Chapter 12
By the winter of 1568-9, Norfolk was becoming increasingly disaffected, and with Sussex out of the way as a result of his appointment as President of the Council of the North, he came under the influence of Elizabeth's former suitor, the Earl of Arundel. Along with several northern Catholic lords, including the Earls of Northumberland and Derby, both men wanted to see ousted from the Council Cecil and other 'heretic' hardliners, including Leicester, who was now championing the extreme Protestants who were referred to as Puritans.
Relations between England and Spain had suffered a further deterioration in November, when Cecil had masterminded the theft of #85,000 - loaned to Philip II by bankers in Genoa to pay the wages of Alva's soldiers - from Spanish ships in distress off Southampton. In January 1569, instead of returning the money to Spain, Elizabeth, who was short of funds, impudently confiscated it and declared she would repay the loan herself. For a time it was feared that a furious Philip might use this incident as an excuse to declare war on England, while Norfolk and Arundel, encouraged by de Spes, did their best to ensure that the blame for the rift with Spain was laid at Cecil's door, hoping to prompt his speedy overthrow and committal to the Tower.
Within weeks Leicester had entered into the conspiracy, fired by the knowledge that Cecil was still doing his utmost to prevent him from marrying the Queen - a prospect that was becoming increasingly unrealistic as the years went by. Despite their antipathy towards him, Norfolk and Arundel could not afford to reject his support, and for a time relations between the three men were relatively harmonious.
Far from declaring war, however, Philip merely ordered his troops in the Netherlands to seize English ships and property. His priority was to bring his Dutch subjects to heel before entering into any overt hostility with England.
In January 1569, Mary Stuart was moved to Tutbury, a grim, crumbling castle in Staffordshire, which she loathed, and placed in the care of George Talbot, Sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, who was to remain her custodian for the next fifteen years - underpaid and overburdened with the responsibility. His wife was the formidable Elizabeth Cavendish -known to history as 'Bess of Hardwick' - and although Bess clashed with the Queen on several occasions, Elizabeth trusted Shrewsbury implicitly. Mary got on fairly well with both of them, making gifts to Bess and charming the puritanical Shrewsbury with 'her eloquent tongue, discreet head, her stout courage and liberal heart'. The Council warned him not to 'allow her to gain rule over him, or practise for her escape'. Cecil in particular feared Mary's wiles, believing 'She is able, by her great wit and sugared eloquence, to win even such as before they shall come to her company shall have a great misliking.'
Elizabeth had no time for Mary as a person, only as a queen. She had a low opinion of her character, irritably observing to the French ambassador that there must be something 'divine about the speech and appearance of the Queen of Scots, in that one or the other obliges her very enemies to speak for her'.
Whilst in the Earl's care, Mary lived at one or other of his many houses in the Midlands: Tutbury, Wingfield, Chatsworth and Sheffield Castle. In 1569, Shrewsbury, who admitted that he was not unaffected by Mary's charm, recorded his impressions of her for posterity: 'Besides that she is a goodly personage, and yet in truth not comparable to our sovereign, she hath withal an alluring grace, a pretty Scottish accent, and a searching wit, clouded with mildness. Fame might move some to relieve her, and glory joined to gain might stir others to adventure much for her sake.' He could see what the sight of Mary 'might work in others. Her hair is black, and yet Knollys told me that she wears her hair in sundry colours.'
Encouraged by reports of worsening relations between England and Spain, Mary that January sent a message to de Spes, averring that she would rather die than resign the throne of Scotland, and promising that, 'if his master will help me, I shall be Queen of England in three months, and mass shall be said all over the country'. The message was duly conveyed by the ambassador, who urged Philip to step up his embargo on English goods in the Netherlands, a strategy that was doomed to failure, since too many mercantile interests were at stake.
It was Throckmorton, supported by Leicester, who revived the plan for a marriage between Mary and Norfolk, to be followed by her restoration to the Scottish throne, which would be conditional upon Mary agreeing to maintain the Protestant faith in Scotland and remaining an aUy of England. Once Mary was married to Norfolk, Elizabeth might be persuaded to recognise her as her successor, and with the succession settled, and Mary hopefully no longer a focus for Catholic rebels, friendly relations with Spain could be restored. The chief obstacle to this plan was Cecil, which was one more reason why the Norfolk- Arundel faction wanted him displaced. By now, they had been joined in their conspiracy against him by several other northern lords and the Spanish ambassador de Spes, who was ever ready to make mischief.
It appears that the scheme to marry Mary to Norfolk was devised without Elizabeth's knowledge, although the details were communicated to Mary in a letter signed by the noblemen concerned, even Leicester, who must have known that he was embarking upon a perilous course. However, the evidence suggests that Elizabeth, who was already suspicious of Norfolk, may have been aware of what was going on and was waiting to see what transpired before endorsing or condemning the project.
In February de Spes was approached by a Florentine banker, Roberto Ridolfi, who had been sent by Norfolk and Arundel to enlist Spanish support for their scheme; Ridolfi was instructed to tell the Spanish ambassador that they intended to establish a Catholic government in England as soon as they were in a position to do so. It appears that they hoped for some kind of backing from Alva, but when this proved not to be forthcoming, they began to realise that their plan to oust Cecil might prove abortive.
The prospect of failure made them desperate, and on Ash Wednesday, whilst attending her in her chamber as she ate her supper, Leicester dared to tell the Queen that most of her subjects were in despair because state affairs were being so badly managed by Master Secretary that either England must be endangered or Cecil must lose his head. Elizabeth erupted in fury at this, forbidding the Earl to say anything further against Cecil and making it clear that nothing could shake her loyalty to him.
Norfolk, who was also present, then entered the fray, disclosing to the Queen the fact that many lords shared Leicester's opinion of Cecil. Elizabeth was by now in a foul temper and shouted him down. However, when Norfolk remarked to Northampton in her hearing, 'Look how Lord Leicester is favoured and welcomed by the Queen when he endorses and approves the Secretary's opinions; but now that he quite rightly wishes to state his good reasons for opposing them, she looks ill on him, and wants to send him to the Tower. No, no! He will not go alone!' Elizabeth made no comment.
Leicester was so unnerved by this episode that he threatened Norfolk with exposure of his plot against Cecil to the Queen. But Cecil had now guessed what was afoot, and concluding that his future and even his life were in jeopardy, put himself out to be friendly towards Norfolk, taking care not to do anything to anger or provoke the Duke and his friends. He also embarked upon a campaign to win over Leicester, who was soon warning him to look out for himself. It was now very clear to those who had conspired against him that, with Elizabeth firmly behind him, Cecil was invincible.
In April, Mary was dismayed to learn that her supporters in Scotland had failed to reach any accommodation with Moray; deeply depressed, she lost her appetite and wept constantly. Elizabeth, however, was desperate to have her contentious cousin out of her kingdom, and was still hoping to negotiate Mary's return to her own land, although she would not send her back without her safety being guaranteed. Moray's strong resistance to Elizabeth's overtures on Mary's behalf did not improve her temper. Nevertheless, she persevered.
Mary had, however, discovered a potential escape route from her prison. Norfolk had at first dismissed the idea of marrying her as treason, but as the months went by he had given the matter deeper consideration: it seemed to him that, if her marriage to Bothwell could be annuUed, it made sense for the Queen of Scots to marry a loyal English lord who could safeguard Queen Elizabeth's interests when Mary had been restored to her throne. Added to this, of course, he would gain a crown for himself. In May 1569, Mary was overjoyed to receive a formal proposal of marriage through the Bishop of Ross, which Elizabeth was supposed to have sanctioned, and by June, she and Norfolk were exchanging the kind of letters that could only betoken a courtship. Signing herself 'Your assured Mary', the former Scots queen sent 'My Norfolk' a cushion embroidered by herself, which showed a knife cutting down a green vine said to represent Elizabeth. Neither party cherished any romantic notions: this was a union of driving ambition.
Knowing that the Queen would be against their marriage, since she would anticipate that a man who was ambitious to be King of Scots could also covet the crown of England, the Duke attempted in June to canvass the backing of his old rival, Cecil, but Cecil, being deeply suspicious of Mary Stuart, warned Norfolk that the only way out of this tangle was to confess all to Elizabeth. Leicester, fearful of the consequences of his involvement, also confided in Cecil, who - though he may have recalled the recent conspiracy against himself - did not betray his confidence. None of the conspirators wanted to divulge the marriage plan to Elizabeth until they were certain they could convince her that it was to her advantage.
Norfolk was too fearful of Elizabeth's anger to take Cecil's advice, but someone talked, and by the end of July the Duke's proposed marriage to Mary Stuart was common knowledge at court. In fact, most councillors were in favour of it. The Queen, who had learned of the plan as she listened to her ladies gossiping, was not, for she feared a conspiracy against herself, and on August, upon meeting him in the gardens at Richmond, she gave Norfolk the chance to make a clean breast of the whole affair by asking if there was any news from London, whence he had just arrived. The Duke, probably realising what she was hinting at, said that there was nothing.
'No?' asked the Queen, feigning astonishment. 'You come from London and can tell no news of a marriage?' Norfolk was saved from having to answer by the inadvertent arrival of Lady Clinton with some flowers for Elizabeth, and seized his opportunity to flee to Leicester's apartments. When the Earl returned there from hunting at Kingston, Norfolk asked what he thought he should do, whereupon Leicester offered to soften the Queen when occasion offered.
Supporters of the marriage were dismayed when, early in August, Moray finally informed Elizabeth that neither he nor the other Scottish lords would accept Mary back as their queen. This angered Elizabeth, who vowed that she would continue to work for Mary's restoration anyway, although the only way to force the issue was by going to war, which Moray knew she would wish to avoid at all costs.
On 5 August the court left for Oatlands on its annual summer progress, and on the nth came to Loseley Park near Guildford, the seat of Sir William More, where the room in which the Queen slept is still on view. The next morning, as Elizabeth sat on a step by the front door, listening to one of More's children strumming a lute and singing, Leicester, kneeling beside her, raised the subject of Norfolk. Elizabeth promised to speak to the Duke within the next few days.
Two days later, at Farnham, Elizabeth invited Norfolk to dine in private with her - a rare honour - but during the meal, although she gave him every opportunity to do so, he could not find the courage to say anything about his proposed marriage to Mary Stuart. When they had finished, he recorded, 'she gave me a nip', saying 'she would wish me to take good heed to my pillow' - echoing his own words the previous summer. 'I was abashed at Her Majesty's speech, but I thought it not fit time nor place there to trouble her.' Even so, Elizabeth gave him several further chances to confess to her, and still he did not take them. He was determined to pursue the marriage project, confiding to a friend that 'before he lost that marriage, he would lose his life'.
In June, the Duke of Alva, acting on Philip's behalf, had made it quite clear to de Spes that Spain would not be going to war with England and that he was under no circumstances to enter into any conspiracy against Queen Elizabeth or her government, but was to remain strictly neutral.
De Spes was an incurable intriguer, and on 8 August Alva was complaining to Philip that the ambassador would not obey instructions: he was now plotting with disaffected northern magnates to liberate Mary and make her Queen of England, and was also encouraging Norfolk to marry her.
The mood of the court on progress was tense. Elizabeth was on edge because she suspected treason, and maddened by thoughts of Mary Stuart's likely involvement, complaining to Bertrand de la Mothe Fenelon, the French ambassador, that, although she had acted the part of a good mother to her cousin, Mary had repaid her by involving herself in intrigues. A person 'who did not wish to treat her mother well deserved a wicked stepmother'. The ambassador expressed disbelief that anything sinister was afoot, but Elizabeth shook her head.
'I know the identity of the troublemakers well enough,' she declared, 'and I would like to cut off a few heads.'
At the Earl of Southampton's house in Titchfield in Hampshire in early September, she was in a savage mood, snapping and snarling at both Cecil and Leicester, and accusing them of plotting on Mary's behalf. Leicester fled to his bed, feigning illness. On the 6th, he begged the Queen to visit him, and when she was seated beside his bed, he told her that Norfolk still cherished dreams of marrying Mary.
Elizabeth commented that, if their marriage were allowed to take place, she herself would be a prisoner in the Tower within four months of the ceremony. Abjectly, Leicester begged forgiveness for his involvement in the earlier scheme, explaining that he had been convinced he was acting in her best interests. Worried about the state of his health, for she believed that he really was ill, the Queen readily pardoned him.
Norfolk, however, was another matter. That afternoon, Elizabeth summoned him to attend her in the great gallery, and in a royal temper, castigated him for his disloyalty and made him swear on his allegiance 'to deal no further with the Scottish cause'. Quaking, the Duke tried to make light of his plans by claiming he had only 'a very slight regard for Mary' and that he did not rate marrying her very highly. Elizabeth was unimpressed and made her disfavour so plain that Norfolk found himself shunned by most people at court, including Leicester. On 16 September he returned to London without leave, and defiantly continued his pursuit of Mary, having, he felt, become too deeply involved to withdraw with honour now. Deeply suspicious, the Queen sent a summons from Lord Sandys's house, The Vyne, near Basingstoke, ordering the Duke to return to court. Meanwhile, Cecil had arranged for de Spes to be placed under observation and his correspondence to be vetted; as a precaution, orders went out to loyal subjects in all areas of the country to prepare for any emergency.
On 23 September, Elizabeth returned to Windsor, where she learned that Norfolk, pleading that he had taken purgatives to cure an ague and was unable to venture outdoors, had ignored her summons and gone that day to Kenninghall, his stronghold in Norfolk. Alarmed, she concluded that his intention was to rouse his tenantry and affinity in rebellion against her, and on 25 September she sent him a categorical command to present himself at Windsor without delay. Again, he was too terrified to do so, despite Mary urging him, in a letter, to deal boldly with her cousin and be valiant.
It so happened that, at that time, another serious conspiracy against the Queen was brewing in the north of England, prompted by local feuds, resentment of royal interference in the region, a desire to restore the old faith as the official religion of the state, resentment of Cecil and other Protestant councillors, and - above all - anger at the Queen's failure to settle the succession upon the Queen of Scots. Norfolk had not initially been involved, but the Spanish ambassador had been active in inciting the rebels.
Elsewhere in England, most Catholics were loyal to Elizabeth, but the north had never entirely reconciled itself to the religious changes of the last few decades, and the great northern magnates, the Catholic earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, had begun to organise large gatherings of the local gentry, supposedly for field sports. Their real purpose was rebellion, and their plan was to murder all royal officials in the north and liberate Mary Stuart, with whom they had been in contact since the spring. Some merely wanted to oust Elizabeth's 'ill-disposed advisers', but others hoped to depose Elizabeth in favour of Mary. The King of France was involved, having promised aid to the rebels, and Roberto Ridolfi, the Florentine banker, was funding the enterprise. There is no doubt that this rebellion constituted the most dangerous threat to her throne that Elizabeth had encountered since her accession. It seemed as if eleven years of peace were about to be violently brought to an end.
Cecil and Elizabeth were aware almost from the first that the Catholic lords in the 'inly-working north' were preparing to revolt against her. What they could not risk was Norfolk raising the eastern counties and joining forces with them, which there is little doubt he was contemplating at that time. According to William Camden, 'AH the whole court hung in suspense and fear, lest the Duke should break forth into rebellion, and it was determined, if he did so, to put the Queen of Scots to death.'
It soon became clear that Norfolk would obtain little support in East Anglia. Nor did he make much effort to raise it, being too ill and demoralised to do so. His chief concern was to try and limit the damage and write to the Queen, begging that she would pardon him and excuse him from attending on her at Windsor. He knew, he continued, that he was 'a suspected person' and he feared being sent to the Tower of London - 'too great a terror for a true man'.
The Queen replied tartly that she did not mean 'to minister anything to you but as you should in truth deserve', and dispatched two further summonses, insisting that the Duke must travel to court even if he was ill, if need be in a litter. Cecil and other councillors wrote urging him to obey her.
At last Norfolk capitulated. He was aware of what was being planned in the north and, fearful of being implicated, sent a messenger to Westmorland to beg him to call off the rising: 'If not, it should cost me my head, for that I am going to court.'
On 3 October Norfolk was arrested on the way to Windsor. Cecil had assured him that, if he submitted to her, the Queen would not deal harshly with him, but ten days later, as he had feared, he was committed to the Tower. Elizabeth's rage was truly majestic, and she was resolved to make him suffer in return for the months of anxiety and worry he had caused her. At the same time, Throckmorton was questioned about his part in the conspiracy, and confined to his farmhouse at Carshalton in Surrey; Arundel and Pembroke were likewise placed under house arrest. Pembroke was quickly released, only to die the next year, while Arundel remained under guard at Nonsuch Palace until the following March, when he was released at Leicester's instigation.
On 16 October, Cecil warned Elizabeth that the real threat to her throne lay with Mary Stuart, and used this information to remind her where her duty lay.
There are degrees of danger. If you would marry, it should be less; whilst you do not, it Will increase. If her person be restrained, here or in Scotland, it will be less; if at liberty, greater. If found guilty of her husband's murder, she shall be less a person perilous; if passed over in silence the scar of the murder Will wear out, and the danger greater.
Elizabeth announced in Council that she wanted Norfolk tried for treason, but Cecil did not consider the Duke's actions to be 'within the compass of treason. Whereupon I am bold to wish Your Majesty would show your intent only to inquire into the fact, and not to speak of it as treason.' In fact, there was scant evidence that Norfolk's intentions had been treasonable, and certainly not enough to convict him.
The Queen, however, was out for his blood, and threatened that, if the laws of England did not provide for the Duke's execution, she would proceed against him on her own authority. She was so overcome with anger that she fainted, which brought her councillors running with vinegar and burnt feathers.
As usual, when her rage had cooled, she realised that Cecil had been right: to proceed against Norfolk without recourse to law was tyranny, pure and simple, and she was no tyrant. Eventually, she conceded that the Duke might not have had treasonable intentions and agreed to leave him to cool his heels in the Tower for a time, whereupon Cecil suggested that she divert Norfolk from ideas of marrying Mary Stuart by finding another, more suitable, bride for him.
On 26 October, Elizabeth dispatched to Sir Henry Norris, her ambassador in Paris, an eight-page draft in which she had written down her version of recent events, which Norris was to communicate to Charles IX and Catherine de' Medici. Elizabeth insisted that, 'By our means only, [Mary's] life was saved in her captivity, and since her flying into our realm, she hath been honourably used and entertained and attended upon by noble personages, and such hath been our natural compassion towards her in this her affliction, that we utterly set apart all such just causes as she had given us of sundry offences, whereof some were notorious to the whole world.' Regarding the inquiry into Darnley's murder, 'such circumstances were produced to argue her guilty'. The Queen now wished, however, that she had not authorised the inquiry. She had been 'fully determined to see Mary restored', but then she haci discovered 'a disordered, unhonourable and dangerous practice', which had been going on since the inquiry opened at York.
According to Elizabeth, her cousin had bombarded her 'with frequent letters, tears and messages', promising 'She would never seek nor use any means to be helped but by us, nor would attempt anything in our realm but by our advice.' Instead, she had intrigued behind Elizabeth's back to marry Norfolk. Contrary to what Mary's supporters had been spreading about, Elizabeth had 'never thought' of naming Mary as her successor. She was 'right sorry, yea, half ashamed, to have been thus misused by her, whom we have so benefited by saving of her life'. Norris should emphasise that Mary's complaints about the conditions she was held under were simply untrue.
In November, having learned of Norfolk's fate and received a promise of Spanish aid, the northern earls mobilised their rebel forces, numbering over 2500 men, and marched southwards, sacking Durham Cathedral and moving on towards their ultimate goal, Tutbury, where Mary Stuart was held - 'her whom the world believed to be the hidden cause of these troubles'. Elizabeth shared this view, and for the first time gave serious consideration to her councillors' exhortations that Mary be executed. She even allowed them to draw up a death warrant to be used if her cousin was discovered to be behind the rebellion, or in the event of its appearing likely to succeed.
There were simultaneous smaller risings in other northern districts. On 25 November, at the Queen's command, Mary was removed to Coventry in the Protestant Midlands, and the Earl of Huntingdon was appointed to assist Shrewsbury, who was ill, in his task of guarding her. All ports were closed and the militia placed on alert. Windsor was prepared for a siege.
Realising they had no hope of reaching Mary at Coventry, the rebel earls lost heart, for her liberation had been central to their plans. By 20 December the rising had collapsed, and the rebels were fleeing in all directions in order to escape the avenging royal army, 28,000 strong, sent northwards, under the command of Sussex at Elizabeth's order. Sussex pursued the leaders, Northumberland and Westmorland to the Scottish border, whence they escaped into Scotland. 'The vermin are fled to foreign cover,' observed Cecil on Christmas Day.
During the rising Elizabeth had displayed to the world a cool, fearless front, remaining at Windsor with Pembroke, now restored to favour and deputed to guard her in the event of a foreign invasion, and Leicester, who could lend her moral support. Her cousin, Lord Hunsdon, had been sent north to provide military backing to Sussex. When the rebels retreated and the danger was past, Leicester went home to Kenilworth for Christmas.
Perhaps the most worrying aspect of the Northern Rising had been Philip's willingness to support it, which demonstrated just how hostile he had become towards Elizabeth. He had also instructed Alva to send Mary Stuart 10,000 ducats. Urged on by Cecil, Elizabeth determined to show her subjects that any rebellion against her authority would be punished with the utmost severity. 'You are to proceed thereunto, for the terror of others, with expedition,' she commanded Sussex. 'Spare no offenders. We are in nothing moved to spare them.'
The Earl wasted no time in rounding up the lesser rebels and making an example of them. Reprisals were unusually savage, and no village was to be without at least one execution, 'the bodies to remain till they fall to pieces where they hang'. By 4 February 1570, between 600 and 750 commoners had been hanged and two hundred gentry had been deprived of their estates and goods, which were distributed to loyal noblemen; the Queen, however, thought it unfair that those who had helped to plan the revolt had escaped with their lives, while lesser men suffered the ultimate penalty.
Norfolk was degraded from the Order of the Garter, his achievements being removed from his stall at Windsor and, as custom demanded, kicked into the moat. From his prison cell, the Duke wrote to the Queen: 'Now I see how unpleasant this matter of the Scots Queen is to Your Majesty, I never intend to deal further herein.'
As for the ringleaders, Westmorland fled into exile in Flanders with the Countess of Northumberland, who deserved, according to Elizabeth, to be burnt at the stake for her involvement in the rebellion. The Earl of Northumberland managed to evade capture for several months, but in August 1570 he was captured by the Scots, handed over to the English, and put to death in York. Plans to execute Mary Stuart were quietly abandoned.
Yet no sooner had one northern rising been quelled, than another erupted, led by the powerful Lord Dacre, who was resentful of the erosion of his territorial influence in the north. This was ferociously suppressed within a week by Lord Hunsdon, who was afterwards warmly congratulated by the Queen upon his victory: 'I doubt much, my Harry', [she wrote], 'whether the victory given me more joyed me, or that you were by God appointed the instrument of my glory, and I assure you, for my country's good, the first might suffice, but for my heart's contentation, the second more pleased me. Your loving kinswoman, Elizabeth R.'
Elizabeth's position was now very much stronger, and in a happier frame of mind on 23 January 1570, she opened the Royal Exchange in London, built by Sir Thomas Gresham as a central trading place for the City's merchants and bankers. John Stow recorded: 'The Queen's Majesty, attended with her nobility, came from her house on the Strand, called Somerset House, and entered the City by Temple Bar, through Fleet Street, Cheapside, and so by the north side of the bourse [Exchange], through Threadneedle Street, to Sir Thomas Gresham's in Bishopsgate Street, where she dined. After dinner, Her Majesty, returning through Cornhill, entered the bourse on the south side, and after she had visited every part thereof above the ground, she caused the same bourse by an herald and trumpet to be proclaimed the Royal Exchange.'
On that same day, the Regent Moray was assassinated at Linlithgow by rival lords who feared he had ambitions to be king. When Elizabeth heard the news she shut herself in her chamber to contemplate the awful prospect of political turmoil north of the border. There was indeed chaos in Scotland, with William Maitland forming a faction dedicated to restoring Queen Mary. When news of this reached England, Mary rejoiced and tried to contact her son, James VI, but Elizabeth took steps to prevent her from doing so, realising that the majority of the Scots did not want their Queen back.
However, the kings of France and Spain were demanding that she seize this opportunity to restore Mary to the Scottish throne. In view of Mary's involvement in the recent plots and risings, Elizabeth would only consider it on the tightest conditions, the chief of which was Mary's long-desired ratification of the Treaty of Edinburgh.
The continuing problem of the Queen of Scots was greatly exacerbated when, on 25 February 1570, Pope Pills V, inspired by outdated reports of the Northern Rising, impulsively published a bull, 'Regnans in Excelsis', excommunicating Elizabeth, 'the pretended Queen of England, the serpent of wickedness'. The bull deprived her of her kingdom, absolved all true Catholics from their allegiance to her, and extended the anathema to all who continued to support her. This was effectively an incitement to Elizabeth's subjects and to foreign princes to rise against her in what would amount to a holy crusade. It also actively encouraged Mary Stuart's supporters to set her up in Elizabeth's place. Most sinister of all, it subverted the loyalty of Elizabeth's Catholic subjects and made every one of them a potential traitor to be regarded with suspicion. From now on, each one of them would face an agonising choice of loyalties, for it would no longer be possible to compromise on matters of conscience.
This led, in turn, to the hardening of attitudes on the part of English Protestants, who became more patriotic and ever more protective towards their Queen, their zealous loyalty prompting them to press increasingly for Mary Stuart's execution and for tougher laws against Catholics. The bull's ultimate effect was to turn Catholicism into a political rather than a religious issue in England, and because of this it failed in its purpose. Most English people ignored it; a man who nailed it to the door of the Bishop of London's palace in St Paul's Churchyard was arrested, tortured and executed. In the north, where the bull might once have been well received, Catholic power had been effectively crushed.
Nor did the great Catholic monarchies of Spain and France hasten to invade England. On the contrary, both Philip II and Charles IX angrily condemned the Pope for taking such hasty action without consulting them first. Elizabeth herself announced defiantly that no ship of Peter would ever enter any of her ports; otherwise she was dismissive, and the mainly Protestant Londoners echoed her feelings when they described it as 'a vain crack of words that made a noise only'.
Elizabeth had a concept of Church and State as equal partners in one body politic, and considered it her duty as sovereign to deal with all matters affecting that body politic on a political basis. After the bull, her policy was to treat Catholic intrigues as treason, or crimes against the state, rather than as heresy. Those Catholics who were condemned were not to be considered as martyrs for their faith, but traitors to their country.
The Queen had never demonstrated any personal animosity towards Catholics in general. So long as they conformed outwardly, she was not interested in their private beliefs. Only when those beliefs led to conspiracy would she invoke the law.
It was at this time that Cecil began organising an efficient espionage network that could detect conspirators, for there was a minority of English Catholics who were prepared to risk death for their loyalty to the Pope and for the woman they believed to be their true queen. These people referred to Mary as 'the Queen' and to Elizabeth as 'the Usurper', and believed it their duty to depose her.
In late April, Elizabeth's Council warned her that, if she forced Mary's restoration in Scotland, she would never feel safe in her kingdom, but the Queen refused to listen, having been threatened with war by the French if she did not keep her word. Soon afterwards, she sent Mary a list of stringent conditions that must be agreed to before she would consider helping her to regain her throne. Not only had Mary to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, but she also had to send her son James to England as a hostage for her good behaviour. Cecil warned the Queen that she was endangering her own person, but this provoked such a violent storm of tears and temper that the Secretary backed off. Sir Nicholas Bacon faced a similar tantrum when he insisted that it would be madness to contemplate freeing Mary. These outbursts appear, however, to have been staged for the benefit of the French ambassador.
Throughout the summer, to placate the French, Elizabeth maintained that she was working for Mary's restoration, when in fact she was employing her usual delaying tactics to keep Mary safely under lock and key. No one could guess her true feelings on the matter. When Leicester suggested that Mary be restored with only limited powers, the Queen accused him of being too friendly towards the Queen of Scots, whereupon he left court in a temper. But the spat was soon over, and he was back and reconciled with Elizabeth within days.
The Queen's irritability was exacerbated by the appearance of what was probably a varicose ulcer on her leg. It did not heal and she suffered a good deal of pain, but still insisted that she would go on progress as usual. Meanwhile her courtiers had to put up with her sulks and uncertain temper.
In June, as a token of goodwill, Mary sent Elizabeth a bureau with a lock engraved with a cipher used by the two Queens in the years before Mary's abdication. Fingering it, Elizabeth sighed, 'Would God that all things were in the same state they were in when this cipher was made betwixt us.' It was October before Mary agreed to Elizabeth's terms.
On 12 July, Lennox, Elizabeth's favoured candidate, was appointed Regent of Scotland until such time as his grandson the King came of age. The new Regent wasted no time in hanging the Catholic Archbishop Hamilton for complicity in the murder of Darnley, thus provoking more bitter feuds between the noble factions. Meanwhile, Elizabeth kept Lady Lennox at the English court as a hostage for Lennox's loyalty to herself.
Early in August, Cecil and Leicester managed to persuade the Queen that Norfolk, who was popular with the people and had been foolish rather than malicious in his offence, be taken from the Tower - where plague was rife - and placed under house arrest, on condition that he solemnly undertook never again to involve himself in the Queen of Scots's affairs. Norfolk promised, and was duly moved to his London mansion, the Charterhouse, near Smithfield.
Mary Stuart's presence in England and the recent plots and conspiracies against the Crown had lent urgency to the argument that Elizabeth should marry and produce an heir as soon as possible. The birth of a Protestant successor would go a long way towards neutralising Mary's claims, especially if the child were a son. Without that child, Elizabeth stood alone, unguarded against foreign invaders, traitors at home, and the constant fear of assassination. If she died childless, there would be no bar to Mary's succession, and all that Elizabeth had worked for would be overthrown.
Which was why, in August, although she was still 'as disgusted with marriage as ever', Elizabeth sent an envoy to the Emperor to try and revive the Habsburg marriage project. The Archduke was still single, but made it clear that he was no longer interested, and the Queen pretended indignation at his rejection of her. Shortly afterwards he married a Bavarian princess, and in later life became a fanatical persecutor of heretics until his death in 1590.
Then, in September, a new proposal of marriage arrived, this time from Charles IX's brother and heir, the nineteen-year-old Henry, Duke of Anjou. Charles and Catherine de' Medici hoped, by this project, to unite England and France in a defensive alliance against Spain. Elizabeth was interested, if only for the political advantages and much-needed friendship that prolonged negotiations with France could bring her, and Cecil began drawing up lists of the 'commodities' to be gained from the union, putting out feelers as to how serious the French were about it. To this end, he sent the fiercely Protestant Sir Francis Walsingham to Paris to act as Elizabeth's envoy.
Walsingham was nearing forty; he had been educated at Cambridge, Gray's Inn and Padua, and become an MP; later, he had come under the patronage of Cecil, who had offered him a post at court and later placed him in charge of his secret agents. Because of his swarthy complexion and black clothes, Elizabeth nicknamed Walsingham her 'Moor', and although she liked him and was an occasional guest at his house in Barn Elms in Surrey, she sometimes found him more than a match for her intellectually. He was a serious, disciplined and cultivated man with deep convictions and formidable abilities, and was drawn to Leicester because of their shared religious beliefs. He spoke four languages besides English, and was a skilful diplomat with a wide knowledge of international politics. As a Puritan, he had a special loathing for and distrust of Spain and the Queen of Scots. Elizabeth knew she could rely on him implicitly, and that he would carry out her orders, even if he disagreed with them. Her preservation was his ordained mission in life, and to that end he devoted his energies, his wealth and - ultimately - his health.
As usual, religion was to prove a major obstacle in the marriage negotiations, because Elizabeth was as insistent as ever that her husband should abide by her country's laws, and the priest-dominated Anjou was adamant that he would never abandon his faith. Elizabeth might well have felt revulsion for the match on personal grounds, because it was well known that Anjou was bisexually promiscuous: at this time he was notorious for being a womaniser, but he was also attracted to men, and in later years became a blatant transvestite, appearing at court balls in elaborate female costumes and with a painted face. A Venetian envoy observed, 'He is completely dominated by voluptuousness, covered with perfumes and essences. He wears a double row of rings, and pendants in his ears.' Although Anjou's mother, Catherine de' Medici, backed the marriage because she was ambitious for him to gain a crown, he himself was less than lukewarm about it. Nor did the puritanical Walsingham favour it.
In November, the Queen sent Leicester to summon Fenelon, the French ambassador, to an audience. She had dressed to impress, and was playing the coy virgin, saying how she regretted having stayed single for so long. Fenelon replied that he could help to alter that state of affairs and would deem it a great honour if he could bring about a marriage between herself and Anjou. The Queen protested that, at thirty-seven, she was too old for marriage, but nevertheless managed to convey the impression that she was eager for it. She did voice concern that Anjou was so much younger than she was, but laughed when Leicester quipped, 'So much the better for you!'
Soon afterwards Fenelon sounded out Leicester on the project, and was surprised to find that the Earl supported it. Armed with this and Elizabeth's obvious interest, Fenelon informed Queen Catherine that the time was ripe for an official proposal.
Eleven years of peace and stable government, coupled with the provocative action of the Pope, had securely established Elizabeth in the affection and imagination of her people as an able, wise and gracious ruler, and that regard found its expression in November 1570, when her Accession Day was first celebrated throughout the kingdom as a public holiday. Prior to that year it seems to have been marked with just the ringing of church bells, but the English were now determined that the day should be 'a holiday that surpassed all the Pope's holy days'. In 1576, 17 November officially became one of the great holy days of the Church of England, veneration of the Virgin Queen, who was hailed as the English Judith or Deborah, having replaced the worship of the Virgin Mary that was now banned. Indeed, some Puritans feared that Elizabeth was being set up as an object of idolatry.
Accession Day was celebrated with prayers of thanksgiving for a sovereign who had delivered the land from popery. There were sermons, joyful peals of bells, nationwide festivities and the famous Accession Day jousts at Whitehall. Special prayer books incorporating a service composed by the Queen herself for use on the day were printed, and ballads and songs composed. Throughout England the Queen's subjects would drink to her health and prosperity, feast and light fireworks and bonfires, whilst royal ships at sea would 'shoot off their guns.
Camden relates how, 'in testimony to their affectionate love' towards the Queen, her people continued to celebrate 'the sacred seventeenth day' until the end of her reign. After the Armada victory of 1588, the festivities continued until 19 November, which was, appropriately, St Elizabeth's Day. Nor did this observance cease with her death, for her successors encouraged its continuance in order to emphasise England's greatness, and Accession Day was celebrated right up until the eighteenth century.
The Whitehall jousts, customarily attended by the Queen herself, were the most splendid aspect of 'the Golden Day', as it was termed. Presided over by the Queen's Champion, Sir Henry Lee, until his retirement in 1590, when he was replaced by George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and attended by up to 12,000 spectators, they presented an opportunity for the young men of the court to display their knightly prowess in the lists and so win fame. The pageantry at these occasions was breathtaking, with contestants appearing in the most elaborate and inventive costumes, often on mythological themes. Each would present a gift to Elizabeth as she sat with her ladies in the gallery overlooking the tiltyard, which occupied the site known today as Horse Guards Parade. Often the Queen would appear in the guise of Astraea, the virgin goddess of justice, or Cynthia, 'the lady of the sea', or Diana the huntress, Belphoebe, or, in later years, as Gloriana, the Faerie Queen. In these unearthly roles, the Queen would acknowledge the homage and devotion of her gallant knights. Her Champion, wearing her favour -Clifford was painted by Nicholas Hilliard in full costume with her glove attached to his hat - would then defend her honour against all comers in the jousts, and afterwards, the contestants' shields, adorned with intricate symbolic devices, would be hung in the Shield Gallery in Whitehall Palace. Thus were the ideals of chivalry - of which this was the last flowering in England - kept alive by the Queen and her courtiers.