Sir Francis Walsingham Page 9

  While the aforesaid persons were in arms prosecuting their impious attempt, they not only threw down the communion tables, tore in pieces the holy bible and godly books, and trod under foot the printed homilies, but also again set up the blasphemous mass as a sacrifice for the living and the dead. And as a farther cloak to their pretended piety, they caused some crosses and some banners of certain saints, whom they either believed to be their patrons and defenders, or pretended they would be, to be carried in procession among their arms.4

  Ordinary countrymen welcomed the earls’ initiative and a mass in Durham Cathedral was attended by a crowd of worshippers. Their betters were more circumspect. No men of substance joined the march. Mary was moved to a fresh place of confinement (her sixth change of address in a single year) but even had she not been her rescuers would have found Tetbury a bridge too far. North of York the rebels faltered and were soon in retreat. By the end of the year the Northern Rebellion was all over and Elizabeth’s generals were attending to the grisly business of hanging scores of traitors (though not the 700 victims Elizabeth had demanded). Two years later Northumberland was handed over by the Scots and executed at York, where his head was raised on a pole above Micklegate Bar. His co-conspirator eked out a long and dreary life as a pensioner of Spain in the Netherlands.

  Meanwhile Cecil’s intelligence machine had been hard at work exploring the international ramifications of the plot. Preliminary examination of Howard and his servants at Burnham had thrown up the name of Roberto Ridolfi. Ridolfi, a Florentine banker, was already known to the secretary, because he had volunteered his services as intermediary between Elizabeth and the Duke of Alva with a view to ending the trade war. This was no more than a ploy to worm his way into Cecil’s confidence. This shadowy figure has been called a double agent but the term with its overtones of modern spy stories, both fact and fiction, may be too specific. Ridolfi seems to have been one of those people who desire to be among the world’s movers and shakers, employ a vivid imagination to conceive grandiose schemes and are plausible enough to take in even experienced statesmen. Like a sinuous snake Ridolfi slithered through Europe’s tangled ideological and political jungle, wholly indifferent to the consequences of his intrigues. He was already using his financial activities as a cover to smuggle money from the pope to Mary and her English sympathizers. He was in the Norfolk marriage plot at an early stage and, by the spring of 1569, was working with the arch intriguer Guerau de Spes on a much more far-reaching scheme. With typical panache Ridolfi called it the ‘Enterprise of England’. The details of this grand design were changed over ensuing months because they were never more than ill-conceived opportunist ideas tailored to fit the objectives of whomever Ridolfi was negotiating with at the time. The more extreme plans involved the assassination of Elizabeth and her replacement with Mary, married either to Norfolk or Don John of Austria (Philip’s half-brother). Constant themes were a popular Catholic rising in England, aided by Spanish gold and troops from the Netherlands. The government urgently needed to make some sense out of the swirling rumours. Clearly Ridolfi had to be interrogated. The man entrusted with the task was Francis Walsingham. On 7 October he received a message from Cecil co-signed by Leicester, who had now thrown his weight behind the Secretary: ‘The Queen’s Majesty hath commanded us to write to the Lord Mayor of London for the apprehension of Roberto Ridolfi, whom her Majesty would have remain in your house without conference until he may be examined of certain matters which touch her Majesty very nearly.’5

  The question that springs immediately to mind is why the softly-softly approach? If it was solely a matter of extracting information, the quickest and most effective treatment for Ridolfi would have been to march him straight to the Tower and give him a sight of the rack. There are various possible answers. It may be that the government, ever short of money, did not want to be heavy-handed with a member of the international banking community. Possibly Elizabeth ordered any inquiries about the sensitive marriage issue to be conducted discreetly. But there could be a deeper motivation: Cecil might have entertained hope of ‘turning’ Ridolfi and having a mole in the conspirators’ councils. Or Ridolfi may have exuded such an air of innocence that the Council hesitated to proceed too vigorously. Our basic problem with the Ridolfi plot is that we do not know for certain who was fooling whom.

  If Walsingham was instructed to conduct a thorough, probing investigation, it must be admitted that he made a pretty poor fist of it. Ridolfi remained in his house for six weeks, during which time he was examined at least twice and had his lodgings searched. All he admitted was that he had known about the Mary and Norfolk marriage plan (which, anyway, was the subject of common gossip) and that he had conveyed money to the prisoner-queen. When, on 11 November, Leicester and Cecil wrote to order Ridolfi’s release on recognisances there was more than a hint in their letter of dissatisfaction with Walsingham’s handling of the situation. The queen, they said, was aware that the Florentine had revealed what he knew ‘in part’ and that ‘if she were disposed to be severe [she] might force him to confess more’.6

  By January 1570 Ridolfi’s bond had been returned to him and, despite the Northern Rebellion and the issuing of Regnans in excelsis, he enjoyed complete freedom of movement in England. He employed his time and energies in distributing the papal bull and refining a Catholic plot through communication with Rome, de Spes and Mary’s representative, the Bishop of Ross. Ridolfi was not alone in furthering schemes for a Catholic comeback. The air was alive with plots and Cecil was on the alert to sniff them out. The Spanish ambassador was up to his ears in intrigue. He discussed plans with some Lancashire gentlemen to spirit Mary away to the Isle of Man and confidently reported to his master that, when the trumpet sounded 10,000 good Catholics would spring to arms. In December 1570 he and his associates were examined by the Council – and merely dismissed with a severe reprimand. By this time Norfolk had been restored to liberty and Ridolfi had resumed his secret communication with the duke. The leniency with which the Council handled all these potential traitors and subversives would have been sheer criminal incompetence if there were no reason for it. It is probably correct, therefore, to conclude that the plotters were being deliberately kept in circulation – and under surveillance. Does this provide us with a clue for understanding a tantalizing reference which Walsingham entered into his journal on 24 December: ‘I went to the court and had conference with my Lord of Leicester and Mr Secretary about a matter of great importance?’7

  Cecil never wavered in his conviction that Mary Stuart was a very limb of Satan and that the realm could not be safe until she was disposed of. In this he was completely at odds with Elizabeth and many of his conciliar colleagues. But he was not the sort of man to abandon his principles or prejudices simply because he was in a minority. Few politicians were more subtle or unscrupulous than William Cecil. He meant to prove his point and one way to do it was to allow the conspirators sufficient rope to hang themselves. Through 1570 he watched the comings and goings between the Spanish and French embassies and Mary’s household. For some months Walsingham continued to be his go-between with Ridolfi. But Walsingham was not fully in his master’s confidence as far as the Florentine was concerned. In October 1570 he could commend Ridolfi to Cecil as a man ‘who standeth on terms of honesty and reputation’.8 Walsingham was not yet the crafty spymaster of legend. Nor, it seems, was Cecil grooming him as an intelligence officer, for in February 1570 he ordered him away from the national centre of intrigue to go on a diplomatic mission to France. In August and September Walsingham attended the French court as special ambassador. Then, at the end of the year, he took up residence as permanent ambassador.

  We will return shortly to his relations with the French court but first we must pursue the Ridolfi business through to its conclusion. In March 1571 the banker crossed the Channel and went straight to Alva to refine the Enterprise of England. It was only a few weeks later that, by ‘happy chance’, his messenger, Charles Bailly, was apprehende
d at Dover carrying incriminating letters for the Bishop of Ross. Under torture Bailly revealed all he knew about Spanish plans and the machinations of certain English noblemen abroad. Cecil was still having to cope with the aristocratic faction in the Council who resented the influence of a mere commoner. In February Elizabeth had strengthened his hand and confirmed her confidence by raising him to the peerage as Baron Burghley but friends of Howard were agitating for the duke’s fall restitution to favour and hinting what would happen to Cecil when the ‘proper’ balance of government forces had been restored. Then, lo and behold, other ‘accidental’ discoveries were made which gave the international conspiracy almost the appearance of a farce.

  One of Philip II’s councillors leaked information of his master’s plans to a merchant friend, not realizing that he was in Walsingham’s pay. What this man revealed was that Ridolfi had gone to Spain and had had audiences with the king. Philip had agreed a plan which hinged upon Elizabeth’s assassination during her summer progress. After that Norfolk would mobilize Catholic support at home while Alva assembled an invasion force in Zeeland. This would be transported across the Channel by an Anglo-Spanish fleet. The admiral of the English contingent was to be, of all people, John Hawkins, the notorious privateer and the predator on Spain’s transatlantic trade. At Cecil’s prompting this master mariner had managed to persuade de Spes that he was resentful of his treatment by Elizabeth and ready to turn his coat. The ambassador and his royal master believed what they wanted to believe because they were engaged in a Catholic jihad. Philip told Alva: ‘I hold my charge from God to do this to be so explicit, that I am extremely determined and resolved to proceed . . . doing on my side everything possible in this world to promote and assist it.’9 Of all the conspirators the only one who kept a cool head was Alva. He was sceptical of Ridolfi’s ambitious plan and unwilling to commit himself until a Catholic rebellion had actually taken place. Perhaps he was also suspicious about the apparent failure of the English government to discover what was going on. Burghley, of course, did know what was going on. The latest intelligence reached him on 5 September. He passed on an embellished version to Elizabeth and was gratified by her angry reaction. Before nightfall he had penned a letter to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Mary’s jailer, warning him of a plot to snatch the ex-queen. Across the outside he splashed his directions to the messenger: ‘haste, post haste, haste, haste, for life, life, life, life.’ Other information had ‘chanced’ to come his way concerning money, secret codes and fresh correspondence between Norfolk and Mary. It was, he concluded, enough.

  Intelligence officers now, as then, feasted on ‘abjects, orts and imitations’, ever striving to make scraps into a coherent meal. Their political masters frequently go a step further and put their own spin on intelligence to make it say what they want it to say. Cecil did this. Taken as a whole the written and oral evidence he accumulated did not add up to a substantial threat to the state. But in a war of ideologies anything that can conjure up the fear of potential horror is valuable. Mr Secretary had more than enough proof to have de Spes sent packing back to Spain, to return Norfolk to the Tower and to steer a state trial to the proper verdict. The news that Elizabethan justice did not stay its hand from plucking down the nation’s premier peer would, Burghley hoped, be sufficient to discourage any Catholic fanatics who might put faith above country. It would also demonstrate that Elizabeth’s trusted ministers were in control of the situation.

  Walsingham meanwhile entered the diplomatic service in Paris very reluctantly. He felt inadequate for the task – and not without reason. He had no experience in the tactful handling of princes and great officers of state. Personal ostentation was quite alien to Walsingham’s nature, and to his faith. Extravagance of dress, keeping up with fashion and learning the latest dances smacked of pride and vanity – and they were sins. Flattery and dissimulation proceeded from the father of lies and were, therefore, anathema to him. Although taciturn and tight-lipped in his general demeanour, Walsingham tended to be outspoken and even belligerent in matters that affected his faith. More immediately to the point, he did not have a deep purse. Ambassadors were expected to maintain a large staff, entertain lavishly as a means of enhancing their nation’s prestige and to spend whatever was necessary to bribe officials, purchase information and sustain a corps of their own agents. They had to be ready to meet expenses out of their own resources, and rulers were often very sluggish about reimbursing their representatives.

  To understand Walsingham’s appointment and what it was the government expected of him we need to look closely into diplomatic relations between the major powers. To describe them as tense would be an understatement. We have already seen how Guerau de Spes interpreted his mission. He used underhand methods in the aggressive pursuit of Spanish and Catholic interests and his style was frequently confrontational. Eventually he was adjudged to have overstepped the mark by involvement in the Ridolfi plot and Elizabeth requested his recall. The ambassador had left in a fury of denunciations of the ‘heretical’ Cecil who, he asserted, was so worried about a resurgence of Catholicism that he had sent the bulk of his fortune to Germany in readiness for a hurried departure.

  But the diplomatic waters had been well and truly muddied a couple of years earlier. As her envoy to Spain Elizabeth had nominated John Man, Warden of Merton College, Oxford. It was hardly a sensitive decision. Man was an abrasive religious enthusiast with a talent for rubbing people up the wrong way. During Mary’s reign he had been deprived of his university appointments. His arrival at Merton in 1562 had been the signal for unseemly quarrels among the fellows, some of whom resigned rather than submit to the rule of this ardent Calvinist. Man enjoyed the patronage of Archbishop Parker and dedicated to him his translation of Wolfgang Musculus’ Commonplaces of Christian Religion, ‘a body of sound divinity, purged from the errors of popery’.10 In London Man was associated with the group to which John Foxe and John Field belonged. On the face of it, therefore, he does not seem to have been the most obvious choice as the only Protestant senior diplomat at the Spanish court. The Earl of Arundel was probably not alone among the councillors as being surprised by the appointment of ‘a man of low position and small merits’. Man was very soon at the centre of a diplomatic row and the only thing that is surprising about his career in Spain is that it lasted a little over two years. An envoy who engaged in theological argument with his Catholic hosts, distributed Protestant pamphlets and referred to the pope as ‘a canting little monk’ was never going to win friends and influence people. However, he certainly had right on his side when he demanded – unsuccessfully – that he and his staff should be allowed freedom of worship within the embassy. And, for all his bigoted troublemaking, he did not engage in plots against the monarch, as de Spes did. However, he did infuriate Philip who told Elizabeth that her representative richly deserved to be burned at the stake and demanded Man’s recall. The disgraced ambassador, broken in health, made his weary way home in the summer of 1568. He was not replaced. Furthermore, whenever Cecil had occasion to take a tough line with Spain he often dragged up the ‘appalling’ treatment of Elizabeth’s representative.

  Men such as de Spes, Man and Walsingham were clearly chosen not so much to smoothe over possible causes of discord as to assert firmly – forcibly when necessary – their government’s religious position. But what do we understand the word ‘government’ to mean? In the case of Spain government meant King Philip, a workaholic bureaucratic monarch who tried to keep his hands on every aspect of foreign and domestic policy. Philip was, as we have seen, a devout son of holy church with a divine mission to extirpate heresy wherever it reared its hydra heads. It is hardly surprising, therefore, to find his representatives maintaining a staunchly Catholic stance.

  Elizabeth, on the other hand, was no committed partisan. The main plank of her foreign policy was to keep England out of harm’s way by encouraging traditional Franco-Spanish mistrust. It was Cecil and his supporters who wanted her to assume the more posit
ive role of Protestant champion. On the Man incident, the queen claimed ignorance of her envoy’s extreme opinions. The fact that he had not fled to foreign Calvinist and Zwinglian havens during Mary’s reign persuaded her that her ambassador was a moderate. Her secretary encouraged her in this delusion and Cecil also probably represented Walsingham as a man discreet in matters of religion.

  Cecil, now working closely with Leicester, was anxious to replace Sir Henry Norris as ambassador to France. Norris, as well as being a religious moderate, also had a hot line to Elizabeth via his wife, who had been for several years one of the queen’s favourite attendants. By contrast Walsingham was Cecil’s man and one whose Calvinist convictions were clear cut. The ‘forward’ party in the Council had an armoury of techniques for ‘managing’ the queen and steering policy in the required direction. One was forcing the pace in foreign courts through England’s ambassadors.

  During the twenty-eight months of his residence at the French court Walsingham was charged with two major responsibilities: to support the political aspirations of the Huguenots and to achieve an Anglo-French treaty as a means of containing Spanish ambitions. There were two ways of formalizing cross-Channel friendly relations. The most secure would be a marriage alliance. Failing that, the next best option was a defensive treaty. Since Elizabeth was the only surviving member of her immediate family any political union based on marriage would involve her taking a husband from among the French princes. There were two available among Catherine de Medici’s remaining sons; Henry, duc d’Anjou (born in 1551) and Francis, duc d’Alençon (born in 1555). Elizabeth was old enough to be their mother but this did not prevent sporadic negotiations from being carried on with varying degrees of seriousness.