He was too dispirited to even try to eat, but he took a long pull from his wineskin and settled back on his soggy cloak. The thought of how he had ridden out from London on a fine summer’s day, with that very same scarlet cloak billowing regally behind him, still made him feel slightly uneasy. All the way from London to Shoreditch the people had lined the roads to see his cavalcade pass. They knew his errand; he meant ill to the Princess Mary therefore they would not cheer him and his men. They were strangely silent and not one person so much as wished him Godspeed.
Dudley snorted. The people were sentimental about their princess. Bah! Did they not realize what Mary Tudor as their queen would mean? The Mass would be reinstated, and all the inherent superstitious beliefs of the Catholic religion restored; money would once again flow out of England to Rome. He shivered to think of what would become of those faithful Protestants who had the strength to resist her reforms. For she was certain to marry a Hapsburg cousin and with him would come the dreaded Spanish Inquisition. But the people were by and large an ignorant lot and could not see that far ahead, nor appreciate the consequences of supporting a Catholic heir to the throne. All they knew was that they hated Dudley and loved their princess. God give him the strength to win through! For God pity England if he failed!
God…there was a thought. Why did it seem so much these past few days as if God had forsaken him and his cause? That smacked of blasphemy…were such not Jesus’s very words as he hung, painfully and pitifully, from the cross? And had God come to save him? He had not.
He snorted again. My good Duke of Northumberland, you have bibbed too much wine from your goatskin and are drunk. All will be well on the morrow. These are night thoughts and are not to be regarded.
He was awakened by the sounds of the camp stirring and the constant snapping of his tent flap in the breeze. As it flapped, it intermittently let in the bright sunlight, so bright that it hurt his eyes to look at it. His mouth felt as if it were glued shut and it seemed that one of the largest of the gun-stones had found its way into his head and was banging about between his ears. But the sun was a welcome sight all the same.
He sat up and mused how dark his thoughts had been the night before. But the weather had turned, and surely all would now be well.
“Your Grace!” came a shout from outside the tent.
“I am here,” he said. He arose, doing his best to disregard the gun-stone in his head that had shifted and now banged against the back of his eyes with a force that almost sent him reeling.
“A message, Your Grace,” said the yeoman who had called his name. As Dudley emerged from the tent, the man handed him a scroll, touched his forelock, and dashed off on other business. He tucked the scroll under his arm and rolled his head about on his shoulders. This relieved the pain temporarily and he looked about him. He had trained his soldiers well. The camp was orderly and now that the sun shone and the wind had slackened a bit, men were lighting fires and cooking the suppers that they could not the night before. That was smart; no army can travel on an empty belly. They would eat, restore themselves, see to the cannons, and then be on their way to Bury St. Edmunds to meet up with his son Robert and to march on Framlingham. They would defeat the princess, crush her forces, capture her, bring her to London, and place her in the Tower where she belonged. Then all would be well…then would he deal with miss high-and-mighty Jane, who was after all, only a woman and his daughter-in-law. He had made her, and she must be made to see that he could unmake her!
He knew that the emperor had sent a special envoy, and that both he and that bumbling Scheyfve had been pretending ignorance of the king’s death. Well, they must have been disabused of that notion immediately Jane’s accession had been announced! He had thrown into the fire the request sent by the Imperial ambassadors for an audience with himself, and had left London without even giving them the courtesy of a reply. That sly fox, Renard, had been sent by Charles V to put him off his guard; he was not fooled. He had thrown his lot in with the French King, and would have none of the emperor.
Remembering the scroll, he stopped, unfurled it, and began to read.
Chapter 34
“Vox populi, vox Dei.” [“The voice of the people is the voice of God.”]
Baynard’s Castle, London, July 1553
The noise of the mob could be heard in the inner chambers of the castle, but the sound seemed muted and muffled. The men around the table eyed each other nervously. It would not take long for the Duke of Suffolk to discover that the Council had fled the Tower and decamped to the residence of the Earl of Pembroke. The time was now; they must decide what to do, and do it. There must be no more delay.
Henry FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel, had been a royal servant all his life. He was a good Catholic, but he was also a pragmatist; one must bend with the wind or break. The FitzAlans had been Earls of Arundel since the thirteenth century, and God willing, would continue in that capacity. It would not be Henry FitzAlan who lost them their legacy!
The earl lifted the parchment and held it at arm’s length. He read it through once more. Its meaning was clear and so was the mood of the people. He put a nervous hand to his mouth; he placed the parchment back on the table and drummed his fingers on its oaken surface. Paget was the only other person whose agreement he simply must have; the others would go along with whatever the two of them decided. He knew Paget’s mind, but he also knew that Paget, in this situation, would rather follow than lead. That was fair enough; Paget had suffered much at the time of Somerset’s disgrace for taking the lead during that debacle.
And neither of them had any reason to love John Dudley!
So it was up to him.
Apropos of nothing he blurted out, “She is the king’s daughter, after all!” He had not meant the thought to be voiced at that moment and in that way; it had just come out. But it was the catalyst that was needed. Suddenly the men were all talking at once, each seeking to convince the other of what they apparently already agreed to without argument. The earls of Bedford, Pembroke, Shrewsbury and Worcester, the Lords Paget, Darcy, Cobham, the Marquess of Winchester, and all the rest of the Council, were finally in agreement; Mary Tudor was the rightful queen of England. The people were rallying strongly to her cause; her army was now a force to be reckoned with. The Council had been wavering but now that one of them had spoken the words, the decision they must take was clear. They must deny Jane and proclaim Mary Queen of England, and they must do it now.
They had originally agreed to await the outcome of the great battle everyone was expecting. But with an uprising threatened in London, Dudley was trapped in Cambridge, afraid to go forward to meet his foe or backward to quell the insurrection. The Duke of Northumberland could no longer depend upon the loyalty of his own captains, and it was rumored that more and more soldiers deserted his cause daily, despite the unheard of sums they were being paid.
No one wanted civil war.
No one, it appeared, except Dudley and the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, wanted Jane.
Arundel recalled a proverb that he had once heard; And those people should not be listened to who keep saying that the voice of the people is the voice of God, since the riotousness of the crowd is always very close to madness. Well, that was as may be; but the crowd outside Baynard’s Castle at that moment wanted none of Queen Jane; they demanded Queen Mary and the men of the Council would be fools not to listen to them!
Arundel once again lifted Mary’s letter, in which she chided the Council for their perfidy to the rightful heir, and demanded that they declare her queen of England in London. From the parchment dangled a small red seal, Mary’s own personal one; by rights the Great Seal of England was hers. There were many whom, he knew, supported Mary’s cause simply because they hated Dudley, or because they were Catholic; but many supported her, regardless of their religious beliefs, because they believed her to be the rightful heir to the throne of England.
And also to be considered was the fact that whilst they sought to uphold Queen J
ane, they were in danger of their lives. A cold fear gripped the earl’s gut every time he thought of what would happen to him, to all of them, if Mary Tudor were to defeat Dudley in battle. They must not wait…they must go now to Her Grace and beg her forgiveness. The letter from Mary explicitly stated that if they would do so, all would be forgiven. They would all be safe…safe from the accusation of treason that could, by rights, be hurled at all of them. And the people would love them all the more for sparing them the horrors of civil war.
“Here it is,” said Arundel decisively. “We must call to the table immediately the Lord Mayor, the aldermen and prominent citizens such as the guildsmen. We shall inform them that the Council’s decision is to denounce Jane Dudley and proclaim Her Grace, the Princess Mary, queen. We can delegate the task of informing the people to them; the announcement shall be made simultaneously at Paul’s Cross, the Eleanor Cross, in the Cheap, and at other strategic places throughout the city.”
The men nodded their heads in agreement.
“Aye,” said Paget, “that is best. But we cannot go half measures. Let us also issue a warrant for the arrest of the Duke of Northumberland, and demand that he lay down his arms and surrender to the will of the queen and the Council.”
Even Arundel was shocked at this; it had been too much to hope for. “On what charge, my lord?” There was a brief silence, and the room was so quiet and still that it might have been empty.
Finally Paget said, “Why, treason, of course.”
It was with a profound sense of relief that Arundel heard these words issue forth from Sir William’s lips. If aught should go wrong, then Paget would share the blame. Not to be outdone, he said, “Aye, and we must hie to the queen as fast as we can with the news of her proclamation as queen. We must present Her Grace with a letter of submission, signed by us all.”
Then a thought struck him. He lifted Mary’s letter once again and regarded that small red seal that seemed to be troubling him so. The queen would always remember the messenger who bore good news. “And we must present Her Grace with the Great Seal of England.” No document to which the queen attached her signature was valid without the application of the Great Seal. Kings…and queens…might come and go, but the Great Seal endured; it was the very essence of the monarchy. Certainly the man who presented Her Grace with this coveted prize would be held in the greatest esteem and would be free from danger. “I shall go to her myself,” said the earl.
“And I shall accompany you,” said Paget.
Arundel considered. That was only fair. Paget had been very ill done by and deserved his own chance of redemption.
“Then let us delay no further,” said Arundel. He stood, drew his sword from its scabbard and pointing it heavenward shouted, “God save Her Grace, Queen Mary!” The others followed suit and the room was pandemonium for several moments.
Finally, when all was quiet once again the earl said, “And now we must be for the Tower; for we cannot proclaim one queen without deposing the other.”
The Tower of London, July 1553
The candles were burning low. Jane lifted her face from the parchment she had been squinting at in the gloom. She cocked her head at the page who stood at the door to her Presence Chamber. Instantly he scrambled to provide fresh light. She sighed, lifted her quill, and signed the document. ‘Jane the Quene’. How well it looked!
The Great Seal was too unwieldy for her to manage; Lord Chancellor Goodrich therefore sealed her documents for her. She laid the document atop the ever-growing pile; she yawned, stretched and blinked her eyes. There was so much to be done, so much to be seen to.
And who was to do it all if not the queen? She had grown used, in the nine days since she had been declared queen, to giving orders and overseeing the government. Her father had been left in charge of the Council by her presumptuous father-in-law; but he was, she knew, incapable of maintaining any sort of order, or of conducting the business of the realm. Nor was her worthless husband, he who desired so passionately to be called king!
She had, at first with some trepidation, but lately with some degree of confidence, begun to try her hand at rule. In a moment of weakness she had even sent to the imprisoned Duke of Norfolk, offering him his freedom if he would provide his guidance to her as she tried her fledgling hand. He had simply ignored her, providing no reply. All right then! She required no papist to assist her. She would do it herself!
She had been working her way through a stack of domestic petitions and foreign business; business that had been left undone by the unrest and turmoil of late. No more! Whilst others more able saw to the protection of her sovereignty, it was time that she, as queen, saw to the government of the realm.
There were those who were of the opinion that she should not be availing herself of the use of the Great Seal. After all, she had not yet been crowned. The country needed an anointed sovereign; and that meant a coronation. Once she was doused with the sacred oils…but that presented its own problems. She would never consent to “King Guilford”…the very idea was absurd. The boy was an idiot…or close to. No, a simple waiting game would resolve that issue.
The real problem was how she was to be crowned. The Archbishop of Canterbury was as staunch a Protestant as herself; he would perform the rite. The issue lay in the anointing. Never would she consent to the pagan, superstitious rituals associated with holy oil and such. But would the people accept that? They should be made to accept it! And much else besides! From now on she intended to take a firm hand in the religious affairs of the realm; she planned to impose radical Protestantism on England, and there was not a moment to lose. Her first and most important order of business would be to see to it that Catholicism was crushed utterly throughout the country as soon as possible. And that effort must start at the grass roots. No more shilly-shallying or half-measures. Those who would not conform should be compelled to conform. But, one must begin at the beginning; she reached for a fresh parchment and inked her quill. She would write Bishop Ridley’s Sunday sermon herself.
# # #
Henry Grey, the Duke of Suffolk, was loath to admit it, even to himself, but he was simply lost without his wife. Frances had gone to Sheen to see to business regarding their estate there, and he missed her sorely. And Jane was cut from the same cloth as her mother. These were women upon whom one could depend! He loosened his doublet, which had been a triflr snug of late. It was a still, hot day, even on the north side of the White Tower, where he had gone to cadge a nap whilst Jane worked at her papers.
He had just started to nod when he heard an urgent tapping at the door. Damn and blast! Was there no place where one could go to get a little peace and quiet? He sighed, refastened his doublet, and strode to the door. It was his page, a dull-witted boy, but heir to a great estate. He was thinking of marrying the boy to his little Mary. But best not let them bed together! All they could be expected to produce would be a dull-witted dwarf. For it had become evident that his youngest daughter was so afflicted. Who else would he find to marry such a one?
The boy stood staring as if pole-axed. “Well, Dickon, what is it?” asked the duke impatiently.
The boy dropped onto one knee, bowed his head and said, “If you please, sir, it is the Council and the Lord Mayor, sir, at the drawbridge, sir. On urgent business, sir, they say.”
“Indeed?” said Suffolk. “At the drawbridge, you say?” Something was afoot…but what? He had better go himself and find out. He held the keys to the entire Tower complex, and had done so for a week now. It had come to Jane’s attention that certain of the men of the Council were departing and not returning, against her express command. That must be stopped, and so she had seen every evening to the locking of the Tower gates herself, and had taken possession of the formidable iron ring of keys. However, the keeping of them had proved too much for her, so every evening after all the men were accounted for and the gates locked, she had entrusted the keys to her father. “All right, Dickon, hie you back to the Lion Gate and tell them that I shal
l be there anon.” And then a thought struck him. “Dickon, wait!” The boy stopped in mid-flight, pivoted, and went down upon one knee again. “The Council, you say? How did they get out if I have the keys?” He scratched his head. Jane was not going to like this.
Dickon looked up in confusion. “I know not, Your Grace.”
“Oh, get you gone,” said the duke, waving an impatient hand at the boy. “Tell them I shall be there as soon as I fetch the keys.”
But the keys were nowhere to be found. Finally, Suffolk walked to the great gates at the city end of the drawbridge, and there he found all the men of the Council and the Lord Mayor of London, just as Dickon had said. There was a deafening noise coming from the direction of the city; bells were ringing and people were shouting.
Suffolk found the gates open and the street outside crowded with people, all throwing their caps into the air and literally jumping for joy.
The men of the Council eyed him coldly. Just as he was about to ask how they had gotten out, for as far as Jane was concerned the men of the Council were under a tacit house arrest, Arundel held up a finger from which dangled the iron ring, the myriad keys hanging from it.
“H-How did you…?” stuttered Suffolk. Jane would not be pleased with him for this!
“Never mind,” said Arundel. “We have come to tell you that your daughter is queen no more. We have declared for Queen Mary. The aldermen are making the announcement all over the city. It is the sound of the people’s jubilation that you hear.”
If that were true, he was done for. Oh, if only Frances were here! She would know what to do! But there was no doubt that what the earl of Arundel said was true. The evidence of his own eyes and ears bore it out. And if that were so, then he must save his own skin. After all, none of this had been his idea! It had all been Dudley’s idea.
The Baker's Daughter Volume 2 Page 28