No! Rebellion was not for her.
And she was soon proved to be right, for Courtenay turned traitor in a moment of panic and confessed the plot to Gardiner, so that Wyatt was forced to act prematurely. The rebellion failed and Wyatt was under arrest; Courtenay and Suffolk were sent to the Tower, and the order went forth that Lady Jane and Lord Guildford Dudley were to be executed without delay. Unfortunately for Elizabeth, letters written by Noailles and Wyatt, intended for her, were intercepted and put before the Queen.
When the summons came, Elizabeth knew that in all the dangerous moments of a hazardous life, there had never been one to equal this.
There was one thing she could do. She could go to bed. Alas, she declared, she was too ill to travel; and indeed, so terrified was she, that her illness on this occasion was not altogether feigned. She could neither eat nor sleep; she lay in agony of torment—waiting, listening for the sound of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard which would announce the arrival of the Queen’s men.
It was not long before they came.
They were not soldiers come to arrest her, but two of the Queen’s physicians, Dr. Wendy and Dr. Owen.
Her trembling attendants announced their arrival.
“I cannot see them,” said the Princess. “I am too ill for visitors.”
It was ten o’clock at night, but the doctors came purposefully into her chamber. She looked at them haughtily.
“Is the haste such that you could not wait until morning?” she asked.
They begged her to pardon them. They were distressed, they said, to see her Grace in such a sorry condition.
“And I,” she retorted, “am not glad to see you at such an hour.”
“It is by the Queen’s command that we come, Your Grace.”
“You see me a poor invalid.”
They came closer to the bed. “It is the Queen’s wish that you should leave Ashridge at dawn tomorrow for London.”
“I could not undertake the journey in my present state of fatigue.”
The doctors looked at her sternly. “Your Grace might rest for one day. After that we must set out without fail for London on pain of Her Majesty’s displeasure.”
Elizabeth was resigned. She knew that her sick-bed could give her at most no more than a few days’ grace.
She was carried in a litter which the Queen had sent for her; and the very day on which she set out was that on which Lady Jane Grey and her husband Lord Guildford Dudley walked the short distance from their prisons in the Tower to the scaffold.
Some of the country people came out to watch the Princess pass by, and she was deeply aware of their sympathetic glances. They thought of the lovely Jane Grey, who was only seventeen; she had had no wish to be Queen, but the ambition of those about her had forced her to that eminence. And perhaps at this moment she was saying her last prayers before the executioner severed that lovely head from her slender body. The people could feel nothing but pity for that young girl; and here was another—this young Princess who might be on her way to a similar fate.
For once Elizabeth was desolate and afraid. She was delaying the journey as much as possible because she believed that Mary’s anger might cool if given time. Therefore each day’s delay was important. She spent the first night at Redbourn and her second halt was at St. Albans. Oh, that she might rest a little longer in the comfortable hospitality of Sir Ralph Rowlett’s mansion! But they must go on to Mimms and to Highgate. She made a point of resting as long as she possibly could at these places, and the journey took ten days, far longer than was really necessary.
When Elizabeth reached London it was to find a subdued City in which many gibbets had been erected. Men were hanging outside the doors of their houses; there was a new harvest of heads on the Bridge. London had little heart to welcome the Princess who was sadly conscious of her own uneasy head.
But as she passed through the Capital, which had always been friendly to her, she roused herself from her melancholy. She had the litter uncovered that the people might see her all in white, a color which not only set off the glory of her hair, but seemed to proclaim her spotless innocence; she sat erect and proud, as though to say: “Let them do what they will to an innocent girl.” And if the people of London felt that at such a time it would be unwise to cheer the Princess, they did not refrain from weeping for her; and they prayed that she might not suffer the fate which had befallen the Lady Jane Grey.
She was taken to the Palace of Whitehall.
It was on the Friday before Palm Sunday that Elizabeth, in her closely guarded apartments at the Palace, heard from her attendants that Bishop Gardiner with some members of the Queen’s Council was on his way to visit her.
At length he stood before her—the great Bishop of Winchester, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom and her declared enemy.
“Your Grace is charged,” he said, “with conspiracy against the Queen. You are charged with being concerned in the Wyatt plot.”
“This is a false accusation.”
“Letters are in the Queen’s possession which will prove that you speak not the truth, and it is Her Majesty’s pleasure that you should leave this lodging for another.”
Elizabeth could not trust herself to speak; that which she had most dreaded was upon her.
“Your Grace is to be removed this day to the Tower.”
She was terrified, yet determined not to show her fear. She boldly answered: “I trust that Her Majesty will be far more gracious than to commit to that place a true and innocent woman who never offended her in thought, word, nor deed.”
“It is the will of Her Majesty that you should prepare to leave for the Tower this day.”
An impulse came to her to throw herself upon her knees and plead with these men. Instead she stood still, looking haughtily at them.
“I beg of you, my lords,” she said, “either to plead my case before the Queen or to ask her graciously to permit me to see her.”
Gardiner answered: “The Queen’s orders are that you shall prepare to leave at once.”
The Earl of Sussex was moved by her youth, her courage, and her desperate plight. He said: “If it be in my power to persuade the Queen to grant you an audience, I will do so.”
They left her then, and when they had gone she collapsed upon a stool. She covered her face with her hands and whispered: “So did my mother go to the Tower … never to return.”
All that night she waited for a summons from the Queen. Her servants told her that the gardens surrounding the palace were being patrolled by guards; they were in the palace itself, for it was greatly feared that there might be some plot for her escape.
The next day the Earl of Sussex came to her to tell her that she must leave at once, for a barge was prepared and the tide would not wait. She wrote a note to the Queen and pleaded so earnestly with Sussex to take it to her that he was deeply moved.
“My lord Earl,” she implored, “I beg of you to take it now.”
He hesitated, but he could not resist her pleading and he took the letter to the Queen.
Mary was enraged. This, she cried, was a ruse of her sister’s. Did not my lord Sussex realize that she had duped him into missing the tide for that day?
The next day was Palm Sunday and there was nothing to prevent her going to the Tower.
She had not been taken on the midnight tide because it was feared that in the darkness a rescue might be possible.
As she walked to the barge she murmured: “The Lord’s Will be done. I must be content seeing this is the Queen’s pleasure!” Then she turned to the men who walked beside her and cried out in sudden anger: “It is an astonishing thing that you who call yourselves noblemen and gentlemen should suffer me, a Princess and daughter of the great King Henry, to be led to captivity, the Lord knoweth where, for I do not.”
They watched her furtively. How could they be sure what she would do? They—stalwart soldiers and statesmen—were afraid of this slender young girl.
The barge sp
ed quickly along the river, while the Londoners were at Church, that they might not see her pass by and show her that sympathy which they had never failed to give her. Quickly they came to the Tower—that great gray home of torment, of failure and despair.
She saw that they were taking her to the Traitor’s Gate, and this seemed to her a terrible omen.
“I will not be landed there!” she cried.
It was raining and she lifted her face that she might feel the rain upon it, for when would she again be at liberty to feel its softness? How gentle it is! she thought. How kind in this cruel world!
“Your Grace …” urged Sussex.
“Must I then land here … at the Traitor’s Gate? Look! You have misjudged the tide. How can I step into the water?”
Sussex put his cloak about her shoulders to protect her from the rain. In sudden pettishness she threw it off and stepped out. The water came above her shoe, but she did not heed it. She cried in a ringing voice: “Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs. Before Thee, oh God, I speak it, having no other friend but Thee alone.”
As she passed on, many of the warders came out to see her, and some of them brought their children with them. The sight of these small wondering faces calmed the Princess. She smiled wanly at them, and one little boy came forward on his own account and, kneeling before her, said in a high piping voice: “Last night I prayed God to preserve Your Grace, and I shall do so again.”
She laid her hand on his head. “So I have one friend in this sorry place,” she said. “I thank you, my child.”
Then several of the warders cried out: “May God preserve Your Grace.”
She smiled and sat down on one of the damp stones, looking at them almost tenderly.
The Lieutenant of the Tower came to her and begged her to rise. “For, Madam,” he said, “you sit unwholesomely.”
“Better sit here than in a worse place,” she retorted, “for God, not I, knows whither you bring me.”
But she rose and allowed herself, with those few women who had been permitted to accompany her, to be led into the Tower.
The Earl of Sussex still walked beside her. “Your Grace,” he murmured, “you will understand that I like not this task which has been put upon me. Rest assured that I shall do everything in my power to ease your stay in this place.”
“My lord,” she answered softly, “I forget not your kindness to me.”
She was conducted to the apartments prepared for her—the most heavily guarded in the Tower; and as her weeping ladies gathered about her, she felt her courage return.
So it had come—that which she had so often dreaded. Her thoughts were not of the trials which lay ahead but of her conduct during her journey to this place. Had any seen that when they had brought her through the Traitor’s Gate she had almost swooned? She fervently hoped that none had witnessed that display of fear.
Now she felt so calm that she was able to soothe her women. “What happens now is in the hands of God,” she consoled them. “And if they should send me to the block, I will have no English axe to sever my head from my body; I shall insist on a sword from France.”
They knew then that she was remembering her mother, and they wept more wildly; but she sat erect, her tawny head high, while she calmly looked into a future which might bring her a crown or a sword from France.
THREE
Robert was pacing up and down his cell. He had been excited since that rainy Palm Sunday when he had heard, from the warder who brought his meals, that there was a most distinguished prisoner not very far from him.
How long had he to live? he wondered. Young Guildford had gone, alas! It was a sobering thought. Guildford and he had spent so much of their lives together. Father … Guildford … Who next?
When the threat of death hung over a man for so long, there were times when he forgot about it. It was some months since he had walked from the Guildhall back to the Tower, aware of the axe with its edge turned toward him. When his cell door had been locked upon him and he was alone with those two servants, whom, because of his rank, he was allowed to have with him, he had felt nothing but bleak and utter despair; he had almost longed to be summoned for that last walk. But such as Robert Dudley did not despair for long. He had been born lucky. Was he not Fortune’s darling? Had she not shielded him when she had made him commit the seemingly foolhardly act of marrying Amy? If he had not done so, it would have been Robert, not Guildford, who had walked to the scaffold to be beheaded with the Lady Jane Grey, since his father would most certainly have married him to that most tragic young lady. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he became that he was preserved for some glorious destiny.
It was Easter time, always a season for hope.
The warder came in to bring his food, and with him he brought his small son. The little boy, not quite four years old, begged that he might accompany his father when he visited Lord Robert. The child would stand gravely surveying the prisoner, and although he said nothing, his eyes scarcely left Robert’s face.
Robert was amused. He could see in the child’s eyes the same admiration and sympathy which had shone in those of the women who had stood in the street to watch him on his journey from Guildhall to the Tower.
He bowed to the boy and said: “I am honored by your visit.”
The child smiled and hung his head.
“My lord,” said his father, “he asks always if I am going to visit you, and if I am he implores to come too.”
“I repeat,” said Robert, “I am honored.”
And with a display of charm which was natural with him, he lifted the child in his arms so that their faces were on a level.
“And what think you of what you see, my little one?” he asked. “Take a good look at this head, for the opportunity to do so may not long be yours. One day, my child, you will come to this cell and find another poor prisoner.”
The little boy’s lips began to quiver.
“And this poor head which you survey with such flattering attention will no longer have a pair of shoulders to support it.”
The warder whispered: “My lord, my lord, he understands your meaning. He will break his little heart. He sets such store by your lordship.”
Robert was immediately serious. He kissed the boy lightly on the cheek.
“Tears?” he said. “Nay, we do not shed tears. Do you think that I shall allow them to harm me? Never!”
The child smiled now. “Never!” he repeated.
Robert lowered him to the ground. “A bonny boy,” he said. “I look forward to his visits. I hope he will come again.”
“He shall, my lord. Always he pleads: ‘I want to see Lord Robert!’ Is that not so, my son?”
The boy nodded.
“And great pleasure it gives me to see you,” said Robert smiling.
“He has another friend in the Tower, my lord.”
“Ha! I grow jealous.”
“It is a lady Princess,” said the boy.
Robert was alert, eager to hear more.
“It is the Princess Elizabeth, my lord,” put in the warder. “Poor lady! It is sad for her … though they have allowed her a little freedom. She is allowed to walk in the small garden to take the air.”
“Would I could walk in a small garden now and then,” said Robert.
“Ah, my lord, yes indeed. They were at first strict with the Princess, keeping her closely guarded. But my lord of Sussex and the Lieutenant have put their heads together and have decided to give her this freedom.”
“It would seem that they are wise men.”
“How so, my lord?”
“They remember that the Princess may well be Queen one day. She would not look too kindly on those who had, during her imprisonment, shown her something less than kindness.”
The warder looked uneasy. He did not like this reckless talk. It was all very well for Lord Robert, who had little to lose since he was under sentence of death, but a humble warder to be caug
ht listening to such talk concerning the Queen’s enemies!
He took the boy by the hand but Robert said: “And so my little friend visits the Princess in her garden, eh?”
“Oh yes. Her Grace is fond of children. She encourages them to talk to her; and young Will is almost as devoted to the lady as he is to your lordship.”
Robert swung the boy up into his arms once more. “It would seem, Master William,” he said, “that you are a gentleman of much discernment.”
The boy laughed aloud to find himself swung aloft, but Robert was thoughtful as he lowered him to the floor.
The next day when the warder came, the boy was again with him; this time he brought a nosegay—flowers which he had picked from the patch of ground outside his father’s apartments within the prison precincts. Primroses, violets, and wallflowers made a sweet-smelling bunch.
The boy handed them shyly to Robert.
“Why,” cried Robert, “this is the pleasantest thing that has happened to me for a long time. I need a bowl in which to put them, for they will quickly fade if I do not. A small bowl of water. Could you procure such a bowl for me?”
“I will bring one next time I come,” said the warder.
“Nay, that will not do. I’d not have my friend’s flowers fade. Go, like a good fellow, bring me a bowl and leave your son with me that I may thank him for his gift.” He picked up the boy. “You will stay with me … locked in my cell for a little while, will you not? You are not afraid to stay with me?”
The boy said: “I wish to stay with my lord.”
The warder looked fondly at his son and, seeing that to be locked in the cell with Lord Robert would delight him, agreed to go and bring the bowl. He went out, carefully locking the door behind him.
As soon as he had gone, Robert, who still held the boy in his arms, whispered into his ear: “You are my friend. You would do something for me?”
A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 Page 8
