John Stack - Armada

The door of the study opened and the Duke of Clarsdale swept into the room followed by Nichols, who held the door.

‘Make sure we are not disturbed,’ the duke said tersely and the butler withdrew.

Clarsdale’s face was flushed and he was breathing deeply. He had ridden hard from the boundary of his land upon hearing of Father Blackthorne’s arrival. He indicated for the priest to be seated without courtesy or delay.

‘Where have you been?’ Clarsdale began angrily. ‘I had thought you captured it has been so long.’

‘I bring good news, your grace,’ Father Blackthorne replied, trying to forestall any argument, conscious that when they had last met he had given the duke the impression that his search for a sailor of rank who could aid their cause would be brief.

‘It had better be,’ Clarsdale warned. ‘In the past two months I have received two messages …’

He stopped abruptly and silently cursed his lack of self control. He was revealing too much in telling the priest about any contact with his counterpart in Spain. Both messages had been from Nathaniel Young concerning his lack of progress in securing a naval agent, the second even more abrupt than the first. The criticism of his ability was deeply offensive to Clarsdale, particularly as it came from a penniless, exiled duke. He held Father Blackthorne solely responsible for their failure thus far and was sorely tempted to share the offensive communiqués with him.

‘What is this news?’ he asked curtly.

‘I have secured many men who are willing to support a Spanish landing on the south coast,’ Father Blackthorne began enthusiastically. ‘Most of them possess their own weapons and at least a quarter of them have access to a horse.’

‘But what of my request for an agent in the fleet?’

Father Blackthorne smiled and sat forward. ‘I believe I have found you such a man.’

Clarsdale mirrored the priest’s movements and leaned in, his face expectant. ‘Who is he?’

‘His real name is Robert Young. His father was the Duke of Greyfarne, who took part in the Northern Rebellion in 1569. I believe he subsequently died in exile but before he fled England he placed his son in the care of another family. The boy adopted their surname and to this day his real identity remains a secret.’

The breath caught in Clarsdale’s throat at the mention of the Duke of Greyfarne. With an enormous effort of will Clarsdale kept his natural reaction in check and remained outwardly composed, while inside he rejoiced at his good fortune. He noticed the priest was staring at him and realized he had allowed a silence to draw out. He quickly gathered his thoughts.

‘This family he lives with. You know them?’

‘Yes, and they might pose a problem. They are loyal recusants and Robert is heavily influenced by his adoptive father.’

‘Loyal recusants,’ Clarsdale spat. The name was an abomination, a contradiction in terms. Clarsdale considered such people to be fools.

‘So you have not yet approached this man?’

‘No, but I believe I have the means to secure what we need. I am withholding absolution for a grave sin he has committed.’

Clarsdale was surprised by the priest’s unscrupulous approach. The act itself did not shock him, but he had not believed the priest would stoop to such levels. The revelation gave him new confidence in Father Blackthorne and a sense that perhaps he could be trusted to a greater degree.

He considered the priest’s approach. It had merit, but Clarsdale was unconvinced it was enough and his natural caution made him wary. The priest would need a more persuasive lure than this. Clarsdale weighed up the risk involved in revealing the truth to him against the prize of securing Nathaniel Young’s lost son as an agent. He decided in an instant.

‘You will only have one chance to approach Robert Young,’ he began. ‘If his misguided loyalty to Elizabeth runs too deep he could reject your proposal, regardless of his remorse for his actions, and immediately turn you over to the authorities.’

‘Never!’ Father Blackthorne protested.

‘You cannot be sure, despite what you think.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’

Clarsdale stood up and walked over to the window. ‘In sharing this information with you, Father, I am risking a great deal. But I assure you it will be enough to secure Robert Young’s cooperation and loyalty.’

Father Blackthorne stood up, perplexed.

Clarsdale turned to face him. ‘Robert Young’s father did not die in exile as many believe. He is alive and currently living in Spain.’

‘But how … how do you know this?’ Father Blackthorne stammered, deeply shocked by the news. His thoughts went to the twelve-year-old boy he had first met all those years ago in Brixham, and the years of anguish he knew Robert had suffered for the loss of his father, his family and his name.

‘My contact in Spain,’ Clarsdale went on. ‘The man who seeks information on the fleet. It is the Duke of Greyfarne – Nathaniel Young.’

‘Merciful God,’ Father Blackthorne whispered. ‘Robert’s father.’

‘The very same,’ Clarsdale smiled, although it did not reach his eyes. The recruitment of Robert Young would be a considerable achievement, one certainly worthy of great reward. The Spanish would soon invade England. This was inevitable, regardless of any delay Drake’s recent attacks might have caused. When they did invade, Clarsdale was determined he would benefit directly from the reign of whatever monarch they placed on the throne. To ensure such favour he needed to increase his value in the eyes of the Spanish. The recruitment of Robert Young would significantly advance that goal. The only obstruction was Nathaniel Young. As the bearer of each report to the Spanish, he would be first to claim any prize.

Clarsdale looked out the window at the land he possessed and all he risked daily for his faith. He was the seventh duke, a lineage that had remained unbroken despite the Tudors’s anarchic reign. Sadly, his wife had borne him no children. Upon his death the title he so dearly loved would pass to his younger brother, a man he despised and the father of a prodigious brood.

On two occasions he had asked Rome for an annulment of his marriage so that he could remarry and father an heir with another woman. The first application had been made purely on the grounds of cold practicality while the second, years later, was an impassioned plea that included a pointed reference to his courageous service to the Catholic faith. Both claims had been dismissed. Clarsdale had often thought how much easier it might have been if his marriage had been Church of England and he had had the option to apply directly to the Crown.

He nodded to himself, his gaze sweeping over his land one last time: it was time to claim a measure of material reward, as well as the place in Heaven his actions had assuredly gained him. He had sacrificed much for his faith. Once Robert Young had been recruited he would find a way to bypass Nathaniel Young completely and communicate directly with a senior Spanish courtier, or with luck, one of King Philip’s personal advisors. Then the Duke of Greyfarne would no longer hold sway over his destiny, and the reward he sought would be seen as no more than his due. He turned and looked to Father Blackthorne, who was lost in his own thoughts.

‘You must go now, Father,’ Clarsdale said, startling the priest. ‘I will have one of my men escort you to the edge of my lands. Will it take you long to reach Plymouth?’

‘Three, maybe four days,’ Father Blackthorne replied, gathering his wits. ‘I plan to meet Robert at our usual place.’

Clarsdale nodded. ‘Then go with God, Father. I will pray for your success.’

‘Thank you, your grace,’ Father Blackthorne replied, slightly taken aback by the duke’s unusually genial farewell. He opened the door and crossed the threshold, then stopped suddenly, his head darting to the right.