Текст книги "In the Shadow of the Crown "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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“Your Majesty, dearest sister,” she said, “how grateful I am that you have justly given me the opportunity to disprove charges of which I am innocent. I might have been condemned unheard, but Your Majesty is bountiful and loving to your poor subjects, of whom I am the most loyal. I beg of you that you will never give credit to the calumnies that might hereafter be circulated about me, without giving me the chance to defend myself.”

“I will promise you that,” I told her.

“Then I am happy, for I am your loving and devoted servant, and as I would never act against you, nothing can ever be proved against me.”

“You are looking pale,” I said, turning the tables, for it was indeed true. She must have been very worried, and it had had its effect on her.

“I have been grievously ill, Your Majesty. I yearn for the country air. I wonder if you would grant me permission to retire from Court for a little while.”

I looked at her steadily. Her eyes were downcast; she looked very innocent.

I hesitated. I wondered what Renard would say. As for myself, I should be glad to be rid of her. Her good looks and youth aroused such envy in me, and whenever I saw her, I became more conscious of my own appearance and that my marriage was imminent.

She was so sure of herself, so vain, so confident of her power to charm.

“Where would you go?” I asked.

“I thought to Ashridge, Your Majesty. The air there does me good.”

“Very well. You shall go.”

She fell to her knees once more and kissed my hand.

“Your Majesty is so good to me.”

So good? When I had recently sent Paget and Arundel to test her loyalty? She was appealing in her way, and I was as unsure of her now as I ever was.

I called to one of my women to bring me a box of jewels, and from it I selected a pearl necklace. I put it round my sister's neck.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she went so far as to forget the respect she owed to the Queen and put her arms round me and kissed me. Or did she really forget, and was this another of her gestures?

Then she drew back, as though alarmed by her temerity. “Forgive me, Your Majesty… sister…”

My reply was to draw her to me and kiss her cheek.

“You will recover quickly in the healthy atmosphere of Ashridge,” I said; and then I dismissed her.

Renard shook his head over my decision to let her go.

“I would prefer,” he said, “always to have that young woman where I can see what she is doing.”

ELIZABETH CONTINUED TO OCCUPY Renard's thoughts. He would not be happy until she was out of the way—either in another country or in her grave. I sometimes wondered whether some charge would be trumped up against her. I must be watchful of that. I did not want to have my own sister's blood on my hands. Marriage was a better idea.

The Emperor evidently thought so too. He suggested that Elizabeth be betrothed to the Prince of Piedmont.

She stubbornly refused to consider this. Of course she did. She wanted the English throne above all things.

Renard was annoyed with her, but I could see that he had a grudging admiration for her, too. I think sometimes he wished she were the Queen with whom he had to work. They would have understood each other better than he and I did.

However, there was no way of getting rid of Elizabeth through marriage. She was clearly determined on that.

Christmas had come, and it was in January of the following year, 1554, when Gardiner uncovered the plot.

The news of my proposed marriage to Philip of Spain was leaking out, and the reaction was as I had feared it might be.

The French ambassador called on me. He was clearly deeply disturbed. Did I realize the dangers? he wondered. Philip would dominate me.

I replied haughtily that I was the Queen of this realm and intended to remain so.

“Husbands,” replied de Noailles, “can be persuasive.” He added that his master, King Henri Deux, did not like the match at all.

That was no news to me; I was fully aware that he would dislike it and do all he could to prevent it.

Every day seemed to bring home to me more and more the danger of my position. Though I had been crowned Queen of England, there were others who had envious eyes on that crown. Oddly enough, they were all women. There was Lady Jane Grey in the Tower at the moment, my prisoner; but perhaps she did not want it for herself, it was others who coveted it for her. There was Elizabeth, patiently waiting to step into my shoes; and in France was the young Mary, Queen of Scots, who, by becoming the wife of the Dauphin of France, had made Henri Deux cast speculative eyes in its direction.

This was no news to me. I knew very well that the French would dislike the Spanish match.

My position was as dangerous as it had ever been. There had been no peace for me since that day when my father had decided that he wished to be rid of my mother.

I needed a strong man—someone to care for me, to stand beside me and help fight off my enemies.

Philip of Spain would help me to do that. I should have the might of Spain behind me. It would be a good match.

But the news of my intended marriage was already causing trouble.

I knew that Edward Courtenay was bitterly disappointed. He had pretended to care for me, but I often asked myself if he really did. I had been attracted by him. Who would not have been? He was so good-looking and charming, and his history was so touching. The idea of such a man being prisoner all those years for committing no sin but having royal blood in his veins. It was admirable that, during those years in the Tower, he had educated himself so that he was as polished as any courtier; all he lacked was horsemanship and outdoor skills, for how could he have practiced those, confined as he was? Yet I doubted not that in a year or so he would vie with any.

I was fond of Gertrude, his mother, whom I had made a lady of my bedchamber. She was constantly extolling the virtues of her son. So there was another who was disappointed.

I did not realize how deeply this disappointment had gone. I had been hearing rumors about him. He was extravagant; he mingled with a fast set; it was said that this included relationships with loose women. I excused him.

He was a lusty young man and he had been shut away for a long time; in any case I had ceased to regard him as a possible husband. I could see that to marry such a man, just because he was young and handsome, was not the way a queen should act. I had, I confess, been a little overwhelmed by his grace and good manners and his show of affection for me. But I was not so easily deluded. I knew that I was not good-looking, that I showed signs of age, and I should have been a fool if I had not understood that it was my glittering crown which dazzled, not my person.

I was sure I had done the right thing in agreeing to marriage with Philip of Spain. He was not expecting a beauty; what he wanted was a queen, and he would not be disappointed in that respect.

The members of the Council were constantly on the alert, and they knew the Spanish marriage was not going to be popular. Gardiner discovered that a certain Peter Carew of Devon was going through the towns of that county, telling people that they must not allow the marriage to take place. It would be letting the Spaniards into the country. They were a harsh and cruel race, he warned them, and they would be bringing Spanish laws into England. There were sailors in Devon who had come into the clutches of the evil Inquisition and had, by great good luck, escaped. Let the people listen to their stories of hideous torture. The Spaniards would rule England, and the Queen would be merely the wife of a foreign king. There must be no Spanish marriage.

There was only one thing for the Council to do, and they did it. They ordered Peter Carew to come to London for questioning. But Carew realized what was happening and, when he did not come and they sent guards to arrest him, he had already disappeared.

It was disturbing, for there was no doubt that there would soon be revolt in Devon.

Stephen Gardiner came to me and begged an audience. When I received him, I saw at once how grave he was.

“I have news which will shock you,” he said.

“This revolt …” I began.

“Carew has escaped, as Your Majesty knows. He is a bold fellow with a colorful past. He has led a life of adventure, and he is the sort men choose for a leader.”

“It is a pity he was not forced to come before the Council. He should have been arrested and brought here.”

Gardiner nodded slowly. Then he said, “I have discovered what was afoot.”

“Then pray tell me.”

“As the rising was in the Earl of Devonshire's territory, I thought of questioning him.”

“Yes,” I said uneasily.

“He has confessed that he knows of the plot to oppose the Spanish marriage. He says he took no part in it, but when I questioned him he was very ready to tell me about it.”

“He is a weak young man, easily led, and he has become ambitious,” I said.

Gardiner agreed. “It is good that we have this warning,” he said. “It enables us to put down the revolt with less trouble than we should have if it were allowed to develop. There are certain people of whom we must be watchful and… Courtenay is one.”

I nodded.

“And more dangerous still… the Princess Elizabeth.”

“Do you think…?”

“I am of the opinion, Your Majesty, that she is a very dangerous lady.”

It all seemed to come back to Elizabeth.

While I was growing more and more anxious about these rumblings of revolt, the marriage treaty was signed. It had been very carefully drawn up. Our two dominions, England and Spain—which Philip would inherit on the death or abdication of his father—were to be governed separately. Only the English were to hold office in the English Court and government. If I had a child, it was to inherit my dominions with the addition of Holland and Flanders. I was not to be taken out of the country, nor should any children I might have, without my consent and that of the government. England was not to be involved in any wars in which Spain might be engaged, nor was Spain to appropriate English ships, ammunition or the crown jewels; and if I died without children, all connection between England and my husband would cease.

All this seemed fair enough, but there was one final clause, and I think that was what aroused the indignation of the people: Philip was to aid me in governing the country.

It was soon after the contents of the treaty were made public that trouble started in earnest.

The disappearance of Sir Peter Carew had to a certain extent quelled that which was about to take place in Devon. Courtenay had left London. He had not been arrested because he had alerted us to the dangers of the plot; but at the same time he had been guilty of traitorous intent. The plan had been to dethrone me, marry Courtenay to Elizabeth and set her on the throne, at the same time establishing the Protestant religion throughout the land.

There was a rising in the Midlands by the vassals of the Duke of Suffolk. Their aim was to set up Lady Jane Grey and also the Protestant religion.

Courtenay's confession had helped a great deal, and these were suppressed. But there was yet another to contend with, and this proved to be a very serious matter.

It was headed by Sir Thomas Wyatt. He was a headstrong young man from Allington Castle in Kent, and he continued to rouse the men of that county to action.

Wyatt was not unknown to me. He was the son of the poet who had been a close friend of Anne Boleyn—possibly her lover. I was greatly suspicious of his motives, and I wondered whether his father's love and admiration for the mother had been transferred by him to the daughter.

Every time I heard of these disloyal insurrections, my thoughts went to Elizabeth.

This Wyatt was a man to watch. He was an adventurer such as Peter Carew. They stepped naturally into the role of leader. They were fearless in the first place; they were reckless, too. I supposed it was those qualities which endeared them to others.

As a very young man Wyatt had been in trouble along with Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who himself had lost his head just before my father died. They had been wild young men, roaming the streets of London together, taking part in mischievous tricks which had resulted in their being arrested and spending a few weeks in the Tower. As such young men often do, Wyatt had later distinguished himself. This was in military service in Boulogne, and later he had been among those who had helped to defeat the Duke of Northumberland when the latter had tried to set Jane Grey on the throne. It seemed that he had been a loyal subject until the intended Spanish marriage was proposed.

Later I heard more of what had happened. Edward Courtenay was more deeply involved than we had at first realized. He it was who, knowing of Wyatt's dislike of the Spaniards, had invited him to raise men in Kent to join the insurrections. Wyatt was enthusiastic. Long ago, he had traveled to Spain with his father, the poet, who had been arrested and taken before the Inquisition. It was something he had never forgotten, and an intense hatred of Spaniards had been born in him then. He was determined to do everything possible to stop the Spanish marriage, and he, like many others, believed that, with a Spanish consort, Spanish manners and customs would be introduced into the country.

When a number of the conspirators were arrested, Wyatt found himself the head of the revolt. He might have fled the country, which would have been his wisest course of action, but men like Wyatt are never wise. Caution and self-preservation are traits quite unknown to their nature.

Finding himself forced into the position of leader, he rode to Maidstone and there proclaimed his cause. His neighbors and friends from other counties were urged to fight for the liberty of the people which would be suppressed if the Queen married a foreigner.

Renard came to see me in great consternation.

He had his spies placed everywhere, and the most accomplished were in the household of the French ambassador, who, he said, was our most dangerous enemy. The news he had to impart was indeed disquietening.

“King Henri is planning to open a front along the Scottish border,” he told me.

“And he is hinting at giving help to the rebels.”

“He cannot do that!” I cried.

“Why not? The Scots are always ready to come against us. They will welcome him. He has twenty-four warships on the Normandy coast, just waiting until the moment is ripe.”

“Why should he help the rebels?”

“He will help them to defeat your supporters, and then he will step in to perfect his plan.”

“To put Mary of Scotland on the throne. But the rebels want Elizabeth.”

“They are simpletons, he thinks. He will get them to do the worst of the work for him, and that will be the end of them.”

“How dangerous is this? We have suppressed the risings… all except this one of Wyatt's.”

“It is this one of Wyatt's that we have to watch. The sooner you are married, the better it will be.”

“Wyatt cannot do much against trained men.”

“Wyatt has been a soldier. He is not merely some hothead with a grievance. It is disturbing that the French should be ready to involve themselves in this.”

“I should like to dismiss de Noailles.”

“It would do no good. There would be another, and it is better to have one of whose methods we know something.”

“I shall send Norfolk against them.”

I was confident at this time that the trouble would soon be over.

This was not the case. As Renard had pointed out, Wyatt was a soldier; and, to my horror, it was not Wyatt who was defeated but Norfolk. I was greatly distressed when our soldiers returned to London; they were tired, dirty and hungry; they looked like the defeated army they were. There was great consternation among the citizens. It was clear to them that this was a serious revolt.

Then came the news that Wyatt was preparing to march on London.

It began dawning on me that I was in a desperate situation. I had no army to defend me. I asked myself how far I could trust my Council. I knew them for a group of ambitious men jostling for power. There was a small faction against Gardiner. He—with my support, it is true—was too fervent a Catholic; he was accused of causing trouble by trying to force people to join in religious observances against their will and for which they were not yet ready. Gardiner turned to them and declared that the sole trouble was the Spanish marriage and he had often questioned the wisdom of that.

So there I was, in my capital city, without an army, with a Council who were quarrelling among themselves, and rebels preparing to come against me.

Wyatt's headquarters were at Rochester, where he had gathered men and ammunition and was preparing to march on London. I sent messages throughout the country, offering a pardon to all his followers who left him within the next twenty-four hours and returned peacefully to their homes, reminding them that, if they did not, they would be judged traitors.

Then we heard that he was on his way with 4,000 men.

Gardiner came to see me. He was in a state of some agitation. Clearly he felt Wyatt to be a formidable foe. He said he had sent messages to him, asking him to state his demands.

I was astounded. “This is amounting to a truce,” I said.

“Your Majesty, the situation is dangerous. We have to halt this march on London.”

“I will not parley with him. Let him come. We will face him.”

“Your Majesty does not fully grasp the danger. He is marching on us with his army. The Council has considered the matter. Your Majesty must go to the Tower immediately… no, better still, Windsor. You should not be here when Wyatt's men come into the town.”

“They shall not come into the town,” I said firmly, “and I shall not go to Windsor. I will stay here and face these rebels.”

“It was suggested that you should dress as one of the people … and mingle with them so that it would not be known who you are.”

“I shall certainly not do that. I am the Queen, and everyone must know that I am the Queen.”

Renard came to tell me that the Imperial Commissioners were preparing to leave the country. I thought that was wise, as they had been negotiating the marriage contract and the people might turn on them in their fury.

“They wish to come and take their leave.”

“Then bring them,” I said.

When they arrived, I told them to give my best wishes to the Emperor and to tell him that I would write to him and tell him the outcome of this little matter.

They were astounded by my calmness. They believed I was in acute danger. I might have been, but at that time I was so confident of my destiny that I had no fear.

When they left, I went to the Guildhall. The people, aware of my coming, assembled there.

They cheered me as I approached, and it was heartwarming to hear the cry of “God save Queen Mary!”

I spoke to them, and I was glad of my deep voice—which some had said was more like a man's than a woman's—as I heard it ringing out with confidence which seemed to inspire them and disperse some of their anxieties.

“My loving subjects,” I cried, “who I am, you well know. I am your Queen, to whom at my coronation you promised allegiance and obedience. I am the rightful inheritor of this crown. My father's regal state has descended on me. It would seem that some do not like my proposed marriage. My beloved subjects, I do not enter into this out of self-will or lust, but it is my bounden duty to leave you an heir to follow me. It is untrue that harm will come to our country through my marriage. If I thought I should harm that and you, I should remain a virgin all my life. I do not know how a mother loves her child because I have never been a mother, but I assure you that I, being your Queen, see myself as your mother, and as such do I love you. Good subjects, lift up your hearts. Remember that you are true men and brave. Stand fast against these rebels. They are not only my enemies but yours also. Fear them not, for I assure you I fear them not at all.”

As I stopped speaking, the cheers rang out. “God save Queen Mary!”

“People of London,” I went on, “will you defend me against these rebels? If you will, I am minded to live and die with you and strain every nerve in your cause, for at this time your fortunes, goods and honor, your personal safety and that of your wives and children are in the balance.”

As I stopped speaking, once more the cheers rang out.

It was clear that they were all deeply moved. Gardiner, who had been beside me, looked at me with a dazed expression. Then he said, “I am happy that we have such a wise Queen.”

The people of London were rallying to my side. The streets were full of men prepared to fight. I was gratified. I knew I had taken the right course. I felt that I had been inspired and that God was showing me the way.

IT WAS THREE O'CLOCK in the morning. I was startled out of a dreamless sleep to find Susan at my bedside.

“Your Majesty, the Council are here. They must see you at once.”

I hastily rose. Susan wrapped a robe about me, and I went into the anteroom where the Council were waiting for me.

Gardiner said to me, “Your Majesty must leave London without delay. Wyatt is at Deptford. He will be at the city gates ere long.”

I replied, “I have promised the people of London that I will stay with them.”

“It is unsafe for Your Majesty to stay here.”

I was thoughtful for a moment. It was all against my instincts to fly, and yet, on the other hand, if I stayed and was murdered, what good would I be to my faith? It was my duty to restore this country to God's grace, and how could I do that… dead?

I was very undecided. My inclination was to stay, because I had given my word to the people of London. But was it foolish?

Only the previous day Renard had congratulated me on my speech to the people at the Guildhall. He said that if I had left London then, Wyatt could have succeeded, and that would have meant putting Elizabeth on the throne and strengthening the Protestant influence in the country. How wise I had been to act as I did, he said. The Emperor would approve.

And now here was my Council suggesting flight.

I said, “I will decide in the morning.”

Gardiner replied that the time was short. In the morning it might be too late.

“Nevertheless,” I replied, “I will decide then.”

As soon as they had gone, I sent one of my servants to bring Renard to me. He came with all speed.

“They are suggesting I leave for Windsor,” I told him. “They say that Wyatt is all but at the gates of the city, and if I stay here and he is victorious, it will be the end of my reign, and me most likely.”

“Your presence here has brought out the loyalty of these citizens,” said Renard.

“If you go, Wyatt will be allowed to walk in. Elizabeth will be proclaimed Queen, and that will be the end of your reign.”

“You are saying that I should stay.”

He nodded slowly. “I am saying just that.”

So my mind was made up. I should stay.

LONDON WAS A CITY at war. The shops had been boarded up, and all the goods were removed from the stalls. Armed men were everywhere; the drawbridges were cut loose, and the gates of the city were barred and guarded.

We waited in trepidation.

The guns of the Tower were trained on Southwark, but I could not allow them to be fired, even though Wyatt and his men were sheltering there. I had to consider the little houses and the people living in them. How could I fire on my own people? It was no fault of theirs that they were in the line of fire.

Wyatt must have been getting uneasy. One day passed … and then another. The bridge was too well guarded for him to cross; if he attempted to storm it, there would be bitter fighting and the village of Southwark would be destroyed. I imagined that at this stage he was wishing he had never been caught up in this rebellion. He had only meant to raise men against the Spanish marriage, and when the others had deserted, he had found himself the leader and it was too late to turn back. He was an honorable man; there was no pillage and looting in his army.

He must have realized that he could not fight his way across the bridge and therefore must leave Southwark. It was with relief that we saw his army on the march, although we knew that would not be the end; he would attempt to cross at another point.

We heard that he was at Kingston. He was in a quandary, for the rain was teeming down, the river was swollen and the bridge had broken down. Nothing daunted, Wyatt set his men to repair the bridge, which, in the heavy rain, took hours; but at length, after much toil and skill, it was sufficiently repaired to allow the men with their ammunition to cross the river.

All these delays and difficulties had had their effect on the men. It is a tribute to Wyatt's leadership that he kept them together. But at least he must congratulate himself. He had arrived with his army—albeit not in the condition it had been in when it left Southwark. But he was now on the Middlesex side of the river; he had successfully crossed, and London lay before him.

I was awakened once more in the night to hear that he had reached Brentford. Several of the guards were in the streets beating drums—the signal for citizens to be out of their beds and to prepare.

Then he reached Knightsbridge.

The Council told me I should go to the Tower, but I refused. I would stay at Whitehall. I knew the people must see me. If I went to the Tower, it would seem as though I were afraid and should have to protect myself. I did not want that. I must show the people that I was prepared to face danger, as they must.

Instinct told me that Wyatt was a desperate man. He must have believed that there were enough Protestants among the population of London to come to his aid, and that someone would open the gates when he had been at Southwark. I believed it was my action in staying with the people of London, and showing them my confidence, which had made them rally to me.

It seemed to me that I had acted on inspiration from Heaven, and I thanked God for those men who were loyal to me on that day. I had come near to a disaster which would have changed the face of history. Wyatt was a strong man with deep convictions; he was a leader, but the odds were against him. Perhaps he had ill luck. Perhaps it was that God intended me to live and fulfill my mission. I believed that, at the time, and I have gone on believing it.

Pembroke was magnificent. He was a skilled general. As Wyatt made his way toward St. James's, Pembroke kept his forces in hiding; and when Wyatt's forces had passed along unmolested, Pembroke and his men sprang out and attacked them in the rear. Winchester, another of my good commanders, was waiting ahead for him, so that he was between Wyatt and Ludgate.

The fighting was fierce. I was in the gatehouse, waiting, watching, desperately anxious for news.

A messenger came hurrying in. “All is lost!” he cried. “Pembroke has gone over to Wyatt.”

“I don't believe it!” I cried. “Pembroke is no traitor.”

“Wyatt is close. Your Majesty must take a barge at once. You could get to Windsor.”

“I will not go,” I said. “I shall stay here. Let us pray, and the Lord will save the day for us. I know in my heart that this will be so. I put my trust in God.”

I felt then that He was the only one in whom I could put my trust.

That was my darkest hour.

It was not long before the news reached me. The rumor was false. Pembroke was no traitor, as I had known he could not be. Wyatt's men, dispirited, cold, dirty and hungry after their experiences at Kingston, were no match for my men. They knew it, and when such knowledge comes to a soldier, he is a defeated man.

I wondered what Wyatt's thoughts were as he battled there at Ludgate; he must have realized with every passing second that his cause was a lost one.

Sir Maurice Berkeley called to him to surrender.

“If you do not,” he said, “all these men whom you have brought with you will doubtless be killed– yourself, too. Give in now. It may be that the Queen will show you mercy.”

Wyatt hesitated, but only for a moment. He knew that he had lost and he gave up gracefully.

Sir Maurice took Wyatt on the back of his horse and rode to the keep where I was watching, so that I might see that the leader of the rebellion was his prisoner.

My first thought was, “We must give thanks to God.” And, taking my women with me, I went to the chapel, where, on our knees, we gave thanks for this victory.

I was exultant. To me it meant confirmation of my dreams. God's purpose was clear to me. I prayed that I should be worthy to complete my mission.

NOW WAS THE TIME for retribution.

Wyatt was in the Tower. Although there was no question of his guilt, he was not executed immediately, because it was hoped that he would incriminate others—mainly my sister Elizabeth and Edward Courtenay.

At the Old Bailey, as many as eighty-two persons were judged and condemned in one day. In every street in London hung the bodies of traitors– a grim warning. This continued for ten days, and there were so many executions that men had to be cut down from the gibbets to make way for others. As Wyatt came from Kent, it was thought necessary to let the Kentish people see for themselves what happened to traitors. Men were taken there, and in the towns and villages their bodies were set up on gibbets or in chains.

Renard had told me frequently that the leniency I was inclined to show was dangerous. There would always be such insurrections while Lady Jane lived—and I could see that that was true. I knew I must agree that she be brought to the block.

I was wretched. I should have rejoiced. Our victory over Wyatt was complete, and yet, because it must result in so many deaths, I was unhappy. God had shown me how to act, and I had followed His instructions but I wished there need not be this carnage.

I told myself that these men were traitors, and they all knew the risk they ran when they took up arms against the anointed sovereign. It was the thought of Jane which haunted me, but I knew my advisers were right. While she lived, this sort of thing could happen again. It was better for her to die than that thousands should lose their lives because of her.