Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  MY SISTER HAS BEEN condemned for her cruelty and by the end of her reign for generations to come she was known as Bloody Mary. But she was in many ways a kind woman. She was not really cruel; she avoided the shedding of blood unless she believed it was necessary to shed it. But she was bound all the time by her fanatical belief in the Church of Rome, and like most fanatics was not content that she herself believed this, but insisted as well that everyone else must do the same. Those who were not Catholics were in her opinion doomed to eternal damnation, and it seemed to her that the only possible action she could take to save them was to help them reform before death. If they persisted in ignoring the truth, then they were doomed to eternal torment, and it could not matter much if they went to it earlier than later. What were a few years in eternity?

  I believe that there is a hint of madness in all fanaticism and I determined then that I should never become the victim of it. The only matter which would arouse my unswerving devotion and effort would be the good of my country, and if ever I was fortunate enough to rule, I would act in whatever way I considered best for my realm.

  There was a similarity of purpose in us: Mary's was to return England to the Church of Rome; mine was to make my country great, and I would sway with circumstances whenever it was necessary to make her so.

  I could not help it, but during that ride through the streets of London to the Tower I could almost feel the crown on my head. But I must remember Jane Grey—a queen in her state apartments one day, a prisoner the next. I must remember Norfolk, Gardiner and Courtenay. A few days can bring about disastrous changes in the life of those in high places. I was well aware that the perils about me were increasing.

  This was borne home to me by a visitor who had come to say goodbye to me before he left. Sir William Cecil had shown himself to be my friend, and I was in need of friends, so I received him with pleasure.

  He had, of course, been totally opposed to the plan to make Lady Jane Grey Queen.

  “Northumberland made the decision and forced it on the judges and the nobility,” he declared. “I objected and only added my signature to the document under protest, making it clear that I signed as a witness only. I then resigned my post as Secretary of State. Queen Mary is the rightful heir to the throne. It is well that Northumberland was defeated, but I feel sorrow for Lady Jane Grey.”

  “I do not believe the Queen will be harsh with her,” I said. “She knows that Jane was not at fault. She was forced to do it, as she was forced to marry Northumberland's son.”

  “Let us hope the Queen will be merciful to the innocent. I have come to warn you, my lady, of the dangers which beset you.”

  “I know they are there.”

  “Perhaps you do not know the full extent of them. You have a powerful enemy in Gardiner.”

  “I know it well. I shall never forget how he tried to destroy Katharine Parr.”

  “You must be wary of him, and there are two other men against whom you should be on your guard.”

  I looked askance at him and he went on: “Simon Renaud, the Spanish Ambassador, and Antoine de Noailles, Ambassador of France. They have orders from their masters concerning affairs in this country. The Spaniards, as you know, demand a return to Rome, and then a marriage would doubtless be arranged between Queen Mary and Philip, son of the Emperor Charles. Then it would be inevitable that before long our country would be ruled by Spain. Our people will not tolerate persecution and the setting up of the Inquisition. They will revolt against it and look to the Protestant heiress.”

  I turned pale. I said: “Do you mean that there could be war in this country… war against the Queen?”

  “That could well be. I feel certain that the people of England will never tolerate Spanish bigotry. Renaud knows this, but he will instill the Queen with his ideas and if this Spanish marriage takes place, we shall have Philip himself here to subdue our people. Renaud knows this; the Spaniards know it. That is why you have become an object of interest to them. I believe they may well plot against you.”

  “You fill me with fears, Master Cecil.”

  “I merely warn you, my lady. You must be on your guard. This Court is full of enemies… your enemies now. The last hope for England could rest with you.”

  I said: “I would serve my country with my life if need be.”

  “I believe that to be so. Renaud is not the only enemy. There is the French Ambassador to consider. The French would like to see a return to the Church of Rome, but their interest is more political. The little Queen of Scots is betrothed to the Dauphin of France and the King of France believes that it would be an excellent idea if Mary were Queen of England as well as Scotland. You see what I mean?”

  “You mean that not only men like Gardiner are seeking to destroy me, but the Spanish and French ambassadors as well?”

  “I mean, my lady, that having become aware of your mettle I know that you are one who will listen to advice—however menacing—and perhaps for that very reason give your full consideration to it.”

  “I know you speak with wisdom and out of concern for me. I thank you with all my heart, and if ever the time shall come… you will not be forgotten.”

  He told me that my wisest plan would be to leave Court entirely, when I could do so without ostentation. “Do not attempt to go as if in fear. Invent a plausible excuse.”

  “I shall be ill.”

  “That is the best. Let them think you sickly. But I warn you, that will not prevent their schemes from taking shape.”

  “I know that since my father's death I have stepped from the shade of obscurity to the blaze of noon.”

  “True,” he said. “Your actions will be observed and reported to the Courts of Spain and France… and to your sister. Tread warily, my lady Princess, for the hearts and hopes of our people will rest with you.”

  I thanked him again and he took my hand and knelt as though I were already Queen of England.

  Soon after that he left Court and went to live quietly between his houses at Wimbledon and Burleigh.

  THE COURT MOVED to Whitehall and I was with it. Stephen Gardiner had been made Lord High Chancellor of the Realm and Edward Courtenay was always at the Queen's side. She treated him rather as though he were a young boy and there was a certain childishness about him which I supposed was due to having lived all those years shut away from the real world in a prison. He had never really grown up. I did not forget what William Cecil had said to me, and I was very wary in everything I did or said.

  The great problem was religion. The people now regarded me as the Protestant hope. To them I represented a more tolerant way of life than they believed they would find under a return to Rome; and in view of the increasing stories we had heard of the repressions and torture of the Inquisition— and especially in Spain—the people did not relish a similar state of affairs in England.

  If ever they should reject Mary and her Catholicism, they would look to me, so I knew that it was imperative for me not to accept the Catholic Faith. If ever I did, I should not be preferred to my sister—a young bigot would be just as bad as an old one, perhaps worse.

  The first trouble came when there was a requiem mass for my brother. The idea of having mass for him was wrong in any case because it was the last thing he would have wanted. He had been almost as fanatical a supporter of the Reformed Faith as my sister was of the Catholic. I knew that whatever happened I must not attend.

  Mary was very angry and I asked for an audience so that I could explain to her, but she refused to grant it.

  I wondered how I could get away from Court, but to go now would seem like running away. I must face it, and as I had some faith in Mary's natural kindness of heart, which had been shown to me in the past, I was sure that if she would see me, if I could be alone with her, I could explain.

  When Parliament was called, Gardiner's first act as Lord Chamberlain was to declare my father's marriage to Katharine of Aragon legal, which meant that Mary was legitimate and therefore that I was not.r />
  I was sure that if Sir William Cecil were here he would say that in itself was not such a bad thing, as it implied that I had no right to the throne and that should, of course, make me less vulnerable to attack at the moment. However, I strongly resented it, but kept my resentment to myself.

  In due course Mary said she would receive me, and when I went to her she allowed me to kiss her hand, which I did with the utmost respect, and I told her that it grieved me greatly that she was displeased with me.

  “All you have to do to please me is to return to the true faith,” she said.

  “I find it hard, Your Majesty, to make myself believe. I can only believe what my mind allows me to.”

  “Belief will come. You must open your mind.”

  I almost said she was asking me to shut my mind as tightly as hers was shut, but of course I did not. It would naturally have angered her, when what I desperately needed was to placate her, to gain her forgiveness, her leniency, and yet deny what she was trying to press on me.

  Could I go to Mass? Would it be easier? I thought of those shouting crowds. “Long Live the Princess Elizabeth!” There was an affinity between those people and myself. They saw me as their Queen-to-be just as I saw myself; it was what they wanted and what I wanted.

  I must tread very carefully.

  “As you love me …” I began.

  “You are my sister,” Mary interrupted me, “and as such I have regard for you, but I cannot love a heretic. That would go against God's Will.”

  Since when, I wondered, had God taught man to hate his fellow man? I covered my face with my hands as though in great grief. “My sister,” I said, “I shall never forget your kindness to me when I was small and alone. We were both outcasts then. We were together…”

  “The mistake was in your upbringing. You had teachers who cared more for scholarship than for religious teaching.”

  I begged her to be patient with me.

  “I have shown patience,” she said. “But if you would please me, you must go to Mass. There you will in time understand the truth. You may go now. But remember this. You shall go to Mass. It is my command.”

  I was trembling when I left her. So I should have to go to Mass. The people would hear of it. They would say, “So she is not our Protestant Princess after all.”

  I knew I dared not disobey the Queen's command. Gardiner was only waiting for a chance to put me in the Tower. After all, what had been Edward Courtenay's fault? Only that he had been a Plantagenet. For that accident of birth he had spent fifteen years of his short life in prison.

  So I went to Mass. As usual I took refuge in illness, but still I had to go. My ladies almost carried me into the chapel. I made it seem as though I were half fainting, and as we came into the chapel I caused them to stop and rub my stomach. “I am afflicted by grievous pains,” I said.

  That would be reported. It might tell the people that I had been most reluctant to go to Mass.

  MARY SHELVED HER ANNOYANCE with me during the Coronation. Perhaps she knew that because of my popularity with the people I must be seen to play a prominent part in it.

  It was the usual grand ceremony which the people loved and expected on such occasions and whatever king or queen was on the throne everyone was determined to have a good day's outing and enjoy the pageantry.

  Three days before the event Mary left St James's for Whitehall and from there took a barge to the Tower accompanied by her ladies—and with me beside her.

  It was thrilling to arrive at the Tower and hear the guns roar out their welcome and to see all the craft on the river with their streamers and musical instruments.

  The next day we made our procession through the streets of London surrounded by a splendid array of Court officials and noblemen. I noticed my two archenemies among the party—Renaud and de Noailles. Mary was borne in a splendid litter drawn by six white horses and covered in cloth of silver. She wore a gown of blue velvet trimmed with ermine and on her head was a gold net caul covered in pearls and precious stones. She looked pale and I guessed that caul must be a great weight; and she did suffer from headaches. It was different with me; I too suffered from headaches but mine had the pleasant nature of never appearing on occasions which I could enjoy as I did this one.

  I followed just behind my sister in a chariot covered with crimson velvet and with me rode my father's fourth wife—the only one now alive, Anne of Cleves, a very pleasant lady of whom I had always been fond. We were dressed in robes of cloth of silver with long hanging sleeves which fell back most becomingly when I waved to the crowds. The cheers for me were deafening, and I felt gleeful because they were greater than those for the Queen herself—although I knew this could be dangerous, for I would not be the only one who noticed this.

  I loved the pageantry and all the time I was thinking: One day this will be for me.

  I laughed heartily over the four giants who greeted us in Fenchurch Street and the angel perched on the arch in Gracechurch Street, who looked like a statue until she suddenly came to life and blew her trumpet. The people were already getting merry on the wine which ran in the Cornhill and Cheapside conduits as the Mayor escorted the Queen through Temple Bar to Whitehall.

  On the morning of the Coronation itself we took to the barges and landed at Westminster stairs when we went to the Palace and prepared ourselves for the great occasion.

  The procession from the Palace to the Abbey began at eleven o'clock. The Barons of the Cinque Ports held the canopy over the Queen and I walked immediately behind her, which was the place for the heir. She is thirty-seven years old, I kept telling myself. She will marry soon. She must. But will she get an heir? She looked so pale and tired, but she would certainly do her best to get a Catholic heir. How much did she resent me in the place I now occupied?

  I might be called a bastard, but my father's will had named me as the next in succession after her and they could not go against my father's will. They had seen what had happened to Northumberland when he had tried to do that.

  Gardiner was performing the ceremony. She had chosen him although it was usually the duty of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Gardiner was going to be her chief adviser. And he was my bitter enemy. I did believe that if he could have removed me without causing too much bother he would have done so by now.

  I listened to the words.

  “Here present is Mary, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of God and man to the Crown and royal dignity of the realm of England, France and Ireland…”

  It was true that she was the rightful and undoubted heir and one day— God willing—I should stand in her place.

  When the ceremony was over, we returned with the whole train to Westminster Hall for the banquet, and I was happy to notice that all due respect was paid to me. The Queen had me seated beside her on the left hand and next to me sat Anne of Cleves. I was aware of all eyes on me and I forgot the warnings and the dangers as I dreamed of the future.

  Edward Dymoke made the challenge, throwing down his gauntlet, which no one picked up, proclaiming to all that Mary was the true Queen and accepted as such by all the company.

  I felt elated until, the ceremony over, we took to our barges for the short journey to Whitehall Stairs, and as the cold river breezes touched my face, I knew there were untold perils all about me.

  KAT ASHLEY BROUGHT me rumors of what was being said at Court, and one such was that the Queen might marry Edward Courtenay.

  “She is very fond of him,” said Kat, “and she would be able to command him absolutely.”

  “Well,” I replied. “Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing. He is after all a Plantagenet and so has royal blood.”

  But that proved to be merely a rumor, for soon after that it was announced that the Queen proposed to marry Philip of Spain.

  How foolish it was of Mary to agree to this, but I supposed that Gardiner and Renaud, the Spanish Ambassador, persuaded her. One thing I was sure of: the French Ambassador would be most put out. The last thin
g he wanted was to see a strong alliance between Spain and England. What Mary had not considered was the reaction of the people. It very soon became apparent that there was growing uneasiness among those who followed the Reformed Faith, and even those English people who were not so concerned with religion did not care for foreigners or foreign rule. They had heard of the possibility of a marriage with Edward Courtenay and this was what they favored.

  Mary was making herself unpopular, something no sovereign should do. Then I became really alarmed because there was a suggestion that I should marry Edward Courtenay. That terrified me. I wanted no hurried marriage, for the future was uncertain. I wanted to be free to do whatever was necessary when the time came.

  I felt nothing would come of these suggestions because Gardiner would surely be against such a marriage. He could not want me to marry a man who could be said to have a faint claim to the throne through his Plantagenet ancestors.

  Now that I had been proclaimed a bastard, which I must be if the marriage between my father and Mary's mother was valid, others took precedence over me, even though I was heiress presumptive to the throne. The Countess of Lennox, the daughter of Margaret Queen of Scotland, was one, and even the Duchess of Suffolk, whose daughter Jane Grey was still in the Tower, was another.

  I found this hard to endure. I had more headaches. I began to look delicate and one day the Queen noticed this.

  I told her I was feeling unwell and longed for the country air. She said nothing at the time but she must have consulted Gardiner on the advisability of sending me away from Court. I believe he was rather concerned that in spite of his efforts to denigrate me, I still had the favor of the people in the streets and whenever I appeared they made this apparent. Perhaps because of this he agreed that it might be a good idea to let me go, and the Queen sent for me to tell me of her decision.

  I was greatly relieved. I fell on my knees and thanked her for her kindness.

  “Dear Majesty,” I said, “I beg of you do not believe any ill you may hear of me. If such a thing should happen, will you please do me the honor of receiving me so that you may hear the truth from my lips? For I am not only your sister but your servant.”