They like him not, Elizabeth marked. Northumberland is too close to the throne.
He had installed his son’s wife on the throne and now he would call upon the council to depose and wage war against Mary Tudor. The councilors had been gauging the people’s mood and they could see which way the balance was shifting. In London, the reins of power were threatening to slip through Northumberland’s hands and threatening to do so fast.
But the Duke was not done yet. Determined to settle the score once and for all, he decided to strike. He took what soldiers he could muster and he marched, taking one last giant gamble.
He was for Mary’s stronghold. It was his intent to crush Mary Tudor with all haste. With all speed, he hoped to ground her into the dust underneath his heels before returning to London, triumphant, to lord it once more over those unruly lords.
The game is set, Elizabeth thought as she cast her eyes beyond the gallery. Looking out, she fixed her eyes on the gardens of her Hatfield. Soon, it will be soon.
Indeed, the final piece was about to be played.
She took a deep breath.
Northumberland was on the move.
SUSAN CLARENCIEUX
Aged forty-three
July
The Princesses Mary.
The Lady Mary.
The Bastard Mary.
Susan had seen her ladyship in all her guises and through all the hardship that had been hers to endure. When the princess learned of her brother’s imminent death, she did not weep. Instead, she had sat, staring into the fires at Hunsden. They kept her chairs drawn close to the fire now, be it winter or summer, so the warmth could ease the lady’s growing aches and pains.
The lady was unwell. Megrims, shortness of breath, failing sight and an ache in her side plagued her, giving her no reprieve, be it day or night. The lady had always been frail but her constitution was worsening with each passing year, despite the efforts of her physicians.
Over the years, the Spanish ambassadors had sent the lady recommendations, treatments and offered her doctors too from their realm; from the constant Chapuys to Simon Renard, the tradition lived on.
Spain had always taken Lady Mary’s side. They never abandoned her. But whereas Chapuys was bound by his loyalty and devotion to Queen Katherine and her daughter, Renard was far more pragmatic.
Edward had been a young boy and then an ailing king. The Holy Roman Emperor was eager to retain his ally, Mary, in England. While the young English King was in decline, the Spaniard decided to be bold, sending the Lady Mary hints and suggestions. He would support her claim to the throne, he pledged, he would be her most devoted friend.
Not only so, the Emperor had also offered Mary a husband.
Philip of Spain, Simon Renard had whispered the name to the lady. Ere now, the lady had given the words no thought. They were of no consequence. The Privy Council would never allow her to take a catholic husband, much less the heir to the Spanish throne.
The Lady Mary had long consigned any thought of obtaining a husband to the deepest recesses of her soul. She was too old. First, it had been her father then again her brother’s will that she should remain unwed, and she had lived by it, resigning herself to it.
Her youth was spent and though her hand might still be of use for diplomacy’s sake, that time was still yet to arise.
Meanwhile, as the Lady Mary spent her days buried at Hunsden, waves of princesses without the taint of illegitimacy were born, grown, wedded, bedded and brought to bed of their own children while she aged.
Nay, the Lady Mary was reconciled to her fate.
The Lady Mary is now the same age as her mother, Queen Katherine, when she lost her husband to Nan Boleyn, Susan counted, and for all the heartache and suffering that she had to witness her mother endure, mayhap her ladyship regrets little in having escaped the bonds of matrimony.
All the same, Susan had seen her lady look longingly at the babes in the village. What woman would not? The lady, despite her austere and stoic demeanor was a woman at heart and all women longed for the same happiness.
Yet, it had never been this princess’ lot to live a simple life.
Her brother’s death had brought her to the throne. Now she had to fight for it. Northumberland was coming for her with one thousand and five hundred men at arms. Camped in the Thames Valley, the Lady Mary and her forces awaited the coming battle.
I would bleed and lay down my life if needs be, the lady was determined. I will die for my cause with all you good people! She told the men, the soldiers and the commoners who had flocked to her cause. They had wept and cheered her, this woman, this lady that was their one rightful queen.
In these last few days, their ranks had swelled and Susan believed that when the time came, they would prevail.
Approaching the lady, Susan moved on light feet. Her ladyship had not closed her eyes for days. There were times when she would rest but she was always alert.
Your ladyship must rest, Susan said softly.
Mary turned her head slightly toward Susan. There will be plenty of time for that later, the lady uttered.
Not so, my lady, Susan chastised, all too soon your ladyship shall be besieged by well-wishers, occupied with the plans for your coronation and the weighty concerns of your parliament and realm. Now is the time to rest so that you might be fresh and ready for your triumphal ride into London.
A slight smile tilted the lady’s lips just as Susan knew it would, perhaps, Susan, she said simply, perhaps. It is all in God’s hands.
They were all of them praying. They were praying for luck, for time and chance to smile upon the Lady Mary. They had waited a lifetime for change, and now, finally, the moment was nigh.
JANE GREY AGED SEVENTEEN
July
He had installed them in the Tower.
She stood up on her toes to peer over the Tower Square. The fortress was well garrisoned. The Duke had ordered them to stay in the fortified tower for the duration of his absence.
She did not want to be Queen. The thought frightened her. No woman had ever been able to hold the crown of England. They had always been relegated to the role of consorts, wives and mothers. Not even the fierce Matilda was able to hold the crown. She had nearly succeeded nigh on four hundred years ago, but no woman since had come close to inheriting the throne of England in her own right since.
What was more, Jane was not a daughter of Henry VIII. She was a daughter of a lesser house and she had never thought she would inherit. True, she had Tudor blood running through her veins but she was more Suffolk than Tudor.
They assured her that it was the king’s will she should inherit in Mary Tudor’s stead. King Edward had wanted a good protestant queen to succeed him. He had wanted none of the papal mummery that would come with his sister Mary’s ascension. Jane understood well the importance of continuing with God’s Good Work. She had been taught to embrace the new Church, it expounded and embodied everything good. It was the honest and the righteous path.
Ere Edward VI’s death, the council came to advise her of her coming ascension to the throne. It was only natural, they insisted, that Edward in his desire to secure his legacy should nominate her in Mary’s stead.
Should the throne not pass to the Princess Elizabeth? She had asked while silence fell over the men. Turning her head this way and that, she looked between the lords, hoping for an answer and an avenue of escape. If the king wishes to nominate a good protestant heir, surely, his sister Elizabeth shall inherit?
Nay, my lady, Archbishop Cranmer answered, the king knowing you to be a goodly maid and a woman of impeccable character have deemed you the worthier choice.
Again, Jane protested, but she was silenced.
The king’s will and desire has been writ and it is law, Cranmer spoke on, the matter is settled. Lady Jane ready yourself.
In the days that followed, Jane prayed. She prayed hard for Edward’s immortal soul. She prayed for God to cure his mortal flesh too, hoping against hope that t
he young king would rally and recover, sparing her the trials to come.
She knew what the lords were about. She was young but she had grown wiser since her marriage in May. There was something more than the mere will of a dying king at work here. Jane knew her ascension had everything to do with Northumberland, his son and her place in his household as his new daughter.
She did not like Guildford Dudley, nor he her. The two of them had been thrust together by the machinations of her father as well as his. They had gone to their wedding day petulant, taking each other’s hand, pledging themselves unto each other for time and eternity not out of love but necessity.
Talk of her becoming queen had come swift and fast on the foot of her nuptials, and since then she had been pressed by all sides to deliver England a Prince and an heir.
You must birth a son, lady, and with all haste, Northumberland urged endlessly, we must secure the succession.
The succession. The succession. The succession. The words ran in her head like a dog after its own tail, relentless and without mercy. It was why she was in the Tower and it was why she was Queen.
She breathed through her nose, inhaling deep before exhaling through her mouth in one long, ceaseless breath. The air was humid but the skies were dark. The rains were threatening to come again. Agitated, she pushed at the strands of her hair hanging limp against her nape.
She shivered. This place was brimming with ghosts. Spirits fill the halls. One cannot walk here for fear of being jostled by the multitude of headless beings that call these Towers home…
Too many had died inside these walls. Ghouls and spirits haunted these Towers; of that Jane had no doubt. The ghosts of those had been executed here lingered still, eager to feast on the withering hearts of those that dared to dwell behind these Tower gates.
Fruitlessly, Jane tried to peer beyond the confines of her window but the bars hindered her, denying her the view she sought. She sighed. She was a prisoner here.
When they came to her offering her Edward’s signet ring, she had swallowed past the stricture in her throat and stared at the proffered jewel. She had taken it in her hand and felt the power and the weight of it. She was queen.
She was the Queen in the Tower.
Guildford was with her. They were closer now but they had become so not because of love or any other sentiment but out of necessity. The two of them would either sink or swim together. Guildford’s father and his victory or failure would determine their fate.
So far, she had heard nothing. She had seen very little beyond the fortress in which she was kept. The ministers of her privy council came to her with reports, but they had neglected the task for nigh on two days now. Whenever she asked her servants for word of her council’s whereabouts, they would answer thusly-
We know not your majesty, they would bob and curtsey, but they had no news for her.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sound made her head snap and the blood drain from her face.
Canons. Canons in London! Her eyes darted wildly. War has come to London!
In answer, Guildford rushed into her rooms, his eyes wide and just as wild as hers.
What is it? she asked him. News? Is there news? What of your father? Have we word from the front?
Come Jane, he extended his hand to her, we shall leave anon! There are those loyal to us-
Flying to the window, she pressed her face against the bars so that she could see. She saw soldiers and she saw men. They were at the gates and they were being issued with patents and orders. The Captain of the Tower scurried forward, giving way. Then, she heard steps. The sound seemed to lead in every direction as soldiers flooded the keep.
Beyond the Tower, cheers floated. They were loud, raucous cheers. Confused, Jane tightened her hands on the bars while she watched. Surely they would come for her and take her from her place of refuge if cheers were ringing in the streets? Is the rebel Mary Tudor not defeated?
Then she saw him. She saw them. Men were being led from their cells in the Tower. She squinted, desperate to distinguish their faces. When she did, she blanched. The men being released were Norfolk, Gardiner and Bonner. They were being freed. The men had remained prisoners throughout Edward’s reign and hers too, but they were being liberated now, given their freedoms.
She turned away from the sight, her breath caught in her throat. She sank into the ground, her skirts billowing around her. Pressing a hand to her thundering heart she tried to quell the rising panic. But it was no use. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, her mind blank, she was in so much shock she feared she would faint.
Guildford grasped her hand, steadying her. He was by her side, his face stark, dumbfounded but knowing.
Long moments passed, an eternity, until Guildford said the three simple words, my father has lost.
Tears spilled down Jane’s cheeks. She saw them on Guildford’s face too.
They had lost.
They were lost.
The people’s cheers were not for her, they were for the defeat of Northumberland and the release of Mary Tudor’s men. Mary Tudor had won. She would be queen.
I am queen no longer then. Jane wanted to laugh. Nine days. She had only been queen for nine days.
Guildford, she turned her eyes upon him, Guildford, she tightened her hand over his, Guildford, she repeated through numb lips.
After her last whisper, they descended into silence. Wordlessness reigned between them while their tears fell. They were done. Mary Tudor had won. There would be no leaving the Tower for either her or Guildford. They were Mary Tudor’s prisoners now. They were at her mercy.
With tears running down her face, Jane closed her eyes and prayed.
JANE DORMER
Aged sixteen
September 30th
VERITAS. TEMPORIS. FILLA.
TRUTH: THE DAUGHTER OF TIME.
The Lady Mary was the daughter of time and it was time and truth that had brought her here.
Jane’s thoughts were bright and her color rosy. She fussed with her brother’s garments, her heart soaring with delight. Her brother would be knighted on the morrow by their sovereign and created as one of the Knights of Bath. Jane smiled in satisfaction. Good men, all of them of sound and steadfast faith would now surround the queen. At last, the strident ascension of Northumberland was at an end.
Brushing an errant curl out of her face, Jane carried on with her sewing, careful to set the tiny stitches close. She was young but she was old enough to understand and declare herself for England’s one true queen and one true faith. And now her ladyship was on the cusp of fulfilling her destiny.
The Lady Mary was going to be Queen.
Jane had served the lady for many years. In her younger days, she was once a companion to the late Edward VI, but when King Henry’s religious reforms came and split her family asunder, she followed her father and flocked to the Lady Mary’s cause. She had been installed in the lady’s household ever since.
Mary Tudor was as kind as she was benevolent. To Jane, there was no woman more deserving of the Queenship than the Lady Mary. Never would there be a kinder sovereign.
Mary had shown Jane nothing but infinite kindness, showering her with benevolence and gentle care, and though it was her task to wait on the lady, Mary had always treated Jane like a friend and companion, keeping both her and Susan Clarencieux close.
Susan was a firm lady of impenetrable repute. Her brow was perpetually furrowed, her jaw set and her lips pressed firmly together as if she was continually displeased. Jane liked to tease the lady and for Jane alone, the woman who was old enough to be her mother would un-furrow her brow and smile.
She is a gem. The Lady Mary was fond of saying whenever Jane would make them laugh with some tale or another. Bent over their mending and gathered around the fire on many a cold night in Hunsden, Jane would talk and the two older ladies would listen, their hands moving fast with skill over the panes upon which they worked.
We must take care to find you
a good husband, the Lady Mary was want to say, her eyes sad but her smile genuine, though we would miss your presence, it is high time we relinquished you to the care of a good man.
Whenever talk of finding her a husband would arise, Jane would shake her head with vehemence, I have no wish to marry! She had protested more than once. I wish to serve your ladyship! What need have I for a husband when I have such good company here at Hunsden?
Susan would always laugh, all in good time. Soon, you might have many uses for a husband!
But now everything had changed. The Lady Mary’s fortunes had taken a turn and so had Jane’s.
Taking her eyes over the horizon, Jane pondered the tower yonder. Had fortune not been with them, had the people not loved Mary Tudor and flocked to her cause, none of them would be here.
The Lady Mary would be in Jane Grey’s place, kept under lock and key. She would be the one charged with high treason. Imagine that, Jane shivered, to be at the mercy of Northumberland and those who have schemed to destroy us.
Jane trembled as her mind returned to those days. The Duke and his forces had made north to conquer. He had come, ready to spill blood, hungering and hankering for it.
Her mistress had told Susan and Jane to flee. Provisions have been made, she told them, patting their hands, I know not what will come to pass and I will not have either of you come to harm.
Jane cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shook her head. She had refused to leave. I will stay! I will live and die by your side!
Susan and Jane were adamant and their loyalty steadfast. Eventually, the lady capitulated, keeping her women by her side as they awaited the coming battle.
But there was no battle.
Before the Duke’s army reached the Thames Valley, the Privy Council, taking advantage of Northumberland’s absence, staged their defection. As soon as the Duke marched, leaving the confines of London the lords issued a new proclamation, denouncing Jane Grey. Then, they proclaimed Mary as Queen in Jane grey’s stead. Quickly and without remorse, the men turned their backs on one queen and made their pledge to another.
Tudor Queen, Tudor Crown Page 17