Crown of Blood

by Nicola Tallis

  CHAPTER 18

  Justice is an Excellent Virtue

  ‘ALTHOUGH THE QUEEN’S clemency is worthy of praise, yet it will be well that she take care not to exercise it so as to prejudice the establishment of her reign.’1 The Queen’s cousin, the Emperor Charles V, admired Mary’s leniency in sparing the lives of most of those who had been involved in the summer coup, but he knew that there were limits.2 Nevertheless, Mary had executed the Duke of Northumberland, and was beginning to act against those whose religious beliefs were in contrast to her own. New prisoners were still arriving at the Tower, all of them believed to be Protestant heretics. Bishop Hugh Latimer had been brought to the Tower, ‘there to remain a close prisoner’, closely followed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, who was lodged ‘where the duke of Northumberland lie before his death’.3 With the support of her cousin the Emperor, Mary had even taken the first steps towards restoring Catholicism to her realm. They had been subtle at first: on 9 August ‘the Queen held an obsequy for the King [Edward VI] within the church in the Tower, her Grace being present, and had a solemn dirge sung in Latin’, while the following day, Mass had been held there, for which ‘the Catholics showed additional joy, and the heretics great dejection’.4 The Mass had been ‘utterly disowned’ by Mary’s half-brother – and Jane too, who almost certainly heard, if not saw the Queen entering the chapel from her room near Tower Green, would have been horrified.5 By 1 September the Protestant Bishop John Hooper was writing from his prison that ‘The altars are again set up throughout the kingdom; private masses are frequently celebrated in many quarters; the true worship of God, true invocation, the right use of the sacraments, are all done away with.’6 It was clear which way the wind was blowing. However, even the Pope had urged Mary to tread carefully, for though many of the English people had found the religious reforms of Edward VI too stringent, they were also fearful of change.

  Though wildly different in both character and tastes, Jane and Mary shared a common bond aside from the royal blood which flowed in their veins: their religious devotion was unswerving, and the dominant factor in both of their lives. For Mary, the situation was heartbreaking. Jane’s mother, Frances, had been a close childhood companion. Frances, like her husband and her daughter, was a Protestant, though perhaps not as fervent in her faith as her husband and eldest daughter. Despite the fact that she and Mary were on opposing sides of the religious fence, to all appearances their differing beliefs had never driven a wedge between the cousins. Frances was a seasoned courtier, and as such was well skilled in the art of diplomacy. It seems likely, therefore, that when she was in the company of her childhood friend, the two women tactfully avoided conversing on the subject of religion. After all, there were many at court who managed to maintain friendships with people who held differing religious beliefs, and Mary had also been friendly with Jane’s step-grandmother, Katherine Willoughby. But it was quite different with Jane, for though Mary had tried her best with the teenager, and had done her utmost to be affectionate, the relationship was not a harmonious one. The age gap between them meant that to Jane, Mary was probably more like an aunt than a cousin. Mary may have been twenty years Jane’s senior, but it was not age that lay at the heart of the matter; the reason for the distance between the two cousins was perfectly simple: religion.

  QUEEN MARY WAS determined to stamp out the religious changes established by her predecessor, and return England to the folds of the Catholic Church in Rome. Despite her declaration that she would do nothing until Parliament met, the Mass for King Edward’s soul had been just the first step. Already, however, Mary’s moves towards religious change caused ‘prolonged trouble’, for many of her people ‘took it very ill that their factious religion should be destroyed’, and were against the idea of England falling once again under the authority of the Pope.7 When she realized that ‘the minds of men were dizzy from the sudden alteration in religion’, though set on her course, for the moment Mary turned her attention elsewhere. In an attempt to distract her subjects by giving them a cause to relive the joy they felt at her succession, Mary set a date for her coronation.8

  On 1 October, Mary achieved what Jane never had: she became the first Queen Regnant of England to be crowned in Westminster Abbey. Four days after the coronation, the first Parliament of Mary’s reign met at Westminster. Immediately the Act of Repeal was passed, which dissolved all of the religious laws passed by Edward VI. Mary was intent on the destruction of the Protestant nation that the boy king had been determined to build, and that Jane would have continued to strengthen. At the same time, the marriage of her parents was declared to be lawful and valid, thus confirming Mary’s own legitimacy. She was furious, however, when Jane’s father Henry, to whom she had been so bountiful, continued to try her patience. The precise nature of his complaint is unclear, but it is probable that he had voiced opinions about his abhorrence for Catholicism that it was wisest to keep quiet about, for Renard reported that ‘the Duke of Suffolk is doing bad work in connection with religion, and the Queen is angry with him for his manner of abusing her clemency and good nature’.9 Henry’s timing was certainly poor, and continued to place Jane’s future in jeopardy. He had clearly learned nothing from the example of Guildford’s mother, the Duchess of Northumberland, whom it had been observed ‘is doing her utmost to secure a pardon for her children; so far we have not heard that the Queen has taken any resolve’.10

  Before her coronation had even taken place, though, Mary, whose authority had suffered due to her clemency that ‘people have come to judge her actions so freely that they go so far as to laugh’, had made a momentous and agonizing decision regarding Jane’s future.11 Thus far she had been merciful, and perhaps in an attempt to neutralize the perceived threat that Jane’s royal blood caused and avoid having to give orders for her execution, on 4 November Mary sought another way out. Renard informed the Emperor that ‘the Duke of Suffolk’s children have been found to be bastards, because he had been betrothed per verba de presenti to the Earl of Arundel’s sister before taking the Lady Frances to wife’.12 Henry’s previous betrothal had been well known, but this was the first occasion on which the validity of his marriage to Jane’s mother had ever been questioned.

  The issue was still the subject of talk on 28 November, when Renard recalled a conversation he had shared with the Queen in relation to her possible successors. According to Renard, the possible candidates were Mary, Queen of Scots, ‘the Lady Frances, wife of the Duke of Suffolk, who would also have a claim if the Queen of Scotland were excluded as having been born abroad’, and the Lady Elizabeth.13 That Frances was considered a potential successor at this point is testimony not only to her relationship with Queen Mary, but also to the fact that she was considered to have a strong claim, despite being overlooked in Henry VIII’s will. Ultimately, however, it was acknowledged that Mary, Queen of Scots, had the best claim, for ‘the marriage of the said Frances with the Duke of Suffolk had been rather a concubinage than a marriage’ on account of Henry’s previous betrothal.14 In other words, the marriage of Jane’s parents was considered to be invalid and their daughters illegitimate, rendering any claim they had to the throne void. Whatever the motivation behind the issue, no further mention was ever made on the subject – certainly no Act of Parliament ever officially declared the Suffolks’ marriage illegitimate. However, it may have played some part in shaping Henry’s actions in the coming months.

  Still under pressure to do more to punish Jane, Mary decided that justice must be seen to have taken its course. She had therefore resolved that Jane, together with her husband and his four brothers, must be ‘tried and sentenced to receive capital punishment for the crimes they have committed’.15 It is clear that Mary had no wish to see her young cousin die, and the trial may therefore have been intended as no more than a formality, after which Jane could resume her imprisonment. After all, it was a queen’s prerogative to show mercy, and it was one that Mary intended to use.

  It is unclear pre
cisely when Jane was informed that she was to face this most harrowing ordeal, or how she reacted. After all, Mary had indicated that she would be given her life, and in time her liberty, thus the thought of standing trial, though not wholly unexpected, may still have come as something of a shock. As Jane contemplated the chilling prospect of her trial and what lay ahead, she would have been all too aware that in the past she had caused Mary so much humiliation and annoyance. But Mary had a kind heart and had refused the advice of her Councillors, several of whom had urged her to take Jane’s life in order to secure her own safety. As Jane now faced a perilous trial, her only hope of survival lay in Mary’s previous inclination to clemency. Nevertheless, she was well aware that many of those who stood trial did not survive the consequences. The stage had been set.

  THERE WAS A chill in the air on the morning of Monday 13 November, which did not stem purely from the winter weather or the breeze that came from the Thames. Jane was dressed from head to toe in black, unintentionally reflecting the solemnity of the occasion. Her ‘black gown of cloth’ was covered with a velvet-lined cape to protect against the weather; ‘a French hood, all black, with a black billement’, and ‘a black velvet book hanging before her’, emphasized Jane’s image as a sober Protestant gentlewoman. On this day all eyes would fall on Jane as she finally received judgement for the crimes of which she had been accused – it was the day of her trial.16 Within the precincts of the Tower that morning, Jane was reunited with Guildford. It was almost certainly the first time that the young couple had seen one another since their imprisonment, but there was no time to talk had they wished to, for they were not alone. It had been determined that two of Guildford’s brothers, Ambrose and Harry, as well as Thomas Cranmer, would join them.17 It would prove to be a humiliatingly public occasion.

  The setting for the scene of justice had been chosen carefully. Not for Jane the same Westminster Hall that had seen the condemnation of her father-in-law and that was frequently chosen for peers of the realm, but instead the infinitely closer Guildhall. Traditionally, Guildhall had been the long-established headquarters for the administration of the government of the City of London, and it was therefore an appropriate location for the trial of one who had tried to establish her own government in the city. Moreover, it was an acknowledgement of the fact that the men tried alongside Jane were commoners, and that she was also to be treated as such. The Great Hall in Guildhall had been prepared for the day’s events. In days long past the hall had hosted a number of joyous occasions. It had once been the setting for the entertainment of Jane’s ancestors King Henry V and his Queen, Katherine of Valois, by the Mayor of London, Dick Whittington, whose escutcheons were blazoned on to the windows. But on this day, there were no echoes of that revelry, only the memories of those who had been condemned, and of those whose fates were as of yet undecided.

  As the guards gathered within the Tower precincts ready to escort their charges, the sombre party were ‘led out of the Tower on foot, to be arraigned, to Guildhall, with the axe before them’ as was traditional in treason trials.18 The blade of the axe was turned away from the five accused in the smallest gesture that they were not yet condemned. According to Florio, who may have been there to witness it first-hand, there were 400 halberdiers on duty, but nobody made a sound as the prisoners were all led separately from their prison.19 The Constable of the Tower, Sir John Gage, was responsible for escorting the prisoners, and ensuring that they arrived ‘safe and sound’ at their destination: Cranmer came first, followed by Guildford, and then Jane.20 She was accompanied by ‘her two gentlewomen following her’, while Ambrose and Harry came behind.21 Aside from Cranmer, who was sixty-four, all of the prisoners were in the first flush of youth, and made for a truly tragic sight.

  They all walked the single mile from the Tower to Guildhall, crowds lining the way to stare in what had been a planned attempt at humiliation. As they passed through the narrow streets of London, the axe in front of them, the Londoners who had recently proved themselves so hostile to Jane’s queenship watched. Jane was now deposed, and as they looked upon her, the citizens may have felt pity. She was, after all, only a girl, and one who was frail in body, if not in spirit, from the months of imprisonment.22 Jane seems to have barely noticed the crowds, for her mind had become lost in the ‘book in her hand open’, which she read from as she made her journey.23 Jane’s piety would never leave her, for even now, when she had every reason for her mind to be focused elsewhere, her thoughts were on God and her faith. This was how she wanted to be seen by the people – and remembered.

  The walk was over all too quickly, and soon the sight of the imposing fifteenth-century façade with its pointed turrets and the statues of Christ and four noble and pious ladies came into view.24 Perhaps for a moment, Jane’s thoughts turned to others who had stood trial in the same building: the lovers of her great-uncle’s treacherous fifth wife, Queen Katherine Howard; Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, condemned for treason and the last man of Henry VIII’s reign to be executed; and more poignantly for Jane, the young female Protestant martyr, Anne Askew. All had been condemned, and all had received the death penalty as a result of their crimes. But for Jane, the circumstances were different, for until now ‘the Queen full of bounty and mercy’ had indicated that she would live, and she would still have been hopeful that this was the case.25 As Jane entered the gloomy stone walls she walked past the statue of Jesus Christ, and an assortment of other imposing statues of those who had associations with Guildhall in times long gone.

  The accused were led up the steps to the Great Hall, the largest room in the building at 152 feet long, with walls that were five feet thick. Displaying a floor paved with Purbeck stone, a high vaulted ceiling and large windows, the hall was an imposing sight. Jane would also have recognized the statues of Gog and Magog, the two giants, traditional guardians of the City of London, which adorned the room to which she was led.26

  Silence had been called as Jane and the four men were led into the room, the axe still carried alongside them. The trial was a public occasion, and though no mention is made of the number of people present, it almost certainly numbered over a thousand.27 The gallery was packed with spectators, watching and listening in eager anticipation. At the opposite end of the hall, facing Jane and the accused men, were those who had been appointed by the Queen ‘to hear and examine them and any one of them, and force them to respond, and to trial, terminate and adjudged them to the due end’.28 The hall had probably been set up in a similar fashion to that at Westminster for the trial of Northumberland, where it was observed that there was a stage, ‘very majestic and richly tapestried, and in the midst of it a rich canopy, and under this a bench with rich cushions, and carpets at its foot’.29

  The familiar face of the old Duke of Norfolk stood out to Jane. As Earl Marshal holding ‘a long white wand’, Mary’s ‘most beloved kinsman and counsellor’ had presided over numerous trials over the years, including that of his own niece Anne Boleyn, and had once more been called upon to ensure that justice prevailed alongside ‘his said fellow Justices’.30 Another prominent gentleman, the Lord Mayor of London, Mary’s ‘beloved and faithful’ Thomas White, was in his sixties, and alongside him sat fourteen others – a mixture of lords and commoners, who had been appointed by the Queen ‘with full and sufficient power and authority and a special mandate to receive and investigate’ the accused.31 Among them were Edward Stanley, Earl of Derby; Henry Radcliffe, Earl of Sussex; John Bourchier, Earl of Bath; and eleven knights, including Mary’s Chief Justice, Sir Richard Morgan. Significantly, they were all Catholic in sympathy, and furthermore, almost all of them were men who had come to Mary’s aid during the tumultuous events of July.32 They had received their orders from the Queen two days earlier, orders to which they had been instructed to ‘apply yourself diligently’, and Mary had assured her trusted panel that she had ‘the utmost faith in your fidelity’; she believed that they would ensure that justice was done, for ‘justice is an excellent virtu
e’.33 The judges were all conscious of the severity of the case for they had all lived through, though not participated in, the recent doomed days of Jane’s reign. And as men of experience they were surely already aware of the outcome of the day’s proceedings. Jane, Guildford, his brothers, and Cranmer all ‘stand indicted of various acts of high treason committed and perpetrated by them’ – there were no higher charges in the land, and Mary had stipulated that ‘when the truth has been thereby discovered and adjudged, then you should render it in this respect according to the laws, statutes, customs and ordinances of our kingdom of England, and proceed, pass sentence and judgement’ against the accused.34 The ‘truth’ of the matter was that all of those who sat in judgement knew that they would that day be delivering a guilty verdict. Be that as it may, the sight of the accused may have caused some pause. Ambrose was in his early twenties, but Jane and Guildford had yet to reach the third decade of their lives, and Guildford’s brother Harry was younger still.35 Jane in particular, dressed from head to toe in penitent black, cut a striking figure. She was a woman alone among men; it was a scenario that she had experienced time and again throughout the short course of her life, and one that she was now used to. Nevertheless she was seventeen years old, and was standing trial for her life. Jane was well accustomed to being used as an instrument in the games of older men, but never before had the consequences been so critical.

  As Norfolk sat on the chair of estate indicating that he was in overall charge of the proceedings, the accused were ‘led to the bar here in their own persons’ by Sir John Gage.36 All of the accused were forced to stand – Jane was not to be granted the same courtesy of rank that had been accorded to Anne Boleyn, who had been allowed to sit during her trial. Jane was the second Queen of England to stand trial for her life, but the manner in which it was conducted made it abundantly clear that she was not to be tried or treated as such – she was quite simply Jane Dudley, wife of Guildford, and was referred to in this way throughout the proceedings.37