"Nowhere has it been recommended to assassinate Elizabeth."
"That Somerfield man "
"The Somerfield man was a madman," I said. "You mean the man who set
out from Warwickshire to shoot the Queen and put her head on a pole,
for 'she was a serpent and a viper'? Surely you know that all rulers
live in fear of just such a person? We all tremble at the thought."
"I am sure you would tremble less than anyone should he have
succeeded!" Shrewsbury's bearded chin thrust forward.
I was deeply offended at this, but tried not to show it. I, who had
lost Riccio and Darnley to violent murder, could not stomach the
thought Murder was dreadful, whether by poison, bullets, knives, or
blows even if the end result was not undesirable. "You malign me," I
finally said.
"You know, as well as anyone, what happens at the death of the
monarch!" He was almost shouting now. "Do not play the innocent with
me! All commissions expire along with her the sheriffs, the
councillors, the lords lieutenant, the judges, the magistrates,
Parliament. The only authority is in the heir, the next in line. And
here that would be you!"
"Then I would have to fear the assassin as well," I said. "For do you
really think I would be allowed to ascend the throne? No."
"So you have thought about it!"
"Of course I have thought of it. Who has not? Elizabeth, in not
naming her successor, gambles every day."
"Because there are plots against her?" Shrewsbury was gripping the
subject like a mastiff.
"No, because every day that we live is a gift from God. We can be
struck down by natural causes at any moment. Nothing is certain."
"What is certain is that assassination is quicker and surer than these
lumbering 'invasion' plots that require such coordination and planning
that they undo themselves. And require so many messengers and letters
that they are inevitably discovered," he said smugly.
"Thanks to your Walsingham and his Tower rack master I said. They had
captured Throckmorton, seized his papers, and tortured and then
executed him. The Spanish ambassador, who had been in the thick of the
plot, was expelled by Elizabeth. There was now no Spanish ambassador
in London, which meant that I had to rely on the French for all my
correspondence.
"Yes, thanks to him! And thanks to him, you might be pleased to know,
that Jesuit Creighton was taken by the Dutch on his ship to Scotland.
Oh, he was laden with papers about the "Holy Enterprise of England'
every pouch in his robes was bulging! He tore up the papers and threw
them overboard. But guess what? The winds were in love with
Elizabeth, and blew them right back on board, where our agents gathered
them up! What do you make of that?"
"Only that the metaphors must have come true, then, and all nature
stands in awe of the Faerie Queen, Gloriana."
"Do you dare to blaspheme our Queen?" He was sputtering.
"Elizabeth is but a mortal, and one cannot blaspheme a mortal, " I
said. "Poetry is not reality. I fear you, and all the English, are
blurring the line between them. Call her Faerie Queen, Gloriana,
Astraea, Cynthia, Britomart to your heart's content she is first and
foremost a politician, and not a goddess. Besides," I could not help
saying, "is it not blasphemous of you to elevate her to become a pagan
goddess, and make your own national cult of the Virgin?"
"Parliament is meeting soon, and we will then decide how best to
protect her. It will not be a good occasion for you, that I can assure
you."
"My friend," I said, "it has not been a good occasion for me since I
stepped out of the boat at Workington, and stumbled and fell. I have
never risen since to stand at my full height. And now 1 attempted to
lighten the conversation "I cannot stand straight, due to my
rheumatism. Which is much improved, thanks to your kindness in letting
me take the cure at Buxton."
He smiled wanly. It was a difficult position for him. We could never
truly be friends.
Through all this, I still had one hope: the Association with James.
There might still be an honourable exit for me from this purgatory. But
if not .. . then I must endure it, for it is God's sovereign will. He,
the sovereign over Elizabeth and me, the sister sovereigns, will
prevail, regardless of our plots and plans and Walsinghams.
SIXTEEN
So long as that devilish woman lives," said the thin dark man softly,
"Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth cannot count on continuing in quiet
possession of her crown, nor can we, her faithful servants, be sure of
our own lives."
He held the miniature of Mary, Queen of Scots, aloft and showed it to
his companion, as if holding up a talisman of awesome power.
"But, Sir Walsingham, our glorious mistress refuses to see the truth,"
replied the man, Walsingham's chief agent, Thomas Phelippes. Phelippes
looked as if he were made of melting tallow: his hair and skin had a
greasy glow, and his face was pitted all over with pock marks, as if he
had come too close to a flame and started to melt.
Walsingham picked up another miniature, housed in an identical frame,
and even by the same artist, Nicholas Hillard, and compared them side
by side. "She sees the truth," he said. "But her motto is Video et
tacco: "I see and keep silent." She has seen the truth ever since the
wretched Ridolfi Plot, and that was fourteen years ago. Parliament
called for Mary's death then, and Parliament was right. But the Queen
would have none of it." He stared at the portraits intently. "There
is a certain similarity between them, after all. Family
resemblance."
Walsingham sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was seated in his
London quarters, the navel of his far-flung system of espionage and
security for Her Majesty's safety. They were austere but functional,
like Walsingham himself.
"Wine?" asked Walsingham, in a manner that made it incumbent on
Phelippes to refuse.
Phelippes looked around the room. His eyesight was poor for distance,
as though he had worn out his eyes poring over books and deciphering
codes for so many years. He could just dimly make out the neat rows of
boxes lined up along the wall, each proudly wearing a label: Spain,
France, Italy, Germany, Scotland, Netherlands, Byzantium, Africa. In
each box were the reports filed by the agents in those countries, some
fifty or so altogether. His master had even managed to place spies
within the Paris embassy of the Queen of Scots herself, and for the
past ten years he had had informers within her English household as
well. The box with those dispatches was simply labeled "Serpent," his
favourite nickname for her. Within England, Walsingham's agents and
informers were everywhere: in the ports, in the London taverns, within
the foreign embassies.
Framed above the rows of boxes was a motto: "A Most Subtle Searcher of
Secrets." It was what his old master Cecil had called him, and he was
prouder of that title than he was of the knighthood he had been given
in 1577 for his spy work. Below it was another motto: "Knowledge is
Never too Dear." He wished he could convince the Queen of that; as it
was, in spite of his budget, he paid for much of the expenses out of
his own pocket. Still, he did not begrudge it. Knowledge, and the
Queen's safety, were never too dear.
"There is only one way to move the Queen to act," said Walsingham
finally. "There must be proof, absolute proof, and in writing, of Mary
Stuart's participation in a plot to assassinate Elizabeth. Then she
could be tried, and once convicted "
"But that is exactly what happened with the Duke of Norfolk," Phelippes
reminded him. He brushed a lank strand of yellow hair off his greasy
forehead. "And the Queen kept recalling the warrant. She agreed to
his execution only in order to save the Queen of Scots. He was the
sacrificial goat. But for whom would she make Mary the sacrificial
goat? There is none she protects more."
"Only herself, Phelippes, only herself." Walsingham had put his palms
together and was mumbling into them. "She will not sacrifice the Scots
Queen until she does it as a last resort to protect her life or her
throne. That is why it is incumbent on us to persuade her that this is
indeed the case."
"I beg your pardon. I had trouble hearing you."
"I said" Walsingham removed his hands "that only if she is convinced
that Mary means to murder her will Elizabeth steel herself to murder
her first."
Phelippes grimaced. "Must you say 'murder'?"
"That is what an execution is murder, dignified by rituals. Rather a
civil version of the hated mass."
Phelippes blinked. Walsingham was preparing to launch into an attack
on Catholicism, and must be diverted. Not that Phelippes did not agree
with him, but he had heard it all before many times. His master was
obsessed with the subject. "The people tried to enact a means of
ending the menace of the Queen of Scots, but Elizabeth once again
protected her," he said, annoyance rising in his voice.
"Yes." Walsingham was sitting immobile, staring off into space,
thinking deeply. "The Bond of Association that thousands of loyal
Englishmen signed, promising to protect Elizabeth with their own lives,
and to kill Mary forthwith if anyone even attempted to harm Elizabeth
on her account it was farsighted, assuming that if it were known that
the Scots Queen would cease to exist along with Elizabeth, who would
bother making plots on her behalf? Their motive would be removed in
advance. But Elizabeth said no! And what was her reason? That no one
should be punished for the sins of another!" He threw up his hands in
disgust. "As if we were not all punished for the sins of another every
day!"
"I can understand that, in that Elizabeth was herself at the mercy of
others before she came to the throne. But that she would not even
allow the Scots Queen to be removed from the succession! I cannot
fathom it; surely she would never want Mary to succeed her? A
Catholic, and a tainted plotter! So why not remove her?"
Walsingham shook his head. "I know not," he said softly. "I know not.
She is a great mystery. She began to negotiate with the Scots after
the Ridolfi Plot to send Mary back to Morton and have her meet her just
deserts, but then changed her mind."
"And now poor Morton is gone that way himself. Well, Parliament will
settle the issue when it meets. This time they are militant, and will
attack both the Jesuit menace and Mary, never fear."
"Gradually it all becomes clear. The remaining traitor Catholic lords
like Paget and Arundel have been smoked out. Paget has fled to Paris
and joined the Scots Queen's partisans there." He gave a humourless
laugh. "Once a traitor, double a traitor."
"What do you mean?" Phelippes asked. He found this exciting.
"Paget has come over to us," Walsingham answered. "He reports to me."
He stood up and pulled open the drawer marked "Paris Serpent" and
extracted a paper. He handed it to Phelippes.
"This is in code," he objected.
"I thought there was no code you could not read. I thought you even
dreamed in code!"