Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  “The same, my lady.”

  “I do not think he showed great kindness to that lady.”

  “He obeyed the orders of the King and now I am sure his son will obey those of his Queen. He may be a stern custodian but I believe him to be a deeply religious man. I would say that under his care you may be restricted but your life will not be in jeopardy.”

  “It would be comforting to believe you, my lord, but much royal blood has been shed in this place and when men come in such a manner as this, it seems that there must be plans behind it.”

  “I must tell you, my lady, that Sir Henry Bedingfeld will not be the Lieutenant of the Tower. He will have for a while command over me, but his stay here will be temporary. He is coming here while it is decided where you shall be taken. I believe you are to be removed from the Tower.”

  “From one prison to another. Perhaps it will be easier to dispose of me in some remote castle. Where will they take me? Have they said?”

  “Pomfret has been suggested.”

  “Oh, dear God preserve me! That was where they held my ancestor Richard II. Some believe that he was murdered there.”

  I was sick with fear. I had dreaded coming to the Tower, but I did not wish to be removed to some gloomy faraway castle remote from my few friends in London and haunted by the ghosts of murdered men and women. Robert Dudley was here, and although I could not see him, his presence comforted me.

  Almost immediately Sir Henry Bedingfeld arrived. I disliked him immediately because I saw at once that he was one of those men who would not have the slightest compassion for my feminine helplessness. He was the stern supporter of my sister and he saw me as a menace to her safe holding of the throne. It was true that he was deeply religious and I at once sensed that he was sincerely so. This should have comforted me, but I disliked him and feared him; and he came with one hundred and forty armed men—to guard one poor prisoner! He seemed old to me—in fact he must have been about forty-three years of age! He had no graces, no charm, and I showed him clearly that I found his presence near me distasteful.

  IT WAS ON THE TWENTIETH OF MAY—TWO MONTHS AFTER my arrival at the Tower through the Traitor's Gate—that I left that formidable fortress.

  I should have been delighted, but I could not rid myself of the terrible fear that I was leaving one prison for another which might be even more dangerous.

  I felt a sudden wave of hope, though, when I heard that I was going to Richmond, for the Queen was there and I believed that if I could see her I could convince her of my loyalty to her and appeal to her sisterly feelings for me.

  As we moved along the river I could not but exult in my freedom, brief though it might be. How beautifully green were the trees, and the fragrance of the wild flowers was particularly poignant to me because it seemed so long since I had smelt them. Rose-colored apple trees and white cherry were in bloom in the orchards close to the river and the hawthorn was weighed down with buds. I wanted to capture the colors and smells, for they meant freedom. And there was Richmond Palace which had been built by my grandfather on the site of old Shene. I alighted at the stairs and went through the gates into the palace.

  As soon as I was in the apartment allotted to me, Sir Henry Bedingfeld came to inform me that the Queen had graciously agreed to see me. Haughtily I inclined my head. I hated the man and I wanted to demand how he dare address me as though I were some wayward schoolgirl. I supposed to men of his age I did seem young, but I was now twenty-one years old… old enough to be a queen.

  I was ushered into my sister's presence and saw to my relief that we were to be alone. I should have been dismayed if that old villain Gardiner had been there.

  The first thought which struck me was how old and ill she looked. The crown seemed to be a heavy burden for her to carry.

  I knelt and she gave me a hand to kiss but there was no real warmth in her greeting.

  “I trust your health is improved, sister,” she said.

  I thanked her for her concern and said that I was as well as I could hope to be after my sojourn in the Tower.

  “Let us hope that you do not return there,” she said enigmatically.

  “I share Your Majesty's hope,” I replied quietly.

  “You come to me as a prisoner of the state,” she went on. “It grieves me that it should be thus with my own sister. You are my father's daughter and that I do not forget. My ministers and I have discussed your future. There have been suspicions regarding your conduct and although the traitor Wyatt exonerated you from complicity in his plot when he was on the scaffold, there are certain matters which remain unclear.”

  “Your Majesty, I know full well that people have poisoned your mind against me, but I assure you, with all my heart, that I am your most loyal and faithful subject.”

  “I understand that you will not go to Mass.”

  “I was not brought up to go to Mass, Your Majesty. As our brother was not either.”

  “That was sad for England and has done untold harm,” said my sister. “However we shall right that as best we can. You will not willingly accept the true faith and I tremble for you when the time comes to face your Maker.”

  I was silent.

  She went on: “But you are young and unwise, so I have a husband for you. There are some about me who tell me that while you are in England you will cast envious eyes on my throne.”

  “Your Majesty has been misinformed.”

  “That is as may be. But you are, I sense, impatient for the throne. It will never be yours, sister. I shall shortly marry a great ruler and our son will be the next King of England. There is no place for you here. That is why I am offering you Philibert of Savoy, the Prince of Piedmont. He is agreeable to the match and you can have a happy life with him.”

  I was cold with horror. Go to Piedmont! Leave England! That would be to say goodbye to the throne forever. No! I would never do that. I would rather stay here where I was in perpetual danger. In that moment I realized how desperately I wanted the crown. There was something within me which told me it was my right, that it was my destiny. I was meant to be Queen of England and I must never agree to anything that would divert me from that purpose. I struggled for composure…

  My sister was regarding me coldly.

  “You do not seem overcome with joy, sister,” she said. “You have not yet understood your good fortune. Philibert is a great Prince. Oh, I know you are a Princess, but a bastard Princess and known to be such now that it is acclaimed that our father was not truly married to your mother since his marriage to mine was valid.”

  I wanted to shout at her, to tell her that it was not long ago that we were both declared bastards. I did not care if I was. I only knew that I was the King's daughter and that I was meant to be a queen.

  “Your Majesty,” I said, choosing my words very carefully, “I have no desire for the married state.”

  “You are being foolish,” she said testily.

  “It is true, Your Majesty, that the thought of marriage sickens me. It is something in me which is not as others of my sex. I was born in the Chamber of Virgins under the sign of Virgo. Your Majesty, I beg you to understand that I cannot marry… that I would rather face anything than that.”

  “You are stubborn. I have no wish to force you into marriage, but I tell you this: It is a matter of marriage or captivity. You may choose which.”

  I was silent for a few moments, grappling with myself. But I knew what I had to say. It was my destiny. If I left England now, I should never attain the crown.

  Then I said slowly: “I must then continue to be a prisoner who faces captivity without knowledge of the fault which has placed me in restraint.”

  She was impatient with me. She had been hoping to get me married and out of the country and out of her conscience.

  But I was too wise for that.

  I HEARD THAT I was to go to Woodstock, where I should be in the care of that same Sir Henry Bedingfeld. The servants who had so far accompanied me were to be dismissed.
I said my farewells to them and wept bitterly.

  “Pray for me,” I said, “for I think I am to die soon.”

  They knew that I meant that when royal persons were sent away to remote country castles they were either left to be forgotten or removed; and since in my case I was an undoubted threat to the Queen, it seemed obvious what fate was intended for me.

  I was so certain that I was being taken to my death that I had come to a point where I accepted my fate. I was overcome by melancholy because somewhere in the recesses of my mind had been the certain feeling that one day I should be Queen. Now it seemed I had deluded myself. Death seemed inevitable.

  My attendants must have felt the same for many of them wept openly and some were so blinded by their tears that they could not serve me. I admonished them gently but their love for me was a great comfort.

  One of my ushers went to Lord Tame, a gentleman of the Court, and demanded to know whether I was in danger that night and if there was a plot to kill me before I left Richmond or if it had been decided to do the deed elsewhere, at which Lord Tame cried out in anger: “Marry, God forbid that any should consider such vileness. If it were intended, I and my men would die defending her.”

  The good man came to tell me what Lord Tame had said. “I am sure he spoke in earnest, Your Grace,” he said. “Whatever evil there is abroad, there is good too, and you will have many to protect you besides the members of your household.”

  Such incidents are great balm when one is in dire need of comfort.

  The next day we started on our journey to Woodstock, and once again my spirits were lifted for as we rode into the country people came out to see me pass. The manner in which they ran to me was very touching. I saw their good wishes and affection in their eyes. “God bless the Princess!” they cried with such emotion that Bedingfeld was most displeased. He believed, and rightly I was sure, that a “God bless” for me meant a curse on the Queen.

  In one village we passed through, the bells started to ring and when Bedingfeld asked what was the occasion for it, he was told: “It is for rejoicing that our Princess is no longer in the Tower.”

  He raged against them. They talked like traitors, he said. They had no right to sing the praises of one who so recently had been suspected of treachery and was not yet wholly proved innocent.

  The bell-ringing was stopped. I think they were all terrified that they might be accused of treason.

  In due course we came to Ricote in Oxfordshire and stayed at the mansion of Lord Williams of Tame, who came out to greet me with an air of great deference and said that his lady was giving orders in the kitchens and the best apartment had been prepared for me. He added that he was deeply honored because I, the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of great Harry, was to stay under his roof.

  He made me feel that I was not a prisoner and I blessed him for that. He sat me in the place of honor in his great hall and I was royally served; he had even arranged an entertainment to divert me which grew very merry until the miserable Bedingfeld complained. It was not meet and fitting, he said, that such treatment should be shown to the Queen's prisoner.

  Lord Williams looked stunned. He said he was merely entertaining the Princess Elizabeth in a manner such as his purse and humble house would allow him. He believed it must seem very poor in the eyes of royalty, but he trusted I would understand that it was the best he could do.

  “My dear lord,” I said gently, flashing a look of hatred at Bedingfeld, “there are some whose pleasure it is to humiliate me. You have cheered me mightily by giving me this wonderful welcome.”

  Lord Williams was pleased but I could see that Bedingfeld was angry. I hoped he would not report Lord Williams to the Council. But perhaps he would not. I grudgingly admitted to myself that he was a just man and only acted in accordance with what he believed to be right.

  We left Ricote in the morning and in due course arrived at Woodstock.

  Woodstock! How dreary it was! I had been as well off in the Tower. There were soldiers to guard me day and night. They paraded round the walls at night and every door and gateway was supplied with locks. I could not move without being spied on. I was never alone in the gardens. Everywhere I looked there were guards watching me. They must have been very much afraid that I would escape.

  I look back on that period of my life and shudder. The days seemed never-ending and even my books could not entirely comfort me. It is true that I did not hate Sir Henry Bedingfeld as much as I had at first, for I did gradually come to realize that he was a good man, the sort I respected and would have been glad to have on my side. Of course he was a fanatical Catholic and he regarded me as a lost soul, a heretic; but I began to understand that the rigorous guard he placed on me was as much to ensure my safety as to prevent my escape.

  This was brought home to me on the occasion when Sir Henry had to leave Woodstock for a few days. He put a trusted man in charge of the place, which meant in charge of me, and it was while he was away that an attempt was made on my life.

  I felt certain that Gardiner was behind it. I suspected that man of every villainy. He was ambitious like many churchmen, and if ever I came to the throne he would know that he could never have a chance of reaching the power he sought. Therefore he had every reason for wanting me out of the way, and it would have been foolishly careless not to have suspected that he would have some plan for getting rid of me.

  A man named Basset came to Woodstock with the story that he was from the Council and that he had an urgent message for the Princess Elizabeth which he had been instructed to deliver into her hands only.

  Fortunately for me, Bedingfeld had left me in the charge of a man who proved worthy of his trust, so he and several of the guards accompanied Basset to my chamber. Basset said he came from the Queen and had a party of men waiting to escort me to her. The waiting party was interrogated while its leader was absent and a bigger parcel of ruffians it would be hard to find.

  Basset was told that a messenger was being sent to Sir Henry Bedingfeld to tell him of their coming and as he was with the Queen they must wait at Woodstock until permission came from Sir Henry.

  Basset said he would explain to his men and they would find quarters for the night. What they actually did was make off with all speed, knowing that they would be betrayed as soon as Bedingfeld heard of their arrival.

  I often wondered what Basset and his men intended to do to me. It did not require much imagination!

  My jailers became even more careful than they had been before. It was fortunate that they were. Otherwise I might have been burned in my bed, for my enemies had even managed to get their spies into the household.

  This must have been the case because a fire broke out in the chamber immediately below mine, and I could easily have been burned in my bed with no means of escape, if it had not been discovered in time. It was clearly a fire which had been deliberately started.

  To be the victim of those who wished to murder me put me in a state of continual tension.

  Meanwhile events were moving fast, for Philip of Spain had arrived in England. I could well imagine all the pomp and ceremonies; and I did hear accounts of what was going on for there were messengers going constantly between the Court and Woodstock and the servants gossiped. I had always made a habit of talking to them and establishing an easy relationship with them so I was able to piece together scraps of news and fit them into a complete picture.

  Philip had arrived at Southampton on the twentieth of July. The Queen was at Winchester for she had decided that the marriage should take place there; the ceremony would be conducted by the odious Gardiner, of course; she would not have Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, because she did not accept his religious views, which were of the Reformed Faith. Men like Cranmer must be feeling very uneasy now that Philip was actually here. The alliance could not bode well for him, nor for any who were not of the Catholic Faith.

  Philip had been given a great welcome and to row him ashore the Queen had sent a barge lined wit
h tapestry of the richest colors and seats of gold brocade. When he mounted the steps at Southampton he was met by a deputation sent by the Queen which included all the great noblemen in the land. Arundel immediately presented him with the Garter and a magnificent horse was provided for him. Philip himself was dressed very simply in black velvet making, so I heard, an austere contrast to all the glitter, and which gave him a special dignity. There were the usual eulogies which fall to royal brides and grooms, regarding his personal appearance, but secretly I heard that he was far from prepossessing with scanty sandy hair, a lack of eyebrows and lashes and watery little blue eyes—all this not helped by an expression of intense gloom.

  My thoughts were with my sister. She had fallen in love before she saw him and, knowing Mary, I guessed that nothing would deter her from continuing in that blissful state once she had decided on it. He had sent her magnificent jewels worth fifty thousand ducats, I heard, and his Grand Chamberlain, Don Ruy Gomez da Silva, who carried them to the Queen, was as dignified as his master.

  The weather was appalling—driving rain and wind, which was not to be expected as it was July, and, said those who were against the match, it was a bad omen. Philip however braved the elements and came in slow dignified Spanish fashion from Southampton to Winchester.

  Apparently the meeting between the pair was entirely amicable. I imagine Mary did not see Philip so much as a man as an important part of her plan to bring England to Rome. As for him, how did he see Mary? He saw a crown, I was sure, and the domination of our country. I felt angry and frustrated. If there should be a child of this union my hopes were dashed forever. And apart from that I could not bear to see my dear people forced under a rule which they did not want. There would be no tolerance. I knew that people were persecuted with more violence in Spain than had ever been known in England. Would Philip and his Inquisition, with a pliant Mary, be able to subdue a proud people?

  On the twenty-fifth of July, which was the festival of St James and therefore very appropriate, he being the patron saint of Spain, Mary was married to Philip.