The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  As the procession came into view of the Tower of London, the cannons began to boom. The noise was deafening, and surpassed even the liveliest thunderstorm for ear-splitting sound. On and on it went for a full five minutes, until every cannon on every battlement had taken a turn. As the clamor subsided, Mary arrived at the Lion Gate and was met there by Sir John Gage, the Constable of the Tower. Behind him were row upon row of archers and arquebusiers, all dressed in the green and white of the Tudor livery.

  As Mary made her way past the rows of guards and into the grounds, she saw an assembly on Tower Green. Kneeling there were the prisoners of the Tower; by tradition they were to be set free by the new monarch. Her brother Edward had elected not to observe this nicety, and so there were many.

  Suddenly Mary’s eyes alighted on some whom she recognized; Cuthbert Tunstall, the Catholic Bishop of Durham, and Stephen Gardiner, the Catholic Bishop of Winchester. They had been imprisoned for their refusal to abandon the Catholic faith in her father’s and then her brother’s reign. Also there was the very much aged Duke of Norfolk, who had been in prison since her father’s time, and who had only been saved from the executioner by the king’s timely death; Norfolk had missed the axe by mere hours, but had languished in the Tower these seven years.

  Just then Mary heard a choked cry from behind her and turned to see Lady Gertrude, tears streaming down her face. Lady Gertrude’s son had been a prisoner in the Tower since the age of ten; he was Mary’s own cousin and his Plantagenet blood was so feared by her father that the boy had lived his life there. Now nearing thirty, he had not seen his mother for years.

  Mary turned to the group of prisoners and said the words expected of her at this moment. “You are my prisoners; now you are free!” But the sight of the two aging bishops struggling to rise from their knees, combined with Lady Gertrude’s now unrestrained sobs as she rushed to take her son into her arms at long last, took its emotional toll on Mary and she burst into tears herself.

  She moved forward to help the two struggling bishops to rise, and once they were on their feet, she embraced them each in turn.

  “May Almighty God bless you for your steadfastness,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I promise that there shall be such a rebirth of the true faith in this country that shall cause God to weep for joy, even as we weep now.”

  Elizabeth stood by expressionless; the release of Tunstall and Gardiner was not a blessed event for such as she, Reformer that she was. But at least Mary had finally turned a pretty speech. It was a shame she had not done so when the little boy had presented her with the golden heart, or when the mayor had given her the scepter. But it was just as well. The fewer people Mary impressed the better.

  There were still some kneeling on the green, too old or feeble from their long imprisonment to rise unaided. Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, was one such. Mary had been careful to include the Duchess of Norfolk in her escort, along with the duke’s daughter, the Lady Mary Howard, who was incidentally Mary’s sister-in-law. But there was no love lost between the duke and his womenfolk, neither of whom would go near him.

  As she watched Norfolk struggle to rise to his feet, Mary became aware of the church that formed the backdrop for the whole dramatic scene. The Church of St. Peter ad Vincula was a small, peaceful place, and the burial ground for many an executed Tower prisoner. Had her father not died on the night before his execution was to take place, the duke himself would now lie beneath its stones. Had God saved Norfolk so dramatically for some higher purpose? Gazing at the church she remembered her vows of forgiveness and clemency. There was virtue in forgiveness, to be sure, any forgiveness; but how much more virtue was there to be had when it was so hard to bring oneself to forgive the transgressor? Mary recalled the many hurts the duke had visited upon her and her mother; his shameless advancement of his niece, Anne Boleyn, at their expense; the time at Beaulieu when he had told her that if she were his daughter, he would beat her head against the stone wall until it was as soft as a baked apple. Could she forgive him for all these things? She thought for a moment. Yes, she decided, she could. And she would need men such as Norfolk; good Catholic, experienced statesman, a man utterly loyal to the crown. Whatever else he was or was not, he was all those things.

  Mary walked to him and held out her hands. He was thin and gaunt, and seemed not to weigh much as she helped him to rise. When he looked her full in the face she realized that there were tears in his eyes. Suddenly Mary knew what she believed her father must have known. Norfolk was a king’s man come what may; and so he would be the queen’s man now. In that moment of revelation she was able, with a glad heart, to fully forgive Norfolk all his transgressions against her.

  Then a thought struck her. After all, she was the queen; why not? In a loud voice that commanded the attention of all present she said, “I hereby decree that my good Duke of Norfolk shall have all of his titles, estates, goods and chattels restored to him forthwith.” She turned to the astounded duke with a smile. It was evident that he had been expecting his long-delayed execution, not the forgiveness of the girl, the woman, the queen, whom he had so wronged and offended. But to have his titles and lands affirmed! That was beyond even his wildest dream. “Yes, even unto the castle at Kenninghall, though it be now dear to my heart. I have kept it well for you, my lord!”

  Norfolk could do little but to say, his voice a mere croak, “I am Your Grace’s loyal servant, and I thank you.”

  “And,” said Mary, “the duke is hereby appointed High Marshall of the Realm.” There was no one better qualified.

  Whilst the duke contemplated this unexpected manna, Mary’s eyes strayed once again to the little gray church. The bishops must be next.

  “Further,” said the queen, “ as Defender of the Faith, a title I now bear as queen, I decree that the bishoprics of the Bishops of Durham and Winchester are hereby restored.” The title of Supreme Head of the Church of England she abhorred and would have stricken from her rolls as soon as ever she could. But Defender of the Faith was a title that she bore with pride and from which she intended to get a good deal of use in the days to come.

  She nodded at the tearful bishops and then her eyes rested once again upon the Duke of Norfolk. Her heart swelled with gladness as she observed him; he seemed to restore himself before her very eyes. He was old, but in the past few minutes he seemed to have become taller, straighter, prepared once more to shoulder the burdens of a royal servant.

  Mary felt her throat tighten with emotion as she cast her eyes over the happy scene. It seemed as though forgiveness was good for the forgiver as well as the forgiven. But there was one whom she could not forgive, even had she wanted to. The duke of Northumberland must now be tried for the traitor he was, and quickly, so that her new reign could begin, without the shadow of the old bearing down upon it.

  But even as that thought raced through her mind, she raised her eyes and scanned the windows of the dwellings looking out over the green. Was Jane looking out at this scene? Her cousin was not, could not be, one of those pardoned. But nor was Mary willing to try her cousin for treason. Jane would remain the queen’s prisoner, her fate in limbo, along with Frances and the Duke of Suffolk. Frances had been banished in disgrace to her estate at Sheen, and the duke was in the Tower; both awaited the queen’s pleasure.

  At that moment the din subsided both within and without the Tower precincts. Mary looked up to see her royal standard rising to the top of the flagpole on the White Tower. It recalled to her the same moment when her flag had been raised for the very first time at Framlington. The wind off the water took the flag and it waved and snapped. All was silent for a moment and then the unseen multitude outside the Tower grounds let loose a deafening cheer.

  Mary was indeed now the Queen of England.

  Richmond Palace, August 1553

  The parchment lay before her on the table, ink and quill ready to hand. Its four corners were weighted down so that she could read its contents, which she had done several
times. Once again she lifted her hand and it hovered uncertainly over the quill. Finally she stood, pushed her chair back so impatiently that it made a scraping noise on the floor, and began to pace the room.

  Anne was sitting in the window seat facing south, her favorite place in the great room that was her solar. She was thrilled that Mary had chosen to stay with her at Richmond Palace. The queen was supposed to have stayed in the Tower, awaiting her coronation; this was the tradition. But Mary had insisted that new holy oil must be sent from Rome for her coronation. It was unclear whether or not the unctions that had been used for her father’s coronation were still viable, with England having been under Interdict for so long; Edward had used them but that was even more damning, as he was a professed Reformer. Better to be on the safe side.

  It had become clear to Anne that Mary was restless in the Tower, but she was not sure what to do. When Anne had proffered her invitation to await the pope’s reply at Richmond, Mary had seized on that plan with enthusiasm. And so the coronation ceremony had been delayed; Mary needn’t abide in the gloomy Tower until the new oils arrived and the plans for her anointing could move forward. And so here they were at Richmond, Mary and all her ladies, the Council, and the Imperial ambassadors.

  Anne eyed Mary in silence as she paced up and down the length of the solar like a caged lioness. Perhaps it was not so much Dudley’s conviction for treason that was troubling her so, but the punishment. Norfolk, as Earl Marshall, had presided over Dudley’s trial, and had passed sentence; the duke of Northumberland was to be hung, drawn and quartered. The dreaded traitor’s death. Anne shivered at the thought of such a thing and sympathized with the woman who must put her signature to so horrible a verdict. But perhaps that was what it meant to be queen regnant.

  Jane Dormer caught her eye and Anne shook her head at the girl. Best to let the queen work it out for herself. Lady Gertrude nodded her head in agreement. Mary would do the right, the only thing. But she must come around to the decision in her own time, in her own way. It was not for any of them to advise the queen.

  And there was part of the rub! Mary stopped in front of the window. The sunlight danced a million diamonds on the water. A ship’s bell sounded in the distance, and the gulls rode the wind and keened their lonely cry. How could she trust her Council? Almost to a man they were those who had betrayed her and whom she had forgiven. That was well done, she could forgive, but it might not be so prudent to forget. Besides which she had found that she could not forget, even if she wanted to. The plain fact was that she trusted none of them. And if that were the case, who was there to advise her? Her household servants were trustworthy and at her disposal, but they had no experience of politics or government. The Imperial ambassadors were foreign nationals and must be held at arm’s length…at least for the time being.

  Mary stopped, swung around and strode back to the table upon which Dudley’s death warrant lay. She snatched it up, and the objects that had been holding down its corners went flying.

  Much more calmly than one would have expected, she said, “Send for the Lord Chancellor.” With that she dashed the parchment to the floor.

  Jane arose and walked quietly to the door, exchanged a few words, then resumed her seat and her sewing.

  When Bishop Gardiner arrived, he found Mary still pacing the room. As soon as she saw him she cried, “I can condemn no living creature to such a death!” She retrieved the parchment from the floor and thrust it at Gardiner.

  A Catholic monarch there must be, but for a moment Gardiner knew the same frustration that had plagued King Henry for so many years. If only Her Grace had been born a prince instead of a princess, God alone knew how much heartache and misery could have been avoided! Ruling a country was man’s work. But until then…

  Gardiner assumed the quiet demeanor of his bishop’s robes and said, “Might one ask why, Your Grace? The man is a condemned traitor who agreed to allow the king of France to invade England and was willing to cede England’s remaining French territories to him into the bargain.”

  Mary eyed Gardiner levelly. The emotion of the scene at Tower Green on the day of her triumphal entry into London was past, and now she must deal with hard facts; one of which was that bishop he may be, but she had never liked Stephen Gardiner as a person. He had worked tirelessly for her father and against her mother in the dark days of Anne Boleyn’s ascendancy; not because the man had any spleen against her mother, but only to pander to the king’s whim, and to keep himself in the king’s good graces. She had forgiven him for that, as she had forgiven all those who had wronged her, but still… She straightened her shoulders and narrowed her eyes.

  “I utterly defy the Duke of Northumberland for the most errant traitor to God and to the realm. As for my reasons, they are my own; but yes, you may ask,” said Mary acidly. She held up her hand to tick off her reasons on her fingers. “First, my lord of Northumberland has eschewed his allegiance to the Reformed faith and professed himself a Catholic once more; next, he was once my Master of Horse, and a loyal servant to me, despite his ill treatment of me during my brother’s reign, and his recent transgressions; and thirdly, I have vowed to forgive the men who have wronged me so grievously. My forgiveness would be a sorry thing to allow a man to die so barbarously.”

  Gardiner strove to keep his face impassive. God save them from the rule of women! Gardiner held up his own hand. “Your Grace, the duke’s reversion to the Catholic faith only vouchsafes him passage into Heaven despite his sins and transgressions, it does not absolve him of being a traitor to England, not to mention that there is no little doubt as to the sincerity of His Grace’s recantation; forgive me, but Your Grace must not allow your personal feelings about old friends to sway you from your duty as queen; and lastly, if the means of Northumberland’s death offends you, then commute his sentence to simple beheading.” If the queen must be led down the same garden path on every decision she had to take, he thought, the government of the realm was going to be a slow business.

  Elizabeth did what she had been doing for weeks now; she sought to make herself unobtrusive. But she had not missed a word of the exchange between the new queen and her Lord Chancellor. She did not look up from her sewing, but she pursed her lips and raised that eyebrow that would not be still. No man would ever say “must” to her when she was queen!

  Suddenly Mary smiled and it was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. Why had she not thought of that? Of course! Many was the time her father had shown his magnanimity by commuting the sentence of a condemned man from the dreaded traitor’s death to the more dignified beheading. Such a decision was easily taken; and it made the monarch seem merciful while the traitor was still executed. Dead was dead, after all.

  Mary, still looking the bishop in the eye, calmly removed the warrant from Gardiner’s hands. She walked to the desk, lifted the quill, and inked it. The only sound in the room was that of the nib scratching across the parchment as she made her changes and signed her name to it. Wordlessly, she handed the warrant back to Gardiner, who scrolled the document, bowed and left the room with it tucked under his arm. Both queen and Lord Chancellor would have been surprised to know that at that moment, both were thinking the very same thought. The queen must marry, and soon.

  # # #

  Renard was aware of the strange effect that he had upon most people; the new Queen of England was apparently no exception. What did surprise him was that Her Grace had arranged for them to meet in secret. He was aware that the queen distrusted, and in some cases disliked, the men of her Council. And it certainly could work to the advantage of the Empire that she seemed to be placing an unusual amount of trust in him, who was the proxy, of course, for her cousin, the emperor. He could see many benefits of this faith in the emperor, and of her reliance upon his ambassadors. Or should he say ambassador? For the queen had not included Scheyfve in her clandestine invitation, and Renard therefore had not brought Scheyfve with him to the meeting. That had put the little man’s nose out of joint,
and no mistake!

  The queen had a habit of placing her hand on Renard’s arm as she spoke. She did so now. It was unfortunate, but he had an inherent dislike of being touched. It was all he could do to stop himself from recoiling each time the hand, with its stubby fingers and squarish nails, lifted, extended, and came to rest upon his sleeve.

  “I have asked you here, my Good Renard, because my Council seems incapable at the moment of doing little else save trying to justify their bad behavior. The bickering, the finger-pointing, the spiteful backbiting! I never knew the like, and I was raised at a royal court! But what is worse is that they seem far more concerned with their own petty squabbles than with the running of the country. And not a good Catholic amongst them, if the truth be told! They disgust me, all of them,” said Mary. “I despise them and their convenient consciences!”

  Again the hand came down to rest upon his sleeve. He tried unobtrusively to shift in his chair, and as he did so, leaned back and away from the queen.

  “Entirely understandable,” Renard replied. But he did not feel that Mary was being reasonable at all; the Council had just been through a remarkable upheaval that could have ended badly for any or all of them. Such behavior was only to be expected until things settled down again. A good politician…and it must be thought, if not said, a man, a king…would have been seeking ways to use the drama that was now playing itself out at the English court to play each man off against the other to his own advantage. Mary’s reaction, unfortunately, was entirely emotional. A woman’s reaction.