by G Lawrence
This was not uncommon. Fire fascinates, and often people stand about, mesmerized by leaping flames when they should be taking action. It had happened in the Great Fire of London of 1212, which had started as a small blaze, but had quickly spread, bounding street to street as many simply stood about, watching. Twelve thousand people had died in that fire, their escape routes cut off as houses and streets collapsed in piles of flame and molten metal, with flaming hay drifting on the wind, catching light to more homes. The memory of it was still imprinted upon London’s collective mind.
Eventually five hundred people had joined together to quench the blaze at St Paul’s, carrying buckets of water in a line from the Thames. They succeeded, but grievous damage was done. The steeple and all four roofs had been obliterated and inside the cathedral the communion table had suffered an ignoble death.
Protestants blamed relics stored in the steeple, saying God had disapproved of these popish remnants of the old faith and sent lightning to destroy them. Catholics claimed the destruction of the communion table, a product of my Church, was what the Almighty had been aiming for. Both sides agreed the sins of the people were also to blame. This agreement led to some saying the cathedral should not be repaired, for clearly it offended God.
The cathedral, many claimed, was abused. Pedestrians and porters sauntered through, using it a wayfaring route. Horses and mules clopped into the building when surrounding streets were busy, sometimes dragging carts of ale, beer, bread or fish. Meetings of recusants went on, as well as men talking trade, and thieves, murderers, and money lenders frequented the aisles. Gallants paraded, hoping to catch the wandering eye of a profitable patron, and foreign visitors came to see the sights. There were also, of course, stalls in the churchyard, used by stationers and booksellers to ply their trade. There was too much profit and not enough piety in St Paul’s, detractors claimed.
I ignored them. A committee, never the best way of getting anything done quickly, had been set up, and citizens had been ordered to pay levies. Londoners also took up a voluntary collection and the Church had been told to aid too. I had sent loads of timber from royal parks as well as coin. These amounts, however, were not enough.
Seeing no quick results from the committee, I had put John Revell, my surveyor, in charge of the project. Under him repairs went well, although hampered by plague in summer and inclement weather in winter, but two years into the project, Revell had died. He had managed to replace the roofs over choir and nave, but there was still a great deal of work to be done.
“Coin is the issue, my lady,” said Cecil. “There is not enough.”
“Write to the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen of London and tell them I want this seen to with immediate effect. And write too, to Archbishop Grindal. The cathedral must become one of his priorities.”
*
That February, Phillip of Spain sent an envoy to enquire as to whether I meant to offer support to the Low Countries. He meant, was I about to take the crown of Holland and Zeeland? My good brother of Spain had dispatched his ambassador swiftly, as he had heard I was receiving a delegation from the Netherlands.
Phillip’s man, Sieur de Champagney, had to wait two weeks before I would deign to bring him to court, and when he did, I evaded the question. “I am hurt my good brother of Spain has not written personally to me for some time,” I said.
“He sends me as a message to you, Majesty,” said Champagney. “And His gracious Majesty requires an answer.”
“I dislike that my good brother seeks to establish a state of absolute dominion in the Low Countries. It smacks of tyranny, and my father would not have tolerated it. I, as a woman, know how to look to it.” My lips broke into an impish smile. “And I have always had a great personal liking for the King of Spain.”
“Forgive me, Majesty,” said. Champagney, “but that is no answer.”
“Oh, but it is, my lord ambassador.”
Champagney left that audience with an air of perplexity floating over his noble head. He was not the only one confused.
“To refuse risks Holland and Zeeland standing alone against the might of Spain!” Robin all but yelled one day in Council.
“They have done so for some time and are still standing,” I reminded him.
“And if they call on King Henri for aid, and he is offered the throne?” asked Cecil.
“That would be inauspicious,” I said. “But we will continue with the same tactic.”
Robin glowered. “Your Majesty must take the crown! You must!”
“Must is not a word to be used to princes, my lord Earl.”
“But you must listen…”
“I must do nothing!” I screamed, slamming my hand upon the table.
I stormed out and shut myself away. The next day I lectured Champagney. “Your master’s intention is to draw a girdle around my realm, thinking that he has only to deal with a woman. My father would not have allowed you to go so far, and I, woman that I am, will not allow it either!”
The next moment I told him to draw up a chair, so we might sit and talk as friends. Champagney admitted to Walsingham that, when it came to me, he had no idea where he stood, for I blew as hot as a blacksmith’s furnace one moment, cold as the north wind the next. His one consolation was that St Aldegonde, Orange’s envoy, fared no better. I had talked of sending Orange a loan, but when it came up in Parliament I refused to debate it, and the envoy left empty-handed.
Knowing my Council were not with me, I went around them, and I had just the man for the job.
“I want you to talk to Champagney,” I told Hatton. “But in an informal capacity. Nothing you discuss will be official policy, or be necessarily the path I mean to take, but you will impress upon the ambassador my wishes for Phillip to talk to his subjects.”
“Cecil will poison me,” Hatton said with a smile.
“No man will harm you, Lids. And poison is simply not Cecil’s style. Were it, the Queen of Scots would be dead by now.”
Hatton became my unofficial ambassador, and did well. He kept Champagney away from me, which appeased my men as they supposed I might accept the offered crowns. I was considering nothing of the sort, but did not want anyone to think I had rejected the offer, not yet. If that became common thought, Orange might turn to France, and Phillip would not make terms. The best plan was to keep everyone guessing.
Hatton entertained Mendoza and Champagney at Eltham Palace and offered up constant reassurances that I wanted to retain Spain’s friendship. Hatton told Champagney that all I wanted was to see peace fall upon the Netherlands, which was true.
“Champagney is impressed,” said Hatton.
“Who would not be with you?”
A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “He has asked me if I support your measures. I told him I did.”
“There are rumours he thinks you are powerful enough to bring down the anti-Spanish faction at court.”
“Should I start looking for an agent of Walsingham at my back?”
“You fear assassination too greatly, Lids,” I said. “Walsingham sees what I am doing, even if he cannot comprehend it. I am playing the game, as always.”
In public, to reassure Champagney and to annoy Robin, I listened to Hatton and often deferred to his opinion. But our conversations were not only of Spain and the Low Countries.
“I dislike such men,” Hatton said as we read a report on prophesyings in London. “Prophesyings are not helpful… they simply confuse laypeople, leading to division.”
I agreed wholeheartedly. These gatherings were a spawning pool for zealots, and were infecting my people with a mania for rooting out Catholics. Cecil thought them useful as a training ground for future men of the Church, but I thought them harmful.
“I will put a stop to them,” I said and smiled. “Let us talk of other matters. You did well with Champagney, and will be rewarded.”
I granted Hatton the castles of Corfe and Branksea along with Moulton Park in Northamptonshire, which came with rights of h
erbage and pannage; lucrative grazing rights.
Hatton was becoming a figure of authority in many English shires and counties. He remained in debt, but managed to stay afloat due to the rents, dues and benefits of his many offices. He served on fourteen committees in Parliament that year, often steering debates on creating bills, and he did as I wished him to. Trusting me, as many men did not, was integral to Hatton’s nature. He was pleasing me a vast deal more than Robin that year.
Chapter Forty-Six
Richmond Palace
Spring 1576
“If Orange does not take more care I shall join my brother of Spain and aid him in repressing the rebels!” I shouted at Walsingham.
I was livid. Orange’s men had been preying on English ships in the waters between Antwerp and London, and Orange had detained my fleet of Merchant Adventurers at Flushing. Not only was this foolish, as it endangered our secret agreements, it was insulting.
I strode to the window, hands shaking as I placed them on the sill. Outside, cowslips had started to bloom, bobbing yellow and pretty at the edges of the gardens. Maids were gathering primroses, taking care to collect more than thirteen, as any fewer was unlucky. Violets were springing from the earth, blazing royal purple and fresh yellow in the sunlight. Blackthorn was blooming, an ominous sign since it heralded the coming of a cold snap in the spring. Blackthorn was said to be a keeper of dark secrets, with a foul temper, when aroused. I was become Blackthorn. Trying to calm my seething brain, I turned, breathing in long and hard.
“Majesty, please consider before doing anything rash,” said Walsingham.
I narrowed my eyes. I knew he was secretly corresponding with Orange, telling the Prince how to handle me. Walsingham thought I knew nothing of this, but he was not the only one with spies about court.
Walsingham might be my man, and England’s, but he, much like Cecil, often thought he was right more often than wrong. Recently he had been talking to a navigator about Dover, to see if a better haven for the navy could be built… in case I accepted the crowns of Holland and Zeeland, and Spain decided to invade.
“Take down a letter,” I said, striding about the chamber as though I were marching to war. “Orange will be left in no doubt of my mind!”
*
“He sent the letters, with amendments,” Hatton told me later. “In them, Walsingham advised the Prince, telling him how to improve this situation.”
I smiled. I had calmed down after taking up a book, reading until anger departed, and I was not, in truth, angered at Walsingham. I had not been markedly balanced when dictating my last letter to Orange. As long as someone was maintaining peace, all was well.
I put my book down. “Fear not, Lids,” I said. “Walsingham understands his role. When his Queen becomes a tower of rage, he transforms into a gully of calmness.”
“So, you do not mind?”
“Walsingham is doing his job. He has his own motives, of course, but no, I do not mind.”
Hatton nodded to my book. “I often see you reading when you are fraught. Do you find books calm you?”
“Books are Sanctuary,” I said.
“I suppose I have often found them a refuge, too.”
I shook my head. “Not a sanctuary, Lids. Books are Sanctuary; the ancient custom whereby a man in peril may run to a place of worship and be taken in, protected from the world. There he is safe. Books are that. Books are Sanctuary.”
*
“I am delighted to hear this,” I said to the French ambassador. “It signals a new era for France, one of tolerance and peace.”
Henri had signed the Edict of Beaulieu, an agreement granting significant concessions to his Huguenot subjects and restoring many rights they had held under his dead brother. But whilst I celebrated, there was already word of trouble looming.
“The Guise do not back the Edict,” said Walsingham, “and are putting pressure on the King to revoke some of the concessions.”
“He remains anxious to appease the Guise. Do you think he will hear them?”
Walsingham shrugged. “I remain unsure, but my agents say the Guise are applying considerable pressure, and given their involvement with the massacre, there may be secrets they keep which frighten the King. He may appease them to keep the dignity of the royal family intact.” He took in a breath. “There is word the Guise mean to make a play for the throne of Navarre. King Henri of France will fear that. He does not want them becoming too powerful.”
Walsingham paused. “There is also criticism, madam, about the suggested match between you and Anjou.”
I was not surprised. I had only started talking of the match again to scare Phillip, but he had not been the only one to take fright. My subjects clearly still did not know me. They thought I was serious.
“I do not think talks will go anywhere,” I said.
“Perhaps that should be made clear to your people.”
“Make that clear to my people and it becomes clear to Phillip of Spain, and at this moment, Walsingham, we do not need him resting easy. I want him on edge.”
“I understand, madam. As long as that is all this is, I will rest easy, unlike Phillip of Spain.”
I smiled. “You had word from Drake?”
Drake was backing a voyage made by John Oxenham, one of the men who had raided with him at Nombre de Dios. The impending voyage was unofficial; Oxenham did not even have letters of marque, meaning he was entirely unprotected if captured. He was to return to Port Pheasant, to rebuild and check our defences. Although I had told Drake not to go raiding, that did not mean others could not, as long as they accepted the risk. To issue letters of marque against Spain would upset our fragile friendship. But whilst our countries were presently at peace, that could change rapidly. I wanted my options open.
“Drake has told Oxenham the route, and what he is to do,” said Walsingham.
“Good,” I said.
*
Parliament that year was obsessed with two things; my Church and my marriage. The first interest, I supported. There were abuses that needed rectifying.
Much of my ministry was unlearned, and this required attention. If there was one thing I might thank Allen for, it was showing up the defects in my Church. We needed more discipline and better education, so my men were as equipped as his to win the hearts and souls of my people. This was also important as we faced not only Allen and his zealots, but Puritans too, who were causing me almost as many headaches.
Bills concerning the regulation of ordinations, admissions to benefices, licences to preach and the education of clergy were all agreed. I wanted any literature, most notably from Puritan sources which criticised my Church, to be banned, and an end to the divisive prophesyings. Archbishop Grindal wanted to abandon popish traditions such as incompatible plural offices, holding a title without being a resident of the parish, underage men taking orders, or priests marrying people in forbidden seasons. I supported him in this.
But he wanted more, thinking abuses in three church courts, the Audience, the Arches and the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, needed to be investigated.
This, I did not support. These measures were kin to reforms suggested some years ago that would have decentralised power and stripped authority from my bishops. Mild reform I minded not. Radical reform, leading to my Church being shamed, was unhelpful. Not only was it a waste of time, but would cause leaders of other nations to claim the Church of England was wilfully corrupt.
My Archbishop was also reticent about preventing prophesyings. This did not please me. I wanted Puritan preachers, now a common sight in markets and towns, prevented from preaching hellfire and brimstone. Such gatherings could easily turn to riots, and were therefore dangerous. There had been reports of disorder in the Midlands as a result of these prophesyings. I needed no more rebellion, especially not one fired by the flames of religion.
He also wanted to force my subjects to attend Church, take communion, and increase the fine upon recusants.
We agreed on mea
sures to improve the education of my clergy, as well as others regarding mild reform, and there it stopped. I opposed his radical bills, rendering them obsolete.
I emerged the victor, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to protect English Catholics. They were seen as foreigners and traitors. Allen’s missionaries did not help at all. People thought them spies and assassins, leading to further distrust of all Catholics, many of whom were doing nothing but minding their own business.
As to the second issue, my marriage, I was not about to be bullied into slavery.
“… These seventeen years God hath both prospered and protected you with good success under my direction,” I told them, “and I nothing doubt but the same maintaining hand will guide you still and bring you to the ripeness of perfection. Consider with yourselves the bitter storms and troubles of your neighbours…”