Mary Tudor: The First Queen

by Linda Porter

  Contrasting emotions now beset those around the queen. Panicked by rumours that their lives were in danger, the imperial commissioners decided to hotfoot it back to the Low Countries before the approaching rebels could muster an attack on the capital. Gardiner advised the queen to flee for her own safety, but Renard and Paget told her she must not leave. The lords in charge of the military defence of the capital, the earl of Pembroke and Lord Edward Clinton, thought the physical danger exaggerated. But both had been strong supporters of Northumberland and had joined him on his ill-fated military foray against Mary in July. They received the queen’s clemency, but how far their loyalty to her went was unproven. Both claimed they did not rate Wyatt’s supporters, despite Wyatt’s own undoubted military prowess. Instead, they contented themselves with raising a crack force of 500 foot and 200 horse, of whose loyalty to the queen they could be more certain than they could of that of the normal defence, the London-trained bands, who opposed the Spanish marriage.

  The one person who showed consistent calm determination and a great deal of personal courage, amid all this uncertainty and foreboding, was Mary. She knew instinctively the importance of the defiant gesture and the sheer power of majesty. In resolve and eloquence she was every bit the equal of her father and sister. And she also knew that she would fail if she could not turn public opinion in London to her cause. She must intervene personally, or the situation could slip away from her. On 1 February, she rode with her councillors to the Guildhall to make an impassioned speech to the government of London.

  Mary told her listeners that Wyatt had rejected an attempt at compromise and that he proposed to hold her hostage. Her speech to the wary audience of aldermen and City of London worthies was a masterclass in Tudor oratory. At her coronation, she said, she had been ‘wedded to the realm’, and she showed her audience her coronation ring:‘I have on my finger, which hitherto never was, nor hereafter never shall be, left off.’ She reminded them that she was Henry VIII’s daughter and that she loved her people: ‘On the word of a prince, I cannot tell how naturally the mother loveth the child, for I was never mother of any. But certainly, if a prince and a governor may as naturally and earnestly love her subjects as the mother doth love the child, then assure yourselves that I, being your lady and mistress, do as earnestly and tenderly love and favour you.’ This was clever stuff with just the right note of underlying feminine vulnerability. It alluded to the long years of disappointment when she was young and naturally hoped for motherhood, yet it also subtly suggested that Mary’s marriage, the underlying cause of the current unrest and her direct appeal to London, would always come second to her commitment to England. She went on to speak of the reasons that had led her make the decision to marry, against her personal volition. Then she made an extraordinary statement, not previously discussed with any adviser, even Simon Renard: ‘On the word of a queen I promise you that if it shall not probably appear to all the nobility and commons in the high court of parliament that this marriage shall be for the benefit and commodity of the whole realm, then I will abstain from marriage while I live.’30

  Mary’s audience, swept up in her emotion and the stirring manner of her delivery (her deep, strong voice was a powerful weapon, filling the Guildhall), did not raise the obvious question; she had already roundly dismissed the deputation from the House of Commons in November when it pleaded with her not to proceed with the Spanish marriage. So what had changed her mind and was the change genuine? Perhaps those present believed that the danger she faced had caused her to think again.

  The only problem was that it had not. At another moment of extreme crisis, in 1536, when her father’s psychological abuse had become too much to bear, Mary was compelled to lie. Now she even lied to Renard about what she had actually said, claiming that she told the people of London ‘that if they had not understood the causes and occasions [of her marriage], she would repeat them to a Parliament’. And she certainly intended, as did her advisers, for a bill confirming her marriage and detailing the treaty to go before Parliament, as it eventually did in April 1554. But she was not truly prepared to alter her decision. Clearly, she did not care how her credibility would be damaged if the lie were exposed. Such considerations were not for princes.

  The speech worked. When Wyatt arrived with his force at London Bridge two days later, on 3 February, he found it well guarded by forces loyal to the queen.The imperial commissioners might have fled for their lives but the prospects of London going over to the rebels did not seem good. Nevertheless, he persisted and on 6 February he managed to evade Mary’s soldiers and cross the River Thames by night at Kingston. He would attack the city from the west.

  The news that Wyatt had not faded away, that attack was imminent, caused pandemonium when it reached the palace of Westminster in the small hours of the morning.Wyatt’s forces launched a half-hearted attack on the palace, shooting arrows at the windows, but made no attempt to breach its outer defences. Mary was woken at 3 a.m. and informed of the likelihood of a direct assault. She rose, to find her presence chamber full of armed men and her ladies wild with fright. Edward Underhill, one of the queen’s pensioners, described the scene vividly: ‘After supper I put on my armour as the rest did, for we were appointed to watch all the night. So being all armed, we came up into the chamber of presence with our poleaxes in our hands, wherewith the ladies were very fearful; some lamenting, crying, and wringing their hands, said, “Alas, there is some great mischief toward; we shall all be destroyed this night! What a sight is this, to see the queen’s chamber full of armed men” .’31 Their understandable alarm was not helped when there were further calls for the queen to flee, this time by boat: ‘All is lost; away, away; a barge, a barge!’ Reluctant to follow such advice, Mary resisted courageously:… her grace never changed her cheer, nor would remove one foot out of the house, but asked for the lord of Pembroke, in whom her grace had worthily reposed great confidence. Answer being made that he was in the field,‘Well then,’ quod her grace,‘fall to prayer, and I warrant you we shall hear better news anon; for my lord will not deceive me, I know well; if he would, God will not, in whom my chief trust is, who will not deceive me.’32

  None of the agitated inhabitants of the palace could have anticipated what happened next. After a few brief skirmishes along Fleet Street and the Strand, in which the guard supposedly defending Mary behaved with almost comical cowardice, and would probably have been put to flight if Wyatt’s supporters were not already deserting, the rebellion suddenly fizzled out without warning. Finding he could not advance beyond Ludgate, which was well fortified, Wyatt was suddenly overwhelmed by despondency. He alone of the plotters had honoured his commitments and he knew, as he sat outside a tavern near Ludgate Bar and gathered his thoughts, that he could not prevail.The enormity of his offence against the Crown was stark. He seems to have believed that a pardon might be offered if he surrendered and so he gave himself up without resistance. But only the Tower and the scaffold awaited him.

  The aftermath of the rebellion was not pretty. The queen’s mercy was exhausted and retribution came quickly, to the innocent as well as the guilty.The Carew brothers had already reached safety in France before Wyatt fired a shot, but the other conspirators were soon hunted down and about a hundred participants in the uprising were executed between mid-February and mid-March. Edward Courtenay found himself back in the Tower within a week of the end of the rebellion, despite having commanded some of the queen’s guard during the fighting in London. In disgrace, his mother left court, never to recover her position of influence with Mary.33 But the first and most famous victim was Lady Jane Grey, who died on 12 February.The decision to execute her troubled the queen greatly, but Mary bowed to her councillors’ advice that her cousin would always be a focus for rebellion. The duke of Suffolk’s almost whimsical involvement sealed his daughter’s fate. Her life and that of Guildford Dudley were forfeit. It could not have been unexpected.

  Jane made herself watch as her young husband’s headle
ss body returned in a cart filled with bloodied straw from the block on Tower Green. She had not seen him during their detention, yet the sight moved her more than any intimacy between the couple in their brief marriage. When she went to meet her own death only 30 minutes later, wearing a mourning dress edged with black velvet and clutching a prayer-book, she was well prepared for the address to the people that was expected. Born of the blood royal, a Tudor like Mary, she asked the small crowd gathered to observe her end ‘to bear me witness that I die a good Christian woman, and that I looked to be saved by no other means, but only by the mercy of God in the merits of the blood of his only son Jesus Christ: and I confess when I did know the word of God I neglected the same, loved myself and the world, and therefore this plague or punishment is happily and worthily happened unto me for my sins; and yet I thank God of his goodness that he hath given me a time and respite to repent’.Then she added: ‘and now, good people, while I am alive, I pray you to assist me with your prayers’.34 She had resisted all Mary’s attempts to get her to die in the Catholic religion, strong in her Protestant faith and convinced that, as she wrote to her father, ‘to me there is nothing that can be more welcome than from this vale of misery to aspire to that heavenly throne of all joy and pleasure with Christ my Saviour’.35

  Yet right at the end, when she was blindfolded and had just moments to live, her composure deserted her. She could not find the block.‘What shall I do? Where is it?’ she cried out, until a bystander guided her and she recovered from her terror.Then the axe fell swiftly and cleanly and this hideously manipulated, unloved slip of a girl was gone.

  In the flyleaf of her prayer-book she had written to the lieutenant of the Tower, John Brydges, who showed her much kindness and thoughtful consideration while she lodged as a prisoner with him:‘Forasmuch as you have desired so simple a woman to write in so worthy a book … therefore shall I as a good friend desire you … live still to die, that by death you may purchase eternal life … for as the preacher sayeth, there is a time to be born and a time to die; and the day of death is better than the day of our birth.Yours, as the Lord knoweth, as a friend, Jane Dudley.’36

  The axe had fallen on Lady Jane and its shadow now hung over Elizabeth herself. But despite repeated questioning, some of it probably under torture, Wyatt never admitted that Elizabeth was involved in the rebellion and no solid evidence could be found against her, much to Renard’s irritation. She could not, however, be allowed to remain free while the trials of Wyatt and his accomplices were taking place and now that the imperial commissioners had returned.37 It may also have been hoped that her servants, some of whom were not known for their discretion, would give the game away once separated from her. Elizabeth’s health was poor and she was, in her different way, as highly strung as her sister.The prospect of prolonged interrogation and imprisonment might break her spirit.

  It has been suggested that, in the difficult relationship between Elizabeth and Mary, Elizabeth held all the cards and Mary was actually the victim. But while it is true that Elizabeth’s lands and men, as well as her natural rapport with the populace, gave her a great deal of power, there can be no doubt that Mary, as queen, could have destroyed her if she had ever fully hardened her heart. And Elizabeth was quite clearly terrified of sharing her mother’s fate, despite being aware that Paget and his clique on the council would do everything they could to prevent her being sacrificed.

  When another, more imperious summons to court arrived as soon as Wyatt’s rebellion failed, Elizabeth was in a quandary. She did not want to leave, partly because she was genuinely unwell, but she was desperate to seek a personal interview with Mary. In order to assess whether her sister was really ill or just malingering, Mary sent her own physicians to examine Elizabeth. When three of Mary’s councillors, led by the lord admiral, William Howard, arrived to inform Elizabeth that Mary’s summons was not negotiable, they reported to the queen: ‘Your physicians told us she might without danger repair to you with all speed.We found her comfortable, save that she desired longer to recover her strength; but on the persuasion of us and her own council and servants (whom we found ready to accomplish your pleasure) she is resolved to move tomorrow—the journey is enclosed. She desires lodging further from the water than she had last at court, which your physicians think meet.’38 This short missive reveals that Elizabeth was still very clear-headed, despite being stressed and feeling weak, and it also suggests that those around her may well have persuaded her that she could hold out no longer at Ashridge.

  She left on 12 February, the day that Lady Jane was beheaded. But having been taken ill again en route, she did not arrive in London until nearly two weeks later. It was a curiously regal entry for someone whose position was at best uncertain and at worst approaching disgrace. Accompanied by two hundred scarlet-clad horsemen, the invalid sat in her litter dressed entirely in white and with the curtains open so that people could see her - and also to give the lie to rumours put about by Renard that she was pregnant.

  The entry may have been impressive but the reality of Elizabeth’s position was much more desperate. She was taken to Whitehall and kept in a secure lodging. Despite impassioned pleas, Mary refused to see her. The queen evidently feared that there was still sufficient residual affection and family feeling for her judgement to be swayed at a critical time. Mary’s coldness was Elizabeth’s worst nightmare.

  Isolated and sick with worry, the queen’s sister languished in Whitehall until mid-March. Then, at his trial, Wyatt, in attempting to defend her, actually made matters worse. He acknowledged that he had sent her a letter about the rebellion and she had replied verbally, via her servant, William St Loe, ‘that she did thank him much for his goodwill and she would do as she should see cause’.39 This was just the kind of vague sentiment, notably lacking in declarations of personal loyalty to Mary herself, that the queen so detested about her sister.The situation looked bad and even Paget could not prevent the fall-out. The day after Wyatt made his remarks, the entire council came to Whitehall and charged her with involvement in the Carew and Wyatt conspiracies. Though she denied the charges absolutely, the next move was predictable and much dreaded by the 20—year—old Elizabeth. Like Lady Jane, and her own mother before her, she would be made a prisoner in the Tower. And there were clearly those, including perhaps her own sister, who would try to ensure that she met the same fate.

  On Saturday, 17 March 1554, the marquess of Winchester and the earl of Sussex, two of Mary’s most faithful supporters, came to escort the daughter of Anne Boleyn to the Tower by water. Deprived of her servants and under armed guard, Elizabeth tried desperately to delay, convinced that if she were allowed to see the queen in person, she could plead her case much more effectively. She begged, and was granted, time to write a letter. Winchester had been inclined not to humour her, but Sussex prevailed on him to relent. She was, the old earl pointed out, a king’s daughter.

  At about noon she composed herself sufficiently to write a brief, heartfelt but still elegant note to her estranged sister and sovereign lady. It is one of the most poignant of all her correspondence, redolent of fear and past suffering:If any ever did try this old saying, that a king’s word was more than another man’s oath, I beseech your majesty to verify it to me and to remember your last promise and my last demand that I be not condemned without answer and proof; which now it seems I am, for without cause proved I am by your council from you commanded to the Tower. I know I deserve it not, yet it appears proved. I profess before God I never practised, counselled or consented to anything prejudicial to you or dangerous to the state. Let me answer before you, before I go to the Tower (if possible) - if not, before I am further condemned. Pardon my boldness. I have heard of many cast away for want of coming to their prince.

  Here old nightmares surfaced as she saw again Tom Seymour and the ghosts of her girlhood:‘I have heard Somerset say that if his brother had been allowed to speak with him, he would never have suffered…I pray evil persuades not one sister against t
he other. Wyatt might write me a letter, but I never received any from him. As for the copy of my letter to the french king, God confound me if I ever sent him word, token, or letter by any means.’ She added as postscript:‘I crave but one word of answer.’The rest of the parchment was heavily scored in ink by Elizabeth to prevent additions or forgeries.40

  The letter had one immediate, advantageous effect. While she was writing the tide turned and it was necessary to wait until Palm Sunday, 18 March, to convey her to the Tower. This had been the day originally set for Wyatt and the others to begin their revolt. But whether Elizabeth had bought herself more than one extra day of life remained to be seen.

  Chapter Ten

  King Philip

  ‘Philip is the spouse of Mary, but treats her so deferentially as to appear her son.’

  Cardinal Pole’s revealing analysis of Mary’s marital relationship in late 1554

  At the moment that Elizabeth landed as a prisoner at Tower Wharf on a rainy spring morning, her future brother-in-law was a thousand miles away to the south in the sunnier climes of Valladolid. He had passed the winter here, in regular correspondence with his father and aunt in the Netherlands but with no word or gift to his intended wife.