Shadow of spain, p.2
Shadow of Spain, page 2
I quaked. It was a huge, all-encompassing question to which I could only offer limited answers. I cleared my throat but then, because she – and indeed all the others – were waiting expectantly, I did my best.
‘Majesty, I know only what I have seen and heard in Surrey and Sussex, where my houses are,’ I said. ‘I haven’t heard of anyone wanting to run away from their homes. I think … my own households are awaiting instructions from me. They know about the danger from Spain, of course. They have heard the criers in Guildford and Woking and Chichester. Those who serve me are good, honest English folk, ma’am. Already, a number of the younger men from the villages near to my three houses have gone to volunteer as soldiers or sailors. People are angry, I think – angry that the king of Spain should so outrageously plan to attack us and destroy our peace. But there is fear too – fear for our religion, fear of what would happen to it if the Spaniards got into England, fear of a marauding army, especially among the women. There is talk of beacons being built on the hilltops and they know what it will mean if those beacons are lit. They can see their whole world being torn apart. What more can I say?’ I asked. ‘If it comes to it, I am sure our people will fight, ma’am, and fight well. They know they have reason!’
Walsingham said: ‘Have you sensed any sympathy with the Catholic cause?’
‘Not here in the south,’ I said. ‘In the north, it may be different but I know little of northern England. I have only one Catholic in my employment and he has no more wish to see his world turned topsy-turvy than anyone else.’
‘You have one in your employment?’ Walsingham exuded disapproval.
‘He serves me well, Sir Francis. He is my assistant cook. He is good at his job. You have visited my home and you have eaten his dishes.’
‘She means that he didn’t put belladonna in your fruit pie,’ said Dudley, and thereby raised a laugh from them all.
‘Enough,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Ursula, you have done your best. Be easy, now. Sir Francis, what is the first item in your informal agenda?’
Walsingham gave me one final, fulminating glance and then said: ‘The first item is to report on and discuss the negotiations with the Duke of Parma. At the moment … yes. My lord of Leicester?’
‘Which negotiations?’ asked Dudley. ‘The official ones or the real ones? I am aware that both exist, but as yet I don’t know many details.’
‘The official ones aren’t proceeding at all; nor are they meant to,’ said Cecil. He had a long face, with a thin fair beard that he stroked when he was worried, and a deep crease between his brows. He was worried very often and rarely smiled. But when he did smile, it often had a disconcerting touch of mischief or even wickedness about it. He was smiling like that now.
‘The full details of our dealings with Parma are known only to a few,’ he said. ‘Though you should of course have been one of those who knew and I am sorry that by chance you have not been informed, my lord. They have never been discussed in a full council.’ He was clearly pleased that the queen’s Sweet Robin had been put at a disadvantage.
Elizabeth gave him a sharp glance and then intervened. ‘The decisions about negotiations with the Netherlands were taken by us. We took care that they were known to as few people as possible. We first began to consider them while you, Robin, were still in the Netherlands, trying to help the Protestant rebellion there.’
‘It was and is vital,’ said Cecil, ‘that the details should have no chance to leak out and get to Philip’s ears. However, we need to speak of them here. I will fill in the gaps for you, Leicester. The talks that are taking place in Ostend are the standard peace talks that Philip will expect us to hold with Parma’s representatives. He will expect us to be alarmed by his preparations and worried because just across the North Sea lie the Netherlands, which are under Spanish control. In all probability, he will take it for granted that we will make panicky attempts to persuade his nephew the Duke of Parma, who is at the moment running the Netherlands for him, not to assist any Spanish invasion. He will be amused at the thought of us offering inducements and Parma, perhaps, continually asking for just one concession more while smiling within his beard and staying on his uncle’s side all the time.’
‘Our negotiators,’ said Walsingham, taking up the tale with an air of satisfaction, ‘will probably still be in Ostend in March next year. Old Sir James Croft is our principal delegate. He is doddery with age and has instructions to dodder to the point of idiocy if necessary, while my Lord Burghley here has selected the two most pompous learned doctors he could find, and has instructed them to waste as much time as they can by lecturing all the negotiators in Latin. We are offering certain inducements, of course. But meanwhile, the secret negotiations, which are the real ones and the ones we intend to talk about here and now, include different inducements and Parma seems to be genuinely interested. It’s a delicate business. We have our fish on the line and hope to keep him there.’ With feeling, he added: ‘It is maddening, maddening, to have the Netherlands, only just across the North Sea from us, still in Spanish hands. If only that Dutch rebellion had succeeded!’
At this point, he glared at Dudley, who looked appropriately grave and observed: ‘I got a bloody nose in the Netherlands and I regretfully admit it. The rebellion has now faltered and faded. Leaving Philip, as he supposes, with a good second string in the Low Countries. That Scottish queen,’ he added vindictively, ‘is as much trouble dead as she was when she was alive.’
‘Unfortunately true,’ said Walsingham. ‘When she was alive she tried her utmost to get in touch with Philip, hoping to coax him into mounting a campaign to put her on the English throne. Now she is dead and he wants to avenge her. Mercifully, the Duke of Parma seems to be a man of common sense, even if he is King Philip’s nephew. He has stopped Philip’s original policy of trying to convert the Dutch Protestants by force and the indications are that he has no stomach for war with us. Though according to the agents who work in the Netherlands, the rebellion caused him to raise a large and well-trained army. Therefore, we have no stomach for war with him, either! Hence our clandestine approaches to him.’
‘But just what are we offering?’ Dudley enquired.
‘Final decisions about that have not yet been taken,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They will have to be discussed in a full Council meeting. They are likely to involve sums of money that will deplete our treasury, trade concessions that will irritate our merchants, and of course, promises not to intervene on the side of any future Protestant rebellions in his territory. As yet, no details have been spelt out to Parma. We have merely hinted. Bait for our big fish,’ said Elizabeth. ‘However, our first approach did indeed meet with cautious interest. We are now waiting to hear what Parma has to offer on his side. Walsingham, what is the matter with you?’
Walsingham was moving uneasily in the corner of his settle. He had a long-standing bowel problem and very often had to interrupt council meetings while he fled to the privy. He now begged the queen’s pardon and left the room, trying to walk with dignity though I could see that he found it difficult.
I bridged the embarrassing moment by remarking: ‘I knew nothing of the secret correspondence till now but I am impressed. It sounds as though it’s proceeding quite fast.’
‘We foresaw the need for it,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We sent Magpie to Brussels to make the initial approach back in October.’
‘And it was a wise move,’ Cecil agreed. ‘It was Magpie, in fact, who brought back the first news that Philip really is assembling an invasion fleet. He picked that up in Brussels. Sir Francis Drake is now on his way to try and wreck the Spanish fleet while it’s still in port. I believe that that is item two on our unwritten agenda. The announcement that he has sailed.’
He mentioned the name of Sir Francis Drake with some respect. Drake was an eminent seaman and explorer, with a reputation both for competence and ruthlessness. He had always protected Elizabeth’s interests but I knew that he had taken many innocent lives in the process and from what I had heard, he had never even tried to do otherwise. I hadn’t met him and from what I had heard of him, I didn’t particularly want to. But in our present circumstances, I could see that he might well be the man for the hour.
Dudley was frowning. ‘Why are there all these codenames? I can never see the point of calling our agents things like Magpie, or – what’s that other one, Pigeon. It’s an absurdity. What is amusing you, Ursula?’
‘I used to own a horse called Magpie,’ I said. ‘A weight carrier, for the benefit of my very large chief cook John Hawthorn. But Hawthorn has given up riding now, and I sold Magpie a year ago. He went to a good home.’
Everyone smiled at me indulgently. I was known for my sentimental attitudes towards my horses. It was my habit, whenever it was possible, to go to the stable and say goodnight to my fine bay gelding, Jaunty. Dudley’s smile was friendly, though. He had once been the queen’s Master of Horse and he understood.
I was wondering who Pigeon might be but had no opportunity to ask. Cecil had turned to Dudley and was somewhat irritably explaining the codenames.
‘We use those names because if we want to mention them anywhere where we might be overheard by the wrong people, we can do so without giving away any identities. Here in private we can use their real names if we like. Magpie is called that because he has a real gift for picking up useful odds and ends. He was the one who warned us that Spain was shipping weaponry from Hamburg and other places, and taking it round the north of England and down through the Irish Sea, because the North Sea is too well watched. It was clear evidence that Philip of Spain was laying plans against us. It was through finding out about that, that he realized that Philip was probably preparing an invasion fleet. Then he confirmed his suspicions by, as I said, picking up odds and ends.’
‘We were able to intercept the whole consignment,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Most satisfactory.’
‘Magpie’s real name,’ said Cecil, ‘is Juan Smith. Spanish mother, English father. Catholic. Born in England but his mother took him to Spain when his father died. He trained as a priest in that wretched seminary in Rheims where they spawn the Jesuits and he came over as a Jesuit to look for converts. We caught him and turned him. I think he was glad to be turned; he spent his early childhood in England and I believe his heart was with us all the time.’
With sudden savagery, Elizabeth said: ‘Philip is obsessed with religion. He doesn’t only want to conquer England because of Mary; he wants to conquer it in the name of God. His God.’
Walsingham re-joined us, with a visible air of relief about him, and did so in time to catch Elizabeth’s remark about obsession. Resuming his place on the settle, he said: ‘Some of Philip’s more imaginative spies have been telling him that the English Catholics are in the majority and ready to rise and support him if he invaded. Mad enthusiasts!’ He was contemptuous. ‘Our agents have been trying to inform him of the opposite. It’s a piquant situation. They usually have the task of giving him inaccurate information. But that, for once, is the truth.’
‘And it’s true because I have never allowed you to persecute them as you wanted me to,’ Elizabeth said. Her tone now was mild, but her words were pointed. ‘If they keep quiet and pay their fines for not attending our church services, I am content to let them be, and in return I think most of them, like Ursula’s Catholic cook, would rather stay quiet and safe than risk the perils of treason, in spite of Pope Pius’ disgraceful instruction to them to disobey my laws and assassinate me if they get the chance. Except for wantwits like William Parry, of course.’
There was a little laughter and a pause, while we all once more reached for the refreshments. I wondered, not for the first time, at the twists of fate that had brought me here, eating chicken pie and drinking wine in this exalted company.
My young mother, Cecily Faldene, had been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne Boleyn and had left the court in disgrace, carrying a child whose father she would not name. She took refuge with her brother, my uncle Herbert Faldene, and his wife, whom I knew as Aunt Tabitha. They sheltered her, mainly, I think because Thomas Faldene, my kind grandfather, was still alive, and living with them. He insisted. And so they took her in, disapprovingly and none too kindly, but still, she had a home and in due time so had I. I was often harshly treated but nevertheless I was clothed and fed and – because my grandfather insisted – allowed to share my cousins’ tutor. When I was ten years old, my grandfather died, but he had left his wishes concerning me in writing and they were respected. My uncle and aunt continued to shelter us.
When I was sixteen, my mother also died. And when I was twenty, I eloped with Gerald Blanchard, who was supposed to be betrothed to my cousin Mary.
We were happy. Gerald was employed by Sir Thomas Gresham, who worked in Antwerp, raising funds for Elizabeth’s coffers. We had security and position. Our daughter Meg was born. Then Gerald died of smallpox. He had been good at finding sources of money, but not at saving his own. I found myself poorly provided for, except that Gresham stepped in. It was through him that I was able to get a post as a lady-in-waiting to the young queen. But my stipend wasn’t enough, not to dress as a lady-in-waiting was supposed to dress, or to support my daughter and her nurse. To earn extra money, I undertook my first secret mission.
Others followed. There came a time when I didn’t want to go on with such a way of life but then I found out who my father was. I was Elizabeth’s half-sister. From then on, there was a bond between us, and when asked to undertake any mission, I always knew that although Walsingham or Cecil might have given the orders, they really came from her and were for her, and I could not say no.
Elizabeth had allowed the pause and had been sipping wine herself, but now she set down her goblet and wiped her lips with a napkin. As she moved, there was a flicker of reflected sunlight from her gown. Today she was not dressed to intimidate, but nevertheless, her black velvet gown was scattered with silver embroidery and its open front revealed a kirtle of silver satin. She had a silver ornament in her elaborately arranged red hair, and she wore a rope of pearls and matching earrings. She glittered, intentionally, with the trappings of power.
But as she cleared her throat, about to resume the business of the gathering, I found myself seeing through the armour of velvet and silver, to the woman within. Perhaps because we were related, I had experienced this even before I knew that we were sisters. Such moments came to me as easily when she was in her full regalia of huge skirts and wagon-wheel ruffs as when she was in her night-rail. This time, I knew that within that sparkling carapace, her body was tired, because the years were piling up, and so were her burdens. Not just the weight of her regret for Mary’s death, but the greater burden of reigning, of being responsible for keeping England safe and solvent, of keeping Philip of Spain at bay.
But Elizabeth wouldn’t thank me for my compassion. I must keep it unspoken. She was now saying, in tones both clear and precise, that if Drake should fail to crush the fleet that Philip, we understood, was calling his Armada, while it was still in its lair, the Lord High Admiral, Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, was laying detailed plans for resisting an attempt at invasion.
‘The Lord High Admiral is determined,’ said Elizabeth, ‘that an attempt at an invasion is all it will amount to. He proposes … Master Cecil? You have the latest details. This, I think, is item three and will be a major item on the agenda for the full Council. It is our wish that we should all know of his suggestions.’
Cecil reached for his eyeglasses, put them on his nose, and picked up the folder. He drew out a sheet of paper. ‘He proposes to have a strong force at Plymouth, preferably under Sir Francis Drake. Drake will be back in England fast enough if his efforts in Spanish waters fail and our coasts are threatened. Lord Howard is equipping an additional force and will add it to the Plymouth fleet. Plymouth is a likely first target for Philip; it’s the first principal port that his Armada will come to. But Sir Henry Palmer will have a squadron of ships at Dover, to guard the strait and the sea to the north, in case Parma lets us down and really does send shiploads of soldiers from the Netherlands in the hope of linking up with the Spanish shiploads. We’ll do our best to make sure that if he does try, he can’t. There will also be sixteen big and well-armed vessels in the Thames, to prevent any attempt either by Philip or Parma to attack London that way. Every effort is being made to ensure that we shall have enough ships.’
‘Ah,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Things have moved on since the last Council meeting. I hadn’t heard about Lord Howard’s extra ships before.’ She had dropped the royal we, I noticed. The formality was slackening a little. This often happened on these occasions. They would warm, gradually, into an awareness that all those present were friends.
Walsingham said: ‘It would be useful to know what Philip’s plan of battle is. How many vessels is he planning to launch, of what types, and how does he intend to deploy them? We ought to brief one of our agents to discover these details if he can. Do you agree, your majesty?’
‘Yes, I do. Who do you suggest we should send?’
Inside myself, I froze. Not me! I begged, in a silent plea to Elizabeth, Cecil, Walsingham, Fate and Almighty God. Is this the real reason why I was invited to join this meeting? But I don’t want to go to the Netherlands, into enemy territory to do the impossible! Does Walsingham want to suggest me? My sister, please not, please …!
