throne, I knew not if he was truly involved, or if it was just his ambassador. De Spes had his own plans, and some were not in tune with those of his master.
“There is word that de Spes attempted, some months ago, to convince Fenelon that France should join Spain and cut off trade to England, with it only to be restored if the Catholic faith was too,” said Walsingham. “Fenelon committed to nothing, Majesty, but Ridolfi says de Spes was eager for a deal.”
“Just how many individual plots is de Spes involved in?” I asked. “I wonder he can keep track of them all.”
“They all wend from different paths to the same, central one,” said Cecil. “De Spes wants you gone, Majesty, and me with you. He would have Catholicism restored, and Mary or Phillip on the throne. I am not sure he cares which monarch rises, as long as they are Catholic. He has ignored his master’s commands on more than one occasion. I think we must view him as a separate danger to Phillip.”
“But we do not know if Phillip may be willing to support Mary,” I pointed out. “He might uphold Mary if she would abandon her loyalties to France. If he supported her, and through that support she claimed my throne, he would gain her gratitude, and therefore control over England.”
“That is true,” said Cecil.
I shook my head. “And as for France… what are they up to? Do they know we sent aid to the Huguenots?”
Walsingham shook his head. “We think not, but they may suspect.”
“If they remain unaware, their support for the rebels was due to reports of Mary’s mistreatment,” I said. “But there are other benefits. With her on my throne, they would have a friend in England.” I saw Cecil’s face darken as I finished and shook my head. “Do not lecture me again on the perils of Mary,” I told him. “I am well aware of them.”
“She was the primary focus for the rebellion,” Cecil said.
“Actually, Cecil, I think you and the rest of my Council were, which is why the rebellion gained so little foreign support. Had the rebels declared they wanted to overthrow me, that would have been another matter.”
I tapped my finger on the armrest of my chair. “I do not like your plan, gentlemen, but it is true I want to know much. I want to know what lengths France and Spain are willing to go to… and Mary too.”
“Ridolfi is our means to discover that, madam,” said Walsingham. “He is the link between Mary of Scots, France, Rome and Spain. He placed her in the centre of the two plots; one to remove Master Cecil and bring back the Catholic faith, and the other to put her on the English throne.”
“We do not know which plot she was thinking to support,” I pointed out. “If any, at all.”
Both men assumed dubious expressions and a hawing sound rumbled in Cecil’s throat. They thought Mary deep in the heart of this chaos, but Cecil and Walsingham did not have weighty concerns about sacred royalty hanging over them, nor bonds of blood to worry about. It was easier for them.
“We can satisfy Ridolfi’s urges for excitement and danger by drawing him into working for us as a double agent,” said Cecil, obviously deciding there was small point in continuing to argue against Mary.
“How are we to know he will not become a double, double agent?” I asked, my brow creasing. “That he will not pretend to work for us, whilst continuing to toil for Phillip? Or Rome?”
Walsingham’s face said it all. We did not know, but with a man tailing Ridolfi, we might learn of any intended conspiracies. Officially, it was to be said that Ridolfi had been found innocent of any complicity. Unofficially, he was to be our spy. We did not want to make enemies amongst the Italian bankers, so it was to our benefit to set him free, but I held qualms. My men did too, but they believed Ridolfi was worth a risk.
And what a risk it was! This was someone who had plotted against me with every one of my enemies, and demonstrated he was capable of sticking a finger in every pie of intrigue baked in England.
“You wish to set him loose to provoke trouble?” I asked.
“The trouble is already there, Majesty,” said Cecil. “Ridolfi is simply our means of drawing it from the shadows into the light, so we may see it.”
Cecil was right, as was Walsingham. If their assessment of Ridolfi was accurate, he would work for us for as long as it benefited him. Ridolfi was the only link we had between Mary and the many enemies of England.
“Ridolfi might send back disinformation,” I protested.
“He might, but our man will keep watch,” said Cecil.
“I will meet him, but I remain wary.”
“Do not show that, Majesty,” Walsingham warned. “He must believe you are utterly assured of his loyalty. Ridolfi is absolutely convinced of his own importance and intelligence. He loves to think he is the smartest man in the room, and takes delight in tricking others.”
“You want me to play the feeble-minded woman?”
Walsingham nodded. “This is Ridolfi’s chance to deceive some of the greatest leaders, generals and kings of Europe, Majesty, and he hungers for it. But he must think he is more intelligent than you. Making him feel significant will lead to him, perhaps, working for us, but if he doubts you, he will certainly work for our enemies.” Walsingham offered a rare, grim smile. “He is a spider who feeds on intrigue. We must dispatch fat flies to his web.”
“Lecture me not on how to play men, Walsingham,” I snapped tartly. “By necessity, I have been doing it all my life, and I am better at it even than you.”
Another light twitch ruffled in his beard. If I did not know better, I might have thought Walsingham found me amusing. “I bow humbly before your ability, Majesty.”
“I will meet him,” I said, “once the rebellion is definitely set down.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Somerset House and Hampton Court
Winter 1569 - 1570
As the north howled in pain for the executions of her men, and disloyal lords grumbled for losing property, Norfolk was degraded from the Order of the Garter. My men heaved him from his comfortable prison and threw him into the Tower moat. It was a traditional part of the ceremony of degrading a knight, and I rather enjoyed reports the incident. With two men holding his legs and two more his arms, he was thrown hard and long, landing in the middle of the moat and emerging from the stinking waters with a ream of pondweed upon his noble head.
Think yourself fortunate, coz, that you have a head left to bear a coronet of stinking weeds, I thought.
Norfolk wrote to me, telling me that he had no idea I was so opposed to the marriage with Mary, and he had not been involved with the northern rising. The first protest was clearly a lie, and the second a half-truth at best. Norfolk must have known something, otherwise why send a messenger telling his brother-in-law to call off the attack? His feeble excuses enraged me. More cowardice, I thought.
I was brought to terrible fury each time his name was mentioned for days, but as the smoke of wrath cleared, I thought more clemently.
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Norfolk had been foolish, so perhaps had Mary, and there were many reasons to move against them. My father would not have hesitated; plenty of friends and kin had he sent to death, apparently without a moment’s thought. It had not, however, been my way to act without justice. I had been tempted to condemn Norfolk by Act of Attainder, but, I reasoned, with Ridolfi set loose, we might see what my enemies are up to, before deciding to slay family.
Family was on the minds of others, too. Gresham, Mary Grey’s gaoler, wanted her gone. I ignored his request. I had quite enough on my mind without pondering on what I should do with another troublesome cousin, but I did accept an invitation to dine at his house at the end of January when I was due to open the Royal Exchange.