CHAPTER 16

19 March

By the time Frances and her husband arrived, the courtyard was crowded with people eager to catch a glimpse of the entourage. Word of Raleigh’s release earlier that day had spread like wildfire. Thomas had known it was coming: he had overheard a conversation between the King and Sir George More, the new lieutenant of the Tower, two days earlier. He had woken Frances with the news when he had returned to their apartment that evening. She still felt the same mixture of anticipation and dread with which she had first received it.

Thomas had proved even more eager than she had feared to invest their fortune in the enterprise. Our debt will be repaid in more ways than one, he had told her. The King of Spain had promised to enrich all those who supported Raleigh as soon as their invasion had succeeded and James had been toppled from his throne. The small matter of who was to take his place was less certain. Although Philip had vowed to pledge his allegiance to the King’s son and heir, Prince Charles, on condition that he reinstate the Catholic faith, Frances doubted he would hazard so much for so little personal gain. Thomas shared her scepticism but was of the view that even a foreign king was better than the heretic who now sat upon the throne. Frances suspected it was the desire to be rid of Villiers more than James that had driven her husband to hazard their fortune on the scheme.

A distant cheer could now be heard from the streets outside. At once, the excited chatter died and a hush descended upon the courtyard. All heads were turned towards the gatehouse where a large body of the King’s yeomen stood in readiness to clear a path through the crowds. Frances glanced back towards the windows of the great hall. She knew the King would be seated there under the canopy of state, waiting to greet the man who had been his prisoner for almost as long as he had worn the Crown of England.

The clatter of hoofs echoed around the courtyard and Frances turned just in time to see Sir Walter emerge from underneath the gatehouse. How typical of him to make his entrance on horseback, rather than in the privacy of a carriage, she thought, with a smile. His white stallion was magnificently caparisoned in rich scarlet cloth edged with gold, and Raleigh was dressed in a satin doublet of black and white – the old Queen’s favourite colours. His once ruddy complexion had grown pale from the long years of incarceration and his grey hair had receded, but as he drew closer Frances saw that his eyes glinted with triumph as he graciously acknowledged the adoration of the crowds. How their cheers must irk the King, she thought, with satisfaction.

The yeomen who walked in front of Raleigh’s horse shouted for the crowds to make way. Thomas squeezed her hand as they stepped back. Raleigh was so close now that Frances could have reached out and touched his immaculately polished boots. He glanced down at her as he passed and flashed a smile of genuine warmth, then quickly looked away. She was grateful for his discretion.

Frances and her husband watched his retreating form. They did not surge after him, like most of the onlookers, and soon they were standing with just a few other stragglers. She breathed in a lungful of air, relieved to be free from the crush of bodies.

‘God speed his endeavours,’ Thomas said, in a low voice, his eyes still focused upon the archway through which Raleigh had disappeared.

‘Amen,’ Frances whispered.

Her husband turned to her. ‘You don’t still have doubts, my love? We have discussed this many times and I thought you were reconciled to what we have done.’ She caught the edge of impatience in his voice.

‘Of course,’ she replied, casting a glance at a small group of courtiers as they ambled slowly past. ‘But I worry for our sons – this child too,’ she added, resting her hand lightly on her belly. ‘We are risking their inheritance upon this scheme. If Raleigh should fail . . .’

Thomas moved closer and placed his hand over hers. ‘We are doing this to safeguard their future, not to hazard it. If all faithful subjects sit on their hands while their king and his favourites steep themselves in wickedness, then by the time our boys become men, this kingdom will already be damned.’

Frances gave a tight smile. Not for the first time, she reflected on how much had changed in just a few short years. During the early days of their marriage, it had been Thomas who had urged her to keep their faith only in her heart, that to do otherwise would destroy everything they held dear. She had always known him to be such a peaceable man. The change in him had been wrought not by the King but by his rapacious favourite. Villiers seemed to have a knack of finding out men’s weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly.

‘Shall we?’ Thomas said, holding out his hand. Frances took it and they followed the handful of courtiers who were still making their way towards the hall.

The smell of roasted meat hung about the kitchens as Frances crept silently through them. She had lit a taper from the dying embers of the great fire and relied upon its frail, flickering light to guide her to the small courtyard that lay beyond, next to the river. She was glad that Raleigh had not suggested meeting in her apartment. He had not been absent from court for so long that he had forgotten there were eyes and ears everywhere. As she lifted the latch of the outer door, she found herself wondering how many times he had used this place for his clandestine business.

The smell of tobacco smoke filled her nostrils as she stepped into the courtyard. In the gloom, she could just make out the intermittent glow of a pipe as it briefly illuminated Sir Walter’s smiling mouth.

‘Lady Frances,’ he said softly, sweeping a deep bow. He held out his hand to guide her towards the bench he had been sitting on. ‘I’ll wager you never thought to converse with me here – and I a free man.’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘I had almost given up hope myself, but our friend Bacon was most persuasive with His Majesty.’

‘He is as skilled an orator as he is a philosopher,’ she agreed. ‘Is everything made ready for your voyage?’

Raleigh blew smoke. ‘A few ships are assembled at Plymouth, but I will need many more yet. Even the King acknowledges that the fleet is too small for our purpose – though, of course, he does not know what purpose that is.’

‘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?