Renard was very respectful but nevertheless he had come to advise me, and I felt the great Emperor spoke through him.
“It is an odd thing, Your Majesty,” he said, “that the chief conspirator in the plot against you still lives.”
“Northumberland has lost his head,” I replied.
“The impostor Queen still lives.”
“The girl was merely used, Ambassador.”
“She allowed herself to be used.”
“She had no choice.”
He lifted his shoulders. “She has dared proclaim herself Queen.”
“She was acclaimed by others.”
“She wore the crown.”
“My lord Ambassador, I know this girl. She is my kinswoman. She is young and innocent… scarcely out of the schoolroom. I could not have her innocent blood on my hands.”
“Your Majesty prefers to have yours on hers?”
“There is no question…”
“While she lives, you are unsafe.”
“I believe the people have chosen me.”
“The people? The people will go which way they are made to.”
“This is a matter for my conscience.”
He was clearly dismayed. I saw the contempt in his eyes, and I could imagine the letter he would write to the Emperor. I should never make him understand. But I knew Jane, and I understood how she had been forced into this… and as long as I could, I would refuse to have her blood on my hands.
I must not free her, of course. That would be folly. She would be an immediate rallying point. I would have to be careful; and there was my sister; Elizabeth, another who would stand as a symbol for the Reformed Faith. Oh yes, I should be very careful. But as long as Jane was in the Tower, no decisions need be made.
I said, “I intend to keep her prisoner for the time being. Then we shall see.”
Simon Renard left me. He gave me the impression that I was being a soft and sentimental woman and had no idea how to rule a country.
Shortly after that interview with Renard, I received a letter from Jane, and on reading it I felt more sorry for her and in a greater dilemma than ever.
She wanted me to know that the terrible sin she had committed in allowing herself to be forced to pose as Queen was no fault of hers.
“I did not want it,” she wrote, “and when my parents and my parentsin-law, the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, came to me and told me that the King was dead, I was wretchedly unhappy, for you know how I loved him. When they added that I was heiress to the crown, I could not believe them, and when I understood that they were serious, I fainted. It was as though a sense of doom overcame me. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wicked, even though Edward had named me. They did homage to me, and at the same time they were angry with me because I would not rejoice with them and was filled with this terrible foreboding.
“They took me to the Tower as Queen, and the Marquis of Winchester brought the crown for me to try on. I did not ask him to do this. It was the last thing I wanted. I wanted more than anything to go back to my studies. I knew that I should have resisted, but I dared not.”
No, I thought, she dared not. I remembered how they had beaten her in her childhood. I felt a grim amusement to think of those harsh parents doing homage to their daughter whom they had so ill-treated.
“I did not want to put it on,” she continued. “I was afraid of it. They said they would have another made for my husband, for it was the Duke's wish that he should be crowned with me. I could not allow this. I did not want the crown myself, but at least I had some claim to it through my birth. But that they should crown Guilford because they had made me marry him…I would not have it. I said that if they made me Queen I must have some authority. They were so angry with me. They forgot for a time that they had made me Queen. They maltreated me…
“Your Majesty, you should know that I am ready to die for what I did, for that deserves death. But, dear Majesty, it was not of my doing.”
I read this with tears in my eyes. It was true. I thought of her unhappy life. The happiest hours she had known must have been with Edward when they pored over their books and enjoyed a friendly rivalry as to who could learn their lessons the more quickly. And now, here she was, a prisoner in the Tower, awaiting death.
How could I ever bring myself to harm her?
* * *
MY THOUGHTS WERE PREOCCUPIED with marriage; and Reginald Pole was in the forefront of them. I wondered what he looked like after all these years. He was sixteen years older than I, and that would make him fifty-three years of age. Hardly an age for marrying.
I was excited to receive a letter from him. I opened it with eagerness, wondering if it would contain a reference to a marriage between us. I was not sure how I should feel about that; but I reminded myself that, if it did come to pass, it would have the blessing of my mother and the Countess if they were watching in Heaven, for it would be the fulfillment of their dearest wish.
He congratulated me on my accession to the throne. But his greatest pleasure was in the fact that he hoped to be receiving from me directions as to how we should set about restoring papal authority to England. There was one sentence in his letter which indicated clearly that marriage had been far from his mind, for he advised me not to marry. There would be plans for me but I was no longer young, and it would be better to remain single so that I should have full authority to bring about the necessary religious reforms.
It was hardly the letter of a lover.
There was also a letter from Friar Peto who, when he had escaped from England after he had so offended my father, had lived with Reginald ever since. I remember how Peto had angered my father from the pulpit when he had openly criticized him for deserting my mother. He it was who had said that, as had happened with Ahab, the dogs would lick his blood after his death. The prophecy had come true. There was no doubt that Peto was a brave and holy man.
“Do not marry,” he wrote to me. “If you do you will be the slave of a young husband. Besides, at your age, the chances of bringing heirs to the throne are doubtful and, moreover, would be dangerous.”
I felt depressed after reading these letters. The truth was stressed, by the blunt Peto, and I had to face the facts. I was too old for childbearing. But it had been one of the dearest wishes of my life to have a child, and in my heart I would never really give up the hope. It was doubly necessary for me to have a child now. I should give birth to an heir. If not…Elizabeth would follow me, and who could tell what Elizabeth would do?
She was being very cautious now. She was in a difficult and highly dangerous position and none would recognize that more clearly than Elizabeth. I who knew her well could read the alertness in her eyes. She was taking each step with the utmost care.
I must have a child.
I would not listen to Peto or Reginald. They had been too long out of England. They had probably heard of my bouts of ill health. No doubt they had been exaggerated. I did believe they had been in some measure due to my insecure position. When I think of all the years I had lived close to the axe…surely that could have accounted for my delicate state of health?
But I had come through. God had shown clearly that He had chosen me to fulfill this mission.
I had to succeed… and I would. I would have an heir. And for that reason I must marry quickly.
Ever since his release from the Tower, I had seen a great deal of Edward Courtenay. I had made his mother, Gertrude, who was the Marchioness of Exeter, a lady of my bedchamber; and it seemed that Edward was constantly at my side. I did not complain of this. He was a most attractive young man.
I was amazed that he, who had lived the greater part of his life in the Tower, could be so knowledgeable about the world, and so charming.
He owed a great deal to his good looks, which were outstanding. I noticed my sister Elizabeth's eyes on him. She had always had a liking for handsome men, as she had shown in the case of Thomas Seymour. She was flirtatious by nature, and when I saw Edward C
ourtenay paying attention to her, I told myself he could hardly do anything else. She so blatantly asked for admiration.
So I considered Edward Courtenay. He had so much to recommend him. Charm, good looks, vitality, but perhaps most important of all, his father's mother had been Princess Catharine, the youngest daughter of Edward IV, so he was of the blood royal.
He was about ten years younger than I. Was that important? My thoughts had turned to marriage, as they must do before it was too late. There might just be time if I married quickly; and I was more likely to become pregnant if my husband was a young man rather than an old one.
I had had such ill luck with my proposed marriages, but that was because of what they called my dubious birth. The constant question had been, was I or was I not illegitimate? Now that was all over. I was the acknowledged Queen of England, and there would be many eager to marry me.
The more I saw of Edward Courtenay, the more I liked the idea.
He was very merry and kept us amused. He talked of his years in the Tower, but there was nothing morbid in his conversation; he was one of those people who find life amusing; he made a joke of the smallest things which were truly no joke, but while one was with him one accepted them as such. One laughed with the laughter of happiness rather than amusement. I felt younger in his presence than I ever had in my life.
I began to ask myself if I were in love.
I wondered what the people would think of such a marriage. They would be delighted, I was sure. In the first place they would approve of my sharing my throne with an Englishman. Foreigners were always suspect. A young man who had been imprisoned by my father and set free by me…a young man with whom I had fallen in love and he with me…it was so romantic. The people loved romance.
They would approve, but what of the Council? There would be opposition from them; they never liked to see one of their own set above them. But what of that? Was I not the Queen? Was it not for me to decide the question of my marriage? I should certainly have my own way.
Simon Renard came to see me again. I was sure his all-seeing eyes had already detected the growing friendship between myself and Edward Courtenay.
As soon as he talked to me, I began to see that I had been living in a foolish, romantic dream.
There should be as little delay as possible in your marriage,” he said. “The Emperor has always had a fondness for you. He would marry you, but he is much too old.”
I felt emotional at the thought of marrying the Emperor. Ever since that day when my mother had presented me to him at Greenwich, and he had made much of me, he had been a leading figure in my imagination. He was the greatest and most powerful figure in Europe, and I had always convinced myself that he was my savior. In fact, it had been his diplomatic presence that had done that rather than any act of his. In any case I had kept my awe of him.
“But,” Renard was saying, “he has a son, Philip. He is as devout a Catholic as ever was. He is the Emperor's beloved son, and the Emperor is of the opinion that there should be a match between you. It is a suggestion. I bring it to you before I take it to the Council.”
When he left me, I was in deep thought. Philip, son of the Emperor. He was my second cousin, I supposed, since the Emperor was my cousin. A devout Catholic—one who would help me bring England back to Rome. He would be younger than I by eleven years. But it seemed I was destined to have a husband either my senior or my junior by a good many years.
Renard had said, “Think of it. I am sure such a great marriage would bring you great joy.”
I was not sure. I had been thinking too much of Edward Courtenay. But queens have other matters with which to occupy themselves than romantic dreams.
THE CORONATION WAS FIXED for the 1st of October.
On the previous day I left the Tower in a litter drawn by six white horses. I was dressed in blue velvet decorated with ermine, and over my head was a caul netted in gold and decorated with precious stones. I found it rather heavy and looked forward to having it replaced with the crown. As I passed along, followed by my ladies, all in crimson velvet, I was immensely gratified by the cheers of the crowd.
There were also cheers for Elizabeth, who followed me in an open carriage shared with Anne of Cleves. They were identically dressed in blue velvet gowns with the long hanging sleeves made fashionable by Elizabeth's mother. All members of the household were there in the green and white Tudor colors; and my dear Sir Henry Jerningham, who was now the Captain of the Royal Guard, brought up the rear.
The citizens of London had shown themselves to be wholehearted in the matter of welcoming me. There was music everywhere, and I was met by giants and angels; and what delighted the people was that the conduits ran with wine. And, passing these splendid displays, we came at length to Whitehall.
I was so tired that I slept well that night in spite of the ordeal which lay before me the following day.
I felt a great exultation, a belief in myself. I felt the presence of God within me. He had chosen me for this mission, and I was convinced now that He had brought me to it in His way. The sufferings of my youth had been necessary to strengthen my character. I had a great task before me, and I must perform it well; and so should I, with God's help. So, after praying on my knees, I went to bed and knew no more until they awakened me in the morning.
October of the year 1553. It is a day I shall never forget—the day when I truly became the Queen of England, for no monarch is truly King or Queen until he or she has been anointed.
With my party I went by barge to the private stairs of Westminster Palace. It was a shell now after the great fire which had happened during my father's time. The Parliament Chamber was, however, still standing, and there I was taken to put on my robes and be made ready for the procession to the Abbey.
It was eleven o'clock when we set out. In my crimson robes, I walked under the canopy, which was, according to custom, carried by the wardens of the Cinque Ports. I was aware of Elizabeth immediately behind me. Her presence there seemed symbolic. I was glad Anne of Cleves was still beside her.
The ceremony should have been performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, but this was Thomas Cranmer, who was, at this time, in the Tower. He had been involved in the plot to set Jane Grey on the throne, although he had tried to persuade Edward against changing the succession; but Edward himself had asked him to sign his will and, with a hint of a threat, my brother had said that he hoped he was not going to be more refractory than the rest of the household. I could see the dilemma Cranmer was in. He did not agree that the King should change the succession, but at the same time he was a strong supporter of the Reformed Faith and he knew that when I came to the throne I would regard it as my duty to turn the country back to Rome. He was committed to the Protestant cause; and therefore, when the people had shown so clearly that I was the Queen they wanted, he was sent to the Tower and was there awaiting judgement.
So it was out of the question for him to perform the ceremony; and in his place was my good friend Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, accompanied by ten others—an impressive sight, with their copes of gold cloth and their mitres and crosses.
I was led to St. Edward's Chair, and as I sat there Gardiner declared, “Here present is Mary, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of God and man to the crown and royal dignity of the realms of England, France and Ireland. Will you serve at this time and give your wills and assent to the same consecration, unction and coronation?”
How thrilling it was to hear their response. “Yes! Yes! Yes! God save Queen Mary!”
Then I was led to the high chair by the altar, where I took my coronation oath.
The ceremony of the anointing was carried out, and afterward I was robed in purple velvet trimmed with ermine; the sword was placed in my hands, and the Duke of Norfolk brought the three crowns—St. Edward's, the imperial crown and the one made for me. Each in turn was set on my head while the trumpets sounded.
It was a wonderful moment when I sat with the imperial c
rown on my head, the sceptre in my right hand and the orb in my left, and received the homage of the nobles of the realm, in which each promised to be my liege man for life…to live and to die with me against all others.
Through the chamber the cry rang out: “God save Queen Mary!”
I was indeed their Queen.
Rebellion
IT WAS FOUR DAYS AFTER MY CORONATION WHEN I OPENED my first Parliament. It was a splendid occasion. People lined the streets to see me ride by, and everyone who could be there was present.
I realize now that I was guileless. I did not know how to dissimulate. How unlike Elizabeth I was! Innocently, I expected everyone to be as I was. It took me a little time to learn that they were not.
The people had chosen me for their Queen. I thought that meant that they were ready to turn back to the Catholic Church and that it would be just as it was before my father broke with Rome.
When it was learned that I intended to return to papal authority, there was dismay in all quarters…even where I had least expected it.
I can see now that few people cared as strongly about religion as I did. There were many who were ready enough to go back to the way it had been during the last years of my father's reign. The religion itself had not changed then. All that had happened was that the monarch was the head of the Church instead of the Pope.
There was another point. Almost every nobleman in the land had profited from the dissolution of the monasteries and acquired Church land, and they would be in no mood to give that up.
All the ambassadors were a little shocked—even Renard, who, I had thought, would be entirely with me.
“You are moving too fast,” he said.
I could not believe that I had heard aright.
“But this is what I have always intended,” I protested.
“The people know it. It is why they have made me their Queen.”
“There will be trouble throughout the country, and Your Majesty is not secure enough to withstand trouble.”
“What do you mean? Did they not proclaim me? Have you not heard how they shout for me in the streets?”
In the Shadow of the Crown Page 40