Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (8 page)

Mother and
Father fled the Tower, taking my sister Mary with them and leaving us behind to face the wrath of Mary Tudor. Their daughter the queen—the daughter they made queen—and me, always an afterthought.

Was it ironic that Jane had called me to her today? Did she know that
Princess Mary Tudor would ride on London and take back the city, the country—her throne?

Did she know that she
herself would be declared a prisoner?

For the bells
did indeed ring out for a new queen—Queen Mary—and with each loud clang, the threat to our lives was drilled home.

“You should leave now, Kat. Take your
husband and go.” Jane’s voice was devoid of emotion, and it suddenly hit me—rupturing any vestige of childhood innocence I might have had left—this would be the last time I saw my sister.

My husband
, Henry, awaited his father’s orders in his own chambers Jane provided at the Tower, since Pembroke had been an integral man of the council. But there were things I had not told Jane that I witnessed at Baynard’s Castle. Secret meetings. Men flying up The Strand on horseback in the middle of the night with cryptic missives. Barges leaving Baynard’s filled with cloaked figures and heavy wooden chests, their metal locks glinting in the moonlight. A tremendous guilt weighed heavily on my shoulders, for I had not realized until now that Pembroke was working against my sister.

Mary
Tudor was on her way to London.

I
remembered Mary from when we’d visited her at Beaulieu as children. Unlike Princess Elizabeth, who was bitter and foul-tempered toward me, Mary was always kind, but behind her kindness was a tightly coiled anger. I had seen it in her nearly black eyes. An anger that once released would not stop until all hell broke loose. I could feel it then, and I felt it now. Felt it in the shouts from the guards throughout the Tower as they called out, “Long live Queen Mary!” Felt it in the ringing of the bells, the intense boom of cannons, and the echoes of London’s citizens as they cheered in the streets.

I glanced at Jane, my dear, dear Jane, my mouth in a grim line.
She would suffer for this. For all the plans of my father for power, for all of Northumberland’s greed, she would suffer most.

“Do not look at me so, Kat. I may not have wanted this
…” She spread her hand out, indicating her room, the small crown atop her head. “But I certainly did not come to it dragging my feet. I shall deal with the consequences as any royal woman would. I shall be the princess of the blood—the queen—that I am. I will not run from my fate.”

I open
ed my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Go
. Be merry. Lie low for now.” She waved me away, and her vacant gaze returned to the wall.

Guildford resumed his pacing, although
he added the window to his circuit and peeked outside with frenzied eyes.

“Jane!” I
regretfully shouted her name, and my voice sounded odd to me—not my own as it shrilled out in panic.

Jane sh
ook her head at me, her glossy eyes cast down to the ground, her white-knuckled grip in her lap showing her distress. Her bright green velvet gown looked oddly cheerful against her enervated figure. “Kat—” Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a deep breath. “You must remember this moment. You must learn from it, for you will be next when I am gone. See that no man rules over you, that no master calls you to their feet to do their bidding. Be true to yourself, Kat. Feed your mind and your soul, for the most riches to be had in the world are those up here.” She tapped a long, slender finger to her temple. “Far more so than the riches of gems and gold. Be a strong princess of the blood.”

How like my mother
’s words are Jane’s…

Before I c
ould respond to her, there came a loud banging on the door. “My lady!” The chief warder opened the door, his uniform of dark blue and red trimmings, reminding me that I was not only in the place where monarchs come before their coronation, but also a prison.

“Lady Katherine, you must away now. The bells toll for Queen Mary, but also for the closing of the gates. I shan
’t say you’d be pleased to spend the night here. Your lord husband and his lordship Pembroke are awaiting you by Traitors’ Gate. They sent me up to fetch you. Make haste.”

Traitors
’ Gate.
I flinched. Why should they have to call it that? I’d never thought of it before now—now that Jane was considered a traitor to the throne. In fact, our entire family could be perceived as thus.

The warder
bowed his head toward Jane, and I watched a flash of pity cross his features before he shifted his gaze back to me.

I rushed to Jane and threw my arms around her, tears falling freely onto my cheeks.

“Take this.” Jane thrust a book into my hands. I turned it over to see the thread of gold embroidery,
Phaedo
by Plato. “Socrates says in this book that before one’s soul departs their body, that it is only in death we achieve true knowledge, true purity. I have studied my whole life, Kat, to become this being who is knowledgeable in all things, but I still have this body, this silly body that holds me back from what I truly wish to attain. Socrates says it best, and I believe in his wisdom wholeheartedly, that I shall not attain that which I’ve longed for my whole life until I pass from this body and my soul is free to learn and absorb the truth.”

E
motion choked me. I shook my head, because I did not want to believe what she was saying. I did not want to agree with Jane, that she should have to die to attain knowledge. Her eyes were stricken. Fear flashed over her features, and I understood. Jane must tell herself these things to make herself comfortable with her own imminent demise was near.

T
he incessant tolling of the bells reminded us.

“Do not fret, Kat. Mary will be merciful.”

I nodded emphatically, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from shrieking that I did not want her to die, and threw my arms around her yet again. Jane’s embrace was not as tender, as if she’d already closed herself off, resigned to her fate.

“Godspeed, Jane!” I sa
id against her shoulder.

“God
bless Queen Mary,” Jane responded, pulling away from me and going to stare out the window.

Her husband bowed to me,
sitting heavily in a chair, his face pale, eyes dejected.

I hesitated, not wanting to leave these poor souls to their
fates, but I myself could not be stuck here. I could not be a prisoner. Now that Jane’s fate was practically sealed, I could not allow our line to die with her. I must, for the sake of my family, remain free and clear.

“Make haste, my lady.” The warder
’s voice sounded strained, as if he held back emotion.

I turned from the vision of my sister,
straight-backed as she gazed out her tiny window, and left the chamber. It did not go unnoticed by me that the warder locked Jane in, and he saw my narrowed gaze at his actions.

“
’Tis the way of things, my lady. Orders from Queen Mary.”

Queen Mary.
Already, Jane was forgotten.

I nodded, thinking how only just that morning, Jane had been queen.
The warder ushered me down the narrow, dark, winding staircase. With each turn he made in front of me, his torch disappeared. I was left in darkness until I caught up and could see again, only for him to turn and once more my world went black. I held my skirts high, as the pace was fast, and I was afraid if I didn’t get my skirts completely clear of my slippered feet, I would trip and fall to my death, and then I’d never leave this place.

The stench of disease, rotting food and people, urine, feces
, and, oddly, salty water filled the tower like a cloud, and we waded through it, every few feet a new and grossly exaggerated smell assaulting my nose.

Once at the bottom of the
stairs, we exited the White Tower into the inmost ward, the crisp night air hitting my face, and with it a new smell—panic and fear. Men and women scrambled to exit the Tower—soon to become a prison to my sister and any other traitors who went against the new queen. Horses whinnied and men shouted out orders.

The warder took my elbow,
steering me through the crowds and beneath the portcullis at Wakefield Tower. Once through, his pace quickened, and I had to run to keep up, my slippers providing no protection against the stoned path, sharp bits of rock digging into the soles of my feet.

We entered the darkness of
St. Thomas’s Tower, the scent of the wharf strong and insulting. Blood rushed through my ears, and my breathing labored with exertion and panic. Before I realized what was happening, my estranged child-husband gripped my other elbow and led me to the barge, which housed the Pembroke arms and several retainers.

I collapsed against a cushioned bench as the barge lurched down the Thames much
more quickly than I was used to.

As we approached the quay near Baynard
’s Castle, I heard the quiet whisper of my father-by-marriage to Henry, “Your marriage to a traitor’s daughter will not do, boy.”

But the b
arge came to a sudden stop, and my body pitched forward, only to be caught by one of the Pembroke retainers, who steadied me.

I was quickly ushered from the barge and to my quarters, wondering if
, I too, would be locked in, as Jane had been.

What could Lord Pembroke have meant with his uttered words? Did he mean to see me cast in the Tower with my sister? Did he mean for me to suffer as a traitor? Apparently, the exchanged vows and marital contract meant nothing to m
y father-by-marriage, and young Henry would be powerless to defy his sire.

I stood, somber, numb, and barely lucid as my maids undressed me and put me to bed
—to my relief, my room was left unlocked. But my eyes would not close. All I could do was stare at the ceiling and wonder when the guards would rush into my room to arrest me.

Although I
was of royal blood, I
never
wanted to wear the crown. How could I make certain everyone saw that? How could I make certain my father’s ambitions were not pressed upon me? I had no royal aspirations! I wanted not to be called Majesty! ’Twas blasphemy!

All I wanted wa
s to live a peaceful life. Serve my sovereign. Dabble with my herbs and poultices. Help those who could not help themselves—whether poor or sickly. Seek love within my marriage, if it was possible, and raise a family.

“I am a most loyal subject!” I said to the darkened ceiling, wishing Queen Mary could hear my uttered words.

A rustling sounded came from beyond my bed. “My lady?”

“
’Tis nothing, Mrs. Helen. I was merely saying my prayers.”

“God bless, my lady.”

“God bless, Mrs. Helen.” And indeed, we would need God’s blessing.

Chapter
Four

For which this second Phoenix may,

with Turtle true compare.

But well away, alas for woe,

his grief thereby began…

In prince displeasure throw this prank.

fell low this faithful man.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan soldier and poet

July 21, 1553

I had not been arrested…yet.

Jane was moved to a smaller chamber in the Queen
’s House within the Tower walls and Guildford to Beauchamp Tower. Many thought Queen Mary would put him on the other side of the Tower, but it appeared she had some heart after all, as the two buildings were close. Rumor fills the halls that my father would soon be brought to the Tower along with several other council members. ’Twas only a matter of time before Queen Mary had her revenge on those who sought to put her aside. When she came to collect Father, would she also toss Mother, me and little Mary into a dingy, dark cell?

Pray, sweet Jesu, that our good and faithful queen takes mercy on my family!

It was ungodly hot in this place. I could not yet bear to call it home. Baynard’s had not been a true home for me. The walls did not welcome me. There was nowhere that I felt safe. My maids stood around me with fans, trying to cool me, and wet cloths were wiped over my brow and neck, but I could not seem to escape this fetid heat. The windows were open, but no air passed through. Outside was worse, even my plants were wilting.