by G Lawrence
“Their aim is the expulsion of all Spanish-commanded troops,” Cecil told me. “And they have called for an end in the persecution of heretics.”
“They have destroyed all that Phillip has tried to achieve for the last ten years,” I said, a catch of satisfaction in my voice. “The King of Spain is on his knees before his people.”
Phillip’s war in the Netherlands looked soon to be decided, and not to his benefit. In terror, he sent his half-brother, Don John of Austria, to the Netherlands. Don John was a veteran soldier, who had recently commanded Spanish forces against Turks at the Battle of Lepanto.
Orange sent word that he wanted his forces and mine to combine, to wage war on Phillip and send him reeling from the Low Countries. Orange wanted me to be the leader of this army, and my men were enthusiastic.
“I have already sent more than twenty thousand pounds to Orange,” I said. “I am reticent to offer more, gentlemen, and you know my thoughts on sending troops.”
“But with the present support for Orange…” Cecil said.
“This only means I was correct in the first place,” I said. “Phillip will have to make terms now, or see his power crumble.” I tapped a finger on the tabletop. Some men, trying to follow my haphazard beat, became distracted.
“This would be a gamble with my throne as the prize,” I went on. “That is too great a wager.” I eyed Cecil and Robin, the latter of whom was clearly gagging to ride to the Netherlands and gain military glory. “We will not join the war, but I will offer to be a mediator between Phillip and his subjects again. This will be resolved through peace, not war.”
It seemed I was right, and I rejoiced to hear Don John was adopting a conciliatory attitude in talks with the rebels. I urged the States General to not lose any opportunity to make peace, and threatened Don John that if he attempted to renew conflict I would join with the rebels and aid them in overthrowing Phillip.
One awful consequence was the destruction of Antwerp’s Cloth Market. Foreign merchants were not willing to risk taking business, goods and households to a place so rent by war, and Antwerp went into a steady decline. Phillip’s purse, which had fed his empire for so long, had been cut and was bleeding coin.
It also led to tales being spun of Spain’s inherent evilness. Stories of the Inquisition, Spain’s dealings with slaves, treatment of natives in the New World, and military horrors, spread.
In truth, the crimes of the Spanish were no more or less sinful than those of other nations, but since it was beneficial to do so, I encouraged them.
Talks began, and Phillip, whilst not merry in the slightest about this turn of events, was forced to listen. And there were other benefits. “I cannot say I am displeased this causes trouble for Allen,” I said. “But I am wary about what this may mean for our merchants.”
After the mutiny, anti-Spanish feeling had swept across the Netherlands, and it was having, as Walsingham had just informed me, consequences. Fury about the treatment Phillip had inflicted upon his subjects, combined with riots caused by his errant soldiers, had led to a great distrust of not only Spaniards, but all foreigners. Allen’s college in Douai suddenly fell under suspicion, and Allen swiftly found his walls surrounded by hostile people. His students had to submit to searches of their chambers by men looking for weapons. Even magistrates and officers of the state were involved, and had demanded he surrender the names of his scholars at regular intervals. Allen was called upon to personally renew his oath of allegiance to the college and to the town of Douai, as were all his students.
At the same time, there were reports of Englishmen hovering at the gate who had nothing to do with the college. Walsingham had failed to inform me of this, and when I learned of it from Hatton instead, I became suspicious.
“Did you send assassins?” I demanded when he came to answer for this glaring oversight.
“Not assassins, Majesty,” he said. “They are there to watch and report back.”
“They have been seen, and set Allen on his guard. Your agents need to do better.”
“They have only been seen because there are so many now crowding about the college. But I will instruct them to fall back.”
“It is no use if secret agents are seen.”
“I do agree, Majesty.”
“If Allen is killed or kidnapped, I will be blamed. I told you I want no martyrs, Walsingham.”
“I promise they are only there to gather information, Majesty, and they have delivered. Allen is seeking a new site.”
“I told you he would not surrender.”
“And you were right, Majesty.”
One happy result was that students of the college thought it prudent to leave for a while. Numbers attending Allen’s school dropped sharply, although he still retained more than two hundred, and the entire mission was set into doubt for a time. Walsingham greeted this news with an expression as close to joy as he ever displayed, but I was wary. Men like Allen do not simply fade away.
We had word that Allen had gone to France, seeking fresh converts. Sixteen new priests had been sent to England, and my ports were put on watch for them.
This had consequences. Fifty-one women of Yorkshire were brought before the Northern Court of High Commission to answer questions about why they had failed to attend church. Some of their husbands, fearful of consequences, submitted evidence against them. The Lord Mayor of York came under attack as his wife was one of the recusants.
These women illustrated a problem that was becoming more obvious. In times of quiet rebellion, those who are otherwise forgotten, pushed to the edges of society, become stronger. It was so for female Catholics. Within rebellion against my church, they could find new influence and power. I doubt not that some were truly dedicated to their faith, but I also was certain some were slight of faith, but strong in character and wanted a chance to stretch the wings of liberty and power.
If caught harbouring priests, women were more likely to be treated leniently than men, and it was not only Catholic women who were becoming a problem. Female preachers, encouraged by the stranger churches popping up in London and York, suddenly came to the forefront in the battle of religion. In the Puritan message of personal preaching and public prophesying, women found a home. Laypeople were encouraged to share opinions, and women were suddenly empowered to do just that. Noblewomen were more respected than common, of course, and soon noblewomen who had taken to asking questions and preaching were being spoken of with respect, like Lady Russell, Mistress Walsingham, and the Countess of Sussex.
And in many ways, women were harder to deal with than men. Men could be fined, but since married women could own no property, they could not. Men could not be forced to pay fines if their wives refused to attend church, and could not be detained for their wives’ crimes. If a husband died, two thirds of a widow’s jointure could be seized to pay her recusancy fines, and spinsters, who could also own property, could be fined too, but women with living husbands had a great deal of protection under the law, for the simple reason that the law barely recognised them as individuals. All this meant that married women who flouted the law could only be punished by imprisonment, but to imprison women under the charge they were excommunicates was unpopular; it made them into martyrs.
This meant married women were more likely to rebel against my orders. English law, which had thrust them into a position of legal impotence for centuries, had suddenly made them important. Women had found a loophole, and they exploited it.
Fate does enjoy its little ironies.
I found myself with ambiguous feelings about the new role of women. Any rebellion was dangerous, and yet there was something pleasing about seeing women rise to positions of influence. I was not about to allow them to disrupt my plans for the Church, of course, but I could not help but admire the new path they had found. Many men, naturally, were horrified.
But whilst I worried about this new wave of rebellious women, surging up in both Catholic and Puritan spheres, Allen and his men had to be our
immediate concern.
“One benefit,” I said to Walsingham, “is Allen’s intense training.”
“You mean, because it takes a long time to create one of his priests, madam?”
“Indeed… when one man is captured by your men, that means that Allen has lost years of hard work. He does not breed swarms, but individuals. Each one that is found and arrested must be replaced, and that takes time. What we thought his greatest strength, becomes his greatest weakness.”
Walsingham nodded his dark head. “That is true, Majesty.”
“So get your men out to find these priests. Rebellions only work when thousands rise. Allen has not the numbers to succeed.”
“But with few men, they are more easily hidden.”
“Few deer run in the parks, compared to people, but hounds are always able to sniff them out. There is always a trail, no matter how careful the doe.”
In some ways, it was easier than you might think. Although people travelled to markets to sell and buy, and people were often on the road, travel without obvious cause was highly suspect. Communities kept watch for vagrants and gypsies, as they were known to steal and rob. In places like London it was easier to conceal secret priests, but there were more men on watch in cities and they were generally more Protestant in nature. In the country, these priests were more easily spotted.
And each one we found represented the loss of years of training, housing, food and other costs to Allen. His grand scheme of preparation by schooling these men so long would, in the end, prove his Achilles’ heel.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Hampton Court
Late Autumn 1576 - Winter 1577
“I am pleased to see this altered,” I said to Dee.
“No more than I, Majesty.”
I smiled. Dee had come to show me the new edition of Acts and Monuments. In all previous editions of this Protestant text, Dee had been vilified. It had been said he was a secret Catholic, sorcerer and supporter of my sister’s abuses, who had worked against Protestants during her reign. In this version, Foxe had abandoned these slights, and accepted Dee’s version of events. I had sent a secret message to Foxe, not telling him all Dee had done for me and the Protestant cause in the past and now, as that would be unwise, but implying enough so Foxe understood Dee had my trust. No more would this text be used against him.
As Dee departed, clutching Acts and Monuments to his chest as though it were a suit of armour, another visitor came.
“I am delighted to see you,” I said, meaning it truly.
Mary Grey ducked into a rather elegant curtsey.
“You look well,” I said. “Being a woman of independent means suits you.”
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Blanche had brought me regular updates on Mary, and I had been pleased with all I had heard. The trial of her freedom had gone well. She had made no trouble and did not seem set to craft any. Unlike my royal cousin, when tested Mary Grey had risen to the challenge.
“I would like you to come back to court, at some stage,” I said as we took a turn about the gallery. “But I wonder if you will accept. I hear your new life is satisfying, and I have concerns your income will not support a life at court. I wonder too what you think of such a position.” I stopped by one of my coronation portraits and looked down at Mary. “Would you wish to be near me again?”
“I have always loved Your Majesty, not only for your title, but as a cousin,” Mary said. “I regret that the love I could not contain for my husband drove us apart, Majesty. I will never regret marrying Thomas, I loved him with all my heart, but I do regret I caused you pain and fear. I did not intend to cause trouble, Majesty, I simply thought that because his origins were so humble he would not be thought a fit match for my blood.”
“I want you to know how keenly I regret his death. That fate should have been so cruel as to take him away just as I had released him was wicked. I am not sure I would have allowed you to live as man and wife, but I had no wish to see him dead.”
“Mistress Parry has told me many times of your grief over the matter, Majesty. And I thank you for saying this.”
“I understand, now, as I did not then, that you married not to cause me trouble but for love. And although people think me an unnatural creature, I understand how the heart might lead us to dangers the head would have us avoid.” I breathed in. “Your sister’s marriage brought me trouble, but I think you did not intend for that for me.”
“Most certainly not, Majesty.”
“Then give careful thought to returning to court,” I said. “I will understand if you feel you cannot. You are most welcome at Christmas or other festivities, if you prefer only to visit, but if you would like to return, I can find an opening.”
This was no mean offer. Places in my household were limited on purpose. Each one was a rare honour.
I touched her arm. “I would like to have one cousin whom I know I can trust.”
“I bear you no ill-will, Majesty,” she said. “And I would like to return. I, too, have little family left. Perhaps together, we might kill this old curse between cousins of the Tudor line.”
“I would like that very much,” I said, hearing a sharp pang of loneliness spring from my throat.
There were other returnees to court that winter. Lettice was one. My Carey cousin was experiencing troubles with the small income Essex had left her, and had come to court not only for pleasure, but business. She was contesting her jointure.
“Numerous letters have arrived,” Cecil said. “She claims Essex showed preferment to his heir over her and their other children, and protests the amounts left for her to support herself and her other offspring are pitiful.”
“I have no wish for my cousin to be left without money, but in truth it was up to Essex to provide for his family.”
“She wishes to claim one third of Essex’s lands.”
“That land is, by law, her son’s. We cannot deprive the new Earl of lands he will need in the future, and I cannot believe Lettice is without means to support herself. Essex left her sufficient money, and goods. As a widow, she must live within her means.”
I did tell Cecil to look into the legalities, but what I had said was true. When women became widows they often had to live more simply. Essex had left money for Lettice and his daughters’ dowries, and had provided for his sons. He had done what was required as a father.
Another returnee was Margaret Lennox, determined to press for Arbella’s rights. Another grandmother arrived at court soon after. So soon, I wondered if the two had planned a duel assault.
“How are you, Bess?” I asked.
“Well, Majesty.”
I questioned her about Mary. “How does she do?”
“Madam, she cannot do ill while she is with my husband.”
“Do I detect a note of bitterness, Bess?”
“I begin to grow jealous,” she admitted. “They are so great together, as the best of friends.”
It was a mark of her jealousy that she said this at all. It was admission enough for me to take Shrewsbury from his post at once. Perhaps that is what she wants, I thought. “My cousin is a charming woman,” I said. “But Shrewsbury is devoted to you.”
“I hope that is the case.”
“I am sure it is.”
“My lord wishes to take the Queen to Buxton. Both of them have been ill, and would like to take the waters.”
I inhaled through my nose. “Very well. You may take the Queen to Buxton. That way, people will see you have my trust.”
Bess also wanted me to support Arbella’s claim. “Her father was known in England as Earl of Lennox,” Bess protested.
“Bess, those titles and property justly belong to King James. I can support Arbella as the heir to those titles in England, but cannot work against the King of Scots. Have patience. With time, the King may decide to bestow them on Arbella.”
“I do see, Majesty,” said Bess. I could see her eager little mind flexing, making ready for act
ion. “There is one other matter, Majesty, which I hope you will find more pleasing.”
I arched an eyebrow and she continued. “I would like to invite you to Chatsworth. I have it from Baron Burghley that you are to go to Grafton, Ashby and Buxton at the end of the progress, and I would like you to come to Chatsworth. I think you will be pleased with the royal apartments, and the grounds are glorious.”
“Is your husband complaining about the cost of your building work?” I asked, a wry smirk dancing on my lips. A visit from the Queen would justify all the expense Bess had gone to.
A slightly fraught smile lit upon her lips, and I knew my jest had hit a nerve. So rumours about Shrewsbury’s penny-pinching are true, I thought. I wonder why… too many daughters married off too quickly, or is my cousin of Scots making demands on his purse?