As the months passed and the queen’s belly swelled, the execution of the heretics forged ahead, gathering pace. More Protestant Clergy, all of them guilty of heresy had gone to the flames but there were others too, common folk, women and even children. A blind boy, Thomas Drowry, was sent to the stake yesterday morn.
England was descending into madness.
Susan believed in her heart of hearts that what the queen was doing was right. Heresy had to be chased out of England. The queen was leading the people back onto the One True Path. No more would heresy lead them astray. But the roiling sentiments of the common folk were hostile. Over and over, Bishop Gardiner warned the queen about the dangers. If they burned too many and too fast, the people would turn against the Church.
A show of benevolence, the Chancellor said, will avail us of much.
But the queen was past the point of reconciliation. She needed England’s soul restored and she had little time with which to do it. She wanted her task completed with all haste. She wanted heresy rooted out of her realm.
I am running out of time, Susan, the queen said to her again and again as her pains came upon her, I am running out of time.
The king had been taking his quest to control England to new heights too. Since the queen’s pregnancy was announced, Philip had redoubled his efforts, pushing and forcing his wife’s hand. He was ever the tender husband, showering his aging wife with tenderness, but beneath his solicitous behavior and endless care, his real purpose rang true.
His aging wife would soon be brought to bed for the first time. Many dangers awaited her and in order to safeguard his heir Philip was deploying all his charming wiles and considerable skill to force the queen as well as Parliament into naming him Regent. If Mary died, Philip would govern in the name of their child. He would be the King of England.
I am still breathing and already he is eager to consign me to the ground, the queen said to Susan while a mocking smile played about her lips.
They think me useless already, the queen pronounced, they think to secure the succession.
Susan did her best to rouse her lady’s spirits, but these days that was a doomed task.
As for the burnings, neither Jane nor Susan uttered a word to the queen about what they heard or seen. Nor had the queen asked. At court, no one mentioned or made reports to the queen of the executions. Staunch silence followed the queen wherever she went. Yet it hovered over them all like a ghostly spirit, haunting and dogging their every step.
The king had been careful too these days, keeping his person as well as his entourage away from the common populace. He had no wish to face an angry mob. They were accusing him of bringing the inquisition to these shores. These were dangerous times. With the Wyatt saga fresh in everyone’s mind, everyone was on the look out for a Protestant rebellion.
Susan moved, her hands busy and her brows furrowed as she went about her tasks, packing the queen’s linens and richly embroidered gowns.
Soon, the Queen would be having her lying in at Hampton Court. Once they were there, all the attending ceremonies would be observed and prayers for a healthy prince would ring from every pulpit in England.
Day after day, the queen and her ladies fashioned intricate gifts for the coming child. The queen had been setting needle to silk for an elaborate christening gown, a gown that would never be worn.
There was no child inside the queen’s belly and still the pretense had to continue. With the help of Doctor Owens, Susan and Jane kept the queen away from the clutches of the king’s physicians. They were allowed to examine her, but only briefly.
They were given all the proper signs and indications to consider: the queen had ceased to bleed, she was dizzy and nauseated and her belly was swelling and growing larger and rounder by the month. Following the trail of evidence, the Spanish doctors had therefore arrived at the only logical conclusion: the queen was with child.
Susan shook her head. The swelling in the queen’s belly was anything but natural. The queen was ravaged by pain. The agony tormented her daily, giving her no reprieve, often robbing her of breath and strength. More than once, Susan had found her ladyship abed, curled as round as a ball, muttering and begging for God’s forgiveness as she writhed in agony.
The queen thought she was dying and as her belly grew hard and round, the rest of her body shrunk. She lost the flesh off her bones, had no appetite and appeared pale and weak. She had trouble keeping down her food and would often wretch and heave. The court, seeing her symptoms would smile and assume the prince growing inside the queen’s belly to be at fault.
At such a stately age, they said, the queen is bound to have trouble. It is the consequence of growing a babe for the first time at such a grand age.
But as Doctor Owens shook his head and sighed his sighs, despairing over the queen’s health, those closest to the lady knew the truth.
Still, every morning, the queen would grit her teeth and rise. She would sit with her fists clenched and her knuckles white while she was robed and coiffed before sailing into the audience chambers, there to do her duty to the realm.
She refused to fail in her task to attend to her State. Stubbornly, she refused to miss even one day of governance. And as the months wore on, the speculations came. Everyone watched the queen and her swelling belly with fixed precision, following her each and every move with keen intent. The ambassadors jostled and speculated, the king quietly observed and the queen’s ministers watched.
Those of the Catholic faith were most eager for a Catholic heir. If the queen birthed a son, their future in England would be secured. For those of the Protestant persuasion however, they looked upon the queen’s belly with nothing but growing dread.
Still, merriment had been flowing through the court over the questions, the speculations and the fears. Congratulations were flooding in from all the nations, sovereigns and monarchs.
The queen took care to preside over each and every audience. She did so with a gracious smile, receiving everyone’s congratulations with dignity. She forced herself to rejoice, she forced herself to sit and forget her pains, to play her part and to look on her husband with loving tenderness even while she was dying inside.
For despite the violence of her illness, Mary Tudor lived on, steadfast, to her religion and her people.
Yet now, more than ever, she feared for them.
Mary feared she was not long for this world.
This shall be my last task: to return my people to the One True Church. I must return my people to the one true faith, the queen whispered her desire to Susan more than once while Susan held her hand through yet another bout of excruciating pain. I must do God’s will. I must attend to the t-task he has bestowed upon me. I-I must see his will done here in England before I go to Him. I-I must do my utmost to save the s-souls of England! She gasped as she dug her heels into the bedding below, her body racked with the throbbing pain in her stomach.
Be at ease, my lady, Susan assured her queen, her hand smoothing over the lady’s brow, comforting her as best she could, we must see to your health. Soon we shall have you restored to your former rigor! You shall have time aplenty to do God’s work here in England. He has appointed you His agent and He watches over your ladyship, lending you strength!
Susan. Susan. The queen shook her head, her hair adhering to her cheek as sweat poured from her. She was cold and hot, all at once, and the dual assault upon her person made her lurch and shake. I know what is being done, I know what is being ordered and carried out by m-my will. They are burning! She cried. They are burning!
Two trails of tears fell from the lady’s eyes, she closed them in pain and consternation before she gritted her teeth, but they must! They must burn for their affront to God! It is the only way! The queen fisted her hands, beating them against the bedding below her shivering body. It is the only way! It is the only way!
England will turn, my queen, Susan assured her. In time, the people will see the light, she firmed her grip over her sovereign
’s hand, by your majesty’s orders, England will be saved and each and every man, woman and child will remember you for it. They will remember you and thank you for returning them to the one true faith!
The queen’s eyes were round, filled with agony but clear, will they Susan? Will they?
They will my lady. Susan was firm. They will.
Will they? The queen’s question pierced Susan’s mind and in her heart of hearts, Susan had no answer for her queen.
Inhaling deeply, Susan cast her eyes out over the tranquil gardens of Whitehall.
On the other side of these royal gates, people were dying by the grace of the queen and her Act of Heresy. The bishops and preachers that had gone to the stake were heretics all, but to the people, they were the men of God. Revered during her father’s reign then her brother’s, men like Saunders and Hooper were well loved. To see them cast asunder as tinder into the queen’s fires was hard for the people to stomach. Especially when those who had gone to the stake include not only men but women and children too. It was true, the anger and terror of the people were becoming more and more palpable.
But the queen was not without a heart. Again and again, the queen ordered her Royal Pardon presented to those sent to the stake, not once but twice and even thrice to offer them a chance at redemption. She wanted them to renounce the falsities that had taken root in their hearts, she wanted them to see the light and reach for her mercy.
But no one did.
Why do they not take my pardon? The queen had beaten her fist against her throne as well as her bed many a time. Why must they insist on such folly? Why do they refuse to see the error of their ways? Why do they cling to their heretic’s ways?
The queen pitied just as she hated all those who scorned her church. She was torn. And while the burnings continued, another danger loomed.
With the terror of the people rising, there came the menace of anger and with that the threat of rebellion. For now, the people were staying by their queen. With an heir on the way, they were willing to be lenient but what happens when that heir was no heir? Nothing more than wind and water? Would they turn their eyes elsewhere then, toward the Protestant Elizabeth? These questions, they plagued the queen night and day.
If. If. If.
Threats, they hammered her from all sides. They came at her, claws unsheathed, talons unleashed, ready to pounce on her weaknesses. At the forefront of that pack was her husband: Philip of Spain.
Subtly and with clever maneuvering, Philip was insinuating himself more and more into her government and while her ministers and Parliament-men were vigilant, they were not above their own petty jealousies and plots.
So in this, what everyone deemed to be the queen’s most felicitous hour, Mary Tudor continued to be inundated by a million worries.
The Protestants abroad, it was said, were planning an invasion. All of England’s old foes were chomping at the bit to take apart the queen’s new and fragile realm. And while England had the power of Spain to rely on, the queen feared that Spain’s affirmations and Philip’s promises would prove just as false as the babe in her belly.
Sighing, Susan rubbed her aching back. How these bones have aged, she frowned, how these bones have aged. She was older now and her health had been suffering of late. Her many sleepless nights by the queen’s side had taxed her.
But I will fight on, she vowed, I will work and fight to the last breathe for Mary Tudor.
Her ladyship’s path to the throne had been fraught with dangers.
As queen, her burdens had not decreased. Instead, they had multiplied, like the dreaded Hydra and its cursed heads. Every time the queen slays a trouble another two will spring in its place, jaws snapping, teeth glinting. Old enemies and new foes continued to thrive and Susan could see the exhaustion beneath the queen’s stoic demeanor.
She sighed. Susan could do very little to alleviate her ladyship’s burdens, but what she could offer her sovereign was her undying loyalty.
Loyalty. It counted for everything and Susan would never abandon her queen. Susan would give her sovereign this one constant to hold onto as the turmoil ahead made its approach, its snapping jaws opened wide, ready to engulf her ladyship.
Susan pitied her queen, her heart bled for her. For despite her many triumphs, all the glory and all the honors she had as the queen of this realm, Mary Tudor continued to cling on by the skin of her teeth.
And the days are still young, she thought, the days are still young.
Soon the court would make their move to Hampton Court. Soon the queen’s confinement would begin and soon under the smoke and dust of the burnings the prince who was no prince would come.
Already the wolves were circling, eager for the coming days to unfold. The queen’s health was dire but should she survive long enough for that day to arrive, one and all would discover Mary Tudor’s secret, and when they did, the time for a greater reckoning would dawn.
MARY AGED THIRTY-NINE
August
The palace was overflowing with people.
Ambassadors, midwives and nobles, they were all here at Hampton Court.
They were all witnesses to her shame.
They had settled into Hampton to await the coming of the prince. But the days came and went, the days turning into weeks and the weeks into months, and still no prince. Day and night, the men and women, eager for news, milled about the corridors, whispering and waiting for the hour to come.
But it was no use. The babe in her belly was nothing more than a phantom.
Mary had never thought to survive her illness. She had thought she would be dead before they discovered her terrible secret. But she was not dead. She was still very much alive and now every man, woman and child in Christendom was laughing at her.
She knew what they were saying: She was an old woman who had thought to dream a child into being. She was an old woman who had thought to will a child into being.
Philip the King, hitherto praised for his virility was now sullen, striding around court like a wounded peacock. Gone were the jokes of the king’s unearthly strength, of his irrepressible manhood and towering achievement.
Our prince can make the coldest stone warm and the driest of deserts ripen with fruit, one of his dons had dared to say. Now, they were all quiet. Every mouth that had ever uttered a boastful word on Philip’s behalf had fallen silent as the months wore on and no child came.
There was no child. Mary knew, Doctor Owens knew and now the whole kingdom knew. Her husband’s shame knew no bounds.
The ruse was up.
As June and then July came, Mary decided that there was no further need for pretense. And as the long month of July dragged on, even the most optimistic of Catholics had to give up their fool’s hope.
The queen was not with child.
The queen has been sorely mistaken, came the whispers from those at Hampton. She will bring forth no heir. They milled and smiled around her, bowing, careful to please and cede to her every whim, but their words were bold.
The queen’s mother, Katherine of Aragon, had miscarried again and again in her quest to give her husband a son, but her daughter, they whispered, this queen. This queen has never felt a babe quicken in her womb and she never would. She was too old.
Some said Mary and her physicians had mistaken the drying up of her woman’s courses for a pregnancy. Others said her belly had been filled with nothing but air and water. The speculations were endless.
Words, words, words. They were whispering a million things of her and she could not blame them.
For her, there was nothing left to do but acknowledge the truth publicly: there was no child.
Mary kept her head held high as she emerged from her confinement, her belly deflated, the child that never was had now been officially declared gone.
But to Mary, her fake confinement had not been completely fruitless.
She had taken the time to devise her coming path. She took the days to rest and to pray. She had not died of her illn
ess. It was God’s will. He wanted her to live so that she might continue His great work in her realm. God had not abandoned her. So, surrounded by her most trusted ladies, Mary gathered her strength, resting and preparing for the day she would emerge. She collected her powers so that she might serve her people well in the days to come.
And she was not idle, far from it.
Though she was shut away from the world, she kept herself well informed. Everything that went on in her realm was reported to her. Her ladies gave her every tidbit of news they could gather, so it was that Mary learned of the dealings of her husband from behind the closed doors of her chambers.
She knew all about Philip and his intentions toward Elizabeth.
When the court had been due for their move to Hampton, Mary had Elizabeth brought to her side. She had thought to keep her sister close. Her design was two-fold. She had guessed Philip’s intentions and she had invited her sister to court and into the presence of her husband to test the king’s fidelity.
For months now and supposedly without her knowledge, Philip’s men had approached Elizabeth, offering her tokens of his esteem. While he held Mary’s hand and played the doting husband, Philip of Spain had reached out his other hand and winked his eyes at her sister, seeking Elizabeth out and promising her a place by his side should Mary not survive the birthing.
Elizabeth however was too smart to wink back and make the king a pledge of any sort. But everyone knew who Mary’s heir was. Should she die childless, Elizabeth would fight to rule and she would win over each and every other claimant to the throne of England. The only other contender to the throne with enough weight and soldiers at her disposal to force her claim was the Catholic Mary, Mary of Scotland, who was betrothed to the Dauphin of France.
Philip of Spain could not stomach the thought. The Spanish Emperor and the French King were both Catholics but Philip would rather die then see the Queen of Scots mount the throne of England. He would do anything to prevent his England from falling into the hands of his greatest enemy. Shrewd as he was, Philip started seeking alternate routes to secure England to Spain ever after. So it was, in the last months, his Catholic Majesty had been wooing England’s Protestant Princess while his catholic wife still lived and breathed.
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