by David Field
The incensed Lieutenant of the Tower, John Brydges, pointed his artillery over the southern ramparts of the Tower across the Thames and threatened to blow Southwark into history, along with those who occupied it, and Wyatt moved west to Kingston, marched his forces across the upper reaches of the river and headed back towards London along its north bank.
The common folk of London came to the rescue of their monarch, and as Wyatt’s small army reached Ludgate it was held back by a determined citizenry who made such good use of their intimate knowledge of narrow streets and foetid back alleys that Wyatt’s men began deserting in droves. When Wyatt surrendered, he was conveyed to the Tower and subjected to torture designed to reveal the full extent of the plot. He resisted the best efforts of some of England’s finest and most experienced extractors of information and even by the date of his grisly demise, hung, drawn and quartered on Tower Hill in front of a screaming mob, he had revealed nothing.
There were two aftermaths of this bungled and largely ineffective uprising. The first was the abject surrender, at Coventry, of Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, and his pathetic band of estate workers and local supporters who had been led to believe that they were striking a blow for the release from the Tower of Grey’s daughter Jane. Among those who never left Coventry alive was Sir Richard Ashton, whose daughter Grace was still in attendance on Jane Grey, and who would be advised that her father had been killed while trying to escape from the line of prisoners being escorted back to London.
The second aftermath did not become obvious until two weeks later, when soldiers in Gentlemen Yeomanry livery arrived at Hatfield and told an astonished and terrified Elizabeth that she was to be conveyed to London, to answer for the role she had played in the Wyatt Rebellion.
VI
The curtains of the litter were drawn back to allow Elizabeth some much needed air as the small, slowly moving, procession wound its way into the northern approaches to London through the ancient fields, orchards and farms of Clerkenwell. She was sick, not with any bodily malady, but with a terror that gripped her stomach and threatened to force her to lean out of the litter to vomit.
As the streets grew narrower, overhung by jettied houses with shops on their lower floors, the bustling residents of Aldersgate Street looked up in curiosity at the white face that peered out from the open litter, surrounded on all sides by mounted soldiers whose livery was the familiar one of the Tower. Elizabeth held her breath, crossed her fingers and mouthed a prayer as they left Smithfield behind and the leaders of her escort beat a rude path through the pedestrians, wagons and ambulant street traders of Ludgate, where the street divided into Cheapside to the left and towards Newgate on the right. She almost burst into tears of relief when the cortege bore to the right, heading towards Westminster and away from the Tower.
When the escort called a halt at Whitehall, Elizabeth’s spirits rose at the prospect of a meeting with her sister Mary, and perhaps even an explanation of what she was alleged to have done to deserve such rough and silent treatment. No-one had been prepared to specify the ground for her abrupt arrest, although the sadistic guards who had ridden alongside her litter during the last stage of the journey through The Temple and The Strand had taken great delight in naming those whose heads were impaled on spikes to the side of the ice-rutted roadway, or whose stinking corpses groaned and creaked in gibbets wherever a patch of softer ground had permitted the planting of the uprights. From this she knew that there had been some sort of rebellion and that it had been swiftly and brutally suppressed, but other than that she was clueless.
She was escorted into a chamber on the second floor of Whitehall Palace and before making much-needed use of the closed stool she demanded to speak to her sister the Queen. The Yeomen who had held one arm each as they guided her into the chamber silently shook their heads as they turned and left and by the time that she re-emerged into the main room she had a visitor of a wholly different kind and one who she recognised from the coronation.
‘My lord Bishop, why am I brought here in such a rude fashion? And why is my sister not here to welcome me back into London?’
Gardiner’s eyes narrowed in distaste. ‘She is otherwise engaged in matters of State. As for the reason for your attendance here, is it not obvious?’
Elizabeth was determined not to be intimidated by this pathetic shrimp of a man. He might be the Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor beside, but he still looked most like an aggrieved toad in her vivid imagination and she kept that contemptuous image of him in the forefront of her mind as she prepared to defy him. ‘It may be obvious to you, my Lord, given your ability to see what is not there, but for myself I am at a loss to understand my sister’s reasoning. If there is to be some grand banquet, or some other great State event, at which my presence is required, it is more customary — and indeed, more sisterly — to send a formal invitation.’
Gardiner sneered as he asked the question designed to deflate this self-assured ingrate. ‘Do you deny that you were visited by the Earl of Devon of late?’
‘Edward Courtenay? Of course I don’t deny that he visited Hatfield — once, some weeks ago now.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘To discuss what was then the upcoming trial of Robert Dudley.’
‘You sought a favour from him in regard to the trial of the traitor Dudley?’
‘Robert Dudley is no traitor!’ Elizabeth retorted in a voice hot with anger. ‘He is a true subject of Her Majesty, and an honourable gentleman who grew up with me alongside the late King Edward when we were children in the royal nursery and schoolroom.’
‘He is a close friend of yours, this Robert Dudley who even now languishes in the Tower as the result of his father’s treasonous plot to deprive our good Queen Mary of her birth right?’
‘He is indeed a friend of mine, and if I truly believed that it was his intention to block the succession determined by my father, why would I remain his friend, since his treachery would also deprive me of my right and title in due course?’
‘You forget that our beloved Queen Mary may have issue of her own — then whence your claim to the crown of England?’ Gardiner demanded.
Elizabeth had calmed down by now and was beginning to enjoy the exchange with someone so addle-brained. ‘Should my sister have issue, then I would be the first to rejoice,’ Elizabeth insisted, ‘since I might then retire to my estate at Hatfield and enjoy the life of a country lady, instead of being rudely dragged down to London and forced to converse with the likes of you. Did my sister send you in order to make me appreciate life outside Court, or had you nothing better to do, since by all accounts you have turned your back on your congregation?’
‘We shall talk again, my Lady,’ Gardiner snarled angrily as he turned to leave.
‘I shall look forward to that as eagerly as a sick headache,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘While you are finding your true station in life, you might wish to have food and drink sent in here. And none of your communion wine and wafers!’
‘Why does Philip not sail from Spain to claim his bride?’ Mary asked petulantly of the Spanish Ambassador Renard before he had even been invited to take a seat. She had summoned him to her Audience Chamber in Greenwich Palace and she was in a nervous state. ‘Does he no longer wish to marry me?’ she added.
‘Rest assured, Majesty, he desires nothing more than to be united with you in holy matrimony, but his advisers in Seville warn him that it would not, at present, be safe to do so.’
‘Why is this, Renard? Have I not put down the latest rebellion and made public spectacles of the remains of those responsible?’
‘Indeed you have, Majesty, but it is feared that while the Grey woman and her husband remain alive, they will always serve as a beacon of light for further uprisings. This latest one involved her father, did it not?’
‘Yes and he is to be executed with great pomp on Tower Hill next week sometime — whenever we can find a suitable moment in the somewhat overcrowded timetable.’
‘Only the father? Not Jane Grey herself and her young husband?’
‘She was merely the dupe of her own father-in-law,’ Mary explained by way of justification for her erstwhile reluctance to send to the block the young girl who had been such a favourite of her brother Edward, and whose company Mary herself had found quite amenable.
Renard shook his head. ‘She remains as a hope of Reformist survival to some people, and a figurehead around which other rebellions might be staged. My master does not wish his son to visit England while there is such a prospect.’
‘So in order to speed the arrival of my intended on our shores, I must order the execution of Jane and Guildford Dudley? Is that your advice to me?’
‘Would that it were otherwise, Majesty — but yes.’
‘Tell your master that I shall lose no time in having them executed. Then perhaps he will consider it safe to become my husband.’
‘He wishes nothing more urgently than that, Majesty, but he wishes also to be assured that when you are married, he will suffer no loss of status here in England.’
‘What do you propose, Renard?’ Mary asked, in the hope that there were to be no further obstacles in the way of the marriage.
‘First, I have to advise you that his father, Emperor Carlos, wishes to express his joy at the forthcoming uniting of the two royal houses by ceding to Prince Philip the crown of Naples and his claim to Jerusalem. You and Philip will therefore be King and Queen of Naples, with the foremost claim in the whole of Christendom to rule Jerusalem jointly.’
‘Why do I get the feeling that such generous gifts come with strings attached?’ Mary asked cautiously.
‘What could be stronger ties than those of love, Majesty?’ Renard argued. ‘But you would not wish to see your loving and noble husband belittled before the entire Christian world as merely the consort of a Queen?’
Mary froze as she grasped the true implication of Renard’s oily words and the uproar that this would create within her Council. ‘He wishes to be declared King of England, say you?’
‘What could be more natural for the man who is married to its Queen? And since there has, according to my advice, been no Queen of England ruling in her own right for many centuries, there is no precedent against it.’
‘There is likewise no precedent in favour of it either, Ambassador. Do you appreciate the reaction that such a proposal would receive from my Council? That we yield the throne of England to a foreign prince without a blow struck in battle?’
‘Talking of battle,’ Renard added hastily, ‘it is proposed that such a union would not carry with it any military obligations. Put more shortly, that England would not be expected to join with the Emperor Carlos in any wars — simply that it will pledge itself not to side with his enemies.’
‘That is something, I suppose,’ Mary conceded grudgingly. ‘But it will be scant comfort to my Council, so please do not delay in telling my fiancé that I eagerly await his arrival.’
VII
Norfolk was out of royal favour and he seethed with anger at the injustice of it all. It was hardly his fault if the Wyatt Rebellion had been put down by the worthy citizenry of London before he could get an army into the field, but Mary seemed to have opted to regard this as an indication of his disloyalty. There was also his failure to silence Council when they had protested vehemently against her proposal to make a Spaniard King of England. It had hardly mollified them to be advised by a flustered and angry Mary that she would ensure that no foreigners were appointed to positions of office and that she would exercise her wifely wiles to ensure that no policy was put to Council by the royal couple that did not meet with her complete approval.
Norfolk sat absentmindedly chewing his nails, impatient for the Lieutenant of the Tower, John Brydges, to answer his urgent summons. He would make allowance for the fact that the Lieutenant was a busy man these days and had a long queue of public executions to organise, along with one very private one on Tower Green. Mary had ordered the execution of Jane Grey and in her present mood no-one had dared argue with her. It would be for the Tower’s Lieutenant to ensure that nothing was bungled, and Norfolk had already authorised extra payment for the services of a headsman who actually knew which end of the axe to employ, since they wanted no repetition of the sickening events by which Margaret Pole had left this life.
As he waited, he mulled over what he had discussed with Stephen Gardiner over several mugs of wine the previous evening. Gardiner was himself apprehensive of incurring Mary’s seemingly bottomless displeasure, given his inability to penetrate the outwardly cool defiance of the Lady Elizabeth on the dozen or so occasions upon which he had accused her of compliance in, and possible inception of, the Wyatt Rebellion.
‘What we both need,’ Gardiner had muttered disconsolately, ‘is some dramatic proof of the involvement of the sister in the challenge to the throne. If Mary had grounds for committing Elizabeth to the Tower — and perhaps even removing her head — she would, I feel sure, be a much happier person within herself and whoever brings her those grounds will be much in favour, insofar as anyone can earn a smile from that sour countenance. It’s as if she endures a constant toothache.’
This had set Norfolk’s devious but still fertile brain working and by the time that he threw himself behind his table in Westminster the following morning, he had a possible scheme taking shape. He had used forgery to good effect many times in the past, but why stoop to forging a man’s hand when the man in question can be persuaded to oblige?
At long last Brydges was admitted and Norfolk waved him into a chair and poured him a mug of wine ‘to take the taste of that awful river from your mouth’. His guest was clearly apprehensive and Norfolk had no reason for being either long-winded or diplomatic, so he came straight to the point. ‘You still have Courtenay securely imprisoned?’
‘Indeed, my Lord Marshall. He is sad of heart, but quite well, and I fear that he will be a burden on the common purse for many years to come.’
‘He proved quite responsive to the rack, did he not?’
‘Indeed he did. My interrogator was most put out — only three turns and he was screaming out a list of his fellow conspirators. Why do you ask?’
Norfolk reached out to lift a small piece of vellum from one side of the table in front of him, then handed it across to Brydges. ‘I should be obliged if you would return to the Tower and have Courtenay conveyed back into the room in which the rack is located. I have heard it said that once a man has experienced the agonies of the rack, he need merely be shown it a second time in order to obtain the information you are seeking.’
‘And what is it that you seek from Courtenay?’
‘I wish him to copy these words, in his own hand, onto a fresh undated sheet. If he refuses, your interrogator may have his fun. If he complies, you are to send the writing back to me by a fast messenger whom you trust with your life. No-one but the three of us must know what Courtenay has written, or the circumstances in which he wrote it. Do we have agreement?’
‘Of course, my Lord. It’s always a pleasure to be of service to you. Will there be anything else that you require of me?’
‘Not at present. Finish your wine and set about my simple request without delay. Do not either delay, or fail to discharge the task I have set you, since it may well affect the future course of the nation’s affairs.’
Elizabeth sighed loudly with irritation as the chamber door opened to admit Stephen Gardiner. She put down her needlepoint and rose from the simple padded banquette that constituted her only available daytime seating, so as to be at no psychological disadvantage when the interminable questions began again. At least she could take the initiative this particular morning.
‘Why have all my attendants been dismissed, Gardiner?’ she demanded rudely, omitting the man’s title and addressing him as if he were her steward.
Gardiner smiled unpleasantly. ‘They are not required while you sit here day after day at your sewing and while they remained here
at Whitehall we were obliged to feed and house them. They have been sent back to Hatfield.’
‘Even Blanche Parry?’
‘Particularly Blanche Parry, since she seemed convinced that the Queen had given orders for you to be poisoned and she took to haunting the kitchens, tasting every dish that was being prepared for you.’
‘She was fortunate if she found any dish that possessed a taste,’ Elizabeth retorted sarcastically, ‘since the cook should be complimented on finding so many uses for sawdust.’
‘Have you had time to consider your position?’ Gardiner asked, earning another grimace from Elizabeth.
‘I have had little else to occupy my mind, as you are well aware, Lord Inquisitor. Except perhaps to wonder at why my sister the Queen allows me to be treated in this fashion, kept under close confinement without any evidence of my guilt of anything being produced.’
‘We can at least remedy that oversight,’ Gardiner replied with a malevolent smirk as he reached into the fold of his cloak and produced two pieces of paper. ‘May I read these out loud to you, my Lady, even though you will already be well aware of their contents?’
‘If they are more interesting than one of your sermons, or perhaps more intriguing than the list of the garments consigned to your washerwoman, then go ahead and brighten this dull conversation,’ Elizabeth invited him with a characteristic tossing back of her long red hair, which had become noticeably dull of texture in recent days.
‘Both documents are indeed interesting,’ Gardiner told her with a smile as he unfurled the first of them and continued. ‘This is from your friend the French Ambassador Nouailles to the French King. It is of course a copy made by a Chancery clerk before the original was placed back in the diplomatic despatches after being read in accordance with normal practice. They do the same with our despatches from Paris, so who are they to complain?’