In the Shadow of the Crown (38 page)

“It is her right, and I shall do my best.”

“She will love you for it.”

“And for other things besides, I hope.”

I said earnestly, “I believe this is a happy day for us all now that you have become the Queen.”

“I pray so,” she said very seriously. “I hope so. You are to come with us on our journey. It is the King's wish.”

“Yes, he has changed toward me of late. Since he was… alone…he has sought my company. Perhaps now he will not want me there.”

She shook her head. “No, there will be no change. You are the King's daughter, and if it is in my power I shall remind him of this…if by some chance he should forget.”

“You must walk carefully,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Never fear,” she replied. “I shall take every step with care.”

BEFORE THE ROYAL PARTY could leave Hampton on what I supposed was to be a honeymoon, there was trouble over a group of reformers at Windsor.

The teachings of Martin Luther were taking a hold in some parts of the Continent and there were people who were working hard to bring them to England. Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was a firm Catholic, though he wholeheartedly supported the King's supremacy of the Church, but it was the Catholic Church and the only difference from the old religion was that the King was Head of the Church and not the Pope as before.

This was how the King preferred it to be. It was not the religion he objected to—only the power of the Pope to dictate to him. So, Gardiner was favored by him.

He was, however, watchful of those who wanted change, and as a result Anthony Pearsons, a priest, and three others, Robert Testwood, Henry Filmer and John Marbeck, were arrested. John Marbeck was a chorister at Court whose singing had particularly pleased the King.

Books favoring the new religion had been found in their apartments which was enough to condemn them all to the flames.

The Queen asked me to come to her, and when I arrived I found her in deep distress.

She dismissed all her attendants and we were alone.

“What ails Your Majesty?” I asked.

She looked over her shoulder nervously.

I said, “None can hear us.”

“It is these men,” she said. “They will be burned at the stake.”

“They are heretics,” I reminded her.

“They are thinkers,” she replied.

“It is forbidden to have books such as they have had in their possession.”

“How can that be a crime?”

“It is a crime because it is against the law.”

“If men are not allowed to think…if they are not allowed to have opinions, how will the world ever advance?”

“They may have opinions if they coincide with what is the law of the country.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot bear this intolerance.”

“Tell me,” I said. “Why does this affect you so deeply?”

“Because these men will be burned for their opinions.”

“A foretaste of what they will suffer in Hell.”

“Do you think God would be as cruel as men?”

“We are taught that Hell awaits the wicked.”

“All these men have done is read books and talk of religion.”

I stared at her. I was horrified… not so much because of her faith— which was diametrically opposed to my own—but because of what this could lead her to. Here she was, a few weeks married to my father, already confessing that she was as guilty as those men. She was leaning toward heresy. Yet such was my affection for her that I could only think of the danger she was in.

“Your Majesty…my lady…”

She held her head high. “I shall always uphold the right of men and women to act according to their consciences,” she said.

“Please…
please
do not mention this to anyone.”

Suddenly she put her arms round me, and I forgot my reserve sufficiently to cling to her. Already I loved the woman, and I wanted to protect her. My thoughts were all for her safety.

“You must never, never talk like that to anyone,” I said.

“Not yet …” she answered.

“You think…”

“There may come a time. Life is changing. Opinions change. The truth will shine through in the end.”

“You mean… the reformed Church?”

“I mean that whatever is right must prevail.”

“My lady…my dear stepmother, I want you to be here to see it.”

“How fortunate I am to have you as my friend!”

“I want our friendship to last. I do not want it to be cut short. I have lived through some dangerous years…”

“My poor, poor Mary.”

“I have not always said what I believe to be true. I have prevaricated…

I think on more than one occasion I have saved my life by being less than frank.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Promise me you will do the same. If you believe…it is better to live and help that belief… rather than die…however nobly.”

“I want to live. God knows I want to live.”

“Then watch for Gardiner. He will be your enemy.”

“It is at his instigation that these men have been arrested. Mary, I must try to save them.”

“How can you do that?”

“I thought to plead for them with the King.”

“Oh, take care. If Gardiner knew of these… tendencies in you…he would not hesitate. He would do his best to…remove you as others have been removed.”

“I know.”

“You could be in acute danger.”

“For a while the King is pleased.”

“He was pleased with others… for a while. Please be very careful.”

“I will. But I must plead for these men.”

“If you ask for them all to be freed, you will betray yourself.”

“If I say that it is unseemly that men should be burned at the stake while we are celebrating our marriage…”

“You would be suspect. Plead for one. Plead for Marbeck. He was a favorite of the King. It would seem as though you liked his music.”

“I did. But it is for his views…”

“I have told you.
I
have been in danger. My views are as strong as yours. But I know how to preserve my life. There may be work for me to do… work for you…Take care. Please listen to me. Plead for Marbeck. Save his life if you can… then perhaps that might help the others.”

She looked at me steadily. “I believe you may be right,” she said.

I left her. I was absolutely astounded by what she had betrayed to me. She leaned toward the Reformed Faith. I could not believe she understood what acute danger she was placing herself in.

CHAPUYS VISITED ME and told me what had happened.

He said, “Marbeck is to go free. It is a special favor to the Queen. She asked for the freedom of all four heretics, and the King has compromised by giving her Marbeck. It is whispered that he intended to pardon him in any case, for he did not want to lose one of his best choristers.”

“But the other three?”

“They got to the stake.”

“If she had asked for one of the others, it might have been better then.”

“Who knows? The King is in an uxorious mood at the moment, having been so shortly married. He must have been rather pleased that she asked for Marbeck because he was able to gratify her wish and please himself at the same time—though I am of the opinion that he would not have freed one of the others. A law has been passed to suppress what they call the New Learning, and it is forbidden to be in possession of translations like Tyndale's. It is against the law, and those men have broken the law. I am inclined to think that this is a beginning, and Gardiner will soon have more in the cells awaiting the fiery death.”

He looked at me steadily for a few moments, pausing before he went on, “The Queen is an erudite woman. Gardiner will have his eyes on her… after her pleas for Marbeck. It may be that he will think that it is not only on account of his singing voice that she wants him free.”

“What other reason could there be?”

He smiled at me and said quietly, “Gardiner will be watchful.”

I thought: I could not bear it if she went the way of the others…not good, kind Katharine who had married the King so reluctantly. It would be too cruel of fate. I could not stop thinking of Anne Boleyn in the Tower awaiting her end…of little Catharine Howard, running screaming along the gallery at Hampton Court. Not this kind stepmother who had never done anyone an injury in the whole of her life.

I must impress on her more strongly the need for caution.

She was delighted, of course, that Marbeck had been spared.

“But the others,” she said. “I dream of them…I can hear the crackle of the flames…I can feel the scorching of their limbs…”

“But your intercession saved Marbeck.”

“I tried for the others. I tried so hard … but he began to get irritable, and I was afraid that I might lose Marbeck if I persisted.”

“You were wise to desist. My lady … Katharine … they must never know. Gardiner must never guess… about your views.”

“I know,” she said. “He would have me at the stake if he did.”

“Please… please take care.”

She said she would, and I believed I had impressed on her the danger she was in.

THE REFORMERS HAD PERISHED at the stake, and we were leaving on a journey through the country to celebrate the King's marriage. We were to go to Woodstock, Grafton and Dunstable—there would be hunting on the way—and we should stay at the grand houses of noblemen who would
be expected to put on grand entertainments for us. I know these royal progresses were a source of great anxiety to those who had to entertain us, for they could become bankrupt in the process. But the King would have been put out if an inadequate welcome was given to him; and those who failed to treat him royally would soon find they were out of favor at Court—and it was always feared what that might lead to.

We had not gone far when one of my attacks came on. I tried hard to fight it but it was no use.

My father was always irritated by illness, and it was thought best to send me off in a litter. We were not far from Ampthill, which had at one time housed my mother, and to this place I was sent.

I do not think it helped being in her old house. Memories of her came back, and I was plunged into melancholy. Dr. Butts was sent to me, and he thought the best thing was to move me to a house which was not full of shadows for me.

Edward was at Ashridge—Elizabeth with him—and it was decided that I should go there to recuperate.

I was feeling very tired, listless and far from well, so it was pleasant to be in the country away from the activities of the Court. I did enjoy seeing the children occasionally—after all, they were my own sister and brother.

Little Jane Grey was with them at this time. She was an attractive child, just about Edward's age—very pretty, dainty and quite learned. Edward was devoted to her. I was amused once more to see how Elizabeth dominated them. She was, after all, four years older, and she had the nature of a leader. The other two looked up to her and in a way protected each other against her.

There was no doubt that, much as Edward admired his sister, he was very pleased to have Jane as an ally.

Mrs. Sybil Penn, who had looked after him since he was a baby, said, “Lady Jane is such a dear little playmate for him. His sister, the Lady Elizabeth, is inclined to bully… much as he adores her. But Lady Jane… she is just sweet and gentle. To see them at their books together…well, it just amazes me that there should be such learning in those two little heads.”

Jane was a sort of cousin. She was the daughter of Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, who had married Frances, daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and my namesake, Mary Tudor, my father's sister. Jane herself was the eldest of three sisters.

Mrs. Penn was fierce in her defense of Edward. She reminded me of Lady Bryan. I often thought what a lot we owed to those women who were mothers to us in our babyhood. They would fight our battles with the King himself if need be. Thus it was with Mrs. Penn.

She was angry about the treatment little Jane received in her home.
“Poor little mite,” she said. “They are very severe with her. They think nothing of beating her and locking her up in her room and keeping her without food. I've seen marks on her little body from the whip. I'd turn it on them, I would… dukes or marquises, whatever they be…to treat a child like that and her such a sweet little thing. She's happy here, and my prince is happy to have her with him. I hope we can keep her for a while. Perhaps you would speak for that, my lady.”

I said I would, and then the motherly soul turned her attention to me. She said I needed looking after. She would like to see a little color in my cheeks.

So it was rather pleasant to watch the children together—to note the tender affection of Edward and Jane; and Elizabeth watching them, making sure that she lost none of her influence over the pair.

I was recovering—and in due course I returned to Court.

The Queen was determined to persuade the King to give full recognition to his daughters and, emboldened by her success over Marbeck and knowing that the King was pleased with her, she attempted to do so.

Having nursed two husbands already, Katharine was experienced in the art. She had gentle hands which could be firm when necessary; she could dress his leg more quickly and less painfully than anyone else; he would often sit resting the leg on her lap, and that seemed to ease it considerably. He liked to talk to her of literature, music and theology; and providing she chose her words carefully he found the discourse to his liking.

He was happier than he had been for a long time. He was sure he had chosen wisely, and most would have agreed with him on that point.

In February of that year following his marriage, I was reinstated to my old position at Court. I was even included in the line of succession, but after Edward would come any daughter my father might have by the Queen or— ominous phrase—any succeeding wives. It was a great step forward—and Elizabeth was to come after me.

Elizabeth was full of high spirits during this time.

We owed a great deal to Katharine—but perhaps not all as far as I was concerned, for my father was eagerly seeking to renew his friendship with the Emperor, and it might well have been for this reason that he was treating me as he was.