Norfolk was strongly in favour of burning all heretics, as was Bishop Gardiner, and both shared their distrust of the Princess Elizabeth for she possessed the devious, subtle brain of her grandfather, King Henry VII, the ruthless determination of her father and the vindictive temper of both her parents.
By November it had become obvious that the Queen had set her heart upon marriage and marriage to the most powerful, Catholic Prince in Christendom – King Philip II of Spain, son of the Holy Roman Emperor.
Bishop Gardiner was not strongly in favour of the match and the Duke – who distrusted all foreigners – was quite openly opposed to it. He discussed the matter with the Bishop one day at Lambeth.
Both men were now very advanced in years, having lived much longer than the normal life-expectancy of men of their times. The afternoon was cold and bleak and a strong wind tore the last skeletal leaves from the trees in the garden and rattled the casement, lifting the heavy curtains with the draught. A large fire burnt in the hearth and helped to dispel the gloom and the Duke, reflecting upon the harsh winters he had spent in the Tower, drew his chair closer to the blaze.
“The Queen is determined to pursue this course?” he enquired of his companion.
“Yes, she is conscious of her duty to provide the country with an heir and she sees in this union of England and Spain the advantage of peace and the realisation of a dream – to bring this realm back to Rome.”
The Duke shook his head, “There are many who would not call those advantages. They would say that England will become a vassal of Spain and that King Philip will bring with him the Inquisition, and upon the matter of religion Englishmen strongly object to the methods of the Inquisitor General. I do myself.”
“You can say that, My Lord! I considered you to be a staunch adherent of the Catholic Faith?”
“I am, but I do not like the thought of the Inquisition being set up here.”
“The Queen is determined, she will not be turned aside. I fear that in this matter she may let feminine emotion rule her…”
“’Tis not a fault to be found in Madam Elizabeth!” Gardiner replied with venom.
“She is a young vixen, watch her closely, Bishop. I do not trust her, she will cause trouble like her mother.”
“You need not concern yourself, My Lord, I am aware of her tricks and deceptions. She now attends Mass but I am certain that she is secretly laughing behind the Queen’s back. The leopard does not change its spots. Her claws are sheathed at present, but given the opportunity, we will all feel how sharp they can be.”
“If the Queen continues with this marriage she will have to be watched very closely for there will be trouble, Bishop. Mark well my words!”
Gardiner sighed, he was old and tired but the Queen relied upon him and he had begun to realise that Mary Tudor had little aptitude for governing her stubborn and often unruly subjects.
“Jane Grey is still within the Tower?” Norfolk enquired.
The Bishop nodded.
“She should have gone the way of her father-in-law. The Queen’s judgement was at fault. She should have removed Lady Jane Grey for while she lives she will present a threat to the security of the Crown.”
“Her Majesty is fond of the girl and Jane wrote, begging forgiveness, claiming that she had been forced into it by her father and Northumberland and the Queen does not feel that she could stain her hands with innocent blood.”
“Innocent blood!” Norfolk hissed, “Whey-faced little heretic!”
Both men fell silent, brooding upon the dangerous position of the Queen, but at last the Bishop rose.
“I must return, it grows late. There is much I must attend to before supper.”
“Remember my words. Watch the Lady Elizabeth.”
“I will. I bid you good-day, My Lord.”
“Good day, Bishop.”
The news of the Queen’s intended marriage stirred up feelings of fear and bitter hatred amongst her subjects for the people did not like Spaniards and the dreaded word ‘Inquisition’ was whispered wherever a group of them gathered together.
Despite the warnings of the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop, Mary was adamant for she had foolishly become enamoured of Philip and now considered herself in love with him, therefore she turned a deaf ear to all supplications.
On the 12th January, 1554, the marriage treaty was signed and almost immediately the rallying cry was heard, “We will have no foreigner for our King!”
Within seven days the news reached London that Sir Peter Carew was leading a rebellion in Devonshire. Hardly had this news reached the Queen, when the tidings came that Sir Thomas Wyatt had roused the men of Kent and ominously the Duke of Suffolk (the father of Jane Grey) disappeared.
The Duke returned to court and was immediately despatched with the Queen’s guard and the train bands of the City to quell the rebels. He had foreseen this trouble and although he could have been excused on account of his age, he grimly rode out once more to seek and destroy the enemies of the Crown. As he strapped on his armour and mounted his destrier, little did he realise that this was to be the last time in his lifetime that the white lion of the Howards would be born into battle.
When he reached Kent he found that Wyatt had taken Rochester Bridge and he was alarmed to learn that the crews of the Queen’s ships, lying at anchor in the Medway, had also joined Wyatt. He was not happy with his own forces and wondered whether they could be trusted.
In his heart he sympathised with them for he, too, was not anxious to see a foreigner upon the throne or the establishment of the Inquisition in England.
He journeyed on until he reached Rochester where the insurgents were encamped and prepared for battle. When all was ready he raised his great sword above his head and cried, “Death to all traitors!” To his utter fury, instead of charging forward their pikes and halberds at the ready, his men flung down their arms and ran shouting and waving to the rebels. “We are all Englishmen!” they cried, “We will resist the King of Spain!”
Furiously he rode amongst them, laying about him with the flat of his sword. “Traitors! Scum! Fight for your Queen, you rebellious swine!” It was no use, Wyatt’s men and the men of the train bands were embracing each other like long-lost brothers and only his own retainers remained loyal to him.
Finally, he drew rein and wiped the dust and sweat from his face. He could do nothing and moreover he could not judge them too harshly. Gone were the days when he had ridden like the avenging angel, upon the orders of his sovereign, leaving death and destruction in his wake. He was too old. He turned his horse away and rode off back to London.
With resignation he informed the Queen of his failure but Mary did not reproach him. On the 30th January, Wyatt reached Blackheath and from here demanded his terms. The custody of the Tower and the Queen and the removal of several members of the council. The City was in a panic but Mary kept her head. She rallied the citizens from the Guildhall and when Wyatt reached Southwark he found the City barred against him.
It was the beginning of the end for Wyatt and when he finally got through Temple Bar, Pembroke cut off his retreat. Norfolk’s step-brother, Lord William Howard, was in the forefront, “Avaunt Traitor!” he shouted to Wyatt, “Thou shalt not come in here!” Within a few minutes it was all over and Wyatt surrendered to Sir Maurice Berkeley.
The ringleaders were rounded up and brought to trial and the Princess Elizabeth was commanded to come at once to court, to answer for her alleged conspiracy with the rebels.
The Duke watched as the gallows were erected throughout the City and soon the sickening sights of rotting corpses and grinning skulls appeared upon the walls and gates of the city and the bridge. The Duke of Suffolk had been executed and on the very day that the Princess Elizabeth left Ashridge on her journey to court, the Duke of Norfolk entered the Tower to witness the execution of Jane Grey.
The 12th February that year was reminiscent of that other February day when Catherine Howard had died. Jane’s husband, Guildf
ord Dudley, had been executed that morning and the unfortunate girl had watched his decapitated body being brought back from Tower Hill.
The scaffold stood on the green in front of the Chapel of St Peter, a wooden platform raised four feet above the ground. The Duke had witnessed many executions but as he felt the approach of death, he felt sickened.
The door of the Gentlemen Gaoler’s house opened and she stepped out, a small, frail girl of sixteen. Her face was white and her eyes downcast, her lips moving in silent prayer. Her dress was of heavy, black grosgrain with no decoration and in her hands she held a small, leather-bound prayer book. She was followed by a Catholic priest whose presence she strongly resented.
As she climbed the steps of the scaffold the Duke shivered involuntarily. She was so very young, he thought. She knelt and said her prayers and without fear bestowed her forgiveness upon the headsman and gave her prayer book to one of her ladies. The Duke marvelled that one so young should be so calm, so totally devoid of fear, as though wishing only to speed the moment of her departure from this earth.
There was a distressing scene after the blindfold had been placed about her eyes for she could not find the block. For a few minutes she crawled upon her knees, helplessly feeling for the hard piece of wood, hollowed out to receive her neck. “I cannot find it!” she cried, “Help me, please?” At last someone moved forward and placed her hands upon it. She murmured her last prayers and laying down her head, flung her arms wide to signal that she was ready.
The axe fell and the headsman picked up the head, its lips still moving, and cried “So perish all traitors!” A great fountain of blood spurted from the trunk and quickly covered the straw and seeped down the scaffold and onto the grass. Norfolk turned away, horrified by the amount of blood. It was beyond belief that so small a body could have contained so much blood.
He could not get the sight of that blood out of his mind and finally he begged the Queen leave to retire. He felt ill and worn out and he wanted peace and tranquility. He was eighty-two, he had lived too long. He remembered that his father had once uttered that thought and now he heartily concurred with the sentiment. It was possible for a man to live too long. The vigor and exhilaration he used to feel, as he cautiously worked to increase his power and confound his enemies, had gone. His son had gone and of all the men who had shared his youth and middle years, only Gardiner was left and he, too, was failing fast.
As he rode through the Norfolk countryside towards Kenninghall he wished only to be left in peace. The faithful servant of masters good and bad was going home to die.
* * *
At the beginning of July, he set his affairs in order, drawing up his Last Will and Testament with his lawyers on the 2nd of that month. His strength began to fail rapidly until ten days later he could not rise from his bed, nor did he wish to do so.
He lay semi-conscious but in his lucid moments he could see from his window the trees that skirted the banks of the river and he heard the sounds of the birds and water fowl but then he would once more drift into sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes the room had grown dark. Candles had been lit and he could make out the blurred figures of his chaplains as they stood about the bed.
“Grandfather, do you wish to be confessed?”
He turned his head slowly. It was young Thomas who had spoken but his face was hidden in shadow. He must confess his sins for they were many. He nodded and a figure detached itself from the shadowy forms.
“My Lord, confess yourself of your sins for time grows short,” his senior chaplain begged.
He feebly took the crucifix that the priest held out and raised it to his lips. “Confiteor Deo ominipotenti,” he whispered. It was difficult to remember for things had become confused in his mind and faces and voices from the past became mixed up with the sins he had committed against them. Adultery, pride, greed, complicity to murder – such were his sins. He recalled a voice saying to him “I pray God that when the time comes for you to give an account of your deeds upon this earth, He will grant you forgiveness, for I cannot.” But he could not recall whose voice it was.
His sins were heinous and in his last hour he prayed that the Saviour whose image he held against his lips, would forgive him but the darkness was descending upon him once more and faintly he heard the voice of the priest.
“Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis vestris…”
The voice faded as the darkness enveloped him and with the eternal darkness, came peace.
Young Thomas Howard knelt beside the bed and crossed himself, “Absolve, O Lord, the soul of thy servant departed from every bond of sin and by the help of thy grace may he escape the avenging judgement and enjoy the bliss of everlasting light,” he prayed.
The priest raised his hand in a final benediction. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine…”
Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshall of England, was dead.
Epilogue
“Since William rose and Harold fell
There have been Earls of Arundel
And Earls of Arundel shall have
While rivers flow and forests wave.”
Elizabeth Howard lived to see her great-niece, Elizabeth Tudor, become Queen of England and Thomas Howard, at the age of eighteen, succeeded his grandfather as fourth Duke of Norfolk. He married the Lady Mary Fitzalan, only daughter of the Earl of Arundel, who bore him a son – later to become St Philip Howard. The Lady Mary died shortly afterwards and the fourth Duke was executed by his kinswoman, Queen Elizabeth, for alleged treason.
To-day Framlingham Castle is a ruin and nothing remains of Kenninghall or Mount Surrey, but Arundel Castle stands upon the hill overlooking the town and the river Arun. For nine hundred years the castle has been the home of the Earls of Arundel and for five hundred years, the home of the Howards. The sword of King James IV still hangs above the fireplace in the Great Hall – a reminder of the glorious past.
There is an old tale – its origins lost in the mists of antiquity – which says that the name ‘Howard’ is derived from that of Hereward, the man who kept alive the spark of freedom in Norfolk when William of Normandy invaded England. If there is any truth in this tale, then there have been Howards of Norfolk for a thousand years.
The present Duke is the seventeenth of his line, the premier Peer of the realm and Earl Marshall of England.
Author’s Note
The Author wishes to thank His Grace The Duke of Norfolk, E.M., C.B., C.B.E., M.C., for the facilities extended to her whilst researching the subject of this book. The information obtained from the Arundel Castle Archives has proved invaluable in enabling her to present an accurate account of the events appertaining to the Life and Times of Thomas Howard, Third Duke of Norfolk.
The Author also wishes to acknowledge the assistance and consideration afforded her by Dr. Francis Steer, Archivist and Librarian to His Grace The Duke of Norfolk.
L.M.A.
Bibliography
Arundel Castle Archives. Dr F.W. Steer. M.A., D.LITT., F.S.A. Archivist & Librarian to His Grace, The Duke of Norfolk.
The Dictionary of National Biography
The House of Howard G. Brenan & E.P. Statham.
The Lion & The Rose E.M. Richardson.
The Howards of Norfolk N. Grant.
Lives of the Queens of England Agnes Strickland.
Life & Death of Cardinal Wolsey George Cavendish.
Henry VIII A.F. Pollard.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1978 by Robert Hale
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Lynda M. Andrews, 1978
The moral right of Lynda M. Andrews to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights re
served. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911591375
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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