Treason in Trust

by G Lawrence

  There were plenty of rumours about the ruling house of France. Madness seemed endemic in its blood, and there were unsavoury rumours, too, that incest was prevalent amongst the Medici snake’s children. Her intoxicating daughter, Margot, who had apparently inherited all the beauty her brothers missed out on, was rumoured to be a loose woman, and there was gossip that her brothers, King Charles and Anjou, had set her on this path… and not by mere example. Nothing was substantiated, of course. It is hard to find truth in the shadows of court, and I wondered, if the rumours were true, how much choice the young princess had had in the matter. If you cannot rely on family to protect you, you are entirely vulnerable as a woman. What should be the welcome halls of home become pits and traps where you may fall prey to predators.

  Having experienced such horror myself, I pitied this girl, about to be sold off to the Huguenot King, Henri of Navarre. France wanted peace with its immediate neighbours, and although they differed in religion, the wedding between Margot and Henri was set to take place that summer.

  French Catholics were appalled their sweet Princess was about to be sold off to a heretic King. There were, too, rumours that Margot herself was not keen.

  Sometimes I had reason to thank the Lord that my father and brother were long dead. I could not be forced into marriage by male relatives. I was free as she would never be.

  But Margot had no choice. She was to marry Navarre.

  I did not know… none of us did… that an event which should have brought two faiths and countries closer together, would see them only more divided.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Greenwich Palace

  Spring 1572

  Early that year, Douglas Sheffield announced her intention to take an extended period away from court to visit her sister.

  “I feel unwell, Your Majesty,” she said. “And country air would serve me better.”

  I nodded. The girl certainly looked pale, although from what I had heard her affliction was a sickness of the heart.

  Douglas and Robin had argued. It seemed she was no more content to be simply his mistress, and wanted to become his wife. Robin, of course, had told me nothing, but I had many ears about court. If Douglas was pressing for marriage, it was only to be expected. She was a spirited woman, who came from a respected family, and had every right to suppose that she would be treated honourably by Robin. But I had warned him never to allow me to think he loved another. Knowing Robin’s honesty, I was sure he would have informed Douglas of this before they embarked on their love affair. Perhaps at the time she had accepted, lost in love, but now she wanted what he was not willing to offer.

  “You have my blessing to depart,” I said. “I hope you will find the peace you require.”

  Within days of her leaving, another reason for her departure was rumoured. People whispered Douglas was with child, and had left court before it became obvious. I was enraged at Robin. Why could men not take precautions? They expected women to imbibe tansy and henbane to bring on their courses, but rarely took any precautions themselves.

  “Is she with child?” I demanded one day in an enclosed part of the gardens.

  “I know not, Majesty,” said Robin.

  “Do not lie, Robin,” I snapped. “I see falsehood in your eyes. Is the baby yours?”

  “I do not know. She says so, but how is a man to know?”

  “By trusting the word of the woman he has sought to ruin with his lust,” I growled. “If the child is yours, Robin, you will acknowledge it. Douglas does not deserve to be cast into the part of a fallen woman.”

  “If it is a boy, I will claim him as my own.”

  My nostrils flared. “And if a girl, you would simply abandon her and her mother? What if my father had done that to me?”

  “You were destined to be Queen.”

  “I was destined to be nothing of the sort,” I retorted, so angry I did not maintain my stance that I was fated from birth for the throne. “Men cast women and girls aside with such ease. You forget the debt you owe to women. You would not be here if not for a woman risking her life to bring you into the world!”

  I stormed away and would not see him for days. We reconciled, but I remained adamant he would recognise the child.

  *

  “He has sworn a personal oath to support the House of Orange,” said Cecil, “and the King’s mother fears his influence over her son.”

  “Of course she does,” I said. “She had no power during the reign of her late husband, and has grown accustomed to wielding it. As Charles grows fonder of Coligny she will become only more afraid.”

  We were speaking of Admiral Coligny of France. He was clever, well-respected, and although he was a Huguenot, which earned him many enemies, the King was growing close to him. Coligny seemed to have influenced Charles into considering aiding Orange and his allies against Phillip. King Charles had sent covert support to Louis of Nassau in the southern provinces, but had not, as yet, fully committed himself.

  There were political advantages for the French in such a scheme, such as ousting Spain from their doorstep, but Catherine de Medici was wary of making enemies with Phillip, and saw Coligny as a nefarious influence. Charles, however, buoyed up with the notion of military glory, was entertaining the idea.

  Thinking quite rightly that Cecil would see it his way, Coligny wrote to Spirit often. He called the Spanish “the servants of Satan” and asked England to join an offensive league. We were not bound by the Blois Treaty to do so, but Coligny thought he could influence Cecil into speaking in favour of his plan. He was right.

  Cecil thought that diminishing Phillip’s power could only bring good to England, but I was hesitant. The old riddle of who to support in the Netherlands remained unanswered. Phillip and Orange were both anointed princes. Both had a right to rule. I preferred Orange to Phillip, but did that grant me the right to overthrow the King of Spain?

  Covert support was another matter. Aiding the rebels was not directly unseating Phillip. If the rebels won, perhaps God was behind their cause.

  And if the rebels won with my covert aid, I was safe, and if Phillip triumphed, I could claim I had played no part with the rebels, and win again. With this in mind, I had entered talks about supporting Alba, although these were held in great secrecy since I did not want to upset France.

  I had no intention of coming out openly on one side or the other, and we needed no more territories to attempt to protect and control. Ireland was proving trouble enough. If France entered the rebellion in the Low Countries, they would lay claim to lands and become just as large a threat as Spain.

  My prime concern was keeping England safe and prosperous. Playing all sides off against each other would maintain a balance of power and allow fate to decide who should rule the Netherlands. Once the war was won, we would stand on whatever side succeeded, by supporting all in part, but none completely.

  Cecil was to leave empty-handed. I had just concluded a treaty of peace, and was of no mind to wage war.

  *

  In May, Parliament assembled. It was unusually late for them to sit. Only the crisis of Mary and Norfolk could have brought it about so late in the year. The approach of summer was not a good time to pack men and lords into London. Plague came visiting during sultry months. That spring had been unusually hot, too… which helped neither health nor tempers.

  But if Death was stalking London, He was also high in the minds of my Commons and Lords. They wanted Mary gone, dead would be preferable to exiled, and they were bent on convincing me to become her executioner.

  “The only good that could come of Mary is if she were to die,” Cecil said on the night before Parliament opened. “You should cease to offer your royal cousin the benefit of any doubt. The threat she poses will only increase, and more and more Catholics about England will flock to her.”

  “My people will gaze upon the moderate way I deal with Catholics and they will understand my mind,” I said firmly. “You said once they were loyal first to the Po
pe, but this was not borne out when the northern uprising occurred. My people remained loyal.”

  “But the threat remains, and with Spain and the Guise as Mary’s likely supporters…”

  “The Guise are not as powerful as once they were,” I said. “As King Charles turns to Coligny, the Catholic faction fall back. And Spain will be kept busy with the Netherlands. I will make sure Phillip has no time to turn and gaze upon England.”

  I knew Cecil was not listening, and when Parliament convened, I had my proof. He rallied his supporters in both houses, and tried to have them impose sanctions on me. I was going to have a fight on my hands.

  Speaker after speaker stood and railed against Mary. They called her a “very unnatural sister” to me, which was true enough, and said she was a “comet which doth prognosticate the overthrow of this realm”. She was named a Jezebel, adulteress, murderer and a “most filthy and wicked woman”.

  Thinking to discredit Mary still further, Cecil published a tract he had been working on. Called A Detection of the Doings of Mary, Queen of Scots, it was a summary of Mary’s activities. It was sent to France so Walsingham could present it to King Charles. Cecil meant to destroy what was left of Mary’s reputation.

  Cecil published in secret, but I knew it was his work. The timing was too perfect for it to be anyone else. I pretended to be enraged, but allowed it to go out. A defamed Mary was in my interests, but a dead one was not. I would not let my men take her head.

  “Now judge Englishmen if it be good to change Queens,” the tract read. “Oh uniting confounding! When rude Scotland has vomited up a poison, must fine England lick it up for a restorative? O vile indignity! While your Queen’s enemy liveth, her danger continueth.”

  Cecil’s paper set the tone for Parliament. He wanted to make it hard for me to spare Mary. He was not alone. I was the sole voice speaking in defence of my maligned cousin.

  Both Houses rapidly set up committees. They protested Mary was no more a queen, and therefore I should treat her like any other traitor. Parliament set examples before me of Old Testament kings who had been put to death, and Richard Gallys, a freshly appointed Member for New Windsor put it most succinctly in saying they wanted to “cut off her head and make no more ado about her.”

  I was the only thing keeping Mary alive.

  As the din of hysteria augmented, I listened less. Parliament saw Mary not only as a threat to England, but combined with the atrocities we heard of from Flemish, French and Dutch refugees, they saw Mary as part of a wider problem; that of Catholics lusting to usurp Protestant kings, bringing death upon their people. With no heir to my throne, my men saw England as far more vulnerable than other countries.

  But even if we were vulnerable, that did not hold we were weak. Sometimes what appears to be a weakness may be a strength. This was the truth my men did not see. By not naming an heir or taking a husband, I left possibility alive. All allies were open to us and we were beholden to none. We were the unanswered question, the soul capable of anything. We were free, as other countries were not.

  And my England had seen none of the religious strife that had broken other nations. We had not warred with each other for generations. Rebellion came, but it did to other nations too. There would always be problems, troubles, disaffected people willing to upset the normal order, but remaining at liberty, keeping everyone guessing, kept England safe.

  Parliament put two propositions to me. Either try and execute Mary, or legally remove her from the succession and warn that any further involvement in plots would see her put to death.

  I liked neither. Mary would not cease to plot. If I agreed to this bill I would only be postponing her execution, and I knew it would also damage James’ claim. Besides, little as she was suited to my throne or any other, Mary had a claim by right of blood.

  “The execution of the Scottish Queen is of necessity,” declared Thomas Norton, one of Cecil’s men. “It may lawfully be done. You will say she is a Queen’s daughter, and therefore to be spared. Nay then, spare the Queen’s Majesty that is a King’s daughter and our Queen.”

  “My people understand me not,” I said to Hatton as we strolled in the gardens. “They think me hesitant, weak.”

  “All who know you understand that is not so, Majesty,” he said, plucking a dog rose from a wandering shrub and offering it to me. “But it is true they wonder at your mercy. The Queen of Scots has shown herself to be an enemy, yet you demonstrate great clemency.”

  “There is but spare proof she was involved.”

  “Yet proof enough to make all men suspicious.”

  “My people are naturally concerned for the future,” I said. “But part of maintaining some vestige of control over the future is to not allow our options to be limited. I am struck by the similarity in our fates, Hatton. If I had chosen wrongly, I might have walked Mary’s path.”

  “You would not have been so foolish.”

  “It is easy to see what is foolish and what is not when one looks back,” I said. “Knowledge of the past makes every man appear wise. My cousin made poor choices, trusted men she should not have, but I know not that she wanted me dead, so I will not wish the same for her. My people cannot see as I do, Hatton. Oculos habent et non vident, Eyes they have but they see not.”

  Hatton inclined his handsome head, but I knew that he, like so many others, thought me insane. Parliament lectured me, telling me no “threatening words of law” would put Mary off or stop traitors in my realm acting for her.

  Hatton became my intermediary. He told Parliament my orders and managed to stall them, sending proceedings off in other directions so they were less focussed on spilling blood. He also tried, unsuccessfully, to protect Norfolk in accordance with my wishes, by attempting to block a petition against my Howard cousin which would have condemned Norfolk to certain death.

  Hatton worked hard and long for me. I was grateful. He trusted me to know what was best for England. Something others were not so willing to do.

  His actions made him enemies. I was just about the only one requesting mercy for Mary. Everyone else was against me. That Hatton aided and abetted me at such a time showed courage. Cecil, certainly, started to ponder on how Hatton might be removed from court. As a reward, I granted Hatton woodlands in Herefordshire and the manor of Frampton in Dorset. I was grateful to have one man on my side, for Robin and Cecil were both against me.

  Robin accosted Hatton one afternoon, telling him he should cease to encourage my “foolish notions”. Hatton told Robin, rather firmly, that as my servant he was bound to obey my commands, and the good Earl should ape his example.

  “Heed Hatton, Robin,” I said in an irritable voice when I heard of their squabble. “Men without the courage to follow the commands of their God-granted sovereign are no use to me.”

  This event did not help Robin and Hatton’s relationship, but Robin did heed me, and took a slightly less virulent stance in Parliament.

  Playing for time, I told Parliament the second bill, which would strip Mary from the succession, should be put to discussion. I could not “put to death the bird that, to escape the pursuit of the hawk, has fled to my feet for protection,” I said, but I was willing to discuss terms for her imprisonment. Disgruntled, but cheered I had agreed to some measures, they went away to draw up the bill.

  Their hard work would be entirely in vain. When it came to me, I would exercise my right to veto. In the meantime, I offered a speech to my Houses which went so well they ended up thanking me for the good opinion I had of them, and went away content.

  Cecil, however, was not fooled. He saw what I was up to.

  “This is idiocy, Majesty!” Cecil shouted, betraying a rare loss of temper. “There is word the Pope and Phillip of Spain mean to invade on Mary’s behalf. You are putting England in danger for the sake of mere scruples!”

  “Scruples are important, Cecil,” I said in a dangerously balanced voice. “I will not appease the fears of men with death or hide behind Parliament to get r
id of Mary. There is no proof she desired my death.”

  I paused and shook my head. “My sister stayed her hand when I was her prisoner,” I reminded him. “She could have executed me, and then you would have Mary on this throne in my stead. My sister’s mercy allowed not only my life to continue, but the life of our English Church to come into glorious being. She may not have intended that, but it came about for good. Try to think the same of my actions, Cecil. I am guided by God, am I not? So if my hand hesitates, there must be good, God-sent reason.”

  “What was the point of all that work, if it comes to nothing?” he asked, ruddy spots appearing on his pink cheeks.

  “We kept me and England safe. We unmasked a plot, gave just cause to hold Mary, which we did not have before, and showed she was no viable contender for my throne. Disloyal lords are in prison, and England is at peace. We have done our task, Cecil, and I am grateful for all you have done, but remember, old friend, whose life it was you played with to bring this about. I took the risk, and so it is up to me to decide Mary’s fate. That would be my right even if I were not Queen.”