Beware, Princess Elizabeth (11 page)

This time Mary seemed more at ease, almost friendly. I didn't trust her friendliness. Jane the Fool and Lucretia the Tumbler were both present, distracting the queen with their antics. Jane, I observed, looked different; a luxurious hood made of sable covered her usually naked head.

"We have a gift for you," said Queen Mary. Immediately Jane the Fool stepped forward, capering in her foolish clown shoes, and flung off the hood. Mary took the hood from her and draped it about my head and shoulders. "To ward off the frosts of winter at Ashridge," said the queen.

An instant later Lucretia the Tumbler performed a somersault and some sleight of hand in front of me, and I found myself holding two strings of costly pearls. I looked up in wonder. Mary smiled, but her eyes remained cold. "These gifts are so that you do not forget us," she said.

"You will never be far from my thoughts, dear sister," I said. True enough—I would always be fearful of her, and I would never cease to hate her.

Queen Mary rose and embraced me. I forced myself to return the embrace. She gave me her blessing, and I was dismissed. I was free to go.

But my relief was short-lived. Outside the queen's privy chamber door, two of her councillors, Sir William Paget and the earl of Arundel, lay in wait.

"Lady Elizabeth," said Paget, his words and tone pointedly reminding me that in the eyes of many I was not a princess but the bastard daughter of a disgraced woman.

One on either side of me, they escorted me down the long gallery and pulled me into an empty chamber. The heavy door slammed shut. Both looked grim. What did these two want of me?

"You leave shortly for Ashridge?" Paget asked.

"On the morrow."

"Who accompanies you?"

Kat, I told them. Mr. Parry, my cofferer, and his sister Blanche, who chaperoned the maids. I named off others of my suite, growing increasingly fearful.

"And who awaits you there?" asked Arundel.

I looked at him, frankly puzzled. "And who
should
be awaiting me there?" I asked, turning the question back on him.

The councillors exchanged glances. "We shall be more honest with you than you have perhaps been with us," Paget said. "This is a warning, my lady Elizabeth: You will be watched closely for any sign that you might be planning a rising, a rebellion designed to overthrow the queen."

"I assure you that I have no such intent, my lords," I said, quite honestly, for I did not. "My loyalty is entirely with my sister, the queen, whom I love and honor."

"Mind, then, that you do not become involved in someone else's intentions. You may be innocent, but there are others who are not. Responsibility for any treasonous act will fall upon your shoulders."

The two old windbags stepped back, bowed, and allowed me to leave the chamber. I fled with as much appearance of calm as I could muster, far more than I felt.

T
HICK FLAKES
of an early snow began to fall as I left London late in November. Peasants and yeomen stepped off the muddy road to make way for the royal entourage and touched their caps respectfully. When I arrived at Ashridge, my first duty was to write to the queen, thanking her for her many kindnesses. But I also asked that she send the priestly vestments needed for the celebration of Mass. Mary had seen to it that several Catholic priests were included in my retinue, and I wanted to have them properly attired for their role as I continued to play
my
role as a make-believe Catholic.

Then I settled down to spend what I hoped would be a peaceful winter, with my usual quiet pursuits of study, embroidery, music, and conversation with my ladies.

Soon after my arrival at Ashridge, a strange thing happened. I was in the chapel, kneeling behind the screen to make my confession, when a messenger disguised as a priest delivered me a letter.
To Elizabeth, the true and only princess fit to rule England,
the letter began.
Your day will come soon. Preparations have begun. Pray for our success. Your obedient servant, Thomas Wyatt.

My heart raced. I had only slight knowledge of this Wyatt. But though I was in the chapel, I silently cursed him. What he had done was terribly dangerous—to himself, certainly, and no less to me.

"I can have no part in this," I whispered to the priest-messenger in the confessional and quickly fled from the chapel. I destroyed the letter immediately and spoke of it to no one—not even Kat. And, only half believing the good intentions of this Wyatt, son of a great poet in my father's court, I tried to put it from my mind and prayed that the plot would go no further. When I heard nothing more, I began to breathe more easily.

As winter deepened I fell ill with fevers and took to my bed. Kat, alarmed by my weakness and pallor, summoned my physician, who diagnosed an excess of choler.

When various unpleasant purgatives brought no improvement, the physician consulted my astrologer, Dr. John Dee, who determined that bleeding in the hour after midnight would cure me. A surgeon was summoned to open the vein in my left arm. After the basin of blood had been carried away and my wound bound up, Kat fed me teas made with herbs and kept close watch over me. At last the fever left me, but I still did not have the strength to stand unaided.

As I began to recover, Kat sat by my bedside and described all that had happened during the days that I drifted in and out of my feverish dreams.

"Diplomats arrived from Spain to conclude the marriage negotiations between Prince Philip and the queen," she told me. "Their welcome was cold. Mr. Parry heard that they were greeted with snowballs hurled, along with unkind words, by Englishmen who want no part of a Spanish king."

I smiled at that—the haughty Spanish pelted with snowballs! "When do they intend to marry?" I asked.

"In summer, I believe. But there is another story, far more serious," Kat continued. "On the twenty-fifth of January, Sir Thomas Wyatt of Kent raised up an army of several thousand men and marched toward London, intent upon seizing the queen."

"What happened?" I asked, instantly alert.
The letter!
I thought.

"When word spread of Wyatt's rebellion, many urged the queen to take shelter within the walls of the Tower. Some even tried to persuade her to flee the country. But she refused to do any of this. Instead, she stood steadfast. The queen made a brave speech that Mr. Parry says brought tears to all who heard, and they pledged to support her."

"But surely the rising failed?"

"It did. Wyatt was captured on the seventh of February and is being held in the Tower." Kat hesitated, but I pressed her to continue, ordering her to tell me everything.

"Wyatt claims he did it for you, that you knew all along about the plans, and that you had given your consent to his cause—even your support."

"Lies!" I exclaimed, although they were not exactly. "All lies!" I struggled to sit up, but the effort exhausted me, and I fell back upon my pillows. "Did he act alone?" I asked. "Were there others?"

"Edward Courtenay has also been arrested."

"Courtenay, too? That idiot! What was his role in this pitiable mummery?"

"The plot was to marry you to Courtenay and to place you both on the throne in Mary's stead."

My mind reeled. It was almost too much to take in. "Is there more?" I asked, hoping there was not.

"I fear so, madam."

"Then tell me!"

"It is Lady Jane Dudley and her husband, Guildford," Kat said sadly. "The queen has signed the order for their execution."

"But surely they had no part in this conspiracy!"

"No, madam, they did not," Kat said. "But Jane's father did. They found him hiding in a hollow tree. It is all done for them, I fear."

I turned my head away. My sister would actually have this young woman beheaded? Surely not! It was not Jane's doing! But even in my enfeebled state, I was certain of one thing: Mary would lay the blame at my feet, and I would pay dearly for all that had happened. If she would send Lady Jane to the scaffold, Mary would not hesitate to send me. Clearly the queen was afraid, and fear had made her ruthless. I was tired, so very tired, but I realized that I would soon have to gather every ounce of strength I possessed to defend myself—or lose my life.

T
HE TIME CAME
before I was ready. The fever had returned and was worse than ever, and I had not left my bedchamber in weeks. One morning as I lay in bed in great discomfort, I heard a commotion below and was told that a messenger had arrived from London. He insisted upon delivering a letter to me in person. As he entered my chamber, I saw that he was garbed in the queen's livery. My heart pounded as I broke the wax seal impressed with the queen's device.

The lady Elizabeth is commanded to present herself without delay to Her Majesty, the queen.
Nothing more—no explanation, no reason given. It was signed, with her initials,
M. R.,
for Maria Regina.

I fell back upon my pillows, and Kat took the letter from my hand. "Nonsense!" she scolded the messenger. "You can see for yourself that the lady Elizabeth is in no condition to travel."

But the messenger met Kat's stubborn resistance with his own stubbornness: I must prepare to leave at once. The queen had ordered it, and I must obey.

Kat refused to yield, and I was too ill to do more than protest ineffectually. Kat swept out of my chamber in search of my physicians and instructed them to write to Queen Mary at once. Within the hour the messenger was on his way to London with the physicians' letter. At least I would gain a little time, but I was sleepless with worry.

In less than a week, a second messenger appeared. The fever had subsided, and I was recovered enough to be propped on pillows. But I was still weak as a newborn. This second messenger was accompanied by stern-faced guards.

"Our orders are to take the lady Elizabeth by force if necessary," said the captain of the guards, a burly man with an ill-trimmed beard.

"Away with you!" Kat ordered, shooing the guards as though they were a flock of geese. "The lady is ill and needs time to prepare."

"Mary does not believe that I am ill," I said tearfully to Kat when the guards had reluctantly withdrawn. "She thinks I feign illness to win her sympathy."

"Dear Elizabeth," Kat said, "you have no choice but to make the journey. The queen has sent a litter for you, and the guards will brook no refusal or delay. I shall accompany you to make sure that every care is taken."

And so, on the eighteenth of February, terrified of what lay ahead, I left Ashridge with my entourage. Usually the journey to London in a litter took three days, although the time was far less on a fast horse. But Kat, riding beside me in the litter, grimly refused to allow the horsemen to move at any but the slowest pace. With all the halts and rests required for even minimal comfort, the journey lasted five days. For me it was five days of misery.

As we approached London I summoned enough strength to have my maids dress me in a pure white gown. The queen's guard approached to escort us the rest of the way, and Kat drew back the curtains of the litter so that the curious crowds gathered along our route might see for themselves how ill I was. And in truth I had never felt worse in my life.

I assumed that I would be taken to Whitehall Palace to meet with my sister, but I was wrong. I was taken instead to St. James's Palace, where I was placed under guard. The captain of the guards read off the names of a half dozen of my ladies. "You are permitted to stay with the lady Elizabeth," he informed them brusquely. "The rest of you are ordered to leave at once."

I gasped. In confusion, the ladies who had been dismissed began to gather their belongings. Kat refused to move, and one of the guards shoved her rudely.

"I did not hear my name read out," she said loudly, "but surely that is an omission."

The guard glared at her. "You must be Mistress Ashley. It is the queen's specific order that you are dismissed."

Kat cried out, and although I felt like screaming, I merely embraced her as hard as I could and then watched her go. Both of us choked back tears.

Soon another half dozen ladies arrived, women I believed were picked by Mary to spy upon me. Lady Maud, a wizened dame of advanced years, was more talkative than the others. From her I heard the sad news that Lady Jane and Guildford Dudley had been beheaded.

"I was with her to the end, poor brave soul," Lady Maud said in her cracked voice. "And the queen gave her every chance to live." Maud shook a gnarled finger at me. "Her Majesty even offered Lady Jane a reprieve, if she would only profess the Catholic faith. But Lady Jane would have none of it. She spent her last hours writing letters to her family and composing the speech she would utter from the scaffold itself."

I thought of the brilliant but serious girl who had shared my tutors.
Would I have had her courage? Will I need it in what lies ahead?

"Then the queen granted a request from Guildford to bid his wife farewell," said Maud. "But Lady Jane refused to see him. Not being of royal blood, he was marched off to Tower Hill for his execution. I was with Lady Jane when the cart brought his headless body wrapped in a bloody sheet on its way to burial. She turned quite pale, I can tell you, but even then she did not cry out."

I thought of Guildford Dudley, a callow and simpering youth whom I'd never much liked. Lady Maud clearly relished this opportunity to tell her tale, and I did not interrupt her.

"It was my duty to follow Lady Jane up the steps of the scaffold, and I did as I must, although my heart was breaking for her. She knelt down in the sawdust and recited the Fifty-first Psalm, beginning to end. Handing me her gloves and her handkerchief, she took the blindfold and tied it over her own eyes, refusing my assistance. But then she could not see to find her way to the block, and groped for it like a blind person. 'Where is it? Where is it?' she cried. It fell to me to guide her to it, although I would have done anything in the world not to."

Lady Maud paused to snuffle into her handkerchief before she continued. "Then Lady Jane knelt down at the block and said aloud, 'Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.' One blow from the ax, and it was over. The headsman picked up the severed head by the hair and cried out, 'So perish all the queen's enemies! Behold the head of a traitor!' The blood continued to pour out of her body in great quantity, and the crones pressed forward to sop it up. Later, when the curious had all gone away, it was my last duty to see her body laid beneath the altar pavement in the chapel of Saint Peter ad Vincula."