Elizabeth: The Golden Age (12 page)

English law did not allow for torture. But what went on in the bowels of the Tower was not strictly illegal. At least not in the end. Torture was conducted by royal agents given royal immunity, and though it was not something often resorted to, its frequency had increased in the face of the divisions between Protestants and Catholics, regardless of which side was in control. Religious fervor had a way of leading men to their most barbaric depths.

The torturer came back, dragging, with the help of a yeoman warder, the broken but living body of an elderly man, his joints stretched beyond the point of dislocation.

“No!” the son cried as his father looked up, eyes blank with suffering. “Enough! You want a name, I’ll give you a name.”

“Well?” Walsingham stepped close. Throckmorton choked, a mixture of blood and saliva catching in his throat, but managed to give Elizabeth’s spymaster the information he claimed to want to know. Walsingham showed no reaction, but shock registered on the torturer’s face, an expression that was both noted and remembered.



Across London, papers buried the tall walnut desk behind which an impatient queen, dressed in an imposing gown of regal purple, sat in her Privy Chamber. Elizabeth sighed, lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and occasionally rubbed either her temples or the inlaid wood surface, but she would attend fully to each document Sir Christopher Hatton put before her, regardless of how much she longed to be done with her work. And she did long to be done. Water, her dear Water, was waiting for her and it was taking an unacceptable amount of energy to keep thoughts of him from consuming her mind.

“Yes, yes.” Again a sigh as she read the paper. “The money must be found.” The moment she signed it, Hatton replaced it with another.

“From Mary Stuart, Majesty. She asks to meet you.”

“Again?” She read the letter, thinking aloud as she skimmed through it. “They say every man who meets her falls in love with her. What can be the secret of her charm, Lids?”

“A lack of all other useful occupation?” Hatton suggested, bringing a smile to his queen’s face.

“So uselessness is attractive?”

“Not to me. You well know that I prefer a lady with the most serious vocation.” They smiled at each other and she was glad for the memory of the time in which he had courted her. More glad, though, for the friendship that had developed afterward. They remained close, and Hatton had never married. Elizabeth took it as a token of his dedication and it never went unappreciated.

She handed the letter back to him. “Refused.” He started to put something else in its place, but Elizabeth laid down her pen and held up a hand. “Enough.”

Full of the excited anticipation that comes with new love, she had to force herself to walk slowly, to maintain her dignity. It wasn’t easy; she didn’t want to delay seeing Raleigh any longer than necessary. When she crossed through the Privy Chamber and entered her atrium, she slowed, catching her breath and moving once more with regal dignity. By the time the library door was opened for her, she was a deliberate picture of all things serene.

“Mr. Raleigh. I’ve kept you waiting,” she said, the flush on her cheeks at odds with the rest of her calm appearance.

“I’ve no other business at present but to wait on you.”

“I have other business. But I have been waiting too. You make things difficult.”

He stepped close to her and spoke quietly, his tone intimate. “You found my verse.”

“I did.
Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall
. Did you see my reply?” she asked. “Of course.
If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.
Quite suggestive.” He smiled, and she relished the admiration she saw in his eyes.

“You were quite right about the diamonds. Dreadfully slow.”

“You were warned,” he said.

“So I was.”

“Majesty.” Walsingham interrupted them with a low bow.

“Yes?” The queen turned to him, lips curled, irritated.

“The traitor has talked, Majesty. The traitor Throckmorton.”

“Forgive me, Water,” Elizabeth said, her eyes on Raleigh. “As you see, my time is not my own.”

“I am most sorry,” he said.

She went directly to Walsingham, and though she could barely hear the words he murmured to her, anger filled her face. “We cannot—” she began and he interrupted at once. “I know.”

“Majesty?” Raleigh asked. “I must go,” she said. She started out of the room with Walsingham, then stopped and darted back to Raleigh. She picked up his hand. “Forgive me. Will you wait for me to return?”

“There’s nothing I would deny you,” he said.



At the Tower, the torturer was off duty, standing in the open doorway to empty his full bladder. He heard footsteps as he unlaced his britches but wasn’t in a position to turn and see who was coming. “Harry?” he asked, assuming it was his friend. “You’ll never guess what I heard—”

He hardly felt the knife at his throat. One quick, hard slash and he slumped, still standing, against the wall. Walsingham’s agent waited a moment, wanting to be certain he was dead. Blood trickled down, mingling with urine on the flagstones.

Chapter 8

Once Francis Throckmorton had talked, the entire mood in the palace changed. Guards on high alert lined the corridors, and archers stood on the towers, their arbalests at the ready. The gardens were empty as courtiers stayed inside, watching everyone with investigating eyes. No one was certain what exactly was happening, but every corner was rife with whispered rumors of treason and foreign threats, conspiracies and betrayal.

Elizabeth was sequestered with her Privy Councilors. She paced around the table, too agitated to sit still. “So you learned all this when you searched his house?” she asked.

“There were papers, Majesty,” Walsingham said. “Naming ports that would be attacked first in a Spanish invasion— the Enterprise of England, they call it. There was also a list of Catholic sympathizers who pledged support.”

“And what has been done?”

“They’ve all been arrested,” Hatton said. “And are being questioned now.”

“One thing is clear. Mary Stuart is the center of this plot. Without her, the Catholics would have no rallying point. She stands to gain more than anyone from this conspiracy. She must be held accountable.” Walsingham’s tone was grave.

“There is no evidence that she knew about these plans, let alone that she was taking part in them,” Elizabeth said. “I will not have her arrested without proof.” She noted that Walsingham and Hatton exchanged a private look, while Burghley and Howard sat motionless.

“We can confirm that the Spanish are involved, and you know Philip would put Mary on the throne if he could,” Walsingham said. “You cannot let her—”

“
I will deal with Spain,” Elizabeth said, and stalked toward the door before anyone could respond. Her elaborate black gown, embroidered with golden thread and covered with bows,
flew behind her as she swept out of the Privy Chamber into the Presence Chamber, her councilors fast on her heels. She did not sit on her throne. Instead, she went directly to the Spanish ambassador.

“What do you know of the Enterprise of England, Ambassador?” she asked.

“The Enterprise?” Don Guerau was a seasoned diplomat; she expected that lying would come easy to him. His voice dripped with friendly ease. “Forgive me, Your Majesty...”

“It’s a plan for the invasion of my country,” she said. “Two armies landing on the coasts of Sussex and—”

“Norfolk.” Walsingham finished for her.

“And Norfolk,” she continued, keeping her voice calm and authoritative, despite the anger coursing through her. “Mary Stuart is to be set free and placed on the English throne. I am to be assassinated. Does any of this sound familiar?”

“I know nothing of any invasion plans,” Don Guerau said. “I’m afraid that your councilors have been tricked into believing nonsense.”

“You may think, sir, that feigning ignorance is wise, and I pity your weak mind for not being able to conceive of something else,” she said.

“No one is plotting an invasion,” he insisted.

“I refer to this plan as the Enterprise of England. It should more accurately be called
la Empresa di Inglaterra
, because it’s a Spanish plan. The plan of your king, my one-time brother-in-law, a man who schemed to marry me after my sister’s death, to attack my country.”

“Attack?” the ambassador asked. Now he was angry—she saw it in his flushed cheeks, the rushed way he spat out his words. “It is my country that is under attack! Your pirates attack our merchant ships daily. Do you think we don’t know where their orders come from? The whole world knows that pirates sail up the Thames all the way to the royal bed.”

Elizabeth turned on him, her eyes narrow, lips firm, shoulders straight, furious. No one would have dared stand before her father and say such a thing, nor before any male king. Yet she, a woman, could be shamed in front of her court for daring to give her heart to a man?

“You will leave my presence, sir! Go back to Spain.” She stepped toward him, her hand raised as if she would strike him. “Tell Philip that I don’t fear him, or his priests, or his armies. Tell him if he wants to shake his little fist at us, we’re ready to give him such a bite he’ll wish he’d kept his hands in his pockets.”

Don Guerau pulled himself up tall, full of pride and contempt. “You see a leaf fall, and you think you know which way the wind blows. But a wind is coming, madam, that will sweep away your pride.” He bowed and left, but the queen’s words blazed after him.

“I too can command the wind, sir,” she yelled. “I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare, if you dare to test me!” Shivering with rage, she turned around, coming to face Raleigh, whose creased brow and tight lips irritated her further. He looked as if he were about to scold her.

“What are you staring at? Lower your eyes. I am the queen.” She marched past him without a further glance. She did not mean to hurt him, but she had to look strong now, not to appear under his influence in the slightest. Men were too fallible, too weak. She’d been flirting when she should have been paying closer attention to Spain. She should not have allowed such distractions to take her focus away from the lover that would never disappoint her: England.



Raleigh watched her go, pain chilling his heart and shooting through his veins. So much of him adored her, but her temper, her unpredictable nature, her need for absolute control without criticism tugged at him. His shining city would forever remain a dream if he stayed at court. He might willingly abandon it—if she would offer all of herself in return—and together they could search for new dreams. But he knew she would never give such a thing even the slightest serious consideration. He looked at the ceiling and weighed his options, pretending there
were
options. He already knew what he must do.



In Spain, Philip’s regret at the loss of the forests diminished as he breathed in the clean smell of freshly cut timber. Immense stacks of it stretched in every direction, and the noise of saws and hammers, instead of a cacophony, sounded like a harmonious chorus of angels heralding the raising of skeletons of enormous ships. With the completion of these new vessels, his fleet—the largest ever at one hundred and thirty—would soon be ready for its divine mission, its crusade.

But not all the news he heard was good. Elizabeth’s cagey spymaster, the heretic Walsingham, had made a damning discovery, and Philip’s minister, his face all serious lines, lowered his head before the king as he reported what had happened to Throckmorton.

“It can’t be denied that we’ve lost the advantage of surprise. A large part of our plans has come into their hands.”

“The Jesuit is still at liberty?” the king asked. A breeze carried the salty tang of the sea to him, the scent mingling with that of the wood.

“We understand so, Majesty.”

Philip had absolute faith in Reston, whose devotion to the work of God matched his own. “He knows his business. We’ve lost nothing.”

“Of course, Majesty,” the minister replied, keeping pace with the king.

“Reston understands what is at stake, how crucial his work is. Everything we are doing is in the service of God. We must defeat the English and bring their people back to the Church. I do not desire to be the ruler of heretics.”

Philip continued to walk, analyzing the progress of his shipbuilders. As their monarch passed, workmen dropped their tools and knelt before him. But Philip did not crave their obeisance. “Tell the carpenters to go on working. No one is to stop for me. The fleet must be ready to sail in a month.”

The minister cringed. “Impossible, Majesty.”

“If this is God’s work, God will make it possible.”

“Only a miracle—”

“A miracle then,” Philip said. God would not abandon his most holy son. “Let it be done.”



Elizabeth was pacing again, circling the desk in her private study. She did not think she ought to have to deal with one more problem. Was it not enough that she was managing the daily work of the country, engaging in diplomatic relations, and addressing the Spanish threat? Now she was to contend with personal matters as well?

Raleigh’s letter had arrived more than an hour ago, and she had been unsettled, disturbingly so, since reading it. A host of unwelcome emotions consumed her: jealousy, disappointment, anger. But worst was the feeling that she should have known better, that she should have been more careful to protect her heart, that she’d allowed for this to be possible. As much as she wanted to despise him, hatred was not something to which she could bring herself. Not when it concerned him.

She had no intention of giving him what he wanted and knew that she’d have to do something to soften the blow. Give him something else. A pain had started in the back of her neck, and she cursed the stiff collar that made it impossible for her to rub the right spot. It always came down to this, playing queen for men she adored. She wanted to shower them with good things, wanted to bring them joy, but her generosity only led them to expect more and more until they decided that nothing short of being king would make them happy. And when she couldn’t—wouldn’t—give them that, she would be the one left heartbroken. She’d wanted to keep Raleigh separate from these trappings, but perhaps that was not possible for a queen.