The Bastard Princess

by G Lawrence

  Mary and Edward were at odds with each other. Every religious decree that he or his Council installed in England, Mary ignored. She was told not to have High Mass; she was told that her preachers should speak in the English tongue; she was told not to waste money on idols… and she ignored him and his Council totally, carrying on exactly as she wanted to.

  I think that Mary had never come to see Edward as anything more than her little brother. She did not see his decrees and demands as anything more than childish tantrums.

  To have his wishes and laws flouted in his own realm was unbearable to Edward. The Tudor pride ran deep within his veins, as well it might. He was our sovereign lord and his age did not make it acceptable for Mary to ignore his position. Each and every time she did ignore that position, she made herself more and more a lodestone for those who liked not the new religion or the changes in the country. She was becoming a beacon for opposition to his rule.

  I commiserated with Edward on the subject of our rebellious elder sister, but what could I tell him to do? Neither Edward nor I wanted to come to an argument with our sister that would have sent her to the Tower, which is where any other noble that showed such flagrant disregard for the office of royalty would have gone.

  I am sure that many of Edward’s more righteous Protestant Councillors would have much approved of sending our Catholic sister to a nice dark cell in the Tower. But for now at least, Edward refused to send his sister to prison.

  There was dissent forming in the country. Any change will not be approved of by all, and when you ask a man to change the method of his faith, that is not something done easily or lightly.

  For those of us, like my brother and me, who were brought up understanding the Protestant faith, the answer to the battle of the Christian religions was an obvious one.

  To those who had had to change their faith due to the pressure put upon them by their rulers, the lie of the land was very different.

  To force a man to change the bend and set of his heart is something that every ruler should shy from. For my part, I thought that as long as my countrymen were loyal to me and never outwardly disobey my laws, I should not seek to make windows into their souls. But my brother and sister were not made of the same mettle as I; they wanted to own the souls of their subjects as well as their bodies, to not only have all men obey them, but also think the same as them.

  But all men, no matter how simple or humble, no matter how educated or rich, think for themselves, even if they sometimes hide it well. That is the gift and the curse God gave to us all. A sovereign may have the right to make laws and tell their people how to live, but they will never be able to stop those people forming opinions themselves.

  Edward was Protestant, Mary Catholic. Neither would convert and neither would yield. The people now had two opposites to choose from and two possible futures to live in. I watched as the battle lines were drawn between the heir to the throne and her brother the King. For now at least, Mary seemed to refuse to take action of all-out rebellion against her little brother and Edward would not arrest his older sister for her continued disobedience of his laws. So the fight continued in letter and missive. Angry words flew back and forth from one to the other and all of the court and country were keeping one eye on the ongoing argument between the King, and his heir.

  As Edward and Mary fought with bitter words on cream parchment over who was right and who was wrong. I dressed in simple clothes and came to court to see my brother; I spent time thinking and studying. I spent time mending a heart and a soul that had known sorrow, love and destruction.

  And I kept my head, down, even as I kept my ears very much open.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Hatfield House

  1549

  It was in the latter months of 1549 that the rule of the Lord Protector, Edward Seymour, First Duke of Somerset… came to an ungainly end.

  To take a life is something most grave. To take the life of a kinsman, let alone one’s own brother, is something that all men should quail from.

  With the execution of his younger brother, Thomas Seymour, the Protector had become deeply unpopular. Perhaps, like me, the common man admired the buccaneer in Thomas Seymour enough to distrust and hate his elder brother on whose orders that handsome, reckless man had lost his head.

  No one can trust in a man who murders his own brother to advance his own ends.

  But it was not just the execution of his own brother which spelled the end for the first Duke of Somerset…. Somerset was greedy; he piled his name with titles and estates, and always ensured the best pickings were kept for himself. His wife acted as though she were the Queen and people hated her for it.

  It is a mistake to grasp on to more than can be ably carried, for the man who seeks to hold too much in his hands, will surely drop it all.

  Incursions into Scotland, as the Council, led by Somerset, tried to force the Scots to marry their child-princess, Mary of Scots, to Edward, thereby adding Scotland to the lands held by England, brought more trouble. At first, early victories brought pride to England’s people, but later incursions with the Scots seemed increasingly directionless and full conquest of that neighbouring nation became unlikely. The Scots, with their usual skill for cynical humour, called the whole process, “the rough wooing” and Mary of Scots was sent, for protection, to France where she became betrothed to the dauphin Francois. The fight to take Scotland as part of England’s territories, with the hand of Mary of Scots bonded to that of Edward of England’s, became a fantasy and now the little Queen of Scots was promised to our old enemy of France. The venture was classed as a failure, and Somerset was blamed for it.

  Unrest had broken out already in England in 1548; small pockets of resistance to the actions of Somerset sent men piling from their houses to protest and rise up against the King and Council. War, especially when it is unsuccessful, is unpopular, and the common people had been taxed hard to pay for soldiers for the march on Scotland. Taxes are never popular especially when the people see that hard-earned money has been wasted.

  In early 1549 two rebellions rose in England; one from the south and one from the north. People who were opposed not only to the war with the Scots, but also to the imposition of the Protestant religion on their churches, started to take up arms and march on their lords and masters. The rebellions were put down, but it was clear the ruling elite were in danger from the people it governed. Everyone was looking for a scapegoat… and Somerset was the man in charge of the kingdom.

  The rest of the Council and courtiers resented him already. If he had sought to share his wealth and gain more friends, it would have aided him. But some men are so blinded by their own authority that they forget the transient nature of power; the moment you think you are in control of it, is the moment you will lose it forever.

  Perhaps his greatest mistake though was in trying to hold his nephew the King under his heel. Edward had come to the throne as a young boy of only nine, and the Protector’s hold over him then had been strong and true, securing his own position… but Edward was growing older, now past his twelfth birthday, and tiring of being told what to do with his own kingdom.

  The over-possessive father-role that Somerset was trying desperately to maintain, began to crumble under his grasping fingers.

  The Council seemed to scent the King’s increasing opposition to the Protector and hardened their wills against that of Somerset. Many hoped that with his removal, they would advance at court, and were eager to join in the plotting against him.

  At court, there are few men who cannot be bought with the promise of power, and fewer still who will not turn to the excitement of intrigue to escape the boredom of privilege.

  Finally, in October of that year, Somerset panicked and tried, much as his brother had, to hold power by holding the body of the King. He took Edward to Windsor Castle, claiming the King was in danger from his own Councillors. He brought my brother there under armed guard, but Edward refused to cooperate with Somerset any furth
er than he had to, complaining of the dingy apartments and the cold he was suffering due to his incarceration at the hand of his uncle. The guards Somerset brought with him became nervous at the dissatisfaction of their young King, and worried on the motives of the Lord Protector… there had been another time in English history where a young King was taken prisoner by his uncle and it had not ended well. They liked not the similarity in these events. Even Somerset’s own men were starting to turn against him.

  The time was ripe for a change in power, and it came through the hands of one of the most politically able and personally untrustworthy men of those times. John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, emerged as the leader of the Council. Warwick was father of Robin Dudley, the charming boy I had befriended in Edward’s household. The Council published details of Somerset’s mismanagement of the realm, stirring up more bad feeling against him with the people of England. Volleys of guards were sent to infiltrate Windsor, and did so easily with the willing participation of Somerset’s own guards within the castle. Overcome by superior force, Somerset was arrested, stripped of his position as Lord Protector and taken to the Tower of London. Accused of negligence, entering into vainglorious wars, enriching himself of the treasury of the King and doing all by his own authority rather than that of the King, Somerset wallowed deep in his own troubles within the confines of the Tower. He was not sentenced to death, as yet.

  Edward was recovered and rode back into London at the head of Warwick’s men and we rode out to meet him. I never saw my brother look as handsome as he did on that day riding at the head of those men, waving at the people of the city with a great smile on his face. It was as though he was finally able to become the King in truth; set free from the bonds of childhood by the able Warwick. They made fast friends, Warwick and Edward, and everyone could see that a new day was dawning for the future of England. I breathed easier to see my brother released from the hands of Somerset. I don’t know if he ever really considered doing anything mortal to my brother, but I had feared as others, what a man might do in desperate times.

  It was the first time in many hundreds of years that we had seen power shift without blood spilt… at least, not right at that time.

  Warwick forged alliances to gain power, not only amongst the Council, but amongst the Catholic faction that was present in the nobility; most notably, with my sister Mary. Who knows what he promised them so that he could be taken into the arms of power? But he managed it with ease. Such is the brilliance of the Dudleys and their line; their charm and capacity for effortless lies made friends… and also made enemies with ease.

  But those who charm easily, are often more dangerous than they seem.

  As I retired from court for the country once more, after assuring myself my brother was well, rumours came to me… that as one man fell from power and another took the reigns, Mary would be made Regent for my brother during these last years of his youth… she could be made Queen in all but name, ruling on behalf of Edward the boy-king.

  I could scarcely believe the rumour and spent many hours musing on it.

  Were these the things that Warwick promised as he bargained his way to power as head of the Council? To replace my brother with my sister on the throne? To go against the will of our father and bring back the religion of the Catholics over our newly Protestant country?

  At Hatfield we could but watch and listen. My household was almost fully restored to me, though without my beloved Kat, it would never be complete. Parry had returned to me, throwing himself unnecessarily to my feet to beg forgiveness for his betrayal of me. When he swore to serve me with loyalty for the rest of his life, I believed him. A man who can admit his faults and promise to change them, is a man worth keeping. I knew somehow that he would never let me down again.

  On hearing the unsettling rumours about Mary, I called my advisors Paulet, Denny, Parry, Cecil and Ascham to talk over the events that were coming to us on whispered breath from court. They advised caution, as ever. What could we do but sit, watch and wait?

  As it came out, none of the promises made under cover of secrecy were to be fulfilled. The Protestant rule was never going to submit willingly to the power of the Catholic faith and the rule of the See of Rome again. Whatever promises were made to Mary… Regency; the return of the country to the Catholic faith; or her own freedom to worship as she pleased without interference… these were not upheld.

  Often the practise of those on the rise to power is to promise much and yet perform nothing when the time comes… some things never change.

  That Christmas, the bonds and offices of power held neatly in his hands, Somerset removed, and Edward the King happy in his friendship, Warwick announced a continuing resolution to make the country of England a Protestant state. And in this, he had my brother’s absolute approval and faith.

  Edward was held within the charming gaze of Warwick, and his heart seemed entirely won by the magnetism of the Earl. Many of us Tudors were enchanted at one time or another, by the magic of the Dudley family.

  Mary was discouraged from coming to court that Christmas, whilst I was sent an invitation that positively glowed with encouragement to attend. It was another sign to the Catholic factions that the Catholic faith was on the way out, and the Protestant in. With the fall of Somerset, I was given more of the inheritance my father had set out for me. Mary’s had been secured on her in full soon after his death, but mine had only come in fits and starts. Now with the fall of Somerset, Warwick brought about the full weight of my inheritance on me. I was given estates, money and men into my service. Finally I was emerging from the scandal of Thomas Seymour, into the light of my titles.

  My arrival in London; the goodly Protestant Princess, riding with a retinue of all my household and numbering in the hundreds, was a sign to the country of who was to be accepted in this new regime and who was not. The Catholic, the old, the scheming, wrenching power of Somerset was gone. The Protestant, the new, the goodly reign of Edward…and Warwick, was here.

  It looked to my advisors as though I was being singled out to replace Mary, with all her contentious politics and religious beliefs, in the line of succession. Perhaps there was a chance that I should be named as Edward’s heir; second only to the King in power in the lands of England.

  I had emerged from loss and humiliation, and I was reborn to status and glory.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  London

  Christmas

  1549

  I rode into London on a bright, cold morning in December, ready to meet with my younger brother and celebrate Christmas with him. I rode at the head of hundreds of men, all garbed in Tudor colours of green and white, wearing the badges of my house and riding with their heads proud and high as we clattered along the roads of London. My long red hair streamed, unadorned and loose around my shoulders, proclaiming me to be a maiden. My gown was simply adorned in green and white and as I passed, the common people cried out to me.

  “God bless you Princess Elizabeth!” they yelled and I made sure I waved to every face and met every pair of eyes I could see. I was fresh with youth with my sixteen years of age, beautiful in my joy at being restored to favour, and I waved and shouted back gaily to them.

  They loved me for it.

  Whenever I heard someone in that crowd comment how like my father I was, I sent them a coin by my servants as a reward. I loved to hear that I reminded them of him. They had loved him more than any other monarch had been loved. To be compared to him, was a great joy to me.

  Surrounded by the fresh bright green and white of the Tudor colours, my red hair catching the sun and my pale skin lit in the glow of the winter afternoon, I looked every inch a true Tudor, the embodiment of their royalty.

  That Christmas, Warwick and Edward sent forth letters to the Council and to the bishops affirming that the reformation of the English church would move forward with greater zeal that ever before. In order to show that Edward was in full support of this, indeed that it had been his decree rather than that of h
is ministers, the wording was “our act and that of the whole realm”. Paulet and Denny sneaked copies of these letters to me through their growing rings of informants at court, so I was well versed in the changes that went ahead on that Christmas Day.

  Christmas was quite merry in 1549; my brother was in high spirits after being brought more into his own power, the ladies I brought with me allowed there to be dancing at court, although it was not of an overly-flamboyant style, the new court being given much to seriousness under the rule of my brother. The new man of power, Warwick, was in fine form. Firm in his new positions and favour with the King, he was on fire with wit and laughter.

  But I never felt fully at ease with Warwick; although he had done me good by replacing Somerset, a man I disliked as much for his greed as for the murder of his own brother, I was uneasy with his replacement. I knew that I was little more than a means to an end to him, and I preferred to trust friends and servants with my whole being. He welcomed me to court because I was supportive and loyal to my brother, but would he prove a friend if the tide of favour happened to turn once more against me? I knew not, but I suspected much.