The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Diplomacy! So that was why the emperor had sent Renard! He must have known that Scheyfve would never be able, after all his years in England, to babble such lies and be believed. Renard, with his oily demeanor and commanding presence, would be believed. It was all clear to him now. And the poor queen, expected to gain her throne without her cousin’s help, on which he knew she had been relying all these years! It was not to be borne.

  Renard had been watching Scheyfve and could have told him almost word for word what he was thinking. A diplomat should never wear his heart on his sleeve in such a manner! “If the crown is not forthcoming to the princess, either by the offer of her own people or by the force of the arms she is mustering, then the emperor is sorry, but he has neither the manpower nor the financial resources to support her bid for the throne. Help from the empire is neither possible nor forthcoming.”

  No wonder Renard had wanted complete privacy for this conversation! Scheyfve was shocked beyond belief; if word of any of this ever got out, either to the queen or to her enemies, it could change the course of events considerably.

  “An alliance with England is desperately needed, surely you can see that,” said Renard. “What I am saying is…”

  Scheyfve finally found his voice. “What you are saying is that the emperor cares not with whom that agreement is made, as long as it is made!”

  Renard regarded Scheyfve for the first time with a modicum of respect. “Exactly!” he said, somewhat surprised. Up until that moment, he had believed Scheyfve to be remarkably slow on the uptake.

  Scheyfve was so disgusted that had they not been on a boat, he would have stopped and gotten out of the conveyance. Oh, this was a dastardly plan! And the queen so close to success, if the reports he had been receiving could be believed! Scheyfve shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden plank that was his seat on the little boat.

  “Your Excellency,” said Renard, with as much patience as he could muster, “surely you can see that there are larger issues at stake than the princess? I have every intention of trying to convince the duke of the Princess Mary’s claim to the throne, but if this attempt fails, and I believe that it cannot do otherwise, then I am instructed by His Grace the emperor to accept the princess’s ouster in return for an alliance. Trade, for one thing, depends on such an alliance…for both countries.”

  Scheyfve was at a loss for words and said nothing.

  “I am to reassure the English that the emperor has no intention of interfering in English affairs. You are a diplomat; you must understand that both France and the Empire have much to gain from an alliance with England? Should the French prevail, not only would Imperial trade be disrupted, but England would provide a base from which France could launch an attack on the Netherlands. We simply cannot allow that. But should the princess prevail, England will provide the means for the emperor to completely encircle France and provide a safe sea route all the way from Spain to the Low Countries.”

  Still Scheyfve did not speak; he simply stared at Renard.

  It was Renard’s turn to shift in his seat. “My good man, consider the overwhelming odds against the Princess Mary. The duke of Northumberland controls the fleet, the treasury, the capital, the Tower and all its ordnance, the government itself, the Great Seal of England and the country’s new queen! In addition, he is an experienced soldier. The princess cannot prevail.” Still Scheyfve said nothing. “Look, man,” said Renard, showing for the first time signs of exasperation and a diminution of that unnatural calm, “it is patently obvious, there is no doubt, that the Princess Mary has the support of many of the common people, of both religions. But Queen Jane will prevail, and the emperor must be seen to support her. As much as it may pain him to do so.”

  Scheyfve turned in his seat and regarded the boatman’s little lamp, the thin horn of its sides glowing with the light of the candle flame. Moths flitted all about the lamp, even knocking themselves against it trying to get to the light. For a moment Scheyfve felt a strange affinity with them. He could do likewise with Renard; he could try to argue, try to persuade; but in the end it would avail him nothing.

  “I can see,” said Scheyfve, “that both the emperor and the king of France mean to exploit the situation in England to their own ends. This is simply good politics; on that I am in agreement with you. As harsh as it may seem that the emperor sees fit to abandon the princess, if needs be, for the greater good of the Empire, I do understand his reasoning. As you say, I am a diplomat, as you are yourself. But sir, no man knows the mind of God or can predict the future. I must ask you this; what if all of your assumptions are wrong? What if Her Grace is able to win through on her own?”

  “I have not neglected that possibility,” Renard replied. “My very presence here, once it is known, may have the effect of encouraging the princess and her supporters. How could they not be encouraged by a belief that the mighty Holy Roman Empire means to back the princess in her bid for the throne?” He laughed, but the sound was not mirthful. “I have no intention of informing the princess of the emperor’s position. Let the princess go on believing, and more importantly, let her supporters believe, that help is on the way. In fact, help will be seen to arrive on the east coast of England very soon.”

  Scheyfve squinted in his confusion. Had he heard aright…? “But I thought you said…”

  “…that the emperor would be sending no military aid. Yes, that is correct. But what I have arranged, with the emperor’s consent, is for a small fleet of ships to dock at Harwich to evacuate the princess, should the opportunity to do so present itself. After all, we do not want the Duke of Northumberland to possess the princess’s person as a bargaining counter, do we?”

  Renard smiled and Scheyfve wished with all his heart at that moment that he had not done so. The smile was so evil, so duplicitous, that Scheyfve felt his gorge rise as if he were about to be sick. Perhaps it were better after all that he had had no time to eat his supper!

  “So,” said Scheyfve, “if it appears that the duke and his protégé, Queen Jane, will win the day, then we are to abandon the princess’s claim to the throne of England and whisk her away so that her presence here can do us no further damage; and we are not to inform the princess that help from her cousin will not be forthcoming, but are to await events.”

  The long lids came down once again, then rose slowly to reveal the black eyes. “Precisely,” said Renard.

  In other words, betray the princess, but ensure that she never knows of it. She will simply assume that events moved too fast for her cousin to do more than to see her to safety, for which she is supposed to be profoundly grateful. Align with the enemy and ignore the lawful succession, thereby costing the rightful queen her crown, that the Empire might continue to trade uninterrupted with the country over which she ought to have been reigning as queen.

  There were times when Scheyfve wondered if it might not be better to give up his post and go home.

  The hull of the little boat scraped the dock and Scheyfve realized that they had arrived at the water steps at Chelsea. It was but a short walk to the Imperial residence. He wished most fervently that he did not have to make that journey in Renard’s company, and that he did not have to offer the man hospitality. But there was no way around that; they were both Imperial ambassadors and must be housed at the residence.

  Renard watched Scheyfve in silent amusement. How the little man would smart if he knew that Renard could guess his thoughts so exactly! Still, his mission was to be of short duration; soon he would be back in Brussels, his task complete.

  “We must send to the Council tomorrow to ask for an audience with the king,” said Renard. “But we are to reveal nothing…remember that we are not supposed to be aware of the king’s death. So let us await events, shall we?”

  The Tower of London, July 1553

  The music of cornet, rebec, flute and waite-pipe was lively and meant to cheer the company and inspire it to merriment. But Jane was not feeling very merry, and picked at her food in the manner
of a child whose fun has been spoilt.

  Lady Frances had given up chiding and correcting her daughter, whose hauteur now that she was queen was not in tune with any sort of discipline, however sorely needed. Let the brat stew in her juices! For the Duchess of Suffolk knew what ailed her daughter; not only had no one cheered at the announcement that she was their new queen, but many had openly objected. The public expected her cousin Mary to be declared queen, and had been stunned to hear Jane’s name proclaimed instead. Jane had at first stood on her dignity but as the day wore on and the crowds grew hostile, she had resorted to tears and then to anger.

  At the news that one such protester had had his ears chopped off and his tongue nailed to the pillory, Jane’s reaction had been one of jubilation.

  “Good!” she cried. “Know they not that such as they do not dictate what shall be in England?” She had then burst into tears and no one could comfort her but her father, who held her, and administered soothing little pats until she quietened.

  Her husband had looked on with studied indifference, and Dudley sat wondering for the hundredth time whether the plan to put Jane on the throne had been a monumental error.

  The rest of the company, which included only the Council and their families, seemed subdued as they partook of the celebratory feast, but they appeared to be enjoying the food and the music.

  A commotion at the door of the Presence Chamber, where the feast was taking place, immediately drew the attention of Dudley. Jane remained indifferent to the company and continued to nudge the food around her golden plate with her knife. Lady Frances, an avid trencher-woman, made it a point not to let anything interfere with the enjoyment of her food, but she cocked an eye at her husband and this was his signal to sidle up to Dudley to see what was afoot.

  A messenger was admitted to the room, mud-spattered and obviously weary; he knelt and handed up to the duke of Northumberland a scroll, then the duke waved him away. Dudley untied the cord and opened the scroll; as he unfurled it, he realized that it consisted of two documents. His eyes scanned the first one, and then the second; his face blanched.

  Lady Frances, who had a gobbet of meat speared on the tip of her knife and was poised to pop it into her mouth, nodded at her husband, who always looked to her for instructions on what to do next. The rest of the company had either not noticed the messenger or were not interested enough to cease their feasting and conversation to pay the event of his arrival any mind.

  All of a sudden Dudley roared, “God’s blood!” and dashed both missives to the floor. Jane did not even look up; what could be worse than being jeered and rejected by one’s own people?

  At the disturbance made by the duke’s shouted oath, the musicians ceased their playing and the room went silent.

  “The Princess Mary has slipped through our fingers!” he cried. “My son Robert pursued her to the east but she has reached Framlingham Castle and fortified it!” And to think that it had been he himself who had forced the princess to accept Framlingham in return for several other properties that were deemed to be too close for comfort to the sea! What a colossal blunder!

  “But surely,” said Chancellor Goodrich, “the warships on the east coast can be of some assistance?”

  “Assistance to whom?” raged Dudley. “They have defected to the princess’s camp! And here,” he said, bending to retrieve the scrolls, “is a demand in the princess’s own hand that she be proclaimed queen in London!”

  Jane did look up at this, but said nothing.

  “The princess intends to fight for the crown,” said Dudley, handing one scroll to Paget to read, and the other to Suffolk.

  “With all due respect, Your Grace,” said Paulet, “how is Her Grace to effect a rebellion, with no army, no funds, no leadership?” For rebellion it was, now that they had committed themselves to Jane Dudley as queen! If they could once get their hands on the princess, they would have the law, regardless of how shaky, on their side.

  Paget’s face went pale and his voice came out in a whisper. His eyes raced over the page he held in his trembling hands. “All of East Anglia has flocked to her banner. The largest cities have declared for her and proclaimed her queen. Her standard flies above Framlingham Castle and men arrive daily to support her cause!”

  “Impossible!” sputtered Archbishop Cranmer. “Has not the princess gone east to flee to Flanders, to raise the Imperial fleet, who will come to invade? How could a woman march on London at the head of an undisciplined rabble, and hope to prevail?” This was, after all, what Dudley had proclaimed to the people of London; that their princess was a papist who intended to deprive them of their Protestant faith and a Jezebel who meant to send before her an invading horde of papist foreigners to subjugate them.

  “We must send a counter force immediately,” said Dudley. “There must be no delay!” His mind raced. He could not leave London. He could not trust the Council not to defect to the Princess Mary, just as the fleet had done. He must send someone else, someone who had a stake in Queen Jane’s success. “Suffolk!”

  Caught off his guard, the duke of Suffolk replied, “H-here, Your Grace?”

  “You must take an army east, straight away. We will begin the muster, right now, this evening.”

  “No!” Jane’s voice came out in a shriek and at the sound of it everyone who was standing instinctively dropped to their knees. For once she and her lady mother were in complete accord; on no account must her father be sent to fight the Princess Mary at the head of an army. Had they not both worried themselves to distraction when the duke had been sent to Scotland to fight in Somerset’s worthless wars? They chose not to remember at that moment that it had been Mary who had pleaded with Somerset to send the duke home.

  Dudley’s mind raced. On no account must he leave London. If he did, his entire plan was in danger of folding like a house of cards. The Council could not be trusted, and neither, he was beginning to realize, could the fickle tide of public opinion. If he were not there to shore up Jane’s shaky claim to the throne, who knew what might happen? And then a thought struck him hard as steel. He had quelled a rebellion in East Anglia not so long ago…he had hung hundreds in the name of the king. People had long memories… not only would he be leaving his rear unprotected in London, but he would face an extraordinarily hostile enemy ahead of him.

  Dudley bowed graciously to Jane. “Your Grace,” he said. “There is no finer soldier in all of England than His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk. I am certain that he would be proud to fight for your throne. And I am needed here.”

  Flatterer! thought Jane. When it pleased Dudley to do so, he had no qualms about going off to fight. No finer soldier indeed! Is that not what Dudley actually thought of himself? And grudgingly, she must admit that others thought so, too. She loved her father and was not about to let him go off to fight her cousin. Let Dudley, the high-and-mighty commander, go! He had a far greater chance of success than had her father.

  “How now,” said Jane. “My dear duke, you are mistaken. For I have heard many a man say that no finer soldier exists than the Duke of Northumberland. And I need my father here. You shall go.”

  Frances almost laughed aloud at the pained expression that crossed Dudley’s face. It was an added bonus…her beloved husband to stay safe by her side, and Dudley going off to face the danger and work his military skill to their advantage. But all the same, it was obvious that between them all, they had created a monster. Jane was sly, subtle, and not willing to forego one iota of the power that had been bestowed upon her as Queen of England. This time, it had worked to Frances’s advantage. But such would not always be the case.

  Framlingham Castle, July 1553

  Mary stood on the battlements of Framlingham Castle observing the scene below. To some, her camp of soldiers might seem chaotic, but she had developed a good eye in the past weeks and she knew that amidst what seemed to be disorganization and confusion was a good, orderly camp. She could not help but feel at that moment that her father would have been v
ery proud of her.

  She placed her hand on the warm, solid stone of the crenellation. The walls of Framlington stood forty feet high, and were eight feet thick; the castle boasted no fewer than thirteen sturdy towers. The castle was well-provisioned; they could hold a siege indefinitely if needs be, but she did not intend to be besieged. She planned to march forth to meet whatever was standing in the way of her coronation in London.

  A bold plan! She was far from feeling the confidence that such a plan might indicate. She knew of Renard’s arrival, and had written him a desperate letter; when would her cousin’s reinforcements arrive? For although her force was thousands strong now, many of the men were untrained for battle and inadequately armed. She feared destruction hung over her head if reinforcements from her cousin did not arrive before they must sally forth to engage the opposition. She had as yet received no answer from the emperor, or from Renard and Scheyfve; the country was on the brink of war and communication was difficult.

  On the brink of war. And not just any war; civil war, the very worst kind. How she loathed the idea! Her father might well have been proud of her, but whatever would her mother have thought, she who had endured imprisonment and heartbreak rather than seek justice…and vengeance…through battle? But what was she to do, after all? To fight for her right to the throne of England meant just that…to fight. In war, in every battle, men died, or were wounded. There was no other way. If there were, she would take it. But the idea of internecine bloodshed appalled her every bit as much as it had her mother.