Текст книги "In the Shadow of the Crown "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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“My father would never let me go.”
“Certainly he would not. It would be a great blow to him if he thought you were with the Emperor, for if he declared his marriage to Anne Boleyn nall and void, you are the heir to the throne.”
“But he has declared his marriage to my mother was no true one, and it was said by the bishop at her funeral service that she admitted it, which was a lie, I know … but it was all done at my father's command.”
“That was before he knew that Anne Boleyn had lost the child. All is different now. Her reign is over.”
“They say that he plans to put another in her place.”
He nodded. “We cannot be sure which way events will turn but you must be prepared.”
“What do you suggest?”
“This is highly secret. If it were mentioned outside these walls, it could cause trouble…great trouble. It would cost you your life and there would be little I could do to save it. I should immediately be sent back to Spain. You understand the importance of secrecy?”
“I do.”
He nodded. “My plan is to get you out of this place. There will be horses waiting to take us to the coast, and there we shall cross to Flanders.”
“I shall be taken to my cousin?”
He nodded.
“Now, we must plan. Could you get away without your women's knowledge?”
“I have few servants now, you know.”
“That is good.”
“There are some whom I can trust.”
Chapuys shook his head. “Trust no one. You must slip away unseen. No one must know that you have gone until you are on the sea.”
“They are here. They would see me leave. Unless I gave them a sleeping draught.”
“Would that be possible?”
“I think so…if I had the draught.”
“That would be an easy matter.”
“I should have to avoid Lady Shelton.”
“Would that be difficult?”
“Less so now. She is not so watchful as she once was. She no longer acts like my jailer.”
“This sounds plausible. We should have horses waiting. We could get to Gravesend easily from here… and there embark. You will be hearing more of this from me.”
After he had gone, I lay in my bed thinking of it. I should be taken to my cousin. I remembered so well that occasion—years and years ago it seemed now—when my mother had held my hand and we had stood on the steps at Greenwich while the barge came along. I could see my dazzling father and beside him the young man in black velvet with the gold chain about his neck… the young man with whom I had been told I was in love.
He had broken our engagement, but I had forgiven him that now. I understood that monarchs such as he were governed by expediency. I forgave him for that and for not coming to my rescue as a knight of chivalry and romance would have done, however difficult.
I was no longer romantic. Events had made me cynical, yet still there was a softness in me. I was capable of loving deeply, which was clear by the sorrow the loss of my mother was causing me.
SO WE PLANNED and Chapuys visited me often. Lady Shelton made no objection. Chapuys was deeply anxious that all should go well, for if it did not, there would be dire consequences.
He told me that he was making arrangements with the utmost secrecy and would bring the sleeping draught to me when it was to be administered. I had practiced what I must do. I had made a careful study of how I should go without passing Lady Shelton's window. We must wait for a moonless night when all would be ready.
Lady Shelton came to me the day after I had had a visit from Chapuys and he had told me that, as soon as the moon waned, we would put our plan into action.
She said; “Madam, my lady, we have orders. We leave tomorrow for Hunsdon.”
“But …” I cried, “why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Orders,” she said tersely.
After she had gone, I sat on my bed and stared at the window. This would change everything. We could not go tonight for the moon was too bright. Someone would almost certainly see me creeping across the garden. Besides, the horses would not be ready. Everything had to be perfect. Had someone heard? How could I be sure? There were spies everywhere. I could not believe that it would be someone in my household.
Chapuys came to see me in some consternation.
“Hunsdon,” he said.
“Hunsdon! It will be too difficult from Hunsdon. We could not do it in a night. We should have to ride through the countryside. We should have to change horses. We should be detected. Everything depends on the closeness to Gravesend.”
“What do you suggest that we do? That we give up the plan?”
“Not give it up. Postpone. You will be moved again perhaps. Let us hope it will be back here. One thing I am certain of: we cannot do it from Hunsdon.”
I was not sure how disappointed I was. Now that I had lost my mother, I often thought I had lost my interest in life and my reason for living.
So the plan was set aside and in due course I came to my home at Hunsdon.
I HAD CEASED to brood on what my fate would have been if the escape plot had proceeded, for events were moving very fast at Court. The rift between the King and Anne Boleyn was widening; his feelings for Jane Seymour were deepening; and people were rallying to the Seymour family as before they had to the Boleyns. Chapuys was excited. He believed that the marriage was about to be declared invalid, and he considered what that would mean to me. But if my father was enamored of Jane Seymour, his desire would be to get a son from her; he could still do that if he divorced Anne, for now that my mother was dead he would be free to marry, even in the eyes of the Pope—though my father did not have to care for his opinions now. We all knew that he could without much difficulty cast off Anne Boleyn. He only had to trump up a charge against her. Adultery was the most likely for, according to reports, she was always surrounded by admiring young men, and her attitude was inclined to be flirtatious with them.
Chapuys was watching the situation closely, and his visits to me were more frequent. He told me that my father had people looking into the possibility of a divorce.
“There seem to be some difficulties,” said the ambassador. “All the proceedings were so closely linked to his marriage with your mother, and he does not want that brought out again. It will remind people of his quarrel with the Pope. He just wants to rid himself of Anne Boleyn as simply and speedily as possible.”
“What do you think he will do?”
“He might try charging her with adultery, which would have farreaching effects. Treason to himself… foisting a bastard on the nation as the King's child… all good reasons for getting rid of her.”
It was long since I had thought of the child Elizabeth. How I had resented her when we were both at Hatfield and I was more or less a member of her household. Poor baby, it was no fault of hers. Yet I had hated her. That was just because I had been insulted by her taking precedence over me. Now I thought: Poor child, is she to be treated as I was? What will become of her?
The winter was over, and spring had come; and my father was still married to Anne Boleyn. I heard rumors of the quarrels between them, how she had discovered him with Jane Seymour behaving like lovers, how she had raged and ranted against him and had been told she must take what her betters had before her. So he remembered my mother and admitted the anguish he had caused her. And the proud, brazen Anne Boleyn, how would she take that?
Everyone knows what happened on that May Day, how they were together at the joust at Greenwich, how the King did not speak to Anne as she sat beside him in the royal lodge, how she took out a handkerchief, wiped her brow and allowed it to flutter to the ground, how one of the courtiers—Norris, I think—picked it up on his lance and held it to her with a bow, how the King suddenly turned away in anger and so the joust ended.
That was the beginning. My father must have staged it, for he had already set Cromwell to question those about her. He had decided that, as it would be difficult to arrange a divorce, he would accuse her of adultery. His love had been intense, and no doubt that made his hatred the more fierce. Greatly he had disliked my mother but never with the same venom that he turned on Anne Boleyn. He was going to accuse her of adultery, treason to the King, which carried the penalty of death.
Cromwell wrung a confession from Mark Smeaton, one of her musicians, through torture, most people thought; the young men closest to her– Norris, Francis Weston and William Brereton—were all arrested and sent to the Tower. Most shocking of all, her brother George was accused of incest with her, and there was even a suggestion that Elizabeth was his daughter.
I had always hated her, as she had hated me. We had been the bitterest of enemies; but when I thought of all the indignity and humiliation which had been heaped on my mother, and realized that Anne Boleyn was now the object of my father's fury, I could feel sorry for her.
She was found guilty with those who were accused with her. Of course she was. It was intended.
Norris, Weston and Brereton were taken out to Tower Hill and beheaded. George Boleyn and his sister would follow.
The day before her execution, Lady Kingston, in whose care Anne Boleyn had been placed in the Tower, came to me.
She said, “The Queen has sent me to you, my lady.”
I was always a little taken aback to hear Anne Boleyn referred to as the Queen, even now, though Heaven knew I had heard that title used often enough to describe her. I was about to retort: You are referring to the concubine. But something restrained me. For all her sins, she was suffering acute anguish now.
“What would she want of me?” I asked.
“Forgiveness, my lady,” she replied. “She made me sit in her chair… the Queen's chair… for they have not taken that away from her… and she knelt most humbly at my feet. She said to me, ‘Go to the Princess Mary and kneel to her as I kneel to you. My treatment of the Princess weighs heavily on my conscience. I was cruel to her and I regret that now. For everything else I can go to my Maker with a clear conscience, for I have committed no sin save in my conduct toward the Princess and her mother. I cannot ask forgiveness of Queen Katharine but I humbly beg the Princess to grant me hers. Let her know you come in my name and that it is I who kneel to her through you.'”
I was astounded. I thought: Poor woman, she is indeed brought low.
But she remembered me in her darkest moments and she was now asking my forgiveness.
It was hard to forgive her, but an image of my mother rose in my mind and I knew what she would have me do.
I said, “Tell her to rest in peace. I forgive her on behalf of myself and my mother.”
The next day she went to Tower Green and laid her head on the block.
NO SOONER WAS ANNE BOLEYN DEAD THAN MY FATHER WAS betrothed to Jane Seymour. I am not sure how many days elapsed before he married. It could not have been more than ten. I heard that it had taken place on the 30th of May in the Queen's Closet at York Place. Anne Boleyn had died on the 19th.
I often wondered about my father and whether his nights were disturbed by the ghosts of those who had fallen foul of his will. For so many years Anne Boleyn had been the center of his life. How could he have tired of her so quickly? I wondered about Jane Seymour. I had seen her on one or two occasions and found her gentle and unassuming. She had always been pleasant to me.
The story was that about a month before Anne's death my father had sent her a purse of sovereigns, telling her of his passion for her and hinting that she should become his mistress. Her reply had been that she could be no man's mistress, not even the King's. It was the familiar pattern. Anne Boleyn had started it. I wondered Jane Seymour did not have a few qualms about following her predecessor along such a dangerous path.
Of course she had ambitious brothers and, from what I heard of her, I imagined she would not be one to put up much resistance. In that of course she was the exact opposite of Anne. In fact, she seemed to be so in many ways. Perhaps that was why the King was attracted by her.
Elizabeth was at Hunsdon. She was now three, old enough to recognize the chilly change which was passing through the house and was to affect her.
She was no longer the pampered princess. Poor motherless little creature, I wondered how much she understood. She was a bright child with reddish hair almost exactly like her father's. She resembled him in many ways and had his fondness for her own way. Lady Bryan adored her. It was pleasant to be with my old friend again. I would always be grateful to her for her kindness to me when I was so alone.
Several of my old servants came to me… people I had not seen for several years. That was a joyous reunion. I was above all delighted to see Susan Clarencieux, who had been in my household when I was at Ludlow. I had always been especially fond of her.
I had thought that my circumstances would change with the departure of Anne Boleyn from the scene, and I was proved right.
Chapuys came to me. He was gleeful.
“You could very easily be received back at Court,” he said. “That is what we must work for. The new Queen is ready to be your friend.”
“I do remember meeting her in the past.”
“She has sentimental reasons about the family. The King is amused by them and apt to be indulgent at the moment. I am sure she will speak to him with regard to bringing you to Court.”
“A change from her predecessor!”
“A great change indeed…in all ways. The point is…I wonder how long it will take the King to tire of this shy violet. However, I feel sure it will not be long before you are back at Court. There must be no hitch. It is imperative that you come out of your exile.”
“Do you think the King will admit now that he was truly married to my mother?”
“I think he has gone too far with that to retreat with ease.”
“Still, he now hates Anne Boleyn so much.”
“And blames her for all that has happened. He is saying that it was through witchcraft that he became enamored of her and now that is removed he sees clearly. The people cheer you when you go out, do they not?”
“Yes, more so than ever now.”
“That is good. The King will have to respect the people's wish which is that you be reinstated. It might be advisable for you to write to him and ask his blessing and forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness… for what? For saying what is true… what I meant… for defending my mother?”
Chapuys raised his hand admonishingly. “A little compromise might be necessary.”
“I shall never deny my mother's marriage. She never did and was incapable of lying.”
“We shall see…we shall see,” murmured Chapuys.
“The King is in a mellow mood just now. He has a new wife and she pleases him. He has convinced himself that Anne Boleyn was evil, a witch…so his conscience is at rest on that score.”
“Do you think he will return to Rome?”
“I fear not. He has come too far to turn back.”
“So we are doomed for ever.”
Chapuys looked at me slyly. “It is unwise to talk of these matters, but it is not inconceivable that one day England will return to the true faith.”
“But if the King never would…”
He was looking at me intently. “You are no longer a child. Princess Elizabeth is now proclaimed to be a bastard. Fitzroy might have presented a threat but he cannot live more than a few months. He has death written on him. And the King's fall affected him more than was realized.”
“You mean his fall from the horse just before my mother died?”
He nodded.
“He has not ridden in the joust since. He has aged considerably. I have heard that there is an ulcer on his leg which is very painful. There is a possibility…But perhaps I should say no more. Indeed, it might be unwise to…”
I knew what he meant. My father was ageing. He had not been spectacularly successful in begetting children. What if he could get no more? Then who would follow him? Elizabeth? She was out of favor now, judged a bastard, for the King did not accept his marriage with Anne Boleyn. Nor did he accept his marriage to my mother. So there were two of us. Young Richmond—Henry Fitzroy—could not be counted because he would not be here much longer. I was the elder, and I would find greater favor with the people than the daughter of Anne Boleyn.
Chapuys was pointing to a dazzling prospect. Queen of England! A queen with a mission, which was to bring England back to the Holy Catholic Church.
Something happened to me then. I was lifted out of my despondency. I had a reason for living.
God would smile on me, surely. He would approve. My father had sinned against the Church. If ever I were Queen of this realm, I would repair the damage he had done.
Everything had changed. I was a woman with a mission.
I MUST RETURN to Court. I had been long enough in exile. I was not sure how my father felt about me, but I did know that he had been very angry about my loyalty to my mother. I had stood firmly for her against him and what had especially infuriated him was that the people were on my side. He would remember those cries of “Long live the Princess Mary!” when he had declared that I was no princess. Even now they were shouting loyally for me, and he could not have liked that.
I dared not write to him direct. Instead I addressed myself to Cromwell.
I did humble myself. I hoped my mother would understand if she could look down and see what I was doing. If I continued to be obstinate, I should be in exile forever, always wondering when someone would consider it necessary to make an end of me. Chapuys had now endowed me with a new ambition. I would succeed. I must succeed. I should have Heaven on my side, for I should be the one to bring England back to the true religion.
And if to do so I must humble myself, then humble I must be.
So I wrote asking my father's forgiveness, and I said how sorry I was to have disobeyed his wishes.
I waited for some response. There was none.
I wrote to him again and, having written, my conscience smote me. How could I, even as I stepped toward that dazzling future, deny the legality of my mother's marriage? Whatever the result, I knew that could only give her pain; and she, with her Catholic Faith, her unswerving devotion to the Church of Rome, would never wish me to deny my faith…no matter what good it brought to England.
On impulse I wrote a separate note to Cromwell, telling him that, while I wished him to give my letter to the King, I feared I could not deny the validity of my mother's marraige and I could not agree with the severance from Rome.
In spite of this, Cromwell seemed determined to do all he could to bring me into favor with the King. He was fully aware that the people expected it and wanted it and that the King should do it for that reason. He must have been uneasy as to the effect my father's conduct was having on the people, who had clearly shown their support for us; true, they had hated Anne Boleyn when she was puffed up with pride, but people are apt to change their minds when those about them fall from grace. There was no cause now to envy Anne Boleyn, and envy is often at the roots of hatred.
Cromwell was first and foremost a politician and he would see that I must be received back at Court, which was the safest place for me to be… not for myself so much as for him and the King. He wanted no supporters gathering round me, seeking to right my wrongs.
My father must have realized that it could be dangerous to refuse to bring me back. I was, after all, no longer a child, being twenty years old– old enough to be a figurehead, old enough for those who deplored the break with Rome to rally to me.
It may be that the wily Cromwell persuaded him but the fact was that the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Sussex headed a small party who came to visit me. They brought with them a document in which I was referred to as a monster—a daughter who had acted disobediently toward her father. It was only due to the generous and gracious nature of the King that I was still here to ask his forgiveness.
It was difficult for me. I kept thinking of my mother. How could I deny her? She had always been adamant, even though she had believed her enemies were trying to poison her and would possibly use other means to kill her. Always she had stood defiant against them. But Chapuys had shown me my mission.
Even so I could not bring myself to accept the verdict that my mother had never been truly married to my father, that I was bastard and the Pope was not the Vicar of Christ but just another bishop.
I tried to keep that glittering future in mind. I prayed for guidance. If God meant to lead me to my destiny, He would help me.
But I could not do it. I said I would obey my father in all things save his denial of his marriage with my mother and his break with Rome.
They were very angry—in particular Norfolk, who was a violent man and not of very good character, as his Duchess could well confirm. Both he and Sussex were abusive. I was understanding more of people now and I guessed that they were afraid. They would have to go back to the King and tell him that I stood firm on the two very issues which had caused all the contention between us. He would have to face the fact that he had a rebellious daughter and that many of his subjects, who were already murmuring about the state of the Church, would agree with her. I could see that I was a danger and that my father wished to have me back in the fold. He wanted to ride out with me and the new Queen, showing the people that I was his beloved daughter—though illegitimate—and that all was well between us. And these men would have to go back and tell him that they had failed.
Messengers bringing ill news were never popular; and the King's moods were variable and could be terrible. He had changed with the failing of his health. “Bluff King Hal” peeped out only occasionally now and then, when years ago this had been the face his courtiers saw most frequently.
Sussex shouted at me, “Can it be that you are the King's daughter? I cannot believe this to be so. You are the most obstinate woman I ever knew. Surely no child of the King could be as wayward … as stubborn… and as foolish as you are.”
I looked at him sardonically. He might have known that what he called my stubbornness had been inherited directly from my father.
Norfolk was even more explicit.
“If you were my daughter, I should beat you.”
“I am sure you would attempt to, my lord,” I replied. “I believe your conduct toward your wife, simply because she objected to your mistresses, has been especially brutal.”
His eyes narrowed and his face was scarlet. “I would beat you … to death,” he muttered.
“I am of the opinion that, if you attempted to do so, the people in the streets would set upon you and you would suffer a worse fate.”
He knew there was truth in my words and he shouted, “I would dash your head against the wall until it was as soft as a baked apple!”
“Threats worthy of you, my lord. And they affect me not at all. You would not dare lay a hand on me. And I should be glad if you would remember to whom you speak.”
Lady Shelton had complained of my regal manners, so I suppose I possessed them; and now, with Chapuys' prophecy before me, perhaps they were even more apparent.
They slunk away, those irate commissioners, like dogs with their tails between their legs.
CHAPUYS CAME TO see me.
He was very grave, although there was a hint of amusement in his gravity.
“The commissioners were ill received when they returned to the King. He is convinced that you are in touch with the rebels. There is a party forming in the North and murmurings throughout the country. Your name is often mentioned. The King is most uneasy. But you have seen how obstinate he is… and we must get you to Court. I fear he may take some drastic action against you on the spur of the moment. Do not forget, he is allpowerful in this country. Now that he has broken with Rome, the Church has no hold on him. Who would have believed this possible?”
“But we shall come back one day.”
“I beg of you, do not speak of it now.”
“But that is our eventual aim.”
“To be put away until the time is ripe. It is something to think about but never to be spoken of. If it were…your life would not be worth much. Remember. The Church relies on you. Your day will come. And until it does we must play this game as deviously as is demanded.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you cannot stay in exile. We have to do anything… simply anything…to get you to Court. Cromwell goes in fear of his life because he first told the King that you would be ready to bow to his will. The King is in such a mood of anger that no one is safe. But this is good, for it shows the extent of his uneasiness. Queen Jane pleads for you with the King. She is simple and clearly does not know the man she has married. She was heard to say that it was natural that you should defend your mother and she thought it was a noble thing to do. She was abruptly told not to meddle in matters beyond her powers of understanding and to remember that her predecessor meddled and what happened to her. It is the first time the King has been heard talking to her thus, and it shows how anxious he is.”
“Then we should be pleased.”
“Not entirely. He is capable of drastic action when aroused to anger, and his anger has its roots in uncertainty. Those about the King, including Cromwell, have to act regarding you. They are preparing a document. It is headed ‘The Lady Mary's Submission.' In it will be set down all that the King will require you to agree to.”
“That will include…”
He nodded. “Your agreement that your parents were never legally married, that you are illegitimate and accept the King, your father, as Head of the Church in England.”
“I will never do it.”
“Have you thought of the alternative?”
“What do you mean?”
“You forget that Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More lost their heads because they would not sign the Oath? You are doing the same.”
“You mean that I should lose my head?”
“I mean that you could be tried for treason… and the punishment for treason is death.”
“My father would not dare.”
“He has dared a great deal. He fears a rising in your favor. But he is the most powerful man in the country. He could put down a revolt, and then what would happen to the Princess Mary? What of the plans for the future of England?”
I said, “What must I do?”
“There is only one thing you can do. You sign.”
“Deny my mother's marriage! Deny Holy Church!”
“There could be a papal absolution which would relieve you from the sin of perjury,” said Chapuys.
“The Emperor and the Pope will know the reason why you signed. I advise you to do it. This is the only way. If you do not, I would not give much hope for the chances of your survival.”
“I would not do it for the fear of what would happen to me.”
“I am aware of that, as you are of your destiny. It would be folly now to refuse to sign.”
I knew he was right, but I had to quieten my conscience. My mother would understand. Those who cared for me, who knew that I had a duty to perform… they would all understand why I had to sign.
So, with a firm hand and a strong purpose in my heart, I put my name to the document.
NOW THAT I HAD given way, my life changed. I was treated with the respect due to the King's daughter—though not a legitimate one. I enjoyed more freedom than I had known for years. I was no longer treated with suspicion. I could write to whom I pleased and receive visitors.
I was still grappling with my conscience. I had committed perjury. I had agreed to that which in my heart I abhorred. I prayed constantly. I talked to my mother as though she were with me.
“Understand, please, dear Mother. I did this because I believe that in time it will have been proved to be the right action to have taken at this time. They would have tried me for treason if I had refused. They would have trumped up some charge against me. If the King could kill his wife, why not his daughter? Chapuys knew it. I acted on his advice and one day, I swear on all that is sacred to me, that when the opportunity comes I shall bring England back to the Holy Church.”
That was the motive I kept my eyes on. And I began to believe fervently that what I had done—however much it had been against my principles– was the only way in which I could have acted.
Elizabeth was at Hunsdon, still under the charge of Margaret Bryan. I was with her a great deal. All my enmity toward her had gone. How could one dislike a three-year-old child? Her mother might be evil but what crime had the child committed? Lady Bryan never ceased to marvel at her. She was the most perfect child it had ever been her joy to know, she told me. She was so bright and eager to learn.
“Nose into everything,” said Margaret fondly.
“If it is there, she must know what and why. Questions… all through the day. And she remembers, too. To see her skip and dance… and hear her little voice singing…She can already handle a lute, you know.”
Then she would express her fury at the manner in which her little darling was being treated now.
“Look at this kirtle! I have darned and patched it. I need new clothes for her. I keep asking but none come. It is a shameful way to treat a princess.”
“Hush, Margaret,” I cautioned her. “Do you want to be charged with treason?”
She shook her head sadly, “I know not what we are coming to.”
I took her hand and pressed it.
“I know. I understand your feelings. It happened to me… just like this. At least Elizabeth is too young to understand.”
“There you are mistaken. That child is old for her years.”
“That is well. She will have need of her good sense, I doubt not.”
“My poor innocent lamb! I suppose I must go on with this patching. She asked for her mother. ‘When will she come to see me?' It breaks my heart. At least it seems a little brighter for you, my lady. Perhaps you can put in a word for your little sister.”
“I will… when I can.”
“Bless you. There has been such suffering, but none should hold that against this little one.”
“I do not,” I said. “Nor would my mother.”
Margaret nodded. She was too moved for words.
There was a great deal of talk about what was happening throughout the country. During the previous year my father had set Thomas Cromwell to make a report on the conditions of the monasteries. This had sent a ripple of unease throughout the land. The monasteries were devoted to the Church of Rome, and everyone knew that this was no ordinary survey. It was a further gesture of defiance toward the Pope; and Cromwell was prepared to give my father what he wanted, knowing full well that he dared do nothing else.
