Текст книги "In the Shadow of the Crown "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
I had him brought to me, and I recognized him as a London goldsmith who had done some work for me on one or two occasions.
He knelt to me.
“My lady,” he said, “the King is dead, although it is not yet known. I came with all speed to tell you this.”
“Someone sent you?” I asked.
“Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, my lady. He bade me tell you that, although the King is dead, the news will be kept secret for some days…and it would be inadvisable for you to come to Court.”
Sir Nicholas Throckmorton! I knew of him. He was a firm upholder of the Reformed Faith. He had been a close friend of my brother; and I remembered that at the time of Anne Askew's execution he had been one of those who were present when she died; he had gone to give her his support.
Why had he sent this man to warn me? He would not want me to be proclaimed Queen, for he would know that when I came to power my first act would be to return the Church to Rome.
If only it had been one of my old friends, a Catholic like Gardiner, I could have believed him. But Gardiner was a prisoner in the Tower. It would have been to his advantage to see me crowned Queen. But Throckmorton… Why did he warn me? It might be that he knew Northumberland was planning to kill me. There were some who would never connive at murder, even of those of a different faith.
I saw that the goldsmith was given refreshment, and I thanked him.
Whatever Throckmorton's motives, I knew I must not walk into Northumberland's trap. I sent a message to Scheyfve and to Simon Renard, to tell them that I was going to Kenninghall in Norfolk because sickness had broken out in my household. They would know that was a diplomatic excuse.
It might well be that the King was not yet dead and that this was some trap laid for me; but if it had been so, would they have sent the message from one who was known to me to be of the Reformed Faith? It was all very mysterious, but something within me told me that my brother was indeed dead.
I set out with a small party, choosing unfrequented roads for fear we should meet horsemen from London, as I could guess what orders they would have been given if Northumberland really intended to take my life. I would be close to the coast and then, if need be, I could take a ship to the Netherlands.
I very soon learned that I had done the right thing. Soon after I left Hunsdon, one of Northumberland's sons had arrived with 300 horses to escort me back to London. I should have been a prisoner, and that would have meant that my end was imminent.
From Kenninghall I wrote to the Council. I reminded them that my father had made me successor to my now deceased brother Edward and so I was the Queen of this realm. I knew they had worked against me, but by proclaiming me Queen without delay there should be an amnesty and I should bear no grudge against them for the malice I had in the past received at their hands.
They had no respect for me. To them I was a woman merely, and one who did not enjoy good health at that. I had no one to help me, they thought, except a cousin in another country who was too immersed in his own affairs to come to my aid.
They proclaimed Jane Queen, and they wrote to me telling me that I was a bastard and had been named as such by my father in his will I was now citing; and if I were wise I would accept the new regime and my position in it.
“Never!” I cried to Susan. “Now I see the way ahead. I will fight for what is mine and if necessary die in the attempt to seize it.”
“But we must not stay here.”
“No,” I agreed. “Indeed we shall not. I intend to ride on to Framlingham.”
Framlingham Castle is a strong fortress. It belonged to the Howards, and when the Duke of Norfolk had been sent to the Tower—where he still was, because my father had died before signing his death warrant—his goods had been seized and with them this castle, which my brother had given to me.
It was in an ideal position, being close to the coast, which was another point in its favor, for it might be necessary for me to take flight. It had an inner and outer moat running close to the walls except on the west side where a great expanse of lake gave enough protection. The walls were thick and looked impregnable. It would be a formidable fortress, and I was fortunate to have it in my possession.
All along the road people followed me. They had heard the news that the King was dead, and they could not believe that Jane Grey had been proclaimed Queen. They had never heard of her, yet they had all known the Princess Mary since she was a child, and many of them had been indignant at the manner in which her mother had been treated, on account of her being disowned by her husband. I was indeed well known throughout the country and I had always had the sympathy of the people wherever I went.
And I was never more welcome than now. They clustered round me, calling my name: “Long live Queen Mary!”
By the time I reached the castle, several thousands were following me. It was comforting to see them camped outside the castle walls.
My standard was flown over the castle, and I felt my spirits lifting, especially when I was told there were some 13,000 encamped round the castle, swearing to protect me from the false Queen and the man who had set her up. Although my hopes were high, I felt I must not be too optimistic. Those people had only their loyalty and, although that was wonderful, it could not stand up against trained men of an army.
Northumberland had the control of the best in the land, and now he was calling me rebel and uttering threats against me. If he captured me, he could call me traitor; he could have me sent to the Tower and out to Tower Green, where my blood would mingle with that of those who had suffered before me.
In all my euphoria I never lost sight of that possibility.
We were moving fast toward a climax. I thought: The next few days will decide. Northumberland was setting out on the march. He was coming to take me himself. When I looked at my good and faithful followers, I wondered if I had done right. I had not run away when I had been tempted to; and if I failed now, it would be the will of God. I had done all in my power to succeed.
I was resigned. I could not see how my forces could triumph over Northumberland's trained men. I thought of David and Goliath and of Daniel in the lions' den. Men had overcome great odds before, and because God had been with them they had prevailed.
I prayed that God would stand beside me. I must succeed. If I did not, I should have lived and suffered in vain. It would all be so pointless. But if I could do this wonderful thing, if I could succeed in what all Catholics were willing me to, then everything that had gone before would have been worthwhile.
Then it was like a miracle, and after this I believed that God was with me and in my heart I was going to fulfill my destiny.
I was blessed with some loyal followers, and one of the most trusted of these was Sir Henry Jerningham, who had been the first to come to me at Kenninghall, bringing with him his tenants who, he assured me, were ready to fight to the death for me.
He had followed me to Framlingham, but he did not stay there. He went on to Yarmouth to guard the coast and to raise men as he went.
Northumberland had just taken action to prevent my leaving the country and had sent to Yarmouth a squadron of six ships to intercept me if I should attempt to leave. There had been some fierce gales along the coast, and the ships lay at anchor in the harbor. When Sir Henry arrived at Yarmouth, the captains were ashore; and Sir Henry had an idea that, though they might be Northumberland's men, the crew members might not necessarily be so. He decided to find out in which direction the crews' sympathies lay, so he rowed out to the ships with some of his men and talked to the sailors.
He told me later what he had said. It was, “The King is dead. The rightful heiress to the throne is the Princess Mary but Northumberland is setting Lady Jane Grey on the throne.”
They had never heard of Jane Grey but they all knew who I was. I was the King's daughter, next in succession to the throne after my brother Edward was dead. Then I was the rightful Queen. Did they agree? They did, to a man.
“Then,” said Sir Henry, “will you fight for Queen Mary?”
“Aye, that we will,” they replied.
“But your captains, who are the tools of Northumberland, will command you to stand for Jane Grey.”
“Never,” they cried. “We are for Mary, our rightful Queen.”
“Then come ashore and join the Queen's men,” said Sir Henry.
So they did, and Sir Henry was able to confront the captains with their decision. They could join us or be his prisoners, he told them. They chose to join us.
Not only had the astute Sir Henry brought the seamen to my aid, but with them all the ordnance which was on the ships. It was a great victory.
Sir Henry returned to Framlingham filled with enthusiasm.
“This is a sign,” he said. “God is with us.”
“We shall have to fight,” I said. “Can we do it?”
“We will, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Northumberland has his army with him.”
“There will be many loth to turn a hand against the Queen.”
“But they will do so because he has the might.”
“We shall have the might, Your Grace. We will have stout hearts, and it is God's will that will prevail. The men will feel more loyal if they see you. You must come out and review your troops. I think you will be pleased with them.”
So I rode out and, as Sir Henry had said, I was amazed at the numbers who had mustered to my aid.
As I rode along the lines, they called, “Long live good Queen Mary!” My heart was lightened and I thanked God that I had been strong so far, and I prayed for His help and guidance that I might work His will and succeed in the task which I was sure now He had laid down for me.
There was comforting news. I had always known Sir Henry Bedingfield was loyal to me, so I was not greatly surprised when he arrived with his followers. But I was delighted to see that Lord Thomas Howard, whose grandfather, Norfolk, was still in the Tower, and all the chivalry of Suffolk, were flocking to my banner.
Northumberland was universally disliked. He had removed Somerset, who, although not liked by the people, was preferred to himself; he had forced Lady Jane Grey to marry his son Guilford and had had the temerity to set her up as Queen. He had gone too far.
His mistake was not to realize the power of the people; and those who had worked with him were now weary of his despotism; people were envious of his power. He himself was confident of victory and rode at the head of his army. But no sooner had he left London than the citizens noisily stated their true feelings.
They wanted no Queen Jane. A granddaughter of King Henry's sister she might be, but there were King Henry's own daughters to come before her. They had always shown affection for me, for I had been the ill-treated one, and they remembered my mother's sufferings.
“Long live Queen Mary, our rightful Queen!” they shouted.
I am not sure when Northumberland realized that he had gone too far and that defeat stared him in the face. He had risked a good deal for he had scored such successes in the past that he believed he could not fail. Now his friends were turning against him, and he had made his fatal miscalculation in reckoning without the people.
I was being proclaimed Queen all over the country.
There came a messenger from London. On the morning of the 16th a placard had been placed on Queenhithe Church stating that I was Queen of England, France and Ireland.
The Earls of Sussex and Bath were among those on their way with their forces to Framlingham… not to oppose me but to pay homage to me as their Queen.
I could not believe this. It was a miracle. The Council was declaring for me. Pembroke, so recently allied with Northumberland through marriage, had taken over command of the Tower and the Army—and he was for me. All over the land men were turning to me; even those who had been against me were now proclaiming me Queen. They might have stood with Northumberland so far, but when he had set up Jane Grey as Queen he had tampered with the line of succession, and they were with him no longer.
I wished that I could have been present when they brought the news to Northumberland. He was at Cambridge and could not then have realized how utterly he was defeated. He had known that the battle had not been the easy conquest he had anticipated, for he had dispatched a messenger to France to plead for troops to be sent to his aid. How did he feel—the powerful man, the greatest statesman of the day, some said, son of that Dudley who had gone to the block to placate the people because of the taxes my grandfather had levied in his reign—how did the great Northumberland feel to be brought so low?
He had staked everything to gain the greatest power a man could have– to rule the country. Jane and Guilford were to have been his puppets. But, like so many of his kind who failed, he had reckoned without the people, the ordinary people, living their obscure lives, who en masse were the most formidable force in the world. What a mistake to discount them! And he had tried to foist on them a young and innocent girl as their queen. I doubted Jane had had any say in the matter. Northumberland had intended to rule through her, and he had failed miserably.
He must have come to a quick decision when he saw his ambitions crumbling about him and his dream evaporating. He went into the market square. He mounted the steps to the high spot where he could be seen by all, and he lifted his hat in the air and shouted, “Long live Queen Mary!”
It was his admission of defeat, and he took it bravely. And as he mounted those steps calling my name, he must have seen himself mounting the block and laying his head upon it, as he had seen so many do—mainly his enemies and due to his command.
And now they were with me! Henry Grey, Jane's father, had himself torn down her banner at the Tower; he was shouting for Queen Mary.
How I despised these men. I remembered Anne Boleyn's father, assisting at the christening of young Edward. They turned their coats to meet the prevailing wind with no sense of shame.
And young Jane… what of her? She would be my prisoner now. How could I blame her and her young husband? They were the innocent victims of other people's ambitions. Northumberland had forced them to do what they did, and now he was calling for Queen Mary!
News was brought to me that Northumberland had been arrested. My greatest enemy was now my prisoner.
MY CAPITAL WAS WAITING to receive me. I would never have believed that victory could come so easily, and I chided myself for my lack of faith. This was what I had been born and preserved for, and the will of God was worked through the will of the people.
My first duty was to have the crucifix set up in Framlingham Church. It would show the people I would lead them back to God through the true religion.
We must make our way to London.
I set out with a mighty company. How different from when I had left Hunsdon such a short time ago in such stealth.
I rested at Wanstead, and while I was there I was visited by a distraught Duchess of Suffolk. I was amazed to see this proud and imperious lady so frightened and beside herself with grief. I thought it must be on account of her daughter, Jane, that poor innocent child who had been used by her ambitious family.
She prostrated herself at my feet, which in itself was amusing, for she had been one of those who had proclaimed my birth not to be legitimate, King's daughter though she had had to accept me to be.
But I was sorry for her. She was a mother and she must be suffering deep remorse now that her daughter was in the Tower.
I said, “Rise, Lady Suffolk. I know what you must be suffering. Your daughter is so young, and I know that she was forced to do this wicked thing by others.”
“Oh, my daughter,” she cried. “She has sinned beyond redemption. I could not ask Your Majesty to forgive her. Her sin is too great. I plead for the Duke, my husband. He is ill, Your Majesty. I fear for his life if he remains in that cold cell. They have kept him there for three days… and I fear that he can endure little more.”
I felt anger rising within me. I could understand a mother's love for her child, but I remembered what Jane had said about the harsh treatment of her parents, and Mrs. Penn's indignation at the violent marks on her body.
I said, “Your husband is a traitor. He was partly responsible for setting your daughter on the throne. It is not Lady Jane who is to blame. She merely did what she was forced to. And you complain because your husband has spent three days in the Tower!”
“He has acted wrongly, Your Majesty, but he was led into doing evil acts. Your Majesty, I beg of you…he will die. Let him be sent to me. Let him remain your prisoner but let me nurse him. I beg of you. It is a matter of life or death.”
Life or death! That was how it was for most of us. She was weeping bitterly, this proud woman, and there was no doubt that her grief was genuine.
How could I refuse her? I did not admire her as a mother, but there was no doubt that the woman loved her husband.
I thought: What harm can it do? She is crying for mercy, and I must be merciful. He will die in the Tower. He will die in any case. He is a traitor, but I do not want his death on my hands.
I said, “He shall be taken from the Tower to be nursed by you.”
She fell on her knees once more; she kissed my hand and blessed me.
WHEN IT WAS KNOWN what I had done, there was consternation.
Sir Henry Jerningham pointed out to me that the man I had freed was the father of Jane, and he had helped to set her up in my place. He had worked close to Northumberland, and they had planned to rule the country together through those two young people. Had I forgotten that?
“I have sent him out of the Tower to be nursed by his wife,” I said. “He is a very sick man.”
“Sick with fear, Your Majesty, to see his wicked plans frustrated.”
“I wish to be a merciful Queen,” I told him. “Grey shall not escape. Justice will be done.”
They shook their heads, and they trembled for me.
It was the same with Simon Renard. I heard later that he had reported to the Emperor that I should never be able to hold the crown for I was too governed by feminine sentiments.
I did not care. I knew Suffolk was ill, and I had been moved by his wife's pleading.
I prayed to God that night. “You taught me to be merciful, O Lord, and I believe that is how You would wish me to act.”
I SET OUT ON my ride into London. I was thirty-seven years old—no longer young, but not too old for a Queen. I had some experience of life behind me. I was no beauty, but I was not ill favored either. I was thinnish and of low stature. I wished that I had been taller—but I looked well enough on a horse; I had my father's reddish hair, and my complexion was as fresh as his had been in his youth, but mine had not coarsened as his had—I presumed because I had lived more abstemiously. Dressed in purple velvet, I looked quite regal, I believed, seated on my horse and surrounded by my ladies.
My sister had come to Wanstead to meet me. She was to ride into London beside me. I was sorry for this in a way, and yet I could not forbid it. She was so much younger and in such blooming health. She was much taller and about twenty years old—in her prime, one might say. The people cheered her and she did everything she could to win their approval, waving her hands and holding them up in acknowledgment of their greeting. She had very beautiful hands, and I had often noticed how she used every opportunity to bring them into prominence.
These people had shown their affection for me; they had proclaimed me as their Queen, and I believed that meant that they wanted the old faith restored. Had they forgotten that Elizabeth had refused to attend Mass? Were these Protestants who were cheering her? Or was she so popular because she was young and attractive to look at and showed such pleasure in their applause? Of one thing I was certain: wherever she was, she would bring a certain lack of ease to me, a certain puzzlement, for I should never understand the workings of her mind.
I kissed all her ladies to give an impression that I was pleased to see her but, as we rode along, I was thinking that I should have been happier if she had stayed away.
As we approached Aldgate, I saw streamers hanging from the houses; children had been assembled to sing songs of welcome. It was a heartwarming sight. The streets had been freshly swept, and members of the city crafts had gathered there, clad in their traditional dress. They looked very smart, and they were smiling and waving their banners with enthusiasm.
We were met by the Mayor. Lord Arundel was present, holding the sword of state. They joined the procession with a thousand men—and so they led me to the Tower.
This was London's welcome and meant that the city regarded me as the rightful Queen.
And there was the Tower, so often a symbol of fear, and now offering me hospitality and welcome.
I was greeted by Sir Thomas Cheyney, who was in charge at that time. The custom was that I should rest here until after my brother's funeral.
The King was dead: Long live the Queen! That was what this meant.
I shall never forget coming to the Tower that day. All the state prisoners had been brought from their cells and were assembled on the green before the church of St. Peter ad Vincula.
There was the old Duke of Norfolk, who had been arrested shortly before my father's death and would certainly have lost his head as his son Surrey had done, had the King not died before he could sign the death warrant. He had aged since I had last seen him, which was not surprising, after six years' incarceration in that grim place. Stephen Gardiner was also there; but the one who stood out among all the others was Edward Courtenay, son of the Marquis of Exeter and Earl of Devonshire, who had been in the Tower since 1538, when he was about twelve years old, and had known no other dwelling for fifteen years. He looked bright and healthy in spite of this. I was deeply touched, not only by him but by all those people kneeling there, particularly when it was pointed out to me who they were.
I dismounted and, going to them, spoke to each one in turn. I kissed them and bade them no longer kneel.
I said to them emotionally, “You are my prisoners now.”
The Duke of Norfolk was in tears, and so was I, as I embraced him. Gardiner took my hands, and we were too moved to speak for a few moments. I told him he should be sworn into the Privy Council at once. “And you, my lord Norfolk, you go from here a free man and your estates shall be restored to you.”
I turned to the young man whose handsome face had attracted me from the moment I saw him. “Lord Courtenay, is it not?” I said. “Your estates will also be returned to you. You leave the Tower when you are ready to go, my lord Earl of Devonshire.”
I do not believe that any present could have been unmoved by the sight of so much joy. It was a happy augury for my reign, I thought. I was delighted to be able to show my people right from the beginning that, although I was a woman and they might think a man would be more suitable to rule them, I had a heart full of sympathy for my subjects and I would be a gentle and loving sovereign.
A cheer went up as I made my way into the Tower.
There I remained quietly until my brother was buried, when I ordered that there should be a requiem for his soul in the Tower chapel.
DURING THE DAYS in the Tower, while I was awaiting the burial of my brother, I gave myself up to meditation.
Now that that for which I had yearned and vaguely feared was upon me, I felt a little lost and bewildered. I was fully aware of the task ahead of me and that I must have good counselors.
I must marry now. It was my duty. A sovereign should give the country heirs. That was what my father had always maintained, and the need to do so had governed his life and was responsible for so many of the actions he had taken. Thirty-seven was not an ideal age for childbearing, but it was not quite too old.
I would concern myself with marriage without delay.
Ever since I had known him, I had nourished tender feelings toward Reginald Pole. Why not? He was royal. My mother had thought fondly of a match between us. I remembered how she and my dear Countess of Salisbury had plotted together about it. Reginald was a good deal older than I, of course, but he had never married. One would not have expected a man of the Church to marry, but he had never stepped into that position which would have made it impossible for him to do so.
I wondered what public reaction would be if the suggestion were made known. He had been very popular at one time, but he had been abroad for so long. Perhaps now that I was Queen he would return to England; he would have nothing to fear from me; he would have encouragement and affection. I could do nothing yet, but I often thought of Reginald.
Jane Grey and her young husband were constantly on my mind. I knew that pressure would be brought on me to send them to the block, and I felt very reluctant to do this. Northumberland should have his just deserts, and I felt no qualms about this; but I should feel very uneasy if I were asked to sign the death warrants of those two young people.
But there was so much to occupy my thoughts during those days; there would be my coronation, which would need so much preparation that it could not take place before October.
On the 18th of August, Northumberland and his fellow conspirators were brought to trial.
There could be only one result for Northumberland, but when it came to the point I was reluctant to sign his death warrant. He was an extremely clever man—I think one of the cleverest of his day. He could have been a good servant to me; and I wished that it could have been different. There were eleven people convicted with him but only three went to the scaffold on the 22nd of August.
Jane's father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, had proclaimed me Queen at the gates of the Tower. I could not bear to think that my coming to the throne had resulted in numerous deaths, and I persuaded the Council that, on payment of a fine, Suffolk should go free. He was a weak man who had been the tool of Northumberland. I was not sure about his religious views, but I fancied he was a Protestant; but at this stage we were not prosecuting people for their religion. I recalled Frances Grey's pleas for her husband, and I could not bring myself to agree to his execution, so at length it was agreed that he should pay his fine and go free.
Although Northumberland had been the chief conspirator, the Council believed that Lady Jane and her husband should be dispatched without delay. I pointed out to them that she was merely the figurehead. Figureheads had to be eliminated with all speed, they reiterated. Lady Jane should be brought to trial at once.
I could not bear that and I sought refuge in delay.
“Later,” I said. “Later.”
Simon Renard came to me. He was an impressive man. He was no van der Delft or Scheyfve. He was another Chapuys, only, it occurred to me, more wily. I could understand why the Emperor had sent him, for now that I was Queen, I was of greater importance to him.
Renard was very respectful but nevertheless he had come to advise me, and I felt the great Emperor spoke through him.
“It is an odd thing, Your Majesty,” he said, “that the chief conspirator in the plot against you still lives.”
“Northumberland has lost his head,” I replied.
“The impostor Queen still lives.”
“The girl was merely used, Ambassador.”
“She allowed herself to be used.”
“She had no choice.”
He lifted his shoulders. “She has dared proclaim herself Queen.”
“She was acclaimed by others.”
“She wore the crown.”
“My lord Ambassador, I know this girl. She is my kinswoman. She is young and innocent… scarcely out of the schoolroom. I could not have her innocent blood on my hands.”
“Your Majesty prefers to have yours on hers?”
“There is no question…”
“While she lives, you are unsafe.”
“I believe the people have chosen me.”
“The people? The people will go which way they are made to.”
“This is a matter for my conscience.”
He was clearly dismayed. I saw the contempt in his eyes, and I could imagine the letter he would write to the Emperor. I should never make him understand. But I knew Jane, and I understood how she had been forced into this… and as long as I could, I would refuse to have her blood on my hands.
I must not free her, of course. That would be folly. She would be an immediate rallying point. I would have to be careful; and there was my sister; Elizabeth, another who would stand as a symbol for the Reformed Faith. Oh yes, I should be very careful. But as long as Jane was in the Tower, no decisions need be made.
I said, “I intend to keep her prisoner for the time being. Then we shall see.”
Simon Renard left me. He gave me the impression that I was being a soft and sentimental woman and had no idea how to rule a country.
Shortly after that interview with Renard, I received a letter from Jane, and on reading it I felt more sorry for her and in a greater dilemma than ever.
She wanted me to know that the terrible sin she had committed in allowing herself to be forced to pose as Queen was no fault of hers.
“I did not want it,” she wrote, “and when my parents and my parentsin-law, the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, came to me and told me that the King was dead, I was wretchedly unhappy, for you know how I loved him. When they added that I was heiress to the crown, I could not believe them, and when I understood that they were serious, I fainted. It was as though a sense of doom overcame me. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wicked, even though Edward had named me. They did homage to me, and at the same time they were angry with me because I would not rejoice with them and was filled with this terrible foreboding.
“They took me to the Tower as Queen, and the Marquis of Winchester brought the crown for me to try on. I did not ask him to do this. It was the last thing I wanted. I wanted more than anything to go back to my studies. I knew that I should have resisted, but I dared not.”
