Elizabeth

by Kathryn Lasky

  Because this Palace is in such disrepair, it is quite easy for me to find a hiding place for you, Diary. One fireplace in my chamber does not work at all. Loose stones in the flue, so I found a perfect spot for you. One must always wear that dreadful little patch of wool to protect from fleas here at Whitehall, or one would be consumed whole by the little beasts.

  15 October, 1544

  Jane the Bald came and begged Lady Jane and me to come and play cards with Princess Mary and Lucretia. She says that Princess Mary is in a very foul mood because she was still hoping for a marriage with Charles V. Why she would want him I wouldn’t know. I heard that he is a man with a huge ugly jaw, bad teeth, and poor digestion. I am sure his breath stinks. Then Jane told me that Mary would have even settled for his son Philip, who will become King of Spain. But Philip is eleven years younger. If I were to take a husband eleven years younger, it would mean I should marry an infant! He might not even know how to crawl yet! I start giggling, for I think that this would make for a ludicrous sight. I start to imagine our wedding, or perhaps a coronation – baby being carried down the nave of Westminster Abbey with ermine-trimmed robes trailing behind. I shall never be Queen and I shall never marry, so none of this is of any consequence. I agree to play cards with Princess Mary if she agrees not to say anything nasty and not cheat.

  “Cheat?” says Jane the Bald, her eyebrows sliding up into her glistening scalp in disbelief. I roll my own eyes heavenwards and sigh deeply. “Let us not pretend to be fools even though that is your occupation, dear Jane. You and I both know that Princess Mary cheats at cards.” Am I to remind Jane that I have had five mothers, two of them were beheaded, one a near girl? I mean, Jane dear, I want to say, if one has half a brain one cannot remain an innocent long in my father’s court. Yes, Princess Mary does cheat at cards. And the only reason I agree to go and play is because I truly like Lucretia and Jane and feel they need my company much more than Mary does.

  Later

  Mary was extremely nice to me. So nice it made me nervous. She did cheat once. It was a small point. But I know Jane Grey saw her because she nudged my foot under the table.

  16 October, 1544

  Queen Catherine talked to us today about a new tutor she might employ, as Master Cox has to go away for a while. We shall miss him terribly. The new tutor’s name is John Cheke. He is a renowned scholar and will give us more advanced work. He probably will not come until the new year. In the meantime, the Queen says we must work very hard on our Greek and Latin so we can rise to the challenges she is sure Master Cheke will give us.

  17 October, 1544

  Galyon Hone has arrived to begin changing the crests here at Whitehall Palace to Catherine Parr’s symbols. There is so much else that needs attention, however. Robin and Lady Jane and Edward and I began our work in the garden this afternoon as it was such a fine day. It is so overgrown with brambles that it seems impenetrable. And we were terribly scratched. Edward gave up immediately and went to sit in the shade and read.

  18 October, 1544

  Robin is possessed about the garden. We wear hawking gloves to protect our arms, and Robin whacks at the thorny brambles with a gutting knife. He managed to get some shearers from one of the groundsmen for Lady Jane and me. Edward could use his boy’s sword, which he received when he turned six. It would be perfect, but instead he sits in the shade and translates Aesop! Sometimes Edward shows a distinct lack of spirit. Now that I think of it, I believe his humours are out of order. There are four fluids in the body which are the four humours: choler (or yellow bile), blood, phlegm, and melancholy (or black bile). If you have too much of one, it is not good. It is thought that there are tests of one’s urine that can show such imbalances. I think he should send a sample of his urine to Dr Butts.

  20 October, 1544

  Oh, you shall never guess what happened today. Father was taking a walk with Archbishop Cranmer, one of his closest advisers. They took us quite by surprise in the rose garden. Father was so pleased – at least at first, until he spotted Edward languishing in a corner with a book. Then his pleasure turned to outrage. “Look at your sister and Robin and little Lady Jane Grey. They are scratched and bloody from battling thorny roses, sweating and brimming with vigour, and you, you lad, the future King, sit like an overfed milksop. Are you the son of a King who just commanded the largest invasionary force in the history of England and the continent?”

  Oh, poor Edward, I really did feel sorry for him. I ran up to Father and curtsied very deeply. “Father,” I said in a very small voice, “do not blame Edward. I believe his humours are out of balance.” Father leaned over and cupped his hand round my chin and raised me up. “What is this you say, child?” I took a deep breath and did not blush when I said, “I would beseech you to ask Doctor Butts to collect a sample of his urine for study.” I almost dared not look up. But then I saw there was nothing but loving kindness in his eyes, a softness almost like the early morning mist. I knew now that he did not look at me as a half witch at all. Indeed, I believe, he had no thoughts of my mother. It was just I, Elizabeth, who filled his eyes and his mind. “Elizabeth, dear child” – he took his thumb and ran it across my cheek – “you are bleeding from the roses.” Then he spoke a few short words in Latin – “Tu rosa vera Tudoris es,” which means, “You are the true Tudor rose.” This might be the happiest day of my life. I feel as if I have been anointed.

  21 October, 1544

  Robin came running up to our apartments today brimming with excitement. The best news! When Father saw us battling the thorny roses with our hawking gloves, he ordered that we are to skip lessons this morning and be taken immediately to his armourer at the Tower for better protective covering. So we must rush now, as a barge is coming to convey us from Whitehall Palace down the Thames to the Tower. It is not a long trip. I cannot write anymore now. Must hurry. Kat looks stunned. “Why would children need armour?” she keeps muttering.

  22 October, 1544

  We worked all afternoon in the garden. We got frightfully hot and finally took off the hauberks and just wore our mail vests, which were much cooler. Edward seems more enthusiastic now that he gets to wear armour.

  24 October, 1544

  Edward is a tyrant! He refuses to let us touch the roses in the northeast corner, not even to weed them. He claims that these are the ones that his mother, Jane Seymour, planted and that only he can tend them. But he’s making a miserable job of it. He and Robin had a huge row. Lady Jane and I just ignored it all and went off and did what we could elsewhere. Sometimes I think it is better to be quiet and just go about one’s business.

  Later

  Hah! I cannot believe I wrote that last sentence. Edward came over and started scolding me and Jane, particularly Jane. I thought she might cry. I got so mad I swore a round and bloody oath that really just about felled everyone in earshot. Robin was astounded. His face shone with admiration. They did not know I knew this sort of language, but I do. I learned it in the Fish Court at Hampton Court. There is a fishmonger who comes there who has a tongue hot as the flames of hell. You cannot use these oaths too often or they wear out, lose their power. That is why I dole them out in very small measure. But my goodness, it works. Edward is as meek as can be.

  25 October, 1544

  Feeling a bit sad today. No particular reason. Raining. I cannot go out to garden and I am having a bit of trouble with my Greek translation.

  Later

  You know, dear Diary, I must confess, I have lied to you. Something I vowed in my heart I would never do. Earlier I wrote that I did not know why I was sad. I tried to blame it on the weather and then on my Greek translations, but that is not the truth. The truth is something that happened at the Tower that day when we went to get our armour fitted. And now I write here the absolute truth.

  I was the first to be measured for my hauberk, and so I asked permission if I could wand
er off a bit while the others were measured. Master Hawkins said yes, of course, and that I might go in the company of one of the Tower guards. Yeoman Southey was my attendant. “Where would you like to go, My Lady?” he asked.

  Now I cannot account for what I said next. The idea just seemed to pop into my head. “Tower Green,” I said. His eyes opened wide and his mouth parted in disbelief. You see, dear Diary, this was the place where my mother was executed, as well as Catherine Howard. I knew right away I must go there. It was for my mother more than Catherine that I wanted to. I looked him steady in the eye and a round oath bloomed in my head, but never needed to reach my lips. The yeoman simply nodded and took me to Tower Green.

  So there I stood on the same ground that held my mother’s blood. There was a scaffolding erected and a new block, for indeed they use a fresh block for each execution. They must have been readying for a new beheading, most likely a distinguished person, one who perhaps, like Thomas More, had refused to acknowledge my father as the head of the church. Common criminals are executed on Tower Hill, and throngs of people attend.

  I studied the block. There was a curved indentation for the chin to rest on, and then a span of five inches or so for the neck to stretch across. The block was surrounded by straw to soak up the blood. I could feel Yeoman Southey watching me. I turned to him. “Were you here then,” I asked, “when they beheaded my mother?” He nodded. “You must then answer every single question I put to you as best you can.” He nodded again and said, “As best I can, My Lady.”

  So now, from what he told me, I know it all. I can picture it precisely. My mother approached the scaffolding from the southeast side. She wore an ermine-trimmed mantle over a dark grey gown also trimmed in fur, and beneath the gown was a scarlet petticoat. The neckline of the gown was purposely low so as not to impede the executioner in his work. She was accompanied by two Ladies-in-Waiting. “Possibly three,” the yeoman said. He could not remember. He did remember two ladies helping to remove the headdress, but leaving the coif to hold her hair up from her neck. She knelt down, and her last words were, “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul.” And then – this is the hard part for me to write, but I must and I shall do it with a steady hand. The swordsman, in order to get her head in the right position, spoke to a nearby assistant and said, “Bring me the sword.” Mother turned her head in the direction he spoke. But he already had the sword concealed at his side, and he quickly raised it and brought it down. In a single stroke my mother’s head was cut off. It rolled onto the straw. The cannon boomed.

  “Is it true…” I began to ask, and then hesitated.

  “Is what true?” the yeoman responded.

  “Is it true that the eyes in the head still move afterwards?”

  “Sometimes,” the yeoman replied.

  “Did my mother’s eyes still move?”

  “I… I… I…” he began three times, and then finally said, “I don’t know.”

  They did move. His hesitation in answering proved it to me. He wanted to spare me. But I was not for the sparing. I still wanted to know more. If he would not tell me, I am clever and can read between the utterances and the hesitations. But the remainder of the information was forthcoming. My mother’s Ladies-in-Waiting covered her head with a white cloth. She was then buried in the Chapel of Saint Peter ad Vincula. Catherine Howard is also buried there. I insisted on being taken to the Chapel. We went and along the way I plucked what few flowers I found growing in the sparsely planted beds that border the walks. I stood first at my mother’s grave and then at Catherine’s and seeing as I had no vase or water, I merely plucked the petals from the flowers and scattered them atop the graves.

  I wrote all this down tonight because I thought it might help. You see, Diary, ever since that day I have had the worst nightmares. I hope tonight I shall sleep more peacefully since I have laid down these horrors on your pages.

  26 October, 1544

  I did sleep better, and today was a lovely sunny day. Master Cox says I make fine progress with my Greek translation. The garden looks so much better, and now that we have cleared it out, we can see that there are many fat rosebuds of the late-blooming variety ready to burst.

  27 October, 1544

  Played cards with Princess Mary, Jane the Bald, and Lucretia today. I was very, very clever at cards and took several pence from all of them. I could tell that Princess Mary was furious and could barely contain herself, but Jane kept giving her severe looks. Such looks are especially severe when they come from a gleaming bald head. You can see her scalp flush red, and her eyebrows dart down in a steep plunge like hawks diving for prey.

  28 October, 1544

  I am nearly too stunned to write. Remember how yesterday I wrote that Princess Mary was so furious at me for winning at cards that she could barely contain herself? Well, she did not. Her meanness spilled over today. Indeed as she spoke to me there was a gleam in her eyes I had not seen before. It seems that Mary somehow found out about my visit to Tower Green. Mary has spies. Everyone knows it. They are mostly Spanish. For her mother, Catherine of Aragon, was Spanish. There are those who still plot to somehow put Mary on the throne. In any case, she approached me after the minstrels played tonight, following dinner in the Great Hall. She led me off into a corner and very slyly said, “I understand that you made a visit to Tower Green.” I nodded yes, thinking that something dreadful is to come. “And then to the Chapel where your dear mother is buried.” I nodded yes again. “Did Yeoman Warder Southey tell you perchance that the King had never, if by oversight or intention, ordered a coffin for your dear mother? An old chest was used. It was too short for a normal body. She only fit in it because they could put her head on top of her stomach.”

  Mary then turned and left. I was left standing there, trembling violently. Lady Jane Grey came up at that instant. “What did she say? What did that frightful old thing say to you, Elizabeth? You are as white as a sheet.” I bit my lip so hard I could feel the skin break. I would not speak a word and then suddenly everything tilted and the stone floor came up to meet me. It seems I fainted. Sir Anthony Denny, a groom of the Privy Chamber, rushed over and picked me up and carried me to my apartments. Father was most worried. As a matter of fact, that is to be my revenge. He followed Sir Anthony all the way, and his legs cause him great pain. He insisted that Dr Butts attend me. Father has just left and I await Dr Butts. I did not say a word to Father, although he inquired as to what caused me to faint. I hear Dr Butts now outside my door. Must stop writing.

  29 October, 1544

  Ah! My revenge is sweet. Although Dr Butts has prescribed a most loathsome tonic that I must drink twice a day, a vile concoction of herbs and hyssop leaves mixed with pennyroyal, Princess Mary is terrified. I am told by Kat that she paced outside my chamber the entire time Father was here. Kat said that Princess Mary seemed unduly agitated and tried to seek a word with Father, but he shook her off. She is frightened I told him something. Fine! Also, no one forces me to eat rabbit pie for breakfast. I get porridge with extra treacle. There are many benefits to my position right now.

  Later

  Oh, I have that woman just where I want her. She sent her own minstrel today to play for me, as well as a large bouquet of flowers. Dr Butts insists that I stay inside and rest in my chamber all day. This is fine as long as my bed curtains are not drawn and I get to watch the traffic on the river. Kat sits in my window seat and reads to me from an Italian book of verse. Being a little bit sick for a short time is not so bad. I, of course, am not even a little bit sick. I must just pretend a slight weakness after fainting.

  30 October, 1544

  All Saints’ Day has crept upon us unnoticed. The Queen informs us that Father plans a great celebration on the night before, All Hallows’ Eve – tomorrow night. There shall be mummery and apple ducking. The Queen asks that we make lists of our favourite games and entertainments. Here is my list in order of prefere
nce:

  1 Fireworks

  2 Bonfires

  3 Chase the Pig

  31 October, 1544

  Robin, Edward, and Lady Jane Grey and I all put fireworks at the top of our list. I was the only one who wrote down Chase the Pig. It is a rustic game from the country and I see the children around Hatfield playing it all the time. I have longed to play but never have. They find a piglet with the shortest possible tail and the pig is covered with soap. Then it is turned loose to run about through the people, and everyone chases it and tries to catch it by its slippery tail. You have to catch it with one hand and hold it by the tail without touching any other part of the pig. It looks like so much fun. There will definitely be bonfires. We see the stable grooms and other servitors heaping great mounds of wood for the bonfires in the tiltyard. We also see them nailing hazel branches to all the doors. That should be enough to keep the witches and spirits away.

  2 November, 1544

  The bonfires still smoulder and the servitors are busy taking down the hazel branches. The best part of the entire celebration was Chase the Pig. I came within a hair’s breadth of catching it. I ripped my dress and got splattered in mud and horse dung. I’ve never had so much fun in my life. For Lady Jane Grey, of course, it was not exactly Chase the Pig. It was more promenade after the pig. She stepped in one mud puddle, got her slipper wet, and turned white. You would have thought she’d been rammed with a lance in a jousting match. After pig chasing, we ducked for apples. Jane the Bald painted her scalp red and pretended she was one of the apples. She would dunk her head into the cistern along with the apples, and we would nip at it, all in play, of course.