"The village of Bisley grew up at the cross-roads of the two most important roads through the parish, from Painswick to Cirencester and from Chalford to Birdlip." -Bram Stoker.

Astride an inky velvet steed, Sir Francis Walsingham, dressed all in black, stealthily traveled the main road under the cover of darkness. He was nearly invisible with the arrival of twilight. Unwary travelers who had crossed his path noted how the man's dark complexion imbued him with an air of danger and mystery. Under a fine woolen hood, his chiseled face was hard, cold, and calculating.

In his leather satchel Walsingham carried a newly scribed cipher book. It had been written in the utmost secrecy by his most trusted associate, and fellow exile, Sir Hampton. The updated tradecraft cipher was unbreakable; the book an incorruptible key to protecting the coded messages between Walsingham and his spy network. He would deliver it personally to Father Ballard, a Greyfriar of the Franciscan friary order. He was Walsingham's most trusted counter-intelligence spy in the Catholic Church, apprising him of the bishop's Vatican correspondence by using a system of dead-letter boxes, ciphers, and secret writing. Walsingham clutched the satchel tighter. He urged his steed on. If the cipher ever fell into the wrong hands, the White Rose Party would be eradicated.

He arrived at his destination around midnight. A stout, middle aged monk quietly greeted him. The unassuming fringe haired friar was dressed in a ghostly grey woolen habit. As meek as a rabbit, wily as a fox, Ballard was the perfect spy. "I trust you had a good return journey from the continent, Sir Francis." When Walsingham didn't reply, Ballard gave up his attempt at polite pleasantries.

"Tell me about the Princess's replacement." Walsingham dismounted.

"My sources tell me the boy from Bisley is a simple farm lad. It will likely be easy for you to bend him to your will." Ballard knew Walsingham's sinister gift was manipulating men's minds, then applying them to his own use.

"Excellent. We have a pawn in place with a clear path. In no time, we shall advance him to the crown." Walsingham's ultimate goal was twofold; repress Catholic interests and then outmaneuver the Spanish. Their armada being one of the greatest threat to England's sovereignty.

Ballard hesitated before volunteering, "There's talk of Henry Fitzroy being the next king."

"Ridiculous! I have it on good authority Fitzroy has tuberculoses. He will not survive the winter."

"It would seem that fate and the heavens have aligned for The House of York to prevail." Father Ballard lowered his head piously.

"Fate and heaven had nothing to do with these events! It was my strategic planning. I've toiled for years in exile, orchestrating complex opportunities for England. The imposter Neville replacing the Princess was a fortuitous stroke of luck." Father Ballard remained silent as his employer spoke. He was frightened and shocked by the Master Spy's arrogance. The man's narcissistic view of the world bordered on sacrilegious.

Walsignham handed Ballard the cipher book. "Only three copies exist. Myself and Mother Shipton have the other two. You must take the utmost care to ensure this one is kept safe."

The friar bowed, sliding the small leather book into one of the sleeves of his robe. "Don't worry, my Lord. God is on our side." As Ballard said this, a small voice inside his head warned him that God had nothing to do with this man. Walsingham was a Machiavellian agent of the devil. "Video et taceo" was the Master spy's motto, to see and keep silent, just like Lucifer. The cruel tortures this man had inflicted on his political victims made the friar shudder with disgust. Walsingham was right. The Bisley boy's replacement of the Princess had been a fortunate accident. But how in God's name could Walsingham expect a child, a naive boy from the countryside, to navigate the halls of the English court and survive? The most complex web of intrigue, imaginable.