Innocent Traitor (54 page)
Arundel approaches me, doffing his cap and bowing.
“Your Grace, I would speak privately with you.”
I lead him into my apartments and dismiss my two ladies.
“You have news, my lord?”
“Bad news, I regret, madam. We had tidings in the night that the whole of East Anglia has risen in support of the Lady Mary, and that the Earl of Derby has proclaimed her Queen in Cheshire. Even that Protestant troublemaker Sir Peter Carew has done the same in Devon. Worst of all, for my lord Duke, is the report that his son Robert, realizing he could not hope to apprehend the Lady Mary, himself proclaimed her Queen in King’s Lynn.”
I feel faint and nauseous. Northumberland’s edifice is crumbling, unable to withstand the tempests, and God’s will is prevailing, despite the efforts of foolish, proud men to thwart it. And although I am shaken by the news, I am glad—glad to my soul—of the likely outcome. For, as the Almighty is my witness, I never wanted to be Queen. I have worn my dignity unwillingly and hated every minute of it, these last days in the Tower. Now, it appears, the treacherous charade is nearly over, and when it is, the hated Dudleys will receive just punishment, and I will happily relinquish my borrowed title and go home to Bradgate, there to live in peaceful obscurity with my books. That Mary will allow this, I cannot doubt: she is a merciful, kindly lady, and wise enough to understand that I consented to accept the crown only under unbearable pressure and with extreme reluctance. Heaven knows, there are plenty of witnesses who could tell her so. Thus, for myself, I have no undue concern.
“Several councillors have fled,” Arundel is saying. “They left the Tower at dead of night.”
“Ought we to leave too?”
“Your Majesty is probably safer remaining here. It is hard to judge the mood of the people, and anyway, if you flee, you proclaim yourself guilty in the Lady Mary’s eyes. The day is not lost yet, madam.”
“I thank you for your counsel, my lord. Will you remain?”
“I will dissemble until the time is ripe for declaring my true allegiance—saving your pardon, madam,” he says candidly. “The Duke may yet prevail. If he does, you may count on my loyalty. But we must all look to our own necks.”
“And the rest?”
“They too will swim with the tide.”
I smile to myself. Is there a man of principle among them?
Shortly afterward, Northumberland arrives to receive from me his formal commission.
“I bid you farewell, madam,” he says. “In a few days I will bring in the Lady Mary, captive or dead, like the rebel she is.” And, with a sweeping bow, he is gone.
Northumberland and his eldest son, the Earl of Warwick, have left London at the head of their army, much to my relief. My advisers assure me that the Duke will be victorious: is he not, after all, the finest soldier in the kingdom?
“I wonder if I might remain Queen after all,” I confide to Mrs. Ellen. “I am certainly resolved at least to behave like one until the outcome of the matter is known. After all, if God has called me to rule England and further establish the reformed religion here, I must not let Him down. I just pray that His will is evident in the events of the next few days, so that I may know my course is the right one.”
“We are all in God’s hands,” Mrs. Ellen says quietly.
The tension in the Tower is palpable. Several councillors have announced their intention of visiting their homes, there to wait upon events, but my lord father has persuaded them—not without difficulty—to stay. They do so with plain reluctance, for the news is not good for those who have thrown in their lot with the Duke. Mary has been proclaimed Queen in four counties now. Off Yarmouth, the crews of Northumberland’s warships have mutinied in her favor, and two thousand sailors have deserted and gone to join her at Framlingham, where a vast army is gathering around her. And how the people are flocking to Mary’s standard! Even that stern Protestant Bishop Hooper is urging his flock to support her. It is becoming increasingly obvious that the people of England will not bow to the ambition of John Dudley.
Ashen-faced, my father turns to me.
“Madam, the lords are restive. They whisper that yours is a lost cause. That damned Treasurer of the Mint—may God curse him!—has absconded with all the gold in Your Grace’s privy purse, and you may be sure that others are planning to follow him. I suspect that, even now, some of them are in touch with Mary’s supporters in London.”
“Then we must pray that my lord of Northumberland is victorious,” I say drily. My father gives me a look; he has not missed the irony in my voice.
Later in the day he is back, agitated.
“Madam, this is beyond me. Two lords of the council have just been stopped by the guards whilst attempting to leave the Tower by stealth. None of us has the authority of Northumberland, and the number of waverers is increasing by the hour. Who shall prevent them if they are determined upon going?”
“I will,” I declare, rising to my feet. I will not let them leave me to face the consequences of Northumberland’s folly alone. “Pray summon the privy council to attend me now.”
There are several empty chairs. I rest a stern gaze on the men before me. Some meet my eyes, others look shiftily away. I know that I cannot rely on their loyalty, but I will do my best to make them take responsibility for what they have done. And to bring them to obedience, I must dissemble, and dissemble again.
“My lords,” I say, “I thank you for coming so promptly. I have called you here to inform you that, in the absence of the Lord President, I myself, your sovereign lady and Queen, will assume the government of my realm. I will henceforth preside over all your meetings, and every order will be issued by me in person. I do assure you, I mean to rule as well as reign, with the guidance of Almighty God.”
No one speaks, but some of the peers are regarding me with undisguised admiration. No one ventures to challenge my assumption of power—at least, not openly.
“I propose,” I continue, “to write to the sheriffs of certain counties to remind them of their allegiance. I intend also to give audience to the Bishop of London, to ask him to use his sermon next Sunday to put our subjects in mind of their loyalty to us. But above that, my lords, I mean to ensure that the Protestant faith remains the religion of this my realm. I realize that my position is not yet as secure as it should be, but I shall pray God daily that, if it be His will, He will preserve me to carry out His work on Earth, so that the wicked superstitions practiced by the Lady Mary may never again blight this land.”
I have said too much, I know; one day soon, my brave words, intended to keep these men with me and accountable, might well be regarded as treasonable. But what else could I do?
There is some polite applause. “Amen!” says one councillor, and a few others echo him, yet I realize that I have failed to touch their hearts. Admire me they might, but they can never forget for a moment that I may be deposed at any time. Until they are certain that I am secure on my throne, I cannot count on their support.
THE TOWER OF LONDON, 15TH JULY 1553
London, Mrs. Ellen tells me, is in a ferment. A messenger arriving at the Tower has brought the news that the Lady Mary is advancing on the capital at the head of thirty thousand men. Many towns have declared for her, and there is widespread support for her in the countryside.
My parents hasten to my chamber, their faces tense with anxiety and fear.
“We must issue a proclamation,” my father says, “stressing the justness of your title and demanding that the kingdom be preserved from papists.”
“Then let it be done,” I say calmly. I have already resigned myself to God’s will. If my reign is going to be brief, so be it.
“I don’t trust Winchester,” mutters my lady.
“Nor Pembroke,” adds my father. “And I suspect that Arundel is already in touch with the Lady Mary.”
“Winchester has gone back to his house in the city,” my mother informs me. “Think you he’ll come back? He has his skin to save after all.”
“He’ll come back,” growls my lord. “He’ll not dare ignore the Queen’s command. And once he’s here, we’ll have the Tower gates locked early for the night.”
I am surprised to learn that Winchester
has
returned in response to my summons. The gates are duly locked. Only afterward do we learn that Pembroke is missing.
“What did you expect?” says Arundel nastily. “He got out while he could. You do realize, my lord of Suffolk, that if your daughter is toppled—yes, and let’s make no bones about it, she may well be—we shall all face a traitor’s death. And I don’t need to spell out what they do to traitors, do I?”
I shiver and see my father shudder. Perhaps he is imagining the agony of having the disemboweling knife rip into his guts.
“Peers of the realm,” my mother puts in briskly, “are customarily spared the worst horrors of a traitor’s death. For them, the sentence is invariably commuted to beheading.”
“That’s bad enough,” mutters my father.
“But the innocent will also suffer,” I say, thinking not only of myself, but, with sorrow, of my poor sister, married to Pembroke’s son, whom she loves well. Without a doubt she will pay the price of the Earl’s defection. “I pity Katherine. She has done nothing wrong, but they will hate her for my sake and have her marriage dissolved.”
“Nonsense!” barks my father with more bravado than conviction. “Let’s hear no more of this maudlin talk. Instead of mewling like a sick puppy, madam, I suggest you order your guards to bring Pembroke back and then deal with him firmly.”
I summon the Captain of the Guard.
“I command you to send some men to Baynard’s Castle to apprehend my lord of Pembroke,” I say. “Bring him here to me, and do not let him give you the slip. And I order you also to bring me the keys to the Tower each evening at eight o’clock without fail.”
THE TOWER OF LONDON, 18TH JULY 1553
The privy councillors are assembled before the throne. My father stands behind it.
“Your Grace,” says Arundel, “we have grave news. The Duke of Northumberland’s forces have mutinied, and he has been forced to take refuge with his few remaining supporters in Cambridge.”
“The French ambassador has hinted that he might be able to summon aid from France,” says Winchester. “The French fear that, if the Lady Mary becomes Queen, she will make an alliance with their enemy, the Emperor.”
“We need to see the ambassador urgently,” insists Pembroke, still grim-faced after the blistering reprimand I delivered to him the other night.
“It’s worth a try, madam,” says Winchester.
Master William Cecil, secretary to the council, speaks. “Your Grace, the truth is that the privy council is required to attend the ambassador at the French embassy to discuss the matter in secrecy. The lords will therefore require your permission to leave the Tower.”
“Very well,” I tell them. I am under no delusions as to their real purpose. The days of my reign are numbered, no doubt about that, and rats, it is said, always desert a sinking ship. For the loss of my title and status I care nothing. In fact, I am relieved that I will not be Queen for much longer. As for the consequences of my actions, I put my faith in God. Maybe it will go better for me if I am found alone and abandoned in the Tower.
But my father has no intention of letting them abscond so easily.
“I insist upon accompanying you, my lords,” he declares, with what passes as a friendly smile.
“There is no need, my lord,” Arundel assures him.
“By God, I shall go with you!” my father roars, but Pembroke is ready for him.
“If you abandon the Queen, my lord,” he says smoothly, “we shall have no choice but to order your summary execution.”
My father splutters with rage. “How dare you occupy the moral high ground and accuse
me
of abandoning the Queen? I’m the only loyal one among you. But you have me in a corner, and I’ll not be accused of treason where none is intended. Yet I warn you, if you do not return here promptly, you will all suffer such a fate as you threaten me with.”
“I think not, my lord,” says Winchester. “But never fear. We will return anon.”
Frances Brandon,
Duchess of Suffolk