Beware, Princess Elizabeth (8 page)

"'In order to be faithful to his father's name and wishes and to fulfill his duty to God, King Edward has decided that the crown must not pass to his sister Mary, who breaks the king's law and violates her father's memory with her persistence in the Catholic faith.'"

"But what about me?" I shrieked. "I am not a Catholic! My brother could not have accused me of violating the faith, for I am as Protestant as the king! He cannot simply eliminate me!"

"Dudley claims that the king was equally insistent that the crown not go to 'the lady Elizabeth.' He feels that it would cause disharmony to eliminate one sister and not the other. Or so Dudley claims."

Dudley's plan was now apparent to all. At his instruction the new queen, Jane, would name Guildford as the new king. Guildford would do as his father told him, and John Dudley, duke of Northumberland, would hold the real power in the kingdom.

I had by then completely lost my temper. I leaped from my horse, snatched up a handful of stones that were lying about, and threw them as hard as I could at a fence post nearby. The fence post was a poor substitute for John Dudley, and the stones bounced off harmlessly. Cecil watched me in silence. My three ladies, who had been riding decorously some distance behind us, drew up their mounts and stared. When I had no more stones, I flung clods of dirt. My headdress flew off, my gown was streaked with dirt, and my hair came undone.

"But it is not completely settled yet, is it?" I asked, still breathless but calmer now that my temper had at last worn itself out. "Surely Parliament must approve Edward's
Device for the Succession.
If the privy council chooses, the device can be declared illegal, can it not?"

Cecil dismounted and helped me back onto my horse. "You are right, madam," he sighed. "But you were not present with the councillors to hear Dudley's arguments and threats. He pounded the table, and in his thundering voice he issued this warning: 'If Mary ascends to the throne, every man among us will be punished for disloyalty. Every man among us will be sent to the Tower, and every man among us will have his head on the block.'"

At that moment a dark cloud passed over the sun, and I shivered. "And what was the conclusion of the council?" I asked with a sick feeling, certain I already knew the answer.

"A vote was taken. There was but one dissenting vote—mine. Every man but one agreed that Lady Jane Dudley will be the next queen."

Poor Jane! She was a brilliant scholar, but she was completely innocent in the ways of the world. Unaware of the scheming and subterfuge that surrounded her, she simply did as she was told.

Soon after her wedding Jane became unwell. She wrote to a friend—Lady Letitia claimed to have seen the letter—that she believed her mother-in-law was trying to poison her. Apparently Jane had no knowledge of the
Device for the Succession,
or she would have known that she was far too valuable to be murdered.

On the fourth of July, I lay ill with a fever, perhaps brought on by the news delivered by Sir William. I had told no one save Kat of the
Device,
but it preyed on my mind. In this frail condition I received a message from John Dudley: "His Majesty, the king, is near death. It is feared that he will not live out the week."

Numb and trembling, I called for Kat. "Edward is dying," I said tearfully. "What shall I do?"

"Wait," she advised. "You are too ill to travel, Elizabeth. Even if you were strong enough to leave at once, there is little prospect that you would arrive in time to see your dear brother alive. And," she added ominously, "this may well be a trap."

Of course! The fever had interfered with my thinking. Dudley might indeed be planning to lure my sister and me to London to make sure we were unable to interfere with his plans.

I accepted Kat's advice. I dispatched a message to my sister at her manor house in Hunsdon to inform her of my decision, but the messenger returned with word that Mary—usually wary of traps—had already left for Greenwich.

My brother, the king, died on Thursday, the sixth of July
anno Domini
1553. As with the death of my father, news of his passing was suppressed for three days—not an easy task, given that the corpse had begun to rot in the summer heat. On Sunday, the ninth of July, a messenger in black crepe brought me official news of the death. I expected the news, but I had learned years earlier that even when death is anticipated, its reality and its finality still come as a shock.

In the days following Edward's death, events unfolded of which I had no knowledge at the time. Only later, when Sir William Cecil visited me at Hatfield, was I able to piece together what had happened. By then I was recovered from my fever and felt quite well again. I called for a refreshing drink to be brought to the knot garden while Sir William described to me the events of the past fortnight.

On the ninth of July, Lady Jane was taken to Syon House, one of the royal palaces, where her father-in-law knelt and solemnly informed her of the death of the king and of her succession. At this the entire company—including her hated mother-in-law—bowed down before her.

"Jane appeared stunned by this news," Cecil reported, "and she collapsed in a swoon. When she regained her senses, she burst into weeping and lamenting the death of the king. Then she told those around her in ringing tones—she has a remarkably strong voice for such a small person—that she did not want the crown. 'It pleases me not,' she said with great conviction. 'The lady Mary is the rightful heir.'"

"Poor Jane," I murmured. "She really did not want this."

But Dudley, with Jane's parents echoing his words, told her that she had nothing to say about it. "The king has willed it," said Dudley, "as God has willed it. You have no choice but to obey."

At last, Jane unhappily accepted. Hushed crowds gathered along the Thames to stare as the royal barge carried Jane and her retinue downriver to the Tower. Cecil supplied me with all of the details, even down to her chopines, high wooden clogs strapped to her shoes to make her appear taller. Jane climbed clumsily up the stairs from the barge and tottered to the Tower and the royal apartments. She was told that she must stay there until her coronation.

"And when is that to be?" Jane asked.

"You will be informed when the time comes" was the reply.

When heralds were dispatched to proclaim the word throughout London that Jane Dudley was queen and Mary Tudor a bastard unfit to rule, there was no rejoicing. The announcement was greeted by the people with silence.

I listened attentively to all of this, outwardly calm and controlled. Inwardly, though, my head throbbed and my nerves were unstrung. "But where was Mary?" I asked Cecil hoarsely. "What of my sister?"

"While all of this was happening, Mary was en route to Greenwich. Along the way she encountered a messenger who warned her of danger. Robin Dudley was preparing to leave London with three hundred guardsmen to capture Mary and take her prisoner."

"My old friend Robin Dudley!" I felt my temper flare. "His deceitful father's deceitful son after all!"

"So it seems," Cecil said dryly. "But Lady Mary heeded the warning and immediately changed her plans. With only two ladies-in-waiting and a half dozen gentlemen, she fled through the night on horseback in the opposite direction.

"The next day—it was now the tenth of July—John Dudley informed Queen Jane that she must make her husband, Guildford, the king. Only twenty-four hours had passed, but by then she would have understood that John Dudley never intended for her to rule.

"Jane called together some of the privy councillors and told us, 'If the crown truly belongs to me, then I shall make my husband a duke. But I will not consent to make him king.'"

"She has more courage than I suspected."

"Jane has great courage," Cecil agreed. "This insolence was too much for her mother-in-law. Her fury barely contained, the duchess turned to Guildford and hissed, 'If she is stubborn, then you shall be just as stubborn. You must refuse to share a bed with this shrew you call wife!' Then the duchess stormed out of the room, with Guildford obediently following at her heels.

"That night we of the privy council received a letter from Mary, declaring her right to the throne. Robin Dudley had not been able to capture her after all! Lady Mary had arrived at Kenninghall, near Cambridge; she was free, and she was determined to be queen."

"Go on, go on!" I said, impatiently pacing the formal pattern of the knot garden.

"When John Dudley learned that powerful noblemen and common people alike were flocking to Mary's support, he prepared to fight. He assembled three thousand men at the Tower, armed with crossbows and pikes as well as cannons and gunpowder. He led his troops north toward Cambridge, boasting, 'I will put a quick end to Lady Mary's defiance.' But John Dudley forgot one thing: Mary is much loved, and nearly everyone hates him. Now, when he needed it most, the duke had no one he could trust."

"Good, good, good!" I cried.

"Hearing that John Dudley was on his way, Lady Mary left Cambridge and rode hard for East Anglia. Her castle at Framlingham is fortified with walls eight feet thick and forty feet high and watchtowers looking out to sea. As the news spread, people began to rally to her cause. Day after day they arrived, bringing whatever horses and arms they could muster, or sending carts of food and supplies. My messengers, quite breathless with the magnitude of it, reported to me that Lady Mary had somehow raised an army of twenty thousand! One after another the towns in the area proclaimed Mary as their queen."

"But what of John Dudley?" I asked.

"Things went badly for the duke. He had ordered seven warships to guard the coast to prevent Mary's escape, but the sailors mutinied. The next day two thousand seamen arrived at Mary's camp hauling a hundred enormous cannons from the ships.

"Imagine how uneasy the privy councillors felt! Most had sworn loyalty to Dudley. When it appeared that Lady Mary might win after all, and knowing it would not go well for them if she did, they swung against Dudley. On the nineteenth every one of the councillors appeared in the public square and declared Mary our queen. Shortly thereafter, John Dudley gave up.

"There is nothing in memory equal to the celebration that began as soon as your sister was proclaimed," Cecil was saying. "The bells were ringing when I left, and may still be ringing, for all I know. The din was terrific! Men tossed their caps into the air and cheered, and women wept for joy. The jubilant throngs were preparing to feast and dance and sing all night."

So my sister was now queen. And because she had triumphed
I was next!
This was the moment, standing in the knot garden, when I realized that someday I, too, would become queen of England. How I savored that moment! As I listened to Cecil's description, I saw myself in Mary's place, the bells ringing, the crowds cheering.
Someday
...

"The scene must have been quite different at the Tower of London," I observed, bringing myself back to the moment.

Sir William stroked his close-trimmed beard. "Ah, poor little Queen Jane," he sighed. "There she sat, pale as death, waiting with her father for the outcome. When Lord Grey learned that all of the councillors had turned against Dudley, he rushed out and made a great show of proclaiming Mary the queen. Then he returned to the royal apartments and tore down the cloth of estate that had been hung above his daughter's chair and ordered her to remove her royal robes. She was queen for just nine days."

"What will happen to her now?" I asked, imagining myself in Jane's stead, both relieved and frightened, in equal parts.

"She will be locked up in the Tower, along with her husband," said Sir William. "But I cannot imagine that Queen Mary will be anything other than forgiving. Lady Jane has no fault in this."

I said nothing, silently praying that he was right.

Sir William drained his cup and begged my leave. He was on his way to Framlingham Castle to pledge his loyalty to Queen Mary. "I suspect that many from the privy council will be there, humbly begging her pardon, on their knees in the hope of saving their necks."

I asked him to tarry long enough for me to send a letter with him for Mary, offering my sister my congratulations at the same time that I expressed my sorrow at the death of our brother. But even as I wrote, somewhere in my mind the thought lingered,
Someday it will be my turn.

W
HEN ALL THE
rebels had been rounded up and hauled off to cells in the Tower, Mary set out from Framlingham with an escort of several thousand men. With great excitement I rode out to meet the new queen, accompanied by my own retinue of a thousand knights, gentlemen, and ladies-in-waiting. As Mary approached I climbed down from my horse and knelt in the dusty road. When she saw me, Mary immediately dismounted and raised me up.

I had not seen my sister for five years, and I believe we were each surprised by the appearance of the other. Mary was thirty-seven, an aging woman, while I was not yet twenty. For a moment we stared at each other, and then Mary kissed me. After she had embraced me, the queen went to the gentlewomen in my retinue and embraced each one.

As I watched Mary I did wonder if she saw me as a rival. I wished I could reassure her that she had nothing to fear from me. In the natural course of events, my turn would inevitably come. I would not challenge her. I had only to wait.

Together we rode side by side toward London, banners fluttering and horns blaring fanfares. Outside the city the great procession halted so that Mary could change out of her dusty clothing.

Queen Mary entered the capital dressed in a gown of purple velvet over a petticoat of purple satin stitched with goldwork and pearls. More gems ornamented her velvet sleeves and headdress, and the baldric she wore draped across her chest. Even her horse was gorgeously arrayed, trapped in embroidered cloth of gold. The train of Mary's gown was so long and so heavy that it had to be carried on the shoulder of one of the gentlemen of her household.