The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Mary slapped her knee again, rocking with laughter. “Yes, that is best. Let Sir James cool his heels there whilst we await outcomes. Then we shall see.”

  Sir Thomas pressed his lips together and Mary knew instinctively that the good news was at and end. “Go on, then,” she said.

  “I regret to have to inform Your Grace that I found Sheen empty and the duke of Suffolk long gone. Further inquiries abroad have yielded the information that he is on his way north with his brothers and that they are once again proclaiming the Lady Jane queen in every town and village through which they pass.”

  “Jesu,” said Mary. “But with the west proclaiming Courtenay and the Midlands proclaiming Jane, these traitors seem to be at cross-purposes, do they not?”

  Sir Thomas considered. “Yes, that is true. I wonder what it means?”

  Mary nibbled a cuticle. “It could mean that they are as uncoordinated in the goals for their uprising as they are in the execution of it. Any sort of confusion on the part of the rebels can only work to our advantage.”

  Sussex nodded. “Of a certainty, Your Grace. And we can trust the earl of Huntingdon to run the duke and his followers to ground.”

  This time Mary brought the flat of her hand down upon the arm of her chair. “Where the devil is my cousin Frances in all this?”

  “The duchess is at Westhorpe, Your Grace, seeing to her estates there.”

  Mary snorted inelegantly. “Yes, when the cat is away, the mice will play! I trow that my cousin knows nothing about any of this!”

  Sir Thomas hoped that it was so; the duchess had been passed over without a word when it was known that she had certainly supported her daughter Jane’s bid for the throne. If Lady Frances was complicit in this latest plot, it might be difficult for the queen to protect her cousin a second time.

  Mary sighed. “What else?”

  Sir Thomas shifted uneasily in his chair, and rubbed his red beard with his hand. “It concerns the Princess Elizabeth.”

  Mary stiffened. “Go on,” she said.

  “The princess has demurred to obey Your Grace’s order to return to court, pleading illness.”

  Mary recalled the many times that she had deemed it too dangerous to her own safety to obey a summons to court. The easiest way was to plead indisposition. Indeed, she often wondered if her own ill health was not partly the result of pretending to be ill so many times! She understood that her sister might be reluctant to return to court, and why, but there was real danger this time; she must come.

  “Illness can be verified,” she said. “Send Dr. Wendy and Dr. Owen to examine the princess.”

  Sussex inclined his head. “I will do so forthwith, Your Grace.” But he had hesitated just that moment too long before replying.

  “What is it?” asked Mary.

  Sussex drew a long, deep breath. “As I have already informed your gracious majesty, Carew attempted to raise the West Country by proclaiming the Spanish marriage anathema, and promising that rather than suffer a Spaniard as the King Consort of England, that your cousin Courtenay should be obliged to mount the throne. But…”

  The pupils of Mary’s eyes dilated until the their normal blue was a mere rim. “But what?”

  “Along with the proclamation of Courtenay as king, the Princess Elizabeth was proclaimed as queen. Theirs was to be a joint rule, a new marriage of the White Rose of Plantagenet with the Red Rose of Tudor.”

  “God’s eyeballs!” exclaimed Mary. She bolted from her chair and began to pace the room. It fitted. Elizabeth must be complicit in the plot, which now seemed so much more than just a ploy to thwart the Spanish marriage. At least half of the known conspirators sought to use the Spanish marriage as an excuse to depose her. In moments of crisis her cool head had never failed her; she must keep her head now. And she must remember her promise to her sister not to listen to gossip where she was concerned. But an armed uprising went far beyond mere gossip! Still, she must endeavor to keep her word.

  “Sir Thomas, many was the time during the years of my father’s reign when men thought to rise up against the rightful sovereign and claim myself as the figurehead of their intentions. And that was certainly without my consent! I can do no less than give my sister the benefit of the doubt. Send the physicians; let us see what they have to say. If Her Grace truly is too ill to travel, then we must send a guard to Ashridge to protect her from the insurgents. If she can be moved, then she must be brought here, to the city.” Still, she could not help wondering; was Elizabeth involved in the plot, and shamming illness? Was she innocent, but afraid to commit herself to Mary’s care? Was she shamming illness simply out of fear of being put in the Tower? Was Renard right about her sister after all?

  “Your Grace, there is something else,” said Sir Thomas.

  Mary stopped her pacing and faced him.

  “Norfolk has been driven back from Rochester by the rebel forces. He arrived back this morning.”

  Mary felt her heart drop to her feet. “Driven back? With what consequences?”

  “By all accounts, it was no fault of the duke’s,” said Sir Thomas firmly. “I regret to say that the city guard defected to the rebels almost to a man. Wyatt made a pretty speech about Englishmen fighting Englishmen over a foreigner, and won most of them over to his side. From what I hear, the White Coats fled to the rebel side shouting ‘A Wyatt! A Wyatt!’ The duke had been outnumbered even with the White Coats, but once they deserted, there was no choice for His Grace but to turn back.”

  Mary rubbed her temples. “I fear me that this certainly calls into serious question the loyalty of the White Coats that are with the earl of Huntingdon, and those left here to protect the city.”

  Sussex nodded. “That it does, Your Grace. But it is what the duke brought back with him that has the sting of the scorpion’s tail.”

  “Why, what mean you?” The fire had begun to die once more and Mary seized the poker, jabbing at the logs until it flared up again.

  Sussex unconsciously gripped the arms of his chair. “Wyatt sent Norfolk back with his terms.”

  Mary turned, poker in hand. “His what?”

  “I know,” said Sir Thomas. “The cheek!”

  “Humph!” snorted Mary. “He may bandy terms when he has better reason than talking the impressionable over to his side and bullying old men!”

  Sussex guffawed. “Just so, Your Grace. Nevertheless, we have Sir Thomas’s terms…for now.”

  Mary placed three logs on the fire, positioned them with the poker and then took her seat once more. “Let us hear these terms,” she said.

  “Wyatt demands custody of the queen’s own person into his safekeeping, as he calls it; control of the capital; and the right to reorganize the Council, placing there men of “better sense”.” He eyed the poker uneasily, which was still within the queen’s reach. “His words, Your Grace.”

  “Pah!” said Mary. “You were right about the sting!” Suddenly she laughed, but it was not a mirthful sound. “Forsooth, rarely have I heard such a bevy of woes!”

  “And I fear me that I have one more piece of bad news. The duke’s artillery was captured by the rebels and they have added it to their arsenal of cannon taken from the ships in the Medway.”

  The earl looked so miserable that Mary longed to find a way to cheer him. Suddenly inspiration flashed in front of her eyes. She pictured muddy, bedraggled men, mired to the eyeballs, fighting to drag the heavy cannon through the veritable quagmires that the roads had become with weeks of rain. This recalled to her the time, so many years ago, when she had been forced to go from New Hall to Hatfield to wait upon Anne Boleyn’s daughter, her new sister. She had refused to ride in the carriage of a lady-in-waiting instead of that of a princess, which was her right. It had been raining then and she had slogged through miles of mud, the mire sucking at her every step and making progress almost impossible.

  She smiled, and looked out the window at the steady rain. “Sir Thomas, do not despair. I think me that perhaps our rebel Wy
att may find that his precious prize is not as advantageous to his cause as he might think.”

  Sir Thomas regarded the queen in surprise. Such a clever thought! And right she was! Mary was rewarded for her quick thinking by the brightening of his expression. “Your Grace may very well be right!” he exclaimed. “Let us hope that it is so.”

  “And now,” said Mary, “I must make ready for Mass and the ride through the city to the Guildhall. Is all in readiness?”

  “The court was a-stir when I arrived,” replied Sir Thomas. “I doubt not that all will be as Your Grace commanded.”

  # # #

  Mary noticed that the quality of the light had been changing as her ladies readied her for the ride from the palace to the Guildhall. But as she emerged from the archway into the courtyard she was pleasantly surprised to behold a watery sun riding behind the thinnest clouds she had seen in weeks. These clouds were not the grayish-black, brooding ones that everyone was by now so familiar with; these clouds were yellow, like the sun behind them.

  She had prayed earnestly the night before that the people would listen to her and heed her words; but always in the back of her mind had been an unacknowledged hope that somehow, some way, God would see fit to let the rain cease, if only for a little while. And now, as she approached the mounting block and her white mare, she realized that her prayer had not only been answered, but improved upon. How could she even begin to doubt that God was with her, when He showed her such favor? Show herself to the people she must, and she could not delay; but there was a vast difference between a royal spectacle in a deluge and a regal display on a day when the people would not be loath to come out of doors.

  She wore her favorite purple gown, the one that had brought her such luck at Framlington, and the small crown she had had made for state occasions. It glittered with diamonds in the firelight when she wore it indoors; she hoped that the wintry sun would make it sparkle to the people’s delight as she rode the three miles to the Guildhall.

  Norfolk had been so greatly abashed by his failure to drive back the Kentishmen that she insisted that he be the one to ride before her, in the place of honor, bearing her sword of state. She was sensitive to an old man’s pride, and if the duke had harbored any reservations about his queen before, he embraced none now.

  Before Norfolk rode ten bishops in full panoply, their miters towering above their heads, to emphasize that her cause was righteous and that God was on her side. Behind her rode the entire court, the nobility decked out in their finest clothes and jewels; first the men of her Council, followed by all her ladies and then the rest of vast entourage that made up the royal court; lords and ladies, knights and dames.

  At the very head of the procession walked the royal trumpeters and all of the queen’s heralds. Every few feet the trumpeters blew a fanfare; the crisp clarion call was causing people in their hundreds to drop whatever they were doing and run outside to see what was to do. The sight that met their eyes was wondrous; after months of dreadfully freezing weather and then weeks of rain, here was their queen, her head held high and glittering with jewels from head to toe. Even her gown was sewn with gems. And also she had brought the welcome sight of the sun with her!

  Men had labored all night casting stones and throwing fresh straw upon the route that the queen planned to take to the Guildhall, to minimize the state of the muddy roads. Mary’s mare picked her way delicately to keep her footing, and this slow pace kept the spatter to a minimum. By the time the cavalcade reached Charing Cross, the crowds had swelled and their cheers were deafening. Mary smiled and waved, but her mind was occupied with the words that she must soon speak, the ideas and arguments that she must convey to win the people over to her side. Could it be done?

  For a few moments Mary closed her eyes and as she did so, another world seemed to open up to her. The creaking of harness and the tinkling of the little bells some had attached to their horse’s bridles sounded in her ears; the sweet smell of the outdoors after a rain mixed with the earthy smell of manure; this vied with the odor of the oil the men used on their armor and to condition their leather. She identified another most pleasant aroma, that of wood-smoke; it made her feel good to know that she had provided coals, and later wood from her own deer parks, to the people of London when they had needed it so desperately in the freezing weather. She could not help but think that the people would remember that gesture today.

  As she passed the great Charing Cross, Mary wondered if Philip would ever come to love her as much as Edward the First had loved her ancestor, Eleanor of Castile. Three hundred years before, the king had been so broken-hearted over the death of his beloved queen that he had constructed great monuments to her memory in every town where her body lay in state on its way to Westminster Abbey for her funeral. These great stone crosses, so elaborately carved, were dedicated to the memory of King Edward’s “Chere Reine”, or “Dear Queen”, hence the Anglicized name “Charing” Cross.

  The noise and tumult increased as she turned into the Strand. The procession was met there by the city guard, the White Coats who had stayed behind in London (and much to her relief, had remained loyal despite the defection to Wyatt of their compatriots). All along the Strand to Fleet Street, the people ran to see her and to cheer their queen.

  As the cavalcade made its slow progress, Mary observed that the people had done as they had been bidden, and armed themselves against the rebels. Everywhere she looked there were barricades and crude weapons leaning against walls and door-jambs. That was good… a people willing to defend themselves have already absorbed the idea that they have an enemy, and would be loyal. She was heartily sorry that in this case her enemy, and theirs, was a group of misguided countrymen for whom, she was certain, only defeat and a traitor’s death awaited.

  Finally the cavalcade climbed up Ludgate Hill, rode past St. Paul’s Cathedral, across Watling Street, and turned north up Milk Street to the Guildhall. There the queen was met by Sir Thomas White, the Lord Mayor of London, and all the city aldermen. Mary noticed that armor peeked out from under their robes of office and glinted in the sun. Everyone was expecting the worst.

  The Guildhall was filled to bursting by the time the royal party found places cheek-by-jowl with the citizens who had come to hear what their queen had to say. The Lord Mayor led Mary, and Norfolk, now behind her bearing her sword, onto a dais and seated her on a throne under an elaborate canopy of estate. Behind her on the the wall was displayed the royal arms of England. Dodd, her gentleman usher, now very old but still faithful in the queen’s service, handed her the royal scepter.

  Suddenly a hush fell over the massive hall and everyone was silent. The moment had come.

  The Guildhall, London, February 1554

  Mary looked out over the hundreds of faces in the vast hall. In the hush that had fallen over the crowd, the only sounds that could be heard were the shuffling of feet, an occasional cough, the rustle of silk, the clink of sword on armor. The massive doors were open and the entire space jammed with people, even out onto the steps and into the street. She thanked God at that moment that she had been blessed with a deep, booming voice. Some called it masculine and unattractive; but she knew it for one of her greatest assets as queen. Suddenly, scepter in hand, she stood up. Her voice would carry even farther if she were standing. She took a deep breath.

  “Good people, I am come to you in mine own person to tell you what you already see and know; I mean the traitorous and seditious assembling of the Kentish rebels against us and you. The pretense for their threat to march on London is to resist the marriage between your queen and the prince of Spain. Of all their plots thereto and evilly contrived articles you have been informed. But since then, we have learned that the said marriage is the least of their quarrel with us; for swerving from their former demands, they now arrogantly require the governance of mine own person, the keeping into their hands alone of Londontowne, and the placing according to their own judgment of the queen’s Council.

  What I am,
loving subjects, ye right well know; I am your queen, to whom, at my coronation, ye promised allegiance and obedience. I was then wedded to the realm of England, the crown placed on my head, and the spousal ring whereof I wear here on my finger, and never has it been left off my finger, nor it ever shall be left off. I say to you that England is my first husband and none shall usurp him.

  That I am the true and rightful inheritor of the English crown, I take not only all Christendom to bear witness but also your own acts of Parliament confirming the same. My father, as ye all know, possessed the same regal estate; to him you were always loving subjects. Therefore, I doubt not, ye will show yourselves so to me, his daughter; not suffering any rebel, especially so presumptuous a one as this Wyatt, to usurp the government of my person, nor your city of London. And this I say to you on the word of a prince; I cannot tell how naturally a mother loveth her children, for so far, I have never had any. But if subjects may be loved as a mother loveth her child, then assure yourselves that I, your sovereign lady and queen, do as earnestly love and favor you. I cannot but think that you love me in return; and thus, bound in such concord, we shall be able, I doubt not, to give these rebels a speedy overthrow.

  Now, concerning my intended marriage; I am neither so desirous of wedding, nor so precisely wedded to my will, that I must needs have a husband. Hitherto I have lived as a virgin, and I doubt not, with God’s grace, to live so still. But if, as my ancestors have done, it might please God that I should leave you a successor to be your governor, I trust you would rejoice thereat; also, I know it would be to your comfort. Yet, if I thought that this marriage would endanger any of you, my loving subjects, or the royal estate of this English realm, I would never consent thereto, nor marry while I lived. On the word of a queen I assure you that if the marriage appear not before the high court of Parliament, nobility and commons, for the singular benefit of the whole realm, then I will abstain from it…and not only from this, but from any other.