The Complete Tudors: Nine Historical Novels

by Jean Plaidy

  Jane wept. “It is because I feel happier this day,” she explained.

  “As soon as the Coronation is over I will try to put in a word in the right quarter, dear Jane. Perhaps you may be allowed to visit your boys. Be of good cheer. The more time that elapses, the better, for the more likelihood there will be of their release. Remember, the three younger ones have not yet been tried.”

  After that life seemed more bearable. Jane longed for the Coronation to be over.

  What rejoicing there was throughout the City when the Queen set out! In a litter covered with cloth of silver and borne by six handsome white horses, Mary was surrounded by seventy of her ladies all clad in crimson velvet. The Queen herself wore blue velvet trimmed with ermine. Her cap was of gold net ornamented with diamonds and pearls. It was so heavy that she could scarcely hold up her head—which was unfortunate, for she suffered much from painful headaches. Mistress Clarencius, her old nurse and the woman whom she trusted more than any other, glanced at her anxiously from time to time and longed to remove that heavy head ornament which she knew was causing pain and discomfort.

  Mary suffered from more than a headache on that day. She was deeply conscious of her young sister. She knew that many in the crowds would be comparing them—the sick looks of one, the glowing health of the other, age with youth, Catholic with Protestant. Was Gardiner right? Was Renard right? Was it folly to let Elizabeth live?

  Elizabeth was enjoying her state ride. She might be about to die, but such pageantry, with herself playing a prominent part, was the birthright of a daughter of Henry the Eighth. Beside her sat her father’s fourth wife—Anne of Cleves—the only one of six still alive. They were dressed alike, which, for Elizabeth, was an advantage. Anne of Cleves had never been a beauty, and now she was an excellent foil for the radiant young girl of twenty as they sat side by side in their gowns of cloth of silver with the long hanging sleeves, not unlike those which Elizabeth’s mother had introduced from France.

  In Fenchurch Street addresses were declaimed by four men, all of whom were nearly seven feet tall. In Gracechurch Street the procession paused that a trumpeter dressed as an angel might play a solo to the Queen; Heywood the poet read some of his verses to Mary at the gates of St. Paul’s School. The people shouted with glee and prepared to make merry as they cheered the Queen, the Princess Elizabeth, and the young and handsome Edward Courtenay, who had now been created Duke of Devonshire. Red wine flowed in the conduits, and this boon pleased the people as much as any.

  A few days before the Coronation the Queen came to Whitehall from St. James’s; and there she stayed until the first day of October, when she set out for Westminster Abbey for the ceremony of crowning.

  Elizabeth with Anne of Cleves walked directly behind the Queen. Elizabeth’s hopes were high. Surely, she reasoned, the Queen could not feel cold toward her since she allowed her to take such a prominent part in the ceremony.

  Elizabeth could not help imagining, during that glittering occasion, that it was herself who held the center of the stage.

  She heard the voice of Gardiner: “Here present is Mary, rightful and undoubted inheritrix, by the laws of God and man, to the crown and royal dignity of this realm of England, France, and Ireland; and you shall understand that this day is appointed, by all the peers of this land, for the consecration, unction, and coronation of the said most excellent Mary. Will you serve at this time and give your wills and assent to the same consecration, unction, and coronation?”

  And Elizabeth, with all those present, cried: “Yea, yea, yea! God save Queen Mary!”

  But the name she seemed to hear was not Mary but Elizabeth.

  Whilst the oraisons were said over Mary, whilst her mantle was removed, whilst she was anointed and her purple velvet ermine-edged mantle laid again about her shoulders, Elizabeth saw another in her place. One day it would be Elizabeth who was in robes of velvet, the crown on her head, the scepter in her right hand, the orb in her left. It would be Elizabeth to whom the peers knelt in homage and allegiance, Elizabeth whose left cheek was kissed. “God save Queen Elizabeth!” would be the cry in her ears.

  And when they left the Abbey, among the cheering crowds Elizabeth thought she saw a woman, with a white and tragic face and mournful eyes, who stood out among the gaily cheering people because she did not cheer, because she was sad in the midst of all that gaiety.

  Was it the sorrowing Duchess of Northumberland?

  Elizabeth shivered. Here was another reminder of how close disaster could be to triumph.

  A few weeks later when winter had set in, many people waited in the cold streets to see another procession. This was in great contrast with the glittering spectacle of the Queen’s Coronation.

  Bishop Ridley led this procession, and among those who walked behind him was Lord Robert Dudley.

  Robert held his head high. He, who longed for excitement, was glad even of this; he appeared jaunty as he walked through the narrow streets. Even at the Guildhall, he could only shrug his powerful shoulders. It was what he expected. Ambrose, Guildford, and Lady Jane had already been condemned and returned to their prisons. It was his turn now. And what could save one who had without doubt plotted against the Queen? It was useless to do anything but plead guilty.

  It was no surprise to Lord Robert that when he left Guildhall for his journey back to the Tower, the blade of the axe should be turned toward him. He had been condemned to that terrible death which was reserved for traitors: to be hanged, cut down alive, and disemboweled.

  But Robert was by nature optimistic. It would be the axe for him. The son of a Duke would not die the ignoble death of common traitors.

  So back to his cell in the Beauchamp Tower he went to await the summons to Tower Hill. But on the way he was aware of women in the crowd who had come to gaze at the prisoners. He noted their looks of sympathy and interest. Life in a dismal cell could not rob him of his powers to charm.

  “What a handsome young man!” it was murmured. “So young to die.”

  And it was Robert whom their eyes followed.

  There was one woman who watched him. She longed to call out his name as he passed; yet she hid herself, fearing that the sight of her there might distress him. How noble was his carriage, she thought; and how careless he seemed of his fate! That was what she would expect of her proud Robin.

  As the procession passed on, Jane Dudley fell swooning to the ground.

  There was perturbation at Court. The Queen had, after showing favor to Edward Courtenay, turned against him. Some said this was due to her discovery of the profligate habits in which he had indulged during his stay in the Tower. He was without doubt a libertine and could not be so enamored of an aging woman as he pretended to be. Others, more knowledgeable, believed the change in her manner toward this young nobleman could be explained by the secret conferences she had had with the Spanish ambassador, and the fact that Philip, the son of Emperor Charles and heir to vast possessions, was a widower.

  Noailles, the French ambassador, secretly sought out the Princess Elizabeth.

  “Your Grace has heard that the Queen considers marriage with the Prince of Spain?” he asked.

  “There have been such rumors.”

  “Your Grace must know that a union with Spain would be most unpopular in England.”

  “The Queen is mistress of the country and herself. She will marry when and whom she pleases.”

  “There are many people in this country who would not tolerate a Spanish marriage.”

  “I know nothing of them.”

  “Does Your Grace know why the Queen has turned from Courtenay? It is because she suspects where his affections really lie.”

  In spite of Elizabeth’s control her eyes brightened. “I do not understand Your Excellency.”

  “It is Your Grace of whom he is enamored. He is so far gone in love for you that he is ready to throw away an immediate crown for the hope of a future one.”

  Elizabeth saw the danger. “I know nothing of thi
s,” she said.

  “Yet others do. They are saying that if Courtenay married you, and you succeed to that for which you have a claim, the people would be happier than they would be to see a Spaniard the Queen’s husband.”

  Her heart was beating fast. Again she heard the Abbey service and the cry of the peers: “God save Queen Elizabeth!”

  She thought then of the woman she had seen in the crowd, of the Dudley brothers at this moment awaiting the penalty of ambition which had failed.

  Noailles went on: “Courtenay has powerful friends in Devon and Cornwall. Your Grace, a great future lies before you.”

  I am crossing a chasm on a flimsy bridge, she thought. Walk with balanced care and I shall find a throne awaiting me; but one false step and down…down to disaster, down to a cell in the Tower, and the block.

  Noailles wished to prevent the Spanish marriage at all costs because it was against the interest of France that it should take place. But would he wish to see Elizabeth on the throne? Indeed no! His plot would be to ferment trouble which would remove Mary and Elizabeth and leave the way clear for Mary Queen of Scots. Her lips were scornful. The French ambassador must think her a fool.

  As soon as he left her, Elizabeth sought an audience with the Queen. Mary granted this, but as Elizabeth was kneeling before her she saw that Mary’s attitude toward her was no more friendly than it had been on their previous meeting. The Spanish ambassador, knowing the unpopularity of the match he was trying to make for the son of his master and the Queen of England, was aware that there were some factions who would prefer to put Elizabeth on the throne and allow her to marry Courtenay. If such a thing should come to pass, England would once more be a Protestant country. Renard was therefore urging the Queen to send Elizabeth to the block. He was sure that the Princess was concerned in plots against the Queen, and he was determined to trap her and thus override the Queen’s sentimental feelings for her sister. But the girl, for all her youth and seeming innocence, was more cunning than those ambassadors. Always she eluded them.

  Renard had warned Mary, and the Queen, as she watched her kneeling sister, remembered those warnings.

  “Your Majesty,” said Elizabeth, “I crave leave to retire to one of my country houses.”

  “Why so?” asked Mary.

  “My health is failing. I need the fresh country air.”

  “You appear to me very healthy.”

  “I suffer much, Your Majesty. In the quiet of the country I could study the books Your Majesty has set me to study. I feel that in the quiet of Woodstock or Hatfield I could come to an understanding with the truth.”

  “You will stay here,” said the Queen, “that I may know what plans you make and whom you have about you.”

  Elizabeth was dismissed. She left the Queen’s apartment with much apprehension, knowing that she was living through one of the most critical periods in a lifetime of danger.

  Strangely enough the Spanish ambassador came to her aid though unwittingly.

  The entire country now knew that the Queen was favorably considering a match with Spain. There was disquiet throughout the land, for the English hated the Spaniards; and there was much talk of the virtues of Elizabeth.

  The Queen had stubbornly refused to acknowledge her sister’s legitimacy. It seemed that she was afraid to do this because the people might decide that a younger, legitimate daughter who was a Protestant would be a better ruler for England than the elder, Catholic daughter of Henry the Eighth. But the real reason simply was that if she herself were legitimate, Elizabeth could not be, for the only way in which Elizabeth could be legitimate was by declaring her father’s marriage with Katharine of Aragon void. Therefore it was not possible for both of them to be legitimate.

  The Spanish ambassador, wishing to precipitate matters, unwisely sought to implicate his old enemy Noailles. It would be a master stroke to have Noailles sent back to France and Elizabeth to the block at the same time. He accused Noailles of visiting Elizabeth’s chamber at night in order to plot against the Queen.

  This was a ridiculous accusation and the plot was exposed, for not even Elizabeth’s enemies could find a case against her.

  On her knees before the Queen she cried: “I beg of Your Majesty never to give credit to the evil tales which are spread concerning me, without giving me an opportunity to prove myself guiltless.”

  Mary believed sincerely in justice, and Elizabeth’s words were well chosen.

  “My dear sister,” said Mary, “I am sorry that you have been misjudged. Take these pearls as a sign of my affection.”

  Elizabeth accepted the pearls and was quick to take advantage of the situation. She lifted her eyes to her sister’s face and said: “Your Majesty is so good to me. I know you will give me leave to retire from Court that I may live in quietness and hasten to do what Your Majesty would have me do. Give me your gracious permission to retire that I may study the books you have set me to study, the sooner that I may govern my thoughts and lead them whither Your Majesty would have them go.”

  The permission was granted and, with great relief, Elizabeth retired from imminent danger.

  There was one way of escape from ever-threatening danger. Often she thought of it; always she rejected it.

  The King of Denmark had offered his son, Philibert Emmanuel, the Duke of Savoy, as a husband for her. Spain favored such a match, and therefore it received due consideration by the Queen.

  While she lived her quiet life in her house at Ashridge, Elizabeth was filled with apprehension. If a stranger rode up she would be on the alert for a messenger from the Queen bringing a summons for her to appear at Court, which might be followed by imprisonment and death. Only by marrying a foreign Prince could she escape that constant fear. But to abandon fear was also to abandon her most cherished dream. As the Duchess of Savoy she would never hear those magic words which, perhaps next year, or the year after that, or in five or ten years’ time, could ring in the ears of the Princess Elizabeth: “God save Queen Elizabeth!”

  No, here she was, and here she would stay. All her hopes were in England, and if at times she felt she would never succeed in climbing the slippery path which led to the summit of ambition, well then, she would rather fall in the attempt than give up the climb.

  Emphatically she refused the offer from the Duke of Savoy.

  The Queen and her ministers were annoyed, but mildly; and temporarily the matter was allowed to drop.

  She lived quietly in the country for a few weeks, eagerly learning all she could of what was happening at Court from her friends who were still there.

  News came—wild news, news which might lead to triumph or disaster. Wyatt had risen in protest against the Spanish marriage. Letters asking for her support had been sent to her, but she would have nothing to do with such a rebellion. She knew that her hope of success lay in waiting. She knew that Courtenay was concerned in the Wyatt plot, and handsome as he was he was weak and untrustworthy; and if the plot were successful, the Duke of Suffolk, who was also one of the leaders, would surely hope to bring his own daughter Lady Jane Grey to the throne rather than help Elizabeth.

  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.