The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(8)
Anabel considered it in concert with the closest of her advisors: her chaplain, her secretary, her treasurer, her master of horse, and her two chief ladies—Pippa and Madalena Arias. They met in the council chamber Anabel herself had decorated, at a polished table with the princess at the head in order to see the faces of her councilors. There were carpets on the floor in shades of apricot and summer green and a multitude of lamps lit early against the dull November sky.
“Well?” Anabel opened the matter for discussion. “How anxious are you all to return to the greater comforts of the civilized South?”
Her treasurer spoke first. “It is for you to say, Your Highness.”
Trust Matthew Harrington to state the obvious without sounding obsequious.
“And it is for you all to advise me,” Anabel said sweetly. “So—advise.”
They spoke as their positions and characters demanded. The Spanish Madalena had been with Anabel since the princess was five, and provided a unique and Continental perspective on affairs. She spoke for the recusants. Would the Catholics who had begun to thaw toward Anabel be made openly hostile once again by her retreat to what some of them saw as the enemy’s court?
“In that case, I should certainly go,” Anabel said sharply. “I will not have anyone speak of the queen as the enemy of any of her people.”
Madalena was not flustered. “Then your best choice is to continue acting as the intermediary. No one doubts your personal faith, Your Highness, but by very virtue of your birth you give the Catholics hope.”
“Hope that I will return England to Rome? That is a false hope that is best crushed at once.”
“Hope that you will allow those who respect Rome to have a voice in the larger community.”
The chaplain chimed in, a familiar refrain of disagreement with the Spanish lady. Edwin Littlefield had entered Anabel’s service when she came north, having served before then in the household of the staunchly reformist Archbishop of York. “We cannot trust those whose allegiance to a foreign voice is stronger than their allegiance to their own queen.”
“And how much is it England herself who forces that conflict, and not Rome?” Madalena urged quietly.
“It is the queen’s fault that assassins are sent to kill her? That the Princess of Wales is under constant threat of violence? You are disingenuous if you do not accept that Rome and Spain together are behind those threats!” The chaplain could be easily roused.
“Rome and Spain, perhaps,” Madalena acknowledged. “But not necessarily English Catholics. There are many who wish only to live in peace and be left to worship as their consciences dictate without disrupting the security of the state. They are the ones suffering under the queen’s increasing punishments. Twenty pounds for not attending an Anglican service? None but the wealthiest can afford that.”
Anabel struck the table with one hand to stop the familiar arguments. “Enough. I am looking for counsel, not rhetoric. Harrington, what do you think?”
If her council often reflected Anabel’s own mercurial temper, then Matthew Harrington was the rock-solid exception. Though only twenty-five, he had the presence and gravity of a much older man. Like his father, who had stood by Dominic Courtenay through all manner of pain, Matthew brought absolute loyalty without sacrificing his own integrity. In the last two years, Anabel had begun to suspect that Matthew Harrington might be to her future what Lord Burghley was to her mother.
And, ironically, that Robert Cecil—Burghley’s own son—would serve her more in the manner of Francis Walsingham. Like her mother’s spymaster, Robert always seemed to know what was happening in the quietest corners of the world.
Matthew rarely offered his opinion without being asked, but always answered directly. “It would be wise to begin to make concrete offers to a few of the Catholic lords most likely to listen. The Council of the North will meet this spring—I would suggest you preside in person and use the opportunity to publicly show your desire to conciliate.”
Christopher Hatton—her pragmatic secretary—leaned forward. “Won’t that simply provide troublemakers with another wedge to drive between the queen and princess?”
It was the first time anyone had openly acknowledged the tension they had all felt; that the absence from her mother’s court was beginning to be manipulated by those who wanted conflict.
Though Hatton had been addressing Matthew, it was Pippa who answered. “The troublemakers need an outlet, Your Highness. Better to be centered upon you, who can cope with it with grace and intelligence, than for us to have no entrée into that world. Would you rather they turn to young Anthony Babington or the Earl of Arundel?”
“No,” Anabel said softly. “I would prefer to know what is happening in this kingdom beforehand, rather than be caught unawares. You think more definite approaches will be made to me by the Catholics this winter?”
“I think they have already begun. With King Philip’s letter asking you to receive the Jesuit Tomás Navarro. Navarro is an experienced diplomat. He is coming as an envoy.”
“Separate from Ambassador de Mendoza at my mother’s court?” Anabel mused. “That is rather more than a mere approach. King Philip is well aware that the queen will take offense, considering that any Jesuit in this country is liable to be executed.”
“That is what the king wants. Not the execution of a priest, but to cause offense. To set you and the queen openly at odds. Your treasurer is right. Best to stay here this winter. Let them think you can be manipulated. Then perhaps we will learn something useful about Spain’s future plans.”