“We will, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Northumberland has his army with him.”
“There will be many loth to turn a hand against the Queen.”
“But they will do so because he has the might.”
“We shall have the might, Your Grace. We will have stout hearts, and it is God's will that will prevail. The men will feel more loyal if they see you. You must come out and review your troops. I think you will be pleased with them.”
So I rode out and, as Sir Henry had said, I was amazed at the numbers who had mustered to my aid.
As I rode along the lines, they called, “Long live good Queen Mary!” My heart was lightened and I thanked God that I had been strong so far, and I prayed for His help and guidance that I might work His will and succeed in the task which I was sure now He had laid down for me.
There was comforting news. I had always known Sir Henry Bedingfield was loyal to me, so I was not greatly surprised when he arrived with his followers. But I was delighted to see that Lord Thomas Howard, whose grandfather, Norfolk, was still in the Tower, and all the chivalry of Suffolk, were flocking to my banner.
Northumberland was universally disliked. He had removed Somerset, who, although not liked by the people, was preferred to himself; he had forced Lady Jane Grey to marry his son Guilford and had had the temerity to set her up as Queen. He had gone too far.
His mistake was not to realize the power of the people; and those who had worked with him were now weary of his despotism; people were envious of his power. He himself was confident of victory and rode at the head of his army. But no sooner had he left London than the citizens noisily stated their true feelings.
They wanted no Queen Jane. A granddaughter of King Henry's sister she might be, but there were King Henry's own daughters to come before her. They had always shown affection for me, for I had been the ill-treated one, and they remembered my mother's sufferings.
“Long live Queen Mary, our rightful Queen!” they shouted.
I am not sure when Northumberland realized that he had gone too far and that defeat stared him in the face. He had risked a good deal for he had scored such successes in the past that he believed he could not fail. Now his friends were turning against him, and he had made his fatal miscalculation in reckoning without the people.
I was being proclaimed Queen all over the country.
There came a messenger from London. On the morning of the 16th a placard had been placed on Queenhithe Church stating that I was Queen of England, France and Ireland.
The Earls of Sussex and Bath were among those on their way with their forces to Framlingham… not to oppose me but to pay homage to me as their Queen.
I could not believe this. It was a miracle. The Council was declaring for me. Pembroke, so recently allied with Northumberland through marriage, had taken over command of the Tower and the Army—and he was for me. All over the land men were turning to me; even those who had been against me were now proclaiming me Queen. They might have stood with Northumberland so far, but when he had set up Jane Grey as Queen he had tampered with the line of succession, and they were with him no longer.
I wished that I could have been present when they brought the news to Northumberland. He was at Cambridge and could not then have realized how utterly he was defeated. He had known that the battle had not been the easy conquest he had anticipated, for he had dispatched a messenger to France to plead for troops to be sent to his aid. How did he feel—the powerful man, the greatest statesman of the day, some said, son of that Dudley who had gone to the block to placate the people because of the taxes my grandfather had levied in his reign—how did the great Northumberland feel to be brought so low?
He had staked everything to gain the greatest power a man could have— to rule the country. Jane and Guilford were to have been his puppets. But, like so many of his kind who failed, he had reckoned without the people, the ordinary people, living their obscure lives, who en masse were the most formidable force in the world. What a mistake to discount them! And he had tried to foist on them a young and innocent girl as their queen. I doubted Jane had had any say in the matter. Northumberland had intended to rule through her, and he had failed miserably.
He must have come to a quick decision when he saw his ambitions crumbling about him and his dream evaporating. He went into the market square. He mounted the steps to the high spot where he could be seen by all, and he lifted his hat in the air and shouted, “Long live Queen Mary!”
It was his admission of defeat, and he took it bravely. And as he mounted those steps calling my name, he must have seen himself mounting the block and laying his head upon it, as he had seen so many do—mainly his enemies and due to his command.
And now they were with me! Henry Grey, Jane's father, had himself torn down her banner at the Tower; he was shouting for Queen Mary.
How I despised these men. I remembered Anne Boleyn's father, assisting at the christening of young Edward. They turned their coats to meet the prevailing wind with no sense of shame.
And young Jane… what of her? She would be my prisoner now. How could I blame her and her young husband? They were the innocent victims of other people's ambitions. Northumberland had forced them to do what they did, and now he was calling for Queen Mary!
News was brought to me that Northumberland had been arrested. My greatest enemy was now my prisoner.
* * *
MY CAPITAL WAS WAITING to receive me. I would never have believed that victory could come so easily, and I chided myself for my lack of faith. This was what I had been born and preserved for, and the will of God was worked through the will of the people.
My first duty was to have the crucifix set up in Framlingham Church. It would show the people I would lead them back to God through the true religion.
We must make our way to London.
I set out with a mighty company. How different from when I had left Hunsdon such a short time ago in such stealth.
I rested at Wanstead, and while I was there I was visited by a distraught Duchess of Suffolk. I was amazed to see this proud and imperious lady so frightened and beside herself with grief. I thought it must be on account of her daughter, Jane, that poor innocent child who had been used by her ambitious family.
She prostrated herself at my feet, which in itself was amusing, for she had been one of those who had proclaimed my birth not to be legitimate, King's daughter though she had had to accept me to be.
But I was sorry for her. She was a mother and she must be suffering deep remorse now that her daughter was in the Tower.
I said, “Rise, Lady Suffolk. I know what you must be suffering. Your daughter is so young, and I know that she was forced to do this wicked thing by others.”
“Oh, my daughter,” she cried. “She has sinned beyond redemption. I could not ask Your Majesty to forgive her. Her sin is too great. I plead for the Duke, my husband. He is ill, Your Majesty. I fear for his life if he remains in that cold cell. They have kept him there for three days… and I fear that he can endure little more.”
I felt anger rising within me. I could understand a mother's love for her child, but I remembered what Jane had said about the harsh treatment of her parents, and Mrs. Penn's indignation at the violent marks on her body.
I said, “Your husband is a traitor. He was partly responsible for setting your daughter on the throne. It is not Lady Jane who is to blame. She merely did what she was forced to. And you complain because your husband has spent three days in the Tower!”
“He has acted wrongly, Your Majesty, but he was led into doing evil acts. Your Majesty, I beg of you…he will die. Let him be sent to me. Let him remain your prisoner but let me nurse him. I beg of you. It is a matter of life or death.”
Life or death! That was how it was for most of us. She was weeping bitterly, this proud woman, and there was no doubt that her grief was genuine.
How could I refuse her? I did not admire her as a mother, but there was no doubt that t
he woman loved her husband.
I thought: What harm can it do? She is crying for mercy, and I must be merciful. He will die in the Tower. He will die in any case. He is a traitor, but I do not want his death on my hands.
I said, “He shall be taken from the Tower to be nursed by you.”
She fell on her knees once more; she kissed my hand and blessed me.
* * *
WHEN IT WAS KNOWN what I had done, there was consternation.
Sir Henry Jerningham pointed out to me that the man I had freed was the father of Jane, and he had helped to set her up in my place. He had worked close to Northumberland, and they had planned to rule the country together through those two young people. Had I forgotten that?
“I have sent him out of the Tower to be nursed by his wife,” I said. “He is a very sick man.”
“Sick with fear, Your Majesty, to see his wicked plans frustrated.”
“I wish to be a merciful Queen,” I told him. “Grey shall not escape. Justice will be done.”
They shook their heads, and they trembled for me.
It was the same with Simon Renard. I heard later that he had reported to the Emperor that I should never be able to hold the crown for I was too governed by feminine sentiments.
I did not care. I knew Suffolk was ill, and I had been moved by his wife's pleading.
I prayed to God that night. “You taught me to be merciful, O Lord, and I believe that is how You would wish me to act.”
* * *
I SET OUT ON my ride into London. I was thirty-seven years old—no longer young, but not too old for a Queen. I had some experience of life behind me. I was no beauty, but I was not ill favored either. I was thinnish and of low stature. I wished that I had been taller—but I looked well enough on a horse; I had my father's reddish hair, and my complexion was as fresh as his had been in his youth, but mine had not coarsened as his had—I presumed because I had lived more abstemiously. Dressed in purple velvet, I looked quite regal, I believed, seated on my horse and surrounded by my ladies.
My sister had come to Wanstead to meet me. She was to ride into London beside me. I was sorry for this in a way, and yet I could not forbid it. She was so much younger and in such blooming health. She was much taller and about twenty years old—in her prime, one might say. The people cheered her and she did everything she could to win their approval, waving her hands and holding them up in acknowledgment of their greeting. She had very beautiful hands, and I had often noticed how she used every opportunity to bring them into prominence.
These people had shown their affection for me; they had proclaimed me as their Queen, and I believed that meant that they wanted the old faith restored. Had they forgotten that Elizabeth had refused to attend Mass? Were these Protestants who were cheering her? Or was she so popular because she was young and attractive to look at and showed such pleasure in their applause? Of one thing I was certain: wherever she was, she would bring a certain lack of ease to me, a certain puzzlement, for I should never understand the workings of her mind.
I kissed all her ladies to give an impression that I was pleased to see her but, as we rode along, I was thinking that I should have been happier if she had stayed away.
As we approached Aldgate, I saw streamers hanging from the houses; children had been assembled to sing songs of welcome. It was a heartwarming sight. The streets had been freshly swept, and members of the city crafts had gathered there, clad in their traditional dress. They looked very smart, and they were smiling and waving their banners with enthusiasm.
We were met by the Mayor. Lord Arundel was present, holding the sword of state. They joined the procession with a thousand men—and so they led me to the Tower.
This was London's welcome and meant that the city regarded me as the rightful Queen.
And there was the Tower, so often a symbol of fear, and now offering me hospitality and welcome.
I was greeted by Sir Thomas Cheyney, who was in charge at that time. The custom was that I should rest here until after my brother's funeral.
The King was dead: Long live the Queen! That was what this meant.
I shall never forget coming to the Tower that day. All the state prisoners had been brought from their cells and were assembled on the green before the church of St. Peter ad Vincula.
There was the old Duke of Norfolk, who had been arrested shortly before my father's death and would certainly have lost his head as his son Surrey had done, had the King not died before he could sign the death warrant. He had aged since I had last seen him, which was not surprising, after six years' incarceration in that grim place. Stephen Gardiner was also there; but the one who stood out among all the others was Edward Courtenay, son of the Marquis of Exeter and Earl of Devonshire, who had been in the Tower since 1538, when he was about twelve years old, and had known no other dwelling for fifteen years. He looked bright and healthy in spite of this. I was deeply touched, not only by him but by all those people kneeling there, particularly when it was pointed out to me who they were.
I dismounted and, going to them, spoke to each one in turn. I kissed them and bade them no longer kneel.
I said to them emotionally, “You are my prisoners now.”
The Duke of Norfolk was in tears, and so was I, as I embraced him. Gardiner took my hands, and we were too moved to speak for a few moments. I told him he should be sworn into the Privy Council at once. “And you, my lord Norfolk, you go from here a free man and your estates shall be restored to you.”
I turned to the young man whose handsome face had attracted me from the moment I saw him. “Lord Courtenay, is it not?” I said. “Your estates will also be returned to you. You leave the Tower when you are ready to go, my lord Earl of Devonshire.”
I do not believe that any present could have been unmoved by the sight of so much joy. It was a happy augury for my reign, I thought. I was delighted to be able to show my people right from the beginning that, although I was a woman and they might think a man would be more suitable to rule them, I had a heart full of sympathy for my subjects and I would be a gentle and loving sovereign.
A cheer went up as I made my way into the Tower.
There I remained quietly until my brother was buried, when I ordered that there should be a requiem for his soul in the Tower chapel.
* * *
DURING THE DAYS in the Tower, while I was awaiting the burial of my brother, I gave myself up to meditation.
Now that that for which I had yearned and vaguely feared was upon me, I felt a little lost and bewildered. I was fully aware of the task ahead of me and that I must have good counselors.
I must marry now. It was my duty. A sovereign should give the country heirs. That was what my father had always maintained, and the need to do so had governed his life and was responsible for so many of the actions he had taken. Thirty-seven was not an ideal age for childbearing, but it was not quite too old.
I would concern myself with marriage without delay.
Ever since I had known him, I had nourished tender feelings toward Reginald Pole. Why not? He was royal. My mother had thought fondly of a match between us. I remembered how she and my dear Countess of Salisbury had plotted together about it. Reginald was a good deal older than I, of course, but he had never married. One would not have expected a man of the Church to marry, but he had never stepped into that position which would have made it impossible for him to do so.
I wondered what public reaction would be if the suggestion were made known. He had been very popular at one time, but he had been abroad for so long. Perhaps now that I was Queen he would return to England; he would have nothing to fear from me; he would have encouragement and affection. I could do nothing yet, but I often thought of Reginald.
Jane Grey and her young husband were constantly on my mind. I knew that pressure would be brought on me to send them to the block, and I felt very reluctant to do this. Northumberland should have his just deserts, and I felt no qualms about this; but I should feel very une
asy if I were asked to sign the death warrants of those two young people.
But there was so much to occupy my thoughts during those days; there would be my coronation, which would need so much preparation that it could not take place before October.
On the 18th of August, Northumberland and his fellow conspirators were brought to trial.
There could be only one result for Northumberland, but when it came to the point I was reluctant to sign his death warrant. He was an extremely clever man—I think one of the cleverest of his day. He could have been a good servant to me; and I wished that it could have been different. There were eleven people convicted with him but only three went to the scaffold on the 22nd of August.
Jane's father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, had proclaimed me Queen at the gates of the Tower. I could not bear to think that my coming to the throne had resulted in numerous deaths, and I persuaded the Council that, on payment of a fine, Suffolk should go free. He was a weak man who had been the tool of Northumberland. I was not sure about his religious views, but I fancied he was a Protestant; but at this stage we were not prosecuting people for their religion. I recalled Frances Grey's pleas for her husband, and I could not bring myself to agree to his execution, so at length it was agreed that he should pay his fine and go free.
Although Northumberland had been the chief conspirator, the Council believed that Lady Jane and her husband should be dispatched without delay. I pointed out to them that she was merely the figurehead. Figureheads had to be eliminated with all speed, they reiterated. Lady Jane should be brought to trial at once.
I could not bear that and I sought refuge in delay.
“Later,” I said. “Later.”
Simon Renard came to me. He was an impressive man. He was no van der Delft or Scheyfve. He was another Chapuys, only, it occurred to me, more wily. I could understand why the Emperor had sent him, for now that I was Queen, I was of greater importance to him.
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