Showing posts with label Elizabethan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Elizabethan. Show all posts

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Queen Elizabeth, Spain, and the Sea Beggars

by Barbara Kyle

William de la Marck
[Public Domain] Wikimedia Commons

This is a David and Goliath story of the 16th century. "David" was Dutch rebel William de la Marck. "Goliath" was the mighty Philip II of Spain. Elizabeth I of England was the surprise catalyst of an uprising that sparked the Dutch War of Independence against Spain.

Elizabeth I by William Sugar
[Public Domain] Wikimedia Commons

In 1571 Elizabeth, at the age of thirty-eight, had reigned for thirteen years. She was far from secure on her throne. England had no standing army and an undersized navy, and Elizabeth feared that Philip of Spain, the most powerful monarch in Europe, was poised to invade. To strike at her, his army would sail from the Netherlands. There, less than a hundred miles off her shores, his troops had already subjugated the Dutch.

Philip II

Philip was lord of Spain, portions of the Italian peninsula, and the Low Countries (modern-day Belgium and the Netherlands) whose cities of Antwerp and Bruges were Europe's richest trading centres. He was also stupendously wealthy thanks to his vast New World possessions. The Spanish Main, a scythe-shaped slice of the globe, ran from Florida through Mexico and Central America to the north coast of South America, gateway to the riches of Peru.

Twice a year the Spanish treasure fleet, the flota, crossed the Atlantic to deliver hoards of New World gold, silver, and precious gems to Philip's treasury in Spain. Philip used this constant river of riches to finance his constant wars. Throughout Europe, Spain's armies were feared and triumphant.

Nowhere were they more feared than in the Netherlands. There, Philip's general, the Duke of Alba, had crushed Dutch resistance to Spanish rule. "The Iron Duke," as Alba was called, was governor of the Netherlands from 1567 and had set up a special court called the Council of Troubles under whose authority he executed thousands, including leading Dutch nobles. The people called it the Council of Blood. Here are Alba's own words: "It is better that a kingdom be laid waste and ruined through war for God and for the king, than maintained intact for the devil and his heretical horde."

The Duke of Alba
The Dutch Prince William of Orange was one of the ten thousand people summoned before the Council. But the Prince escaped. He gathered a rebel army and marched into Brabant, the Dutch heartland. But his troops were inexperienced and untrained, and with winter approaching and money running out, the Prince turned back. He went into exile in the German lands, awaiting his next chance.

Religion, as always in the 16th century, was a fiery instrument of division. Philip of Spain was known as "the most Catholic prince in Christendom." Catholics considered Elizabeth of England a bastard, since they did not acknowledge her mother Anne Boleyn's marriage to her father Henry VIII, and a heretic, since Elizabeth's first act as queen had been to make the realm officially Protestant. That act had also made her the supreme head of the church in England, a concept that Catholics found grotesque: a woman as head of a church. In 1570 Pope Pious V excommunicated Elizabeth in a fierce decree, calling her a heretic and "the servant of crime." He released all her subjects from any allegiance to her, and excommunicated any who obeyed her orders. Scores of affluent Catholics left England with their families and settled in the Spanish-occupied Netherlands.

Mary, Queen of Scots
These English exiles considered Elizabeth's cousin Mary, Queen of Scots the legitimate claimant to the English throne. But by this time Elizabeth held Mary under house arrest in England, a comfortable captivity in Sheffield Castle. Elizabeth did not dare set Mary free, fearing she would foment an invasion by a Catholic League of Spain, France, and the Pope. In the Netherlands, the English exiles were plotting to overthrow Elizabeth with military help from their powerful Spanish friends and install Mary in her place . . . and there, in the Netherlands, just a day's sail from the English coast, Spanish troops under the merciless Duke of Alva stood ready should Philip give the invasion order.

But the Dutch rebels had not given up, only gone to ground. They still considered Prince William of Orange their leader. He was keen for a second chance to win back his country for the Dutch. And Elizabeth of England was eager to secretly support him. That second chance came in the spring of 1572. This time the rebels would not come marching, as an army. They would come from the sea: a motley fleet called the Sea Beggars.

The origin of their name is intriguing. Before Alba's arrival in the Netherlands the governor was Philip's sister, Margaret. A delegation of over two hundred Dutch nobles appeared before her with a petition stating their grievances. She was alarmed at the appearance of so large a body, but one of her councillors exclaimed, "What, madam, is your highness afraid of these beggars?" The Dutch heard the insult, and after Margaret ignored their petition they declared they were ready to become beggars in their country's cause, and adopted the name "Beggars" with defiant pride. Scores of them took to the sea to harry Spanish shipping. Led by William de la Marck, they called themselves the Sea Beggars.

William de la Marck

For several years Elizabeth gave safe conduct to the Sea Beggars, allowing La Marck and his rebel mariners to make Dover and the creeks and bays along England's south coast their home as they continued their raids on Spanish shipping, which infuriated Philip. England was far weaker than mighty Spain, so Elizabeth was playing "a game of cat and mouse" with Philip, says historian Susan Ronald in her book The Pirate Queen; helping the Sea Beggars was "the only course open to her to show her defiance of Spain."

But as 1572 dawned Philips's fury grew dangerous. In March, Elizabeth ordered the expulsion of the Sea Beggars from her realm, an act that people assumed was to placate Philip. It turned out, however, that Elizabeth had struck a lethal blow at Spain: by expelling the Sea Beggars she had unleashed their latent power. For a month theses rebel privateers wandered the sea, homeless and hungry, until, on the first of April, they made a desperate attack on the Dutch port city of Brielle, which had been left unattended by the Spanish garrison. They astounded everyone, even themselves, by capturing the city.


The Capture of Brielle


Their victory provided the Dutch opposition's first foothold on land and launched a revolution: the Dutch War of Independence. The capture of Brielle gave heart to other Dutch cities suffering under Spain's harsh rule, and when the Sea Beggars pushed on inland they rejoiced to see town after town open their gates to them. The exiled Prince of Orange now sent troops to support them. But Spain ferociously struck back. Taking the rebel-held cities of Mechelen and Zutphen, the Duke of Alba's troops massacred the inhabitants; in Mechelen the atrocities went on for four days. The town of Haarlem bravely resisted during a long siege, but finally surrendered. Alba's troops methodically cut the throats of the entire garrison, some two thousand men, in cold blood.

By 1585 Elizabeth could no longer tolerate Spain's tyranny in the Netherlands, and she sent an army under the Earl of Leicester to support the Dutch revolution. Nevertheless, it took six decades more until the people of the Netherlands won their freedom, in 1648.

To this day, on the First of April every year, the Dutch people still exuberantly celebrate the Sea Beggars' capture of Brielle.



This Editor's Choice was first published on November 26, 2013. 

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Barbara Kyle is the author of seven acclaimed historical novels – the Thornleigh Saga series – all published internationally, and of contemporary thrillers, three under pen-name Stephen Kyle, including Beyond Recall, a Literary Guild Selection. Her latest novel is The Traitor's Daughter. Over 500,000 copies of her books have been sold in seven countries. Barbara has taught writers at the University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies and is a popular guest presenter at writers' conferences. Before becoming an author Barbara enjoyed a twenty-year acting career in television, film, and stage productions in Canada and the U.S.

Barbara’s workshops, master classes, and manuscript evaluations have launched many writers to published success. She recently released a non-fiction writing resource, Page-Turner: Your Path to Writing a Novel That Publishers Want and Readers Buy. Barbara welcomes you to her website: www.BarbaraKyle.com.

The Sea Beggars feature in Barbara Kyle's novel The Queen's Exiles.


About The Queen's Exiles: "1572. Europe is in turmoil. A vengeful faction of exiled English Catholics is plotting to overthrow Queen Elizabeth and install her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots on the throne. And in the Netherlands the streets are red with the blood of those who dare to oppose the brutal Spanish occupation. But amid the unrest one resourceful young woman has made a lucrative enterprise. Scottish-born Fenella Doorn salvages crippled vessels. It is on one of these ships that she meets wealthy Baron Adam Thornleigh. Secretly drawn to him, Fenella can’t refuse when Adam enlists her to join him in war-torn Brussels to help find his traitorous wife, Frances—and the children she’s taken from him. But Adam and Fenella will put their lives in peril as they attempt to rescue his young ones, defend the crown, and restore the peace that few can remember."



Barbara Kyle's six-book Thornleigh Saga follows an English middle-class family's rise through three tumultuous Tudor reigns.

"Riveting...adventurous...superb!" Historical Novel Society, "Editor's Choice."
"Kyle knows what historical fiction readers crave." RT Book Reviews
"A beautifully written and compelling novel. Again, Barbara Kyle reigns!” - New York Times bestselling author Karen Harper
 

Monday, November 7, 2016

Elizabethan Swordplay - The Rise and Rise of the Rapier


By Peter Tonkin

In the mid to late 1500’s a new craze swept through the fashionable youth of Europe, arriving in London at much the same time as the young Shakespeare.  It was nothing to do with caps, capes or codpieces.  It was to do with swordplay.  The older generation, with George Silver as their spokesman, (Paradoxes of Defence, London 1599), stuck conservatively to their short swords.  Weapons that their great-grandfathers could have used at the battle of Bosworth, establishing the Tudor dynasty a century earlier.

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The short sword in battle

The younger generation, however, fell in love with the rapier.

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of this infatuation.  To a certain extent its origins lay in the perfection of new, stronger and yet more flexible types of steel.  A material famously generated in the smithies of Ferrara in Italy, Toledo in Spain and Solingen in Germany.  Which allowed blades to be fashioned that were scarcely wider than your finger, which nevertheless stayed strong and true at lengths up to (and occasionally in excess of ) 4 feet/150cms. (As opposed to short-sword blades of more than twice the width and half the length.)  Blades which could not only hold an edge but also guarantee a point that stayed lethally sharp under almost all circumstances. 

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A Rapier compared with a Short Sword

With the new blades came new fighting techniques.  Inevitably so, for an entirely new level of bio/mechanics had entered the arena.  As the edge was replaced by the point as the most effective mode of killing an opponent. 

With the short sword, the prime mode of attack relied on the cut or slash as opposed to the thrust.  A moment’s reflection makes it clear that the effectiveness of this mode of attack lies primarily on several simple factors.  The weight of the sword, the strength of the arm and the sharpness of the blade.  Unlike the Roman Gladius, designed to stab upward from a low base, the short sword most often cuts downward from a higher one. The wounds inflicted are likely, therefore, to be large and relatively shallow.  Bones broken rather than severed.  The head and upper body are primary targets, exposed by the square-on stance.  Often, therefore, helmeted, armoured and protected by a shield.  Even Silver in praising the effectiveness of the short sword, talks of chopping off hands rather than limbs.  And death in battle often inflicted by the dagger as back-up to the primary weapon.

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Fighting stance with a short sword

With a rapier, however, things are very different. The weapon, although longer, is lighter.  The grip is more complex, including extra elements allowing precise control as well as protective baskets which guard those often-exposed digits and wrists.

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The hilt of a rapier (made London circa 1580)

The balance and control are crucial because the whole method of fighting has changed.  Masters such as Di Grassi, Agrippa, Saviolo, Fabris, Giganti, Mayer and Capo Ferro slowly defined and perfected this fundamentally new method.  Now the swordsman stood sideways-on to his opponent and could use circular motions of the blade to protect his body - rather than a shield.  Sword-fights no longer involved circling the opponent.  They were prosecuted instead along a straight line.  Killing was done by thrusting the point forward with all the strength of the shoulder and arm, guiding the point towards whichever part was exposed.  And, as the point was so sharp, these targets could include eyes, nostrils, mouths, throats – areas which were much more difficult to protect with armour.  It was Capo Ferro who defined the next and supreme step in his process in his Great Representation of the Art and Use of Fencing (Siena 1604), though it was doubtless already being employed.  This is the lunge.  In the lunge, the thrust is extended so that the power of the arm and shoulder are supplemented exponentially with the full weight of the swordsman’s body – all pushing that deadly point forward in a straight line to its target.

C:\Users\Peter\Desktop\sword poictures\IMG_2317.JPG
The thrust

C:\Users\Peter\Desktop\sword poictures\IMG_2319.JPG
The lunge

The fatal wound inflicted by these methods is the exact opposite to that inflicted by the edge of the short sword.  It is tiny.  Silver talks of an (apocryphal?) case where a swordsman received half a dozen such wounds and yet survived to kill his rapier-wielding opponent (with his short sword) and make a miraculous recovery.  

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRI-7qn470hgUPc78nodA2HUr7hL35L4fKcTAj534AFUbSpOX4yhLF6LQ
The lunge (showing foot positions) Illustration from Capo Ferro Art & the use of Fencing

The experience of Shakespeare’s contemporaries tends to counter Silver’s assertions, however.  Fellow poet and playwright Henry Porter died from a single rapier wound in 1599.  Christopher Marlowe and poet friend (and, possibly, co-secret agent) Thomas Watson killed an Inkeeper’s son in Norton Folgate on 15th September 1589 in a sword-fight which could have been taken straight out of Act 3 scene 1 of Romeo and Juliet.

In fact, if we look to Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare shows us a very clear contemporary picture of the new art of swordplay.

Image result for Romeo and Juliet First Edition


In Elizabethan times, actors would often give exhibition bouts of swordplay.  Richard Tarlton, the ‘Clown’ of Shakespeare’s company in the late 1580’s, was such an accomplished swordsman that he was admitted to the ‘Company of Maisters of the Science of Defence’ in London as a master.  One of the few men ever to be so honoured.  

Richard Burbage, Shakespeare’s leading man, was also a noted swordsman.  The majority of actors in Shakespeare’s troupe would have made themselves proficient in the popular art of swordplay with rapiers.  Exhibition bouts were a useful source of extra income.  And, amongst all the other themes and ideas presented in Shakespeare’s great romantic tragedy, a masterclass in the Elizabethan art of rapier play is both discussed and presented.  There is even some speculation that the doomed character of Mercutio (much expanded from the character in Arthur Brooke’s Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet (London 1562), Shakespeare’s main source) is a pen-portrait of poet, playwright, spy and swordsman Christopher Marlowe himself.

Although the story follows the irresistible but doomed love affair of the titular characters, as it does so, it presents a series of sword-fights.  And allows characters such as Mercutio and Benvolio ample chance to discuss techniques – particularly those of the sword-school trained Tybalt.  Whose laboriously practised techniques they look down upon from the heights of their untutored, natural abilities.

The play begins with a study of how easily a few contentious words and actions can start a swordfight.  Which rapidly degenerates into a ‘grand melee’ in which everyone on stage is involved.  Out of this emerges a confrontation between Romeo’s cousin and friend Benvolio and Juliet’s cousin the fiery Tybalt.  ‘What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds...  and talk of peace?  Peace? I hate the word...’  While all around them people are fighting with ‘clubs, bills and partisans’, they engage in a short, unsettled duel with their rapiers. Which Juliet’s (old-fashioned) father tries to join, calling for his ‘long sword’, until the Prince brings it all to a close.  

After the scene at Capulet’s party and the Balcony scene, while Mercutio and Benvolio are waiting for the love struck Romeo, they discuss Tybalt and his fencing technique.  For, typically, the well-trained young man has issued Romeo with a formal challenge to a duel.  ‘He fights as you sing prick-song,’ says Mercutio dismissively.  Punning on the technical term for carefully written (pricked) songs and the wounds delivered by rapier blades.  All of a part with his insistence that Tybalt is no more dangerous than ‘Tibbles’ the cat.  ‘(He) keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom’  

Image result for capo ferro


This is the precise method used by the fencing schools becoming so popular in London.  The ‘science’ of which is well demonstrated in the illustration from Ferro Capo above. ‘The very butcher of a silk button’ Mercutio persists, referring to the target at which students were taught to thrust and lunge over and over again. 

‘Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso!’ he adds, naming popular fencing moves in the rapier canon -  the ‘passado’, like the thrust, advancing the leading foot as the blade moves forward; the ‘punto reverso’, where (especially in rapier and dagger fights) the rapier point moves from right to left, outside the opponent’s guard.  And, finally the ‘Hai!’, which Benvolio pretends not to understand (‘The what?’).  But which is the traditional word shouted as the lunge is engaged.

Soon after this conversation, Mercutio and Benvolio find themselves waiting for Romeo in the Verona’s town square soon after noon on a hot day when ‘the mad blood’ is stirring.  They encounter Tybalt who has challenged Romeo.  When Romeo arrives, however, he refuses to fight Tybalt.  Mercutio is so outraged by his friend’s apparent cowardice that he engages Tybalt instead and the next popular – and very dangerous - set-piece swordfight is presented.  In this one, two opponents fight full-on while a third runs repeatedly between them.  As a result of Romeo’s interference, Tybalt kills Mercutio with a thrust ‘under (his) arm.’  And as he dies, Mercutio delivers a speech that is famously hard to interpret.  And yet, the simple fact is that the dying man is shocked to feel his life slipping away when the wound that has killed him is so tiny.  ‘A scratch, a scratch. Marry ‘tis enough...’

When the shocked and horrified Romeo discovers what he has done, he runs after Tybalt and the third exhibition bout – traditionally rapier and dagger – is presented in a manner later described by Benvolio to the outraged Prince.  ‘And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere (before) I could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.’

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Illustration from Capo Ferro Art and Use of Fencing

Finally, in a scene rarely staged nowadays, there is a fourth exhibition bout.  Between Romeo and the Count Paris outside Juliet’s tomb.  This is important, because, unlike the preceding bouts, it is a formal duel – albeit one fought in notional darkness.  After the anarchy of the melee, the danger of Romeo’s attempts to stop Mercutio and Tybalt and Romeo’s wild slaying of Tybalt himself, this restores due form and order.  Though it results in yet another death.

In conclusion, therefore, we can see that the new fashion sweeping England at the turn of the 1600’s attracted much admiration from the young.  But at the same time proved so dangerous that even the spokesmen for the younger generation like Shakespeare began, in the face of the deaths of friends and colleagues, to warn against its uncontrolled pursuit.

Though, to be fair, Kit Marlowe’s death, largely the result of his reliance on his lethal rapier, came about because, in a room in Mistress Bull’s otherwise quite respectable boarding house in Deptford, the playwright and spy was too cramped – between Robert Poley and Nicholas Skeres – to draw his long-bladed weapon when the quarrel over ‘the reckonyng’ began.  And so, in an episode of truly tragic irony, Ingram Frizer was able to stab him above the eye with the least fashionable weapon of all.  A ‘dagger to the value of 12d’.

As the Queen’s Crowner (Coroner) Sir William Danby recorded at the inquest, two days after the death, ‘& so it befell in that affray that the said Ingram, in defence of his life, with the dagger aforesaid to the value of 12d gave the said Christopher then & there a mortal wound over his right eye to the depth of two inches & of the width of one inch; of which mortal wound the aforesaid Christopher Morley (Marlowe) then & there instantly died.’ Late afternoon, Wednesday, 30 May, 1593.  

[All illustrations in the public domain.  All photographs by Mark Tonkin.]

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Peter Tonkin published his first novel, Killer, in 1978.  Since then he has written 38 other novels. Two traditional spy stories, The Action and The Zero Option.  A vampire story, The Journal of Edwin Underhill. 30 novels in the ‘Mariner’ series of Action Adventures beginning with The Coffin Ship and ending (so far) with Blind Reef.  He researched Elizabethan swordplay for his ‘Master of Defence’ series of Elizabethan whodunits which begins with The Point of Death.  He has recently retired from teaching and has concentrated on researching Ancient Rome for a proposed sequence of Espionage Thrillers under the series title of ‘Caesar’s Spies’.  The first of these, The Ides is due out in the Kindle on 7th November 2016. He is currently at work on his 40th novel, the second in his ‘Caesar’s Spies’ series.



Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Who Were the Elizabethan Spies? (Part 2)

by Jonathan Digby

Sir Francis Walsingham’s spy network in the 16th Century was one of the largest of its kind and in many ways set the blueprint for later versions, most notably during the Cold War. In this short series I am going to discuss the careers of some of the men that made up Walsingham’s networks and speculate on the motivations that drove them into the world of espionage.

The career spy: Robert Poley

Robert ‘Sweet Robyn’ Poley is probably the most notorious spy of the Elizabethan age and certainly one of the best documented agents of the era. Double-agent, plotter, agent provocateur, Poley’s career was a long one and is particularly associated with two of the most famous events in the 1580s and 1590s – the Babington Plot in 1586, which led to the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the death of Christopher Marlowe in 1593. Poley played an integral role in both.

Nothing is known of the circumstances of his birth, although he was considered to be a poor gentleman, but Poley, also known as Pooley and Poole, first appears in the historical records in the late 1560s when he was amongst the humblest rank of students at Clare College, Cambridge – the self-financing sizars, who performed menial tasks in college. This tells us that despite being a man of education, Poley was likely dogged by poverty, a significant factor that might have turned him towards the intelligence services. Later on, when he could afford them, Poley certainly appears to have liked the finer things in life because by 1588 there is evidence that he was furnishing rooms in the premises of a Mr and Mrs Yeoman at the cost of some £40 – close to £1000 in today’s money. By then Poley was one of the most experienced spies in Walsingham’s network.

Throughout the 1570s there is no record of Poley, but in the early 1580s he appears to have first tried to endear himself to the Principle Secretary through marriage. In 1582 he married a sister or a cousin of Thomas Watson, with whom he had a daughter. Watson was a poet and playwright who had made a connection with Sir Francis Walsingham at the time that the latter was the ambassador in Paris in the 1570s. Watson’s patron was also Thomas Walsingham, a first cousin once removed of Sir Francis, who was also a patron of Christopher Marlowe thus giving a first connection between the two spies.

Watson is best known for his friendship with Marlowe and his involvement in the fight on Hog Lane, when, armed with a sword, he sprang to Marlowe’s defence and killed a man. Poley’s attempts to ingratiate himself through marriage appear to have failed as he was divorced soon afterwards. In 1583 he paid a visit to Thomas Walsingham at Francis’s home in Seething Lane but it was only after a period of working for the Earl of Leicester that Walsingham reluctantly took him on.

After visiting Walsingham at his home in Barn Elms in 1583, Poley wound up in Marshalsea Prison in Southwark. Although this might seem an inauspicious beginning for the spy, it is likely that Walsingham placed him there both to develop Poley’s cover and also to have him question other prisoners with seditious connections – a tactic that was used with other spies. For appearances sake, Poley spent half of his time there in close confinement and for the remaining time had ‘the liberty of the house’. Whilst in prison he is rumoured to have offered to kill someone.

Poley’s reward for undertaking such an unpleasant assignment was the role of a courier to the Catholic exile Thomas Morgan, Mary’s agent in Paris and one of Walsingham’s most formidable enemies. Poley brought correspondence to Morgan from Christopher Blount, one of Leicester’s servants, who Morgan had approached. Poley’s role was presumably to present himself as a disaffected Catholic who could be relied upon to take mail to and from England. As with Sir Francis before him, Morgan didn’t at first trust Poley, suggesting that there was something in his demeanour which was at first off-putting. However, Morgan was later impressed by the fact that Poley was working for Sir Philip Sydney, Walsingham’s son-in-law, who was living in Walsingham’s house in Seething Lane. Poley was by now in the classic double-agent situation where both sides could see his usefulness but neither was sure how far they could trust him.

In fact it is not clear whether Walsingham ever truly trusted this most accomplished of deceivers. Poley was a dangerous man and a consummate liar. The governor of the Marshalsea Prison said of him that: “he would beguile you of your wife or of your life” and others described him as: “ a very bad fellow” and “a notable knave with no trust in him.” When interrogated by Walsingham on why he had a copy of the Catholic tract: Leicester’s Commonwealth, Poley claimed later that he had outwitted Walsingham. He is alleged to have remarked that: “I will swear and forswear myself, rather than I will accuse myself to do me any harm” and to have been so obstinate that Walsingham “looked out of his window and grinned like a dog”. He also claimed to be a Catholic – claiming to hear mass in secret whenever possible – but the only evidence to support this is that he left Cambridge without a degree, which may have been for entirely different reasons.

Babington Plot

The Babington Plot was Walsingham’s endgame as far as Mary Stuart was concerned, and Poley played a central role. Following on from his courier activities for the disaffected Catholics, Poley was able to inveigle himself, using his connection with Morgan, into the company of Anthony Babington. Babington had been a page in the Earl of Shrewsbury’s household when Mary was in the latter’s custody, and it is thought that at that time he began to support her cause. Later, travelling in Europe, he had met Thomas Morgan and agreed to courier letters to Mary on Morgan’s behalf. However, by 1586, Mary had been removed to a harsher regime and her correspondence had been curtailed. Babington withdrew from involvement with Mary and was considering leaving England. Six months later, however, he was writing to Mary telling her that he and six others were planning to assassinate Elizabeth and asking for her authorisation.

History suggests that Walsingham’s plan all along was to get Mary to agree to an assassination attempt, thus trapping her on a charge of treason. The plot is notable for involving some of Walsingham’s most important servants – Gilbert Gifford as the double-agent who couriered letters to and from Mary, Thomas Phelippes to decipher them. Poley was integral to this plot and appears to have played the role of agent-provocateur. The plotters were disorganized and hesitant but Poley managed to take a significant hold over Babington – cajoling, coaxing and charming him as the moment demanded. All the time he was able to inform Walsingham of the plotters discussions and movements. Described as ‘sweet Robyn’ by Babington in a poignant letter following his arrest, Poley managed to remain unsuspected even when the plot unravelled. He, too, was arrested and incarcerated in the Tower of London, avoiding, however, the fate of being hung, drawn and quartered which befell the other conspirators.

Marlowe’s death

Poley spent two years in the Tower of London following the Babington plot, which seems an inordinately long time if it was purely to maintain his cover. It is possible that Walsingham was hoping that Poley could still go back into the field, despite the fact that the Catholics were now very suspicious of him, but equally it could have been a measure of the distrust that Walsingham still held towards him.

Poley was released in late 1588, not long after the Spanish Armada, and seems to have taken up a more administrative role in Walsingham’s organization. After Walsingham’s death in 1590, Poley remained on the payroll of first Thomas Heneage, the Vice-Chancellor, and then Sir Robert Cecil, son of the Lord Treasurer, Lord Burghley. Between December 1588 and September 1601 Poley traveled to and from Denmark, the Netherlands, France and Scotland carrying messages and important documents. On one of these trips to the Netherlands in 1593 he was arrested and interrogated but released without charge, suggesting that he had lost none of his ability to talk himself out of a tight spot.

It was a few months before that trip to the Netherlands that Poley was a witness at the inquest of the death of the poet and playwright Christopher Marlowe after an argument over the ‘reckoning’ at an ‘ordinary’ in Deptford. Although once believed to be a tavern brawl, most historians now agree that the meeting that took place that day between Poley, Marlowe, Nicholas Skeres and Ingram Frizer was more formal, though its purpose remains open to speculation. Most pertinently to this story is that Poley most likely took a senior role in the gathering and could have been there as a representative of Sir Robert Cecil. It was Poley who reported a week later to the Privy Council describing matters pertaining to “special and secret affairs of great importance".

Following Marlowe’s death Poley continued in service to Cecil. He was in the Marshalsea again in the summer of 1597, when it seems that he was placed there to spy on the playwright Ben Jonson whose play, The Isle of Dogs, written with Thomas Nashe had upset the authorities. Jonson attacked Poley and a second informer, named Parrot, as "damned villains" and later wrote a poem praising convivial company without spies, including the line "we shall have no Poley or Parrot by".

So what were Poley’s motivations in becoming one of the most successful and feared spies of his generation? Certainly the need for money must have played a part, and perhaps also a lingering spite towards those like Babington who were born into better circumstances. One strong reason may have been simply that he enjoyed it and was good at it, being able to lie and deceive as was necessary with seemingly little conscience. The overriding feeling that one is left with is that, despite the charm he could employ on occasions, he was a deeply unpleasant man with an ability to use and discard people as it suited him. He was also occasionally reckless. In one unguarded moment, he described Walsingham, who suffered from consistent poor health, as having caught the pox off a French woman.

The last payment known to have been received by Poley was on the 5th September 1601, when he was paid £10 by Sir Robert Cecil for carrying letters to and from Paris. Poley was offered a job at the Tower of London as a mark of his service. However, it seems that he was not satisfied with the offer. In July the following year he wrote to Cecil saying:
“How, half offended, you said to me I never made you good intelligence, nor did you service worth reckoning, is the cause I have not since presented myself with offer of my duty, although I much desire my endeavours might please you, my necessities needing your favour."
The master spy had run his course and from that point faded into history. Nothing is known of the time or place of his death.

The foreign banker: Horatio Palavicino

Horatio Palavicino came from a very different background to Robert Poley. Palavicino was born into the merchant aristocracy of Genoa and came from a celebrated Italian family, the elder branch of which possessed a district on the Po called the Stato Palavicino, while the younger branch settled at Genoa. Several members of the Genoa branch were appointed Regents by the Dukes of Milan, and more than one became a cardinal. One was in the service of the English kings, Henry VIII and Edward VI.

Horatio was born at Genoa circa 1540 but at an early age was sent to the Netherlands where he resided for some time, possibly at the behest of his father, Tobias, to learn the family business. From the Netherlands, Horatio proceeded to England, where he was recommended to Queen Mary and appointed collector of papal taxes. On Mary's death it was said that Palavicino abjured his Romanism, and, appropriating the sums he had collected for the Pope, laid the foundations of an enormous fortune. In fact, whilst he may have kept the money, Palavicino did not actually abjure his faith until his brother Fabrizio was arrested by agents of Pope Gregory XIII in the 1570s.

Following Mary’s death Palavicino devoted himself to commercial enterprise, and the wealth he acquired made him an important financial agent. Throughout the 1560s and 1570s he concentrated on building up his trading empire.

In 1573 we have evidence of his connection with Walsingham when he writes expressing concern at the debts of another of Walsingham’s agents, a Portuguese merchant, Dr Hector Nunez. He lent large sums to Elizabeth, always at a usurious interest, and so greatly was Elizabeth indebted to him that the fate of the kingdom was said to have depended upon him. In 1578 Palavicino sold the family stocks of alum at Antwerp to the Dutch rebels in return for an import monopoly which excluded all future farmers of the Papal alum monopoly.

In 1579 he replaced Thomas Gresham as the English government’s chief financial agent (although whether or not it was in an official capacity is unclear) and became increasingly involved in foreign policy, for example, in the early 1580s being responsible for the costly and complicated financial arrangements supporting the Duke of Anjou’s campaigns in the Netherlands at a time when the Duke still held hopes of marrying Elizabeth.

But what of Palavicino’s intelligence activities? Palavicino was first and foremost a merchant and cannot be called an ‘intelligencer’ in the strict sense of a Gilbert Gifford or a Robert Poley. Nevertheless his extensive trading network allowed him access to many areas where intelligence could be collected and, most pertinent to his skills, needed to be paid for. Intelligence would have been imperative for supporting his business activities, and therefore it would have been a natural progression for this to extend to state secrets. Through his contacts across Europe a great deal of information passed through his hands, not all of which was safe. Palavicino was regarded as an object to deceive the English government and was often fed misinformation. To the most part Palavicino negotiated his way through the maze successfully, though not always.

In 1585 there is evidence that Palavicino was distributing funds and letters in Northern France on behalf of the Earl of Leicester, including paying and receiving reports from Thomas Rogers (alias Nicholas Berden) a Parisian-based spy working for Walsingham. Instead of reporting to the English Ambassador, Sir Edward Stafford, as etiquette demanded, Berden was reporting to Walsingham via Palavicino and Leicester, the significance being that Walsingham did not trust Stafford, who he suspected of leaking information to both the Duc de Guise and his Spanish backers. Palavicino, also charged with keeping an eye on the English Ambassador, became friends with Stafford and was soon made uneasy by the latter’s gambling addiction which he reported in careful terms to Lord Burghley. Although never proven conclusively, the suspicion was that Stafford was selling secrets to the enemy in order to fund his gambling habits.

Palavicino’s friendship with Stafford put him in an awkward position, with Leicester and Walsingham pondering his loyalty, but it didn’t seem to dent his importance to the English cause. In mid-1586 the Italian was in Germany as Elizabeth’s agent in Frankfurt negotiating the recruitment of a German protestant army to invade France whilst receiving visits from a number of agents, including Giordano Bruno, who had spied on the French embassy in England, and Walter Williams, a less than successful spy who had failed in a previous attempt to get close to Stafford when the ambassador got him drunk.

Palavicino was knighted in 1587, and in 1588 he financed a ship to help repel the Armada, although he wasn’t allowed to captain it due to his commoner status. He made one of his rare slips before the Armada when he passed on Italian intelligence stating that men, money, ships and ammunition for the Armada were far from plentiful and that she was likely to sail at a later date. After the Armada was defeated, Palavicino got involved in negotiating on behalf of Spanish soldiers shipwrecked in Ireland in the wake of the Armada.

Palavicino seems to have been a man motivated primarily by money and power and, as someone who was variously described as a scalawag, reprobate, philanderer, letch, debauchee, rapscallion, sycophant, and a practitioner of the fetish of deflowering virgins(!), he seemed to lack the ethical standards of his predecessor Sir Thomas Gresham, who founded the Royal Exchange and Gresham College. For Palavicino, intelligence was perhaps another commodity to be traded. It is true that he harboured some grudges against the Catholic faith but it was his decision to keep the papal rents he had collected that presumably set them at odds in the first place.

In the 1590s, an attempt to gain a monopoly on maize coming from the New World saw him fall out of favour with Queen Elizabeth. He was banished from court and retired to an estate in Babraham, close to Cambridge, from where he continued to increase his fortune, partly through some dubious mortgage deals. He was never to have such great influence over political finance again, dying in 1600.

Part 1, HERE:
The Catholic Exile, Gilbert Gifford
The Playwright Adventurer, Christopher Marlowe


Part 3, yet to come:
The Noble Intelligencer: Sir Anthony Bacon
The Diligent Spy: Thomas Rogers


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Jonathan Digby is a British writer, who lives in Camden, North London. When not writing, he can be found performing under his stage name John Exell, or creating music with his indie band, Boxgrove Pseudomorph. A Murderous Affair is his first novel.

The year is 1588. The Spanish Armada has recently been defeated, and Queen Elizabeth rides in triumph through a celebrating London. But even in peace, the city has a deadly underbelly.

When the body of a Portuguese nobleman turns up on the banks of the Thames with a seal around his neck all fingers point towards Lord Rokesby as the murderer - particularly as the foreigner was last seen at a dinner party at his house the night before. Yet there is more to this murder than meets the eye. John Lovat, Lord Rokesby's illegitimate brother, is called in to dig deeper into the events surrounding the death. And the more he uncovers, the more complex the crime becomes.

Soon Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth’s chief counsellor and spy-master, takes an interest in the case. And Lovat finds himself caught up in 'A Murderous Affair' - one that involves murder, betrayal and infidelity and which will take him from grand houses to the mean streets of Elizabethan London as he tracks down the truth.

A Murderous Affair is a fast-moving historical murder mystery that combines meticulous research with gripping story-telling.

"A compelling piece of work that kept me turning the pages." - Robert Foster, best-selling author of The Lunar Code.


Monday, December 2, 2013

Low-Life of Elizabethan London

by Deborah Swift

Whilst researching my character Zachary Deane, I researched the late Elizabethan and Jacobean underworld to find out about what sort of ways a penniless person could cheat, lie, steal or embezzle to make a living in 1609. Most of this information comes from a book called The Elizabethan Underworld by Gamini Salgado - a book I highly recommend.

Diogenes Looking for an Honest Man - Caesar Van Everdingen 1652

The Righteous Beggar

The Reformation had cast out many friars and pardoners and made them into itinerant beggars. In the eyes of the law these were now vagrants, but the general population had quite a lot of sympathy for them, as they were seen as former 'holy men.'  Impersonating a monk became a lucrative way of begging.

Many soldiers and sailors in the wars against Portugal and Spain had not been properly paid and when the campaign was over were discharged onto the streets. A common begging ruse was to claim you had been with Drake in the expedition against Portugal (1589), and the sympathetic public would donate thinking you were a patriotic sailor. These righteous beggars were called 'rufflers'. There were also what were known as 'upright men', who were discharged soldiers who would knock on your door and demand food, lodgings or money. In the world of the beggar, the 'upright man' was King and carried a truncheon or 'filchman' to enforce his authority over other less brazen beggars. Click on the picture below to see just how much information can be gleaned about beggars just from this one drawing.

"Beggar in a Large Coat" Adriaen van Ostade

'Whipjacks' were men who has supposedly been shipwrecked or lost everything at sea. Men who had really been at sea were given a licence to beg, but these were often counterfeited by unscrupulous beggars, 'these fresh water mariners, their ships were drowned in the plain of Salisbury' (Thomas Harman). Other beggars faked diseases such as epilepsy by chewing soap to make their saliva froth.

Church and Conman

Surprisingly enough, one of the hot-beds of crime at the turn of the 16th century was St Paul's Church (Cathedral as it was later known after its rebuilding). In 1561 one of the bishops complained about the uses it was put to; 'the south alley for popery and usury, the north for simony, and the horse fair in the midst for all kinds of bargains, meetings, brawlings, murders, conspiracies, and the font for the ordinary payment of money.'



Cutpurses and pickpockets or 'nips' and 'foists' abounded, often working in groups or pairs, and attempting to cheat out-of-towners of their money. A common ruse was to faint and then when someone came to help, to cut away their purse. The playhouses as well as the church were fertile grounds for thieves. Cloak-snatchers and handkerchief snatchers were common in the Church and the theatre, as were confidence tricksters known as 'coneycatchers'.

Rigging the Odds

Dice and Cards were the principal games at which you could gamble and cheat. There were no less than fourteen different kinds of rigged dice, including 'fullams' - dice loaded with lead, and 'bristles'with a hair set in one side to stop the dice landing that way up. 'Gourds' were dice hollowed on one side to weight them one way or the other. Of course sleight of hand was necessary to substitute the dice, but this could be learned easily with practice. Rigged outcomes were common at bowling alleys, bear-baiting and anywhere where gambling was undertaken.

Another great source of information about the female cutpurse and cheat can be found in The Roaring Girl - a play by Middleton and Dekker from about 1607, about a woman called Mary Frith, alias Moll Cutpurse, though admittedly she did dress as a man for many of her exploits as can be seen on this pamphlet of the time.


Thanks for reading, hope I haven't given you any ideas! Here are my books, the cutpurse Zachary Deane features in A Divided Inheritance.


Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Mystery Behind the Founding of Modern America

by Jenny Barden


The disappearance of the 'Lost Colony' of Roanoke has become embedded in the folklore surrounding the birth of modern America. As an Englishwoman I can attest to the story being less well known in the UK than in the States, but most people are aware that, before the Pilgrim Fathers and before Jamestown, Sir Walter Raleigh tried to found a colony that failed in that it did not survive. The many layers of mystery surrounding its demise are not so familiar, and the uncertainty of its fate has been the subject of enduring fascination.

Roanoke sunset

When, in August 1587, Governor John White left the Island of Roanoke in the region then known as Virginia, and bade farewell to the first English colony with a chance of permanence, comprising at least 113 men, women and children, he expected to return within a year at most and bring relief in the form of extra supplies. But a succession of mishaps and interventions, including piracy and the threat of invasion by the Spanish Armada, meant that White did not return until the summer of 1590.

White must have been anxious to be reunited with his daughter, Eleanor, and his baby granddaughter, Virginia Dare, born only days before his departure -- the first child of English parents born in America. But tragedy blighted the relief effort before the landing boats got as far as the shallow waters behind the dunes of the Outer Banks. The expedition arrived in the midst of a storm, and in trying to pass through a dangerous inlet one of the boats overturned and seven men drowned. The search continued in failing spirits and under pressure of time in the teeth of a developing tempest.

Oregon Inlet - similar to the passage where White's men drowned

Late the following day, White and his party reached Roanoke Island and made for the light of a fire in the woods which gave them heart, believing it might be a signal left by the colonists. In his account of the expedition White wrote: 'We let fall our Grapnel neere the shore, & sounded with a trumpet a Call, & afterwardes many familiar English tunes of Songs, and called to them friendly; but we had no answere.'

Imagine the desperate hope with which White must have called for his family in the gathering darkness, having seen what he thought was a signal, only to be confronted with an eerie silence. The next day they landed and found dead trees smouldering where they had seen the light the previous night, but no sign of people beyond the 'print of the Salvages feet of 2 or 3 sorts troaden that night' in the sand. On the approach to the place where the colonists had established their 'citie of Ralegh', White saw the letters 'CRO' carved into a conspicuous tree. Then, on a post near the entrance to a defensive wall of tree trunks, he found the word 'CROATOAN'.

Fort Raleigh National Historic Site, thought to be close to the location of the 'Citie of Ralegh'

The signs have become iconic in that they represent the last messages of the Colonists to be received by Europeans, but their meaning remains an enigma. White was in no doubt that the signs showed that at least the Colonists had not left Roanoke in distress because they had agreed a code with White by which, if they were forced to abandon the settlement, then they would carve a cross thus ✠ next to the name of their destination. If there was no cross then they had not moved under duress. 

But if they were not under threat, why had the settlers built a defensive wall, and why move to Croatoan, a smaller less fertile island? There was no other clue as to where White's 'Planters' had gone, no sign of them or their boats. White found the houses in ruins, and equipment and artillery left in disarray and overgrown with weeds. Chests, plainly once buried, had been dug up and their contents spoiled. Many of White's own books, maps and paintings had been destroyed. The message suggested that the Planters had re-located to Croatoan, one of the barrier islands occupied by the friendly Croatan tribe of Algonquian Indians, but White had no time to search there; deteriorating weather forced the expedition to leave.

Where had the Colonists gone? If they had moved to Croatoan then surely they would have kept a lookout for ships and signaled with smoke or in some other way in response to the gun blasts from White's ship with which the expedition announced its arrival, and it is doubtful that Croatoan could have supported over a hundred more mouths to feed in addition to the native Croatans who who were themselves short of food when the settlers first arrived.  


The reconstruction 'Elizabeth' at Roanoke Island, similar to the 'Lion' that brought the Lost Colonists from England

The uncertainty is compounded by the fact that, according to White's account, the settlers were 'prepared to remove from Roanoke 50 miles into the maine'. Some historians have taken this to mean that they planned to make for Chesapeake Bay which was their original destination before the expedition Pilot, Simon Ferdinando (often called 'Fernandez'), made the Colonists disembark at Roanoke.

Others have speculated that the settlers intended to move to a new site near the confluence of the rivers now known as the Roanoke and the Chowan. This theory was given added impetus last year when a patch over White's Virginea Pars map of the region was discovered to mask a fort like symbol. Did this mark the secret destination of the Colonists, one that they dared not reveal publicly for fear of making the new city a target for Spanish attack?

Excavations in this area are now planned, and are continuing near modern day Buxton on Hatteras Island at a site presumed to be the principal Algonquian settlement on Croatoan. They may never yield definitive proof as to what happened to the Colonists. The patch on White's map could simply mark a fort that was once proposed but never established. It indicates a place close to the main settlement of the Choanoke tribe who were originally welcoming of the English, though relations deteriorated between them and the garrison initially stationed on Roanoke under the command of Ralph Lane, to the point at which Lane took the son of the Choanoke chief prisoner and may never have released him.

Chowan swamp

Perhaps the Colonists did head north for Chesapeake; they had boats with which to navigate through waterways and swamp. They also had a pinnace that could potentially even have got back to England since it had already made one Atlantic crossing. The messages carved into the trees could have been confusing because they were incomplete. Possibly the settlers were attacked before they had a chance to add any warning. They may have meant to retreat to Croatoan and then head somewhere else -- somewhere that could not be identified because it had not yet been named.

The tantalising morsels of information that filtered back to England over subsequent decades suggested that some of the Colonists survived, at least for a while. John Smith (the adventurer famously saved by Pocahontas) sent back reports of 'certaine men clothed' who had established a community hidden in the forest to the southwest of Chesapeake Bay at a place called Ocanahonan. Later he was told by chief Powhatan that a settlement of white people had survived in that region for almost twenty years which had been destroyed by his warriors in the Spring of 1607.

If true, most of the inhabitants would have been slain just as the first Jamestown settlers arrived, possibly because Powhatan feared being overwhelmed by the invaders. This would be consistent with the observation of Captain Newport, who commanded the ship carrying the Jamestown colonists, that there was a large swathe of land to the south of Chesapeake Bay which appeared to have been cleared for farming, though he came across no Europeans or settlement, only hostile natives, and smoke rising from a distance in the forest.

Subsequent reports emerged of pale-skinned people living with tribes far inland, of white captives who worked at copper-smelting in villages along the Chowan River, and of grey-eyed, brown-haired people living on the island of Croatoan. None were ever verified.

Roanoke Island - woodland and marshflats

The fate of the Lost Colony is the larger mystery but within it there are many others, such as the mystery of the disappearance of the earlier second garrison left on Roanoke by Sir Richard Grenville* and the strange behaviour of Simon Ferdinando whose actions almost wrecked both Lane's expedition and White's. Was he incompetent or unlucky, or possibly a secret agent for Spain with a brief to sabotage the expedition? Or was Ferdinando under covert orders from Queen Elizabeth's spymaster, Sir Francis Walsingham, to locate the colony further south than Raleigh intended?...

One of the joys of writing my second novel, The Lost Duchess, has been to take these questions and weave a story around possible answers. The challenge has been to arrive at a solution that not only makes for an engrossing read but hangs together in relation to what is known. I hope I have succeeded.

The mystery will live on.

***

* The loss of Grenville's men without trace beyond 'the bones of one of those fifteene, which the Savages had slaine long before' is a subject I cover in more detail here: http://readingthepast.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/when-eden-became-hell-vision-and-plight.html

** Quotations from the original accounts of the 1587 and 1590 expeditions are as reproduced in The First Colonists: Documents on the Planting of the First Settlements in North America 1584-1590 edited by DB Quinn and AM Quinn

*** Other sources: Big Chief Elizabeth by Giles Milton and Roanoke the Abandoned Colony by Karen Ordahl Kupperman

**** All images copyright of Jenny Barden

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenny Barden’s second novel, The Lost Duchess, is an epic Elizabethan adventure-love story set against the backdrop of Raleigh’s ‘Lost Colony’ of Roanoke. It will be released tomorrow (7 November) and can be pre-ordered from Amazon UK
More about Jenny and her writing can be found on her website:
www.jennybarden.com

A giveaway of The Lost Duchess will be held on this site beginning 11 November 2013.