Tudor Queen, Tudor Crown

by Jennifer Peter Woods

  As the Bishop of Winchester stepped forth, Mary bent her head, readying herself for the moment.

  She was about to be anointed.

  When the holy oil touched her, she quivered.

  The hand of God, she thought, the hand of God is upon me.

  The oils touched her, moving over her shoulders, across her heart, glancing her temples and her forehead.

  Her heart soared, pounding hard, for as long as it should beat she would be true to England. She would devote herself to her people. She pledged herself unto them just as she pledged herself unto God.

  Mary watched on as the Duke of Norfolk stepped forth, carrying the three crowns. There was the crown of Saint Edward, the Imperial Crown ordered by her father for his coronation, and lastly, the third and final circlet that completed the triumvirate, Mary’s own crown.

  One by one, Gardiner blessed them in the name of God before settling them upon her head. She felt the weight of them. Firming her neck, Mary straightened herself to bear the burden. Then, they handed her the dual scepters.

  King and Queen. Her mother had held the same dove-headed scepter when she sat beside her father to be crowned his queen. Mary tightened her hand upon the staff.

  It was elation, it was sadness, it was vindication and it was a bursting gladness that knew no bounds.

  She was complete. It was done. Mary Tudor was the Queen of England. The bells tolled and the cheers of the people erupted, their chorus of joy reaching her very soul.

  Mary Tudor.

  Regina.

  Rex.

  It was done.

  She was queen.

  .

  PART TWO

  TUDOR CROWN

  1554

  KAT ASHLEY

  Aged fifty-two

  January

  The lady had risen high, very high indeed.

  Kat could not but wonder if her own mistress might one day rise to such heights.

  All in good time, she reminded herself, all in good time. Elizabeth was Queen Mary’s one true heir and now Kat’s mistress was but one step away from mounting the throne of England herself.

  Mary Tudor. The people loved her, but then every monarch was to be loved in the dawn of their reign. They were loved until their mistakes came. Ere that, for one ethereal moment, they would be impenetrable and invincible.

  There was no doubting that this queen was steering a different course. She was no fearful maiden, uncertain of her path. Nay. She was a woman and a queen with many grievances to right.

  Even before she was crowned, she showed the people the course she meant to take. The arrest of Cranmer and his men proclaimed it as such; England would return to Rome and they would do so with all haste.

  Mayhap, Mary Tudor did believe her ascension to be the consequence of God’s divine guidance, Kat thought, mayhap she did believe that her people flocked to her, celebrated her and loved her as they did because God willed it.

  To Kat, the matter was far simpler. It was no great puzzle. The people of England simply could not stomach Jane Grey and the Dudleys. Given the choice, they would rather a Tudor. Elizabeth had seen the truth too, seen and understood, and now that she was heir, Elizabeth was watching her sister’s movements with avid interest, taking care to learn and observe. And there was much to observe.

  The queen had not been idle, far from it. Starting from the arrests made before her coronation, she had been quick to assert her will regarding the matter of England’s faith. The opening of Mary Tudor’s reign saw the arrest of many good Protestants. Those that had managed to escape had fled in fear.

  The time of the Catholics had come. The queen meant to restore England to the old faith and she meant to do so without delay.

  The queen was crowned on the first of October.

  Striding forth, she opened her first Parliament on the third of the same month. Her first act was to stand and demand the repeal of all laws enacted on the matter of religion since the inception of the Church of England. With immediacy, she wanted the powers her father had amassed as the Head of the Church of England to be declared null and void. She would have her father’s Church negated. She wanted all the reforms passed during her father and her brother’s reigns tossed, cancelled and destroyed.

  No bishop should hold sway in England but the Bishop of Rome.

  The Parliament fought their queen bitterly, refusing her, angering her. But she held firm and stood her ground. The men of the parliament, seeing her resolve gave in and conceded to one Act of Repeal. They would negate all reforms relating to religion passed during Edward’s short reign.

  So the deal was struck and in one stroke, all of Edward’s, Cranmer’s, reforms pertaining to his church were undone. Masses were to be said once more in England, saints were to be worshipped and the clergy had to again observe the rules of purity.

  So ended the first Parliament of Mary Tudor’s reign.

  But the queen was not done. In December, she rejected her title as the Head of the Church of England, signaling to all her ministers that the battle was not yet over. For Mary Tudor’s will was firmer than any man’s and she would stare those who opposed her down. But while her religious reforms gathered pace, the first of her troubles came.

  The year had been wet and there was famine in the lands. The people were starving; for the first time since her ascension, the people were stirring, their bellies rumbling with discontent.

  And now there was talk of marriage too. The lady at the ripe age of seven and thirty was ready for a husband, and though it was said she had scoured Europe and England too for a suitable match, everyone knew where her eyes would eventually land.

  Spain. Where else?

  Philip of Spain who was eleven years the English queen’s junior was her choice. The queen insisted that England needed allies and who better than Spain? With the French in Scotland and hostility abroad, the queen was ready to launch her realm back into the world by the side of the strongest nation in Europe, and she would not be gainsaid.

  She wanted the alliance with Spain, her mother’s homeland, and she would consider no other alternative, not even when her Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner, suggested that she consider a native match.

  Kat tapped her fingers brusquely against the railings as she peered over the horizon. An alliance with Spain would bring more than just the Spanish to these shores. It would install a foreign king beside their English queen, and the people liked the thought not. Not only so, the catholic majesties of Spain were the fiercest Defenders of the old faith. Many feared that the Catholic Philip would bring the Inquisition with him to these shores.

  Kat smiled. The queen had been foolhardy, pushing the people with undue haste. The people loved Mary Tudor but already her detractors were stirring and turning their eyes toward Elizabeth. Not three months into Mary Tudor’s reign, some were already thinking of the daughter of Anne Boleyn.

  There was no doubting it, the only seeds being sown this year were the seeds of discontent and for all the efforts of Mary Tudor to reform and save her England by returning it to the true faith, Elizabeth Tudor, the Protestant heir was emerging.

  Already, talk of rebellion was in the air and as the Protestant rebels gathered Kat stands poised, waiting alongside her mistress Elizabeth, bidding their time.

  MARY AGED THIRTY-EIGHT

  February, Whitehall

  The night laid heavy on her soul.

  The crown makes murderers of us all. Kings. Queens. Sovereigns. We are murderers all. Mary’s hands were fisted, her head thudded, throbbing with pain.

  She had to do it.

  You must. Her councilors told her and on her orders people would swing. All the rebels were to be hanged, drawn and quartered for their sins. They had wanted to overthrow her. They had wanted to destroy her. They were all guilty, and all traitors had to be dealt with. They would be made an example of. They needed to swing.

  She had signed the edict and now it lay before her. She had decreed it. It would be done. The men would d
ie. But their deaths would bring her neither comfort nor satisfaction. She pitied them. She pitied them all.

  She shook off such thoughts, taking care to firm her heart. A sovereign of a realm must be firm. I will show no fear, Mary told herself, and I will do what needs to be done. She shut her eyes, they were swollen from fatigue and red from the many nights she spent awake, sleepless.

  The Wyatt rebellion had been crushed.

  She had been close, so close to losing all that she had gained.

  Her lords, like the most deadly of parasites had suckled and gained their prowess and greatness from the crown and their sovereign. She had given them titles, lands and men while they plotted, gathering to overthrow her.

  She passed her eyes over the names of the conspirators. First amongst them: Edward Courtenay.

  When she was crowned she had him released from the Tower. She pitied him so she released him, creating him the Earl of Devon. Edward Courtenay had been a prisoner of the Tudors since the reign of her father. His only crime was the drop of Plantagenet blood running through his veins. Nevertheless, her father had thought it politic to keep the boy shut away lest he became a threat to his Edward.

  For the remainder of her father’s reign, Courtenay lived on as a prisoner of the crown, then throughout her brother’s too. Mary released him. But the Edward Courtney who had entered the Tower a boy was now a man, and just like her father had foreseen he had thought to raise himself high.

  And he was not the only one.

  Her Lord Chancellor’s words rang in her ears. The Lady Elizabeth must be dealt with harshly, he insisted, she is guilty also. Of that, we have no doubt. The words of her councilors were repugnant to her ears. They insisted that her sister had conspired to overthrow her. Mary could scarce believe it but the truth was as plain as day, it had all been laid out before her, as painful as an open vein.

  It had all begun with the matter of her marriage.

  Mary had first realized something was awry when the men, prominent Protestants all, demanded an audience with their Queen.

  She faced the men, counted them and marked their angry faces.

  Sir Thomas Wyatt. Sir James Croft. Sir Peter Carew. Henry Grey. Thomas Grey.

  The Greys. She looked upon them, her distaste for them clear. She had released the Duke of Suffolk, the father of Jane Grey and his brother from the Tower alongside Courtenay, showing them her clemency only months before. By her royal mercy, these men breathed on, pardoned and set at liberty once more.

  With Northumberland and his closest allies dead and Cranmer and his Protestant preachers imprisoned in the Tower, Mary had thought her realm secured. She had thought the executions of those most guilty would suffice.

  I have condemned and executed those at the head of all England’s woes. As for the others, I have kept Jane Grey alive. I have kept Guildford Dudley as well as his brother Robert Dudley alive. For I thought to govern with mercy and show good will unto all.

  I received the penitent words of all those who wished to curry my favor and mercy. And to heal the wounds of the past I was prepared to forget their many trespasses against me and offer these men reconciliation.

  This is how they have repaid me.

  Audaciously, they stood before her, their faces filled with unrepentant rage. Beyond them, more men stood. There was Thomas Stafford, the heir to the Dukedom of Buckingham, his friends Sir William Thomas and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. She counted them, remembering them; some were standing too far behind for her to distinguish their faces, but Mary made it her business to find and note their names later.

  Gentlemen, she said unto them, her countenance firm, to what do I owe this pleasure?

  We have come on a most urgent matter, your grace, Stafford answered.

  Mary knew why there were here, she could see it in their faces. They had come to demand her submission. Their bows were barely there, their bodies rigid with their righteous resentment.

  Your majesty must choose an English husband, they said unto her, their faces lit with their sneers.

  She was their queen, anointed by God, and yet they thought to command her. Fury burned in Mary’s chest. They would have never dared to command her father. He spoke and they obeyed. He chose where and whom to marry and they celebrated. It was as simple as that.

  Mary tightened her fists, beset by anger, but her face held a ready smile as the men spoke on-

  We have no desire to be overrun by foreigners. They all but spat the words at her.

  Your concerns gentleman, she said, shall be addressed. Rest assured that as Queen, We would do naught to harm the harmony of our realm.

  Be warned your majesty, the people will not stomach a foreign king and neither will we, they warned before bowing and leaving, angry and roused.

  Mary stared after them, rage burning in her chest.

  She had to tread carefully.

  She was willing to give men like the Greys one more chance to prove their loyalty to the crown. She was willing to offer them one last chance at redemption. As for the others who came to demand her submission, they were the Protestant lords who had abandoned Jane Grey to proclaim a Catholic queen in her stead. They saw the tide and the people’s favor turn and they had with all speed cast their lot with Mary to save themselves from the Tower and the block.

  Such men. Here are such men.

  She stared at their retreating backs, her eyes burning, her mouth repeating the words of peace she was resolved to keep true to: I must bring peace. Proffer the olive branch and show my people that I mean to govern with good will. There must be peace in England. I would have nothing but peace.

  So she allowed such men to sit in her council, beside her own good Catholics.

  Catholics and Protestants. The Protestant lords from her brother’s reign numbered some twenty odd men. In order to counter their powers, she had to swell the ranks of her council with her own men, a Catholic for each Protestant. She had been forced to keep them by her side for the sake of safeguarding her realm, to retain a balance of power, to maintain peace. But they were not to be trusted, they were wolves and they had been nipping and snapping at her heels without cease ever since the day she became their queen.

  Queen.

  She was queen just as Jane Grey once was and now standing behind her, in her shadow and ever present was Elizabeth, the new heir to whom they could all flock.

  Mary needed to hasten with diligence and tread with care to make herself safe in England. Yet this way and that, her men as well as her enemies hindered her; they belittled her and they wanted to direct and guide her.

  The men found submitting to a queen an arduous task. They did not like submitting to a woman, Queen or no. But Mary knew what was at stake. It was the salvation of her people and the future of England. They needed reform, they needed laws and they needed to undo all the evil that had come before her.

  And there was much to undo.

  Not only so, everywhere she turned she was advised of her duty to procure a husband.

  Indeed, she fumed. They were the ones that started the chorus, insisting that I make a match.

  Day and night, her ministers and her parliament men pressed her, yet each way she turned and each suitor she considered would please one but not the other.

  Her nobles, the men, they all thought themselves the greatest of candidate for their queen’s hand. They bickered and traded insult amongst themselves, their eyes set on the ultimate prize: the kingship.

  But to elevate one of them to such heights would be a dangerous act. Fatal perhaps. Nay. Mary had known from the first that she needed a foreign match.

  She needed a fellow Catholic King to bring to England the weight of his authority and the benefits of his foreign alliance. To wed an Englishman would be to isolate England further. Her country and her countrymen needed to show their strength to Europe and ally themselves with a strong king, and Mary had known from the start which man would give England all that she required: Philip of Spain.

  The H
apsburg prince was her choice and she would not waver.

  A queen was not to be dictated to and she had the alliance proclaimed without ado. To ease the fears of her people, the Articles of her Marriage was drawn and published.

  Philip would be king in name only. He would not rule in England.

  His title was an empty title. He would have no share in the polity of her realm. He would bear the name of king-consort only for as along as his wife bore hers as Queen. Upon her death, his title as the King of England would be withdrawn.

  Not only so, so long as they both should live, England would not be obliged to war on Spain’s behalf.

  No one in England wanted to be embroiled in the costly conflict raging between Spain and France. Their contest for supremacy was ravaging Europe and many English souls were afraid of being sent to foreign shores to fight for a king that was not their own.

  Mary understood her people’s fears and she had sought to assuage them. She was at one with her people. She would not send them out to die on foreign lands in a war that was not theirs to wage.

  The affairs of Mary’s state would therefore be kept separate from that of her husband’s. To further assure her subjects, she had it proclaimed that Philip would never remove her person from her realm.

  Mary would remain with her people at all times. Philip had to be the one to come to her.

  That article made Mary smile. For the first time in England, a man would be a queen’s consort. She would wield the power and no other. The words were writ. He would share her bed and her company and little else. Mary would remain the supreme monarch of her own kingdom.

  The Spanish however were well used to such rhetoric and the Hapsburg assent to the union was readily given. In England though, the matter was far from over. Upon the queen’s proclamations, Edward Courtenay, with his drop of Plantagenet blood, moved. He was quick to rouse discontent and incite rebellion, stoking all those English fears of a Spanish invasion.