But Mary Tudor had remained stubbornly silent on the matter regarding her sister.
On her orders, Elizabeth’s household was dismissed and the lady installed at Whitehall. Beyond that the queen had issued no other edicts.
Daily, the Lady Elizabeth begged the queen, her sister, for an audience. But so far the queen refused to see Elizabeth. Riding forth from Whitehall, the queen came to Oxford instead, to open her Parliament, leaving her sister in the care of her ministers.
Upon departing, she gave her trusted councilors one simple decree regarding her sister.
Elizabeth must be shown the dangers of her conduct.
For the sake of her people, Mary wanted her sister as well as her faction cowed. Not a finger was to be laid on Elizabeth but she had to be brought to heel.
We must show her the error of her ways. Show her what awaits her should she persist in her folly. Mary ordered. Teach her to avoid the honeyed words of vipers.
So it was, in the queen’s absence the Lady Elizabeth was questioned by the queen’s councilors.
But she was no wilting flower, Susan recalled. She is the wiliest of liars and as unrepentant as Judas.
Nothing can be proved of me! She said when under duress, her chin high. I have done nothing to wrong my sister the queen. I am her majesty’s most devoted servant!
They said she protested most vehemently. She swore she had nothing to do with Wyatt’s plot, that she had never cast her lot with the rebels. She was, she insisted, innocent of all charges.
The queen’s ministers, seeing how bold she was, feared that a plot might be afoot to free the Lady Elizabeth. Hence, they decided to remove her from her apartments at Whitehall.
But where should she be kept? ran the question from their lips.
With the decaying corpses of the traitors still in their sights and the scent of their putrid flesh still fresh in their nostrils, each and every minister was careful not to invite trouble. None of them wished to harbor the troublesome princess in their midst. Eventually, they decided the Tower to be the safest place; and they proceeded to conduct Elizabeth hence without ado.
The Princess fell to her knees when she was told she would be housed in the House of Traitors. With her hands trembling, the Lady begged to be allowed to pen her sister a letter; a request that the queen’s ministers had granted.
Susan had seen the letter herself. It was open on the queen’s table, opened but unread. The queen didn’t have the heart to read the letter from her sister, not yet, not with Elizabeth’s betrayal so fresh in her mind.
Susan had seen her sovereign push the letter away, time and time again.
But while the queen continued to shun her sister, Susan had been hearing plenty.
They said the Lady Elizabeth refused to enter the Tower. She declared herself the queen’s truest subject and protested the injustice being done unto her person.
I am an obedient servant of my sister, the queen, she cried, over and over.
She begged God for mercy. She professed herself to be the most innocent of traitors.
They said she sat on the steps to the entrance of the Tower, refusing to move, until finally, overcome with the cold, she allowed herself to be ushered inside the Tower Gates.
Elizabeth was housed in the Bell Tower. She was given every earthly comfort while she remained under guard. She was allowed exercise and she was allowed books and servants to see to her comfort.
Whatever the Lady Elizabeth’s fears, Susan knew that no harm would ever come to the Princess. The queen didn’t have the heart to send her to the block. The princess will soon rise again and be at liberty to do more mischief. No matter how hard Renard and Gardiner might strive, the queen will never give in, Susan was certain. Anne Boleyn’s daughter was not yet done, not by far.
To keep her alive was to keep the Protestants quiet.
To watch Elizabeth is to watch the Protestants. Watch and watch about, thought Susan, the case of these two sisters shall forever be a curious one. They were born to hate each other, to oppose and to wound each other, Susan saw. Who is to blame you ask? Who else but fate? For they have willed it so. For just as surely as their mothers have warred over the crown, these two sisters must war now over the patrimony of their father. But this time the contest is far deadlier for the prize is much greater.
They were the sisters of ill fate, destined to hate each other from the cradle, thrown and cast together to play the deadliest game of all. The chasm between them was deeper than any ocean and yet they were bound to each other, by religion, by blood, by name and by the crown of England. They would be forever divided yet bound, for one followed the other, their names an endless rhyme moving to a persistent yet relentless rhythm like the sun and the moon.
Bound by blood and bound by fate, that was the lot of these Tudor sisters. As for the queen, she would never lay a violent hand on Elizabeth. The queen hates to inflict pain, even on her enemies, how then do you think she will act toward her sister who she loves perhaps just as much as she hates? Susan shook her head.
My lady clings to the past, observed Susan, she remembers all to well her days with Elizabeth at Hatfield. But there is no doubting that the Elizabeth of yester years is no more. She is no swaddled babe, no toddler in need of her sister’s care. She is a woman, a princess and an heir ripe for the crown.
So it was that endless troubles chased and chased, making their rounds inside the queen’s head. Everywhere she turned, dilemmas awaited her. But through it all, she stood tall, day after day, facing her troubles bravely and without fear.
The Wyatt rebellion had shaken her but it had failed to break her. The kernel of strength inside the woman that was Mary Tudor was made of stern stuff, and she had shown herself her father’s daughter thrice over since the day she stepped up onto the dais of England.
But the figure of the lady had been growing frailer and frailer. She ate very little, having no appetite. Her days were filled with worries, her nights were sleepless and her soul was always heavy.
She stood alone, beset and besieged. Yet with her will as her shield and her wit as her sword, she fought on.
The queen’s friends are few and her foes many, such are the days of Mary Tudor.
Susan’s heart bled for her sovereign but there was naught she could do save stay by her queen’s side, stay and watch, as the queen bore her trials and fought on, as hard and as strong as any man.
And now the queen’s husband sails for these shores, thought Susan. Philip of Spain was coming. The queen was making ready to receive her husband, and who knows what troubles he might bring?
So it was that while the Princess Elizabeth remained in the Tower, kept under lock and key, a king cometh to these shores carried on the wind. Through it all the queen’s war with her conscience as well as Parliament raged on, deadly and without end. Susan’s furrowed her brow. And now, with Spain set to play too, this game was about to take yet another turn…
ELIZABETH AGED TWENTY-ONE
May
Much suspected of me, nothing proved can be.
She was free of the Tower. Her sister had set her free. She was to be taken to Woodstock, to be buried in the quiet countryside while the whole of the realm celebrated her sister’s coming nuptials.
Along the way, the good English people cheered her. They loved her. She was their Protestant Princess. She was Good King Henry’s daughter. She was their heir. She was their choice.
She waved back at them from inside her litter deriving what consolation she could from their fervent faces. They would have me as their queen if they could, she suspected, they would have me, Elizabeth.
Her stay in the Tower had shaken her, but she held firm, showing them an innocent yet defiant face: the face of a princess.
There had been much jostling as well as tearful words spoken on her behalf. There were those in the council that would see her safe and they had intervened on her behalf, persuading the Queen toward clemency. Others however had advocated for her immediate
trial and execution. Gardiner and Renard. Elizabeth sneered, she knew who her enemies were and the two lords, the catholic bishop and the Spanish ambassador were chief amongst them. But she was free now and to spite them she drew in a lungful of healthy English air. She wanted to smile. She wanted to turn her pert nose up at their failed plot to see her brought down.
She had been freed.
Elizabeth was under no illusions, though many had pled her case, it was her sister’s love for her that had saved her. True, there was little to connect her to the traitors but had Mary willed it, Elizabeth would have been made to lay her head down on the block.
The people would not have tolerated my death, she thought in defiance. They would have risen against Mary if she had dared to execute her own sister! Still, she grimaced. It would be sorry consolation if I were dead and well beyond the throne. She shrugged one slim shoulder. Leastways, at least Jane Grey was dead.
Had she been Queen, Elizabeth would have disposed of Jane Grey and her troublesome Dudley of a husband long ago. She would not have waited for a rebellion to force her hand.
I am no Mary Tudor, she smiled at herself, that is for certain.
There were plenty of ways for a king or queen to rid himself or herself of an unwanted heir. Under the cover of night, much could be achieved, and a slight woman could be disposed of in a myriad of ways.
Thankfully, her sister was not willing to follow such a path. Instead, she ordered for Elizabeth to be escorted to the country. She was to be given into the care of Sir Henry Beddingfield, a staunch papist.
Elizabeth breathed in the fresh country air. Still, any place was better than the Tower. She would have preferred a return to her beloved Hatfield but for now she was more than content to consign herself to a quiet existence at Woodstock. There, she would be able to watch and observe.
And the spectacle promises to be great, Elizabeth smiled, for the Spanish are coming.
Mary, at the ripe age of eight and thirty was finally going to be a bride.
The whispers were rife. Some said her sister was eager for a husband. They said her passions ran high for Philip even though they were yet to see each other in the flesh. They said she had been besotted with him ever since she laid eyes on the man’s portrait.
They said the queen declared herself enamored and in love.
Elizabeth wondered if any of it could be believed, Mary, my solemn and prudish sister in love and in lust? She could scarce credit it. She suspected such tales to be the work of Mary’s court. They were concocting fancy words and pretty phrases to flatter the coming Spaniard, to please Renard and his master. My sister and I both know afterall, the tricks to be played by the brushes of a painter and his canvass, Elizabeth pressed her thin lips together in a smile as her thoughts landed on her father’s most honored sister, Anne of Cleves.
Nay. Her sister was occupied with other things. The matter of religion, that, was her sister Mary’s one true passion.
My sister, Elizabeth repeated the words, my sister the queen.
Elizabeth remembered Mary to be solemn. She was almost stoic and pious to a fault. But she was kind and Elizabeth could remember holding her sister’s hand as a child.
Warm, my sister’s hands had been warm. In their younger years, the two of them had laughed together. They had seen their father take wife after wife together, weathered the storm of his death together and lived under the taint of bastardity together. And though the divide between them was always destined to be great, they had been each other’s companions these many years past.
Her mother was forced to make way for mine, Elizabeth knew. Much hate is there to be in that.
But Fate’s wheels had spun and now Mary was queen and for all the words being uttered and bandied about relating to her Spanish match, there was no doubt that her sister had been moving and moving fast to consolidate her rule.
And Mary’s one relentless pursuit remained: to restore the Catholic faith.
That alone, was the task uppermost in her heart. Philip or no, God would always be her sister’s truest love.
Sometimes, Elizabeth found it hard to fathom her sister’s devotion. She had fought their father and their brother for it and now she was fighting her ministers and her people for it.
Religion. Elizabeth cocked her head in silent contemplation.
If her sister pushed the people too harsh and too fast, troubles would stir.
But our father had pushed hard for his reforms and he had spilled much blood for it too, she observed. Elizabeth had read the accounts with her tutor Roger Ascham. Their father had ordered more than seven hundred men hanged, drawn and quartered for one rebellion alone. He had no mercy for those who disobeyed him. He had crammed and thrust his reforms down the throats of his people. He had shed their blood again and again until he made them kneel to his will.
Mayhap, one day, Mary shall be driven to do the same. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought.
Their father’s actions had been driven by his quest for an heir and that desire was fed by the potent lust he had for his wives. He had envisaged each of them to be the answer to all his woes and he had used his Church to further his ends.
But her sister was driven by something far more dangerous. Mary Tudor was driven by conviction.
And she was their father’s daughter. She would see her task through no matter the cost. Mary would be just as firm as their father.
Soon, England will bleed. Elizabeth suspected, there will be a river of blood. A daughter will fight to undo what her father has done and the people will pay.
Elizabeth cast her eyes over those that greeted her. She fixed her gaze on their broad, honest faces.
True, the people loved Mary but if she did not take care, that love was going to wane and it was going to wane fast. Barely a year on the throne, Mary’s reign had already seen rebellion and bloodshed. Her incessant desire to turn the people back to the one true church was burning too bright.
Elizabeth watched. Watched and learned. She did so with interest and solemnity too. Constantly, she watched her sister’s progression and learnt the lessons taught therein.
Many Protestants had already fled her sister’s England, taking refuge in sympathetic lands. Persecution was coming. They could all sense it.
In March, her sister furthered her great work by issuing a royal decree on Heresy. Since, Bishops had been ordered to purge those who failed to observe the law of purity from their Sees. Those in the ranks of God’s Holy Church found to have indulged in matrimony was to be forcefully removed from office. Elizabeth calculated and determined that soon England would be losing as much as one-fourth of their clergy in any given parish.
But her sister was not yet done.
The opening of Parliament in April saw Mary take her holy quest to new heights. She warred with her ministers, she fought hard and though the opposition was fierce, she held her ground and shouted those that refused her reforms down. She wanted her laws passed and she pushed and shoved until they were; all save one.
The Parliament refused to give way on the matter of Church Lands.
It was Mary’s desire that the lands wrested from the church during their father’s reign be returned to the Church. But the men standing in Mary’s Parliament had fought hard for those lands, so they shouted the queen down. She wanted the houses and lands reopened as Houses of God to provide for the poorest amongst her people, but her parliament men would have none of it.
The concerns of the men lay with their lands, Elizabeth saw, no man would ever part with their wealth, no matter how it was gained. My father had given the lands out during his reign as gifts, bartering for the loyalty of his Parliament men with gold, and the men, being landowners all, loved my father for it.
Thus, when Mary threatened their lands, the men rose, clashing bitterly with their queen. They refused to back down. Retaining their wealth was of the utmost importance to them. They would not be made to part with it. They would not be deprived of it.
At the
end, Mary had to give in, giving them this one concession to sweeten their palates so that she could have her heresy laws ratified.
Heresy. Elizabeth frowned. It was a dangerous word that carried with it the weight of fire and death. It felt as if they were all standing on the edge of a precipice. A knock of the wind, a loss of balance and they would all be tipped over into a deadly quagmire. And with her sister to be married anon, England’s future would once again be entwined with Spain’s. The old faith was returning and it was returning with force. Soon they would be welcomed back into the papal fold and with a catholic king, a catholic queen and possibly a catholic heir soon to follow, England was turning irrevocably away from Protestantism.
Waving at the people who continued to shout their greetings, Elizabeth smiled for them, her mind working fast behind her serene façade. She needed to consider her path into the future with care.
Careful, I must be careful, she thought. If my sister saddles me with a catholic husband and sends me abroad, I will never be seen again.
She bit her lip in consternation. She didn’t want to be consigned to the depths of oblivion. Nay. I would much rather Woodstock. For now the place would suit her well. As for the Spanish Prince, Elizabeth wished her sister joy with her husband. As for her, she needed to wait and play her cards close to her chest.
A husband.
She cocked her head and wondered. Will my sister find her husband desirable? Agreeable? Will he be everything she desires? Philip was a king and he was, it was said, everything that was noble.
But he was a man.
Elizabeth’s lips thinned.
Men.
For a fleeting moment her body remembered the firm but teasing touches of Thomas Seymour.
Long dead, he is long dead now, she told herself, her mind racing over those dreaded days. Men. A woman needs to take every care around them, especially if the man is her husband.
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