by G Lawrence
Warwick rode out at the head of the Council’s army to face the forces of Queen Mary Tudor. It was a fatal mistake on the part of the false Queen Jane to have sent the one man who held the rebellious coup in place into the arms of danger. And it was done by her order.
But knowing Jane, perhaps it was not done by accident at all, but by design. I doubt very much she wanted the role she had been thrust into, and I do not doubt she knew well the dangers she was sending her father-in-law into when she sent him to face the wrath of the people of England.
His forces melted away from him as he marched out to meet Mary. Their hearts were harried by the forces set against them and their loyalty to Warwick was flawed. The troops of the Council escaped Warwick at night and fled even in the daylight hours into the countryside. In London, the Council, now freed from the control of Warwick, started to lose their nerve.
It did not take long for Mary to take London. Her forces were vast, and swelled by the day. The Council bowed to her will and her army and delivered London into her hands with little resistance. Without Warwick to whip them into shape, they floundered and fell.
Warwick was beaten; he fled the ruins of his army outside of London and he himself proclaimed Mary Queen, in Cambridge. There were no trumpeters and no drums as he made his proclamation to the astounded crowd, so he threw his own hat in the air as he cried “God save Queen Mary!” Those around him just stared at him with amazement. Did he think he could save himself after such open and artful rebellion, simply by naming the rightful Queen as Queen?
Desperation makes men do the most remarkable things… and often, the most stupid of things.
His too-late act of fake loyalty did not help him. He was arrested. The great Duke, the son of a traitor, father to a failed King and father-in-law to a fallen Queen was brought into London tied to the back of a cart. His clothes covered in mud, waste and excrement, his face blackened with filth and fear.
They took him, and every member of his family that they could find, including, to my sorrow, the charming young Robin Dudley. They put them in the Tower. Jane Grey was taken there too.
I heard she went quietly and said to her captors only that Mary was, and had always been, the true Queen of England.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Hatfield House
1553
Mary I was proclaimed Queen on the 19th of July, 1553. I made a sudden and complete recovery from the grave illness that had taken hold of me on the death of my brother.
I wrote to the Queen immediately, apparently from my sickbed, to tell her of my grave illness, and subsequent recovery on hearing of her victory. I told her that on the death of our brother I had been so overtaken by illness I feared for my life, and then on hearing of the rebellion against her rightful rule, I had sickened further.
“…As though the treachery and treason that beset this country and your gracious self was a poison to my very blood, so that I could not stand nor walk, nor come to your side as I had wished.”
Did Mary believe me? I doubt it.
She had enough understanding of my character and enough of her own suspicions of my wiles to believe that I might have stayed out of the conflict to bide my time.
But I had not joined the other side, so I was no traitor to her.
She wrote back to me, in a letter that glowed with happiness, telling me of her victory, of her people’s love, and inviting me to be at her side during the preparations for her coronation. It was only fitting, she wrote, as I was now her heir, the next in line to the throne, until such time as she had children of her own. It was right that the people should see us together in unity.
She advised me that we were not to wear mourning for our brother when we met, for although we owed him, as our late King, due deference, this was now a season of joy and not to celebrate that would dishonour the great victory that she had won.
My elder sister had just become the first sovereign Queen of England, borne to the throne on a wave of popular support. Her coronation would make her the first female anointed Head of the English crown and of the English Church.
And I was now the heir to the throne. One step away from becoming Queen.
Through all the troubles of my life, I had endured. Through all the perils of my childhood, I had survived. The Bastard Princess, the shamed daughter of Anne Boleyn, the ignored princess of this realm was now next in power only to the Queen herself.
As I rose from my bed and dressed to prepare myself for the journey to London, I could not help but smile. Over and over, my lips seemed to move on their own, grinning with pleasure and expectation.
Although I was sure this was not the end of my troubles, I was also sure this was not the end of my journey. Mary was thirty-seven years old… old now to marry, old to produce a child. Even as her reign was born, I could feel the embryo of my own rule quickening beneath my heart.
The new Queen of England had little breeding time left to produce an heir to replace me.
I could almost feel the crown quivering above my head.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Somerset House and Wanstead
Summer 1553
On the 29th of July, 1553, I and my retinue of thousands rode into London, making for my town house at Somerset House. We rode through Fleet Street with the roar of the crowds in our ears.
Dressed in green and white with fabrics donned accorded to their ranks, but all colours proclaiming the Tudor name, my men filled the streets before me like a great wave, a cresting, iridescent sheen over a mighty sea.
Two thousand men and horse rode out before me with spears and bows and guns, their voices raised in shouts of loyalty to Queen Mary, and to me.
And in their midst I rode, my red hair loose and streaming down my back, my horse white and youthful as myself; dressed in glowing whites and greens, every inch a Tudor, every inch the daughter of my father.
The crowds cheered us as we rode in and the streets of London shook with their voices.
After the horror and upheaval of the past months, and especially the past few weeks, the common man was pleased to see an easy and quick return to peace; war does no man who fights any favours. Only those who wait behind the lines of soldiers, protected by their nobility and rank, gain any profit from it. The country had been glad to rise to war for Mary’s rights, but they were even more glad to lay down their weapons in quick and easy victory, and return to peace.
Mary had ridden into the seat of power with the whole country at her back, and with her coming, as with any new ideal, the people hoped for a new reign where they would see peace and prosperity.
In the bonfires and bells that crackled and rang out all over the city that night there was the hope of the people in the air, the smell of optimism and expectation. People drank together and talked of our father. Bluff King Hal’s daughter was Queen, they said, and everything was right with the world again.
For as long as they had the Tudors, they had their kings.
I think that they even little cared that Mary was a woman… not right then at least. Worries and fears such as those were for the days after the celebrations, when roaring headaches and ale-sickened bellies would give rise to the darker fears and prejudices of their minds. Then they would worry that she was a woman, and that a woman had never ruled them before. Then they would tell dark stories of the Norman princess Matilda and her failed uprising. Then they would tell each other that women had no right to rule over men.
But that was not tonight; tonight was afire with the happiness of prosperity and hope.
All that night in Somerset House I listened to the shouts and the sounds of celebration through the night at my window. I heard the roars against Warwick with pleasure and felt sadness at the shouts against Jane Grey. I heard the slaps on backs and the cheers for Queen Mary and the Lady Elizabeth and I felt warmed in my heart, for although the people did not really know us, they believed in us with all their hearts.
The next morning I rode out to meet my sister, the vi
ctorious Queen. I reduced the number of my servants by half, so as to show deference to her…and because I did not want her thinking I had arrived with an army. I did not want to get off on the wrong foot, with my powerful sister.
Mary had been at Beaulieu since her army took the capital, getting ready to enter London in style. It is always good for a new ruler to make a lasting first impression. I met her halfway at Wanstead, just outside London. I was taken to her rooms by some of her servants, and let in to her inner chambers by her ladies. Of course she had seen me arrive; my retinue, although smaller than before, was still enormous.
“Your majesty,” I said as I swept to the floor in a curtsey.
“Rise, sister,” she said in her gruff voice. The emotion of the moment seemed to have made her voice even deeper than it was normally.
As I rose, I kept my eyes to the floor, wishing to show her all reverence that I could in this most important moment.
She rose from her chair and came towards me, her arms outstretched. I looked up into Mary’s worn face. I had not seen her for some time. The years had not done her good service. She looked old before her time; her hair was thin, lines of worry and weariness lined her eyes and almost all her teeth were gone. Those that were left were blackened. She tried to smile now by cupping her lips over the gap where her teeth should have been, it gave her a strange and most sinister bearing, like a snake about to strike.
But her face glowed with happiness and victory. Her cheeks were flushed with success and the hands she held out to me on that day were hot with excitement and pleasure. Her fine eyes glittered as they looked at me and there were small tears in them. She was as sentimental as our father at times. Reuniting with her sister, her closest living relative, in her moment of glory had touched her deeply.
She pulled me to her and embraced me.
“Sister,” she said gaily, like a little girl asking me to play. “I am so pleased to see you recovered from your illness, and to be by my side as I enter London as Queen.”
I bowed as best I could as she held on to my hands. “I too am grateful to be by your side, your majesty, to see the fruition of your successful campaign to win your rightful throne against the wickedness which had overtaken these lands.”
She laughed. “Yes,” she said. “I am the rightful Queen, and finally I will see the dream of my mother and father come to light as I continue the legitimate rule of the Tudor dynasty.”
I smiled at her, but was inwardly considering that her idea had never been our father’s plan. Had he been happy with a female heir he would never have set aside Mary’s mother and married my own, nor set aside my mother to marry Edward’s. He had not wanted a female ruler…. that was most clear, so this dream she spoke of, was not one he would have dreamed.
But this was hardly a place for truth. This was the court and this was the Queen. I was not going to part with the honest thoughts of my head. As close as I was now to the throne, I was also made most vulnerable by that position.
I was about to enter the most dangerous time of my life; about to walk willingly again into danger.
But that morning, I knew this not.
My sister wrapped her arm into mine and we stepped together, out, into the privy gardens.
Under the pale sun of an English summer, with arms linked like the best of friends, talking to each other gently, we two… we Tudors… the last of our father’s children, wandered as sisters, basked in the warmth of the clement skies.
Here ends The Bastard Princess…Elizabeth’s story will continue with The Heretic Heir as her journey through the dangerous reign of her sister continues. Only one step from the throne, Elizabeth is about to enter the most dangerous time of her life…
About the Author
I find people talking about themselves in the third person to be entirely unsettling, so, since this section is written by me, I will use my own voice rather than try to make you believe that another person is writing about me to make me sound terribly important.
I am an independent author, publishing my books by myself, with the help of my lovely editor. I write in all the spare time I have. I briefly tried entering into the realm of ‘traditional’ publishing but, to be honest, found the process so time consuming and convoluted that I quickly decided to go it alone and self-publish.
My passion for history, in particular perhaps the era of the Tudors, began early in life. As a child I lived in Croydon, near London, and my schools were lucky enough to be close to such glorious places as Hampton Court and the Tower of London to mean that field trips often took us to those castles. I think it’s hard not to find the Tudors infectious when you hear their stories, especially when surrounded by the bricks and mortar they built their reigns within. There is heroism and scandal, betrayal and belief, politics and passion and a seemingly never-ending cast list of truly fascinating people. So when I sat down to start writing, I could think of no better place to start than somewhere and sometime I loved and was slightly obsessed with.
Expect many books from me, but do not necessarily expect them all to be of the Tudor era. I write as many of you read, I suspect; in many genres. My own bookshelves are weighted down with historical volumes and biographies, but they also contain dystopias, sci-fi, horror, humour, children’s books, fairy tales, romance and adventure. I can’t promise I’ll manage to write in all the areas I’ve mentioned there, but I’d love to give it a go. If anything I’ve published isn’t your thing, that’s fine, I just hope you like the ones I write which are your thing!
The majority of my books are historical fiction however, so I hope that if you liked this volume you will give the others in this series (and perhaps not in this series), a look. I want to divert you as readers, to please you with my writing and to have you join me on these adventures.
A book is nothing without a reader.
As to the rest of me; I am in my thirties and live in Cornwall with a rescued dog, a rescued cat and my partner (who wasn’t rescued, but may well have rescued me). I studied Literature at University after I fell in love with books as a small child. When I was little I could often be found nestled half-way up the stairs with a pile of books and my head lost in another world between the pages. There is nothing more satisfying to me than finding a new book I adore, to place next to the multitudes I own and love… and nothing more disappointing to me to find a book I am willing to never open again. I do hope that this book was not a disappointment to you; I loved writing it and I hope that showed through the pages.
This is only the first in a large selection of titles coming to you on Amazon. I hope you will try the others.
If you would like to contact me, please do so.
On twitter, I am @TudorTweep and am more than happy to follow back and reply to any and all messages. I may avoid you if you decide to say anything worrying or anything abusive, but I figure that’s acceptable.
Via email, I am [email protected] a dedicated email account for my readers to reach me on. I’ll try and reply within a few days.
I publish some first drafts and short stories on Wattpad where I can be found at www.wattpad.com/user/GemmaLawrence31 . Wattpad was the first place I ever showed my stories, to anyone, and in many ways its readers and their response to my works were the influence which pushed me into self-publishing. If you have never been on the site I recommend you try it out. Its free, its fun and its chock-full of real emerging talent. I love Wattpad because its members and their encouragement gave me the boost I needed as a fearful waif to get some confidence in myself and make a go of a life as a real, published writer.
Thank you for taking a risk with an unknown author and reading my book. I do hope now that you’ve read one you’ll want to read more. If you’d like to leave me a review, that would be very much appreciated also!
Gemma Lawrence
Cornwall
2015
Thank You
…to so many people for helping me make this book possible… to my editor Brooke who entered into t
his with me and gave me her time, her wonderful guidance and also her encouragement. To my partner Matthew, who will be the first to admit that history is not his thing, and yet is willing to listen to me extol the virtues and vices of the Tudors and every other time period, repeatedly, to him and pushed me to publish even when I feared to. To my family for their ongoing love and support; this includes not only my own blood in my mother and father, sister and brother, but also their families, their partners and all my nieces who I am sure are set to take the world by storm as they grow. To Matthew’s family, for their support, and for the extended family I have found myself welcomed to within them. To my friend Petra who took a tour of Tudor palaces and places with me back in 2010 which helped me to prepare for this book and others; her enthusiasm for that strange but amazing holiday brought an early ally to the idea I could actually write a book… And lastly, to the people who wrote all the books I read in order to write this book… all the historical biographers and masters of their craft who brought Elizabeth, and her times, to life in my head.