‘Will he grant funds himself?’
‘Perhaps – if Bacon can persuade him. My word is as nothing to him, of course. He still eyes me with the same disdain he harboured before he made me his prisoner. He could hardly abide me in his presence.’
James had made painfully clear his distaste for the old adventurer at the reception held in his honour. Even Villiers had been unable to lift his royal master’s spirits, and he had spent the entire feast glowering at his untouched plate and gulping even more wine than usual.
‘I am deeply grateful to you and Sir Thomas, my lady,’ Sir Walter continued. ‘If every member of our faith proved as generous, I would sail to Spain with an even mightier fleet than the Armada.’
‘My husband would gladly have laid out three times as much if he could,’ she said quietly. Then: ‘You are sure this enterprise will succeed? A great deal rests upon it, Sir Walter.’
‘Not least my head.’ He chuckled, then fell silent for a few moments. ‘You have hazarded more for our faith than most, Lady Frances,’ he continued, his voice now serious. ‘I know that you have much to lose if I fail. But even if your fortune is destroyed, the reason you invested it will never be known. The King expects his subjects to be as greedy for gold as he is, so does not think to question why each of them risks such vast sums on the enterprise.’
‘That is a blessing,’ she said, and looked at her hands. Raleigh took them in his. Their warmth comforted her. ‘Do you truly believe you are carrying out God’s will, Sir Walter? That He wants our kingdom to be rid of the heretic who sits upon the throne, even though it will lead to war and bloodshed?’
There was a long silence.
‘You doubt our faith, my lady?’
‘No!’ Frances cried, then held her breath as her voice echoed around the dark courtyard. Beside her, Raleigh waited. ‘It is not our faith I doubt, but the means by which we express it. Is it not better for us to live peaceably than to murder the King and thousands of his subjects in the name of religion? That might satisfy the Catholics, but it would make enemies of many others. If your plan succeeds, then we will surely be plunged into civil war.’
She feared she had said too much. But the words had been swirling in her head for so many weeks now, depriving her of sleep until the small hours, that she could no longer bear to leave them unspoken.
‘What you say is true, Lady Frances.’ Raleigh’s words were measured. ‘Our old queen was of the same mind as you. She never wished to make windows into men’s souls, but desired only that her subjects might live in peace with one another.’
Frances smiled. She had heard her mother say that many times. Would that the last of the Tudors still wore the crown.
‘But such peace is only possible while someone of equal wisdom – of equal tolerance – rules us,’ Sir Walter continued. ‘King James will not rest until he has rooted out every last vestige of popery, as he calls it. It is no longer enough even outwardly to conform. He means to have our souls too.’
He drew on his pipe. Frances closed her eyes as she breathed in the earthy aroma. It brought back a memory of her father’s library at Longford, so strong that she could almost believe herself there.
‘I understand your fears, my lady,’ he continued. ‘You have a growing brood of sons and would not forfeit their lives for all the gold El Dorado could offer. My own son will accompany me on this voyage. Wat has grown into a fine boy,’ he added fondly. ‘Do you think I would risk his safety if I doubted the wisdom of our cause? I am an old man now and set my own life at a pin’s fee. But his . . .’ His voice trailed off and he grasped her hands more tightly. ‘I promise that I will strive to my utmost to make this enterprise succeed, Lady Frances. All I ask is that you and the others who have supported it will keep faith while I am gone.’
‘I will endeavour to do so, Sir Walter,’ she replied. ‘When will you depart for Plymouth?’
‘A few days hence – if His Grace can bear to be parted from me,’ he said, with a return of his old humour. ‘God willing, when we meet again it will be to welcome our new king.’
Frances’s smile did not reach her eyes. But which king would that be?
CHAPTER 17
23 May
‘Their trial begins tomorrow, I’ve heard,’ the gentleman opposite Frances said between mouthfuls.
‘About time,’ replied another. ‘It’s been so long since their arrest that I doubt they can remember the crimes for which they are to answer.’
His companion gave a snort of derision. ‘I’m sure Sir Francis Bacon will be only too happy to remind them. He has been assiduous in his task, by all accounts.’
Frances helped herself to a piece of salmon and pretended not to listen. She knew her friend had indeed been assiduous, but not in the way these men believed. He had uncovered enough evidence – albeit circumstantial – to bring a case of murder against the Somersets, but had persuaded the King to show clemency. Villiers, of course, had striven for the opposite result but for once his royal master had proved resistant to his persuasion. It had sparked rumours of a rift between them, though Frances hardly dared give them credence.
‘Well, I hope the lieutenant has made sure the axe is good and sharp,’ the man next to her said.
Frances took a small sip of wine but her taste for it had still not returned, even though she could now stomach the other foods she had enjoyed before her pregnancy. The child was showing itself beneath the folds of her gown and she had been obliged to let out her stays again a few days before. If she had it right, she would be obliged to take her leave of court – of Thomas, too – before the summer was out. She wondered if Raleigh would have sailed by then. It was almost two months since he had departed for Plymouth and many more ships had joined his fleet, but still he claimed it was not yet ready to set sail. Little wonder the King was losing patience. Thomas had heard him mutter that he would have him brought back to the Tower if he had not raised anchor by Ascension Day, which had passed two weeks before.
A movement at the far end of the hall caught her eye. The yeomen were raising their halberds to let someone through. Frances glanced at the clock. Dinner was almost over so the new arrival would have to content themselves with the scraps that had not yet been devoured. It took her a moment to recognise the grey-haired gentleman who stepped into the hall. He stood uncertainly, scanning the long tables of courtiers as if looking for someone. The Earl of Rutland. It was barely four years since she had seen him, but he seemed to have become an old man. Just then, his gaze alighted on her and he smiled with such warmth that her heart swelled. He walked briskly to her table. She was only vaguely aware of the curious stares of her fellow diners as she stood to greet him.
‘Lady Frances,’ he said, after making his obeisance. ‘I hoped to see you here. I had heard that you had returned to court.’
‘I am very glad to see you again, my lord,’ she replied warmly. ‘Is the countess with you?’
She noticed his smile falter. ‘Alas, no. Affairs at Belvoir required her presence. Our youngest son, Francis, is in poor health.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ she replied. His elder son, Henry, had died shortly after she had left court. How anxious he must be for his surviving male heir.