Page 243 of A Column of Fire
This was Rollo’s dream. The work he had been doing for the last ten years, smuggling priests into England, was important, but palliative: it kept the true faith alive, but did nothing to change the status quo. Its true value was as preparation for this. An invasion led by Duke Henri could return England to the Catholic Church and restore the Fitzgerald family to its rightful position in the ruling elite.
He saw it in his mind: the invasion fleet with banners flying; the armoured men pouring onto the beaches; the triumphal entry into London, cheered by the crowds; the coronation of Mary Stuart; and himself, in bishop’s robes, celebrating Mass in Kingsbridge Cathedral.
Rollo understood, from his discussions with Pierre, that Queen Elizabeth was a major nuisance to the Guises. Whenever the ultra-Catholics got the upper hand in France, swarms of Huguenots sought asylum in England, where they were welcomed for their craft skills and enterprise. Prospering there, they sent money home to their co-religionists. Elizabeth also interfered in the Spanish Netherlands, permitting English volunteers to go there and fight on the rebel side.
But Henri had another motive. ‘It is insupportable,’ he said, ‘that Elizabeth, who has been declared illegitimate by the Pope, should rule England and keep the true queen, Mary Stuart, in prison.’
Mary Stuart, the queen of the Scots, was Duke Henri’s cousin. If she became queen of England, the Guises would be the supremely powerful family of Europe. No doubt this was what was driving Henri and Pierre.
Rollo suffered a moment of doubt about the domination of his country by a foreign family. But that was a small price to pay for a return to the true faith.
‘I see the invasion as a two-pronged fork,’ Henri said. ‘A force of twelve thousand men will land at an east coast port, rally the local Catholic noblemen, and take control of the north of the country. Another force, perhaps smaller, will land on the south coast and, again, muster the Catholics to take control. Both groups, supplied and reinforced by English supporters, will march on London.’
The Jesuit leader said: ‘Very good, but who is going to pay for this?’
Cardinal Romero answered him. ‘The king of Spain has promised half the cost. King Felipe is fed up with English pirates attacking his transatlantic galleons and stealing their cargoes of gold and silver from New Spain.’
‘And the other half?’
Castelli said: ‘I believe the Pope will contribute, especially if shown a credible war plan.’
Rollo knew that kings and popes gave promises more readily than they gave cash. However, right now money did not matter quite as much as usual. Duke Henri had just inherited half a million livres from his grandmother, so he was able to meet some of the expense himself, if necessary.
Henri now said: ‘The invasion force will need plans of suitable harbours for the landing.’
Rollo realized that Pierre had choreographed this event. He already knew the answers to every question. The point of the meeting was to let each attendee know that all the others were willing to play their parts.
Now Rollo said: ‘I will get the maps.’
Henri looked at Rollo. ‘On your own?’
‘No, duke, not alone. I have a large network of powerful and wealthy Catholics in England.’ It was Margery’s network, not Rollo’s, but no one here realized that. And Rollo had always insisted on knowing where his priests were being sent, on the pretext of making sure they would be compatible with their protectors.
Henri said: ‘Can you rely on these people?’
‘Your grace, they are not just Catholics. They are men who are already risking the death penalty for harbouring the priests I have been smuggling into England for the last ten years. They are utterly trustworthy.’
The duke looked impressed. ‘I see.’
‘Not only will they supply maps: they will be the core of the uprising that will support the invasion.’
‘Very good,’ said Henri.
Pierre spoke for the first time. ‘There remains one essential element: Mary Stuart, the queen of the Scots. We cannot embark on this enterprise unless we have a clear commitment from her that she will support the rebellion, authorize the execution of Elizabeth, and assume the crown herself.’
Rollo took a deep breath. ‘I will undertake to make sure of her,’ he said. He silently prayed that he would be able to keep this ambitious promise.
Henri said: ‘But she is in prison, and her letters are monitored.’
‘That’s a problem, but not insuperable.’
The duke seemed satisfied with that. He looked around the room. With the brisk impatience common to powerful men, he said: ‘I think that’s all. Gentlemen, thank you for your attendance.’
Rollo glanced to the door and saw, to his surprise, that the three servants had been joined by a fourth person, a man in his early twenties whose hair was cut in the short style fashionable among students. He looked vaguely familiar. Whoever he was, he had presumably heard Rollo promise to betray his country. Unnerved, Rollo pointed and said loudly: ‘Who is that man?’
Pierre answered: ‘It’s my stepson. What the devil are you doing here, Alain?’
Rollo recognized him now. He had seen the boy several times over the years. He had the blond hair and beard of the Guise family. ‘My mother is ill,’ Alain said.
