Sir Francis Walsingham (19 page)

To the outside observer events in the Netherlands were, indeed, as confused and confusing as those in France. Don John arrived in 1576, intent on winning reputation by subduing the province and using it as
a springboard for the invasion of England. His master in the Escorial was more pragmatic. With an empty purse and worrying despatches from all over the empire regularly keeping him at his desk long into the hours of darkness, he ordered his half-brother to make peace at all costs, even if it involved extending religious toleration to the Calvinists. Reluctantly, Don John disbanded the Spanish army of occupation and entered negotiations with the native government, the States General. The result was the Pacification of Ghent (1577). William of Orange (aka William the Silent) took up residence in Brussels as, eventually, a Spanish viceroy. (He removed to Antwerp the following year.) But the situation was very far from being a simple conflict between imperial power and nationalist rebels. Catholic nobles, who were in a majority in the States General, looked for religious unity. The Protestant areas – mainly Holland and Zeeland in the north-west – were interested in nothing less than complete independence from Spain. Don John sulked in his new headquarters in Nassau and took every opportunity to sow discord. Philip II had abated none of his religious zeal and prayed earnestly that God would reverse his fortunes and enable him to complete his holy mission to his troublesome province.

In 1578 Don John died and his place was taken by Allesandro Farnese, Duke of Parma. For the next six years affairs in the Low Countries were dominated by two men who were military and political equals. Parma united the Catholic southern states and William of Orange headed the United (Protestant) Provinces in the north. Philip declared William an outlaw and offered a reward to anyone who would assassinate him. The United Provinces deposed Philip and expunged all reference to Spain from currency and official records. Then fate played a cruel trick on the rebels. An almost bloodless coup gave Philip control of Portugal and its empire. His fortunes changed overnight. Once more he was able to take up the sword as Catholic champion. This was also the point (1580) at which the crown of the United Netherlands was offered to the duc d’Anjou. The French prince enjoyed his position for two and a half years. Then, with Parma nibbling away at his territory and the Dutch politicians squabbling among themselves, he quit.

It was not only events beyond the Narrow Seas that called for vigilance on the part of Elizabeth and her Council. As well as the subversive influence of Catholic priests succoured by recusant families the country was vulnerable to attack from Scotland and Ireland. ‘The state of Scotland,’ Walsingham wrote in 1581, ‘may well be resembled to a diseased body, that one day yieldeth hope of life, and another utter despair of recovery.’
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The problems Walsingham faced in dealings with the northern kingdom were essentially the same as those which confronted him in England’s continental neighbours – competing factions and the queen’s refusal to be proactive. During the civil war that raged in Scotland between 1567 and 1572 Mary Stuart had fled to England and the regent, James Stewart, Earl of Moray, had been assassinated. The man who emerged from the crisis to restore order and a measure of peace was James Douglas, fourth Earl of Morton, who reigned as regent in the name of the infant James VI from 1572 to 1578. He was pro-English and Protestant without being bigoted. He was quite clear about his aims and objectives. His dearest wish was for an offensive and defensive league between the two kingdoms. This would involve a major financial subvention from Elizabeth and her open involvement in the trial and execution of Mary. In all this he had the support of Walsingham and the majority of the Council. The situation, as they saw it, could not have been more favourable. Morton had the measure of his aristocratic enemies and France was in no position to interfere. There was no guarantee and, indeed, no likelihood that this state of affairs would survive indefinitely. Firm support from the queen might have secured Scottish peace and friendship but, true to form, Elizabeth made no commitment.

A coup in 1578 only removed Morton temporarily from his position of power but it did formally put an end to the king’s minority. This meant that anyone who could worm his way into the affections of the twelve-year-old James VI could subvert the government. That man now appeared in the person of Esmé Stuart, Seigneur d’Aubigny. Stuart, soon to become Earl, then Duke of Lennox, was a distant cousin of the king, had spent all his life in France, was a friend of the Guises and now came to strengthen the
pro-French party in Scotland and, if it could be managed, to whisk young James across the sea to be married to a suitable Catholic princess. The teenage king was captivated by his kinsman and his tales of sophisticated court life – so different from that of his own household, dominated by dour Presbyterian councillors and tutors. By the beginning of 1581 Morton was in prison. Within six months he had been tried, convicted on perjured evidence and beheaded by the ‘maiden’, a prototype guillotine that he himself had introduced into Scotland.

Elizabeth had not lifted a finger to help Morton. She was, at the time, pursuing her love affair with Anjou and had no desire to upset the Anglo-French apple cart. But even she could see the danger of allowing James to fall further under the spell of his favourite. She allowed Walsingham discreetly to encourage the pro-English lords to carry out a coup. The young king was snatched and held a virtual prisoner at Ruthven Castle. So far from solving anything, the abduction only turned up the heat under the witch’s cauldron of Scottish politics. It took some feverish activity by Walsingham and his agents to save their mistress from a diplomatic scalding. By now French influence north of the border was increasing and Walsingham was at his wit’s end.

The French bring crowns and we bring words . . . I hold Scotland for lost unless God be merciful unto this poor island. How unseasonably the same is like to fall out, or rather dangerously, all the world may see, if the state of things at home and abroad be duly looked into. God open her Majesty’s eyes to see her peril and not to prefer treasure before safety.
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In June 1583 the young King of Scotland escaped from his minders. Henceforth a new element entered the complexities of Anglo-Scottish relations. As well as the balance of noble factions, Elizabeth’s Council had to consider the personal relationship between their queen and her ‘brother’ of Scotland.

If Scotland was the postern gate which had to be guarded against French infiltration, the back door for Spain into Elizabeth’s kingdom
was Ireland. In 1558 Ireland was not a Catholic country in any meaningful sense of the word. If the people and their leaders resisted the Reformation it was not out of loyalty to the old faith. Catholic priests, where they were to be found, despaired of parishioners who rarely if ever attended mass and did not bring their children for baptism. The loyalties of the Irish people were to their clan leaders, independent warlords whose constant bloody feuding kept much of the country in constant turmoil. It was the attempts by Elizabeth’s deputies to impose order and religious unity on chieftains who were a law unto themselves which gave rise to a defiant Catholicism and opened doors to the agents of Spain and Rome.

The Desmond Rebellions (1569–73 and 1579–83) were the latest in a series of risings by the men of Munster and Leinster in southern Ireland against English rule. They can scarcely be said to have taken on the character of religious wars but the rebels did seek the aid of Catholic powers and did hold out to those powers the prospect of an Ireland united by allegiance to the pope. The military leader of the Desmond Clan in 1569 was James Fitzmaurice Fitzgerald. Before launching his campaign he sent envoys to Philip II, Pius V and Don John of Austria. He offered the crown of a united Ireland to Don John. At the same time an altogether more colourful representative of the Irish cause appeared at the Escorial. Thomas Stukeley had been, by turns, a mercenary soldier, a pirate, an English official in Ireland, a self-appointed Irish freedom-fighter and, now, a conspirator in league with de Spes and Roberto Ridolfi. Stukeley’s bravado and zeal impressed Philip, who promised 5,000 men for the invasion of Ireland. However, the Stukeley raid came to nothing because of squabbles in the Irish camp. Fitzmaurice’s man, the Archbishop of Cashel, arrived and cast serious doubt on the adventurer’s credentials. With the Irish falling out among themselves Philip preferred to put all his eggs into the basket of the Enterprise of England. With no foreign aid the rebels were steadily driven back into the mountains of Kerry in the far south-west. After a long resistance they were forced to surrender. English reprisals were vicious and counter-productive.

Fitzmaurice next tried his fortune in France and Rome. He was well received by Gregory XIII and with the papal funds placed at his
disposal was able to charter a ship in Lisbon and embark a small force of Spanish and Portuguese troops. This vessel got no farther than St Malo where Fitzmaurice’s captains deserted. In the interim Stukeley had not been inactive. Having redeemed his reputation fighting alongside Don John at Lepanto in October 1571, he devoted the next six years to touring Catholic courts and dreaming up various schemes to unseat Elizabeth and restore her realm to the Catholic faith. Eventually, it was the pope who took Stukeley sufficiently seriously to provide him with a ship and 600 armed men. But this hair-brained adventurer was better at conceiving grandiose plans than at overseeing the necessary organization. His vessel was so unseaworthy that, once in the Atlantic, it had to make for the nearest port. At Lisbon Stukeley appealed to King Sebastian for another vessel. Sebastian, even more gung-ho than his visitor, diverted Stukeley into joining him in an expedition against Morocco. Both men perished at the Battle of Alcazar in August 1578. Once again the Irish were on their own.

Fitzmaurice had finally reached Ireland only weeks before with the remnant of his foreign troops. The second Desmond Rebellion was marked by two massacres. In August 1580 an English force of 800 men, led by the Lord Deputy, Earl Grey de Wilton, was cut to pieces at Glenmalure. Weeks later, papal reinforcements landed at Smerwick in the far south-west and were besieged in a fort at Dun an Oir. After surrendering they were slaughtered to a man. Fighting dragged on for a further three years. Eventually the remaining rebels were brought to heel. Fitzmaurice fell in battle. The victors thoughtfully sent his head as a present to the queen.

It is small matter for a historian to provide an overview of the international situation such as has occupied the last few pages. No such convenient analysis was available to the Elizabethan government. The kaleidoscope of foreign affairs was constantly changing and the queen could only respond on a day by day basis. She had no grand strategy. What Walsingham was acutely aware of was that England was surrounded on all sides by the forces of Antichrist. The devil had at his disposal the richest and most powerful empire in the world, a
religious leader in Rome urging state-sponsored terrorism and despatching his mullahs into England to deflect Elizabeth’s subjects from their loyalty. Catholic preachers, pamphleteers, soldiers, desperadoes and assassins were everywhere. And the only person who seemed ignorant of or indifferent to the queen’s peril was the queen herself. Walsingham was often in despair at the deluge which seemed likely to break over England at any moment. Increasing age and a daunting workload played havoc with his health. Yet, despite everything, he kept his nerve, held to his convictions and handled his royal mistress as best he could. Just how he set about this and with what results we must now consider.

As far as foreign affairs were concerned Walsingham had a fairly quiet first year in which to ease himself into his new responsibilities. Affairs in Scotland and Ireland were stable. In France, the queen mother and her acolytes were adjusting to the change of regime from Charles IX to Henry III and the Huguenots were still reeling from the shock of the St Bartholomew Massacre. Philip II was too preoccupied to respond warmly to the entreaties of Catholic warmongers, whether Gregory XIII or Thomas Stukeley. The Dutch rebels were engaged in talks with their Spanish overlords (though Philip’s refusal to tolerate Calvinist worship preordained their failure). All in all, Elizabeth saw no need for robust policies which might upset the apple cart. She had negotiated a commercial treaty with the Duke of Alva which restored North Sea trading relations, much to the delight of the English mercantile community. She even refused to take defensive measures when Philip sent a fleet to reinforce his Netherlands garrisons. With the alarm of the Northern Rebellion and the Ridolfi plot behind her and Mary Stuart detained where she could do no harm, Elizabeth felt that she and her realm were secure, as she would tell parliament in March 1576: ‘These seventeen years God hath both prospered and protected you with good success under my direction and I nothing doubt but the same maintaining hand will guide you still and bring you to the ripeness of perfection.’ She bade the parliamentarians to compare England’s state with ‘the bitter storms and trouble of your neighbours’. Then, aware that her hearers might learn the wrong lessons from the tribulations of France and the Netherlands, she added
that she would not attribute to rulers the causes of dissension. ‘God forbid I should, since these misfortunes may proceed as well from sins among the people.’
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Walsingham did not read the signs of the times in the same way. Both religious conviction and the clear evidence he frequently received from his informants of the hostile intent of Catholic powers made him reject the policy of appeasement. ‘We seek neither to conserve friends nor to provide for withstanding our enemies,’ he complained to Burghley. ‘If this kind of government might carry continuance withal, then should we have less cause to lament, but surely it is so loose as in reason it cannot last. God be merciful to us.’
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For the moment he could do little to help the Dutch rebels beyond receiving emissaries from William the Silent and commending his cause to the queen. In France, where he knew personally those most closely involved in the politico-religious conflict, he had more latitude. Charles IX was dying and England could look for nothing good from the man who would soon be Henry III. Elizabeth maintained a desultory flirtatious correspondence with Alençon and felt some concern for his virtual imprisonment at Vincennes. Walsingham was more interested in the hostility of the youngest Valois to his older brother and the possibility of backing him as leader of the Huguenot opposition. Walsingham despatched two agents, Jacomo Manucci and Thomas Wilkes, to make contact with Alençon and Henry of Navarre with a view to setting them free and renewing havoc in France. It was a hazardous undertaking and Manucci spent several weeks in a French prison. However, Walsingham did make contact with the prisoners and a plan was concocted for their release. Elizabeth even seriously considered sending Alençon money to bribe his guards. But for the moment Catherine de Medici outwitted them. She moved the prisoners to the Louvre in June 1574, where they could be more closely watched. When, more than a year later Alençon (now Anjou) and Henry of Navarre did make their escape it was without English help.