# # #
Mary sat silently with her hands clasped in front of her at the council table. She leaned forward slightly. With a stony countenance she studied briefly the faces of each of the men. Those who would not meet her gaze she believed were the ones who had, for whatever reason, elected to support the position of keeping the news of the insurrection from her. For what cause? Renard suspected that there were some amongst them who would welcome a coup d’ etat and thought that not informing her of the rising was the fastest way to see Courtenay and Elizabeth on the throne, and herself in the Tower…or worse! And he was probably right. But she was queen, she was not in the Tower, and she fully intended to manage this situation just as effectively as she had managed Dudley’s attempt to deprive her of her birthright.
She was astute enough to realize, however, that even the men who fearlessly met her gaze might not be trustworthy, either; they were merely better at dissimulation. What a tricky business it was being a ruler! And how was she to unite this fractious group of men, who had done little since the news of the rising broke save blame each other for the pass to which things had come?
“My Lords,” she said. “The time for pointing fingers and blaming your neighbor for his shortcomings is past. We must act. These risings in Devon, the Midlands and in Kent require a military response.”
Mary made a special note of those who sniggered.
Paget and Norfolk, and perhaps the earl of Sussex, seemed to be the only men on the Council who were taking her seriously. Paget seemed genuinely pained when he replied, “But Your Grace has no army.”
A small smile curved her lips. “Nor did I at Framlingham…at first.”
“But with your gracious leave, the situation was different then, Your Grace. The people were with you.” Paget eyed her cautiously as he said this.
Renard, who was sitting at the queen’s right hand, shifted in his chair and all eyes immediately swung onto him. “This whole situation is monstrous,” he said vehemently. “To hold your peace on such an issue as an imminent revolt could be construed as treason, to say the very least! And the danger to the queen’s person! Have you not thought of that, my lords?” His respect for the queen was growing by the minute and he was now solidly in her camp. Besides, the faster things could be put to rights in England and the prince sent for, the faster he would be able to make the case for his return home to Brussels.
“We are assembling a body guard for the queen as we speak,” replied Gardiner. He knew the futility of argument with the queen where the Imperial ambassador was concerned; although it impinged upon his own authority for a foreigner to be present at a Council meeting, he had long ago accepted the fact that her cousin’s influence over the queen, combined with her dislike and distrust of most of the members of her Council, meant that cooperation with Renard was the only meaningful way to proceed. And damn Paget for suggesting that he be invited! The queen, as bold as she was, would not have dared. “But as I have advised before,” and at this he fixed the queen with a stern look through his bushy eyebrows, “my advice is for Her Grace to hie to the safety either of the Tower, or better yet, to Windsor.”
Mary felt her ire rise at this suggestion; Gardiner had suggested flight more than once, and so had several others. That she should bolt out of London in the face of imminent danger seemed to be the only point upon which both her councilors and the Imperial ambassador agreed. But go to the Tower of her own accord! To flee like a coward to Windsor!
She banged her fist down onto the table. “I will not!” she shouted. “Norfolk!”
The duke was eighty years old, and as such, was the eldest statesman on the queen’s Council. He had at first been dubious about the quality of the queen’s mercy towards him; true forgiveness was not a characteristic with which he was overly familiar. But as time went by he came to realize that the queen’s clemency towards him was genuine, and that she valued his abilities and experience. More than that; she had come to rely on him for opinions and decisions when the younger men of the Council disagreed and she needed a cooler head to prevail.
He nodded his head at the queen. “Your Grace?” he replied.
Seemingly apropos of nothing, Mary asked, “How is your leg, sir?”
At first taken aback, Norfolk quickly replied, “Much better, Your Grace.” He had his aches and pains; not many men lived into their ninth decade. But all in all, he was still hale and hardy.
“Can you ride?”
Norfolk bristled. “Of course, Your Grace.” He was not yet in his dotage!
Mary nibbled a cuticle. “How many men can be spared from the city guard?”
Norfolk reckoned quickly. “Five hundred.”
Mary leapt from her chair and began pacing the room. It amused her to note that as she passed each man in his chair, they all seemed to shrink back. Good! Let them fear her. “This rising in Kent is the most serious because they are so near. They must be stopped. The rebels have seized the cannon from ships in the Medway and have taken Rochester Castle as their headquarters. What say you to taking a force to drive them back? Think you that you can succeed with five hundred Whitecoats and your own retainers?”
The look of shock on Norfolk’s face was quickly replaced by one of confidence and determination. “I shall leave within the hour, Your Grace!” He arose so quickly that his chair scraped across the floor and almost toppled. “Page!” he bellowed. That the queen should trust him that far…not to mention that he should have thought that his age would have preempted him from all such consideration! He was at the door to the Council chamber in four long strides and the door, which had been opened by a frightened page, slammed shut behind him and he was gone.
Paget wisely stayed silent, but Gardiner said into the silence of the room, “His Grace should not have too much trouble repulsing the Kentishmen. Trained soldiers are worth ten of any pitch-fork wielding rabble.”
Mary swung the beacon of her anger onto her Lord Chancellor. But it was her turn to hold her tongue; she could not afford to alienate any of them. She had almost rejoined that a churchman who had never fought in a battle in his life would have scant knowledge of what men were capable of when roused to a cause they believed in. Many of the men she had mustered at Framlington were little more than farmers with their scythes. But they had been willing to fight for her, and would have been, she believed, a formidable force had it come to battle.
An idea began to form itself in her mind. But before she could allow it to develop sufficiently to give it birth, Renard spoke.
“I have it on good authority, that is, it is not merely rumor, that a French fleet is mustering off the coast of Normandy.”
The French again! Mary was aware of the French fleet; Renard had told her of it just before the Council meeting. If only she could have done, she would have wrung the troublesome Noailles’ neck herself. Mary stopped her pacing at the head of the Council table and leaned on it with both hands. “Let them,” she said. “If necessary, I can enlist my cousin’s support to engage them. They will never reach England, of that I can assure you. We need no Imperial troops to assist us on English soil; indeed, that would be the very worst thing we could do, I am sure all of you will agree. However, I have already asked Good Renard,” she placed a hand on Renard’s shoulder as she said this, “to send a courier post-haste to the emperor in Brussels. We will manage our own affairs here, but there is no harm in a show of support from my…she rarely uttered the word aloud, and almost stumbled over it, “…husband and my cousin, as long as it is made from afar.”
And then the idea that had been developing in the back of her mind as she addressed the Council suddenly burst forth, fully formed, much like Hera was said to have done from the head of Jove. She turned to Paget. “You point out that I have no army, sir, and that the people are against me,” she said. “And if, as you claim, the cause of this insurrection truly is the issue of my marriage to Philip of Spain, then the people ought to have managed their concerns by petition through Parliament, n
ot by armed force and threat. But I will tell you this. If the people truly understood the situation and knew the truth, they would be with me. And I know just how to convince them of it!”
For she had recalled that sun-drenched summer’s day at Framlingham when she had reviewed her troops and they had cheered themselves hoarse for her. And she had recalled a similar day not so very much later when she had made her triumphal entry into London, and again the people had wept for joy and cheered her on. And lastly, she recalled the day of her coronation when once again the people had been with her to a man.
Outside the window the rain came down in sheets. The day was closing in and it was growing dark. On the morrow she would go and speak to the people herself. She knew at first hand the effectiveness of a royal appeal. The people may complain loudly at times, but they rarely failed to be galvanized by the mystique of royalty. Just seeing her would inspire them to loyalty, she had no doubt; and if she addressed them directly, as she had at Framlington, she was certain that she could win them over to her side…and Philip’s. She felt much as the mother of a crying child, trying to convince him that mama knows best!
She regarded the men around the council table. If only she had more men with experience of soldering and battle! She was visited by sudden inspiration. The Council to a man, and Renard as well, were constantly urging her to put the Suffolks and the Dudleys to death for their part in Northumberland’s attempted coup. She had resisted this strongly; she had no desire to execute her cousin Jane, nor her cousin Frances’ husband. But Suffolk, fool that he was, did have firsthand experience of combat. Here was the perfect opportunity for the Duke of Suffolk to redeem them all! If the duke would agree to enlist his own retainers to follow Norfolk to put down the rising in Kent, instead of inciting the rising in the Midlands, she would pardon him yet a second time. And when it was all over, for she had no doubt that God was on her side and that she would prevail, then Frances would have her fool of a husband back without further threat of repercussion, and Jane could retire to the country with her dolt of a husband and her Greek philosophers, which was probably all the girl had ever wanted to begin with. A neat solution to a hitherto sticky situation!
But this notion rested on the assumption that Suffolk had not yet made his departure to the Midlands from Sheen…without royal permission! Along with the vote of confidence that her forgiveness for his disloyalty represented, she would have to trust him to turn his coat on the conspirators and fight for her. And where the devil was Frances in all this? Still, it was worth trying; both she and the duke stood to benefit from this generous offer.
Mary turned to the Earl of Sussex. He was one of those who had ratified her brother’s will devolving the throne upon Jane; but he was a worthy statesman and she had need of such. She judged that he was a loyal royal servant, and had likely signed only because Edward asked him to rather than from any desire to see her own rights infringed. And he had worked tirelessly alongside Paget to get her marriage contract drawn up. “Sir Thomas,” she said.
Startled to be singled out, Sussex sat up and replied, “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Send for the Duke of Suffolk, if you please. I want him to follow as close on Norfolk’s heels to Rochester as possible.”
Sussex was a quick study; he knew immediately what the queen had in mind. “I understand, Your Grace,” he said. “But what if the duke has already departed for Leicestershire?”
“Then he shall be at the mercy of the Earl of Huntingdon,” Mary said, swinging her gaze onto her kinsman. “How stands your disposition to go north to quell the rising there, sir?”
“I will see to it immediately, Your Grace,” said Sir Henry. He and Sussex arose and followed in Norfolk’s wake.
Mary continued to pace the room like a juggernaut; suddenly she stopped, swung around and said, “Sir Henry Bedingfield!”
“Your Grace?” he replied.
“Send for my sister at Ashridge. It grows too dangerous for Her Grace, and her the Heir Apparent to the throne, to be so far from court at such a time. I would she were here with me for her own protection.”
“As Your Grace says,” and he too arose and strode to the door.
Bishop Gardiner cleared his throat and Mary turned to him.
“My Lord Chancellor?” she said quizzically.
“Forgive me, but Your Grace said that if the people truly understood the situation and knew the truth, they would be with you, and that you know just how to convince them of such?”
Mary smiled. “And so I do,” she said. “Arrange a royal escort on the morrow. I want my trumpeters and heralds, the guard you are assembling, all the Whitecoats who are not going with Norfolk or Huntingdon, and the entire court to assemble and accompany me, and all in their finest gear.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Gardiner replied slowly. “For what destination, might one enquire?”
Mary thought for a moment and then replied, “The Guildhall.” The Guildhall could accommodate a large number of people; it was centrally located. It was perfect. “And now gentlemen, we all have work to do.” With that dismissal, the men rose, bowed, and departed.
Mary had work to do, too; but there was no need to spend hours writing a speech. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. Her task that night would be her earnest prayers to God to help her to prevail in this crisis.
Chapter 39
“If her conscience did not point the way then she suffered agonies of indecision; if it did, she never lacked the courage of her convictions.”
– Alison Weir
Whitehall Palace, February 1554
The rain pelted the windows intermittently as Mary lay and watched the sky grow from pitch black to dull gray. The hours of daylight were short, as could only be expected in mid-winter. It seemed a very long time until the spring. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Instantly Jane was awake and asking what she could do for her; Good Jane! Many of her servants were old, they had been with her since she was born or from her early childhood, and she loved them all dearly; but she did like to have a bit of youth about her, too.
“Shall I call the bedchamber ladies, Your Grace?” asked Jane, stifling a yawn. Jane Dormer was always unfailingly correct and polite, for all that she shared the queen’s bed; she took no liberties nor did she become overly familiar as some were wont to do.
“Not just yet,” Mary replied. Once the duties of the day began, there never seemed to be enough hours to perform them all. The first few moments of awakening most times were the only quiet moments she enjoyed all day. And today she must go to the Guildhall to speak to her people. She eyed the sky warily. It was going to be a wet journey. Still, there was nothing for it, it must be done.
Suddenly there was an urgent rapping on the door of her bedchamber. Jane looked at Mary, who waved her hand to indicate that Jane should see who it was. So early! Something must be amiss. She had hoped for a few quiet moments before she must ready herself for Mass, but alas, it seemed that it was not to be.
Jane returned, her small, heart-shaped face a study in consternation. “It is my lord of Sussex!” She exclaimed. “Lady Strelly says that the matter is most urgent, Your Grace.”
“Fetch my dressing gown, Jane, and then go and sleep in Lady Strelly’s bed until I call you.” There was no sense in rousing everyone until she knew what was afoot.
The earl took a few steps into the room; for form’s sake he left the door open. He held his cap in his hands, and Mary noticed that its feather was bedraggled and wet, as was the earl himself. Would this rain never cease, she wondered?
Mary waved him to a chair by the fire, which she was stoking with a poker. “What news, Sir Thomas?” she asked.
As soon as Mary seated herself, the earl bowed and sat in the chair opposite her, tossing his saturated cap onto a table.
“I am sorry to disturb Your Grace so early in the morning, but I thought that you would want to know that which I have to tell you as soon as possible,” he said. “There i
s news that is good, but there is a sting as well; I fear me that some of the news I have to tell Your Grace is very bad.”
“The good news will hearten me,” she said with a smile. “Start with that.” Mary had a reputation as a kind and loving mistress to her personal servants. Sir Thomas could see why; in close quarters she did her utmost to make one feel comfortable and at ease.
“Sir Peter Carew has failed in his attempt to raise the West Country,” the earl said. “He has been proclaiming Courtenay king throughout Devon and Cornwall, but the people will have none of it. He found few supporters and has fled to France.”
Mary laughed. “Hah!” she exclaimed, slapping her knee in a manner that Sir Thomas had seen her father use more than once. The gesture was so like King Henry that Sussex also laughed. “That is good news!” she cried. “To the devil with him, then; although if he has fled to Henri of France it amounts to the same thing!” They now knew that the attack on London was to be four-pronged; the fizzling out of any of the directional risings meant fewer men to fight when…if! …they ever reached London. “What else?”
“Sir James Croft was to have raised the Welsh marches, but met with the same sort of tepid response that was Sir Peter’s lot in Devon. He was arrested in his bed. He has, however, provided some valuable information about the rebel’s plans that he hopes will exonerate him.” Mary’s bent towards forgiveness was well-known; but she had already pardoned Sir James once for his support of Lady Jane Grey in the days of Dudley’s attempted coup. Could anyone expect such clemency a second time, barely a year later?
Mary shifted in her chair. “The news is so good, Sir Thomas, that I might find it difficult to be anything but lenient with him. If his information proves valuable, we will see. Where is he now?”
Sir Thomas snorted. “Tied backwards on his horse and on his way to the Tower.”
The Baker's Daughter Volume 2 Page 43
