Queen of This Realm (14 page)

Messengers from my sister arrived at Hatfield. It was her wish that I should ride beside her when she made her triumphant entry into London. Now was the time for me to recover from my illness and prepare for my journey.

On the twenty-ninth of July I left Hatfield and attended by two thousand horsemen armed with spears and bows, I came to Somerset House,
which now belonged to me. With us came the members of my household, all very splendid in green coats faced with velvet, taffeta or satin. I was proud of them, for I did not want to show myself to the people of London as a pauper.

The next day I set out for Wanstead where my meeting with the Queen was to take place; but I did not take my armed band with me this time. My instinct told me that this would displease my sister and her advisers and very likely suggest to her that I wished to display a show of might. I wanted to convey to her that I was not only her affectionate sister but her loyal subject.

We met at Wanstead. Mary had disbanded her army and had merely a bodyguard and her attendants to show that there was no need for protection; she came as the acknowledged Queen. She greeted me with a show of affection and kissed me. The watching crowds cheered. I was aware all the time that I was the one they watched, the one they smiled at, and I knew that they cheered more for me than for my sister. I presented some of my ladies to her and she kissed them to show friendship.

Beside Mary I felt young and vital and I was convinced that everything I ever wanted would one day be mine. It was a wonderfully exhilarating feeling as we rode side by side. I was twenty, and at moments like this I always looked my best; I was taller than Mary and straighter; the bright color of my hair attracted attention and it was accentuated by the milky whiteness of my skin, whereas Mary was thirty-seven and she looked it. I could not help the glow of satisfaction which it gave me to consider the contrast we must make. When the people cheered I smiled at them and lifted my hand in acknowledgment. Mary gave no smiles. Perhaps she thought it was beneath the dignity of a queen to do so. I do not think she understood the people as I was beginning to do.

And so we rode to Aldgate and from there to the Tower of London.

As we entered the fortress I could not help wondering whether Jane Grey could see us from her prison window, or perhaps Robert Dudley. Would he remember the little girl who had danced with him at that Court function long ago? I was very different now; so must he be.

Then I forgot about the prisoners, for we were being received by the Lieutenant of the Tower and other officers and everyone was eager to show homage to the Queen.

Mary thanked them with grace and dignity, and to show that she meant to be a merciful Queen, several of the prisoners received their pardon. They were all Catholics. First there was the same Duke of Norfolk, who had been saved from execution by my father's timely death; the next was Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who had been a prisoner in the Tower for
some years. I had never liked him; he was a bigoted Catholic and one of those who had tried to bring about the fall of Katharine Parr—and that was something I would never forget. He had in the last reign offended Somerset with his religious insistences and as a result found himself in the Tower. When he fell on his knees before Mary she was very moved and bade him rise and gave him his freedom. Whereupon he declared his greatest joy would be to serve her with his life. My heart sank. He was an enemy of mine and he would now, I was certain, receive a high place at Court.

There was another prisoner who attracted more attention than the others because of his tall bearing and handsome fair coloring. He looked what he was—a descendant of the Plantagenets. It was because of this that he had been a prisoner in the Tower since he was twelve years old, which was nearly fifteen years before. Poor young man, his fault was that he was a great-greatgrandson of Edward IV.

As the sun shone on his fair hair he looked very attractive and even younger than his twenty-seven years. My sister seemed very impressed by him. His father had been executed at the time of Edward Courtenay's incarceration, and when Mary told him that his title of Earl of Devonshire should be restored to him with his estates he was overcome by gratitude. Mary looked less stern as she regarded him and that was more becoming in her.

It was a triumphant entry and when we sat down at the banquet which had been prepared for us, I was still at the Queen's side.

MY SISTER HAS BEEN
condemned for her cruelty and by the end of her reign for generations to come she was known as Bloody Mary. But she was in many ways a kind woman. She was not really cruel; she avoided the shedding of blood unless she believed it was necessary to shed it. But she was bound all the time by her fanatical belief in the Church of Rome, and like most fanatics was not content that she herself believed this, but insisted as well that everyone else must do the same. Those who were not Catholics were in her opinion doomed to eternal damnation, and it seemed to her that the only possible action she could take to save them was to help them reform before death. If they persisted in ignoring the truth, then they were doomed to eternal torment, and it could not matter much if they went to it earlier than later. What were a few years in eternity?

I believe that there is a hint of madness in all fanaticism and I determined then that I should never become the victim of it. The only matter which would arouse my unswerving devotion and effort would be the good of my country, and if ever I was fortunate enough to rule, I would act in whatever way I considered best for my realm.

There was a similarity of purpose in us: Mary's was to return England to
the Church of Rome; mine was to make my country great, and I would sway with circumstances whenever it was necessary to make her so.

I could not help it, but during that ride through the streets of London to the Tower I could almost feel the crown on my head. But I must remember Jane Grey—a queen in her state apartments one day, a prisoner the next. I must remember Norfolk, Gardiner and Courtenay. A few days can bring about disastrous changes in the life of those in high places. I was well aware that the perils about me were increasing.

This was borne home to me by a visitor who had come to say goodbye to me before he left. Sir William Cecil had shown himself to be my friend, and I was in need of friends, so I received him with pleasure.

He had, of course, been totally opposed to the plan to make Lady Jane Grey Queen.

“Northumberland made the decision and forced it on the judges and the nobility,” he declared. “I objected and only added my signature to the document under protest, making it clear that I signed as a witness only. I then resigned my post as Secretary of State. Queen Mary is the rightful heir to the throne. It is well that Northumberland was defeated, but I feel sorrow for Lady Jane Grey.”

“I do not believe the Queen will be harsh with her,” I said. “She knows that Jane was not at fault. She was forced to do it, as she was forced to marry Northumberland's son.”

“Let us hope the Queen will be merciful to the innocent. I have come to warn you, my lady, of the dangers which beset you.”

“I know they are there.”

“Perhaps you do not know the full extent of them. You have a powerful enemy in Gardiner.”

“I know it well. I shall never forget how he tried to destroy Katharine Parr.”

“You must be wary of him, and there are two other men against whom you should be on your guard.”

I looked askance at him and he went on: “Simon Renaud, the Spanish Ambassador, and Antoine de Noailles, Ambassador of France. They have orders from their masters concerning affairs in this country. The Spaniards, as you know, demand a return to Rome, and then a marriage would doubtless be arranged between Queen Mary and Philip, son of the Emperor Charles. Then it would be inevitable that before long our country would be ruled by Spain. Our people will not tolerate persecution and the setting up of the Inquisition. They will revolt against it and look to the Protestant heiress.”

I turned pale. I said: “Do you mean that there could be war in this country… war against the
Queen
?”

“That could well be. I feel certain that the people of England will never tolerate Spanish bigotry. Renaud knows this, but he will instill the Queen with his ideas and if this Spanish marriage takes place, we shall have Philip himself here to subdue our people. Renaud knows this; the Spaniards know it. That is why you have become an object of interest to them. I believe they may well plot against you.”

“You fill me with fears, Master Cecil.”

“I merely warn you, my lady. You must be on your guard. This Court is full of enemies… your enemies now. The last hope for England could rest with you.”

I said: “I would serve my country with my life if need be.”

“I believe that to be so. Renaud is not the only enemy. There is the French Ambassador to consider. The French would like to see a return to the Church of Rome, but their interest is more political. The little Queen of Scots is betrothed to the Dauphin of France and the King of France believes that it would be an excellent idea if Mary were Queen of England as well as Scotland. You see what I mean?”

“You mean that not only men like Gardiner are seeking to destroy me, but the Spanish and French ambassadors as well?”

“I mean, my lady, that having become aware of your mettle I know that you are one who will listen to advice—however menacing—and perhaps for that very reason give your full consideration to it.”

“I know you speak with wisdom and out of concern for me. I thank you with all my heart, and if ever the time shall come… you will not be forgotten.”

He told me that my wisest plan would be to leave Court entirely, when I could do so without ostentation. “Do not attempt to go as if in fear. Invent a plausible excuse.”

“I shall be ill.”

“That is the best. Let them think you sickly. But I warn you, that will not prevent their schemes from taking shape.”

“I know that since my father's death I have stepped from the shade of obscurity to the blaze of noon.”

“True,” he said. “Your actions will be observed and reported to the Courts of Spain and France… and to your sister. Tread warily, my lady Princess, for the hearts and hopes of our people will rest with you.”

I thanked him again and he took my hand and knelt as though I were already Queen of England.

Soon after that he left Court and went to live quietly between his houses at Wimbledon and Burleigh.

THE COURT MOVED
to Whitehall and I was with it. Stephen Gardiner had been made Lord High Chancellor of the Realm and Edward Courtenay was always at the Queen's side. She treated him rather as though he were a young boy and there was a certain childishness about him which I supposed was due to having lived all those years shut away from the real world in a prison. He had never really grown up. I did not forget what William Cecil had said to me, and I was very wary in everything I did or said.

The great problem was religion. The people now regarded me as the Protestant hope. To them I represented a more tolerant way of life than they believed they would find under a return to Rome; and in view of the increasing stories we had heard of the repressions and torture of the Inquisition— and especially in Spain—the people did not relish a similar state of affairs in England.

If ever they should reject Mary and her Catholicism, they would look to me, so I knew that it was imperative for me not to accept the Catholic Faith. If ever I did, I should not be preferred to my sister—a young bigot would be just as bad as an old one, perhaps worse.

The first trouble came when there was a requiem mass for my brother. The idea of having mass for him was wrong in any case because it was the last thing he would have wanted. He had been almost as fanatical a supporter of the Reformed Faith as my sister was of the Catholic. I knew that whatever happened I must not attend.

Mary was very angry and I asked for an audience so that I could explain to her, but she refused to grant it.

I wondered how I could get away from Court, but to go now would seem like running away. I must face it, and as I had some faith in Mary's natural kindness of heart, which had been shown to me in the past, I was sure that if she would see me, if I could be alone with her, I could explain.

When Parliament was called, Gardiner's first act as Lord Chamberlain was to declare my father's marriage to Katharine of Aragon legal, which meant that Mary was legitimate and therefore that I was not.

I was sure that if Sir William Cecil were here he would say that in itself was not such a bad thing, as it implied that I had no right to the throne and that should, of course, make me less vulnerable to attack at the moment. However, I strongly resented it, but kept my resentment to myself.

In due course Mary said she would receive me, and when I went to her she allowed me to kiss her hand, which I did with the utmost respect, and I told her that it grieved me greatly that she was displeased with me.

“All you have to do to please me is to return to the true faith,” she said.