CHAPTER 7
25th July 1587. Saint Michael’s Church near Plymouth.
Robert reached out with his hand as his foot slipped on the scree, pausing for a moment near the top of the motte. He looked over his shoulder. The sun was setting behind Saint Michael’s church and the whole building glowed. It was a captivating sight, and Robert’s eyes were drawn to the windows of the nave and the filtered light that shone through the diamond shaped panes onto the field separating the church from the motte. He was suddenly conscious of how visible he was on the exposed hillside, and he continued hastily up the slope.
Robert reached the top and ducked in behind one of the crumbling walls. On the faint breeze he smelled a trace of wood smoke and charred meat and he looked about him, wondering where Father Blackthorne might be hiding.
‘
‘In the hand of God, Robert,’ he replied, walking forward with his hand outstretched. Robert fell to his knees and Father Blackthorne blessed him.
‘It is good to see you, Robert.’
‘And you, Father. Tell me, have you been able to decide my penance?’
The priest nodded. ‘Come,’ he said, leading Robert back to his smouldering fire.
They sat down. Father Blackthorne glanced across at Robert as he gathered his thoughts. The young man looked haggard and his bloodshot eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Father Blackthorne felt a worm of guilt gnaw at his insides for his delay in easing Robert’s conscience, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that the incredible news he was about to deliver would surely bring the young man happiness.
‘I have prayed for guidance on how you can be absolved of your sin,’ Father Blackthorne began, choosing his words carefully, mindful of Clarsdale’s warning that he would only have one chance to persuade Robert to betray the English fleet. ‘That prayer has led to visions of the suffering that our mother church endures under the yoke of Elizabeth. We must all work to ease that suffering, Robert. Your penance lies in taking up the mantle of that fight.’
Robert shifted uneasily. He had long known that his confessor was sympathetic to the seditious cause of overthrowing Elizabeth but his words suggested that sympathy also extended to deeds.
‘God has chosen one man above all to help us in this struggle,’ the priest continued. ‘One king whose people share our blessed faith. But that king labours in darkness and needs the light of information to allow him to complete God’s will.’
‘The Spanish,’ Robert spat. ‘What information …?’
He stopped as he realized what Father Blackthorne was asking of him.
‘Merciful God, Father, surely you are not asking me to betray …’
Father Blackthorne raised his hand to cut Robert short.
‘Hear me out, my son,’ he said calmly. ‘You have come here to be absolved of the sin you committed in Sagres, but I tell you solemnly, that sin is but a mote to the beam that is the greater sin you commit every day by supporting the heretic Queen who rules this land.’
Robert stood up, his fists balled in anger.
‘You are wrong, Father,’ he hissed. ‘My loyalty to Elizabeth is not a sin – it is my duty as an Englishman. She is our sovereign, regardless of her beliefs.’
‘But her reign, and the blasphemous faith she imposes, threatens the soul of every man in England.’ Father Blackthorne rose and confronted the angry young man.
‘Not mine, Father. My soul is secure in my faith, as are the souls of countless others. I believe that God will not forsake this land. He will save England by opening the eyes of Elizabeth or those of the English monarch who will succeed her.’
Father Blackthorne sighed. Clarsdale had been right about the depth of Robert’s loyalty to the Crown. He had hoped to persuade Robert to help him, then reveal Nathaniel Young’s involvement as a reward. He now knew he would have to use the news about Robert’s father as a lure to convince him. Father Blackthorne firmly believed that Robert’s soul was in jeopardy, as were all Catholics who supported Elizabeth, and he was sorry he could not persuade him otherwise.
‘Sit down, Robert,’ he said gently and he waited patiently for him to comply.
‘I regret you cannot see the danger to your immortal soul, but if that blindness prevents you from helping our cause, then perhaps what I am about to tell you will change your mind and open your heart.’
Robert did not reply. His anger was making him restless, so the priest pressed on hurriedly.
‘I know you have suffered much for your faith by living a lie under an assumed name. God has seen your pain and in his wisdom he has found a way to both ease your misery and offer you a chance to embrace our cause.’
Despite his previous resolve, Robert turned to leave. He could not countenance another treacherous word from his confessor.
Father Blackthorne quickly blustered out the words he had rehearsed so carefully.
‘The Spanish require information on the movements of the English fleet,’ he said rapidly. ‘That information is to be fed to a local nobleman who would then send it on to his contact in Spain.’
‘Enough!’ Robert began to walk away.
‘Wait. That nobleman’s contact in Spain is the Duke of Greyfarne.’
Robert froze.
‘Your father, Robert. Nathaniel Young. He is alive, in exile in Spain.’
‘It cannot be.’ Robert turned slowly around to face Father Blackthorne. ‘You must be … it cannot be. My father?’
‘It’s true, Robert. I did not know myself until only a few days ago.’
‘He’s alive,’ Robert said, almost to himself. ‘All these years.’
‘And still fighting to save England.’
Robert stared at the priest, his mind reeling. His father was in league with the Spanish, with the enemy he was fighting against, the enemy of England. Robert knew he should curse his father for the traitor he was and yet he found he could not. Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, he staggered over to the fire to sit down before his legs gave way.
‘Does my father know you have approached me?’
‘I do not think he knows anything about you, certainly not where you are or what you have become. Clarsdale was surprised to learn of you himself.’
‘Clarsdale?’
Father Blackthorne cursed his slip but quickly reasoned that Robert would soon learn that name regardless.
‘The Duke of Clarsdale. He is your father’s colleague here in England.’
Robert dropped his head into his open palms. He was nauseous and he swallowed hard. He felt like he was staring into an abyss. To step forward meant to become mired in treachery and sedition. But there was a chance to send word to his father, to communicate with him for the first time in nearly twenty years.
He looked up at the man who had been his confessor, his confidant from almost the day his father left England. For the first time, Robert sensed he could not be trusted. Behind the compassionate expression of a priest, Robert now saw the man, as capable as any other of ruthlessness and perfidy. He vowed to remain guarded as he committed himself to his next step.
‘When can I meet Clarsdale?’
Father Blackthorne smiled. ‘Whenever you can release yourself from your ship.’
Robert thought for a moment. ‘Two days.’
‘You will not regret this, Robert,’ Father Blackthorne said, helping him up. ‘God works in ways that astound us all. His hand has guided you and your father together so that you can unite to help restore England to the true faith.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Robert lied, allowing himself to be led to the edge of the ruins. He left the priest with a promise to return within two days.
