Beware, Princess Elizabeth Part 7

"I can reply to no letters of which I have no knowledge."

Was it not your intent to become the wife of Edward Courtenay and then declare yourself queen?

"I have no wish to speak to the earl of Devon, let alone become his wife. As for declaring myself queen, I recognize but one queen, my beloved sister, Mary."

Thomas Wyatt was still alive, the examiners informed me, still held prisoner in the Tower. I knew that he would be tortured until he told the privy councillors the falsehood they wanted to hear: that I knew of and encouraged the plot against Mary. Wyatt had already implicated me. Now, his body stretched upon the rack, he would supply the details the councillors needed.

The questioning went on hour after hour, day after day. I was now twenty, five years older than I was when Sir Robert Tyrwhitt had questioned me at the time of Tom Seymour's arrest. Once again everything depended upon my wits, my skill at answering the questions in a way that would convince the interrogators of my innocence. Oddly enough, as my mind grew sharper, my body grew stronger. I was almost well again.

ON PALM SUNDAY, as I returned to my chambers from hearing Ma.s.s in the chapel royal, I found a half dozen guards waiting for me. I caught my breath.

"Why are you here?" I demanded.

"Ready yourself to leave, madam," said the captain.

The fierce expressions on the faces of the guards told me I was not being set free.

"Where, then?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"To the Tower, madam," replied the captain with a sneer.

"The Tower!" Had Thomas Wyatt persuaded them of my guilt? I was ready to swoon with fear. But I knew that I must not allow my terror to be seen. "No!" I cried. "By whose order?" I already knew the answer.

"By order of Her Majesty, the queen."

"Show me the order!"

The guard thrust the parchment before my face. I saw the signature, Maria Regina.

Thomas Wyatt had already been condemned to die. Was I to be next? Please, G.o.d, no!

The guards waited impatiently as Lady Cynthia and Lady Marian, looking stricken, packed my belongings. I signaled them, secretly, to be slow, to take as much time as possible, and I prayed silently for G.o.d's help. When my ladies could prolong their tasks no longer, I addressed the guards.

"Please bring me pen and paper, that I may send a message to my sister, the queen."

The guards exchanged glances. The lieutenant, a gawky youth, urged the captain to grant me my wish. "What can it hurt?" the boy whispered, and finally the other agreed.

"Make haste," grumbled the captain when the writing materials had been brought, "lest we miss the tide."

I knew well what he meant: We would travel by barge from the landing at St. James's, downriver, to the Tower. The Thames is subject to strong tides, which at certain times make pa.s.sage through any of the twenty arches of London Bridge dangerous, if not impossible. Many boatmen and their pa.s.sengers have gone to their watery graves by mistiming the pa.s.sage of their craft. I gambled that these guards would not take such a risk, especially during the spring tide, when the water rose highest. In writing this letter, I might buy a little timea"time for my sister to soften her heart and change her mind.

"I beg your indulgence, sirs," I said, sitting down at the writing table with parchment, inkhorn, and quill.

If only I could persuade Mary to allow me to meet with her! I knew that I could gaze, unblinking, into her eyes and lie without flinching. I would swear my unswerving loyalty to her and convince her of my innocence in any plot. Surely she could not bring herself to order my execution once she had looked into my face and been reminded that we two were daughters of the same mighty king!

Everything depended upon this letter. I chose each word with great care, while my guards muttered and shifted from foot to foot. Meanwhile, the ladies who were to be allowed to accompany me fell to weeping loudly, to the dismay of the young guard and the irritation of the elder.

When I had made every argument possible in my own favor, I added one more line to my letter: I humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself. I signed it, Your Highness's most faithful subject, that has been from the beginning and will be to my end, Elizabeth. Then I drew a series of diagonal lines across the page below my signature so that no one else could fill in a postscript of his own devising.

I sealed the letter and rose from the table. "I am ready," I said. "Be so kind as to deliver this to Her Majesty, the queen."

The captain was plainly furious. "Too late, madam," he growled, red-faced. "The tide has already changed. We must wait six hours for it to change again."

"Then so it shall be," I said calmly. Six hoursa"not much time, but enough. "Perhaps, while we wait, the queen will see fit to answer, and we will have saved ourselves an unpleasant journey."

The hours dragged by, hours filled with foreboding. The Tower! My blood ran cold at the thought of it.

Then Lady Maud increased my dread with her report that the killings had begun. "The men who took part in the uprising against Queen Mary are being hanged in all parts of the city," she reported with evident relish. "Their bodies hang on gibbets, and their heads are impaled on posts above the city gates."

"How many?" asked my own Lady Marian.

"Forty-five at last count, and more to come, including Wyatt himself," replied Lady Maud. "They say the stench is quite dreadful." She held a pomander to her nose to make her point.

What of the "priest" who had brought me the message? I wondered. Was there still at large a man who knew that I had indeed received a letter from Thomas Wyatt, and that I had lied about it? May G.o.d forgive me, but I prayed that he was among those hanged and therefore unable to testify against me.

The six hours pa.s.sed, but no messenger came. There was no reply from my sister, no letter granting me my request to speak with her.

"The time is at hand, madam," said the captain of the guard. "We leave within the hour. There can be no further delay."

I dressed in my most elegant gown and, shivering with fright, begged to be allowed to pray once more in the chapel royal before we left on this doleful journey. The captain consented, and I prayed fervently to the G.o.d of Protestants and Catholics alike to deliver me from this terrible ordeal.

The sky was dark and lowering, and a light rain fell. Bystanders crowded the riverbanks, craning to gape as the barge pa.s.sed. I wondered if any in that silent crowd were sympathetic to me, or if they, like Mary, saw me as an enemy. The drizzle became a downpour as the barge approached the Water Gate. This gate was the one to which my mother had been brought, in this same manner, eighteen years earlier. I wept, thinking of how she had never left. I was following in the footsteps of many who had been accused of treason and whose last steps from freedom toward death had begun at this exact spot.

"Take me to another gate, any gate but this!" I cried. But the guards stared straight ahead, refusing to hear.

As I stepped from the barge, all strength drained from my legs, which gave way under me. Overcome by terror, I collapsed onto the stone steps, which were wet from the lapping river. I lay crumpled in the rain, unable to go another step. The warders of the Tower sent to meet me stared down at me. I gazed up at them, searching for a sympathetic face. I felt utterly without hope.

Then one, followed by another, abruptly stepped out of the formation, cried, "G.o.d preserve Your Grace!" and knelt before me. Immediately others of the warders seized me roughly, set me upon my feet, and ordered me to enter the Tower.

Wea"my ladies and Ia"found ourselves shut up in a dank stone chamber on the first floor of the Bell Tower. In the corner lay a rude pallet for sleeping. Under the arched windows were stone seats. The room held nothing else.

As I stood shivering in my sodden, mud-splattered gown and surveyed my rude quarters, I realized that I must summon my will and immediately command the respect of my warders. I must not show any hint of fear or weakness. "What arrangements have been made for me?" I demanded imperiously of the warder with the great ring of keys clanking at his side.

"Ye'll stay here, madam," said the warder.

"Am I to have no place to take bodily exercise?" I insisted. "Am I to eat the food of common prisoners? I am sister to the queen!"

The warder left, mumbling his intent to do everything possible to please me. As soon as he was gone, I slumped down on one of the stone benches and burst into tears.

My orders were actually obeyed. That same day a tester bed with a mattress of fair quality was moved into the chamber. A day later ten servants were a.s.signed to prepare and serve my meals. And within the week I was granted permission to walk twice each day along the lead, the narrow walkway on top of the wall from the Bell Tower to Beauchamp Tower. From this vantage point I could look out over the parapet toward the spire of St. Paul's. I purposely kept my back to the view in another direction: the Tower Green, where my mother had been executed, where Lady Jane Grey had died, and where, I prayed, my life would not also end.

The days succeeded one another in a dull, orderly manner. I prayed, read, took my walks on the lead, and pa.s.sed the time with needlework. Meals were brought to my chamber, and every dish was searched before it was served, lest some message be smuggled to me in a meat pie or a manchet! My temper was worn thin, and I often spoke sharply to my ladies and then regretted it. They were with me of their own free will and could have left me if they wished.

In April I learned that Sir Thomas Wyatt had been executed in the horrible manner reserved for traitors: After his beheading on Tower Hill, his head was taken to be displayed near Hyde Park. Then his corpse was parboiled, cut into four parts, and each part displayed in a different quarter of the city as a warning.

There were other prisoners whose fate I sometimes wondered abouta"most especially Robin Dudley, who had been arrested after his father's failed attempt to capture Mary. Where was he now? Alive or dead? Was he also a prisoner in this Tower? No one told me, and I did not want to put myself in more danger by asking.

WEEKS Pa.s.sED. Mary could not have forgotten me, although I did feel she had utterly abandoned me. I knew that the members of the privy council did not believe in my innocence. If it had been up to thema"Sir William Paget and the earl of Arundela"I would have been put to death immediately. I was sure they would try to convince the queen that I was not to be trusted, that her crown was not secure as long as I was alive. I could imagine my sister's endless debates with her councillors: What shall we do with Elizabeth?

We cannot execute hera"that would cause an enormous outcry, a rebellion.

We cannot keep her locked up in the Tower forevera"that, too, would likely cause an uprising.

And we surely cannot set her freea"she is too dangerous for that!

If we brought her to court, we could watch her closelya"but having her at court is an offense to the queen!

So, what shall we do with Elizabeth?

Every night as I lay down in my barren chamber, I thanked G.o.d for granting me one more day. Every morning I awoke thinking that this day might be my last.

ON THE NINETEENTH of May in 1554, the anniversary of my mother's execution and three long months after I had been taken to London from Ashridge, a detachment of guards arrived at the Tower and ordered me to prepare to leave. I stood stock-still, as if made of wood.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

"It is not permitted to inform the prisoner."

So, I was still a prisoner. But I was not to be executeda"at least not yet. A condemned prisoner is sent a priest to hear a last confession, and there was no priest.

Down to the Water Gate we went, my footsteps dragging. I was grateful to be alive, but still very frightened. I had no idea what lay ahead.

CHAPTER 12.

Elizabeth, Prisoner I refused to look back at the Tower as the oarsmen bent to their task and the unpainted wooden boat moved upstream with the tide, pa.s.sing under the arches of London Bridge. No one on the banks paused for a second look. Eventually we made for the landing at Richmond Palace.

"Why are we stopping here?" I asked one of the guards, who bore a livid scar from ear to chin.

"Orders of Her Majesty, the queen" was the gruff reply, a reply that told me nothing.

Once inside the palace I was led to a bare chamber. The door was quickly shut and locked from the outside, and I was entirely alone.

"Where are my ladies?" I cried, pounding on the wooden door. "My servants?"

"You are permitted to speak to no one," said the guard through a small opening in the door covered by an iron grille.

I paced fretfully, first the length of the small chamber and then the breadth. The single window was too high for me to see anything but a patch of blue sky. Gradually the sky grew dark.

Sometime later the guard returned with a bowl of rank-smelling mutton stew and a pewter tankard of ale, which he set just inside the door. I could not bear to touch either one. The sky faded to inky blackness.

All night I lay awake on a pallet on the floor, with only a thin coverlet. Terrified, I was certain I had been brought here so that my death could be accomplished in secrecy, to prevent an outcry from my friends and whatever supporters I might have. Wyatt was dead, along with others involved in the rebellion. But were there some still alive who wished me to be their queen? Would they have the courage to risk everything to show their support?

The hours pa.s.sed, but no soldiers arrived to drag me off to one of the dungeons in the depths of the palace. When the patch of sky at my window grew light again, the captain of the guards, the one with the scar, informed me that we were ready "to continue the journey."

I decided I would not give him the satisfaction of my asking any more questions. There was no sign of my ladies-in-waiting. They had all been dismissed. Surrounded by the blank faces and foul breath of the men sent to guard me, I would have welcomed even Lady Maud for companionship.

Fear cloaked me like a worn-out garment as I stepped once more onto the barge. We proceeded upriver, attracting no notice, until we reached Windsor Castle. The guards took me not to the great castle itself but to a small house near St. George's Chapel, where my father's bones lay buried. There I was again locked away and pa.s.sed another tormented night, listening for the tramp of feet, the click of a key in the lock, a stealthy executioner come to take my life. But another dawn broke, and miraculously I was still alive.

Not long after sunrise I was led out to the courtyard, where a rude litter waited. Also waiting was Sir Henry Bedingfield, a member of the queen's privy council. Bewhiskered and bejowled, Sir Henry presented himself to me upon his knees. "The queen has made me responsible for your safety and comfort," he said, hands clasped and jowls aquiver. "I beg you, madam, regard me not as jailer but as an officer in your service."

"Good Lord, deliver me from such officers," I snapped. I climbed into the litter, and the journey continued, with Bedingfield riding by my side. We had turned away from the river and made our way through the green and flowering countryside. We seemed to be headed north and west, possibly toward Oxfordshire.

Although every effort had been made to conceal the fact that I was a person of any importance, word had somehow spread that King Henry's younger daughter was traveling through the villages and hamlets. Signaled by the ringing of church bells, people all along our route turned out to welcome me. Little boys rode their fathers' shoulders and cheered, "G.o.d save you, Princess!" Mothers pushed their daughters forward to present me with sweetmeats and nosegays. So many gifts were heaped upon my litter that scarcely any room was left for me.

This spontaneous outpouring of goodwill and affection lifted my spirits. For the first time in months, I felt hopeful. I did have supporters, thena"the simple folk of the countryside. All this wild enthusiasm made Bedingfield impatient and uneasy. He glowered at the cheering farmers and yeomen and goodwives but made no move to stop them.

Waving and laughing, I called out, "Good people, I beg you, keep these wondrous cakes for your own enjoyment!" But that didn't stop them. I was their own Princess Elizabeth, daughter of their beloved King Henry, and they seemed determined to show their love for me. It is a great thing to be loved, I thought; far better than to be feared.

We halted for the night at the village of Rycote, where the lord of the manor entertained me lavishly under Bedingfield's disapproving eye. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed such a feast. As we prepared to leave the next morning, I thanked the baron for his hospitality.

"Bear in mind, madam," said the baron quietly as he bowed over my hand, "that you have many supporters who will gladly serve you as queen."

I smiled and nodded and hurried away. Fortunately, Henry Bedingfield was then occupied with our horses and heard nothing. But my host's generous comment stayed with me as we rode on. I had the love of the common people, and I had the loyalty of some of the n.o.bility who would one day serve me. But I could not rule if I did not survive. I saw plainly that henceforward my princ.i.p.al task was to stay alivea"to wait and to watch.

AT LAST the journey ended at Woodstock Palace. Long ago a favorite hunting lodge of Norman kings, it was now reduced to a dilapidated pile of crumbling stone and shattered cas.e.m.e.nt windows in the midst of a marsh reeking of decay.

"I am to stay here?" I cried. "Surely not!"

One look was sufficient to convince even Sir Henry that the old palace to which I'd been banished was not fit even for a jail. He decided that I must make my residence in the gatehouse. It took less time to inspect my quarters than it does now to describe them: for my use, a single chamber with mildewed walls and a rather curiously carved roof, to be shared with my maidservants; a chapel; a second chamber for Sir Henry and our menservants; and a third for my guards. This was where I would pa.s.s my days and nights, for I knew not how long.

Bedingfield's first act was to read me the rules, as set forth by Queen Mary: "The lady Elizabeth is forbidden to walk in the garden without an officer present. She is forbidden to receive any kind of message, letter, or gift from anyone at all."

"Books?" I interrupted. "Surely I am permitted any books I choose."

Bedingfield thumbed through the queen's rules. "Only such books as specified," he said. "Any special requests are to be made to me, and I will forward them to the privy council, who will consider the matter."

"This is outrageous, sir!" I exclaimed.

Sir Henry dropped to his knees. "Begging your pardon, madam, but I can make no exceptions, nor can I make any decisions on my own." He seemed genuinely sorry.

"Very well. Might I then also have a Bible in English?"

"I shall write to the council, madam."

After a long delay, back came the reply: The queen forbids all of her subjects (no exceptions) to read the Bible in any language but Latin. I could of course read Latin as easily as English, but it was the principle of the thing, and her refusal put me in a foul temper.

Worse even than the rude quarters was the confinement. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to talk to but the tongue-tied maidservants.

When I saw how life would be at Woodstock, I determined to write a letter to the queen. My request for writing supplies had first to be sent to the privy council, since Bedingfield was forbidden to allow me the use of his parchment, quill, and ink. The councillors dithered and fretted, suspicious that I might be plotting to incite a rebellion. a.s.sured that I wished only to write to my sister, they relented. The materials were senta"but only in small quant.i.tya"and I composed a message, repeating to Queen Mary my declarations of loyalty and begging with all my heart for her leniency.

This turned out to be a poor idea, or perhaps it was poorly executed. Whatever the cause, my message was poorly received. In reply I got a sharp rebuke from the queen: Our pleasure is not to be anymore molested with, such letters.