Against the Wind

by R G Roberts

  Against the Wind

  An alternate story of Mary I and Elizabeth I

  Note: King Henry VIII of England died in January of 1547 while married to his sixth wife. He leaves his nine-year-old son, Edward, behind as King, and his two daughters are forever divided by politics and religion. Here, he dies early, in November of 1541. As a result, his fifth wife, Katherine Howard, is never executed for adultery. His death also throws Mary and Elizabeth Tudor together, with far-reaching consequences for the Tudor dynasty.

  The King was dead, and his daughters were not wanted at court. The Dowager Queen was in her element, suddenly free of her diseased and lecherous husband, and delighting in the male attention and courtiers vying to use her influence with her young stepson. Katherine Howard had no time for her too-serious (and older than she!) stepdaughter Mary, and little idea what to do with young Elizabeth. She was happy to leave them in their own households as she danced and flirted, just as she was happy to leave the Earl of Hertford and the Duke of Norfolk to battle for control of four year old Edward's regency council.

  Katherine loved her uncle, of course, and was usually willing to obey his advice in all things. Norfolk, in turn, was wise enough to leave her to her masques and celebrations while he settled in to conduct the serious business of running the country. His shrewd mind deduced that his niece would not be a power as the Dowager Queen; she was only seventeen and frivolous, and had no interest in politics. She wanted to enjoy life, not spend her hours cooped up in dull Regency Council meetings. Politics were boring, the young Dowager Queen had been heard to say on more than one occasion. Others, unfortunately, did not feel the same way, and some of them were closely related to the young King and not so easily disposed of.

  The tug-of-war between the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Hertford lasted for almost a year before they brokered a power-sharing agreement. Neither seemed concerned that they almost plunged the country into civil war as they fought for control of Edward VI, only that they carved out as much influence as possible. Their differences were not merely political, either. With one a devout Catholic and the other a reformer, many expected the issue of religion to be a divisive one, but much to everyone's surprise, the Church of England remained in place—still independent, but largely Catholic in form and practice. Above all else, both Norfolk and Hertford were pragmatic politicians, and when they finally reached an agreement, neither wanted to upset the applecart with religion. Edward was too young to care, at any rate; the King was only four, and had little time to form religious opinions of his own.

  Young Elizabeth, languishing at Enfield, knew none of this. The tutors chosen for her by the Council were surprisingly secular, as were the King's, and at seven years old, she was more concerned with her loneliness than her religion. Once a princess and now a bastard, she was far from everyone’s eye. Forgotten by her cousin the Dowager Queen and not old enough to be a factor in the political games afoot, Elizabeth was left only with her own small household, a deserted island in the midst of upheaval and strife.

  And then Mary came.

  Not quite defying the express orders of the Council—for she had never bothered asking for permission—the daughter of Katherine of Aragon came to the rescue of Anne Boleyn's little girl. Ignoring Norfolk and Hertford's protests, she brought Elizabeth into her household at Beaulieu. By the time either of those nobles had the attention to spare for the wayward (and bastard) princesses, the deal was done. Twenty-five year old Mary and seven year old Elizabeth were inseparable.

  “Mary?” Elizabeth had not seen her sister since shortly after her own mother’s execution, but she either recognized Mary or realized who her vistor had to be. Mary had been told that her sister was uncommonly intelligent, and she was glad to see that the precocious little girl she had known was still the same. Even more gratifyingly, Elizabeth’s ladies hurried to curtsey to Mary, even though Mary was technically a bastard as well.

  “Elizabeth!” Mary opened her arms, and Elizabeth rushed into them. She wrapped her arms tightly around the little girl, holding her tightly. Mary hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed Elizabeth until she’d come here; but how could she abandon her sister now?

  Katherine Champernowne, Elizabeth’s governess, stood off to the right, pursing her lips and trying too obviously not to frown. Mary shot her a glare; the woman was a reformer, but Mary must not hate her. Elizabeths’ mother had been a reformer, and she loved her sister, anyway.

  “Is there a problem, Mistress Champernowne?”

  “No, My Lady.” Katherine—was she named after Mary’s own mother? If so, Mary felt more positively disposed towards her—bobbed a curtsey. “In fact, I am very glad you have come. The Regency Council has not been terribly forthcoming with funds for Lady Elizabeth and her household.”

  “Oh?” Mary thought that her sister’s dress looked too small, and on second glance, it was rather shabby.

  They had not shorted her funds. Was that a mark that Norfolk favored her over Elizabeth? It was gratifying to be vindicated after so long, but Elizabeth was a child. Bastard or no, she was the king’s daughter, and woe to any man who denied her the necessities to maintain her station.

  “I believe the Council has been busy.” Champernowne’s shrug spoke volumes, and Mary scowled.

  Their mothers had been bitter enemies, but Mary's own loneliness overcame any lasting resentment she felt towards Anne Boleyn. She could not forgive Katherine Howard for her fripperies or her foolishness, but Elizabeth was an innocent, and she was her sister. Staring at a future full of spinsterhood and yet yearning for a family of her own, Mary poured all of her desperate affection into the little girl. She had no one else. The princess-turned-bastard had been friendless for years, enduring a succession of four stepmothers and an indifferent father, completely lost and without a family she could truly call her own. She burned for something better, needing desperately to matter to someone.

  “Mary?” Elizabeth spoke hesitantly, and Mary looked.

  “Yes, sister?”

  Elizabeth bit her lip. “Have they all forgotten me?”

  Yes. Mary swallowed. She couldn’t say that, not to her sister. “I have not. And I will never forget you.”

  “I love you, Mary.” Elizabeth hugged her again.

  “I love you, too.” Tears burned in Mary’s eyes as she clung to her sister.

  For the first time since her mother's death, someone loved her. Mary had been so alone, forgotten and bullied by her father, abandoned by her friends and bastardized so that her father could have his way. He’d treated her more kindly in the last few years, but Mary had never forgotten how he had turned cold when she had refused to abandon her mother’s beliefs and her own legitimacy. She had never let herself trust, had never let herself love, but she had burned for someone of her own. For the first time in years, there was someone she could trust to return that love unreservedly and in full, and Mary's world changed forever.

  Years slipped by, and as the balance of power settled out, the King's sisters visited court more often. Yet they had been isolated for so long that neither knew what to do without the other, despite the differences in their ages. Together they formed a counterweight to the unruly reformer faction at court; whereas Elizabeth was more inclined towards religious tolerance than Mary, her education had been equally Catholic. The Howards and the Seymours remained at loggerheads over that same issue, anyway, with Norfolk encouraging the young King to heal the breach with Rome and Hertford wanting to widen it still further.

  By Edward's fourteenth birthday, they had both successfully fended off the advances of Tom Seymour and had weathered the introduction of a new party to power, John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick. Still, the triumvirate controlling Edward kept the country in relative peac
e, even allowing Mary to entertain marriage offers and acknowledging both girls as princesses once more. When she felt particularly pedantic, Mary was inclined to argue that only one of “Great Harry’s” daughters could be legitimate, but she loved her sister too much to say those words. She would always hate Anne Boleyn, and never acknowledge that she had been queen, but Elizabeth was her world. So, Mary kept her peace, raising her sister as if she were her own daughter. That was the greatest revenge she could dream of, anyway. Anne Boleyn had taken her mother from Mary. Now Mary had claimed Anne’s daughter.

  Yet, as months passed, it became increasingly evident that no one on the council intended for Mary to actually accept any of those offers. Although Warwick pressed for her to marry his eldest son and Norfolk mentioned the still-imprisoned Henry Courtenay, none of the nobility were prepared to allow Mary to produce an heir before her brother the king had a chance to do so.

  "I am thirty-five years and an old maid!" Mary wailed to Elizabeth at Hunsdon in May of 1551. "All I want is to have children, and these fools will see me die before they allow me to marry!"

  "Mary, please—" She reached out for her sister, only to have the elder Tudor girl tear away, pacing away from the window and slamming a chest of drawers shut in her fury.

  "No! I hate them all! They don't care about either of us, only about holding onto power through Edward!" she snarled, stalking back to the window and glaring out at the brewing storm. "And they don't care about him, either! They only pay lip service to our brother, king or no. Someday, I swear I will—"

  "Don't say that." Elizabeth finally managed to wrap her arms around her sister from behind, stopping Mary's furious pacing. "It's only politics. It isn't personal. Please—"

  "I hate them all," Mary repeated, but there was no strength in it. She slumped against Elizabeth as the eighteen year old held her tightly, and Elizabeth could tell she was trying not to cry.

  A moment passed before Elizabeth dared to suggest:

  "You could always ask the Dowager Queen to intervene for you," she said hesitantly. "Queen Katherine knows what it is like to want—"

  "I will not go crawling to that girl for help!"

  "Girl or not, Mary, she is probably your best chance!" Elizabeth finally snapped, unable to rein her temper back further. "Norfolk listens to her…sometimes. Or at least he pretends to respect her, anyway. So does Warwick."

  Mary snorted. "She's still under a cloud for marrying Culpepper without the Council's permission."

  "Can you blame her?" Elizabeth whispered, settling her head on her sister's shoulder. "It’s been seven years, and she was lonely."

  "Doesn't my loneliness matter? Or yours?" Mary whispered brokenly.

  "In politics?" Now it was Elizabeth's turn to snort. "Never. We're the daughters of Henry VIII, and nowhere near as free as his widow."

  Mary twisted to face her sister, her sadness melting into a slight smile. "What about you and Warwick's son?" she countered. "I saw you at court last Christmas."

  "That was nothing." Still, she felt her cheeks warming. "A kiss, nothing more. Nothing can come of it. We both know that."

  "He's one of Edward's closer friends. You could always ask him, Bess. He might even say yes."

  "Not while they won't let you marry," she replied, meaning every word. Elizabeth had watched her sister come perilously close to heartbreak a thousand times, and she was not necessarily prepared to walk down that road herself. Not after her father had killed her mother, despite fighting for years to marry Anne Boleyn. Henry VIII might as well have killed his first wife, too, and he’d ridden in jousts as “Sir Loyal Heart” for Katherine of Aragon. Love was dangerous. Mary's sorrowful smile said that she that, so Elizabeth continued: "I'd rather stay with you."

  She liked Robert—really, she did—but Elizabeth had always known that nothing could come of that affection. Robert's father was a power-hungry politician who would use each of his children to further his own ambitions, and although he'd be delighted if one of them could truly catch the eye of a princess, he'd never count on such a relationship lasting. Mary was more important to Elizabeth than any man could ever be; her sister had been her only family almost as long as she could remember. It had been Mary who had convinced Jane Seymour to bring her rival's daughter to court. It had been Mary who had ensured that her younger sister's household was funded after Jane's death, and it had been Mary who had given her a home and an education after their father's death. Much though Elizabeth loved their younger brother, and felt guilty for admitting it even in the privacy of her own thoughts, if she had had to choose one of them, Mary would have always won.

  So, neither princess pressed the issue of marriage, and together they stayed. Over the next two years, they did spend much of their time at court, but when they went home, it was always together. Elizabeth's feelings for Robert Dudley grew, as did Mary's loneliness and grief, but there seemed to be nothing that could tear them apart—and even when Warwick suggested that young Robert officially court Elizabeth, she refused. If it meant remaining at court while her sister was packed back off to the country, Elizabeth would stay with Mary. She almost lost Robert in doing so, to an heiress by the name of Amy Rosbart, but Warwick cancelled that betrothal at the last moment, clearly having his eyes on a larger prize.

  And when Edward mentioned the possibility of a foreign marriage for his younger sister, she always deferred to Mary, reminding the king sharply that he should look out for both sisters, and not simply the one whom foreign princes preferred to woo (based on her age only, Elizabeth was quick to reassure Mary). He relented, but only because the council was busy arranging Edward's own betrothal to Princess Elisabeth of Valois...and his health, never good, was failing again.

  “It’s not fair to her, Edward,” Elizabeth said in one of their few private moments.

  Edward glared. “If she weren’t a papist—”

  “She signed the oath.” Elizabeth crossed her arms. She argued with Edward in ways she never would have argued with their father, but only because Edward usually let her.

  And he hasn’t cut anyone’s head off for disappointing him.

  Yet.

  “Why do you fight for her? Most of the crowned heads of Europe claim that she is legitimate and you are not.” Edward scowled. “I should declare her illegitimate because her mother made her a Catholic.”

  “That’s not fair.” Elizabeth’s chest was tight. This was the first time that her own mother’s reformist tendencies had made Elizabeth’s life safer instead of adding danger.

  Edward snorted. “My kingdom will not be held in thrall to the Bishop of Rome. You can tell our sister that. Assuming she’ll listen. Her allegiance belongs to me as her king, not to the Pope!”

  “Mary is loyal to you, brother. She is loyal to England above Rome. You know that.”

  “Uncle Hertford says otherwise.”

  “Your Uncle Hertford wants to rule in your place,” Elizabeth shot back. “He wants a dukedom and doesn’t like that Mary is your heir.” Because she won’t be ruled by him, Elizabeth couldn’t add. Implying that Edward was in his maternal uncle’s thrall was not safe, even for the king’s beloved sister.

  “He wants what is best for England!”

  “Is that why he wants you to marry a Catholic princess?” she inquired innocently.

  “Get out!”

  Curtseying, Elizabeth retreated. Soon, the orders came to send her away from court and back home to Mary, and she didn’t mutter even a whisper in objection. Still, she felt sorry for Edward. He’d spent his entire life under the control of one powerful faction or another, and now Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford, thought he could rise to the top. Hertford wanted Elizabeth as an ally, of course, but his hatred for Mary meant Elizabeth had to stand against him. And poor Edward was stuck in the middle.

  No one, even Elizabeth, was foolish enough to mention how very in love Edward was with their cousin Jane Grey, who had been Mary and Elizabeth's sometime companion at their various re
sidences. Jane's parents were determined to marry her to one of Robert's many brothers, although why they would turn their back on the possibility of marriage to the King in favor of an Earl's younger son continued to mystify Elizabeth. If they were that desperate to keep in Warwick’s favor, why not marry off one of their two younger daughters? Poor Jane wanted nothing to do with Guilford Dudley, however, and from what Robert told Elizabeth, Guilford was not entirely keen on the match, either. Yet married they were, and then whisked off to the country, much to Edward's annoyance.

  But Edward could do nothing; he was underaged and ruled by the Regency Council. By July of 1553, Edward was ailing once more, leading Mary and Elizabeth to make preparations to return to court. Lacking the Council's permission to do so, the sisters waited restlessly at Hunsdon, wondering if this was a time to defy their brother's advisors and go anyway. They were on the verge of riding out when everything happened at once.

  First, the Council's official answer to their petition arrived, in the form of a haughty messenger who referred to the sisters as the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth, informing them that they were not welcome at court and that the Council would send for them when appropriate. There was no mention whatsoever of Edward in that response, Elizabeth noticed. Mary delivered the required tongue lashing as Elizabeth took note of Sir John Gates' posture, watching his body language carefully.

  Even when Mary sent him ingloriously packing, Gates' arrogant expression did not waver, despite the fact that his rudeness ensured he'd have to overnight at some dirty inn rather than in the comfort of Hunsdon.

  "How dare he?" Mary spat as Gates finally left. Her sister was especially sensitive to anyone hinting at her previous status as a bastard, Elizabeth knew, and Gates hadn't exactly been subtle. "We are both Princesses of England! How dare Gates imply otherwise?"

  By mutual agreement, neither sister ever mentioned that, legally speaking, at least one of them should have been a bastard, given how Elizabeth had been born while Katherine of Aragon still lived. Either Mary’s mother’s marriage to the late king was invalid or Anne Boleyn’s was; which you preferred simply depended upon religious preference. But they had both come to terms with their own bizarre situation years before. They never spoke of how much their mothers had hated one another, instead focusing their mutual ire on the father who had bastardized them both after abandoning two women who had loved him.