Tudor Queen, Tudor Crown

by Jennifer Peter Woods

  When word reached them of the council’s latest act, little Jane Dormer had laughed aloud. The tide of her lady’s fortunes were changing, fate’s wheel was turning and in Mary’s favor too.

  Northumberland was stuck. To go forward and carry out his original plan of bringing Mary Tudor to heel would make him an enemy to England and its new sovereign.

  He had always claimed his cause against the Lady Mary to be a righteous one. Using the dead king’s act of succession as his shield, he had justified his persecution of Mary Tudor with laws and mandates. But now everything had changed. He could not move forward, nor could he retrace his steps. He was caught, between the council that had deserted him and Lady Mary’s army.

  He had troops but they were too few for him to achieve a coup. He had courage and anger too and always, his greed. But the game was up. Outnumbered, ousted and out-manovered, he was caught. No matter which way he turned he was a traitor thrice over.

  But John Dudley was not done. To save his skin, Northumberland, in an incredible display, declared himself for Mary Tudor. He styled himself as the steadfast servant, submitting his person to the will of the council, turning his army that had marched with the intent to punish into an escort. He declared himself the council’s envoy, here to see to the safety of the lady whom he had hitherto sought to crush.

  But Jane’s mistress harbored no desire to entertain Northumberland’s grand illusions. John Dudley was arrested and he and his ilk now reside in the Tower. They were all her ladyships’ prisoners now. And just as the duke entered the gates of the Tower a prisoner, the men who had suffered under his protectorate were released, walking out as free men into a reign.

  As for Northumberland and his men, their heads would roll to make the Queen’s realm safe.

  Turn and turn about, we must all pay for our sins, the queen declared when she signed the papers for Northumberland’s execution. But the queen refused to order Jane Grey’s execution.

  Jane Dormer grimaced. They were of an age, Jane Dormer and Jane Grey, and the deposed queen was still here, housed in the same fortress in the prisoners’ quarters. But Jane Grey was a traitor now charged with high treason.

  Fortune, Jane thought, has gambled hard and fast with the life of Jane Grey.

  It was no secret that the thought of the Grey girl weighed heavily upon the queen. The Lady Mary didn’t have the heart to send the girl to the block, but all traitors had to die, it was the only way for a sovereign to make safe their realm. Ruthlessness however was not something the Lady Mary was apt at.

  So the Lady shut herself away. She had much to ponder, to think upon and decide. She had requested solitude. She wished to be left alone with her thoughts. For many days now, the queen spent her nights thus, alone and without company.

  There was much to think upon. Traitors. Lords. Ministers. Government. Parliament. Religion.

  The Lady Mary had won her crown but the real battle for her sovereignty would soon begin.

  The Privy Council is a den of snakes. Jane frowned. They smile and bow to my Lady Mary, but not a month ago they were more than happy to declare themselves for Jane Grey.

  Indeed, they had knelt and offered Jane Grey the same oaths they now offered Mary Tudor. Change and change about, the faces of these men were as changeable as the wind, and they were all of them waiting, waiting to see.

  No queen had ever ruled England. How the Lady Mary proceeded from tomorrow onwards would define her Queenship. She was no consort. She would be queen but she had to rule as a king.

  The men of the council had never bowed to a woman; they never had to. They had installed Jane Grey with enough eagerness but the girl was never meant to rule; they had meant to rule Jane Grey. And now they had chosen to cast their lot with another woman. They had thrown their support behind Mary Tudor, but Mary Tudor was no seventeen-year-old girl.

  Mary Tudor was not to be trifled with.

  Jane knew her queen meant to rule. To do so, she needed to lord it over her brother’s unruly lords.

  She had appointed her own men to the Privy Council. They were all good, honest Catholics who would champion her cause, but many of the Protestants from her brother’s reign remained. She could not rid the council of them, not yet. They had abandoned Northumberland and helped her to power for this very purpose, so that they might continue to govern in this new reign. And the men, all of them well seasoned in the game of power would offer the queen no easy path.

  For the sake of her realm and England’s stability, they had to be kept, for these were early days yet and with her Queenship still under threat, Mary Tudor cannot afford to make enemies of her brother’s council just yet.

  But the queen recognized the men for what they were. They were vultures, all of them, every single one, and now their eyes were fixed upon her. They were drunk on power. They had held it, tasted it and they lived for it. To wrest it from them and bring them to heel would be no easy task. It was a great dilemma.

  How shall the lady rule the pack of men under her charge, how shall she prevail against them? thought Jane, not only her brother’s men but also her own too, they are all of them watching and waiting. They are all waiting to see if she has the stomach and the strength to rule.

  There were others with royal blood that could be elevated to replace her. The queen needed to tread carefully, lest they cast her off for some male heir with barely a jot of Tudor blood but a name firm enough to carry the crown.

  The Lady Mary has won a battle but the war has just begun. Setting down her brother’s doublet, Jane rubbed her tired eyes. Then, she cast her gaze over the queen’s coronation robes.

  Jane was determined to be happy. She smiled.

  The queen had chosen red velvet for the occasion. It was the color of kings. The queen was clear. She refused to wear the colors prescribed for the queen consort. She would be king and she would have everything ordered according to her father’s coronation.

  Tudor colors for a Tudor king. She would have nothing less. She would show them all, starting on the morrow that she meant to rule. Ever since the day the lady rode into London in victory, it had been thus. Mary Tudor had insisted on showing one and all that she was no shying flower. She would not be hiding behind the shield of any man, any lord or any champion. She would be her own defender.

  She had suffered much, this woman, their queen. Mary Tudor had seen queens and kings come and go from England’s great stage. Now, she too would mount the stage to lead the people, her people. She would lead them not only toward prosperity but salvation too. The people of England had first been in her father’s care then her brother’s, now they would be her only care.

  May God lend her strength, Jane prayed, may God keep her safe.

  So far, the beginning of Mary Tudor’s reign had been marked with joy and jubilation. The day of her triumphal return to London saw the Lady Mary blaze forth, shining like the sun. The procession had been a sight to behold and Jane had wept with happiness for her mistress. The people of England loved her and they showed her, kneeling and cheering in joy at having their rightful queen restored. The queen’s face had been lit with solemn delight; she waved at her people, her joy true. Her people cheered her until their voices were hoarse.

  Everywhere the lady went, she was greeted with the same wild elation.

  The night before, the lady was carried to the Tower on the undulating tide of the Thames. With her sister Elizabeth beside her, the Lady Mary made her way to the Tower in the royal barge. The cannons had sounded saluting their queen in an endless chorus. Music had been strummed and played, filling every ear.

  Jane had followed her queen to the Tower. Ever since the time of the Conqueror, every monarch had spent the night before their coronation in this keep.

  But no sovereign’s path to the throne had been like this queen’s. She would be the first female king of England. She was her father’s daughter and she would reign. Still, great dangers lay ahead for Mary Tudor. This matter of wearing the crown was a deadly game
. Being Queen would be far more dangerous than being the heir.

  Already, many had sought out little Jane Dormer.

  Gentlemen, lords and ambassadors had plied her with gifts and favors, eager to please her, the new queen’s lady-in-waiting. They knew who she was, what her position allowed her and what details and secrets pertaining to the queen she was privy to.

  Jane grimaced. She had been thrust into an arena where everything could be bought and paid for by coin. This was a place where names and fortunes could be curried. But she was the queen’s loyal servant; she would reveal unto them nothing. She had accepted no tokens and she was determined to keep herself clear of intrigue. She was going to keep her eyes open, her ears sharp and her lips sealed tight.

  Jane sighed. When would there be peace? She wanted to ask. When would we have quiet and happiness all round? Lord knows England is in sore need of some joy. She plucked at her skirts. Some said Mary Tudor would bring back the golden days England had under Good King Henry.

  King Henry. The thought of that sovereign made Jane’s brow furrow. Were the days of his reign truly golden? She wanted to ask.

  And now the daughter King Henry renounced stands poised to take his throne. Jane wondered if the king was laughing or crying? And Queen Katherine was she watching over her daughter in this, her finest hour? Jane supposed they would never know, for they were both dead and far beyond the reach of mortal queries. The only family the queen had left was the princess Elizabeth. She was the new heir, and as Jane understood it, an heir was never one to rejoice in a predecessor’s triumphs…

  Brushing away such thoughts, Jane smoothed her skirts. Dawn would be upon them soon.

  Folding her hands in her lap, she looked out onto the night, her mind on the coming day. She watched the skies, wanting to bear witness to the first beam of light when it touched these skies, heralding in the new day.

  The days beginning on the morrow would be the days of Mary Tudor.

  Soon, Jane would enter the queen’s chambers and rouse the lady from her solitude. When she did, Jane knew she would find her queen awake and alert. The lady would be staring, watching and observing the passing of time.

  Jane knew too that despite her best efforts she would laugh and then she would cry on this, a day meant for rejoicing. With her fingers light and her soul bright she would ready her ladyship for her hour of glory. They would robe her in the red velvet. They would drape her in ermine. They would leave the lady’s hair unfettered and unbound. They would brush out the ebony strands until they shone. Jane would fight as she always did to hide the lady’s graying tendrils, and the lady, as she always did, would tell her to leave them be…

  A small smile touched Jane’s lips; she watched the skies, marking time.

  Eventually, her smile broadened as the first touch of dawn brushed its dewy rays over the skies. She savored the moment. Soon. Soon, they would ready their queen and then they would send her forward to glory and to destiny.

  MARY AGED THIRTY-SEVEN

  October 1st

  Queen. She was Queen.

  God has smiled upon me, His truest and most devoted servant. He has seen my woes and my sorrows. He has seen my people’s despair and misery. He has answered England’s pleas and called upon me to return this realm back to the one true path.

  Mary turned her eyes toward the skies. The sun was shining now, peeking through from behind the gathering clouds, gaining strength. Her people lined the streets, there were hundreds, nay, thousands of them, crowding, pushing and shoving, hoping for a glimpse of their sovereign.

  The Queen’s guards kept them at bay but the people’s joy could not be contained. Cheers rang, loud enough to deafen. They cheered her, the daughter of Katherine of Aragon. They had never forgotten her and they loved her. Mary could see them and hear them, her people, their faces lit with smiles, their voices ringing in the air.

  God bless the Queen!

  God bless Good King’s Henry’s daughter!

  God bless the Queen!

  A wizened woman caught Mary’s eye, she was crying with her tears streaming silently down her face as she waved at Mary’s passing carriage. Mary saw them. She saw them all.

  My people.

  Mary loved them. She loved them all. They are my people. I shall be Queen ever after. I shall rule this land and I shall bring prosperity, joy and goodwill to all!

  She wanted to cry in exultation. She wanted to weep with sorrow. All her life, she had never imagined this moment possible. She had never dared. But now her brother was no more and with Northumberland’s schemes broken, she was going to be queen.

  During her travails her people had flocked to her, cheering her and pledging their lives to her. They had stood by her. They had cared naught for the proclamations, the devises or the amendments that sought to deprive them of their one true queen. They had remembered her father’s will and they had lived by it. They understood the order of things and they had no stomach for Northumberland and his machinations.

  They wanted Henry’ daughter.

  The people had wisdom in their souls and it was her duty to guide them toward the light and back to Rome. That was her task. She would restore England to its former glory. She would bring salvation to her people and she would do so with all speed. A million thoughts occupied her mind. There were troubles aplenty in her realm. Endless struggles awaited her, but Mary held firm. She would prevail.

  All that will come, she told herself. It shall all begin on the morrow. But today is for rejoicing, for making merry, for all the good things in life!

  Their mile long procession passed through the streets of London. Rich tapestries hung from every house, bearing the Tudor colors. Preceded by her lords, her knights and surrounded by her people, Mary reveled in the joyous splendor.

  On this, the day of days, the sun shone, warming her face. She breathed in the air, letting the smell, the sight and the sound of her triumph sink into her bones. Today, the pain in her side was of no consequence; the ache was dull, almost gone, and she smiled. She smiled like she had never smiled before in her life.

  Before them, Westminster beckoned.

  Destiny, it awaited her. She felt her heart soar, reaching higher and higher. Hope, her soul was filled with it and boundless, endless joy too.

  Mother! She wanted to cry. Can you see me?

  She wondered if her mother was smiling down at her from her place in God’s heavenly kingdom. Mother. Mother! Your daughter, your daughter Mary is to be the Queen of England! She wanted to share her joy with her mother. She wanted her mother’s eyes to be filled with sight of her victory. This was their hour. They were vindicated, at last.

  Mary swallowed past the stricture in her throat. Tears threatened to fall but she blinked them away. She fixed her gaze instead on the mile long procession that stretched, endless to the eye. Her lords, her knights, her gentlemen, her privy councilmen and her kinsmen, they headed the way. She followed in the royal carriage, drawn by a team of six pristine mares, so white their coats blazed. Here, in this moment, everything glittered.

  Mary took it all in.

  She would remember this moment for the rest of her life. The sights, the smells and the sounds, she marked and etched each and every moment into her memory and onto her soul.

  Each piece of her coronation had been meticulously planned. Mary knew how and when and who was at each place and for what purpose. When the team of horses drew to a stop she alighted from her carriage. Immediately, the crowds erupted. She waved to them, her face lit with joy.

  Behind her came the carriage bearing her sister Elizabeth and her father’s most honored sister, Anne of Cleves, in their own garland festooned conveyance. The people cheered them too, happy to see them.

  Jubilation. It was jubilation.

  In perfect concordance, twelve honored ladies came forth to take their designated places, their hands gently lifting the queen’s mantel of crimson velvet trimmed with ermine. When Mary’s eye fell on Norfolk’s wife, Elizabeth Staf
ford, her smile broadened. Mary had ordered for the much-wronged wife of the newly restored Duke of Norfolk to be here. The lady was to be accorded all the proper dignities. She would suffer no more.

  One by one, all wrongs will be made right, Mary thought, I will see it done.

  Taking her first steps, she walked, sedately and at a stately pace. Under a canopy of rich silks, the same that her father used in his coronation, Mary entered Westminster.

  They were now in the house of the divine. The people’s cheers quieted. Their Queen was about to take her communion with God.

  Mary prayed to Him with each step that she took. Strengthen me Lord, firm my resolve and aid me so that I may do thy bidding.

  Mary had never felt closer to God. Her soul blossomed with euphoria. Her heart was so full with elation she was trembling with it.

  Step by steady step Mary made her way toward the platform. Twenty steps high, the coronation chair sat in the middle of the halls of Westminster. Mary’s footfalls were silent. She ascended the steps slowly and steadily with matchless precision.

  With grace, she lowered herself into the coronation chair. William the Conqueror had sat in the self-same chair. Indeed, all the kings that had come before her had graced this seat. Mary wondered if they were here, seeing her, watching over her.

  All the kings that came before me, Mary cast her mind over them, my kings.

  She sat.

  My moment has come, she prayed to God. She was ready. She was here to do His bidding. It was His will that had led her here; of that Mary had no doubt, and as the Bishop of Winchester, Stephen Gardiner, newly freed from the Tower and reinstated took his place, Mary made ready to receive her communion with God.

  She had been adamant. She refused to be crowned by Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury. She had him removed along with Ridley and Latimer and they were all precisely where they should be: in the Tower. She would not have her coronation marred by their taint. Removing their poisonous presence from her realm had been an act of the utmost importance. No more would they poison her people. No more.