Innocent Traitor (60 page)

SHEEN, 22ND JANUARY 1554

My husband comes storming into our bedchamber, his face working in distress.

“We are betrayed!” he shouts.

I dismiss the maids who have been preparing me for bed and go to him, trembling.

“Who?” is all I can trust myself to ask.

“That fool Courtenay. Yesterday, he confessed all to Bishop Gardiner and begged the Queen’s forgiveness.”

“The bastard!” I spit. “I always knew he had no backbone.”

“Yes, but I think someone talked long before he did. Four days ago, the council sent a force to occupy Exeter, as if they had wind of the planned rising in the west country. Carew is lying low, by all accounts, and Sir James Crofts has fled to Wales.”

“What news of Wyatt?” I did not want Henry to involve himself in this rebellion, but now that he has, I can only pray it will be successful.

“When last I heard, he was at Allington Castle, raising the men of Kent. The messenger who came to me is on his way there as we speak. I gave him a fresh horse.”

“What will you do now?” I do not trouble to conceal my anxiety. One false move, and we are all finished.

“We act at once. I have asked Wyatt to come here. If the rising is to achieve its aims, we must strike now.”

SHEEN, 23RD JANUARY 1554

Sir Thomas Wyatt has arrived at Sheen. He is young—too young—and personable, with an open, eager face and a black, pointed beard. There is no mistaking his sincere zeal for his cause: he is a driven man, committed to seeing the thing through to the bitter end.

Yet I fear it will be an end more bitter than I imagined, for I have just discovered, to my horror and disbelief, that my lord still cherishes dreams of establishing Jane on the throne. And she but lately sentenced to death!

Although I had heard with my own ears the Queen’s assurance that Jane would be safe, the news of that sentencing hit me like a cannonball. My own daughter, my very flesh and blood—sentenced to death. God knows, I am not a sentimental woman, and I have not loved her as I should, often finding fault with her, when perhaps there was none to find. I could not help myself. But when I heard those dread words that were spoken to my poor child, something awoke within me, the mother’s instinct to protect that has lain dormant all these years beneath layers of bitterness and frustration. And there it was, staring me in the face, the realization that my own daughter is in the Tower, a condemned traitor who might face death at any moment. My daughter, whom I bore of my body, not just a pawn in a political or dynastic game whom we could use to our advantage. And ever since then, I have hated myself for blighting her short life—which may soon be cruelly cut short—with my disappointment and my ambition. As God is my witness, I have wept for her, poor innocent; me, who has ever prided myself on my disdain for those who give way to such displays of emotion. And I have resolved that, if it be in my power, none shall do further harm to her.

“But making the Lady Jane Queen was never under discussion,” points out Wyatt.

“Nor should it be!” I insist hotly. “It is unfair and unjust to involve Jane. Has she not suffered enough? Is she not in sufficient peril?”

“So you would prefer to see this Catholic queen married to the fanatical Prince of Spain, and the Inquisition burning heretics in England?” Henry shouts. “Because, I tell you, my dear, that is what will happen if we do not act now to prevent it.”

“So you would risk our daughter’s life?” I persist in alarm. “Have you forgotten that she lies in the Queen’s custody under sentence of death? And that she knows nothing of what you are plotting? My lord, this is folly of the worst sort—can you not see it?”

Wyatt intervenes. “I should say that my own preferred plan is to depose the Queen and replace her with the Lady Elizabeth, who is said to be committed to the reformed faith. That alone would justify Mary’s removal.”

“My daughter is utterly committed to the reformed faith,” butts in my lord. “She has never hidden the fact, unlike the Lady Elizabeth, whose beliefs are a matter for conjecture. I tell you both that our best hope for the future lies in Jane.”

“No!” I cry. “You have no idea of what you are doing.
You
did not face the Queen—I did. Make no mistake, she will not be as well disposed to mercy a second time.”

“There will not be a second time!” my husband snaps. “Now, my lady, I suggest you hold your tongue. These are fears for children. This time our plan is watertight, and within weeks, mark you, our daughter will be back where she should be, and we will be the power behind the throne.”

“Within weeks we might all be lacking our heads!” I retort, bursting with anger and frustration.

“Your lady wife perhaps has a point,” says Wyatt.

“My lady wife is a woman, and like all women, she has to make unnecessary difficulties.”

I catch my breath—this is intolerable.

“She has more wisdom than you credit her with,” Wyatt contends. “It would be wiser and safer for all concerned if we back the Lady Elizabeth. Her claim is the stronger anyway.”

“And if I will not support her?”

Wyatt looks unhappy. “Then—then, my lord, we must abandon our plans. We have already lost much of our support, and without your help, I can do nothing.”

“Aren’t you forgetting that overthrowing Catholic Mary is the whole point of the exercise?” Henry reminds him. “Are we not committed to that? And is it not preferable to replace her by one who is known to be a committed Protestant, rather than by one who is merely thought to be? Come now, Sir Thomas, face the truth. It is my daughter who should become Queen, and it is only on that understanding that I will give you my backing. Without which, to be plain, you will surely fail.”

Wyatt struggles visibly with his better self, and wins. “All right, my lord, I agree. But I warn you now, I have more misgivings about this plan than the other. The Lady Elizabeth has the better claim, and your daughter, as my lady here has pointed out, is in a highly vulnerable position. But, as you have made clear, the choice is really yours to make. Therefore, it shall be the Lady Jane. I will be content so long as this land is ruled by a Protestant monarch.”

“Good.” My lord smiles. “I will send to the Earl of Huntingdon. He has already agreed to raise his tenants in Leicestershire.”

“Then I will return to Kent to muster my forces,” says Wyatt.

“I shall look forward to meeting up with you in London, after our victory.” My husband extends his hand. I look away in disgust.

Later, we learn that the Earl of Huntingdon, having received Henry’s message, took it straight to the council.

Mrs.Ellen

LONDON, 25TH JANUARY 1554

There are no restrictions on my movements. I come and go as I please, in and out of the Tower, so I am often out shopping, or visiting my sister in Smithfield. Thus I am in a position to keep abreast of what is going on in the world outside.

The news is not good. The mood in London is tense, and rumor has it that the Kentish rebel, Sir Thomas Wyatt, is approaching the capital with five thousand men. People everywhere are apprehensive, and I have even seen panicked citizens packing up and leaving the city.

I mingle with the crowd at Cheapside Cross as a herald reads out a proclamation by the privy council. My blood freezes as I hear the Duke of Suffolk’s name among those of the traitors who have been raising ill-disposed persons to Her Majesty’s destruction, and who have plotted to advance the Lady Jane and Guilford Dudley to the throne once more.

How could he? How could he be so rash and foolish? I am in a passion of anxiety. I cannot believe my ears.

“If any man brings the traitor Wyatt to justice,” cries the herald, “he will be granted a fine estate, to be held by him and his heirs in perpetuity.”

This is terrible, I think, as the people disperse. How could the Duke even contemplate involving himself in another plot to set poor Jane on the throne? The man must be mad! And how can I protect that dear child from the knowledge of what he has done—or the consequences? Dear God, what will they be? I cannot bear to contemplate them.

I hurry back to the Tower, agonizing. I decide that all I can do for the moment is withhold these dreadful tidings from Jane. In her innocence must lie her safety, I pray God.

Later, I join the crowds outside Whitehall Palace in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Queen. It is common knowledge that she has refused to leave London for the safety of Windsor, declaring she knows well that she can count upon the loyalty and love of her subjects. Listening to voices in the crowd, I am not so sure—some will save their loyalty for whoever triumphs in this conflict. Plainly, Mary is no longer the darling of the people as she was when she ascended the throne six months ago.

Lady Jane Dudley

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 7TH FEBRUARY 1554

From my window, I can see soldiers everywhere.

I know why they are here, although those who have the keeping of me would prefer that I did not. Undoubtedly Sir John Bridges has expressly been forbidden to enlighten me. I have been told only that a traitor called Sir Thomas Wyatt has risen in protest against the Queen’s marriage to the Prince of Spain.

Mrs. Ellen told me that Wyatt and his army arrived at Southwark four days ago, only to find that the citizens, inspired by a rousing speech made by the Queen at the Guildhall, had destroyed London Bridge to prevent him from entering the capital. In retribution, he sacked the old priory of St. Mary Overy, then moved upriver to Kingston, where there is another bridge across the Thames. Now he is advancing again on London, from the south.

The waiting soldiers are drawn up in lines, ready to march when necessary. I watch them, weapons at the ready, tramp in formation out of the Tower to face the rebels. Some time later there comes the distant sound of gunfire, and it seems to me as if every person left in the Tower is holding his breath, just as I am. Then there is a silence that lasts several hours.

Evening falls. I am lying facedown on my bed reading, propped up on my elbows, when I hear a commotion outside. Leaping up, I peer through the lattice panes. In the darkness, I can just make out Sir John Bridges and a troop of soldiers riding past the White Tower toward the main gate.

Suddenly Mrs. Ellen comes in.

“God be praised, my lady! Wyatt is taken. They are bringing him here now. He is to be lodged in the Bell Tower. The rebellion is quelled.”

“God be praised!” I echo. “Now we are safe.”

Queen Mary

WHITEHALL PALACE, 7TH FEBRUARY 1554

At seven o’clock in the evening I at last have the opportunity to grant an audience to Renard. He has been pressing to see me all day.

“Your Majesty!” he says urgently, kissing my hands with unprecedented fervor. “I rejoice to see you safe! We are all badly shaken by your narrow escape from disaster. Madam, forgive me, but it is as I warned, and I would be failing in my duty and devotion to you if I did not point out that this rebellion was the result of Your Majesty being overlenient when you came to the throne. I beg of you now, Madam, harden your heart against these traitors and show your subjects that you are not to be intimidated.”