by Alison Weir
By 11 October, after the Queen had signed an order for his servants to be tortured to make them give evidence, Norfolk had confessed to his part in the plot, although he strenuously denied that he had meant to harm the Queen. Those questioning him concluded that it was his 'foolish devotion to that woman' that had been his motivation. Later, he made a written confession of his crimes.
On 24 October, despite claiming diplomatic immunity, the Bishop of Ross, who had remained in England as Mary's official envoy after her imprisonment, was committed to the Tower, where, threatened with the rack, he revealed all he knew, which was sufficient to bring both Mary and Norfolk to the block. He added, for good measure, that Mary was not fit to be a wife, since she had poisoned her first husband, been a party to the murder of the second, and married the murderer hoping he wrould be killed in battle. In Ross's opinion, she would probably have done away with Norfolk too.
'Lord, what a people are these!' exclaimed Dr Wilson, the Bishop's interrogator. 'What a queen, and what an ambassador!'
The Bishop's evidence led to the arrest of several noblemen who were suspected of having been Norfolk's associates, the Earls of Southampton and Arundel and Lords Cobham and Lumley. Arundel tried desperately to clear his name, but failed and spent the rest of his life under a cloud of royal displeasure. Southampton spent more than a year in the Tower. The Spanish ambassador was expelled from the country, but Ridolfi, the perpetrator of the plot, had fled safely abroad, and out of reach of Elizabeth's vengeance.
Elizabeth's attitude towards Mary hardened after the discovery of the Ridolfi Plot, and she ordered her cousin to be kept more securely and closely watched. Never again would she consider restoring Mary to the Scottish throne; on the contrary, she now realised that she could never set her cousin at liberty. She had incontrovertible proof that Mary would stop at nothing to gain her freedom and, if possible, Elizabeth's crown. Bitterly disillusioned, the Queen authorised Burghley to have the Casket Letters published, and herself finally recognised James VI as King of Scots.
When Mary was confronted with evidence incriminating her in the recent plot, all she would say was that she had been attempting to recover her Scottish throne, and those who asserted otherwise 'were false villains and lied in their throats'. She claimed never to have associated with Ridolfi, and had nothing to say of Norfolk, who was Elizabeth's subject and no business of hers.
Charles IX, hitherto Mary's champion, appeared now to be willing to abandon his former sister-in-law to whatever fate was in store for her. 'Alas, the poor fool will never cease until she loses her head. They will put her to death. It is her own fault and folly,' he observed.
This was exactly what Mary feared in the weeks after the plot was uncovered. The first indication of her disgrace came when an order arrived for the dismissal of several members of her household who had been implicated. Mary reacted with indignation to this 'extreme severity', but it served her no purpose.
When, after a while, it seemed that she was to be left unmolested, she had the temerity to write several times to Elizabeth, attempting to excuse herself. No replies were received, so Mary wrote a further letter, expressing herself in 'uncomely, passionate, ireful and vindictive speeches'. This provoked a furious response from the Queen, who told Mary to be grateful that she had not been treated more severely and left her in no doubt as to the peril in which she stood.
The implications of the Ridolfi Plot prompted Elizabeth and her government to the stark realisation that an alliance with France, preferably sealed with a marriage, should be concluded as a matter of urgency. The Queen was now ready to make concessions, and did her best to revive the moribund Anjou marriage project by making it known that she would allow the Duke to have mass celebrated in private. 'Her Majesty was never more earnestly bent to the marriage than now,' Burghley wrote.
Walsingham, however, advised against reopening negotiations, since Anjou would 'utterly refuse' the match, even if the Queen granted 'all that he desires'. The Duke now had his sights set on being elected King of Poland, and was also deeply involved with Mademoiselle de Chateauneuf, whom he was loath to leave, although there was talk of him marrying a Polish princess. If the Queen persisted, warned Walsingham, she would almost certainly face a humiliating public rejection.
Elizabeth did not give up. In December, with Burghley's backing, she sent the experienced Sir Thomas Smith to Paris to test the water; if there was no hope of marrying Anjou, then he was to work towards concluding a treaty of friendship and mutual support against the common enemies of both countries. Smith was convinced that a French marriage was necessary to Elizabeth's future security, though he realised that soon she would no longer be a desirable catch: she was not getting any younger, and at thirty-eight was losing her looks and her hair, and had resorted to wearing false hair pieces and wigs. 'The more hairy she is before, the more bald she is behind,' observed Smith to Burghley.
It was soon clear to the ambassador that, despite Anjou's mother pleading with him and weeping 'hot tears', the Duke was no longer interested in Elizabeth or the crown of England: 'Monsieur is here entangled, and has his religion fixed in Mile, de Chateauneuf,' observed Smith wryly. Elizabeth affected to be offended by his behaviour, and with an air of pathos declared that, since her attempts to get a husband had caused her to be so ill-used, she hoped her subjects would understand why she preferred to remain single.
However, two days later, Catherine de' Medici, aware that France still needed Elizabeth's friendship, suggested that the Queen might yet make a French marriage, and offered her youngest son, Hercules- Francis, Duke of Alencon, as a replacement bridegroom. 'Without a marriage, she could not see any league or amity being so strong or so lasting,' and Alencon was 'a much less scrupulous fellow' when it came to religious convictions.
Smith understood at once the political advantages of the match, and agreed with Queen Catherine that, if the Queen 'be disposed to marry, I do not see where she shall marry so well. The marriage with this Duke is ten thousand times better than the other.' Alencon was known to be sympathetic towards the Huguenots, and was 'not so obstinate and forward, so papistical and (if I may say so) so foolish and restive like a mule as his brother was. He is the more moderate, the more flexible, and the better fellow.' He was also unlikely ever to ascend the throne of France, so would be able to live in England. Smith, however, professed himself at a loss to understand why, when it came to 'the getting of children', everyone at the French court insisted that Alencon was 'more apt than th'other', and left Elizabeth to draw her own conclusions.
Nevertheless, the Duke was only seventeen, less than half as old as Elizabeth, and his skin was badly marked after two childhood attacks of smallpox. He had been a weak child, and was undersized for his age. His mother proudly pointed out his sprouting beard to Smith, saying that it would cover some of the worst pockmarks, and added that he was 'vigorous and lusty'. Smith himself felt that pockmarks were 'no matter in a man'.
When Elizabeth was told of the proposal, she objected that Alencon was too young and too small. When Burghley insisted that the Duke was of the same height as himself, she retorted, 'Say rather the height of your grandson!' Walsingham, however, optimistic that the religious difficulties would not be insurmountable in this case, persuaded the Queen to press ahead with negotiations, and she agreed. She could never resist the delights of a courtship and anticipated that she could prolong this one indefinitely.
At New Year 1572, Leicester presented the Queen with a bejewelled bracelet in which was set a tiny timepiece - the first known wrist-watch. Yet despite the festivities of the season, the atmosphere at court was tense.
On 16 January 1572, Norfolk was tried before a jury of twenty-six peers in Westminster Hall and found guilty on thirteen counts of high treason, the verdict - as in most Tudor state trials - being a foregone conclusion. Lord Shrewsbury, presiding, wept as he condemned the Duke to hanging, drawing and quartering, the usual penalty for traitors, although, when the condemned was a peer,
the sovereign invariably commuted the sentence to decapitation.
Norfolk was returned to his lodging in the Tower, where, watched by his guards day and night, he occupied himself by writing farewell letters and exhortations to his children; Elizabeth was graciously pleased to accede to his plea that Lord Burghley, his former friend, be appointed their guardian. When the Queen of Scots was told by Shrewsbury of Norfolk's condemnation, she wept pitifully.
The Duke's execution was set for 21 January, but Elizabeth could not bring herself to sign his death warrant. Not only was he the foremost peer in England, and popular with the people, but he was also her cousin, bound to her by 'nearness of blood'. She put off the moment while the days turned into weeks.
'The Queen's Majesty hath always been a merciful lady', sighed Burghley, 'and by mercy she hath taken more harm than justice, and yet she thinks she is more beloved in doing herself harm. God save her to His honour long among us.'
Early in February, Elizabeth was prevailed upon to sign the warrant, but on the night before the Duke's execution was due to take place, she sent for Burghley and, in great distress, rescinded the order; the spectators who turned up at Tower Hill the next morning had to watch the hangings of two common malefactors instead.
Her councillors could not understand her hesitation. 'God's will be fulfilled and aid Her Majesty to do herself good,' prayed Burghley, while Lord Hunsdon declared, 'The world knows her to be wise, and surely there cannot be a greater point of wisdom than for any to be careful of their own estate, and especially the preservation of their own life. How much more needful it is for Her Majesty to take heed, upon whose life depends the commonwealth, the utter ruin of the whole country, and the utter subversion of religion.'
The matter was left in abeyance during much of March 1572, because the Queen fell seriously ill with gastro-enteritis. Her doctors despaired of her life, and Leicester and Burghley spent three anxious days and nights keeping vigil at her bedside, while Leicester stood deputy for her at a Garter ceremony at which Burghley was admitted to the order. The rivalry between the two men was now no longer so intense: they visited each other socially, exchanged a friendly correspondence, and had established an amicable working relationship. Even though, politically, they were often on opposite sides, they shared a common bond in their devotion to the Queen, their loyalty to the state and the Protestant faith.
When Elizabeth recovered, she made light of her illness, saying it was merely the result of eating bad fish, but for her councillors it had raised once again the grim spectre of the unresolved succession and the knowledge that, if the Queen were to die now, England would be lost to foreign predators who would force Catholicism on its people. With this in mind, they persuaded Elizabeth to agree to summon Parliament as a matter of urgency, so that measures could be taken against Mary Stuart.
That month, the octogenarian Earl of Winchester died. His post of Lord High Treasurer was first offered to Leicester, who turned it down on the grounds that he did not have sufficient 'learning and knowledge'. It was therefore given to Burghley, who was doubtless relieved to lay down the onerous burden of the duties of Secretary of State. He was increasingly troubled by gout, and had such a bad attack in April that the Queen, fearing for his life, came hastening to his bedside.
That month, Elizabeth signed another warrant for Norfolk's execution, and again withdrew it. It now seemed possible that the Duke would not suffer the extreme penalty after all.
Public feeling against Mary Stuart was running high, for most of Elizabeth's subjects agreed with Walsingham in believing that 'So long as this devilish woman lives, neither Her Majesty must make account to continue in quiet possession of the crown, nor her faithful servants assure themselves of the safety of their lives.'
When Parliament met on 8 May 1572, the catalogue of Mary's misdeeds was read out to both Houses, who immediately demanded that she be put to death. One MP declared he feared to go to sleep after hearing how the Queen of Scots had murdered Darnley and plunged Scotland into chaos, and insisted that the Queen 'cut off her head and make no more ado about her'. Another member pointed out that 'Warning hath already been given her, and therefore the axe must be the next warning.'
The Lords and Commons arranged for a committee to be set up to determine Mary's fate. By 19 May, its members had come up with two alternative ways of proceeding. Either Mary could be attainted of treason and executed forthwith, or they could legislate to bar her from the succession and warn her that, if she plotted against Elizabeth again, she would be put to death.
Parliament was unanimously in favour of the former course, but the Queen insisted that it would be wiser to adopt the second, since honour would not permit her to attaint a foreign queen who was not subject to English law. It would also be very costly and would mean that Parliament would have to sit through the summer, when there was usually plague in London.
The Lords and Commons were past caring about that: they were out for Mary's blood. 'Many members shed tears for the Queen,' and even the convocation of bishops used many 'godly arguments' to persuade Elizabeth to agree to an attainder, pointing out that, if she did not put to death this husband murderer and arch-traitress, this Scottish Clytemnestra, she would offend God and her conscience. She should not think that 'threatening words of law' would deter Mary from plotting against her in future, nor prevent traitorous subjects from aiding her.
Intent upon having a favourable answer, Parliament submitted to the Queen a petition, which was described as 'the call and cry of all good subjects against the merciful nature of Her Majesty'. But Elizabeth had already made up her mind that she could not 'put to death the bird that, to escape the pursuit of the hawk, has fled to my feet for protection. Honour and conscience forbid!' Nor had she any desire to provoke armed retribution on the part of Mary's Catholic allies. On 28 May, she received the petition at the hands of a deputation from both Houses, but, in a speech that has not survived, managed to turn down their request with such skill that they ended up thanking her for the good opinion she had of them. Only the radical MP, Peter Wentworth, who regarded Mary as 'a notorious whore', was heard to mutter that Elizabeth deserved no thanks.
On 26 May, having been forced to take less drastic measures against Mary, Parliament drew up a Bill listing her offences and depriving her of her pretended claim to the throne. From henceforth, it would be an offence for anyone to proclaim or assert it. However, when the Bill was submitted to the Queen for the royal assent, she exercised her veto. It was now obvious that she meant to take no action whatsoever against her cousin, and her councillors despaired; their intelligence from abroad showed conclusively that King Philip and the Pope were set upon overthrowing her in Mary's favour.
It was probably around this time that Elizabeth wrote her famous sonnet about Mary, which was published in her lifetime by George Puttenham in his book, The Art of Poesie. This is an extract:
The Daughter of Debate, that eke discord doth sow,
Shall reap no gain where former rule hath taught still peace to grow.
No foreign banish'd wight shall anchor in this port;
Our realm it brooks no stranger's force, let them elsewhere resort.
Our rusty sword with rest shall first his edge employ,
To poll their tops that seek such change, and gape for joy.
Having spared Mary, Elizabeth was obliged to throw Norfolk to the wolves. Parliament had been agitating throughout for the law to take its course, and on 3 May the Queen capitulated and signed the Duke's death warrant. On the following day she paid a rare visit to the Tower to ensure that arrangements had been made in a seemly and proper fashion, although she did not see her prisoner.
At seven a.m. on 2 June, Norfolk was beheaded on Tower Hill, declaring to the watching crowds that he had never been a Papist and acknowledging the justness of the sentence of beheading. 'For men to suffer death in this place is no new thing,' he told them. 'Since the beginning of our most gracious Queen's reign I am the first, and God gran
t I may be the last.' Dignified in a black satin doublet, he refused a blindfold and died bravely, his head being 'at one chop cut off. His body was buried before the altar of the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula within the Tower, between those of his cousins, Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard. Courtiers at Whitehall reported that the Queen was very melancholy all that day.
16
'Less Agreeable Things to Think About'
On 19 April 1572, England and France concluded the Treaty of Blois, under the terms of which they undertook to provide each other with military and naval assistance against their common enemies. These included Spain and the Protestant states of the Netherlands, although Elizabeth was still sending surreptitious aid to the latter, if only to discountenance Philip and Alva. The treaty meant that England was no longer isolated in Europe, and it also put an end to the French support of Mary Stuart. Its signing was celebrated at Whitehall with a sumptuous banquet arranged by Leicester, who boasted that it was 'the greatest that was in my remembrance'.
That spring, fearing that Mary would appeal to Spain for help, Catherine de' Medici again discussed with Sir Thomas Smith the necessity for a royal marriage to seal the alliance.
'Jesu!' sighed the Queen Mother. 'Doth not your mistress see plainly that she will always be in such danger till she marry? If she marry into some good house, who shall dare attempt aught against her?'
Smith, nodding agreement, replied that if the Queen had but one child, 'Then all these bold and troublesome titles of the Scotch Queen or others, that make such gaping for her death, would be clean choked
UP'
'But why stop at one child? Why not five or six?' queried Catherine,
who had borne ten.
'Would to God she had one!' retorted Smith, with feeling.
'No', disputed the Queen Mother, 'two boys, lest the one should die, and three or four daughters to make alliances with us again, and other princes to strengthen the realm.'