Текст книги "A Dangerous Inheritance"
Автор книги: Alison Weir
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
‘In truth, it does me good to see you both again,’ he declared. ‘My lady, you have brought young Warwick with you, as I commanded?’
‘I have, my lord,’ Anne said, and Kate had an uncomfortable memory of her futile attempts to make conversation with the awkward lad on the journey.
‘I need Warwick under my eye, for his own safety,’ her father said. ‘Who knows what these traitors will do next? Fortunately, the late conspiracies were uncovered in time and dealt with, but there may be others.’ He got up and began pacing up and down the room. ‘Why cannot people accept that none of my brothers’ children are his rightful heirs? The Wydevilles never cease plotting against me. Even Buckingham has abandoned me, I fear.’
‘Buckingham?’ gasped Anne. ‘I cannot believe it!’
The King sat down, shaking his head. He looked pale. ‘We quarrelled at Gloucester. He accused me of not keeping my promise to grant him the Bohun lands; he has been claiming they are his for a long time. He took umbrage and departed for his estates at Brecon, saying he had pressing business there.’
‘But he owes all his wealth and power to you! Without you, he is nothing.’
‘You forget I owe my throne to him, my lady. He was most eloquent at persuading people that I should be king.’ He sighed. ‘Do not worry about Buckingham. I will deal with him.’
‘What of the other lords? Norfolk, Northumberland, Stanley and the rest?’ Anne asked worriedly.
‘Loyal, as far as I can tell. Stanley will always be suspect because of his Beaufort wife, but so far he has kept her ambitions in check.’
‘Her ambitions?’
‘The woman is obsessed with her son, Henry Tudor. Those two like to keep up the fiction that he is the Lancastrian claimant to the throne. Can you believe that? The Cousins’ Wars between Lancaster and York were over and done with twelve years ago. Someone should tell them!’
‘But how can Henry Tudor be the Lancastrian heir?’ Kate asked.
‘He cannot,’ her father said. ‘He is of bastard stock. John of Gaunt’s Beaufort bastards were the children of his mistress, Dame Katherine Swynford, born before their marriage. They have no right to inherit the crown.’
‘What of his father?’
‘He was Edmund Tudor, the son of some unknown Welshman – and Henry Tudor, as far as I am concerned, is another unknown Welshman, and not worth bothering about. Lady Stanley is welcome to her fantasies, but that’s all they can ever be. No, my Kate, the true heir is your brother, Prince Edward. And Anne, I mind, when we are at York, to have him brought there from Middleham so that I can invest him as Prince of Wales.’
‘Oh, that is good news!’ Anne exclaimed. ‘I have missed Edward so much. I long to embrace him.’ Richard laid his hand over hers; such gestures of tenderness were rare between them these days.
‘That is not the only piece of good news I have for you.’ He smiled. ‘This day, there arrived at my court ambassadors from King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain, come to negotiate a marriage for our little Prince with a Spanish infanta. Edward will have a fit mate to match his royal status as England’s heir.’
‘A Spanish infanta?’ Anne echoed, delighted. ‘Any daughter of the Spanish sovereigns will be an excellent match for Edward.’ She paused. ‘Speaking of marriage, there is something I must ask you, my lord.’
Kate’s spirits wavered. This was the moment she had been dreading. At least her father was in a better mood, beaming at the thought of those proud little infantas. She reached for the ewer and refilled his goblet, hoping to mellow him further.
‘It concerns Kate’s marriage,’ the Queen said.
‘Indeed?’ the King asked, his grin fading. ‘Has someone asked for her hand?’
‘No, but your nephew Lincoln has been paying her his addresses.’
Kate quailed as her father looked piercingly at her.
‘He has done nothing wrong, Sire!’ she hastened to say. ‘He just pays court to me, reads me poems and tells me I am beautiful.’
Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘As indeed you are, my Kate.’ He reflected for a moment. ‘In truth, I had not thought to see any man come courting you so soon, but now I perceive that I have been thinking of you only as a child. I see I must come to terms with your growing up. How long has this been going on?’
‘Since the day of the coronation.’
‘Indeed. Has my nephew spoken of marriage?’
‘No, Sire – only of love.’ Kate blushed. ‘But we have not known each other very long. And I have not seen him since you left Windsor.’
Her father appeared to consider the matter, as Anne sat silent and Kate waited in trepidation. Never before had it been made so plain to her that her future happiness lay in the hands of one man, who had absolute power over her fate.
‘Lincoln is a fine young lord, the best servant a king could have,’ Richard said at length. ‘However, you are not the first damsel to whom he has paid court like this, although I have never heard that his behaviour has ever been dishonourable. We must wait to see if he intends marriage.’
‘And if he does?’ Kate breathed.
‘I will consider it. The idea does not displease me, but there is no haste. You are not yet fourteen, and I would keep you with me for a while longer.’
‘Then I may go and find him?’ she asked excitedly.
‘I will not forbid it, so long as, for now, you think of him only as your cousin and conduct yourself accordingly. There is to be no more talk of love, still less of marriage. Such decisions are best left to those who are older, wiser and not blinded by their passions to all good sense. So, yes, you may enjoy my lord of Lincoln’s company, but never alone. Do you heed me?’
‘Yes, Sire,’ Kate replied, a little crestfallen.
Her father smiled. ‘I am not so old that I cannot remember what it was like to be young. Youth needs the friendship and company of its own kind. Long before your stepmother and I were betrothed, we spent every moment we could together at Middleham and Warwick – not that her father knew about it.’ He smiled at Anne. ‘But we never overstepped the bounds of friendship, and that is as far as it can go with your cousin of Lincoln, Kate. I am trusting you to behave virtuously and with decorum.’
As soon as supper was over, Kate made her curtseys and sped downstairs to the great hall, which was packed with the King’s nobles and liveried retainers, carousing and singing. There was no sign of John among them, so she hurried out into the bailey and looked for him there. To her delight, she spotted him in a little garden at the foot of a grassy mound in the far corner, lounging on the sward with two other men. They were deep in conversation, and she hesitated to intrude, but when one of John’s companions – whom she recognised as the sly lawyer, Sir William Catesby, now her father’s Chancellor of the Exchequer – espied her and rose quickly to his feet, the rest followed suit. John’s face broke into a radiant smile when he beheld her, and he made a courtly bow and kissed her hand. The other man, she saw, was Lord Stanley. He was much older than the first two, with long, straggly greying hair and creased brows that made him look permanently troubled. ‘My lady,’ he said, and bowed too.
‘Come join us, Kate,’ John invited, and she sank down onto the grass, her mustard-coloured skirts spread out about her. ‘We were just enjoying the evening air – it’s hot and noisy in the hall.’ He offered her some marchpane. ‘We were saying how concerned we are about the late conspiracies,’ he said.
‘My father the King has just been telling us about them,’ she said. ‘I cannot believe that the Duke of Buckingham has abandoned him.’
‘Strange business, that,’ said Stanley. ‘No rhyme or reason to it.’
‘It’s possible, of course, that he was bound up in the conspiracies,’ Catesby said. ‘Before he went off to Brecon, he told us they’d tried to involve him in one of the plots, so I suppose he could have been playing a double game. But he did inform the King of the approach that had been made to him, and that information certainly led to some of the conspirators being caught. So we might wonder just why he turned on the King, after being one of his staunchest supporters.’
‘What could the conspirators offer him beyond what the King has given him?’ John asked.
‘They quarrelled over the Bohun estates,’ Stanley said. ‘The Duke accused King Richard of not keeping his promise to grant them to him.’
‘That’s strange too,’ Catesby mused. ‘The King made him a provisional grant of them last month.’
‘Maybe Buckingham didn’t like the fact it was provisional,’ John suggested. ‘Although he must have known he’d get them in the end.’
‘The fact remains that he may now make mischief for our liege lord,’ Stanley pointed out.
‘While the sons of King Edward remain in the Tower, King Richard can never be secure on his throne,’ Catesby said. ‘The late conspiracies proved that.’
‘But the Tower is a safe place,’ John chimed in. ‘They cannot leave, nor can would-be traitors get at them. They are well guarded by our trusty Constable of the Tower. No one could get past Brackenbury.’ That was comforting. Kate had known the kindly, popular Robert Brackenbury when he had served in her father’s household at Middleham, and knew him to be devoted to his master. He would be a gentle gaoler for the two Princes.
‘But it’s not just a question of keeping the boys under guard,’ Catesby was saying, his voice lowered. ‘Even though the Lord Bastard is innocent of any involvement in those conspiracies to put him back on the throne, he is a danger to King Richard – and his brother too. Some still persist in regarding them as the rightful heirs of York.’
It was a warm evening, but Kate suddenly felt chilly.
‘What is your thrust, William?’ John asked. ‘How should my uncle deal with that threat?’
Catesby shrugged. His expression was unreadable.
Stanley spoke with some vehemence. ‘Ask yourselves what happened to other deposed monarchs. What became of Edward II and Richard II? Why it is that the Princes have not been seen since before the coronation? They were out shooting at the butts in the Lieutenant’s garden several times before that. But since then, to my knowledge, no one has seen them.’ Kate noticed, to her dismay, that Stanley was weeping.
‘Good my lord, take comfort from the fact that my uncle the King would never harm his nephews,’ John said.
‘No, he would not!’ Kate cried. ‘He was loyal to King Edward. He will be a protector to his sons.’
‘I am not the only one to voice fears for their safety,’ Stanley muttered. ‘Listen about the court; hearken in the streets. Men are asking what has become of them. I do not accuse the King of any crime, or of bearing ill will towards his nephews. I just wonder why they have been withdrawn from men’s sight. Surely his Grace has heard the rumours? He has but to show the boys to the people and they will be quelled!’
‘Rest assured I will speak to him about it,’ John said.
‘I thank you, my lord,’ Stanley replied, rising to his feet. ‘And my Lady Katherine, forgive an old man for worrying too much, and for spoiling this beautiful evening. It was intended for dalliance, not for politics.’
‘Yes, my lord, of course,’ Kate nodded, but she was still reeling from the enormity of what Stanley had implied.
‘I must go too,’ Catesby said. ‘Good evening, Lady Katherine.’
John turned to Kate and placed his arm about her shoulders. ‘Do not heed malicious gossip,’ he advised her. ‘I’ll wager Stanley’s wife has been pouring poison in his ear.’
‘He wasvery upset,’ Kate observed. ‘And it seemed that Sir William was trying to insinuate something.’
‘He’s a cold fish, and I could easily believe that he would urge the necessity of doing away with the Princes,’ John said, frowning. ‘But that the King would sanction it – that I cannot, and will not, believe.’
He moved closer to her. ‘Forget all this, Kate, my sweeting. Let us talk of more pleasant things. I have been saving a poem for you.’
But Kate’s mind was in a turmoil. Her mind retained that shocking image of Lord Stanley weeping; his distress had not been feigned.
‘I can’t bear the thought of people thinking such dreadful things about my father,’ she said.
‘Sweetheart, I make no doubt that, once I have spoken to the King about those rumours, he will ensure that they do not. Now, be at peace, and listen to this.’ He began to recite, but Kate was not listening. She could not forget what Lord Stanley had said. Her father must refute those rumours. He must!
Katherine
January 1554. Whitehall Palace.
The palace is in an uproar. It is terrifying! Some of the women are saying we shall all be murdered in our beds, and the Queen too! There have been rumbles of discontent for weeks – since the Queen’s forthcoming marriage was announced, in fact – but now a Kentish gentleman with a grievance, the hot-headed Sir Thomas Wyatt, is advancing on London at the head of a great army of rebels, in protest against the Spanish match. Only days ago, he raised his standard at Maidstone, and the people flocked to him. Now word has come that they have taken Rochester Bridge and the royal fleet moored in the Medway and are marching this way. There is much panic among the ladies of the court – and indeed in London itself. Who knows what the rebels intend?
There have been concerns expressed about the Lady Elizabeth, who was finally allowed to leave court last month after bringing much pressure to bear on her sister. Relations between the Lady Elizabeth and Queen Mary had become uncomfortably strained, and no doubt her Majesty was glad to see the back of her. Yet now people think it strange that she departed the court not long before the rebellion.
The Queen, unlike most of the rest of us, is calm. Not for nothing is she a Tudor. I wish I could be like her, for the same blood runs in my veins, but I am of poor courage, wanting to run as far away from here as I can. Yet I must stay where I am, where I can be seen to be loyal to my sovereign. I am spending much of my time at prayer, fearfully imploring God for a speedy deliverance from these traitors.
The most terrible news has come. There have been further uprisings in Devon and the Midlands, both linked to Wyatt’s rebellion, and orchestrated by the same traitors. Fortunately they have proved abortive, but the worst news – for me – is that the revolt in Leicestershire was led by my father. He even went so far as to declare for Jane, proclaiming her queen once more. I am mortified when the Queen herself breaks these tidings to me, and she can see how covered with shame I am, for she speaks kindly to me and assures me she knows I am loyal and true to her, even if my father is not.
Words fail me when I think of the Duke my lord. Even though I have been brought up to respect and honour him, and never to question his word, I have to acknowledge that he has acted with great stupidity and lack of judgement. Did he not think how his rash and treasonable acts could rebound on us all, especially on poor Jane, innocently biding her time in the Tower, waiting to be freed? Everyone knows she had nothing to do with this.
As I do my best to look invisible, the Queen commands the Lady Elizabeth to return to court. Back comes the reply: her Grace has a cold and a headache, and is too ill to travel. The Queen frowns as she puts down the letter. ‘I do not believe it,’ she says. ‘She is intriguing with the French; I have proof of it. She is no sister of mine!’ She rises and angrily raps out an order that the Lady Elizabeth’s portrait be taken down from the gallery.
My mother, in the foulest of tempers, seeks me out at court on the day that my father and other rebel leaders are publicly proclaimed traitors.
‘Well, I did warn him!’ my lady says when we are alone together. ‘Of course, the fool would not listen, and now I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings us all down with him. There’ll be no reprieve this time. The Queen is no longer so disposed to mercy.’
She speaks truth, and certainly there are no grounds for pleading for my father.
‘What will happen to him?’ I ask, heavy-hearted.
‘What happens to all traitors,’ she answers gruffly, betraying no emotion but anger. ‘You had best face up to it. He knew what he was risking.’
The rebels at are Gravesend. The gates of London are now under heavy guard, and the drawbridge on London Bridge has been raised.
I am among the ladies waiting on the Queen when she receives a deputation of the Commons, who beg her to reconsider her decision to wed Prince Philip.
‘I cannot do that,’ she tells them, ‘for my word is given, and this alliance will bring the kingdom great benefits. I consider myself his Highness’s wife. I will never take another husband; I would rather lose my crown and my life. Yet I assure you, my loyal Commons, that this marriage will never interfere with your liberties.’
Her spirit remains firm. Ignoring the chorus of protest from her ministers and her ladies, she is resolved upon a personal appeal to the Londoners, and in the afternoon we nervously follow her to the Guildhall. Up to the last minute, she adamantly rejected all her councillors’ pleas to consider her safety and not venture forth into the City.
She is fearless. We stand behind her as she faces the Lord Mayor and a vast crowd of people. Her speech is long and masterful. I listen, marvelling, as she reminds them that she is their Queen, and tells them she loves them as naturally as a mother loves her child. She assures them she would abstain from this marriage if it did not appear to be for the high benefit of the realm.
‘I am minded to live and die with you!’ she cries in her deep, man-like voice, reminding them that all they hold dear is under threat. ‘And now, good subjects, pluck up your hearts, and like true men face up to these rebels, and fear them not – for I assure you I fear them nothing at all!’
The response is tremendous. Caps are thrown into the air and tears are shed as there is a resounding ovation. We depart to the roar of cheering, heartened by the knowledge that Queen Mary, by her courage, now has London in the palm of her hand.
The Londoners have destroyed London Bridge, so that Wyatt and his hordes may not cross the river from the Surrey shore. There are frightening reports that he has sacked the old priory of St Mary Overie in Southwark and Winchester Palace nearby. In the City there is much noise and tumult as men shut up their shops, put on their armour and obey the Lord Mayor’s command to guard their front doors.
In the palace, it is as if we are under siege. The Queen’s presence chamber is thronged with armed guards. In her privy chamber, we ladies huddle together, many of us weeping and lamenting our perilous position; I confess I am among the most tremulous. My mother, though, sits tight-lipped and straight-backed. She will not give way to fear.
The waiting is intolerable. When will the violence begin?
The Queen remains calm and steadfast. ‘You must place your trust in God,’ she exhorts us. ‘He will deliver us from this present danger.’
She refuses to allow the Tower guns to be fired across the Thames at the rebel army.
‘My innocent subjects in Southwark might be killed,’ she protests. But Wyatt clearly underestimates the Queen’s compassion. To avoid being bombarded, he leads his army upriver to Kingston, and crosses the Thames. There is near panic at Whitehall. Women can be heard shrieking and wailing; doors slam as people race about trying to find hiding places for themselves and their valuables; and many of the servants have fled. I push Arthur and Guinevere under my bed, and wag my finger severely, commanding them to stay there.
The Queen is urged by her advisers to escape by river, a suggestion she rejects with derision. ‘I will tarry to the uttermost,’ she declares. ‘I only wish I were not a weak woman and could take to the field in person.’
Arms are hastily issued to every member of the royal household. I’ll even wield a pistol myself if necessary.
It is my father-in-law, the martial Earl of Pembroke, who checks Wyatt’s advance. News comes that his cavalry has forced the rebels to halt at St James’s Park, a stone’s throw from Whitehall. So nearly had we come close to disaster! Then we hear gunfire, which sets all the courtiers panicking again. ‘Fall to prayer!’ the Queen exhorts us. Yet soon comes the news: Wyatt has been taken at Charing Cross, and is on his way to the Tower! The rebellion is over. We are safe.
Of my father, still no word.
‘God has worked a miracle,’ the Queen declares. ‘Now I will strike terror into all who are disposed to do evil.’
The leaders of the revolt are to be executed, as an example to other would-be traitors. My father, when he is caught – and that can only be a matter of time – will surely suffer the same fate. Suddenly people are avoiding my mother and me. The prospect of the crown now seems a very distant one. But I am more distressed about my father.
‘He brought it on his own head,’ my lady repeats dully, as if the fight has gone out of her. She seems resigned to his death. Yet it seems a very terrible punishment to me, even though he has fully deserved it. And I find it hard to accept that the father I have known – and looked up to until these last days – is soon to die.
Kate
August 1483. Pontefract Castle, Yorkshire.
Coventry. Leicester. Nottingham. Doncaster. It was a long progress, and the Queen was finding it exhausting. What kept her going was the prospect of seeing her son, and when the court at last arrived at the great stronghold of Pontefract, there was the most joyful of reunions. The fair, delicate little boy was restored to his mother’s arms, and his proud father lifted him high and announced to everyone that Edward of Middleham was to be invested as Prince of Wales as soon as the progress reached York. There were cheers from the assembled lords; this was a much warmer reception than in most other places, for King Richard was now in the heartlands of his affinity, and many northern lords had ridden over eagerly to pay their loyal respects.
Kate became aware that someone was watching her, and among the officers of the Prince’s retinue she saw him again: Ferret Face, the black-haired man who had stared at her on coronation day. She gave him a disdainful glance and then forgot about him.
A few days later, Kate followed among a bevy of noble ladies as the King and Queen, holding the little Prince by both hands, walked with him into York Minster for his solemn investiture. The child won all hearts, as he lisped his way through the great ceremony and sat patiently while all the great lords, one by one, paid him homage and swore oaths to him as his father’s heir; but at the feast afterwards he became restive and wanted to go off and play ball, and was only with difficulty constrained to stay in his high seat. King Richard looked happier and more relaxed than he had done in weeks, and Queen Anne was all smiles, doting on her son.
If there had been rumours about the Princes, there was no echo of them here. There was nothing but praise for the new King, and fervent expressions of loyalty. With the realm so quiet, Kate had no doubt that her father would keep his word and release the Princes very soon.
Her feelings for John were growing. They would try to slip away from the revelry at court or their respective duties and seek each other out in deserted gardens or shadowed arbours. It was in the garden at Nottingham Castle, that mighty fortress built on a rock, that he first kissed her, on a bright afternoon with a fragrant hint of autumn in the air. Without warning he’d bent forward and gently brushed her lips with his. And then they were in each other’s arms, kissing as if the world was about to end, and not caring who saw.
‘Sweet lady,’ John gasped, ‘no one has ever held such mastery over my heart as you. I am in torment!’
‘Torment?’ Kate echoed.
‘I would serve you all the days of my life, so I were allowed,’ he breathed. ‘I love you, Kate. Without you, all joy must be at an end. It is that which torments me, for there can be no remedy.’
He loved her! Her heart sang.
‘There canbe a remedy,’ she told him. ‘Why do you think I would not permit you to serve me?’
‘It is not what youwould not permit,’ he answered. ‘It is not you who can heal my malady.’
‘Then who?’ She felt a twinge of fear. Had her father said something to John?
‘Let us not speak of it. I want nothing to sully our precious time together.’
‘It is sullied already,’ she said, near to tears. Something or someone was standing in the way of their love: she knew it.
‘We will defy them all!’ he said fiercely.
‘Defy who?’ Her rare temper, born of fear, was rising. John pushed his fingers through her luxuriant dark hair and took her face firmly in his hands.
‘The whole world, if need be!’
‘I cannot fight an unknown enemy,’ she told him, her voice cold.
‘Believe me, little love – let well alone for now. All may right itself in time. Leave it to me.’
‘I am not a child!’ she cried, and walked off, leaving him to keep his secrets to himself.
He sought her out again, of course. He came and sat quietly beside her in chapel when she was at her devotions, but she refused to acknowledge that he was there. It seemed more than coincidence that she kept running into him in halls, courtyards and other public places, and had repeatedly to force herself to ignore him. Her heart was breaking, but she kept her head high.
‘You will slay me unless you soften your hard heart,’ he muttered, waylaying her by the door to the Queen’s lodgings.
‘The remedy is in your hands!’ she said, but that hard heart of hers was fluttering like a trapped bird’s wings.
‘Very well, have it your way. But you will not like what I shall say to you.’
‘I would prefer honesty, Sir!’
‘It is my father. He has chosen a bride for me, and is already negotiating the marriage contract. I have told him I would wed you instead – and he said that if you were the King’s lawful daughter he might consider it, but that we are too near in blood anyway.’
It was the first time her bastardy had hit her like a slap in the face. She had been made to look of scant consequence in the eyes of the man she loved. Seeing her distress, John took her hand and squeezed it.
‘I paid him no heed, Kate. He is a bully and a blusterer, but I am used to him. I told him I would always love you whatever your birth, and that you are a lady worthy of the highest honour. I said I could never love another.’
‘And what did he reply?’
John frowned. ‘No matter. I will wear him down. It won’t be the first time. And if he thinks he can stop me from paying my addresses to you, he can think again.’
‘He has forbidden it?’
‘I will not let him come between us. It is you I want, Kate. Your beauty, your gentleness – all the wondrous things that make you what you are. If I cannot love you, I should be dead! Say I may remain your servant, I beseech you.’
She said it; of course she did.
Katherine
7th February 1554. Whitehall Palace.
It is rare to be alone in a court, and in her Majesty’s privy chamber there are always servants about. The Queen is never alone, even when sleeping or performing her most intimate functions. Thus, when my mother suddenly appears, grim-faced, and drags me into an anteroom, brusquely dismissing two grooms and saying we need some privacy, I know that the matter is serious. Yet just how serious I could not have dreamed.
‘I have just come from the Queen,’ she blurts out, and to my horror I see that her eyes, normally so sharp and piercing, are brimming with tears. I have never seen my mother weep before – ever. ‘Katherine, there is no easy way to say this. Jane and Guilford are to be put to death.’ Her voice breaks.
Words fail me. I am looking into an abyss. My world is coming to an end.
I sway on my feet, and my mother steadies me, her hands on my shoulders, tenderer than I have ever known them.
‘But the Queen gave her royal word!’ I wail. ‘We trusted in that. How can she go back on it?’
‘Things are different now.’ She sits me down on a stool and half collapses into a chair, trembling. ‘I don’t know what I can do. I feel so helpless. Your father – I can live with that. But Jane! She is a child. She has done nothing but what she was bid. Oh, God forgive me, that I ever consented to Northumberland’s stupid, stupid plans!’ Suddenly we are both sobbing helplessly in each other’s arms, devastated by this tragedy that is overtaking us.
When my tears finally subside, I find myself beached on a strange shore, where nothing makes sense any more.
‘Jane is innocent,’ I declare. ‘She cannotdie for that.’
‘The Queen knows that,’ my lady says, dabbing her eyes. She is now recovering her composure and striving to be the controlled, practical mother I have always known.
‘Her Majesty has capitulated, for her councillors will not hear of her exercising clemency in the wake of the rebellion,’ she says, bitter. ‘She has signed the death warrants. She said the least she could do was to break the news to me face to face. She wept, and assured me that this is the last course she ever wanted to take, but that she has no choice. But she has promised to do all she can to bring about a reprieve. Tomorrow she is sending the Abbot of Westminster to the Tower, to persuade Jane to convert to the Catholic faith. If she consents, her life will be spared.’
I remember the staunchness of my sister’s faith, her scathing comments about the Pope and his cardinals, her contempt for those who compromise their religion for worldly considerations. Dear God, let her not be so dogmatic now!
‘Oh my lady, do you think she will?’
‘I pray for it. But she was ever a froward, difficult girl. I just pray that God guides her to make the right decision.’
*
God has indeed so guided her: but it was the right decision for Jane, not for the rest of us. That she – a young woman of seventeen, young and comely, and with her life ahead of her and so much to live for – could willingly embrace death for the sake of the finer points of a creed is to me beyond comprehension. Does she care at all about us, her loved ones, who are suffering the tortures of the damned on her account? One word, one little word – and her life would be given back to her. Why can she not say it? Why?
