In the Shadow of the Crown (51 page)

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 uneasy 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.

Renard was very respectful but nevertheless he had come to advise me, and I felt the great Emperor spoke through him.

“It is an odd thing, Your Majesty,” he said, “that the chief conspirator in the plot against you still lives.”

“Northumberland has lost his head,” I replied.

“The impostor Queen still lives.”

“The girl was merely used, Ambassador.”

“She allowed herself to be used.”

“She had no choice.”

He lifted his shoulders. “She has dared proclaim herself Queen.”

“She was acclaimed by others.”

“She wore the crown.”

“My lord Ambassador, I know this girl. She is my kinswoman. She is young and innocent… scarcely out of the schoolroom. I could not have her innocent blood on my hands.”

“Your Majesty prefers to have yours on hers?”

“There is no question…”

“While she lives, you are unsafe.”

“I believe the people have chosen me.”

“The people? The people will go which way they are made to.”

“This is a matter for my conscience.”

He was clearly dismayed. I saw the contempt in his eyes, and I could imagine the letter he would write to the Emperor. I should never make him understand. But I knew Jane, and I understood how she had been forced into this… and as long as I could, I would refuse to have her blood on my hands.

I must not free her, of course. That would be folly. She would be an immediate rallying point. I would have to be careful; and there was my sister; Elizabeth, another who would stand as a symbol for the Reformed Faith. Oh yes, I should be very careful. But as long as Jane was in the Tower, no decisions need be made.

I said, “I intend to keep her prisoner for the time being. Then we shall see.”

Simon Renard left me. He gave me the impression that I was being a soft and sentimental woman and had no idea how to rule a country.

Shortly after that interview with Renard, I received a letter from Jane, and on reading it I felt more sorry for her and in a greater dilemma than ever.

She wanted me to know that the terrible sin she had committed in allowing herself to be forced to pose as Queen was no fault of hers.

“I did not want it,” she wrote, “and when my parents and my parentsin-law, the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, came to me and told me that the King was dead, I was wretchedly unhappy, for you know how I
loved him. When they added that I was heiress to the crown, I could not believe them, and when I understood that they were serious, I fainted. It was as though a sense of doom overcame me. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wicked, even though Edward had named me. They did homage to me, and at the same time they were angry with me because I would not rejoice with them and was filled with this terrible foreboding.

“They took me to the Tower as Queen, and the Marquis of Winchester brought the crown for me to try on. I did not ask him to do this. It was the last thing I wanted. I wanted more than anything to go back to my studies. I knew that I should have resisted, but I dared not.”

No, I thought, she dared not. I remembered how they had beaten her in her childhood. I felt a grim amusement to think of those harsh parents doing homage to their daughter whom they had so ill-treated.

“I did not want to put it on,” she continued. “I was afraid of it. They said they would have another made for my husband, for it was the Duke's wish that he should be crowned with me. I could not allow this. I did not want the crown myself, but at least I had some claim to it through my birth. But that they should crown Guilford because they had made me marry him…I would not have it. I said that if they made me Queen I must have some authority. They were so angry with me. They forgot for a time that they had made me Queen. They maltreated me…

“Your Majesty, you should know that I am ready to die for what I did, for that deserves death. But, dear Majesty, it was not of my doing.”

I read this with tears in my eyes. It was true. I thought of her unhappy life. The happiest hours she had known must have been with Edward when they pored over their books and enjoyed a friendly rivalry as to who could learn their lessons the more quickly. And now, here she was, a prisoner in the Tower, awaiting death.

How could I ever bring myself to harm her?

MY THOUGHTS WERE PREOCCUPIED with marriage; and Reginald Pole was in the forefront of them. I wondered what he looked like after all these years. He was sixteen years older than I, and that would make him fifty-three years of age. Hardly an age for marrying.

I was excited to receive a letter from him. I opened it with eagerness, wondering if it would contain a reference to a marriage between us. I was not sure how I should feel about that; but I reminded myself that, if it did come to pass, it would have the blessing of my mother and the Countess if they were watching in Heaven, for it would be the fulfillment of their dearest wish.

He congratulated me on my accession to the throne. But his greatest
pleasure was in the fact that he hoped to be receiving from me directions as to how we should set about restoring papal authority to England. There was one sentence in his letter which indicated clearly that marriage had been far from his mind, for he advised me not to marry. There would be plans for me but I was no longer young, and it would be better to remain single so that I should have full authority to bring about the necessary religious reforms.

It was hardly the letter of a lover.

There was also a letter from Friar Peto who, when he had escaped from England after he had so offended my father, had lived with Reginald ever since. I remember how Peto had angered my father from the pulpit when he had openly criticized him for deserting my mother. He it was who had said that, as had happened with Ahab, the dogs would lick his blood after his death. The prophecy had come true. There was no doubt that Peto was a brave and holy man.

“Do not marry,” he wrote to me. “If you do you will be the slave of a young husband. Besides, at your age, the chances of bringing heirs to the throne are doubtful and, moreover, would be dangerous.”

I felt depressed after reading these letters. The truth was stressed, by the blunt Peto, and I had to face the facts. I was too old for childbearing. But it had been one of the dearest wishes of my life to have a child, and in my heart I would never really give up the hope. It was doubly necessary for me to have a child now. I should give birth to an heir. If not…Elizabeth would follow me, and who could tell what Elizabeth would do?

She was being very cautious now. She was in a difficult and highly dangerous position and none would recognize that more clearly than Elizabeth. I who knew her well could read the alertness in her eyes. She was taking each step with the utmost care.

I
must
have a child.

I would not listen to Peto or Reginald. They had been too long out of England. They had probably heard of my bouts of ill health. No doubt they had been exaggerated. I did believe they had been in some measure due to my insecure position. When I think of all the years I had lived close to the axe…surely that could have accounted for my delicate state of health?

But I had come through. God had shown clearly that He had chosen me to fulfill this mission.

I had to succeed… and I would. I would have an heir. And for that reason I must marry quickly.

Ever since his release from the Tower, I had seen a great deal of Edward Courtenay. I had made his mother, Gertrude, who was the Marchioness of Exeter, a lady of my bedchamber; and it seemed that Edward was constantly at my side. I did not complain of this. He was a most attractive young man.

I was amazed that he, who had lived the greater part of his life in the Tower, could be so knowledgeable about the world, and so charming.

He owed a great deal to his good looks, which were outstanding. I noticed my sister Elizabeth's eyes on him. She had always had a liking for handsome men, as she had shown in the case of Thomas Seymour. She was flirtatious by nature, and when I saw Edward Courtenay paying attention to her, I told myself he could hardly do anything else. She so blatantly asked for admiration.