The Most Happy

by Helen R Davis

  “But Mother, how would she know if she wasn’t working for God?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Because Satan would be helping the Italian woman with anything he knows about you. My daughter, be careful! If you are curious about the supernatural, take this curiosity to Christ and his kingdom of light and love. Remember also, Elizabeth, that Jesus defeated Satan. Ask God for forgiveness for seeking out the Medici’s fortunes, be on your knees and repent of this, and never turn to these sorcerers again!” I said.

  “About Robin Dudley…” Elizabeth wisely changed the subject.

  “I believe, should Edward give the blessing, you could marry around your birthday.” I said. I had allowed Jane Seymour, Catherine Howard, and Catherine Parr to marry the men they loved. Indeed, Henry VIII, my own husband, had believed in marrying for love. A novel idea, but I believed that while love would come, marriage would be for children too. Dudley and Elizabeth’s hearts were right for each other, and Elizabeth was healthy and strong. I had no fear of her dying in childbirth.

  Chapter 22

  1553-1554

  The year turned to 1553. It had come time for Jane Grey’s lying-in. She would go into confinement, as queens and all women did, to await the birth of her heir, where she would be tended only by women. It was a time of much needed rest for her, for I saw she was exhausting and tiring easily at the Court functions.

  Elizabeth and I would be in Jane’s service, as queen dowager and Princess of Wales. It was the custom of Elizabeth, the present heir, to witness the birth of the new heir. She had completed official mourning for Henri of France, and Edward had granted her and Dudley permission to marry. She was sad to lose her status and title, but she was delighted at her coming marriage blessing. Of course, I knew well the sexual desires of both he Boleyn and the Tudor side, and I advised Edward that, until the wedding, he should take great pains to keep Dudley and Elizabeth apart. I would have no ill word spoken of my daughter, nor would Edward of his Sweet Sister Temperance. As such, it was believed the best way to keep them apart was for Elizabeth to tend the queen, her cousin and sister-in-law.

  Jane may have been bedridden, as was the custom of queens in confinement, but she had not lost her flair for debate and study. She continued to translate Greek into Latin and Latin into Greek, even though she was warned it would harm the baby.

  “You learn too much, Queen Jane.” Said Catherine Culpepper, the last of the ladies of my old days left to me. Her husband had returned from France when Elizabeth had done so, as had Thomas Seymour.

  “Says the wench who can barely even sign her name.” Jane Grey said to Catherine Culpepper with an air of haughtiness.

  “But I have borne my husband five children.” Catherine Culpepper said.

  “I am fertile. I hold in my womb a son for England.” Jane Grey said.

  “Jane, let us speak of more pleasant things and not the fancies of this ninny.” Elizabeth said. “Let us discuss Scripture. Jane, when Jesus spoke of a place prepared for us, what do you believe he meant?”

  “He spoke of Heaven, of course.” Jane Grey said.

  “Well, indeed.” I said.

  “But he speaks of many mansions. He also said the last would be first and the first would be last. Whatever could that mean?” Elizabeth said.

  “I believe it is straightforward, cousin. Jesus will make all things new in the new heaven and the new earth.” Jane said.

  “All things? Truly?” Elizabeth said.

  “Indeed.” I said. “Jesus can do as he wishes, for he is God.”

  “What do you make of the beliefs of the Jews and the Turks?” Jane Grey asked.

  “The Jews reject Christ.” Elizabeth said. “Yet of them, Christ came into the world. The Turks reject Christ as well. They call him only a prophet.”

  “The Turks are condemned then. For it clearly states: ‘If anyone preaches to you another Gospel, let him be accursed.” I said.

  “What day is it, when women become such clerks?” Catherine Culpepper asked.

  “Leave. We are discussing heavenly things, not earthly ones.” Jane Grey ordered. For Catherine’s mind had changed little and she still valued the things of this world above heaven. Catherine curtsied and left. I was reminded of Catherine Parr, who had been a reformer in completeness. I missed her often, wishing she were here to partake of this conversation. Then, I remembered the chapter in Genesis I had read while praying about Spain, and I quoted it.

  “Those who bless Abraham, God says he will bless. Those who curses Abraham, God said he would curse.” I said. Jane looked at me oddly.

  “Whatever has this to do with Spain?” she asked.

  “I am not certain. But I believe, girls, we should be careful not to curse others. We would not wish to bring the curse of Almighty God on ourselves, would we?” I said.

  “Girls? I am Queen of England!” Jane Grey said.

  “But you are always my little girls to me.” I said. At that moment, Jane cried out. Her labor pains were beginning.

  Jane Grey’s easy pregnancy was countermanded by a hellish labor that seemingly would not end. Her pains had been few and far between, and then closer and closer. But the baby remained stuck in her womb, likely because she was so young. The days passed, hot, sweaty, exhausting. As queen mother, I was permitted to speak to Edward. At first, Jane had been brave in the birth, with each pain, yelling ‘Tell the king his son is coming.’ But the pushes yielded no results. The room turned into a scene from Hell. Jane Grey screamed that she was burning up and she was tearing within, the child would be the death of her.

  “I no longer want this child!” she claimed on the evening of the third night of her labor. “Anne, my queen, it was a mistake, make it stop!” she called out in pain, as though I had the power to end her pregnancy and make the child disappear.

  “Do not speak such nonsense!” I said as the midwife entered.

  “By the fourteen holy helpers, the queen will have to sneeze this baby out!” the midwife stated. She slapped Jane, once, twice, three times, and continued to order Jane to push. Jane Grey had changed from a haughty, proud queen, to a mewling mound of tears. I feared for both her life and that of the child, and it fell upon to me to tell Edward that his wife might not live. I left the birthing chamber and found my son in his private chambers. It was nighttime, a full moon, and he was sipping hippocras, unable to sleep.

  “Mother.” Edward said when I entered, kneeling to him five times, as he required.

  “I come with a choice for you, my son.” I said. “The midwife seeks the king’s council. The mother, or the child?”

  I knew what Henry VIII would have said. “Save the child. Wives are easily found.” But it was Henry’s son, not him, who spoke.

  “Save them both!” Edward ordered. “I am a man of honor. I desire both my wife and my son.”

  Thus, I returned to the chamber with the choice. Edward desired both wife and child. In the room, when I returned, Jane lay on the bed, exhausted and collapsed, but still breathing. But I knew the end was near. Her color was poor, her skin was pale, and the midwife could do nothing. Worse, there were no cheers for the infant. In the midwife’s hands was a baby, also of poor color, but alive. As she wrapped and cleaned it, I caught a glimpse of the child. The glimpse told me everything I needed to know. The baby was a girl.

  “Why are you silent?” Jane asked in exhaustion. “Why are there no cheers for the future king?”

  “Your Majesty, the infant is a girl. You have given the king a fine princess.” The midwife said, but I knew that this baby was no fine princess. Jane moaned loudly, and sunk into the bed curtains. She was burning up with fever, I could tell when I touched her forehead. But the orders were to save both wife and child. We would not tell Edward the queen had borne a daughter, not yet. He would find out soon enough.

  Jane was too weak to name the infant daughter, so the task fell to

  Edward, who entered the room abruptly, asking to see his son.

  “It is a girl, brothe
r.” Elizabeth said. Edward frowned, but he took the infant in his arms.

  “A girl? Has the new Princess of Wales a name?” he asked. I could tell he was disappointed, but he seemed also more concerned about the health of the queen and the infant princess.

  “The queen is too ill to speak.” The midwife said.

  “I will name her then.” Edward said. “Anne. Anne Tudor. For my mother.”

  Then he went to Jane’s side. Jane was alive, but barely.

  “Out! All of you! I would be with the queen my wife alone.” Edward said. His voice was severe, but I could see the tears in my son’s eyes.

  Te Deums were sung, to celebrate the birth of the new Princess Anne. A christening was performed, Anne was declared Princess of Wales. No jousting, but Edward was a proud father nonetheless. My son was truly an angel on earth. The queen was too ill to attend, and it was known that her chances of survival were slim. On July 10th, 1552, Jane Grey, briefly queen of England and wife of Edward VI, passed into the arms of Jesus Christ.

  Edward was inconsolable. He had a new princess but of course, we all pushed him to remarry. He needed a son. But Edward was irrational, doting on little Princess Anne, the image of his dead, adored wife.

  “No woman will ever replace Jane. And there is no Salic Law in England.” Edward stated.

  “A son is better.” I said.

  “Better, yes. But my Princess Anne…” Edward stated. It was so sweet to see his love for his little daughter that Jane had borne him. As such, when the Princess caught a cold and died, at only one month of age, for three days, none of us dared speak to Edward. When we did, it was Elizabeth who told him of the death of the little Princess of Wales, whom he had so adored. Not long after this, my son sunk into despair and illness. He had been robbed of wife and daughter and he now coughed constantly and his physicians bleed him often yet still his sputum was ghostly green and smelled of decay. He gave Elizabeth consent to marry Robin, and sunk into despair, declaring me Regent-yet-again until his death and Elizabeth’s ascension. Alas, the son of Henry who had saved me from Henry’s obsession for an heir died just before Elizabeth’s 18th birthday- and his own. Elizabeth would now become Queen before she married Dudley, Elizabeth the First! I would assure that Dudley would become only a King consort and not a King and maybe not even that. We Tudors had worked too hard to simple give up the throne for one as low bred as Dudley!

  Chapter 23

  Fall 1554.

  Edward VI, the pride of Henry VIII, his legitimate son, was dead. The bells tolled throughout England as an early snow fell. It was only September, with the first brush of autumn in the air, and the snow was not heavy, but many mumbled about the early weather, including my daughter, who was to be crowned queen of England. I was with her when she was informed of Edward’s death, as she and I were praying for God’s will to be done. Our prayers were interrupted by the voice of John Dudley, father of Elizabeth’s intended husband, Sir Robert.

  “Princess Elizabeth. The king, your brother, is dead.” John Dudley said as he approached my daughter.

  “Is he indeed dead then? If so, why do you not address me with ‘the king is dead, long live the queen?” Elizabeth asked suspiciously. And indeed, I was to be Regent, yet John had not showed me the proper respect.

  “He died on the evening of September 6th, 1553.” John Dudley said.

  “Three days’ past?” Elizabeth said angrily. “Why, then, do you tell me only now?”

  “There were decisions to be made. For three days, only we knew of the king’s death. Madam, your questions could delay.”

  “Could delay what?” Elizabeth responded sharply. “I am the queen now, and you do not speak to me as such! My mother, Anne Boleyn, is now the dowager queen. I will schedule my coronation immediately, thank you.”

  “Show us proof of the king’s death.” I said.

  John Dudley reached into his breeches and pulled out Edward’s royal ring, the same Henry had given him to declare his son his successor.

  “The king has named you his successor.”

  Elizabeth slipped the ring on her finger.

  “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.” She said. I crossed myself and said a prayer in my son’s memory.

  “A funeral will be said for my brother.” Elizabeth said. She tried to sound strong in her voice, as a queen regnant should, but I could tell her voice was quaking. “Now leave us!”

  John Dudley bowed, and Elizabeth and I were left alone. When all was silent, Elizabeth surrendered to a storm of weeping.

  “Mother. I am frightened.” She said. I understood as she sobbed into my bodice and I held her head against mine. I understood. I had felt the same eighteen years ago when Henry had declared me Regent for her brother. Elizabeth was young, but I had no doubt she would make a magnificent queen.

  “Whatever you do, stay away from sorcery.” I advised her.

  “Mother.”

  “Elizabeth, I understand. Truly, I do. I felt the same when your father declared me Regent. But I will have none of this. You may mourn your brother as a private individual, but as a queen regnant, you must put this aside and have a coronation as soon as possible. Remember Empress Matilda.” I said. England had had a queen regnant before my daughter, the Empress Matilda some four hundred years ago. Her claim had been stronger than Stephen’s, but her own ignorance and identification with Germany, the land of her husband, had cost her her crown. I would be certain Elizabeth would not make the Empress’s mistakes.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth said, wiping her tears away. “And I suppose I should marry Robin.”

  “Marry him, yes, with my blessing, but after you are crowned, Elizabeth. We have worked too hard to let the crown slip into his fingers. And make him only your consort, do not make him king!” I advised.

  “But...” Elizabeth began. Then, her face changed.

  “Indeed. Robin will be King of England, but only as my husband, and God forbid should I die before him, he will be merely Robin Dudley again and have no claim to the throne.” Elizabeth said.

  “Exactly.” I said.

  “I am so glad to have you, Mother.” Elizabeth said.

  “And I you. You are all left to me of the old days. Now get yourself crowned.” I ordered her.

  “I will. But you should not order the queen.” Elizabeth said. I saw in her a flash of my spirit and her father’s temper.

  I attended Edward’s funeral, but Elizabeth did not. It is not the custom in England of the new monarch to attend the death of the old. Dressed in ermine and black, for it was cold, despite it being September, I walked behind my son’s funeral cortege. There were eighteen mourners—one for each year of his life—and as we passed through the streets of London, I observed the faces of the people. In them, I saw somber grief mixed with fear. I had seen this ever since Henry VIII had died. They had ceased to jeer against me many years ago, save for some who still clung to the memory of ‘Queen Katharine and Princess Mary.’ The wailing and mourning for Edward was loud and genuine. I knew that when Henry had died, some had celebrated, and I had even heard reports stated against my husband. One of them that I had always remembered was ‘he is nothing but a bully whose crown is fit to play football with.’ Henry had begun his reign as a popular king, his love for life and his golden queen Katharine the perfect contrast to his miserly father and Elizabeth of York, who had been kept in rags. He had ended it, after my ascension as consort, widely hated. My son had been adored though. If the people hate hated Henry and me for displacing Katharine of Aragon, all had been forgiven with Edward’s birth. But Edward was gone. I knew what they were thinking. It was “What now?”

  Chapter 24

  December 1554- Spring 1555

  Against my orders, Elizabeth’s first act had been to consult a sorcerer, Dr. Dee, about the date chosen for her coronation. She blabbered to me about it, saying that all would be well provided she chose January 15th for her coronation date. She had already ordered a dress in white a
nd cloth of gold and planned a great date for the coronation. She also had decided not to make it public knowledge to announce her betrothal to Robin Dudley. Of course, there was some scandal, for before Elizabeth had returned from France, Robin had been married to another woman, Amy Robsart. They had married in May of 1550, but the girl had died not long before Elizabeth returned from France. Still, I worried about her attachment to Dudley.

  It was a cold day in January that Elizabeth had indeed picked for her coronation, but it was not so cold as to be unbearable. Bundled in my furs and the like, I rode behind her at her coronation where she was showed to the people of London. It did not snow that day. To my delight, Elizabeth had asked that, for the poor, that sweet cakes be offered to them. While I Had been queen, both as consort to Henry and as queen Regent, I had donated much to charity—far more than Katharine of Aragon had done. Elizabeth seemed to be taking my kindness into her consideration, but she wanted them given free food. I reminded her, however, that those who do not work do not eat.

  “That is true, Mother.” Elizabeth had said. “But on a special occasion, why not allow them these treats?”

  I was glad for her. Also, at the coronation, I noticed the people cheering loudly for her, for their ‘English Rose’ returned to them from France. Elizabeth blew kisses to the people. One little girl even ran up in the procession. I looked in horror at the girl’s parents, but Elizabeth smiled and pulled out her purse to give her some money. The sweet little girl, however, said she didn’t want money, but she wanted the rose Elizabeth had in her hair. Smiling, Elizabeth gave it to her.

  “A good English rose for a good English lass.” Elizabeth smiled. “Now go back to your mummy and daddy.”

  The coronation lasted for many days, as did the celebrations, and I noticed myself feeling very ill and very tired as January turned into February. Elizabeth had not yet announced her marriage to Dudley, and I wondered if she would. Worse, I was becoming very ill, but I insisted on remaining active in politics. I wondered if I was being poisoned, but then I remembered that I was becoming older. Now that Elizabeth was queen regnant, my role was merely as dowager queen and widow, and I spent most of my time praying and reliving my youth and days as Henry’s beloved. I remained at court, but my days were spend going in and out of consciousness. I remembered many things as I was called near to eternity—Henry Percy’s touch, the gay courts of France, Marguerite’s friendship, François’s kindness and alliances, my rivalry with both Mary Boleyn and Queen Katharine, Edward and Elizabeth’s birth, Jane Seymour. I lay in bed, awaiting death, speaking to my confessor. I knew I would soon go into eternity. I was too ill to attend Elizabeth and Dudley’s marriage, so I was merely told of it. What would happen to England? To France? To Spain? To Elizabeth and Dudley? I shall not know. Jesus Christ, have mercy on my soul!