Queen of This Realm (56 page)

The
Golden Hind
was laid up at Deptford and Drake begged the honor of entertaining me on board. This was an invitation which I could not refuse after such service as Drake had rendered to the nation, so I went there and on the deck of the
Golden Hind
this brave man was knighted and I allowed him to conduct me to the banquet. I was surprised to find that he was such a small man—I had expected a giant—but he was full of energy. He was handsome enough with large clear brown eyes and brown hair, much bearded and with a cheerful expression. He was clearly delighted with his success—and he had every reason to be—and it was pleasant to see how he reveled in the honor which he had won.

I sat beside him at the dinner, which was lavish. The sight of so much food nauseated me a little, but I made a pretense of eating and those who knew my tastes made sure when they could that I was served very little.

I talked with some of the men who told me about their adventures sailing with Drake. They obviously admired him and I was not surprised for there was a power in him, the quality of a true leader. I learned that he took artists with him to paint the coasts in their true colors, and how even in times of hardship he had been served at table with ceremony and that music was played to him while he ate. He was what a leader must be—strict and just and never asking his men to take risks which he would not take himself.

As a memento of the occasion he gave me a silver casket and an ornament made of diamonds in the shape of a frog—a nice compliment to my suitor.

I liked Sir Francis Drake. This was a man I needed, for the treacherous Spaniards could never be trusted to keep the peace.

MY FEARS OF SPAIN
did not diminish after the return of Drake—rather naturally they increased. I knew that the Spaniards were my greatest enemy, considered to be invincible on the high seas. I knew that Philip was a fanatic as far as religion was concerned, and I had always felt that fanaticism in religion could bring about the downfall of a monarch. I had long since made
up my mind that it should never be so in my case. I could never see why there should be these schisms, these differences. Surely it was enough to be a Christian, which simply meant following the teachings of Christ.

But there were few men or women who would agree with me. Religion was something they took very seriously.

Never far from my thoughts was the Queen of Scots who was still in England. I could never quite make up my mind whether she would have been more of a danger to me free than she was as my prisoner. While she lived there would always be plots about her. She was the Catholic figurehead. I had been constantly warned by men of such differing motives as Robert and Burghley that she should go. I had had my chance at the time of the Ridolfi plot, when the best of excuses had been given to me for bringing about her end. Yet I had shrunk from signing her death warrant.

None could know more than I the dangers I faced. My people were largely Protestant. They were Protestants by nature. They lacked that singleminded religious fervor which seemed to go hand in hand with Catholicism; they were tolerant by nature; they were always prepared to let things stay as they were, feeling, I am sure, that changing them might bring about unpleasantness. I understood them perfectly for after all I was one of them. Perhaps that was why we fitted each other so well.

But I must not forget that there were those who rebelled against the new order. We were a Protestant country not because I was a Protestant. I would have been ready to be a Catholic if that was what my people demanded of their monarch. The rites and ceremonies of the Church affected me little. My need was to give the people what they wanted.

My enemies were the Catholics and there was the Catholic Queen whom they were plotting to put on my throne. Before they could do so they must remove me—and consequently they plotted my assassination. The Pope had given help—financial and spiritual—to my enemies; there was constant plotting in various parts of the country and the Spaniards were just waiting for their opportunity. The French, too, had their schemes—shelved temporarily because of the courtship being conducted sporadically between myself and their little Duc d'Anjou.

And how important it was to keep that going! And how long could I manage it? For the answers to those questions I must wait and see.

In the meantime I must beware of Catholics.

New laws were made forbidding the Mass, and any caught partaking in it would be fined two hundred marks and be condemned to a year's imprisonment. Any who tried to draw my subjects from the country's religion— and this was aimed mostly at priests—were considered to be guilty of high treason.

I knew there were secret gatherings in various country houses. I knew that they kept their priests hidden in order that they could continue to conduct the Mass. In many of the old houses nooks and crannies had been turned into priests' holes into which the priests could scuttle at a moment's notice to prevent their arrest. What else did they talk of when they met in secret? I could not believe that it was only religion.

I would have been happier without these rules for I had always wanted my people to worship in a manner best suited to their needs and beliefs. The present position had been forced on me. Because of the implacable hatred of Philip of Spain, I felt it necessary to keep a watchful eye on Catholic households, and if any were caught breaking the religious laws they must be brought to trial.

Thus it was that Edmund Campion came to be arrested.

How fervently I wished in the years to come that it had never been necessary to do to him what was done. If only such men would keep to their learning, in which we all agreed they excelled. Why must they concern themselves with religion? Why could they not accept the laws of the land and do what they must in secret?

They had a certain nobility, those men, I granted them that. But they were fools; though it is true that in becoming martyrs they did more for their faith than they ever did by preaching.

Campion was a great scholar. I remembered him from when I had visited Oxford, for he had made a beautiful speech in Latin which had delighted me. I had asked about him and when he had been presented to me we conversed, he responding most gracefully and with the utmost charm. He went to Ireland where he wrote a book about that country; but it was there that he became so fervently Catholic and religion was the most important factor in his life. He had entered the Order of the Jesuits some eight years before and since then he had been in England as a missionary, whose great purpose was to turn people to his faith.

He was a celebrated man, a man much admired for his scholarship and nobility. Such men are dangerous.

He had, of course, been touring the country, staying in Catholic houses, hiding himself away in priests' holes when Walsingham's men of my secret service came prowling round.

He was caught eventually in the house of a gentleman at Lyford in Berkshire, betrayed by a man named George Eliot who had been a steward in one of the houses he had visited. Campion was taken with two other priests and lodged in the Tower.

Walsingham was sure that there were plots brewing all over the country and that the object of these was to kill me and set Mary Stuart on the throne.
He suspected every Catholic priest of being a traitor. I knew this was not the case and I believed that many of these men were concerned only with religion, but they could in truth be spies and I did see the need to scent them out.

Walsingham's method, when a priest was caught, was to draw from him the names of the houses he had visited, the intention being to keep a watch on those houses for possible plotters. The priests were often reluctant to betray their friends and in some cases they had to be cruelly persuaded. Campion was one of these. I was sorry to hear this.

“He has been racked,” said Walsingham, “but even in the extremity of his pain would admit nothing.”

I did not want to hear of this man's being tortured. I could not forget his young, innocent face when he had made his Latin oration to me. He was a brilliant scholar and I hated to think of such a man's being destroyed. Surely it would have been possible to reason with him, to point out the folly of setting such store in a few differences in the same religion. He might ask the same of me, but the answer was, of course, that I served my people. The majority of them wanted a Protestant monarch, so they had one. They had had enough of Catholicism during my sister's reign, and even though it was necessary now and then to arrest and torture men like Campion, who were fundamentally good, we were not inflicting on our people the horrors which were being endured under the dreaded Inquisition.

I would fight with everything I had to keep that fanatical institution out of my country; and that was why, if it was necessary to inflict torture on those Catholics whose aim was to introduce Spanish methods into this country, we must do so. It was nothing compared with what the Catholics were doing to those whom they called heretics.

I told Walsingham that I should like to see Campion and speak to him myself.

Walsingham was taken aback and said he would be afraid for my safety if such a man were admitted to my presence.

“Afraid of Edmund Campion! My dear Moor, that man would not hurt a fly.”

“He is a fanatical Catholic, and Your Majesty knows that the Catholics plot to set the Queen of Scots on your throne.”

“I do not think Edmund Campion will harm me.”

I was so insistent that it was arranged that Campion be brought from the Tower that I might see him.

Robert was greatly alarmed at the prospect. “The man may have a concealed weapon,” he insisted.

“He has come straight from the Tower, Robert. He has been grievously racked. I doubt he can walk without pain and difficulty.”

Robert said: “I cannot allow it.”

“And I cannot allow my subjects to forbid it, Robert,” I replied.

He was on his knees, taking my hand and kissing it.

“How can you torment me so? How can I rest while you are in danger?”

“Nonsense!” I retorted. “And you can rest very well in the arms of your she-wolf. You have more to fear in that woman than I have in Edmund Campion!”

He begged at length to be allowed to be present at the meeting and that it should take place at Leicester House. I agreed, for that meant Lettice would have to move out and that always pleased me.

So Robert, the Earl of Bedford and two secretaries were present when Edmund Campion was brought to me.

I was horrified to see that once handsome young man; he now looked haggard and he found walking difficult. Poor man, they had treated him roughly on the rack. I felt angry with his tormentors and exasperated with him. He might have been leading a very pleasant life at Oxford.

I told him this and that it displeased me to see him in such state, to which he replied that he did what God told him to.

“Oh,” I said sharply, “you are on intimate terms with Him then?”

He said that he conferred with God.

“You appear to think that none of the rest of us do.”

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” he said. “I trust all will pray to God and come to the truth.”

“Then I will pray for you, Edmund Campion,” I retorted. “I will pray that you cease this folly. I would rather see you as I saw you once before in Oxford using the talents God has given you than here like this.”

“God has spoken to me,” he said. “I do His work.”

“And fine trouble that has brought you!”

“It is of no matter, Madam. What happens to my body is but passing pain. I look to eternal bliss.”

“Which is reserved for those who worship in the way you choose for them, I suppose.”

“I believe in the Catholic Faith,” he said.

I could see that it was useless to try to reason with him. I felt impatient with him and yet he saddened me. I wanted to show those present that he was a good man, an innocent man; all he wanted was to worship in a certain way. If only the stupid man would do it quietly in his home! Why did he have to go round the country hiding in priests' holes, behaving like a criminal?

I said to him: “Do you acknowledge me as your Queen?”

He answered fervently: “Not only for my Queen but my lawful Queen.”

I had known it. He was no traitor.

“Do you believe that the Pope could excommunicate me lawfully?”

He hesitated. He did not want to admit that he considered the Pope to stand above me in the Church for that indeed was against the law.

He said cautiously: “It is not for me to decide in a controversy between Your Majesty and the Pope.”

I did not want to implicate him further because I feared he might go so far that there would be no hope of saving him.

If only it had been possible to save him I would have done so, but he would not help me to it. He was determined to be a martyr.

Shortly after he was arraigned with seven others at Westminster Hall. He was a brave and a brilliant man and he answered his judges with wit and distinction; but he was in a pitiable state and I heard that he was unable to hold up his hand when pleading in the required manner because he had been so brutally racked. The wretched George Eliot, who had been responsible for his capture, was the main witness against him and his evidence was proved to be unreliable. But Walsingham, stern Protestant that he was, was determined to allow no possible spies for Philip of Spain, no adherents of Mary of Scotland, to slip through his net. He wanted a verdict of guilty and he got it.

When Lord Chief Justice Wray asked the prisoners if they had anything to say as to why they did not deserve death, Campion replied: “It is not our death that we fear. We know that we are not lords of our own lives and therefore for want of an answer would not be guilty of our own deaths. The only thing we have to say now is that if our religion does make us traitors then we are worthy to be condemned; but otherwise we are, and have been, true subjects of the Queen. In condemning us you condemn all your ancestors—all ancient priests, bishops and kings—all that once were the glory of England. What have we taught, however you may qualify it with the odious name of treason, that they did not teach? God lives. Posterity will live. Their judgment is not so liable to corruption as those who are now going to sentence us to death.”