The Lady Elizabeth (61 page)

For all her inner dread, outwardly she appeared calm. She was making a conscious effort to please Mary: She was going to Mass regularly, she had ceased bombarding the council with requests, and she had even curbed her relentless demands to Sir Henry.

“That is wonderful news,” she said aloud. “I will pray God to vouchsafe Her Majesty a safe delivery and a healthy son.”

“Amen to that,” replied Sir Henry, impressed by her reply. “And methinks that, when she has a son, the Queen will look more favorably upon you, my lady.”

“
When
she has a son.” Elizabeth sighed. “That will be months away!”

“In May, I believe,” Bedingfield told her. “Not too long to wait.” He did not tell her of another possible escape route: that the council and Parliament were discussing various prospective foreign bridegrooms for her. All too often, such proposals came to nothing, so why disturb her with them?

Christmas was nigh. Sir Henry had ordered various delicacies, and the servants had been given permission to festoon the gatehouse with evergreens, but Elizabeth feared it would be a poor affair compared with the festive seasons she had enjoyed in the past. What would they do for revelry? Read St. Paul? The thought of the stately Bedingfield casting aside his dignity and romping around as the Lord of Misrule almost made her laugh out loud, although her mood was bitter.

But there was further gloom yet to be cast over this Yuletide. Only days before Christmas Eve, Sir Henry came to her, his face grim.

“Madam, I bring news of great import, which may affect you if you are not careful,” he told her. Elizabeth laid down her pen and looked at him warily, shivers of her old fears shooting down her spine.

“Last month, as I informed you, Cardinal Pole was made Archbishop of Canterbury, and England was received back into obedience to Rome,” he reminded her. “Now Parliament has reinstated the law against heretics, which means that those suspected of heresy may be examined and, if found guilty, burned at the stake.”

Elizabeth frowned, giving a little shudder as the blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

“But the Queen began her reign promising tolerance!” she cried, forgetting her resolve to hold her peace.

“Times have changed,” Sir Henry said dolefully. “Her Majesty, I know well, hoped then that her subjects would of their own accord revert to the Catholic religion. Many did, but there were also many who did not, and who demonstrated and made riots against the new laws. Now the Queen is in hope of a son, England is reconciled with Rome, and she and King Philip are zealous to see the true faith established in this kingdom. My lady, I hold to that faith, and I am a true Englishman, but I do fear that this new law will unleash in this realm a persecution such as has been seen in Spain, and that it will also herald the arrival of the Inquisition here.”

“Those are my fears exactly,” Elizabeth said, amazed that she and Sir Henry should for once be of one accord. “Believe me, I do not fear for myself—why should I, for I too am reconciled to the Roman faith and attend Mass regularly? But I fear for those who cannot in their consciences embrace that faith. Who should make windows into men’s souls? When it comes down to it, there is only one Jesus Christ. The rest is a dispute over trifles.”

“I doubt that the Queen and Cardinal Pole would agree with you, madam,” Sir Henry said. “They might even construe such words as heresy. But fret not—I shall not repeat them. I have seen that you are faithful in your attendance at Mass.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” Elizabeth told him, swallowing her fear.

“I but wish to warn you to keep your own counsel on matters of religion,” Sir Henry went on. “I know you were brought up largely in the reformed faith, and I feared you might, through force of habit and custom, betray some affiliation with it that might be misconstrued, were the wrong ears to hear it.”

“I thank you for your care of my safety,” Elizabeth said gratefully, then could not resist adding, “For once, it is welcome to me!”

Even Sir Henry had to smile at that.

CHAPTER
19

1555

T
he burnings have begun,” Blanche Parry whispered, a look of distress on her face. “I heard Sir Henry saying that a man was burned in Smithfield, and that soon afterward Bishop Hooper went to the stake in Gloucester. It sounded as if his sufferings were dreadful—I could not bear to listen. Oh, my lady, how could anyone do such a cruel thing to another human being?”

Elizabeth made Blanche sit down on the settle beside her and took her hands.

“They do it because, in giving the poor wretches a taste of Hellfire on earth, they think to make them recant at the last minute and so save their souls,” she explained gravely. “They do not think they are being cruel; they think they are doing a kindness. What is a short time in earthly flames compared with an eternity spent roasting in Hell? That is their logic. Yet it seems to me that those who order this—and I do not name names—have put mercy behind them. It is this new allegiance to Spain that has brought these cruelties.”

“I do not understand such matters,” Blanche said sadly. “All I know is that I cannot rid my mind of what I just heard. It was
horrible
!”

“Spare me the details,” Elizabeth said quickly. “I can well imagine.”

Echoes of the public outcry against the burnings soon reached Woodstock.

“The people are angry,” Sir Henry said. “There have been widespread protests, and seditious writings against the Queen and the council. Many offenders have been caught and put in the pillory.”

With the country in ferment, and increasing numbers being sent to the stake, news and rumors flew fast. There were terrible stories of the sufferings of Protestant martyrs—for such they were now being called.

“There’s no doubt that a lot of them are foolish, ignorant folk,” Sir Henry observed as he sat at dinner with his prisoner. “One couldn’t recite the Lord’s Prayer, another couldn’t name all the Sacraments, or so I heard.”

“They need educating, not persecuting,” Elizabeth said. “Did no one think to give them instruction?”

“The bishops and the Queen’s officers are zealous in their duty, and wish to be seen to be,” he told her. “They don’t ask too many questions. There was an awful case in Guernsey—I can hardly bear to tell you.”

“Tell me,” Elizabeth commanded. She had to know. Forewarned was forearmed, especially as many people were aware of her own former open adherence to Protestantism, and doubtless there were many who suspected where her true convictions still lay.

“It was a woman,” Sir Henry related, “and she was with child. Her labor had already begun when she was chained to the stake, and her babe was born as the flames were lit. The executioner threw it back into the fire.”

“Oh, my God,” Elizabeth said. Behind her, Blanche, who was waiting at table, stifled a horrified sob.

“Often the faggots are damp,” Sir Henry went on relentlessly, “and the burnings are prolonged. Far from condemning the suffering wretches, the crowds are angry on their behalf, and they do all they can to comfort and aid the heretics. It has gotten so bad that the council has ordered extra guards to be present at each execution to prevent this from happening.”

“It seems to me that, far from stamping out heresy, these burnings may well be encouraging it,” Elizabeth commented. “Some people might conclude that the reformed faith must be worth dying for.”

“I heard a rumor,” Sir Henry said confidentially, “—although whether local gossip can be relied on is another matter, for these tales often get quite garbled by the time they reach us here—that Bishop Gardiner is also horrified by the scale of the persecution, and has urged the Queen to use a kinder form of punishment, but she will not agree. It may not be true.”

And it may well be, Elizabeth thought, recalling the fanatical gleam in Mary’s eyes whenever she spoke of her faith, and her single-mindedness. Yet surely the influence of her husband, King Philip, must be in part responsible for the burnings. It sounded as if the Queen was deeply in thrall to him—or besotted. Had she lost her wits so far as to risk losing the love of her people, which Elizabeth knew to be the most precious thing a sovereign can have?

Later that evening, after Sir Henry had gone and the table was cleared, Blanche returned to help Elizabeth prepare for bed.

“I could not speak earlier, my lady,” she said, “but when I went to the village today, the guard wanted us to stop for a drink at the Bull, and there, when he had gone outside to piss, I had a quick word with Master Parry. He said to tell you that there is now great hatred throughout the land for the Queen, that many are praying that her pregnancy will have a calamitous end, and that the people are looking to you, my lady, as their deliverer.”

Elizabeth was deeply moved by this, and gratified; indeed, it offered a glimmer of hope that the love of the people, now forfeited by Mary, would turn to herself and somehow prove her salvation, despite the expected birth of a Catholic heir. But her natural caution quickly asserted itself.

“That was unwise talk,” she said reprovingly. “I hope that none overheard it.”

“Oh, no, my lady,” Blanche assured her. “We were alone in the porch. Master Parry had followed me out when I was waiting for the guard.”

“That is as well,” Elizabeth said. “If such a thing were repeated openly, we would all suffer for it. I know I can rely on you to hold your tongue.”

“I promise I will,” Blanche said, and took up the hairbrush.

“My lord and dear husband,” Mary said tenderly, rising awkwardly from her chair as Philip entered her chamber. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

The King bowed, thinking that his wife was looking drained and pale; doubtless she was suffering the strain of her pregnancy and was distressed at the tumult that had erupted in the wake of the burnings.

“I trust I find you well, madam,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“All the better for seeing you, my lord,” she told him, gazing at him in adoration.

“I came to tell you that I have made my decision,” he said.

“You have?” Mary replied nervously. He recalled her terrible distress when he had first told her of his plans to leave England for the Low Countries to fight the French now that she was with child. How she had begged and pleaded with him to stay. The sight of her abasing herself thus had aroused only distaste in him; it had not in any way touched his cold heart. What
had
swayed him had been the council’s fears that, without him at her side, the Queen would pine away and die.

“I have decided to remain in England until our son is born,” he told her.

“Oh, that
is
joyful news!” Mary cried, her eyes shining. “You cannot know how much of a comfort to me your presence is. You have made me the happiest woman alive!”

Philip suffered her grateful, cloying embrace, then disengaged himself and took the chair on the opposite side of the hearth.

“I wanted to talk to you about your sister and Courtenay also,” he said. “This latest French plot to bring about their marriage…It worried me, even though it could not have succeeded. This kingdom will never be at peace till the matter of these two seditious persons is settled.”

“What can I do?” Mary asked, reluctant to be discussing matters of state when she and Philip could be talking of love.

“Send them into exile, to places where they can be kept under supervision,” Philip advised. “Send Elizabeth to Brussels, where my father’s agents can keep watch on her, and Courtenay to Rome, where His Holiness the Pope can be relied upon to be vigilant.”

“I like that proposal,” Mary said, considering. “But exiling Elizabeth now, at such a sensitive time, could provoke another rebellion. My spies tell of discontent across the land.” Her brow furrowed. She had heard of the upsurge in Elizabeth’s popularity, heard and deplored it, but reality had to be faced.

“Gardiner wants you to disinherit her,” Philip said, “but I told him that, in that case, should any terrible chance befall Your Majesty, the King of France would press the claim of his daughter-in-law, the Queen of Scots, and the last thing I want to see is an England ruled by the French. My father and I would lose all the advantages we have gained through this marriage.”