The White Lion of Norfolk

by The White Lion of Norfolk (retail) (epub)

  Summer came once more and he heard of the declining power of the Lord Protector and that autumn the power was wrested from him by John Dudley, Earl of Warwick. This change of hands holding the reins of government was of little use to Norfolk for Warwick was also an ambitious man who recognised his enemies and the Duke held out little hope of release.

  With the death of Henry the Reformed Religion had finally overcome the last of the barriers and under Edward the radical changes in doctrine became the new order of service. At the turn of the decade the Princess Mary, who had remained true to her faith, now lived in fear of becoming a martyr for her beliefs.

  In his now so familiar cell in the Beauchamp Tower, Norfolk heard of Warwick’s spectacular rise to power. He had been created Duke of Northumberland, the title taken by King Henry from Henry Percy who had died, implicated in treason, at the time of the Pilgrimage of Grace. On January, 20th, almost three years to the day after the death of his brother, Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, was brought to the Tower.

  The Duke wondered, as he watched his former enemy being taken to the Salt Tower, how long it would be before the new Lord Protector would find himself in the like position for the young King was far from healthy and his health was now starting to give real cause for concern. Norfolk wondered if at last the end of his imprisonment was in sight, for should Edward die then Mary Tudor was the next in line of succession and she, a devout Catholic, would surely find it in her heart to pardon an old man.

  Winter set in with sleet and biting winds and he shivered and suffered the excruciating pain in his swollen limbs. Some days he did not even attempt to rise but stayed beneath the blankets, trying to derive some warmth from their almost threadbare substance. When the buds began to appear upon the trees within the Tower garden and the spring flowers pushed their way through the soil to brighten that small corner of the grim fortress, he heard that Lady Jane Grey had been married to Guildford Dudley, son of Northumberland. The years within his prison had not dimmed his mind and he grasped instantly the significance of this match. Should the King die, Northumberland had no intention of relinquishing his power but intended to place Jane upon the throne with his son as consort.

  Grudgingly he admired the man and reflected that in his place, he, too, would have done the same thing. He realised, however, that should Northumberland be successful in his venture it would be the end of himself for he was certain that he could not survive many more winters in his freezing cell.

  The summer of 1553 was hot and plague-ridden. The smells rising from the river were foul and the Duke feared that he would be smitten with the disease which was always rife within the Tower when the days were hot and humid.

  On the night of the 6th July, he lay restlessly upon his bed. The air was heavy and the stench rising from the river made it difficult to breathe. He heard in the distance the rumbling of thunder and as the storm grew closer the brilliant flashes of blue lightning lit up his cell. Unable to sleep he crossed to the window and sat resting upon the broad stone sill and watched the lightning as it played upon the ramparts of the White Tower. The rain lashed steadily against the stone walls but the air was cooler. At length the storm abated and he returned to his bed, unaware that during the tempest Edward Tudor had died.

  He remained in ignorance of the King's death, as did the rest of the country, as Northumberland strove to hold on to his position. On the 10th July, Jane Grey was proclaimed Queen and Norfolk watched as that evening the tiny girl of fifteen was brought in Royal state to the Tower. She appeared to be weighed down by the splendour of her robes and as she stepped from the water stairs onto the cobbles of the inner courtyard, he caught a glimpse of the wooden chopins that she wore strapped to her feet to give her height. He wondered feverishly what had happened to the Princess Mary. Had she been captured or was she even now fleeing to her cousin the Emperor?

  The weight of despair swept over him. He had been wrong to pin his hopes of freedom upon the death of Edward for he could foresee no end to his wretched existence.

  His fate appeared to have been sealed when on the 12th July a force set out to capture the Lady Mary who had fled to his own castle of Framlingham. God alone knew what state of repair Framlingham was in after his long absence, but he doubted that there would be much of it left when Northumberland had done with it.

  During the next few days the tension mounted within the Tower. Rumours flew thick and fast like feathers upon the wind. There was a great deal of coming and going, all of which he watched with intense interest from his cell. On the 19th, silence descended upon the Tower. A brooding silence and suddenly the whole place seemed deserted.

  In anger and frustration he shook the bars upon the window, “What is going on? Dear God! What is happening outside these walls?” he cried. Six times summer had turned to winter and he was reaching the end of his endurance. Faced with this uncertainty he would lose his sanity if Northumberland held on, he would end his days a raving lunatic.

  He sat down upon his bed, ready to beat his head upon the stone walls in despair, when he heard it. Bells! Again the bells of every church were ringing. Loudly, wildly, joyously, but for whom were they ringing out their acclaim? Mary and freedom or Northumberland, insanity and death?

  He sprang to the window, straining to hear the shouts that were now beginning to be heard above the noise of the bells. A yeoman warder was crossing the green and Norfolk shouted down to him. The man stopped and looked upwards.

  “The bells!” the Duke shouted, “What say the bells?”

  The warder grinned, “They say 'Long Live Queen Mary’ and so do I!”

  Norfolk threw back his head and laughed, something he had not done for many, many years. “Long Live the Queen! God Bless Queen Mary!” he cried with joy.

  On the 3rd August, in the warm summer twilight he stood at the Postern Gate and breathed the clean, fresh air. Beside him stood Bishop Gardiner his old confederate, the Duchess of Somerset and young Edward Courtney. He had watched with great satisfaction as Northumberland and his sons had been brought to the Tower and lodged in the chambers beneath his own. He could gloat now as he walked away for he was certain that John Dudley’s stay would be a short one, it would not be long before his head fell upon Tower Green.

  At last he caught sight of the Royal party, freedom had come at last. Mary Tudor sat upon a white palfrey at the head of the procession and beside her rode her sister, the Princess Elizabeth. The Queen passed through the Gate and dismounted. She was of medium height, dressed in purple and blue velvet. Her hood was bordered with pearls and sapphires and diamonds, rubies and emeralds hung from her ears and about her throat but the Duke was shocked to see how old she had grown. She was no longer a pale, frightened girl but an ageing, ailing woman.

  She came over to the little group kneeling upon the turf and peered at them with brown, short-sighted eyes. As the Duke looked up into her face he wondered whether she remembered his harsh treatment of herself and her mother and hoped that she would also remember that his tasks had been carried out upon her father‘s instructions. He fervently prayed that she had not inherited her father’s vindictive nature.

  She took his hands and raised him to his feet, “These are my prisoners now,” she said in her gruff voice. The tears sparkled in her eyes as she continued, “My Lord of Norfolk, how you must have suffered in this woeful place. How long have you been here?”

  “Six years, Your Grace, and I feared that this winter would be my last, but God in His Wisdom has turned the usurper from the throne and I will serve my Queen as faithfully as I served your father.”

  She peered at him, her face transformed. “You and my faithful Bishop have remained true to Holy Church and you will reap you rewards.” Her expression hardened, “The suppression of our Holy Faith shall cease, My Lord. My country will return to the fold.”

  “God be praised! For in you, Madam, we have found the instrument of our salvation,” Bishop Gardiner told her.

  She took the Bishop’s hand
and that of the Duke and the tears welled again in her eyes, “I thank God that I have two loyal servants. My Lord of Norfolk, ’twas to Framlingham that I fled in my hour of need and with the aid of your true yeomen and a few, brave gentlemen, I found the courage to fight for what in truth belongs to me!” She turned and beckoned a young man to come forward. “One of the few who answered my call was your grandson. His poor father would have been proud of him.”

  Young Thomas Howard came forward, a tall, handsome boy of seventeen and Norfolk’s eyes misted with pride. The quiet, awkward boy had grown into a sturdy, handsome youth, a youth with the courage and pride of his forebears – a Howard.

  “It was a brave and noble deed, for it took great courage to raise the Howard standard for your Queen when every man's hand was against her,” Mary said quietly.

  Young Thomas bowed, “My family has always upheld the cause of righteousness, Madam. I will not be the first to decry it!”

  His grandfather’s admiration increased. Here indeed was a boy who would continue to adhere to the Howard traditions.

  Mary turned to the Duchess of Somerset and embraced her affectionately, “My dearest Anne, there shall be no further suffering.”

  After she had greeted Edward Courtney she turned to rejoin her party and Norfolk turned to look back at the bleak tower in which he had spent those long, despairing years. His gaze caught that of his great-niece as she sat waiting for her sister. The dark eyes were hard, there was no pity or sorrow there, he thought. She was a handsome girl with her father's red-gold hair and her mother's eyes and long, slender neck – the neck he had helped to sever and obviously Elizabeth had not forgiven him for his part in her mother’s disgrace. He turned away. She would show him little mercy when her turn came, of that he was certain, but God willing, that day was far in the future.

  “Come, grandfather. We go to Lambeth,” young Thomas said.

  “Lambeth – I never thought to see it again, nor Kenninghall or Framlingham.”

  “There is much to be done for since they were confiscated little has been attended to.”

  They took a barge to Norfolk House and as the boatmen pulled against the tide the Duke savoured the sights and sounds of the river. The feeling was good and he felt ten years younger now that he could envisage spending his remaining years at liberty.

  His grandson gazed at him with pity. How old he was. How terrible the agony of mind and the privations must have been but he admired and respected the old man for even after the terrible sufferings he must have endured, his back was unbent and his spirit unimpaired.

  “There are not many men who live to reach such a great age,” he said.

  “I have not many more years left to me. I am eighty-one and six years in that place are enough to destroy the health of a young man. I have suffered in consequence and the scythe of the reaper grows closer.”

  His grandson did not reply but left him to his thoughts.

  After a few days rest at Norfolk House, the Duke had the satisfaction of having all his estates and titles restored to him. He gained even greater satisfaction from the fact that he had been summoned to preside over the trial of Northumberland and once again he sat at the table in the great hall of the Tower.

  Surly and reticent, John Dudley was led in. His overweaning arrogance had deserted him and he pleaded guilty to the charges. His frightened gaze dropped before the cold eyes of the Duke who slowly turned the blade of the axe towards him.

  “John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, you have been found guilty of all the charges brought against you and you are condemned to die by the axe at the Queen's pleasure. God Save the Queen.”

  * * *

  With the restoration of his estates and title he returned to Kenninghall. Although Mary had instantly restored him to his former position, the patent must go through the formality of Parliament and he had written to the Queen upon the subject.

  “Sovereign Lady, the offence wherewith your said subject and supplicant was charged was only for bearing arms which he and his ancestors had heretofore of long continuance borne, as well in the presence of the late King as in the presence of divers of his noble progenitors, Kings of England.”

  The patent passed unhindered and all estates and titles once again belonged to him – Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshall of England.

  Ten

  His respite was brief for he was recalled to attend the coronation.

  The first day of October was a golden, autumn day. The streets had been cleaned and were gaily decorated and the river was crowded with craft of every description and sparkled like a ribbon of silver in the sunlight.

  The procession set out from the Tower amid the cries of the exultant citizens and eventually reached the Abbey of Westminster. Mary’s gown was of cloth of gold and her plain, sallow countenance was transformed by an inner glow of joy and happiness. Her train was borne by the Duchess of Norfolk and the Duke scrutinised his wife closely for many years had passed since they had met.

  Elizabeth looked well, older but still elegant for the crimson velvet and cloth of silver of her gown suited her complexion. She spared him a glance and then studiously ignored him.

  The ceremony proceeded as with solemn dignity the Duke presented the Queen with the three crowns. St Edward’s crown, the Crown Imperial set with the massive ruby of the Black Prince and the sapphire of Edward the Confessor and a crown specially made for her.

  Bishop Gardiner placed each crown in turn upon her head, solemnly blessing her as the trumpets rang out. The Master of the Jewel House invested her with the gold bracelets, the Earl of Arundel presented her with the Sceptre, the Earl of Bath with St Edward’s staff. The golden spurs were presented by the Earl of Pembroke, the orb by the Marquess of Winchester and the ring of gold by Bishop Gardiner.

  In her velvet mantle with its long train, a surcoat of velvet with a kirtle furred with miniver, a band of venice gold and a cordon of silk and gold tassels, the Crown Imperial upon her head and the sceptre in her right hand, the orb in her left, she was led to St Edward's chair. As she seated herself the crimson cloth of gold sabatons she wore upon her feet were visible.

  Bishop Gardiner came forward and knelt before her. “I shall be faithful and true and faith bear to you, our Sovereign Lady and Queen and to your heirs, Kings and Queens of England, France and Ireland; and I shall do and truly acknowledge the service of the lands which I claim to hold of you as in the right of your church, as God shall help me and All the Saints’.”

  He rose and kissed her upon the left cheek, followed by all the Bishops.

  The Duke, as premier Peer, then came forward to swear his allegiance. In his crimson velvet robes, furred with the bars of ermine denoting his rank, his white hair and piercing, cold eyes he was the epitome of a dignified patriarch.

  “I become your liege man of life and limb and of all earthly worship and faith, and all truly shall bear to you, to live and die with you against all manner of folk. God so help me and All-hallows!”

  He withdrew and watched as the Marquess of Winchester swore allegiance for himself, the Earl of Arundel for the Earls, Viscount Hertford and Lord Burgaveny for the Barons.

  The Mass commenced and Bishop Gardiner offered up at the altar of St Edward, Mary’s crown and regalia. For the first time in many years the Catholic Mass with its colourful and moving solemnities was offered up in the great abbey for it was the Queen’s most fervent desire to return her people to the Church of Rome.

  For the Duke the wheel had come full circle. He had been christened and brought up in the Roman Catholic faith and although he had never denounced his beliefs, he had deferred to the demands of his master in order to survive, but now in his declining years he took great comfort from the fact that he would almost certainly die in the faith in which he had been born.

  The ceremony over, the party moved to Westminster Hall for the banquet. The old, medieval hall with its great hammer-beamed roof was crowded and colourful for the banners of the noble hous
es of England hung in gay profusion from its walls.

  Young Thomas Howard was deputising for his grandfather as Earl Marshall and the Duke himself ushered in the first course. In traditional manner he was on horseback as was the Earl of Derby who was the High Steward of England. Dishes of roast swan, quail in wine, venison, a peacock decorated with painted feathers, Curlew, Redchuke, Widgeon, Heron, a great pie of Oxbirds and the sugared device of the Virgin with her Child were brought in and presented to the Queen.

  Next to the Queen on her left hand sat the Princess Elizabeth who looked strained and tired and who picked daintily at her food. On Mary’s right hand sat the Princess Anne of Cleves who had become a close friend of both sisters and who had survived her husband.

  The Champion of England, Sir Edward Dymoke, rode into the hall upon his dappled charger and issued the age-old challenge. “If there be any manner of man, of whatever estate, degree or condition soever he be, that will say and maintain that our Sovereign Lady, Queen Mary the First, this day here present, is not the rightful and undoubted inheritrix to the Imperial Crown of this realm of England, and that of right she ought not be crowned Queen, I say he lieth like a false traitor and that I am ready the same to maintain with him while I have breath in my body, either now at this time or any other whatsoever it shall please the Queen’s Highness to appoint; and therefore I cast him my gage!” As he finished speaking he flung down his gauntlet.

  There was silence but no one came forward to take up his challenge and a herald stepped forward, picked it up and returned it to him, whereupon he cried, “God Save the Queen!” and withdrew from the Hall. The banquet continued far into the night.

  The Duke remained at Norfolk House, close to the court should the Queen have further need of him and from here he watched the growing rift between the two half-sisters. The Queen was becoming very suspicious of her sister who continued obstinate in the matter of religion, as indeed did the majority of Mary’s subjects. The Queen’s proposed return to the Catholic form of worship met with strong resistance and a few unpleasant incidents had already taken place.