The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Reginald was a political innocent; he was a true cleric and took Thomas White’s confession at face value. But for all that, he was still a practical man. Fifty thousand pounds was the devil of a lot of money! “And what of the silver?” he asked.

  Thomas puffed out his chest. “Safe and sound, Your Eminence. I will need help getting it all back to the Exchequer.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Reginald. “But now we must hie to Her Grace, where you shall tell the queen herself of this wicked plot. Then we must consult with the Council to see what must be done. God bless you, my son, for coming forward.”

  Richmond Palace, May 1556

  Mary paced up and down like a caged lioness. Her slippered feet made no sound on the carpeted floor, but every so often she smote her left palm with her right fist; each time she did so the result was a resounding crack that made her ladies jump. As she paced she muttered to herself. A Tudor in a rage was not only frightening to behold, but someone to be avoided if at all possible. Anne, Susan and Margaret sat with downcast eyes, their attention seemingly riveted on their embroidery.

  Suddenly Mary stopped in mid-stride and addressing no one in particular she cried, “What have I done that the people should revile me so? I have always had their good at heart. Against my own inclination I sought to marry to provide them with an heir; I have tried to save their souls by reuniting the country with Rome and bringing back the Catholic faith. The people loved me; where has that love gone? And why? Faithless scoundrels! Treacherous dogs!”

  She simply could not understand it. Cranmer was burned; she had expected God to favor her for it and for her fortunes to improve. But instead of Philip returning to her, and she missed him sorely, instead of the people thanking her for her great care of them, her errant husband was still on the Continent with his mistress and his whores, and now the people sought to depose her, banish her from her own kingdom and place her sister on the throne! There had even been a rumor, set in motion by the despicable Noailles, no doubt, that Philip had written to the pope asking for an annulment of their marriage. The rumor proved to be untrue, but she had believed it at first, and it had sent her into the depths of despair.

  “And for Sir Henry Dudley to plot against me! Ungrateful wretch! When he was arrested in Calais and placed in the Tower for attempting to bring the French to invade our shores in support of the Duke of Northumberland, I pardoned him! Fool that I was! There shall be no such clemency this time, I do assure you! Oh, if only I could get my hands on Dudley! But he, like the coward he is, lays low in France! Traitor! Ingrate!”

  She began pacing again, an elbow in each hand. “And Elizabeth! That vixen! She feigns innocence whilst almost everyone around her is implicated! Her servants! Her friends! Her neighbors! The conspirators themselves! But none will name her complicit. And Philip says I must comfort her, be kind to her! I am to send her gifts and tokens, and assure her of my continued esteem, when she should be arrested and put in the Tower! Oh, I could just …!” Mary threw her hands up in exasperation. She had even attempted to have Elizabeth banished to the Continent, to be kept under the watchful eyes of Charles’ sister, her cousin Mary of Hungary; but the Parliament and the Council would not hear of it. They had flatly refused to even consider such a thing; the heir to the throne of England, explicitly proclaimed or not, must not be allowed to leave the country. If only Philip would come home they could try again to produce the much-needed heir that would render Elizabeth’s possible succession moot. But until then… Defeated at every turn!

  “And that sniveling excuse for a French ambassador!” hissed Mary. “I was set to deport Noailles but Henri recalled him before I could draw up the order! I am convinced in myself that the French king knew what was afoot, and supported it! And then my husband, without so much as a by-your-leave, enters into a treaty with that self-same ancient enemy of both England and Spain! Oh, the ignominy, the blow to English prestige! How could he? How could he?”

  Anne, Susan and Margaret exchanged worried glances; the queen was working herself up into a froth. It could not be good for her. She was as thin as a wraith, she ate practically nothing, and slept only three or four hours each night. The people who loved her were truly frightened for her.

  “The worst part of it is that I can trust no one anymore,” cried Mary on a sob. “Save for yourselves and Reginald and a handful of my personal servants, I must now question the loyalty of all! Even members of my own Council are implicated and I have lost count of the men of Parliament who would think to rise against me! All I see about me now are those whom I have pardoned for their transgressions, but who would hurt me again if given the chance! It is too much to be borne!”

  It was all true, thought Margaret; she felt right sorry for her cousin’s woes. And the result of it all was that Mary’s palaces were now manned as if for a siege. The queen walked in fear of another coup or assassination attempt. There were no entertainments at court anymore and little merriment. The court had become a place to be avoided if at all possible. Yet another attempt at her throne had not only upset the queen to the very core of her being, but had served to undermine her government’s authority as well; many now believed Mary’s regime to be irretrievably unstable.

  “Oh,” cried Mary in her anguish, “if only Reginald were here!”

  Margaret felt sorry for their cousin, too; at last he had attained his heart’s desire and was named Archbishop of Canterbury, but on the very night before he was to have made his way to the ancient cathedral for his consecration, the news of Dudley’s conspiracy had reached the cardinal’s ears. Mary had been so distressed by the news of another uprising that she had at first begged him not to go, and then ordered him to stay. What was to have been a grand occasion that should have taken place in the great cathedral at Canterbury, on very spot where Thomas Becket had been martyred, instead was celebrated quietly in the little church of the Observant Friars at Greenwich. Mary was so distraught that Reginald had not dared to leave her, and he called Margaret back from the north to help soothe their cousin’s frazzled nerves. He agreed to stay until after Easter, but finally he had to go; but first he had accompanied Mary to Richmond that she might abide with her beloved stepmother and be cared for by her ladies and her cousin.

  Margaret, Anne, and Mary’s intimate circle of waiting women were doing their best, but Mary was truly wretched, and would not be comforted. Margaret wished for the hundredth time that their cousin Frances, good, practical Frances, were there with them. But Frances was a Reformer and had deemed it wise to flee to the Continent with all her household as soon as the burnings began.

  Apropos of nothing Mary suddenly cried, “Oh, why is it so devilishly hot?” She strode to the window, hoping to catch an errant breeze.

  Whereas it had rained almost continually for three years, now it had not rained a single drop since February. The seeds that had been sown in the spring lay dormant; or, parched with thirst, simply died in their furrows. If it did not rain soon, the crop once again would be threatened, and there was sure to be yet another poor harvest. But even more serious at the moment was the threat of the dreaded Sweating Sickness. All knew that the Sweat was particularly virulent in years when the heat was excessive and there was little rain.

  Mary was despondent and very near to despair, that deadliest of sins that robbed one of all hope. She was beginning to realize that the burning of heretics was not working, and that her excessive zeal to restore the Catholic faith in England might be doing the Church more harm than good. She had been warned of it, had not believed it; but now she must face the bitter truth that the Catholic faith in England was irrevocably associated with the horror and cruelty of the burnings, and that she herself was to blame for it.

  “I do not understand!” she wailed, the tears now streaming down her face. “Why are the people so distressed about the burning of a few heretics? My father and brother burnt heretics. Heretics have been burned on the Continent for hundreds of years. In the time in which I have burnt le
ss than one hundred here in England, my cousin the emperor has burnt thirteen hundred in the Low Countries alone! I do not understand!”

  Susan, Anne and Margaret again exchanged worried glances. Susan was one of Mary’s favorite waiting women, but she was still only a servant; it was up to Margaret or Anne to intervene.

  Anne arose, laid her sewing aside, and with open arms intercepted Mary’s pacing. “Mein Liebschon,” she said soothingly. “Lass mich dich halten, mussen Sie die…” Mary allowed herself to be drawn to the window seat. Susan wet a linen cloth with perfumed water and Anne, holding Mary in her arms, mopped her brow. “Dere now,” said Anne. “Sh-sh. Let uss be still, ya?” She gently rocked Mary back and forth.

  “It is not your fault,” soothed Margaret. “Many of the Reformers who have fled to the Continent are soldiers. We have peace here in England; long may it be so! But a man who thinks to make his living with his sword must go where the fighting is likely to be. Finding no such opportunities here, they go to fight with the French! Unworthy knaves!”

  “Unt den dey come back here, ya, unt tink to causs more off der troubles!” Anne shook her head and continued to stroke Mary’s brow.

  Mary closed her eyes and tried to give herself up to Anne’s soothing ministrations. She could, for brief intervals, make her body be still, but her mind was another matter. She simply could not shut off the vicious cycle of maddening thoughts that plagued her night and day.

  It seemed as if everyone expected her to die…they all kept harping on the succession as if her demise were imminent. Indeed, she thought wryly, with the way things were, it was surprising that her life had extended this far! The Council and the Parliament wanted her to unequivocally name Elizabeth as heir, and Philip wanted her to have him crowned, so that when she died, and the implication was that he fully expected her to die first, he would have a better chance of convincing the Council and the Parliament to allow him to rule England after her death. Bah! As if he thought to rule alone! He would marry Elizabeth before she was cold in her grave!

  Suddenly she sat up.

  “I am finished with men,” she declared. “All of them! King and Council, husband and subject. Worthless creatures!” She snorted. “It seems that God often sends good women evil husbands! I shall, from this moment forward, cease to fret, I promise you. I shall live my life once again as I did before I married. For God knows I have no husband on these shores, nor will have again for many a day!”

  These were brave words; she hoped that she would be able to live up to them.

  Lake Gileppe, June 1556

  The heat was so unbearable and the threat of plague so dire in Brussels that Philip and a handful of his closest companions had gone east to a little town on the shores of Lake Gileppe. There were no whorehouses, but there were “guesthouses”…and the local population was well aware of the advantages to be had from being amenable to allowing their daughters to entertain the royal party. Spanish silver was very welcome in a place that saw little coined money.

  Philip and Raul were staying in the home of a well-to-do burgher; the owner had discretely vacated his dwelling to embark upon a long-postponed visit to his sister in Metz, leaving the house in his sovereign’s possession for as long as Philip cared to avail himself of it. With four unmarried daughters to provide for, the burgher had pragmatically left the two eldest girls behind to wait upon the king and his companions. The jingle of the silver in the burgher’s pocket drowned out any voices of conscience that might nag at one.

  There were only two hours of the day that were pleasant, even in so salubrious an environment; the hour just at dawn, before the sun rose to become the blistering disc that made all thought of movement anathema, and the hour just at sunset when a breeze usually blew in from the east across the water, bringing with it the only fresh air to be had all day.

  It was the morning hour, and Philip woke to find himself entwined with the younger of the two girls. He knew an immediate repugnance. The girl had a delightful body, but her face was as pale as Mary’s and her nose and lips were too wide for his taste. And he preferred dark-haired women. In the black of night when he could only feel her and not see her, her voluptuous curves reminded him of Maria Elena. But in the full light of day…

  He carefully extricated himself from her embrace; the slight movement caused the girl’s heavy breathing to lapse into a definite snore. She was not a virgin, and he suspected, despite her father’s great show of bestowing upon him a prized possession, that he was not the first “guest” she had entertained. The girl did not awaken, but she stirred; one of her large breasts flopped in a most unbecoming manner. Disgusting!

  Philip stood at the open window. The only sounds were the tentative calls of early birdsong and the lowing of the cattle that provided the milk from which the region’s famous cheeses were made. That was it, he thought; Danica reminded him of a cow. He shuddered. Still, she was better than nothing, and at least she was clean.

  Despite his wife’s constant nagging, he had successfully found one reason after another not to return to England. He was ill; there was plague and travel from the Continent was unsafe, lest he bring the scourge with him to England; and a host of other excuses. In desperation, Mary had finally sent the first truly confrontational letter she had ever written to his father, practically demanding that Charles order him to return to her. He knew because he had intercepted the missive; it had never reached his father and his wife would have no reply to it. In any case, it was ironic that Mary kept writing heart-rending letters begging him to return to govern England on her behalf, which by all accounts was falling to wrack and ruin without him, and yet when he was there both queen and Council refused to crown him or give him any official authority.

  And his father! That was another thing. His father had made a great show of abdicating his territories to his son, but despite doing so, he still interfered regularly in affairs. And worst of all, because his father had returned to Spain, he himself had been forbidden to do so and must remain in the Low Countries. He wanted to go home as badly as his father ever had, and now he could not go, not even for a visit. He was as good as stranded in Brussels, with no end in sight.

  He had been quite amused by the rumor, promulgated no doubt by the French ambassador, who was known for his creative troublemaking, that he was petitioning the pope for an annulment of his marriage to the Queen of England on the grounds of her barrenness. If only it were true! If only it were possible! But his relations with the new Vicar of Christ were so bad that even if he had the temerity to make such a bold move, his request would never have been granted. Pope Paul detested him, not only because he had tried to block his election to the papal throne by backing a rival candidate, but because, as Cardinal Carafa, the pope had been in Rome in 1527 when his father’s mercenaries sacked the city. The horrors that had been visited upon Rome at that time had shocked his father as much as anyone else, but even the emperor himself was powerless to stop his paid soldiers from visiting their atrocities upon the Roman people. Pope Paul had vivid memories of the sack of Rome and had sworn vengeance upon all Hapsburgs.

  And now Pope Paul was doing his utmost to break the truce between himself and Henri of France. The pope wanted Henri to join him in a war against the Hapsburgs, to help him recover Imperial territories that the pope felt should be part of the Papal States.

  Philip sighed. Wherever one turned, there was trouble.

  The walls of the burgher’s house were made of stone and were very thick, but the windows were all wide open and Philip became aware of sounds coming from the next room. First, muffled voices, and then the girl’s cries of pleasure. When all was silent again, he donned his breeches and shirt and slipped out the door. He wanted to walk beside the water before the day became too unbearably hot.

  He was halfway down the stairs when Raul called after him in a rasping whisper.

  “Your Grace! Your Grace!”

  Philip stopped and waited for Raul to catch him up.

  “You
got an early start on the day, I must say,” said Philip, with raised eyebrows and a sardonic grin on his face.

  Raul shrugged. “The girl is insatiable. How is yours? Shall we switch?”

  Raul’s Klara was even paler than Danica, and she had flaxen hair besides. Her eyes were pale blue and slightly red-rimmed. If Danica reminded him of a cow, Klara resembled a rabbit; creatures, for some inexplicable reason, he had always detested. “No,” he said. “One is much like the other in the dark, I trow. Come, let us walk by the lake before the heat sets in.”

  They walked through the tall grass in companionable silence. When they reached the lakeside they sat on the rocky shore. Philip said, “The pope seeks to make common cause with Henri. With God on his side, he hopes to marry the dauphin to Mary of Scotland and press her claim to the English throne.”

  “I have often wondered,” said Raul, running a hand through his black curls, “if such is the case, just why the French keep trying to put the Princess Elizabeth on the throne.”

  Philip shrugged. “Perhaps because despite the princess’s great show of piety, all know her to be a heretic and it would be easier to depose her than myself. My father thinks that the best plan is to get the princess married and in whelp with the seed of a Hapsburg. That ought to settle the matter once and for all.”

  “Well,” said Raul, “no matter how it is accomplished, certainly Your Majesties would not want a Francophile such as Mary of Scotland on the throne of England.”

  “Indeed not,” Philip replied. “By no means must that ever happen! England shall henceforward be a pawn either of France or the Empire. So we must ensure that we secure the succession to our satisfaction. My father has proposed that we marry the princess to Emmanuel Philibert, the Duke of Savoy. He is my cousin and his mother is my father’s sister-in-law. Savoy is landless, but with our help, and the English men and money that could be provided by Elizabeth, he might be able to regain his duchy. It is a powerful incentive. The princess, married to a Hapsburg and a Catholic, would not be permitted to undo her sister’s religious policies, and she would never be able to play England off against France or Spain. England would finally be neutralized.”