Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean. Страница 99

“I do not think Edmund Campion will harm me.”

I was so insistent that it was arranged that Campion be brought from the Tower that I might see him.

Robert was greatly alarmed at the prospect. “The man may have a concealed weapon,” he insisted.

“He has come straight from the Tower, Robert. He has been grievously racked. I doubt he can walk without pain and difficulty.”

Robert said: “I cannot allow it.”

“And I cannot allow my subjects to forbid it, Robert,” I replied.

He was on his knees, taking my hand and kissing it.

“How can you torment me so? How can I rest while you are in danger?”

“Nonsense!” I retorted. “And you can rest very well in the arms of your she-wolf. You have more to fear in that woman than I have in Edmund Campion!”

He begged at length to be allowed to be present at the meeting and that it should take place at Leicester House. I agreed, for that meant Lettice would have to move out and that always pleased me.

So Robert, the Earl of Bedford and two secretaries were present when Edmund Campion was brought to me.

I was horrified to see that once handsome young man; he now looked haggard and he found walking difficult. Poor man, they had treated him roughly on the rack. I felt angry with his tormentors and exasperated with him. He might have been leading a very pleasant life at Oxford.

I told him this and that it displeased me to see him in such state, to which he replied that he did what God told him to.

“Oh,” I said sharply, “you are on intimate terms with Him then?”

He said that he conferred with God.

“You appear to think that none of the rest of us do.”

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” he said. “I trust all will pray to God and come to the truth.”

“Then I will pray for you, Edmund Campion,” I retorted. “I will pray that you cease this folly. I would rather see you as I saw you once before in Oxford using the talents God has given you than here like this.”

“God has spoken to me,” he said. “I do His work.”

“And fine trouble that has brought you!”

“It is of no matter, Madam. What happens to my body is but passing pain. I look to eternal bliss.”

“Which is reserved for those who worship in the way you choose for them, I suppose.”

“I believe in the Catholic Faith,” he said.

I could see that it was useless to try to reason with him. I felt impatient with him and yet he saddened me. I wanted to show those present that he was a good man, an innocent man; all he wanted was to worship in a certain way. If only the stupid man would do it quietly in his home! Why did he have to go round the country hiding in priests' holes, behaving like a criminal?

I said to him: “Do you acknowledge me as your Queen?”

He answered fervently: “Not only for my Queen but my lawful Queen.”

I had known it. He was no traitor.

“Do you believe that the Pope could excommunicate me lawfully?”

He hesitated. He did not want to admit that he considered the Pope to stand above me in the Church for that indeed was against the law.

He said cautiously: “It is not for me to decide in a controversy between Your Majesty and the Pope.”

I did not want to implicate him further because I feared he might go so far that there would be no hope of saving him.

If only it had been possible to save him I would have done so, but he would not help me to it. He was determined to be a martyr.

Shortly after he was arraigned with seven others at Westminster Hall. He was a brave and a brilliant man and he answered his judges with wit and distinction; but he was in a pitiable state and I heard that he was unable to hold up his hand when pleading in the required manner because he had been so brutally racked. The wretched George Eliot, who had been responsible for his capture, was the main witness against him and his evidence was proved to be unreliable. But Walsingham, stern Protestant that he was, was determined to allow no possible spies for Philip of Spain, no adherents of Mary of Scotland, to slip through his net. He wanted a verdict of guilty and he got it.

When Lord Chief Justice Wray asked the prisoners if they had anything to say as to why they did not deserve death, Campion replied: “It is not our death that we fear. We know that we are not lords of our own lives and therefore for want of an answer would not be guilty of our own deaths. The only thing we have to say now is that if our religion does make us traitors then we are worthy to be condemned; but otherwise we are, and have been, true subjects of the Queen. In condemning us you condemn all your ancestors—all ancient priests, bishops and kings—all that once were the glory of England. What have we taught, however you may qualify it with the odious name of treason, that they did not teach? God lives. Posterity will live. Their judgment is not so liable to corruption as those who are now going to sentence us to death.”

Such talk could not fail to impress and inspire… and perhaps alarm… and people grow vicious when frightened.

I was deeply disturbed—as I so often was by the need to inflict death… I had not forgotten my mother's fate. I thought that Campion should not have been condemned, though I knew that, as a practical matter, Walsingham was right. I was in acute danger. The blow could come from the least expected quarter. I had to put my safety in the hands of my good and careful Moor; and he would allow no one the chance of harming me if he could help it.

I was glad that Edmund Campion escaped the final painful humiliation. They cut him up after his death, not before. What a concession!

I prayed for him that night. I asked forgiveness of God for my part in his death, and I took some comfort to know that he had left that poor tortured body of his behind him forever.

I knew that he was a good man, and I could not forget his bright and clever face as it had been when he had welcomed me to Oxford.

I COULD NOT keep Anjou dangling forever, much as I should like to gain more time. The situation in the Netherlands was even more delicate. That poor country had constantly asked me for aid against the Spanish and I had hesitated to give it, fearing it might involve my people in conflict. The French, however, had become very alarmed at the prospect of Spain's obtaining dominance there. On the other hand, they were a Catholic country and we were menaced by the Catholics of Europe who might join together to attack England. Fortunately there was a bitter rivalry among themselves.

My little Prince had always been a trouble to his family. His mother had no great love for him, nor had his brother; and it must have seemed a good idea to send him to the Netherlands to help the people against the Spaniards, since the last thing France wanted was to see a triumphant Spain. Anjou had flirted with the Protestant Faith, though he was no more stable in that direction than he had been in others. Therefore, why should he not go to the Netherlands independently of France—but secretly aided by them—and wage war on Spain?

This seemed to me an excellent idea. It was fighting my war for me and it was a state of affairs which I wanted to continue for as long as possible— as long as he was fighting independently of France, for to contemplate French domination of the Netherlands was even more alarming than that of Spain as they were closer to us and could invade more easily.

It was a very complicated and intricate situation and it needed the most skillful diplomacy. I must keep Anjou fighting in the Netherlands and he must be on my side… not that of the French. The French doubtless saw the marriage as bringing England back to Catholicism and obviously thought that when Anjou was victorious, they would join up with him and his victory would be that of the French.

I had no doubt that the wily Catherine de' Medici believed that she could rid herself of her troublesome son and win the Netherlands for France at the same time; and I had to keep her believing that that was what she was going to achieve.