Both Parliament and the Council had repeatedly urged the Queen to take stern punitive measures against the Catholic recusants and missionary priests. Although by nature she loathed bloodshed, and had hitherto preferred to act with moderation, she now recognised that her peril was such that harsher sanctions were called for. Even so, Parliament was dissatisfied with the new Statute of Recusancy which was passed on 18 March 1581, which raised fines for non-attendance at Anglican services to a steep 20 per month, imposed a penalty of a year in prison for those caught participating in the mass, and classed as traitors any who converted to the Roman faith. Furthermore, anyone uttering remarks defamatory to the Queen would, for a first offence, be put in the pillory, have both ears cut off, and be fined 200; death was the penalty for a second offence. It was also declared illegal for anyone to cast the Queen's horoscope or prophesy how long she would live or who her successor would be.

From now on, missionaries such as Campion and Parsons would be regarded as dangerous enemies of the state, but even so, there was no wide-scale persecution. During the next twenty years, no more than 250 Catholics would be executed or die in prison. There is, however, evidence that about ninety of these persons were tortured, and although the Queen did not personally sanction it in any of these cases, she must have known about it. Personally, she preferred to punish such offenders with imprisonment or fines.

It was therefore with some relief that in January 1581, the Queen learned that the French had agreed to send their commissioners to England. For the next few months, she would be absorbed in the elaborate preparations for their reception, not because she wished to marry Anjou, but because she realised the necessity for concluding a treaty of friendship with France.

Anjou, deeply in debt and running out of resources, was once again seeking to ally himself in marriage with Elizabeth. In April 1581, the long awaited, and very high-ranking, French commissioners finally arrived at Whitehall, their objective being to conclude the marriage, or, failing this, to persuade Elizabeth to support Anjou in the Netherlands.

336.

On their arrival, the commissioners presented the Queen with a posy of fresh flowers picked for her by the Duke, and she wrote to thank him for 'the sweet flowers plucked by the hand with the little fingers, which I bless a million times, promising you that no present was ever carried so gracefully, for the leaves were still as green as when they were freshly picked, a vibrant token of your affection, and I hope there shall never be any cause for it to wither'.

Shimmering in a gown of gold tissue, Elizabeth entertained the envoys to a sumptuous banquet in a luxurious new pavilion, 330 feet long, with 292 glass windows, and a roof decorated with suns and gilded stars, which had been built by 375 men at a cost of 1,744. There followed more dinners, plays and masques, pageants, a bear-baiting, a 'triumph' in the tiltyard, a grand ball, and many conferences with the Council. Mendoza commented that the Queen was more interested in 'ostentation and details of no moment than in points of importance for the conclusion of a treaty'.

When at last she did get down to business, she abruptly informed the commissioners that she was still concerned about the age-gap between herself and the Duke. She also felt that, if she married him, it would give unwelcome encouragement to English Catholics. Nor did she wish to become involved in a war with Spain. She preferred, in fact, to make an alliance which did not involve marriage.

When the stunned commissioners explained falteringly that their brief did not empower them to do anything other than conclude a marriage treaty, Elizabeth showed herself immoveable. Hoping she might relent, they remained in London.

On 4 April the Queen went from Greenwich to board the Golden Hind, Golden Hind, then in dock at Deptford, to dine with Francis Drake and, in defiance of King Philip, knight him in recognition of his epic world voyage. She also brought the French commissioners with her. The banquet served on board was 'finer than has ever been seen in England since the time of King Henry', and during it the Queen was relaxed and animated. For her entertainment, Drake's crew put on Red Indian dress and danced for her, and for four hours their captain reminisced about the voyage. Although many courtiers wilted with boredom, the Queen was captivated. then in dock at Deptford, to dine with Francis Drake and, in defiance of King Philip, knight him in recognition of his epic world voyage. She also brought the French commissioners with her. The banquet served on board was 'finer than has ever been seen in England since the time of King Henry', and during it the Queen was relaxed and animated. For her entertainment, Drake's crew put on Red Indian dress and danced for her, and for four hours their captain reminisced about the voyage. Although many courtiers wilted with boredom, the Queen was captivated.

When Drake escorted her around the ship, telling him that King Philip had demanded he be put to death, she produced a sword, joking that she would use it 'to strike off his head', whilst teasingly wielding it in the air.

Because Elizabeth wished to emphasise to King Philip her defensive alliance with France, she turned to one of Anjou's envoys, the Seigneur de Marchaumont, and, handing over the sword, asked him to perform 337.

the dubbing ceremony for her. Thus it was that the short, stocky adventurer found himself kneeling on the deck before a Frenchman, while the Queen looked on, beaming approval.

Later, her purple and gold garter fell off, and as she bent down to readjust it, de Marchaumont asked if he might 'capture' the garter as a trophy for his master. The Queen protested that 'she had nothing else to keep her stocking up', but on her return to Greenwich she sent him the garter for Anjou.

The newly-knighted Drake presented his sovereign with a map of the voyage and 'a diary of everything that happened to him during the three years he was away'. Neither the log-book, nor the Golden Hind, Golden Hind, survive today; the ship was rotting by 1599. By then, Drake was himself dead, and already a legend, occupying an enduring place in the affections and imagination of Elizabeth's subjects and successive generations for many centuries. survive today; the ship was rotting by 1599. By then, Drake was himself dead, and already a legend, occupying an enduring place in the affections and imagination of Elizabeth's subjects and successive generations for many centuries.

On June, Elizabeth having had another apparent change of heart, the French commissioners were permitted to draw up a marriage treaty at Whitehall. However, the Queen insisted that it would have to be endorsed in person by Anjou himself, and thereupon the French delegation went home in disgruntled mood.

By the summer, Anjou was desperate, realising that he might soon have to abandon his ambitions in the Netherlands and return to a hostile France. Although Elizabeth sent him a loan of 30,000, it was not nearly enough, and in one of her letters she implied that she had changed her mind about marrying him: 'Though her body was hers, her soul was wholly dedicated to him.'

Nevertheless, when she heard that the Queen Mother was suggesting to Anjou that he marry a Spanish princess, Elizabeth sent a reluctant Walsingham to France with instructions to maintain the fiction that she did indeed mean to marry the Duke, whilst attempting to negotiate an alliance that did not necessarily involve marriage. This was to be no easy task, especially in view of the contradictory stream of instructions that would arrive from England, and it was not long before Walsingham, supported by Leicester and Hatton, was urging that the Queen forget about the marriage. This plea fell on deaf ears.

'I should repute it a great favour to be committed to the Tower, unless Her Majesty may grow more certain her resolutions there,' wrote Walsingham to Burghley. 'Instead of amity, I fear Her Highness shall receive enmity, and we, her ministers here, be greatly discomfited.'

Walsingham told Henry III that Elizabeth would be 'content to marry, so as the French King and his brother will devise how she will not be brought into a war therewith.' But there was no guarantee that, 338.

even were this condition to be fulfilled, she would go ahead with the marriage. 'When Her Majesty is pressed to marry', Walsingham grumbled to Burghley, 'she seemeth to affect a league, and when a league is proposed, then she liketh better of a marriage. And thereupon she is moved to consent to marriage, then hath she recourse to a league; when the motion for a league or any request is made for money, then Her Majesty returneth to marriage.'

Henry III and Catherine de' Medici, on the other hand, were insistent that any alliance would be dependent on the marriage taking place. They, like Elizabeth, were anxious to be rid of the Spanish presence in the Netherlands, and if they could get Elizabeth to fund the war there, so much the better.

After several weeks of negotiations, Walsingham told Elizabeth plainly that she would have to make up her mind: 'If you mean it not, then assure yourself it is one of the worst remedies you can use (howsoever Your Majesty conceiveth it that it may serve your turn).' If she prevaricated for much longer, she would lose the friendship of other princes. Elizabeth chose to take this to mean that Walsingham was in favour of her concluding the marriage, and when he returned to England, teased, 'Well, you knave, why have you so often spoken ill of him [Anjou]? You veer round like a weathercock!'

In July, Campion was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower. On the following day, he was taken to Leicester House and examined by Leicester and other councillors. According to a Milanese source, 'He answered them with such learning, prudence and gentleness as to draw praise from the earls, [who] greatly admired his virtue and learning, and said it was a pity he was a papist. They ordered that his heavy irons be removed and that the Keeper of the Tower should treat him more humanely, giving him a bed and other necessities.' This did not, however, prevent Campion from being racked three times to make him reveal the names of his associates and recant, both of which he steadfastly refused to do. After that, his fate was inevitable: he was hanged, and the Roman Catholic Church would later make him a saint.

It was inevitable that the new, draconian laws against Catholics would have repercussions, and in the autumn, Philip II threatened Elizabeth with war, Mendoza warning her that, if she did not heed his words, 'it would be necessary to see whether cannons would not make her hear them better'. She answered him levelly, 'without any passion, but as one would repeat the words of a farce, speaking very low'. If he thought to threaten and frighten her, she said quietly, she would put him 'into a place where he could not say a word'.

Capitalising on this situation, Anjou decided that it would benefit his 339.

cause, and his treasury, if he went to England again to woo Elizabeth in person. Leaving his troops in winter quarters, he landed after a perilous journey at Rye in Sussex on 31 October, and when he arrived at Richmond on 2 November, the Queen received him openly and affectionately, and placed a house near the palace at his disposal: Elizabeth had personally supervised the furnishing of it, and joked that he might recognise the bed. She also presented him with a golden key, which fitted every door in the palace, and a gem-encrusted arquebus, while he gave her a costly diamond ring.

Immediately, both slipped into their erstwhile roles of adoring lovers, Elizabeth whispering sweet nothings to her 'Prince Frog', her 'Little Moor', or her 'Little Italian', and telling him he was 'the most constant of all her lovers'. Mendoza noted that 'the Queen doth not attend to other matters but only to be together with the Duke in the chamber from morning till noon, and afterwards till two or three hours after sunset. I cannot tell what the devil they do.' Nothing was too good for 'Francis the Constant', and it was rumoured at court that every morning, as he lay in bed, the Queen visited him with a cup of broth. Anjou was heard to say that he longed day and night to be allowed into her bed to show her what a fine companion he could be. Elizabeth even went as far as to have the Duke escort her to a service in St Paul's Cathedral, in order to allay the fears of her subjects, and kissed him in full view of the congregation.

On 1 November, Mendoza informed Philip II that the French ambassador and all of Anjou's entourage 'look upon marriage as an established fact, but the English in general scoff at it, saying that he is only after money. It is certain that the Queen will do her best to avoid offending him, and to pledge him in the affairs of the Netherlands, in order to drive his brother into a rupture with Your Majesty, which is her great object, whilst she keeps her hands free and can stand by, looking on at the war.'

By now, Anjou was becoming concerned at Elizabeth's failure to make any public declaration of her intentions towards him. Mendoza heard that 'when the Queen and Anjou were alone together, she pledges herself to him to his heart's content, and as much as any woman could to a man, but she will not have anything said publicly'. She was also demanding of the French ambassador that Henry III help to support Anjou financially.

On 22 November, knowing that the Duke's patience was wearing thin, Elizabeth staged an astonishing charade for his benefit. According to Mendoza, as she walked with him in the gallery at Whitehall, with Leicester and Walsingham in attendance, 340.

the French ambassador entered and said that he wished to write to his master, from whom he had received orders to hear from the Queen's own lips her intention with regard to marrying his brother. She replied, 'You may write this to the King: that the Duke of Anjou shall be my husband,' and at the same moment she turned to Anjou and kissed him on the mouth, drawing a ring from her own hand and giving it to him as a pledge. Anjou gave her a ring of his in return, and shortly afterwards the Queen summoned her ladies and gentlemen from the Presence Chamber, repeating to them in a loud voice, in Anjou's presence, what she had previously said.

Her announcement caused a sensation both at home and abroad. When William of Orange was told that Elizabeth had publicly accepted Anjou as her husband, he ordered that the bells of Antwerp be rung in celebration. The Duke was 'extremely overjoyed', but Leicester and Hatton, along with many of the Queen's ladies, burst into tears. Camden wrote: 'The courtiers' minds were diversely affected; some leaped for joy, some were seized with admiration, and others were dejected with sorrow.' Burghley, bedridden with gout, exclaimed, 'Blessed be the Lord!' Later, Elizabeth would claim that 'the force of modest love in the midst of amorous discourse' had prompted her to say more than she had intended. Nevertheless, what she had just done, before witnesses, constituted a formal betrothal.

That night, she sat doubting and pensive among her ladies, who 'wailed and laid terrors before her, and did so vex her mind with argument' that she could not sleep. She tried to ignore her doubts, anticipating that the French King would refuse the terms submitted for his approval by her envoys, thus releasing her from her promise. If he did not, she would make additional, even more impossible, demands. And if that did not work, she could be certain that Parliament would veto the marriage.

The next morning, Elizabeth told Anjou that if she endured two more such nights, she would be in her grave, and that she had come to the conclusion that she could not marry him just at present: she must sacrifice her own happiness for the welfare of her subjects, even though her great affection for him was undiminished. The Duke professed himself sad and disappointed, but after he had had time to reflect, he resolved that, if he could not fund his Netherlands venture through marriage to the Queen, then he would make her pay to get rid of him.

Elizabeth's new understanding with the French prompted Philip II to extend, in November, an olive branch, saying he would forgive the A.

341.

Queen's past offences against Spain, and offering to renew the old Anglo-Spanish alliance. This meant that Elizabeth stood in less danger than hitherto, although her government could not afford to relax its vigilance.

As Elizabeth had expected, Henry III received her list of terms with a 'sour countenance', swearing that it was outrageous for her to refuse to contribute a penny towards Anjou's venture in the Netherlands, and impossible for the French to agree to her demand that they promise to render military assistance should the Spaniards invade England. Not surprisingly, the King rejected the terms out of hand, and when Anjou learned what they were, he was heard to mutter something about 'the lightness of women and inconstancy of islanders'.

In December, Elizabeth, jubilant at having wriggled out of a difficult situation, told Anjou that, if it pleased him to depart for the Netherlands, she would send him a loan of - 60,000 to finance a campaign against the Spaniards. He accepted this, and arranged to leave England on 20 December. Mendoza heard that Elizabeth danced for joy in the privacy of her bedchamber at the prospect of being rid of the Duke, and she told Sussex she hated the idea of marriage more every day.

However, Anjou was still at court at the end of December and showed no sign of budging, declaring to the Queen that he would rather die than leave England without marrying her. In alarm, she asked sharply 'whether he meant to threaten a poor old woman in her country', and said that from now on he must try to think of her as a sister, a remark which caused him to burst into such a torrent of weeping that she had to lend him her handkerchief.

By now, Elizabeth was desperate to be free of him. This time she had never had any intention of marrying him, and his insistence on continuing the pretence of courtship was imposing an embarrassing strain. Leicester suggested bribing him with 200,000 to leave, but the Queen was appalled at the thought of wasting so much money. She told Burghley to advise Anjou to leave before New Year, in order to avoid the expense of providing her with the customary gift, but this did not work. When, on 3 1 December, the Duke became difficult, reminding Elizabeth that she had pledged herself to him, she paid him _ 10,000 on account. Yet still he lingered, fearing, no doubt, that if he went abroad, he would not see any more money.

In the midst of her worries about Anjou, the Queen still had some consolation. That December, she was greatly taken with the charms of an impoverished Devon gentleman, Walter Raleigh, who had just arrived at court with dispatches from the Lord Deputy in Ireland, and it was not long before the newcomer had been asked to stay on permanently and added to her circle of favourites.

342.

Raleigh had been born around 1552 and educated at Oxford; he was the great-nephew of her old governess Katherine Ashley. In his late teens he had fought with the Huguenots in France, and in 1578 had accompanied his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on a voyage of of discovery, before securing a post under the Lord Deputy in Ireland. discovery, before securing a post under the Lord Deputy in Ireland.

He was a brilliant and versatile man: in his time he would be a soldier, adventurer, explorer, inventor, scientist, historian, philosopher, poet and scholar, and he also proved to be an eloquent orator and a competent politician and MP, who had a boundless capacity for hard work. He was fearless, daring and overpoweringly virile, being tall, dark and swarthy, with penetrating eyes and pointed beard. He had, wrote Sir Robert Naunton in his anecdotes of Elizabeth's court, 'a good presence in a handsome and well-compacted person'. Elizabeth was impressed by his intellectual skills, his forthright manner and candid views. 'True it is, he had gotten the Queen's ear at a trice, and she began to be taken with his elocution, and loved to hear his reasons to her demands. And the truth is, she took him for a kind of oracle, which netted them all.' Mimicking his broad Devon accent, she nicknamed him 'Warter'. He called her 'Cynthia', after the moon goddess, and in 1585 suggested that the English settlement on the Eastern seaboard of America be named Virginia in her honour.

The legend that Raleigh spread his cloak over a puddle in the Queen's path was first mentioned in Thomas Fuller's Worthies of England, Worthies of England, written in the late seventeenth century; the incident is not recorded in any earlier source. Nevertheless, the gesture is in keeping with Raleigh's character and what we know of his relationship with Elizabeth. written in the late seventeenth century; the incident is not recorded in any earlier source. Nevertheless, the gesture is in keeping with Raleigh's character and what we know of his relationship with Elizabeth.

Fuller also credits Raleigh with scoring a message with a diamond ring on a window in the palace where the Queen would be sure to see it: Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.

Elizabeth is said to have scratched beneath it: If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.

In the course of his life, Raleigh was to write several books, including A History of the World A History of the World (1614), political essays and much poetry, most of which has not survived because he refused to have it published. The lines written on the eve of his execution on a trumped-up charge in 1618, beginning 'Even such is time', are some of the most moving in the English language, while, of the Queen, he wrote: (1614), political essays and much poetry, most of which has not survived because he refused to have it published. The lines written on the eve of his execution on a trumped-up charge in 1618, beginning 'Even such is time', are some of the most moving in the English language, while, of the Queen, he wrote: 343.

Nature's wonder, Virtue's choice, The only wonder of time's begetting . . .

O, eyes that pierce to the purest heart, O, hands that hold the highest hearts in thrall, O wit, that weighs the depths of all desert . . .

Love but thyself, and give me leave to serve thee.

Unfortunately, Raleigh was all too aware of his own qualities and gifts, and could be 'damnably proud', insufferably arrogant and contemptuous of those who had not succumbed to his charm. Their enmity did not bother him. He had a ruthless streak, had spent two spells in gaol in his youth, and when in Ireland was responsible for the massacre of six hundred Spanish mercenaries in Munster, after rebel troops had surrendered. He was also a notorious liar and a honey- tongued seducer. According to John Aubrey, Raleigh was spied having his way with a maid of honour up against a tree.

'Nay, sweet Walter! Oh, sweet Walter!' she protested weakly, but 'as the danger and the pleasure at the same time grew higher, she cried in ecstasy. She proved with child.'

Raleigh's rise to royal favour was spectacular, and it was not long before he was installed in Durham House on the Strand and appearing at court in expensive, dazzling dress; a pair of his gem-encrusted shoes cost 6000 crowns alone. He made other courtiers look, and feel, like poor relations.

Naturally, his meteoric rise provoked jealousy and hatred in the breast of Leicester, who resented the younger man's incursion on what he regarded as his territory. Hatton also voiced his concern that the new favourite was ousting him from his sovereign's affections in a letter enclosed in a miniature bucket, symbolising Raleigh's nickname, Warter. Elizabeth reassured him, saying that, 'If Princes were like gods (as they should be), they would suffer no element so to abound as to breed confusion. The beasts of the field were so dear unto her that she had bounded her banks so sure as no water or floods could be ever able to overthrow them.' And so that he should fear no drowning, she sent him a dove, 'that, together with the rainbow, brought the good tidings and the covenant that there should be no more destruction by water'. She was her Mutton's shepherd, and he should remember 'how dear her sheep was to her'.

In fact, Raleigh was never popular, mainly because of his conceit and his greed. 'He was commonly noted for using of bitter scoffs and reproachful taunts,' and his pride was 'above the greatest Lucifer that hath lived in our age'. 'He would lose a friend to coin a jest.' His enemies called him 'Jack the Upstart' or 'the Knave', and he was said to 344.

be 'the best hated man of the world, in court, city and country'. Perversely, he revelled in his unpopularity, deeming it the measure of his success.

Even the Queen was not blind to the unstable, reckless streak in him, and although she used his talents in many capacities, appointed him Captain of the Gentlemen Pensioners, and knighted him in 1585, she never conferred on him high political office nor admitted him to the Privy Council. He was too fond of 'perpetually differing' for the sake of it, and was 'insolent, extremely heated, a man that desires to be able to sway all men's fancies'. Instead, Elizabeth granted him lucrative offices and monopolies on goods. He therefore had sufficient wealth and leisure to indulge his passion for adventure, study and exploration.

John Harington, the Queen's godson, also made his court debut at this time, having completed his legal training at Lincoln's Inn. He was an immediate success, impressing people with his wit and conversational skills. Elizabeth herself was amused by his 'free speech', but she was probably not aware that he was recording for posterity a series of epigrams and anecdotes about herself and her court which would not be published for another two hundred years. There was a genuine affection between the Queen and her godson, and he never abused it by demanding favours or preferment.

It was the offer of a further 10,000, extended by Elizabeth after he had presented her with a New Year's gift of a jewelled anchor brooch, a symbol of constancy, that finally persuaded Anjou to leave England, which was as well, for the Queen was becoming so agitated about his presence at court that she could not sleep at night and even became feverish. On 7 February 1582, after saying a 'mournful' and tearful farewell to her at Canterbury, the Duke set sail from Sandwich, with an escort of three English warships, Leicester and other nobles accompanying him. The Earl had not wanted to go, but Elizabeth warned him that he would suffer if he did not respectfully treat the man 'she loved best in the world'. She was also relying on Leicester to convey a secret message to William of Orange, asking him to ensure that Anjou never returned to England. At the same time, unknown to the Queen, Sussex had requested William to detain Leicester in the Netherlands, though Elizabeth thwarted this by demanding Leicester's immediate return.

The Queen pretended to be grief-stricken at the loss of her lover, saying she could not lodge at Whitehall 'because the place gives cause of remembrance to her of him, with whom she so unwillingly parted'. She wept frequently, telling Leicester and Walsingham that she could not live another hour were it not for her hope of seeing Anjou again: he would, she promised, be back within six weeks, if the King of France 345.

was willing. She took to wearing at her girdle a tiny prayer book set with miniatures of herself and Anjou, a copy of which is now in the British Library. She declared to Mendoza that she would give a million pounds to have her Frog swimming in the Thames once more, and she continued to exchange affectionate letters with the Duke. Lie, in turn, kept up the pretence that they were to be married, and pressed her to name the date. Elizabeth knew it was in her interest to maintain this fiction, and kept it going for as long as possible. And it served its purpose, for she had kept Philip at bay with the threat of an Anglo- French alliance, and had also managed to avoid being involved in the war in the Netherlands.

On 10 February, Anjou docked at Flushing, fully intending to take up arms on behalf of the Dutch Protestants. Leicester, however, described the future conqueror to the Queen as looking like 'an old husk, run ashore, high and dry'; Elizabeth screamed at him for his insolence and mockery, and called him a traitor, like all his horrible family. As it turned out, Anjou found his liberty severely curtailed by the constraints imposed by his new subjects, and he was also hampered by his own incompetence. He ended up playing tennis and hunting while Parma took city after city and Elizabeth fumed impotently at the lack of support given by the rebels to the Duke and his own fatal inertia. 'My God, Monsieur, are you quite mad?' she thundered in one letter. 'You seem to believe that the means of keeping our friends is to weaken them!'

In January 1583, Anjou turned on the Dutch rebels who had imposed such intolerable constraints on him, and launched attacks on several of their cities. 'France never received so great a disgrace,' wrote an English envoy to Walsingham. In consequence of this, the Duke was obliged to leave the Netherlands and return to France, his ambitions in shreds, while Parma was able to consolidate his position. The Dutch, disillusioned with the French intervention, began to turn to William of Orange as their leader and their best hope of salvation against the Spanish threat.

Anjou's departure from England had signalled the end of Elizabeth's courting days, and she knew it. 'I am an old woman, to whom paternosters will suffice in place of nuptials,' she told her courtiers sadly. The Tudor line would end with her, and for the rest of her reign she would have to contend with the ever-present problem of the unresolved succession. Furthermore, she had lost perhaps her greatest bargaining counter: her hand in marriage. No longer was she 'the best match in her parish': she was ageing, and too old to bear children. All her councillors could hope for now was that she would outlive the Queen of Scots.

In May 1582, a Catholic conspiracy against Elizabeth involving the 346.

Guises, the Pope, Philip of Spain and the Jesuits was hatched in Paris, its object being to place Mary Stuart on the English throne.

It was apparent by now to the government how successful the Jesuit missions to England had been, yet still the Queen would not sanction sterner measures against her Catholic subjects. 'Her Majesty is slow to believe that the great increase of Papists is a danger to the realm,' commented Leicester. 'The Lord of His mercy open her eyes!'

In October, Walsingham's spies seized a cipher letter written by the Queen of Scots, which indicated that she was involved in some new conspiracy. From then on, her correspondence was carefully vetted and her servants watched more closely.

By the spring of 1583, Mary Stuart and her Catholic allies had conceived a plan whereby she would be reinstated in Scotland as joint ruler with her son, James VI. The plan was doomed to failure because Mary herself was insisting that sovereign power devolve chiefly upon her, which would certainly be resisted by James. Nor would the Scots be likely to welcome a Catholic queen. However, Elizabeth, who was aware of what had been proposed, toyed with the idea, anxious to reach a settlement whereby the problem of the Queen of Scots could be solved without recourse to bloodshed. Mary herself believed that James's filial loyalty to the mother he had not seen since babyhood would ensure his co-operation in the plan, but although the young King declared that he desired her to be set at liberty, his chief concern was to preserve his own interests and position, not only in Scotland, but also with regard to the English succession.

Walsingham was still on Mary's trail. At this time, he found out that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton's nephew, Francis, a Catholic, was paying secret nocturnal visits to the French embassy. As he was known to be sympathetic to Mary's cause, the conclusion was correctly drawn that he was working as her agent. In fact he was in communication with the Duke of Guise and the Jesuits. However, Walsingham had little idea of what the object of this activity was at that time, and he therefore had Throckmorton and the French ambassador watched over the next six months.

In May, whilst staying at Theobalds, Elizabeth heeded the pleas of Burghley and Raleigh and, after 'bitter tears and speeches' at an emotionally charged audience, forgave Oxford for his liaison with Anne Vavasour and allowed him to return to court.

Philip Sidney was now high in the Queen's favour, and in 1583 she knighted him and sanctioned his marriage to Frances, only daughter and heiress of Sir Francis Walsingham, a match that was a source of great pride to Walsingham.

347.

In July, Archbishop Grindal died, still in disgrace, and the Queen chose in his stead John Whitgift, formerly Bishop of Worcester, to be her third and last Archbishop of Canterbury. Whitgift, who became a personal friend, supported Elizabeth in her insistence on religious uniformity, and his consecration struck a blow at the Puritan movement, since he dealt with those who refused to conform with ruthless severity. A strict Protestant of Calvinist leanings, he was hard-working, dogmatic and inflexible, as well as being an astute politician - he was appointed a Privy Councillor in 1586 - and a religious disciplinarian. Thanks to Whitgift's influence, within ten years, Puritanism would lose its bite, and no longer pose a threat to the Anglican communion.

That July, Leicester found himself 'in great disgrace about his marriage', for he had presumed to refer to it 'more plainly than ever before' in the Queen's presence. He may even have dared take Elizabeth to task over her reaction to the recent elopement of Lettice's daughter, Lady Dorothy Devereux, with Thomas Perrot, son of Sir John Perrot, a future Lord Deputy of Ireland and reputed bastard of Henry VIII. The Perrots were a family of notorious adventurers, of whom the Queen did not approve. Sir John was to die in the Tower in 1592 under suspicion of treasonable dealings with Spain. Elizabeth had never liked him, nor did she consider his son a fit match for Essex's sister, who had moreover dared to marry without royal consent, for which the Queen predictably blamed the influence of Dorothy's mother. Elizabeth's wrath had been terrible to behold: she had banished Dorothy from court, clapped Perrot into the Fleet prison, and reviled Lettice as a 'she-wolf whom she would expose in all the courts of Christendom for the bad woman she really was, even proving Leicester a cuckold. However, by the end of August, peace was restored, and the Earl was described as having 'grown lately in great favour with the Queen's Majesty, such as this ten years he was not like to outward show'.

Leicester lost his greatest enemy when Sussex died that year. Even on his deathbed in his house at Bermondsey, Sussex gave vent to his loathing for the favourite, and croaked to his fellow-councillors, 'I am now passing into another world, and must leave you to your fortunes and to the Queen's graces, but beware of the Gypsy, for he will be too hard for you all. You know not the beast so well as I do.' With Sussex gone, Leicester's opponents lost their voice; in future, attacks on him would come from more subtle, hidden enemies.

In fact, though, his power was waning. Elizabeth frequently ignored his advice, especially where the Netherlands were concerned. Leicester believed that England would not be safe until the Spaniards were expelled from the United Provinces, and he still favoured military intervention to accomplish this.

348.

Leicester was now fifty, a corpulent, balding man with the ruddy colour that betokens high blood pressure. He was not well, and suffered intermittent stomach pains that may have been caused by advancing cancer; in vain did he eat a careful diet, and take the healing waters at Buxton. His poor health made him short-tempered and rather paranoid, perceiving criticism where there was none, and taking every man to be his enemy. His friends deplored the change in him, and one, John Aylmer, wrote, 'I have ever observed in you such a mild, courteous and amiable nature. I appeal from this Lord of Leicester unto mine old Lord of Leicester, who hath carried away the praise of all men.'

Leicester still occupied a special place in the Queen's heart, but he found it hard to compete with her younger favourites, Raleigh or even young Charles Blount, the twenty-year-old brother of Lord Mountjoy, who had recently visited Whitehall to see the Queen at dinner. Espying the attractive stranger, she had asked his name, at which he blushed. She beckoned him over and said, 'Fail you not to come to the court, and I will bethink myself how to do you good.' When Blount finished his training as a lawyer, he took her at her word, and was gratified to be admitted to her charmed circle of handsome male favourites.

In September, 1583, Elizabeth celebrated her fiftieth birthday; she had now reigned for nearly twenty-five years.

In October 1583, an insane young Catholic, John Somerville of Warwickshire, swayed by Jesuit propaganda, was arrested for bragging that he intended to march on London and shoot the Queen with a pistol and 'hoped to see her head on a pole, for she was a serpent and a viper'. He was thrown into Newgate prison and condemned to death, but hanged himself in his cell before the sentence could be carried out.

The publicity given to this event provoked an upsurge of national affection towards Elizabeth, and in November, the French ambassador reported that, when she travelled to Hampton Court, huge crowds of people knelt by the wayside, wishing her 'a thousand blessings and that the evil-disposed who meant to harm her be discovered and punished as they deserved'. The Queen made frequent stops to thank them for their loyalty, and told the ambassador 'she saw clearly that she was not disliked by all'.

349.

Chapter 20.

'Practices at Home and Abroad'

In November 1583, Francis Throckmorton was arrested at his London house, a search of which revealed 'infamous pamphlets' and lists of papist lords and harbours where foreign ships could land in safety. More sinisterly, it became apparent that Mendoza was heavily involved in the plot, which surprised Walsingham, whose suspicions had centred upon the French ambassador, who, if he had been aware of what was going on, had managed to avoid being implicated.

Under torture in the Tower, Throckmorton gave nothing away, but after the Queen had authorised him to be racked a second time, his courage failed him: 'Now I have disclosed the secrets of her who was the dearest thing to me in the world,' he lamented. He revealed that the conspiracy's aim had been to prepare for King Philip's Enterprise of England, the object of which was to set Mary on the English throne. The Pope, the Guises and the Jesuits were involved, and there were to be four separate invasions, centred upon Scotland, Ireland, Sussex and Norfolk, co-ordinated by Catholic activists at home and abroad. Plans were so far advanced that all that remained to be done was stir up rebellion in England. Both Mary and Mendoza had been fully involved at every stage, but Walsingham had already guessed at Mary's complicity, for she had given herself away in several letters that had come under his scrutiny.

'All this shows that her intention was to lull us into security,' Elizabeth concluded, 'that we might the less seek to discover practices at home and abroad.'

The government were in no doubt that this was a very dangerous plot indeed, and set about hunting down the Catholic lords on Throckmorton's list. Some were committed to the Tower, but several had already fled abroad. The Queen was pressed to bring Mary to justice, for there was enough evidence to convict her, but she refused 350.

out of hand. She agreed, however, that Throckmorton be executed at Tyburn and that Mendoza be expelled in disgrace. His parting shot was that his master would avenge this insult with war. For the rest of Elizabeth's reign, Spain would never send another ambassador to England.

Both Parliament and the Council were in militant mood, fiercely protective of their queen, and urging that a 'final' policy towards Mary Stuart be settled. However, Elizabeth again baulked at this, and this time was backed by Leicester, who wanted Mary kept in honourable and comfortable captivity, a strategy dictated by self-interest, for if Mary ever ascended the throne of England, she would remember to whom she owed her life. Yet his was a lone voice, for most of his colleagues wanted Mary's head.

On 10 June 1584, the Duke of Anjou died of a fever at Chateau-Thierry in France. His death meant that there was now no direct Valois heir to the French throne, Henry III having no sons, and that the succession would pass to a cousin, Henry of Bourbon, the Huguenot King of Navarre.

Elizabeth was greatly grieved when she heard of Anjou's death, and wept in public every day for three weeks, leaving observers in no doubt that she had felt a genuine affection for her 'Frog'. The court was put into mourning, the Queen herself wearing black for six months. 'Melancholy doth possess us', wrote Walsingham to a friend, 'as both public and private causes are at stay for a season.'