In the Shadow of the Crown

by Виктория Холт

  His name was Thomas White, and his part in the scheme was to rob the Exchequer of £50,000.

  Reginald had been skeptical at first, but when White explained that he was friendly with the wife of one of the tellers in the Exchequer who had promised to get impressions made of her husband's keys, he took it seriously.

  Robbery was one crime, treason was another; but it emerged that robbery was a preliminary to the greater plan. The money was needed by Sir Henry Dudley to get together an army of mercenaries who would be banded together in France and who would cross the Channel to attack the south coast.

  This Sir Henry Dudley was the distant cousin of the Duke of Northumberland who had set Jane Grey on the throne. The Dudleys were a formidable family, and the fact that he belonged to it made him a figure of importance not only in my eyes but in those of many others.

  If only Philip were here! I needed a strong man beside me, for it had become clear that the plot was far-reaching. I wondered whom I could trust among those around me. I could rely, as I knew from the past, on my dear friends Rochester and Jerningham, and I asked them to choose men whom they could trust to investigate what was going on.

  It was revealed that the French ambassador, de Noailles, who had always caused much anxiety, was fully aware of what was happening and was reporting it to his master, on whom they were relying for help. John Throckmorton, a relative of Nicholas who had sent the goldsmith to warn me of my brother Edward's death, was one of the leaders of the plot and that threw suspicion on Nicholas.

  The magnitude of the scheme was alarming, involving the French as it did. Plans for landing and taking the Tower of London were revealed, and they had all been drawn up very carefully.

  I was very tired and sick. I almost longed for death.

  Meanwhile the conspirators were brought to justice. The object of the plot had been to dispatch me as I had dispatched Jane Grey, and to set up Elizabeth, who would marry Courtenay.

  I did not believe for one moment that Elizabeth was aware of this. She would not be so foolish. She knew the state of my health and that it would be wiser to wait. Surely I could not have long to live? I did not wish to. If Philip would return to me and I could have a child, then only would life be worth living. But deep within me I feared that would never be. I was too old. I had this illness in my inner organs. It was what had plagued me all my life. I tried to fight against the conviction that it had made me barren; and I fought hard to reject the idea because I could not bear to accept it.

  It was said that Sir Anthony Kingston was involved in the conspiracy. He was in Devonshire and immediately commanded to come to London to stand trial with the others.

  I was to learn that he died on the journey to London. It was rumored that he had killed himself rather than face trial.

  The prisoners were tried and questioned. Only John Throckmorton proved himself to be a brave man and, even when racked most ferociously, he refused to betray any of his fellow conspirators and declared he would die rather than reveal anything. The others were less brave and implicated others, some of them men in high positions.

  Executions followed and there were further arrests.

  The Council urged that Elizabeth be brought for questioning, but I would not have that. I believed she was loyal to me, and I did not want them to trump up a charge against her. Apart from my sisterly feelings toward her, I feared that, if she were harmed in any way, the people would rise in strength against me. She had won their hearts. I had always known that her popularity far exceeded my own.

  I wanted nothing now so much as to be left alone with my grief and melancholy.

  * * *

  THE BURNING OF PROTESTANTS continued. It was only when some notable person was led to the stake that it was an event.

  So it was with Cranmer.

  As Archbishop of Canterbury, Cranmer had played a big part in my father's affairs and had been one of the prime movers in the break with the Church of Rome; and it was thought that it would be safe and wise to be rid of him.

  He was a man of great intellectuality but such men are often less brave than others. Cranmer was not a brave man… not until the very end. The return of papal authority must have filled him with terror, for he would know that one who had been at the very heart of the break would find himself in a difficult position.

  I was pleased when he signed a declaration agreeing that, as Philip and I had admitted the Pope's authority in England, he would submit to our views. That should have been enough; and doubtless it would have been but for his position in the country and the effect he would have on so many people.

  I had said that those who admitted their heresy and turned to the true faith would be free. But there were politics to be considered as well as religion and, much as I deplored this, I was overruled.

  If only Philip had been here, I said, over and over again; but I knew that if Philip were here he would be on the side of the Council. Yet I deluded myself into thinking that he would have stood by me. I had to delude myself. It was the only way to bring a glimmer of hope into my life.

  Cranmer signed two documents. In one he agreed that he would put the Pope before the King and Queen; and in the other he promised complete obedience to the King and Queen as to the Pope's supremacy.

  This should have saved him, but his enemies were determined he should die. He was too important to be allowed to live; and he was condemned and taken out to the stake.

  Face to face with death, martyrdom descended upon him. He addressed the people, telling them that in his fear of death he had signed his name to certain documents. He had degraded himself by doing so, and before he died he wished to proclaim his faith in the new religion.

  The sticks were lighted and, as the flames crept up his body, he held out his right hand and said in resonant tones, “For as much as my right hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, it shall be punished therefor and burned first.”

  He stood there, his hand outstretched while the flames licked his flesh.

  All over the country they were talking of Cranmer.

  “Where will it end?” they were asking. “What next? Will they bring the Inquisition to England?”

  Sullen anger was spreading.

  I had done what God had intended I should, but it had brought me into ill repute.

  There was no comfort anywhere. Reginald was ill and growing very feeble; I could not believe he would live long. And still Philip did not return.

  * * *

  WHY DID HE not come? I wrote to him, “I am surrounded by enemies. My crown is in danger. I need you.”

  But there was always some excuse.

  His father had now abdicated in his favor, and he was King of Spain in his own right. This seemed a good reason to keep him away. I made excuses for him to others, but in my own chamber I said to myself: He does not want to come. I am his wife. Why does he not want to be with me as I do him?

  He had never loved me. Once more I had deluded myself. He had gone through the motions of being a husband; and I, feeling so deeply myself, had been aware of the lack of response in him. But I would not admit it. I had tried to believe because I so desperately wanted to.

  I was deeply upset by the burnings. I did not know what I should do. It was God's will, I told myself continually. This was what He had preserved me to do. Those who died, I assured myself, were doomed to hell fire in any case. They were heretics, and heretics are the enemies of God. They must be eliminated before they spread their evil doctrines.

  I concerned myself with the poor. I would go to visit them in their houses, talk of their problems with them, take them food and give them money if they needed it.

  It comforted me to some extent. It helped to shut out the ghostly cries that echoed in my ears, the smell of burning flesh which seemed constantly in my nostrils.

  Cranmer, Ridley, Hooper, Latimer … I could not forget them. They were men I had known, spoken with. I had liked some of them… and I had condemned them to the fire. No, not I. It was th
eir judges. I would have pardoned them. But the ultimate blame would be laid on my shoulders.

  Apart from Reginald, my greatest comfort was in my women. There was Susan, of course, and Jane Dormer was another whom I particularly liked. Jane was betrothed to the Count of Feria, a gentleman of Philip's suite, and one of his greatest friends. When Philip returned to England with his entourage, Jane was to be married, so she and I had a great deal in common at that time, both awaiting the return of a loved one.

  My fortieth birthday had come and passed. How the years pressed on me! If Philip did not return soon, I should be too old for childbearing.

  I still cherished the hope.

  Why did he not come? I asked myself again and again. Always it was the same answer when I wrote to him pleadingly: “I will come soon…as yet there are duties which keep me here.”

  He wrote that he must go to Flanders to celebrate his coming to power there, as well as in Spain.

  There were malicious people to bring me news of those celebrations. Philip was playing a big part in them. He was giving himself up to pleasure. It was difficult to imagine Philip's doing that. He had always been so serious when he was with me.

  “Why does he not come?” I kept demanding of Susan and Jane.

  “What can be keeping him all this time?”

  If they were silent, I would make excuses for him. His father had renounced the realm in Philip's favor, I reminded them. He was no longer merely the Prince of Spain but the King. He had his obligations.

  But I was worried. Reginald could not help me. He was very ill, and I was discovering that he was not a practical man. He was clever and learned, but I needed advice.

  I was desperately worried about the burnings, in spite of the fact that I told myself it was God's will. I heard terrible stories of wood which would not ignite properly, of people who were scorched for hours before they finally passed away. Some of the screams were terrible. Men talked of Cranmer, Ridley, Hooper and Latimer, but there were humble folk, too… the unlearned who had been led astray. Having been on my errands of mercy, disguised as a noble lady with no hint that I was the Queen, I had learned something of the lives of these people. I felt it was wrong to send them to a fiery death simply because they were ignorant and saw themselves as martyrs.

  If only Philip were here! But he upheld the Inquisition in his land. He would bring it to England, and persecution would be intensified then.

  To whom could I turn?

  I decided to send to Flanders to find out the real cause for Philip's continued absence. Were those stories of his adventurings true? I could not believe them. But then, just as I had never understood my sister Elizabeth, I did not understand Philip either. I was too downright, I supposed. I was at a loss with those people who showed a certain front to the world when they were secretly something else.

  At the same time I sent a messenger to the Emperor. I had the utmost respect for his judgement. I had always regarded him as one of the most shrewd leaders in Europe, possessed of great wisdom.

  I wanted him to be told of the heretics who made martyrs of themselves and the effect it was having on the people. I had always wanted to persuade … to coerce perhaps… and only rarely impose the final penalty. The Emperor might give me his views. There was another point. People varied. What the Spaniards accepted, the English might not. I wanted him to know that there was discontent throughout the kingdom and that even the most faithful to the old religion felt a repugnance toward the fiery death—particularly for men who had led good lives—men such as Hugh Latimer, for instance.

  Why did I expect Charles to understand? On his orders, 30,000 heretics in Flanders had been either beheaded or buried alive. And Philip? What did he care for those people? The numbers who had died in England since the rules were introduced were infinitesimal compared with those who had suffered at the hands of the Inquisition.

  No, the Emperor would think, with Philip and some members of my Council, that I was a foolish woman, and that a woman needed a man beside her if she was to rule with a firm hand.

  I was ready to agree. If only he would come!

  He had so many commitments now, he wrote. As soon as it was possible, he would be with me. It was only duty which kept him from me! Duty! Paying homage to beautiful women in Brussels! Was that duty?

  I was told that Ruy Gomez da Silva had told our ambassador that Philip could not come because his astrologer had prophesied that, if he returned to England, he would be assassinated. Therefore he felt it wiser to stay away. After all, the Spaniards had been treated rather badly when they were in England. They had been shunned almost everywhere; they had been robbed and often attacked. It was small wonder that the King was inclined to listen to his astrologer.

  I was ill… sick with disappointment. My women were anxious about me. They thought of everything they could do to amuse me for a while, but I was not amused. Even Jane the Fool could not bring the slightest smile to my lips.

  I was with Susan and Jane Dormer one day when they began to chide me for my listless attitude. I was not eating enough; I was staying in my apartments, brooding.

  “It will be different when the King returns,” I said.

  “Your Majesty should try to enjoy what is here for your pleasure.”

  “My heart is with my husband,” I replied.

  “You must know that.”

  “But he does not come, Madam,” said Jane Dormer sadly.

  “He has too much with which to occupy himself.”

  I caught a glance which passed between them. Susan's lips were a little pursed. Jane lifted her shoulders slightly. It was as though Jane were asking a question. I distinctly caught the faint shake of Susan's head.

  “What have you heard?” I demanded.

  Jane flushed scarlet. Susan was more self-contained.

  She said, “I doubt little that Your Majesty does not already know.”

  “Then why is it that you have decided not to tell me?”

  They opened their eyes wide and looked at me, assuming innocence. But I knew them well, and I guessed there was something they were keeping from me.

  “Susan…Jane…” I said.

  “Have you joined the ranks of my enemies?”

  “Your Majesty!”

  “You are hiding something from me.”

  “But Your Majesty…”

  “Susan, what are you afraid to tell me?”

  “Oh … it was nothing. Just idle gossip.”

  “Concerning me.”

  They were silent.

  “And the King… was he concerned?” I persisted.

  Susan bit her lip. “It is all nonsense. There will always be rumors.”

  “And these rumors?”

  Susan looked at Jane and Jane at Susan. It was Susan who spoke. “They are saying that the King will never come back.”

  “Why should he not?”

  “They are saying, Your Majesty, that he prefers to be somewhere else.”

  There was silence. Jane fell to her knees and, taking my hand, kissed it.

  “Oh, Your Majesty,” she said earnestly, “I wish all could be well with you. I pray he will come soon and show how he loves you… and that there will be a child.”

  “I pray for it, Jane.”

  “I, too, Your Majesty,” added Susan.

  I looked at her. There was an expression of infinite sadness on her face. I had known Susan for many years. She was one of those most dear to me. I trusted her. I knew of her love and devotion.

  “You do not believe that he will come, Susan,” I said. “And you know something which you are afraid to tell me.”

  She could not dissimulate. She was my honest, open Susan.

  She drew a deep breath and said, “There are rumors. But there are always rumors.”

  “And these rumors? Come. Since they are only rumors, we need not believe them if we do not wish to.”

  “That is so, Your Majesty.”

  “Then tell me what you have heard. It is not goo
d that I should be kept in the dark.”

  “Your Majesty has suffered. Only those of us who have been near you know how much. I cannot bear to see Your Majesty suffer… and to remain deluded.”

  “Deluded? What of these rumors? They concern the King. You must tell me.”

  Still she was silent.

  “Susan,” I commanded. “Tell me.”

  “There are women, Your Majesty. The Duchess of Lorraine is his mistress.”

  I tried to smile. I heard myself saying, “The King is a man, Susan. It is the way of men. I am not there. He wants me, of course. I am his wife. But we are separated. We should not take these women any more seriously than he does.”

  I was amazed at myself, surprised that I could speak calmly when I was seething with jealousy within. It was hard to pretend. He should be faithful. We were married. We had taken our sacred vows. But I knew this rumor was true. A mistress! How was he with her? Not as he had been with me… courteous… like a stranger. We must try to get a child. Just that. No real love, no passion. Was that how he was with her? But he would not be with her because of the urgent need to get a child. He would be with her because that was where he wanted to be.

  And this was why he did not come to England.

  I knew that was not all. Half of me said, Do not pursue this. It is only going to make you more unhappy. But if there was more to know, I must know it.

  “What else, Susan?” I asked.

  “There is nothing else.”

  “Usually you are truthful, Susan. It is one of the qualities which have endeared you to me. Come, do not disappoint me. What else have you heard?”

  “One cannot trust the French,” she said.

  “No. But sometimes they make some pertinent comments. What is their verdict on my marriage?”

  She was silent and looked as though she were on the point of bursting into tears.

  “I insist on knowing, Susan.”

  “The French ambassador told the Venetian ambassador that Philip has said that England is nothing but a costly nuisance. He does not like the people and he does not want to return to it.”