by Linda Porter
Mary had already grown restive when Pollard, warming to his theme, unwisely committed his greatest faux pas. He asserted that ‘it would be better for the queen to marry a subject of hers’. In so doing, he completely lost the queen’s fast-disappearing patience.Without waiting for the chancellor to answer on her behalf, as protocol dictated in such circumstances, she replied herself. Given the presumption, the evident carelessness of her own feelings and the insult to her position as queen, she showed remarkable forbearance.
She … thanked parliament for their good offices in persuading her to marry, and said that although it was contrary to her own inclination, she would conquer her own feelings as the welfare and tranquillity of her kingdom were in question. She would marry, but she found the second point very strange. Parliament was not accustomed to use such language to the kings of England, nor was it suitable or respectful that they should do so. Histories and chronicles would show that such words had never been spoken, for even when the kings had been in childhood they had been given liberty in questions of marriage.
Thereafter, the effort of remaining measured in what she said nearly proved too much, as she stated dramatically that ‘if she were married against her will she would not live three months and would have no children’. She soon recovered her equilibrium, however, assuring them that she was mindful of her coronation oath and that she always thought of the welfare of her kingdom, ‘as a good princess and mistress should’. It was impossible to challenge her further, and the deputation retired without achieving its underlying aim. Almost everyone present seems to have found the outcome uncomfortable, and Arundel could not refrain from the opportunity of scoring points at Gardiner’s expense by scornfully noting that he was essentially redundant, since the queen had usurped his role by answering herself.16
This, though, was nothing to the stinging rebuke the bishop subsequently received direct from Mary, when she told him she suspected him of having inspired the Speaker. ‘She did not wish him to make any mistake and would tell him openly … that she would never marry Courtenay. She never practised hypocrisy or deceit, and had preferred to speak her mind, and she had come near to being angry on hearing such disrespectful words.’The bishop, an emotional man himself, was in tears as he denied her accusation.17 Mary, though affronted by what had taken place, was not shaken in her determination one iota. Like Renard and Paget, she wanted to press ahead with the details of the marriage, the treaty and its terms (which the emperor accepted must be as favourable to England as possible) and preparing the ground in England, since this was an aspect stress and pride had caused her to neglect. She knew very well now the kind of opposition she faced and the dangers that might ensue. In order to tackle these effectively, she must also make another decision, very close to home. Her marriage did not automatically solve the question mark that hung over the succession.What was to be done about her sister?
Elizabeth was still at court, in a thoroughly unenviable situation. She was often with the queen, who insisted that they attend mass and vespers together, but was not in Mary’s confidence. Her entire future was under review without her participation and she had acquired, through no fault of her own, an influential enemy in the imperial ambassador. Perhaps even more alarming in the short term was that her name came up so often in tandem with Courtenay’s, as an alternative wife if Mary would not have him. Mary never said whether she and Elizabeth discussed Courtenay, but it is highly unlikely that Elizabeth viewed him any more favourably than did the queen. She was not keen on the idea of marriage at all, and she had plenty of opportunity to observe Courtenay’s increasingly ill-judged and petulant behaviour as he realised that his star was waning. And though she was socially isolated, she was not without her backers. Paget believed that constantly thinking of her as an enemy was unwise because it risked creating a danger that was not really there. Nor, he argued, could she be removed from the succession without repealing the very same act of parliament that Mary had used to justify her own accession. He thought it was ‘better to keep in with Elizabeth than to antagonise her’, and he ‘entirely disapproved of those who wish to put her in the Tower’ and counselled that the best course was ‘to reduce her with kindness’.18 But he was a firm adherent of the view that Elizabeth could best be contained by marrying her off to Courtenay. Renard did not concur. He believed, probably with justification, that Paget was looking to his own future if Mary should die without direct heirs.
Mary was torn. Renard had not entirely persuaded her that Elizabeth was plotting treason but she knew she did not want her sister to succeed. Neither did she want the question to overshadow the negotiations for her marriage to Philip. On 25 November, she saw Renard, with Paget present, and outlined to him her view of the succession and the various claimants. The extent of her doubts about her sister was made crystal clear: ‘the queen would scruple to allow her to succeed because of her heretical opinions, illegitimacy and characteristics in which she resembled her mother; and as her mother had caused great trouble in the kingdom, the queen feared that Elizabeth might do the same, and particularly that she would imitate her mother in being a French partisan’.19 Even without Simon Renard’s constant reminders that the main threat to Mary’s throne, and perhaps her life, was kneeling beside her at the altar in an entirely hypocritical display of religious conformity, Mary could not accept that Elizabeth might succeed her. It was not merely the young woman herself, with her irritating prevarication about making a public pronouncement of her support for Catholicism, who so tormented the queen. She was still oppressed by what she had endured 20 years earlier. Mary never saw their father in the adult Elizabeth; it was all Anne Boleyn.
Small wonder, then, that Elizabeth asked for permission to spend Christmas on her own estate at Ashridge, away from the unpleasantness that had built up at court. What is rather more surprising is that Mary, given her suspicions of the younger woman, agreed. Elizabeth was the most likely figurehead for any rebellion against Mary, whether she had direct involvement or not. Why let her go back to a place where she could not easily be watched, where she had men at her command and could organise an entire private army from her other properties?
The answer to this question probably lies in the central contradiction of Mary’s view of Elizabeth, one that was to last for her entire reign. Her head may have told her to require Elizabeth’s permanent presence at court, where she could be observed closely, but her heart could not bear the thought, any longer, of her sister’s constant company. The relationship was just too fraught and it had a bad effect on both of them.Yet Mary was never entirely consistent in her treatment of her sister, and sometimes her residual generosity of spirit overcame her frustrated anger. She may well have been more relieved than anything else when Elizabeth left court in early December. As they parted, outwardly on more affectionate terms, the queen gave her sister a handsome sable hood and two ropes of beautiful pearls. It was a very feminine gift from a woman who loved such fine things herself. Evidently anxious to play her part in healing the breach, Elizabeth wrote to Mary while travelling back to Hertfordshire, asking for the correct Catholic ornaments and priestly garments to be provided for her chapel at Ashridge. It was the right gesture, but Mary remained unconvinced that the conviction was there.
Meanwhile, the queen was planning her own Christmas, which was to be spent at Richmond. There, as well as the normal Tudor festivities that marked the period between Christmas and Twelfth Night, she enjoyed a performance of the masque originally written for her coronation, though it had not actually figured in the celebrations at the time. Like many such entertainments in those days, it had a distinctly moral tone, in the tradition of medieval theatre. The fluid dialogue and complex characterisation of Shakespearean plays had not yet come to Mary’s England. The piece’s main theme was the suffering of mankind and the various purveyors of that suffering: deceit, self-love, scarcity, sickness, feebleness and deformity were all portrayed in different, colour-coded costumes. Then there were good and bad angels
fighting for the destiny of man, until reason, verity and plenty triumphed. Mary had never known scarcity or deformity, but she had plenty of experience of the other allegories being portrayed.
Mary loved Richmond and welcomed the break from government business, despite the bitter winter weather that set in at the end of December. The stress of the last few months was taking its toll and she was dismayed by popular reaction to her decision to marry Philip. ‘She told me that she had for some days past been ill from melancholy caused by the rumours that were going the rounds among her subjects,’ wrote Renard. ‘Several people had warned her that attacks, verbal and written were being made against the Spaniards and the alliance in terms that rang with revolt. The very ladies of her chamber, alarmed by the talk they had heard from certain gentlemen, had spoken to her in such a tone of fear that she had fallen a prey to melancholy and sadness to the point of illness.’20 She had also heard from Wooton, her ambassador in France, that the French would not put up with this alliance, and at home religion, as well, was becoming a difficult issue: ‘every day that passed was revealing signs of a rebellious spirit in the country against the acts of parliament on religion; and, what was worse, her own council were at variance about the alliance, wherefore, what with one thing and another, there was plenty to be disturbed about’. So the queen was not in the most festive frame of mind when she departed from Westminster Palace, and the notion that she was blissfully ignorant of the trouble that lay ahead is completely wrong. She was, however, defiant in her determination to marry Philip. No one would sway her and she would sooner die than back down.
‘So be it’ would have been the verdict of some of those already plotting her deposition. Following Mary’s firm rejection of the House of Commons delegation, there were, as Mary feared, moves afoot to impose by force another solution. On 26 November, a group of gentlemen met in London to discuss what action should now be taken to ensure that England did not fall under foreign domination. Their mutterings of discontent turned into a rebellion that seemed to threaten Mary’s throne but, in reality, brought far more peril to Elizabeth.
No one knows for sure who the guiding force behind the conspiracy was.William Thomas - the same man for whom, as his political tutor, the late King Edward had written his Devise for the Succession— was certainly an active participant. But the French ambassador, Noailles, did not cast Thomas in the leading role in his dispatches to Henry II. He believed that the driving organisational force was Sir James Croft, a former governor of Ireland and a Protestant who had only belatedly defected from Northumberland back in the summer. For all the conspirators, the queen’s restoration of Catholicism, as well as her marriage intentions, appears to have been an additional concern.
They were a well-connected group. Several of them knew members of Elizabeth’s household and probably Elizabeth herself. Two, the Devonian Sir Peter Carew and Sir Edward Rogers, were members of parliament. Carew was a soldier and adventurer who had been a wayward youth. Refusing to submit himself to the restrictions of a formal education, he was packed off to France in his early teens, and enjoyed an exciting career as a European soldier of fortune. His fluent French, military experience and local knowledge of Devonshire made him a key member of the plot.
Sir Thomas Wyatt, whose name stuck to the rebellion but who claimed that he was ‘only the fourth or fifth man’, was a Kentish landowner with good diplomatic links through his friend, Sir William Pickering, ambassador to France in the previous reign.Wyatt was also a soldier. He served for seven years in France and the Low Countries under Henry VIII, alongside the Spaniards fighting the French.This experience seems to have given him a dislike of Philip of Spain’s countrymen that he took with him into his retirement. But though he had hoped to live quietly at his home, Allington Castle in Kent, following the pursuits of a country gentleman, his view of Mary was ambivalent. Like many others, he waited to see what her reign might offer and increasingly did not like what he was witnessing. He definitely had Protestant leanings, though he claimed to be a Catholic still. Precisely how he became embroiled is not known.
The first idea was for a rising in Devon, led by Carew and Courtenay, who at some point was unwisely taken into the conspirators’ confidence. He was too febrile a character to be entrusted with such knowledge and the burden of it eventually proved unbearable for him. But for almost a month be managed to keep his secret, despite growing suspicion by the government that he could not be trusted. By Christmas, Croft and his group could claim another, impressive (or so it must have seemed) recruit. This was the duke of Suffolk, father of Lady Jane Grey. He had good reason to share his daughter’s view that Mary was ‘a merciful prince’ but his political judgement was non-existent. He does not seem to have given the slightest thought to what might happen to his daughter if the enterprise he was now caught up in were to fail. But, then, he had never given much thought to her at all, except as marriage fodder and, briefly, as a biddable if unlikely monarch. Supported by his two brothers, who were apparently as misguided and ungrateful as he was, the duke became the most prominent member of the conspiracy. With his dubious track record he was also the least reliable, despite his large estates in the Midlands.
The overall plan was for simultaneous risings in Devon, the Welsh Borders, where Croft’s lands were situated, the Midlands, led by the duke of Suffolk, and Kent, where Wyatt would command. The rebels would then converge on London in an impressive show of force. Acknowledging the difficulties of fighting during the middle of winter, the plotters decided to wait until Palm Sunday, 18 March 1554, to raise their standards. It was to be a significant date, but not for the reasons they hoped.
The plan sounded impressive, formidable even, but it had many flaws. Too many people, spread over too wide an area, were involved. Notifying Courtenay of what was afoot was a huge mistake, as was the involvement of Suffolk. The conspirators were understandably nervous about drawing in the French, who were no more popular in England than the Spaniards, but realised that they would need at least arms and money from across the Channel if they were to stand any long-term chance of success.
Noailles, disappointed that he had been unable to shipwreck the Habsburg marriage, urged his government to ensure that support would be forthcoming. By now, there was enthusiastic backing from the Guise brothers, who saw an opening for their niece, the Queen of Scots. But the king remained very cautious. He opposed the Spanish marriage but feared the English were better at starting rebellions than finishing them. ‘If you see that the queen is resolved to marry the Prince of Spain,’ wrote Henry II on 23 November 1553, ‘and also that there is a likelihood that Courtenay has the will and the means to upset the apple-cart, you may say still more confidently that you are sure that for such a great benefit to the realm of England I would not deny my favour either to him or to the other gentlemen who know the evil which the marriage could bring to the realm and would like to oppose it.’ Noailles was not to make any move or reveal France’s intentions, however, until he was absolutely sure that there was ‘a real chance of stopping the queen’s marriage’. Of course, the French king did not want to see any opportunity slip in the possible prevention of an alliance that he saw as ‘so pernicious and destructive to my interests’, but a wait-and-see policy was the best approach. After Northumberland’s fall, there were real doubts about the ability of Mary’s opponents to carry things through to a successful conclusion.‘Our chief aim must be to see that Courtenay and those who have the power, if they see things going badly, take example from the recent tragedies over there and do not let themselves be anticipated and arrested.’And Henry went on to add the following dismissive comments about Mary herself: ‘They [the conspirators] have only to do with a woman who is badly provided with good counsel and men of ability, so it should be easy for them to guard against discovery if they are prudent enough and have enough blood in their nails.’21
This assessment of Mary’s political predicament was by no means accurate and it completely failed to take account of
her own personal courage and determination. Otherwise, the shrewd analysis of the French went to the heart of the conspirators’ problems. Undertaking rebellion was a deadly game, even with a clear idea of objectives. Croft, Wyatt and their friends knew that they wanted to prevent the Spanish marriage and that this would most probably mean dethroning Mary. But even on this fundamental point, there is evidence that some of them, at least, were undecided. Carew was later quoted as saying: ‘If the queen would forbear this marriage with the Spaniard, and use moderation in matters of religion, I would die at her foot.’22 The plotters never had a clear strategy for what they would do if they succeeded.They probably thought there was time enough to decide before March.
At this stage, their hopes were pinned on establishing Courtenay and Elizabeth on the throne, as husband and wife. None of the plotters considered that Elizabeth or her sister could rule without a husband.The commonsense solution, that Mary should not marry at all, was alien to the men who sought to impose their view of the queenship of England’s first woman ruler. It was the choice which mattered above all. The idea of the union of Elizabeth and Edward Courtenay perhaps sounded impressive to zealously patriotic ears but was always a non-starter, since it took for granted the princess’s acquiescence and the young lord’s reliability. Even Courtenay’s supporters on the council, such as Gardiner, viewed him as a ditherer. Noailles thought he was also a coward. If she knew anything at all of this aspect of the plotters’ intentions, Elizabeth’s Christmas must have been an anxious one.
Meanwhile, the final stages in the negotiations of the marriage treaty were scheduled to begin as soon as the New Year had passed. Paget and Renard, overseen by Charles V and with input from Mary, had already hammered out a draft. It stated unequivocally the limitations of Philip’s role. ‘Prince Philip shall … enjoy jointly with the queen her style and kingly name, and shall aid her in her administration. The prince shall leave to the queen the disposition of all offices, land and revenues of their dominions; they shall be disposed to those born there. All matters shall be treated in English … Lest controversy over the succession arises, it is ordered: in England males and females of the marriage shall succeed according to law and custom.’ In Spain and Italy, Don Carlos would become ruler, but if he died without children, any male heir of Mary and Philip would succeed in those lands as well as the emperor’s in Burgundy and the Low Countries. If there was only a daughter of the marriage, she would rule both England and the Low Countries, but not elsewhere.
