Beware, Princess Elizabeth

by Carolyn Meyer

  The lady Elizabeth is commanded to present herself without delay to Her Majesty, the queen. Nothing more—no explanation, no reason given. It was signed, with her initials, M. R., for Maria Regina.

  I fell back upon my pillows, and Kat took the letter from my hand. "Nonsense!" she scolded the messenger. "You can see for yourself that the lady Elizabeth is in no condition to travel."

  But the messenger met Kat's stubborn resistance with his own stubbornness: I must prepare to leave at once. The queen had ordered it, and I must obey.

  Kat refused to yield, and I was too ill to do more than protest ineffectually. Kat swept out of my chamber in search of my physicians and instructed them to write to Queen Mary at once. Within the hour the messenger was on his way to London with the physicians' letter. At least I would gain a little time, but I was sleepless with worry.

  In less than a week, a second messenger appeared. The fever had subsided, and I was recovered enough to be propped on pillows. But I was still weak as a newborn. This second messenger was accompanied by stern-faced guards.

  "Our orders are to take the lady Elizabeth by force if necessary," said the captain of the guards, a burly man with an ill-trimmed beard.

  "Away with you!" Kat ordered, shooing the guards as though they were a flock of geese. "The lady is ill and needs time to prepare."

  "Mary does not believe that I am ill," I said tearfully to Kat when the guards had reluctantly withdrawn. "She thinks I feign illness to win her sympathy."

  "Dear Elizabeth," Kat said, "you have no choice but to make the journey. The queen has sent a litter for you, and the guards will brook no refusal or delay. I shall accompany you to make sure that every care is taken."

  And so, on the eighteenth of February, terrified of what lay ahead, I left Ashridge with my entourage. Usually the journey to London in a litter took three days, although the time was far less on a fast horse. But Kat, riding beside me in the litter, grimly refused to allow the horsemen to move at any but the slowest pace. With all the halts and rests required for even minimal comfort, the journey lasted five days. For me it was five days of misery.

  As we approached London I summoned enough strength to have my maids dress me in a pure white gown. The queen's guard approached to escort us the rest of the way, and Kat drew back the curtains of the litter so that the curious crowds gathered along our route might see for themselves how ill I was. And in truth I had never felt worse in my life.

  I assumed that I would be taken to Whitehall Palace to meet with my sister, but I was wrong. I was taken instead to St. James's Palace, where I was placed under guard. The captain of the guards read off the names of a half dozen of my ladies. "You are permitted to stay with the lady Elizabeth," he informed them brusquely. "The rest of you are ordered to leave at once."

  I gasped. In confusion, the ladies who had been dismissed began to gather their belongings. Kat refused to move, and one of the guards shoved her rudely.

  "I did not hear my name read out," she said loudly, "but surely that is an omission."

  The guard glared at her. "You must be Mistress Ashley. It is the queen's specific order that you are dismissed."

  Kat cried out, and although I felt like screaming, I merely embraced her as hard as I could and then watched her go. Both of us choked back tears.

  Soon another half dozen ladies arrived, women I believed were picked by Mary to spy upon me. Lady Maud, a wizened dame of advanced years, was more talkative than the others. From her I heard the sad news that Lady Jane and Guildford Dudley had been beheaded.

  "I was with her to the end, poor brave soul," Lady Maud said in her cracked voice. "And the queen gave her every chance to live." Maud shook a gnarled finger at me. "Her Majesty even offered Lady Jane a reprieve, if she would only profess the Catholic faith. But Lady Jane would have none of it. She spent her last hours writing letters to her family and composing the speech she would utter from the scaffold itself."

  I thought of the brilliant but serious girl who had shared my tutors. Would I have had her courage? Will I need it in what lies ahead?

  "Then the queen granted a request from Guildford to bid his wife farewell," said Maud. "But Lady Jane refused to see him. Not being of royal blood, he was marched off to Tower Hill for his execution. I was with Lady Jane when the cart brought his headless body wrapped in a bloody sheet on its way to burial. She turned quite pale, I can tell you, but even then she did not cry out."

  I thought of Guildford Dudley, a callow and simpering youth whom I'd never much liked. Lady Maud clearly relished this opportunity to tell her tale, and I did not interrupt her.

  "It was my duty to follow Lady Jane up the steps of the scaffold, and I did as I must, although my heart was breaking for her. She knelt down in the sawdust and recited the Fifty-first Psalm, beginning to end. Handing me her gloves and her handkerchief, she took the blindfold and tied it over her own eyes, refusing my assistance. But then she could not see to find her way to the block, and groped for it like a blind person. 'Where is it? Where is it?' she cried. It fell to me to guide her to it, although I would have done anything in the world not to."

  Lady Maud paused to snuffle into her handkerchief before she continued. "Then Lady Jane knelt down at the block and said aloud, 'Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.' One blow from the ax, and it was over. The headsman picked up the severed head by the hair and cried out, 'So perish all the queen's enemies! Behold the head of a traitor!' The blood continued to pour out of her body in great quantity, and the crones pressed forward to sop it up. Later, when the curious had all gone away, it was my last duty to see her body laid beneath the altar pavement in the chapel of Saint Peter ad Vincula."

  Lady Maud ceased her recital of horrors and squinted at me. "And there rests the nine-day queen, buried between Catherine Howard and your own mother, Anne Boleyn."

  I began to weep. I wept for my former companion, at the reminder of the mother I scarcely remembered, and in fear for my own life. I now understood clearly that my sister would show no mercy to anyone she believed to be a threat to her throne, whether there was truth to such a threat or not.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Tower

  Despite having summoned me to London, and despite my entreaties once I arrived, Queen Mary now refused to see me. Instead, members of the privy council came one by one to my frugal chambers at St. James's Palace. The questioning began. Everything depended upon my ability to summon my strength and to lie convincingly when I must.

  What do you know of Thomas Wyatt?

  "I know him to be the son of the poet of the same name. Thomas Wyatt the Elder was a favorite in the court of my father, King Henry the Eighth."

  Did you conspire with Thomas Wyatt the Younger to overthrow Her Majesty, the queen?

  "I would permit no conspiracy against Her Majesty, the queen, my beloved sister, to whom I have pledged my loyalty unto death."

  Did Sir Thomas Wyatt inform you of his plans?

  "I have had no contact whatsoever with Sir Thomas Wyatt, I swear it."

  It is known that he wrote to you. Did you not receive his letters?

  "I know of no letters." This was true; I knew of only one letter, not of letters.

  Did you not reply to these letters?

  "I can reply to no letters of which I have no knowledge."

  Was it not your intent to become the wife of Edward Courtenay and then declare yourself queen?

  "I have no wish to speak to the earl of Devon, let alone become his wife. As for declaring myself queen, I recognize but one queen, my beloved sister, Mary."

  Thomas Wyatt was still alive, the examiners informed me, still held prisoner in the Tower. I knew that he would be tortured until he told the privy councillors the falsehood they wanted to hear: that I knew of and encouraged the plot against Mary. Wyatt had already implicated me. Now, his body stretched upon the rack, he would supply the details the councillors needed.

  The questioning went on hour after hour, day after day. I wa
s now twenty, five years older than I was when Sir Robert Tyrwhitt had questioned me at the time of Tom Seymour's arrest. Once again everything depended upon my wits, my skill at answering the questions in a way that would convince the interrogators of my innocence. Oddly enough, as my mind grew sharper, my body grew stronger. I was almost well again.

  ON PALM SUNDAY, as I returned to my chambers from hearing Mass in the chapel royal, I found a half dozen guards waiting for me. I caught my breath.

  "Why are you here?" I demanded.

  "Ready yourself to leave, madam," said the captain.

  The fierce expressions on the faces of the guards told me I was not being set free.

  "Where, then?" I asked, dreading the answer.

  "To the Tower, madam," replied the captain with a sneer.

  "The Tower!" Had Thomas Wyatt persuaded them of my guilt? I was ready to swoon with fear. But I knew that I must not allow my terror to be seen. "No!" I cried. "By whose order?" I already knew the answer.

  "By order of Her Majesty, the queen."

  "Show me the order!"

  The guard thrust the parchment before my face. I saw the signature, Maria Regina.

  Thomas Wyatt had already been condemned to die. Was I to be next? Please, God, no!

  The guards waited impatiently as Lady Cynthia and Lady Marian, looking stricken, packed my belongings. I signaled them, secretly, to be slow, to take as much time as possible, and I prayed silently for God's help. When my ladies could prolong their tasks no longer, I addressed the guards.

  "Please bring me pen and paper, that I may send a message to my sister, the queen."

  The guards exchanged glances. The lieutenant, a gawky youth, urged the captain to grant me my wish. "What can it hurt?" the boy whispered, and finally the other agreed.

  "Make haste," grumbled the captain when the writing materials had been brought, "lest we miss the tide."

  I knew well what he meant: We would travel by barge from the landing at St. James's, downriver, to the Tower. The Thames is subject to strong tides, which at certain times make passage through any of the twenty arches of London Bridge dangerous, if not impossible. Many boatmen and their passengers have gone to their watery graves by mistiming the passage of their craft. I gambled that these guards would not take such a risk, especially during the spring tide, when the water rose highest. In writing this letter, I might buy a little time—time for my sister to soften her heart and change her mind.

  "I beg your indulgence, sirs," I said, sitting down at the writing table with parchment, inkhorn, and quill.

  If only I could persuade Mary to allow me to meet with her! I knew that I could gaze, unblinking, into her eyes and lie without flinching. I would swear my unswerving loyalty to her and convince her of my innocence in any plot. Surely she could not bring herself to order my execution once she had looked into my face and been reminded that we two were daughters of the same mighty king!

  Everything depended upon this letter. I chose each word with great care, while my guards muttered and shifted from foot to foot. Meanwhile, the ladies who were to be allowed to accompany me fell to weeping loudly, to the dismay of the young guard and the irritation of the elder.

  When I had made every argument possible in my own favor, I added one more line to my letter: I humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself. I signed it, Your Highness's most faithful subject, that has been from the beginning and will be to my end, Elizabeth. Then I drew a series of diagonal lines across the page below my signature so that no one else could fill in a postscript of his own devising.

  I sealed the letter and rose from the table. "I am ready," I said. "Be so kind as to deliver this to Her Majesty, the queen."

  The captain was plainly furious. "Too late, madam," he growled, red-faced. "The tide has already changed. We must wait six hours for it to change again."

  "Then so it shall be," I said calmly. Six hours—not much time, but enough. "Perhaps, while we wait, the queen will see fit to answer, and we will have saved ourselves an unpleasant journey."

  The hours dragged by, hours filled with foreboding. The Tower! My blood ran cold at the thought of it.

  Then Lady Maud increased my dread with her report that the killings had begun. "The men who took part in the uprising against Queen Mary are being hanged in all parts of the city," she reported with evident relish. "Their bodies hang on gibbets, and their heads are impaled on posts above the city gates."

  "How many?" asked my own Lady Marian.

  "Forty-five at last count, and more to come, including Wyatt himself," replied Lady Maud. "They say the stench is quite dreadful." She held a pomander to her nose to make her point.

  What of the "priest" who had brought me the message? I wondered. Was there still at large a man who knew that I had indeed received a letter from Thomas Wyatt, and that I had lied about it? May God forgive me, but I prayed that he was among those hanged and therefore unable to testify against me.

  The six hours passed, but no messenger came. There was no reply from my sister, no letter granting me my request to speak with her.

  "The time is at hand, madam," said the captain of the guard. "We leave within the hour. There can be no further delay."

  I dressed in my most elegant gown and, shivering with fright, begged to be allowed to pray once more in the chapel royal before we left on this doleful journey. The captain consented, and I prayed fervently to the God of Protestants and Catholics alike to deliver me from this terrible ordeal.

  The sky was dark and lowering, and a light rain fell. Bystanders crowded the riverbanks, craning to gape as the barge passed. I wondered if any in that silent crowd were sympathetic to me, or if they, like Mary, saw me as an enemy. The drizzle became a downpour as the barge approached the Water Gate. This gate was the one to which my mother had been brought, in this same manner, eighteen years earlier. I wept, thinking of how she had never left. I was following in the footsteps of many who had been accused of treason and whose last steps from freedom toward death had begun at this exact spot.

  "Take me to another gate, any gate but this!" I cried. But the guards stared straight ahead, refusing to hear.

  As I stepped from the barge, all strength drained from my legs, which gave way under me. Overcome by terror, I collapsed onto the stone steps, which were wet from the lapping river. I lay crumpled in the rain, unable to go another step. The warders of the Tower sent to meet me stared down at me. I gazed up at them, searching for a sympathetic face. I felt utterly without hope.

  Then one, followed by another, abruptly stepped out of the formation, cried, "God preserve Your Grace!" and knelt before me. Immediately others of the warders seized me roughly, set me upon my feet, and ordered me to enter the Tower.

  We—my ladies and I—found ourselves shut up in a dank stone chamber on the first floor of the Bell Tower. In the corner lay a rude pallet for sleeping. Under the arched windows were stone seats. The room held nothing else.

  As I stood shivering in my sodden, mud-splattered gown and surveyed my rude quarters, I realized that I must summon my will and immediately command the respect of my warders. I must not show any hint of fear or weakness. "What arrangements have been made for me?" I demanded imperiously of the warder with the great ring of keys clanking at his side.

  "Ye'll stay here, madam," said the warder.

  "Am I to have no place to take bodily exercise?" I insisted. "Am I to eat the food of common prisoners? I am sister to the queen!"

  The warder left, mumbling his intent to do everything possible to please me. As soon as he was gone, I slumped down on one of the stone benches and burst into tears.

  My orders were actually obeyed. That same day a tester bed with a mattress of fair quality was moved into the chamber. A day later ten servants were assigned to prepare and serve my meals. And within the week I was granted permission to walk twice each day along the lead, the narrow walkway on top of the wall from the Bell Tower to Beauchamp Tower. From this vantage point I could look ou
t over the parapet toward the spire of St. Paul's. I purposely kept my back to the view in another direction: the Tower Green, where my mother had been executed, where Lady Jane Grey had died, and where, I prayed, my life would not also end.

  The days succeeded one another in a dull, orderly manner. I prayed, read, took my walks on the lead, and passed the time with needlework. Meals were brought to my chamber, and every dish was searched before it was served, lest some message be smuggled to me in a meat pie or a manchet! My temper was worn thin, and I often spoke sharply to my ladies and then regretted it. They were with me of their own free will and could have left me if they wished.

  In April I learned that Sir Thomas Wyatt had been executed in the horrible manner reserved for traitors: After his beheading on Tower Hill, his head was taken to be displayed near Hyde Park. Then his corpse was parboiled, cut into four parts, and each part displayed in a different quarter of the city as a warning.

  There were other prisoners whose fate I sometimes wondered about—most especially Robin Dudley, who had been arrested after his father's failed attempt to capture Mary. Where was he now? Alive or dead? Was he also a prisoner in this Tower? No one told me, and I did not want to put myself in more danger by asking.

  WEEKS PASSED. Mary could not have forgotten me, although I did feel she had utterly abandoned me. I knew that the members of the privy council did not believe in my innocence. If it had been up to them—Sir William Paget and the earl of Arundel—I would have been put to death immediately. I was sure they would try to convince the queen that I was not to be trusted, that her crown was not secure as long as I was alive. I could imagine my sister's endless debates with her councillors:

  What shall we do with Elizabeth?

  We cannot execute her—that would cause an enormous outcry, a rebellion.

  We cannot keep her locked up in the Tower forever—that, too, would likely cause an uprising.