Frances Walsingham is the only surviving child of Queen Elizabeth’s ‘spymaster’ Sir Francis Walsingham. Better educated than most men, her father arranges her marriage to warrior poet Sir Philip Sidney.
After Philip Sidney is killed in battle, Frances becomes Countess of Essex, and is banished from court after her husband Sir Robert Devereaux’s rebellion against the queen.
Can she marry for love, if it means turning her back on her faith and all she knows?
The story of the daughter of the Queen’s Spymaster, Sir Francis Walsingham, who witnesses the key events of the Elizabethan era
The Spanish Armada 1588
Frances works in her father’s study, decoding the latest letter of intelligence from their agent in Lisbon. The work takes patience, yet she finds the challenge satisfying. Her ability to memorise and recall the detail of codes means she can decipher faster than her father. She enjoys helping him, and being the first to know important state secrets.
She frowns as she sees the number six, surmounted by a small letter v. Her father’s agent, Nicholas Ousley, risks discovery, his freedom, and even his life, with such an obvious reference. Frances dips her quill in fresh black ink and writes, Pope Sixtus V. She works on the letter for another hour, rechecking to be certain.
Unlike the substitution tables favoured by Catholics, her father prefers symbols, used over and under the same letters to change their meaning. A letter m with two dots below means more, and m with a bar across the top means money. The queen and many others have their own secret symbols, meaningful only to Frances, her father and his most trusted agents.
She sits back in her chair with a growing sense of concern as she reads her transcribed message. The head of the Catholic Church, who’d excommunicated Queen Elizabeth, offers King Philip of Spain a million gold ducats to fund an invasion of England.
Her father’s illness shows no sign of improving, and keeps him in a state of melancholy. The news from Spain will not improve his mood, but he must see this straight away. The threat of invasion returns with the support of Pope Sixtus and his blessing for a Catholic crusade.
Her father limps as he paces the rush-covered floor of his study, a frown of concern on his face. He waves the decoded letter in the air. ‘A million gold ducats!’
‘Half a million. The rest will only be paid if the Spanish invasion succeeds.’
Her father stops pacing and supports himself on the back of a chair while he struggles with the pain. ‘Half a million is all the Spanish need. They will promise the men a share of the spoils, in lieu of pay.’ His eyes darken as he glowers at Frances. ‘We are woefully unprepared – and the queen still talks of peace.’
Frances places a comforting hand on his arm. ‘You can help prevent an invasion. Praemonitus praemunitus. Forewarned is forearmed. We must share this news with Lord Burghley. He will persuade the queen to give you the money you need to gather intelligence.’
He stares at her in surprise. ‘The queen provided an allowance of three thousand pounds, and we have my network of agents.’
Frances shakes her head. ‘It’s a shame about your man in the household of Admiral Álvaro de Bazán, Marquis of Santa Cruz.’ She gives her father a wry look. ‘I believe you knew more about the preparedness of the Spanish fleet than King Philip, but now the marquis is dead, and we are once again in darkness.’
He scowls, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘King Philip blamed the admiral for the delays. We will never know if his death was from a natural cause, but the king replaced him with the Duke of Medina Sidonia. A good soldier, but he has no experience of fighting at sea.’
Frances thinks for a moment. ‘The duke could be Spain’s weakness, but only if we can prevent the Armada making landfall.’
* * *
Her father returns from court in a better mood than when he left. ‘You were right. Her Majesty increased my allowance by two thousand pounds. Not enough, but she says with God’s grace it won’t be needed!’ The annoyance echoes in his voice. ‘I shall use some of the money to provide a merchant with letters of credit to sail the coast of Spain, and learn what he can. The only way to convince the queen is with proof of the danger facing our country.’
‘She still hopes for peace?’
‘She sent Robert Cecil with ambassadors to Ostend, to seek a peace conference with the Duke of Parma.’
‘Our queen hopes for a miracle.’ Frances dislikes the way the queen calls Robert Cecil her ‘pygmy’ because of his deformed back. Groomed by his father for high office of state, they share much in common. Like her, Robert Cecil helps run a network of informers, likes to watch and listen, and keeps his secrets safe.
‘We are concerned the Spanish fleet will bring the Duke of Parma’s army to our shores. The peace mission is of Lord Burghley’s devising. He saw the chance for his son to learn the Duke of Parma’s strength.’ He gives her a knowing look. ‘Duke Alexander Farnese will be vulnerable to Robert Cecil’s flattery.’
Frances studies her father’s map, spread out on his table. ‘The Channel looks narrower than I’d thought, having suffered the crossing of it. She points to the red marker in Spanish territory. ‘The Duke’s forces are closer to our shores than most people would expect.’
Her father agrees. ‘I should show this map to the queen, to help her see the truth. Sir William Winter is an experienced man, and believes the Spanish will embark the Duke of Parma’s forces at Dunkirk.’ He frowns. ‘He has between twenty and thirty thousand men.’
‘Even if they carry a hundred soldiers on each ship, the Spanish will need a fleet of two or three hundred.’ Frances shakes her head as she recalls the nightmare of her last time at sea. ‘I’ve seen how conditions in the Channel can change. They’ll have to watch the winds and tides, and that’s when they would be most vulnerable.’
Her father agrees. ‘I must speak with Charles Howard. He is no more experienced an admiral than the Duke of Medina Sidonia, but he will listen to me.’
‘But will the queen?’
He looks doubtful. ‘Even Lord Burghley’s news of a Spanish plan to parade her through the streets of Madrid did not seem to worry Her Majesty.’
Frances raises an eyebrow. ‘Let us pray it never comes to that.’
Her father frowns. ‘There is an air of complacency at court. You would never imagine we face an imminent invasion, with all the merrymaking. Her Majesty commanded me to attend a play this evening at Greenwich Palace, by the Gentlemen of Gray’s Inn. It will be good for you to accompany me.’
Her pulse races at the prospect. ‘It’s too soon. I can’t face the gossips of court, and I have nothing suitable to wear—’
He holds up a hand to stop her objections. ‘You cannot spend the rest of your life shut away from the world in mourning, and I hope you might enjoy it.’
* * *
Frances wears her best satin gown, with her mother’s diamond necklace, and had sent Beth out to buy her a new lace ruff and a pair of white gloves. She feels all eyes on her as she enters Greenwich Palace. A few offer the expected words of sympathy, but most are more interested in the free wine, served by an army of servants in Tudor green livery.
A wide stage, raised on timber scaffolding draped with swathes of dark velvet, dominates one end of the hall. Musicians play soft music on lutes and the air buzzes with anticipation. A fanfare of trumpets announces the entry of the queen. The audience rise to their feet and Frances gasps at the change since she’d last seen her.
A gossamer ruff supported on golden wires frames the queen’s orange wig. Her wide sleeves glitter with jewels, her lips are a bright-red painted line, and her cheeks an unnatural rouge over the palest white. The queen is fifty-five, yet looks ten years older. Only her sharp eyes are the same. They fix on Frances, and she bows her head as she senses the power and majesty of Elizabeth’s gaze.
Her heart misses a beat when she sees the man escorting the queen, his arm linked with hers in a surprising display of intimacy. Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, tall and wide-shouldered, looks impressive with a blue silk sash over his silver doublet and hose. His eyes flash with interest as he glances at Frances.
She knows that look, although she’s rarely seen desire in a man’s eyes, and it makes no sense to her. The gossipers say the young earl has his pick of the most beautiful ladies at court, and plans to clear his debts by marrying well. He will know Frances has no money, and no prospect of inheriting from her father.
A rattling drum roll draws her attention to the stage, where students of Gray’s Inn, dressed as ancient Britons, lead on three mules. Some of the rowdier men in the audience call out ribald suggestions, and Frances laughs when one shouts that the play is about lawyers making asses of themselves.
Frances and her father are two rows behind the queen. She feels an irrational spark of jealousy when the queen caresses the young earl’s thigh with her gold-ringed hand. She tells herself this is only a game the queen plays, but Robert Devereux acts his part well. The rumours could be true…
On the stage, one of the players thanks the queen for welcoming their company, and explains their story is the legend of King Arthur and his queen, Guinevere. Trumpets blast, and a cloud of smoke fills the stage. Three figures, with black capes and snakes in their long black hair, rise from a hidden trapdoor.
The first holds up a writhing snake and a cup of wine, announcing that the cup is poisoned, and causes the death of Uther Pendragon – King of the Britons and father of King Arthur – at a banquet. The second player holds a burning torch, which he says is to show Uther’s unlawful heat in love, and the third carries a whip, a sign of the cruelty and ambition which leads to tragedy.
They are joined by three more young lawyers dressed as nuns, which draws rude shouts from the audience. They speak of the remorse and despair of Guinevere, who takes to a nunnery for her refuge. Mummers enliven the overlong play at intervals. Their antics make little sense to Frances, but bring roars of laughter from the more drunken members of the audience.
Intended as a Senecan tragedy, the Gentlemen of Gray’s Inn have produced a comedy. Frances gives her father a smile of thanks. It feels good to be back in the frivolous world of Queen Elizabeth’s court and, for now at least, forget about the tragedy in her own life. At her worst, she’d believed her little Elizabeth was her only reason to keep going.
The musicians play a poignant refrain as the play draws to a close, and the audience fall silent as King Arthur makes his final speech. His words strike a chord for Frances, reminding her of Philip’s last days, and bringing an unexpected tear to her eye.
Yea, though I conqueror die, and full of fame,
Yet let my death and passing rest obscure.
No grave I need, nor burial rights,
Nor stately hearse, nor tomb with haughty top;
But let my carcase lurk; yea, let my death
Be aye unknown, so that in every coast
I still be feared, and looked for every hour.
Excerpt
