33
Mary
S
ometimes I thought they were all against me. Though I gave them assurances aplenty that they had
nothing
to fear from my marriage to Prince Philip—only good could come of it, including the blessing of an heir—my people still continued to protest, as did the members of my Council.
Even my dear old friend, Reginald Pole, now a great learned and esteemed Cardinal serving His Holiness in Rome. The son of my beloved governess, he had fled abroad to avoid Father’s wrath when he spoke out against his infatuation with The Great Whore and callous treatment of my mother; even he put pen to paper and wrote cruel and stinging words to me. “You will fall into the power and become the slave of your husband,” he warned. “And at your advanced age,” he said with cruel bluntness, “you cannot hope to bear children without peril to your life.” How could he be so mean and hateful? I wept over his letter until my tears broke through the paper.
Even the children were against me! When the weather warmed and the grass was green, dozens of them turned out to play a game they called “Queen and Wyatt.” When I found out that the most popular part of the game was when the Prince of Spain was captured and hanged, it made my blood boil. I ordered the little offenders whipped and, despite their youth, sent briefly to prison to teach them a lesson lest they, as they gained in years, turn rebels for real and become an even greater threat to my beloved. I could not bear that the children of my kingdom might grow up harboring thoughts of harming my beloved. Indeed the reports said that so enthusiastically did they play at hanging the Spanish Prince that some of the boys enacting his role had been strangled almost to the point of death. I could not have it! I simply could not have it! They must
never
play “Queen and Wyatt” again! For weeks I lived in terror that Philip would learn of it and the antics of those beastly children would prevent his coming even after on my knees I assured the Spanish Ambassador that I would lay down my life if need be to keep Philip safe. “I would rather not have been born at all than that any harm should befall His Highness!” I threw myself down and sobbed at Renard’s feet.
But it was even worse. Ragged gangs of dirty barefoot street boys gathered outside the Spanish Embassy to pelt any who entered or exited, including dear Ambassador Renard, with rocks and offal, chanting, “We’ll have no Spaniard for our King!” and “Spaniards go home!”
And when I heard that even the ladies of the court were protesting my bridegroom’s arrival with the very garments on their backs, favoring gowns the color of sun-bronzed skin and calling the shade “Dead Spaniard,” my heart broke and I could not stop the torrent of weeping it unloosed. I took to my bed, unable to sleep or eat, and the flesh began to melt away from my bones, while the doctors stood over me and shook their heads, at a loss of what to do.
“Only Prince Philip can cure me!” I told them repeatedly, waving aside their leeches and lancets. “He must come to me if I am to live, otherwise I shall most assuredly perish!”
And still Ambassador Renard continued to shake his head, and express his and the Emperor’s fears for Philip’s safety on English soil and concerns about Elizabeth. She must go the way of Jane to pave the way for my beloved’s safe arrival. But my Council held fast—they would not allow me to condemn her without absolute, indisputable proof of her guilt. She was too popular with the people and they feared they would rise en masse to save her, and the traitor Wyatt had gone to his death swearing from the scaffold that she had played no part in his rebellion. Furthermore, it was unjust to keep an innocent person imprisoned, my Council claimed, and the people clamored night and day for the release of “Our Princess.” That was what they called her: “Our Princess.” Even from her prison cell Elizabeth was still able to exert the witchlike wiles she had inherited from The Great Whore and turn my people against me.
I wept and felt torn apart inside. I loved Philip so much, and longed for him more than I had ever imagined possible, yet a part of me still remembered the baby sister I had loved and cared for, the little red-haired girl I had held on my lap, dressed, bathed, sung lullabies to, and rocked to sleep, and pretended was my very own child. I had horrible nightmares in which I would see myself guiding that tiny tot by her leading strings up the thirteen steps of the black-draped scaffold and I would start awake with a scream upon my lips, my face bathed in tears, and my heart pounding as if it were about to shoot like a cannonball out of my heaving breast. I just could not do it; I could not sign her death warrant. Finally, after one such dream, in which I stood calmly by as that dainty red-haired tot knelt in the straw staring defiantly, despite the fearful quiver of her chin, at the scarred wooden block while the tall menacing figure of the headsman in his black hood towered over her with his ax held high, I bolted from my bed, ran to my desk, and ripped the death warrant into shreds.
At last, fearing for my life, the Emperor gave in, and Ambassador Renard came to my bedside to deliver the happy news that Philip was preparing to depart. But, as a precaution against poison, he stipulated, he would be bringing his own cooks, apothecaries, and physicians.
It was as if God Himself had laid hands on me to effect my cure. The moment I heard those words I was cured. Heedless of the immodesty of appearing before the Imperial Ambassador in my nightgown and bare feet, with my graying and faded hair hanging down my back in a long, limp and bedraggled braid, I sprang from my bed. I laughed from sheer joy and leapt and clapped my bare heels together in the air. I grabbed my startled doctors and Susan and Jane by their hands and danced round in circles with them, ignoring the physicians’ warnings about my pulse and heart. Then, laughing, I broke free, leaving them staggering dizzy and startled, amazed at my behavior and sudden, miraculous recovery, and began to rush about, hither and yon, summoning servants and palace officials, issuing orders to prepare for my bridegroom’s arrival. Everything
must
be
perfect!
There was so much to do and so little time!
I ordered that beneath every canopy of estate in every palace a second throne must be erected beside mine. And I began to name courtiers to serve in his household—there must be 350, and not one less, and they must all be made to swear an oath of loyalty and allegiance to My Prince; the Earl of Arundel should have the honor of presiding over them all as Lord High Steward. And I must send a deputation of noblemen to Spain to escort him, and a fleet of ships to patrol the coast to alert us when his ship was in sight and to shepherd it safety into the harbor. A hundred-gun salute must be fired the moment his ship was sighted. I wanted it to feel as if the very earth shook the way my knees did at the thought of him. The Earl of Arundel himself must row out on a golden barge to greet him and kneel at My Prince’s feet and fasten a specially made Order of the Garter, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and pearls, about his calf, then invite him to partake of a fine banquet on the barge and, standing proxy for me, drink a loving cup with him. Welcoming speeches, songs, and poems in his honor must be composed, and a children’s choir assembled to greet him with their angelic voices on the docks of Southampton. And he must have guards to keep him safe; with this in mind, I began to select the best men from my personal guard, skilled archers who were also adept in foreign tongues so language would pose no barrier, men who could be counted on to keep my beloved safe. And a splendid horse must be procured as a gift for him, a mount fit for a prince. It should be white as snow and caparisoned in crimson velvet embroidered with golden thistles, with rubies sparkling on its reins, and Philip should have a pair of golden spurs set with rubies; the goldsmith should see to it without delay. Sir Anthony Browne should lead the horse to Philip when he disembarked, so that he would not have to suffer the indignity of walking through the crowd of slack-jawed, craning-necked people who would no doubt gather to catch a glimpse of him. I would not have my beloved being stared at like a freak in a country fair! So Sir Anthony would gently boost my beloved into the saddle, then kneel and humbly, reverently, as if it were a holy relic, kiss his stirrup and inform him that he did so in proxy for me. Then he must kiss Philip’s hand and place upon his finger a magnificent diamond ring set in a golden nest of acanthus leaves and pin a brooch crafted like a great golden lovers’ knot upon his shoulder, explaining that both were love-tokens from me. Only then would he take the ruby-studded bridle in his hand and lead my beloved in stately progress through the streets of Southampton to the Church of the Holy Rood for a Mass of thanksgiving for his safe arrival, then on to the Lord Mayor’s palace, where he was to lodge. His rooms there should be hung with tapestries depicting the might and majesty of the Tudor dynasty and my Spanish forebears, the great Catholic sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella. And he must be presented with the keys to the city, of course. The Lord Mayor, decked out in his ceremonial robes, should meet him before he formally entered the city.
I gave orders for the best tailors in London to craft splendid garments to adorn my beloved, and for the decoration of his rooms, fine tapestries and beautifully carved and gilded furnishings, and for the adornment of his private chapel, there must be jeweled crucifixes, statues and stained glass, golden chalices and candlesticks, and the altar cloth that I had been embroidering ever since I had agreed to take him as my husband. He must have fresh flowers every hour, and a deep crimson velvet canopy, curtains, and coverlet, and silken sheets, all embroidered in gold with lovers’ knots and our lovingly entwined initials, for his bed. And there was the wedding to plan, the ceremony. There must be incense and
thousands
of tall white candles of perfumed wax, and the walls lined with shimmering sheets of cloth-of-gold in which the dancing candle flames would be reflected. And the wedding banquet! There must be wondrous subtleties sculpted out of sugar and marzipan so elaborate they would make the guests gasp in awe.
And my gown! What had I been thinking all these months? The dawning horror of it nearly felled me. I stood there in the center of the room swaying with both my hands raised to clasp my head. All these months I had lavished so much thought upon my bridegroom but not given a single thought to my wedding gown! I must have the dressmakers in immediately! I must look my best for him! I must, even if it was for only one day in my life, be beautiful! I must have creams and lotions for my skin, to ease the lines of worry from my brow and about my mouth and eyes, and to soften my hands and make my nails shine. And my hair! Surely there were special washes that would make it shine with a newfound luster to match the glow of happiness within me, and perhaps even give the illusion of thickness? I would entrust this to my faithful Susan; I
knew
she would not fail me; she would want me to look as beautiful as I was happy on my wedding day.
And amidst all this planning every few moments I ran back to Ambassador Renard to embrace him and clasp and kiss his hands in humble gratitude, thanking him again and again for making my dreams come true. “My friend, I shall forever bless you!” I promised, hugging him again. “You shall be the godfather of our first child!”
Weeping with joy, I took him by the hand and led him into my private chapel adjoining my bedchamber, where the Holy Scriptures lay upon the candlelit altar, and laid my hand upon it and promised him that something would indeed be done about Elizabeth. I would send her away, under strict and stringent guard; she would be kept under house arrest, deep in the country, somewhere remote where she could work no mischief and was well beyond the reach of those who would work it on her behalf. Every move she made, every breath she took would be observed, every word she spoke would be written down. She would see no one alone and be allowed to neither write nor receive letters, and if even the barest hint of suspicion brushed against her again she would be brought to trial for treason and I would not hesitate to condemn her to ensure the happiness and well-being of my beloved. I would bury Elizabeth alive in the country, I vowed, and do my best to forget about her and pray that everyone else would as well.
I ran out into the gallery, heedless of the shock my appearance would cause, running through the corridors in my flapping white nightgown and bare feet. I stopped short, panting, before my sister’s portrait. Leveling an accusing finger at her likeness I said in a loud and commanding voice, “
That
comes down!” And I stood and watched until my orders were obeyed and Elizabeth, in her bare-shouldered harlot-scarlet gown and pease-porridge and gold kirtle, was carted away to the attic.
And then I seemed to awake from a
beautiful
dream and found myself kneeling at the candlelit altar in the royal chapel at Whitehall in a golden gown with my hair, like a bride’s, unbound, crowned with a wreath of gilded rosemary.
With my hand upon the Holy Scriptures, I swore a solemn oath before my assembled court.
“I call upon God and all of you to witness that I am marrying Prince Philip not out of any carnal affection or desire”—I stiffened my back and ignored the titters and whispers these words provoked—“nor for any motive whatsoever but the honor and prosperity of the realm. I call upon all those present to pray that God will give me the grace to accomplish this marriage, and that He will look upon this union with favor.”