In the Shadow of the Crown

At last - the Queen

SOMERSET HAD FALLEN INTO TROUBLE AGAIN. I WAS SORRY to hear this, for he had, in his way, been good to me. I think it was due to him that I had been allowed to hear Mass unmolested all this time.

He seemed to be gaining support in the country, and Warwick losing popularity. Somerset planned to replace him but Warwick was a wily man, and he wanted more and more power. He had ennobled himself and was now the Duke of Northumberland.

Before long he declared he had uncovered a plot hatched by Somerset to murder him, Northumberland, and seize power. Somerset was commanded to come to the Council and was arrested and put into the Tower, accused of plotting to secure the crown for his heirs.

There was proof that he had planned to replace Northumberland, but that in itself was no crime. However, Northumberland was determined on his destruction and, as he was the most powerful man in the country, Somerset was found guilty and condemned to lose his head.

He met his death with dignity and was buried in St. Peter's Chapel, between Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard.

With unscrupulous Northumberland in command and my brother turning more and more to the Reformed Religion, I was becoming very uneasy indeed.

To my dismay, a letter arrived from the Council and another from the King. I was very distressed when I read them, although I was prepared for some drastic action after it became known that I had contemplated escape.

So far, I had been allowed to worship as I pleased, but that was to be so no longer, it seemed.

My brother demanded that I conform to the new religion, which was that of the country. I had misunderstood if I thought I might do that which was forbidden to others. Was it not scandalous, he wrote, that so high a personage as myself should deny his sovereignty? I saw what he meant. In disobeying the laws laid down by the present regime, I was disobeying him. It was unnatural, he went on, that his own sister should behave so. I must be reminded that further disobedience was unacceptable to him and could incur penalties which were applied to heretics.

What did he mean? Burned at the stake? Hanged, drawn and quartered? Perhaps as I was royal he would be satisfied with my head.

He finished by adding that he would say no more, for if he did, he might be even harsher. But he would tell me this: He would not see his laws disobeyed, and those who broke them must beware.

If ever I heard a threat, I did then, and I was saddened to realize that my once gentle brother was the tool of those men who ruled us, for Northumberland was to all intents King of this realm, and Edward was just a figurehead.

I could not believe that, if I were face to face with my brother, he would speak to me as he had written, for I had no doubt that that letter had been dictated by Northumberland.

Of one thing I was certain: I would not deny the Mass. I was not like my sister Elizabeth, adopting whatever guise she thought would be to her advantage. I must stand firm now. It could be that at any moment the day would come when my mission would be clear before me. I believed that all over the country people were waiting for me… looking to me…I must not betray them.

I decided I would visit my brother and see for myself whether he would be so harsh to my face.

On a cool March day I rode into London. It was a bold thing to do but I thought the occasion warranted it. I took with me a certain number of my household so that I could come in style. My reception along the road amazed me. It was wonderful to see the people coming out of their homes to cry: “Long live the Princess Mary.”

Many of them joined my party, and to my intense joy I saw that a number of them were wearing rosaries. This proclaimed them true Catholics. Clearly they wished me to know that their beliefs were the same as mine.

It was heartwarming. I had been dreading the meeting with my brother but those good people gave me courage. That journey taught me that there were more with me than I had dared hope. I believed then that in truth a large number of people all over the country were waiting for me, praying for the time when I should come and wipe out heresy. I had been right not to escape. My place was here among the people who relied on me.

When I arrived at the gates of the city, though I had set out with a company of fifty, my ranks were swollen to 400, and it was difficult to make our way through the streets, so crowded were they. I wondered what my brother would think of my reception by the people; but he would think what Northumberland told him to.

I felt bold by this time. I had to face the Council but I was deeply shocked by the sight of my brother. He was much more feeble than when I had last seen him, and he was plagued by an irritating cough. I felt great pity for him and with it a return of the love I had felt for him when he was a little boy. He looked so frail—fragile almost—too young to have such a burden thrust upon him. It was pathetic the way he tried to take a kingly stance and cast stern looks in my direction.

He told me that in defying the Council I was disobeying the will of our father.

“Your Majesty,” I said, “a promise was given to the Emperor's ambassador, François van der Delft, that I should not be forced to deny the Mass.”

My brother replied that he had made no promise to van der Delft and added rather naàvely that he had been sharing in affairs for only a year.

I said quickly that he had not then drawn up the ordinances for the new religion and therefore, in not obeying them, I was not disobeying him.

He looked bewildered, and I went on to ask him how he could expect me to forsake what I had been taught from my earliest days?

“Your father's will stated that you must obey the Council. Northumberland told me.”

“Only where my possible marriage was concerned,” I retorted. “I believe the King, our father, ordered Masses for his soul each day, and this has not been done, so it would appear that it is Your Majesty and others who are not obeying the King's wishes.”

So the talk went back and forth for two hours, and we arrived nowhere, for I was determined not to give way; and my reception as I had ridden to London and that of the citizens of the capital had shown these men quite clearly that if they harmed me there would be an outcry from the people.

I turned to my brother and said that all that mattered to me was that my soul was God's. As to my body, they might use it as they pleased. They could take my life if they must… but my soul was God's, and it should remain so.

I could see the exasperation in the men who had hoped to break my spirit. But in truth I seemed now not afraid of death. Others had died for their faith. I thought of brave Anne Askew who had been tortured and burned at the stake. I thought of those noble monks who had suffered the most barbarous and humiliating of all deaths. They had undergone that dire penalty but they would be in Heaven now … glorified… saints who had died for their religion.

No, I can say that I was not afraid any more, and a lack of fear frustrates an enemy who are at heart cowards.

I went on, looking at Edward, “Do not believe those who speak evil of me. I always have been and always will be Your Majesty's obedient and loving sister.”

I remained at Court, wondering what effect this meeting would have. I believed that it had disconcerted Northumberland and bothered my brother.

Scheyfve came to see me a few days later. He told me he had sent a report of the meeting to his master and was waiting to hear the result. He had told the Emperor of my reception by the people and the manner in which I had stood for my religion.

“They must have come to the conclusion that I will not be moved,” I said. “I will remain true to my faith no matter what the consequences.”

Scheyfve nodded approvingly.

“I believe that it would be disastrous for you to change now,” he said.

“The effect on the people would be great. There were so many wearing rosaries, and it is my belief that they are waiting … waiting for the day. They are all true Catholics at heart, and they want to be led back to the true faith. It would not do for the one they look to as leader to show weakness now.”

“I will show no weakness,” I said.

“I know what I have to do.”

It was as when I was on the verge of the flight that I suddenly knew that I must stay. And now I knew what I had to do.

It was a week or so later when Scheyfve called again. He had heard from the Emperor, who had sent a letter to the Council. In it he had threatened war with England if the right to worship as I pleased was denied to me.

I was exultant. I was sure that I was going in the right direction.

IT WAS CHRISTMAS of that year 1552. I was not at Court but a few days after the festival I decided to call on my brother to wish him well. I had felt sorry for him when we had met in the Council for I knew that he was acting as Northumberland bade him and that his harsh words had given him as much pain as they had me.

In any case, the object of the meeting had been to stop my worshipping in the way I always had; and that had failed. Scheyfve said it was due to the Emperor's threat, and this was in some measure true; but I did believe that my reception by the people had some part in it; Northumberland must remember that, in accordance with my father's will, I was next in the line of succession.

I felt sure he would do all in his power to prevent my coming to the throne. I could see nothing short of death, for he knew that as soon as I had the power my first act would be to bring the country back to Rome.

I prayed for guidance. I must be careful now. Northumberland, the most powerful man in the country, dared not let me come to the throne.

When I arrived at Court, it was to learn that my brother was too ill to see anyone. This was not an excuse to avoid me. He had caught a chill and, in addition to his other ailments, this could be dangerous.

I was greeted with some respect by the Court. I saw speculation in the eyes of many. The King was ill. Moreover, he was suffering from several diseases. How could he possibly recover, and then…?

My sister Elizabeth was being very subdued. I guessed she was thinking that certain powerful men would never accept me as Queen. How could they were, all those men who had done everything they could to turn me from my religion, to browbeat me, to force me to deny the Mass. They would take her, she was thinking. They must take her. She was wily; she was clever; but she could not hide the ambition in her eyes.

The King's health did not improve. All through that winter he was hardly ever out of his bed. I heard horrifying reports of his illnesses, and I feared some of them were true. He coughed blood; his body was a mass of ulcers similar to those which had plagued the late King. He was on the point of death. No one was able to see him except his ministers. Parliament came to Whitehall because the King could not go to Westminster. It cannot be long, was being said all over the country, and then… what?

Lady Jane Grey came to see me at Newhall. She must have been about fifteen or sixteen years old at that time. She had a certain quiet charm but she was a clever girl of firm opinions. She was very sad at this time because of Edward's illness.

She talked about him a great deal. They had always been such good friends, and the happiest times of her life, she said, had been when they were together.

“Can it really be that he is dying?” she asked.

I replied that I could not say. Sometimes delicate people surprised everyone. They were often stronger than people thought and everyone was so intent on keeping them alive that they sometimes succeeded.

“We were so much together…”

“I know. He loved you as a sister.”

She nodded sadly.

I thought she was rather pathetic. She had had a sad childhood. Her parents had treated her with the utmost severity, I had heard. I remembered Mrs. Penn's indignantly saying that there were marks of physical punishment on her body. She had an air of frailty, but I guessed she would have a will of her own.

During that brief stay, she told me that her parents were proposing to marry her to Lord Guilford Dudley.

“Northumberland's son!”

She nodded. “He is the Duke's fourth son. It had to be he. The others are already married.”

I was aghast. It was clear that Northumberland wanted Jane in his family because she had royal blood through her mother, who was the daughter of Mary Tudor and Charles Brandon.

Jane was frightened at the idea. She did not want marriage yet, and she was in great awe of her prospective father-in-law. I wondered whether she would speak to my brother and ask him to intervene on her behalf. Of course, he was very much under Northumberland's influence, but on the other hand he was very fond of Jane.

I tried to soothe her by telling her of all the marriages which had been arranged for me, none of which had come to fruition.

She smiled wanly. “I think the Duke of Northumberland is very determined,” she said.

I was full of sympathy for the poor child but felt less so later when Lady Wharton, one of my ladies, told me what had happened in the chapel.

“I was passing through with Lady Jane,” she said. “There was no service in progress. As I passed the Host, I curtsied, as we always do.”

“Yes?” I asked, as she had paused. “And the lady Jane…? What was it she did?”

“She said to me, ‘Is the lady Mary here, that you curtsy? I did not see her.' I was amazed. I said, ‘But I curtsy to Him that made me.' Oh, my lady, I hesitate to say…”

“Please go on,” I said.

“She replied as though in all innocence, ‘But did not the baker make Him?' My lady, she was referring to the bread and wine…”

“I know to what she was referring. It is what she has been brought up to, Lady Wharton. Perhaps we should not blame her.”

“But such sacrilege, my lady… and in a holy place…”

“She was brought up with my brother,” I said. “It is the way they would have things throughout the country now.”

Lady Wharton looked at me earnestly, “Mayhap it will not always be so.”

“Hush,” I warned her. “You should not say such things…even here… even to me.”

We were silent but I could see she was asking herself the same question that I was asking myself.

What will happen next? We could not know. But we knew something must happen soon.

I HEARD NEWS of Lady Jane. I was sorry for her. She was little more than a child. She had no wish for marriage, and she seemed to be as much in fear of her future father-in-law as she was of her own parents. The girl had some spirit. Perhaps she drew that from her religion, for after that outburst in the chapel I tried to discover more about her convictions and learned they were very strong. She and my brother were alike in that; and misguided though she was in her faith, it might have helped her endure her hard life.

Susan told me she had heard how the girl resisted, declaring she would not marry, and how she had been beaten, starved and locked away until they feared for her health, for she would be no use to their schemes if she were dead.

All the same, the marriage took place in May, and at the same time Jane's sister Catharine—who was younger than she—was married to Lord Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke's son; and Northumberland's daughter, another Catharine, was married to Lord Hastings, son of the Earl of Huntingdon.

There was, of course, a method in these marriages. They were bringing together the most powerful families whose thoughts must be running in one direction. Edward's death was imminent, and they planned some drastic action. I could guess that action meant disaster for me, and I could think of only one solution which would bring them what they wanted; and that was my death.

I must be careful. If ever I was going to achieve my mission, everything would depend on how I acted now.

I wished that I could have seen my brother. I knew that the reports of his illness were not exaggerated; he must have been very sick indeed at that time. I had been so fond of him when he was younger and before religion had become such an impassable barrier to our friendship. I wanted to explain to him that I could not give up my faith any more than he could give up his. I thought I might have made him understand. He had a logical brain; he was extremely learned; but people were obdurate concerning religion. Perhaps I was myself. It was just that one knew one was right. It was a fusion of something divine… difficult to explain. No doubt he believed he had that divine guidance as I did.

But at least we could have talked.

He wanted to be a good king. He cared deeply about the poor and those in distress. He had decided that his palace at Bridewell should be given as a resort for those poor people who had no means of making a living for themselves. He had thought of poor children who, though they might be clever enough, received no education because their parents were too poor to give it to them. The monasteries had been suppressed, and that of Grey Friars was empty. Why should it not be used as a school for poor scholars? It was called Christ's Hospital. I heard it gave my brother great pleasure that he had done these things. Then there were the sick. He would set up a hospital at St. Thomas's where the poor could be treated free. He was sure the people of London would willingly help him to keep these charitable institutions in existence.

He cared for the people. He was good at heart—but oh so sick and weary of life, I knew. And he was in the hands of ambitious men.

I was frustrated. I was sure the rumors of his failing health were true; and that was of vital importance to me.

If only Chapuys had been here to advise me, or even the worthy François van der Delft; Scheyfve tried hard but his English was poor, and consequently he did not always understand what was going on.

Antoine de Noailles, the French ambassador, was a shrewd man, more of a spy, I fancied, than an ambassador; and as I was never sure on whose side the French would be, I felt alone and afraid.

Northumberland was expressing friendship toward me now. He sent me details of the King's illness—not that I always believed them; but his motive was to let me know that he was my friend. Did he mean he thought I should soon be his sovereign? When and if I were, he must have known I should never trust him. When he wrote to me, he addressed me with the full title which had not been accorded to me since my father put my mother from him: Princess of England. But how sincere was he?

Susan had heard a disquietening rumor that the Attorney General, Lord Chief Justice Montague, was at odds with Northumberland concerning a delicate issue.

“It is monstrous,” said Susan, “and I cannot believe it is true.”

She was hesitating, trying to put off telling me because she feared it would be a great shock to me. But at length it came.

“The King has decided to leave the crown not to his sisters, because they are children of marriages whose validity is in question… but to the heirs of the Lady Mary Tudor, sister to his father.”

I stared at Susan in disbelief. “That's impossible!” I cried.

She looked at me steadily. “The crown is to go to Lady Jane Dudley.”

“I… see. This is Northumberland's doing. He will make Jane Queen and Guilford Dudley King. And that means Northumberland will rule over us.”

“Montague says he will alter the succession… and that is treason. But then Northumberland replied that the late King did it.”

“That is not true,” I cried. “The crown passed to Edward after him, and Edward is his son and rightful heir. I am next and after me Elizabeth. That is what my father ordered.”

“So says Montague.”

“Then…”

She looked at me solemnly. “Montague has been browbeaten. He is a poor sick old man, and such do not wish to be embroiled in these matters.

They do not want to spend their last days in the Tower. They want peace, which can come only with acquiescence.”

“It can never be.”

“So think I. The people will not have it.”

“What then?”

“My lady, it will not be for you to choose… but for the people to do that when the time comes.”

“They will seek to destroy me before that.”

“I think we should make plans to get as far from London as possible “But they will proclaim Jane!”

“The people will not have her.”

“She stands for the Protestants.”

“There are many who want to return to the old way of worshipping. Everything will depend on that.”

“Northumberland is determined. He has gone so far he cannot now turn back. It may be that his ambitions will destroy him.”

“We must see that they do before he destroys you.”

I was very sad that my brother could be led so far from his duty as to proclaim Jane heiress to the throne. She was little more than a child but he knew she would uphold the faith which he so fanatically supported. And he was completely under the influence of Northumberland.

My poor little brother! I must not blame him. He was like a poor feeble old man who has never been young. I sometimes thought it would be a happier state to be born poor and humble than under the shadow of the crown.

I WAS AT HUNSDON awaiting news. I heard that rumors persisted in the streets of London and that people were put in the pillory for saying the King was dead.

If he were not dead, he was close to death.

I waited in fearful trepidation.

I was relieved when I heard that the Emperor was sending a new ambassador to England. This was Simon Renard, a man of high diplomatic reputation in whom he had great confidence. I was sure that the good and honest Scheyfve would not be competent to deal with events which seemed imminent. The Emperor would want a man to be a match for Antoine de Noailles, the French ambassador, who had recently arrived on the scene.

At last there came a communication from Northumberland. He thought it would be wise for me to come to Court; a similar summons was sent to my sister Elizabeth. I wondered what she would do. She was not in the acute danger which I was in, but nevertheless her position could be precarious.

I left Hunsdon with a small company and moved south, but at Hoddesdon I waited, uncertain how to act.

If my brother died, I should be on the spot. Yet, on the other hand, Northumberland would be there, and I could be in danger.

While I was wondering which way to turn, Susan came to me to tell me that a man had arrived; he had obviously ridden some way and was exhausted, but he made it clear that he must see me without delay.

I had him brought to me, and I recognized him as a London goldsmith who had done some work for me on one or two occasions.

He knelt to me.

“My lady,” he said, “the King is dead, although it is not yet known. I came with all speed to tell you this.”

“Someone sent you?” I asked.

“Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, my lady. He bade me tell you that, although the King is dead, the news will be kept secret for some days…and it would be inadvisable for you to come to Court.”

Sir Nicholas Throckmorton! I knew of him. He was a firm upholder of the Reformed Faith. He had been a close friend of my brother; and I remembered that at the time of Anne Askew's execution he had been one of those who were present when she died; he had gone to give her his support.

Why had he sent this man to warn me? He would not want me to be proclaimed Queen, for he would know that when I came to power my first act would be to return the Church to Rome.

If only it had been one of my old friends, a Catholic like Gardiner, I could have believed him. But Gardiner was a prisoner in the Tower. It would have been to his advantage to see me crowned Queen. But Throckmorton… Why did he warn me? It might be that he knew Northumberland was planning to kill me. There were some who would never connive at murder, even of those of a different faith.

I saw that the goldsmith was given refreshment, and I thanked him.

Whatever Throckmorton's motives, I knew I must not walk into Northumberland's trap. I sent a message to Scheyfve and to Simon Renard, to tell them that I was going to Kenninghall in Norfolk because sickness had broken out in my household. They would know that was a diplomatic excuse.

It might well be that the King was not yet dead and that this was some trap laid for me; but if it had been so, would they have sent the message from one who was known to me to be of the Reformed Faith? It was all very mysterious, but something within me told me that my brother was indeed dead.

I set out with a small party, choosing unfrequented roads for fear we should meet horsemen from London, as I could guess what orders they would have been given if Northumberland really intended to take my life. I would be close to the coast and then, if need be, I could take a ship to the Netherlands.

I very soon learned that I had done the right thing. Soon after I left Hunsdon, one of Northumberland's sons had arrived with 300 horses to escort me back to London. I should have been a prisoner, and that would have meant that my end was imminent.

From Kenninghall I wrote to the Council. I reminded them that my father had made me successor to my now deceased brother Edward and so I was the Queen of this realm. I knew they had worked against me, but by proclaiming me Queen without delay there should be an amnesty and I should bear no grudge against them for the malice I had in the past received at their hands.

They had no respect for me. To them I was a woman merely, and one who did not enjoy good health at that. I had no one to help me, they thought, except a cousin in another country who was too immersed in his own affairs to come to my aid.

They proclaimed Jane Queen, and they wrote to me telling me that I was a bastard and had been named as such by my father in his will I was now citing; and if I were wise I would accept the new regime and my position in it.

“Never!” I cried to Susan. “Now I see the way ahead. I will fight for what is mine and if necessary die in the attempt to seize it.”

“But we must not stay here.”

“No,” I agreed. “Indeed we shall not. I intend to ride on to Framlingham.”

Framlingham Castle is a strong fortress. It belonged to the Howards, and when the Duke of Norfolk had been sent to the Tower—where he still was, because my father had died before signing his death warrant—his goods had been seized and with them this castle, which my brother had given to me.

It was in an ideal position, being close to the coast, which was another point in its favor, for it might be necessary for me to take flight. It had an inner and outer moat running close to the walls except on the west side where a great expanse of lake gave enough protection. The walls were thick and looked impregnable. It would be a formidable fortress, and I was fortunate to have it in my possession.

All along the road people followed me. They had heard the news that the King was dead, and they could not believe that Jane Grey had been proclaimed Queen. They had never heard of her, yet they had all known the Princess Mary since she was a child, and many of them had been indignant at the manner in which her mother had been treated, on account of her being disowned by her husband. I was indeed well known throughout the country and I had always had the sympathy of the people wherever I went.

And I was never more welcome than now. They clustered round me, calling my name: “Long live Queen Mary!”

By the time I reached the castle, several thousands were following me. It was comforting to see them camped outside the castle walls.

My standard was flown over the castle, and I felt my spirits lifting, especially when I was told there were some 13,000 encamped round the castle, swearing to protect me from the false Queen and the man who had set her up. Although my hopes were high, I felt I must not be too optimistic. Those people had only their loyalty and, although that was wonderful, it could not stand up against trained men of an army.

Northumberland had the control of the best in the land, and now he was calling me rebel and uttering threats against me. If he captured me, he could call me traitor; he could have me sent to the Tower and out to Tower Green, where my blood would mingle with that of those who had suffered before me.

In all my euphoria I never lost sight of that possibility.

We were moving fast toward a climax. I thought: The next few days will decide. Northumberland was setting out on the march. He was coming to take me himself. When I looked at my good and faithful followers, I wondered if I had done right. I had not run away when I had been tempted to; and if I failed now, it would be the will of God. I had done all in my power to succeed.

I was resigned. I could not see how my forces could triumph over Northumberland's trained men. I thought of David and Goliath and of Daniel in the lions' den. Men had overcome great odds before, and because God had been with them they had prevailed.

I prayed that God would stand beside me. I must succeed. If I did not, I should have lived and suffered in vain. It would all be so pointless. But if I could do this wonderful thing, if I could succeed in what all Catholics were willing me to, then everything that had gone before would have been worthwhile.

Then it was like a miracle, and after this I believed that God was with me and in my heart I was going to fulfill my destiny.

I was blessed with some loyal followers, and one of the most trusted of these was Sir Henry Jerningham, who had been the first to come to me at Kenninghall, bringing with him his tenants who, he assured me, were ready to fight to the death for me.

He had followed me to Framlingham, but he did not stay there. He went on to Yarmouth to guard the coast and to raise men as he went.

Northumberland had just taken action to prevent my leaving the country and had sent to Yarmouth a squadron of six ships to intercept me if I should attempt to leave. There had been some fierce gales along the coast, and the ships lay at anchor in the harbor. When Sir Henry arrived at Yarmouth, the captains were ashore; and Sir Henry had an idea that, though they might be Northumberland's men, the crew members might not necessarily be so. He decided to find out in which direction the crews' sympathies lay, so he rowed out to the ships with some of his men and talked to the sailors.

He told me later what he had said. It was, “The King is dead. The rightful heiress to the throne is the Princess Mary but Northumberland is setting Lady Jane Grey on the throne.”

They had never heard of Jane Grey but they all knew who I was. I was the King's daughter, next in succession to the throne after my brother Edward was dead. Then I was the rightful Queen. Did they agree? They did, to a man.

“Then,” said Sir Henry, “will you fight for Queen Mary?”

“Aye, that we will,” they replied.

“But your captains, who are the tools of Northumberland, will command you to stand for Jane Grey.”

“Never,” they cried. “We are for Mary, our rightful Queen.”

“Then come ashore and join the Queen's men,” said Sir Henry.

So they did, and Sir Henry was able to confront the captains with their decision. They could join us or be his prisoners, he told them. They chose to join us.

Not only had the astute Sir Henry brought the seamen to my aid, but with them all the ordnance which was on the ships. It was a great victory.

Sir Henry returned to Framlingham filled with enthusiasm.

“This is a sign,” he said. “God is with us.”

“We shall have to fight,” I said. “Can we do it?”

“We will, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Northumberland has his army with him.”

“There will be many loth to turn a hand against the Queen.”

“But they will do so because he has the might.”

“We shall have the might, Your Grace. We will have stout hearts, and it is God's will that will prevail. The men will feel more loyal if they see you. You must come out and review your troops. I think you will be pleased with them.”

So I rode out and, as Sir Henry had said, I was amazed at the numbers who had mustered to my aid.

As I rode along the lines, they called, “Long live good Queen Mary!” My heart was lightened and I thanked God that I had been strong so far, and I prayed for His help and guidance that I might work His will and succeed in the task which I was sure now He had laid down for me.

There was comforting news. I had always known Sir Henry Bedingfield was loyal to me, so I was not greatly surprised when he arrived with his followers. But I was delighted to see that Lord Thomas Howard, whose grandfather, Norfolk, was still in the Tower, and all the chivalry of Suffolk, were flocking to my banner.

Northumberland was universally disliked. He had removed Somerset, who, although not liked by the people, was preferred to himself; he had forced Lady Jane Grey to marry his son Guilford and had had the temerity to set her up as Queen. He had gone too far.

His mistake was not to realize the power of the people; and those who had worked with him were now weary of his despotism; people were envious of his power. He himself was confident of victory and rode at the head of his army. But no sooner had he left London than the citizens noisily stated their true feelings.

They wanted no Queen Jane. A granddaughter of King Henry's sister she might be, but there were King Henry's own daughters to come before her. They had always shown affection for me, for I had been the ill-treated one, and they remembered my mother's sufferings.

“Long live Queen Mary, our rightful Queen!” they shouted.

I am not sure when Northumberland realized that he had gone too far and that defeat stared him in the face. He had risked a good deal for he had scored such successes in the past that he believed he could not fail. Now his friends were turning against him, and he had made his fatal miscalculation in reckoning without the people.

I was being proclaimed Queen all over the country.

There came a messenger from London. On the morning of the 16th a placard had been placed on Queenhithe Church stating that I was Queen of England, France and Ireland.

The Earls of Sussex and Bath were among those on their way with their forces to Framlingham… not to oppose me but to pay homage to me as their Queen.

I could not believe this. It was a miracle. The Council was declaring for me. Pembroke, so recently allied with Northumberland through marriage, had taken over command of the Tower and the Army—and he was for me. All over the land men were turning to me; even those who had been against me were now proclaiming me Queen. They might have stood with Northumberland so far, but when he had set up Jane Grey as Queen he had tampered with the line of succession, and they were with him no longer.

I wished that I could have been present when they brought the news to Northumberland. He was at Cambridge and could not then have realized how utterly he was defeated. He had known that the battle had not been the easy conquest he had anticipated, for he had dispatched a messenger to France to plead for troops to be sent to his aid. How did he feel—the powerful man, the greatest statesman of the day, some said, son of that Dudley who had gone to the block to placate the people because of the taxes my grandfather had levied in his reign—how did the great Northumberland feel to be brought so low?

He had staked everything to gain the greatest power a man could have— to rule the country. Jane and Guilford were to have been his puppets. But, like so many of his kind who failed, he had reckoned without the people, the ordinary people, living their obscure lives, who en masse were the most formidable force in the world. What a mistake to discount them! And he had tried to foist on them a young and innocent girl as their queen. I doubted Jane had had any say in the matter. Northumberland had intended to rule through her, and he had failed miserably.

He must have come to a quick decision when he saw his ambitions crumbling about him and his dream evaporating. He went into the market square. He mounted the steps to the high spot where he could be seen by all, and he lifted his hat in the air and shouted, “Long live Queen Mary!”

It was his admission of defeat, and he took it bravely. And as he mounted those steps calling my name, he must have seen himself mounting the block and laying his head upon it, as he had seen so many do—mainly his enemies and due to his command.

And now they were with me! Henry Grey, Jane's father, had himself torn down her banner at the Tower; he was shouting for Queen Mary.

How I despised these men. I remembered Anne Boleyn's father, assisting at the christening of young Edward. They turned their coats to meet the prevailing wind with no sense of shame.

And young Jane… what of her? She would be my prisoner now. How could I blame her and her young husband? They were the innocent victims of other people's ambitions. Northumberland had forced them to do what they did, and now he was calling for Queen Mary!

News was brought to me that Northumberland had been arrested. My greatest enemy was now my prisoner.

MY CAPITAL WAS WAITING to receive me. I would never have believed that victory could come so easily, and I chided myself for my lack of faith. This was what I had been born and preserved for, and the will of God was worked through the will of the people.

My first duty was to have the crucifix set up in Framlingham Church. It would show the people I would lead them back to God through the true religion.

We must make our way to London.

I set out with a mighty company. How different from when I had left Hunsdon such a short time ago in such stealth.

I rested at Wanstead, and while I was there I was visited by a distraught Duchess of Suffolk. I was amazed to see this proud and imperious lady so frightened and beside herself with grief. I thought it must be on account of her daughter, Jane, that poor innocent child who had been used by her ambitious family.

She prostrated herself at my feet, which in itself was amusing, for she had been one of those who had proclaimed my birth not to be legitimate, King's daughter though she had had to accept me to be.

But I was sorry for her. She was a mother and she must be suffering deep remorse now that her daughter was in the Tower.

I said, “Rise, Lady Suffolk. I know what you must be suffering. Your daughter is so young, and I know that she was forced to do this wicked thing by others.”

“Oh, my daughter,” she cried. “She has sinned beyond redemption. I could not ask Your Majesty to forgive her. Her sin is too great. I plead for the Duke, my husband. He is ill, Your Majesty. I fear for his life if he remains in that cold cell. They have kept him there for three days… and I fear that he can endure little more.”

I felt anger rising within me. I could understand a mother's love for her child, but I remembered what Jane had said about the harsh treatment of her parents, and Mrs. Penn's indignation at the violent marks on her body.

I said, “Your husband is a traitor. He was partly responsible for setting your daughter on the throne. It is not Lady Jane who is to blame. She merely did what she was forced to. And you complain because your husband has spent three days in the Tower!”

“He has acted wrongly, Your Majesty, but he was led into doing evil acts. Your Majesty, I beg of you…he will die. Let him be sent to me. Let him remain your prisoner but let me nurse him. I beg of you. It is a matter of life or death.”

Life or death! That was how it was for most of us. She was weeping bitterly, this proud woman, and there was no doubt that her grief was genuine.

How could I refuse her? I did not admire her as a mother, but there was no doubt that the woman loved her husband.

I thought: What harm can it do? She is crying for mercy, and I must be merciful. He will die in the Tower. He will die in any case. He is a traitor, but I do not want his death on my hands.

I said, “He shall be taken from the Tower to be nursed by you.”

She fell on her knees once more; she kissed my hand and blessed me.

WHEN IT WAS KNOWN what I had done, there was consternation.

Sir Henry Jerningham pointed out to me that the man I had freed was the father of Jane, and he had helped to set her up in my place. He had worked close to Northumberland, and they had planned to rule the country together through those two young people. Had I forgotten that?

“I have sent him out of the Tower to be nursed by his wife,” I said. “He is a very sick man.”

“Sick with fear, Your Majesty, to see his wicked plans frustrated.”

“I wish to be a merciful Queen,” I told him. “Grey shall not escape. Justice will be done.”

They shook their heads, and they trembled for me.

It was the same with Simon Renard. I heard later that he had reported to the Emperor that I should never be able to hold the crown for I was too governed by feminine sentiments.

I did not care. I knew Suffolk was ill, and I had been moved by his wife's pleading.

I prayed to God that night. “You taught me to be merciful, O Lord, and I believe that is how You would wish me to act.”

I SET OUT ON my ride into London. I was thirty-seven years old—no longer young, but not too old for a Queen. I had some experience of life behind me. I was no beauty, but I was not ill favored either. I was thinnish and of low stature. I wished that I had been taller—but I looked well enough on a horse; I had my father's reddish hair, and my complexion was as fresh as his had been in his youth, but mine had not coarsened as his had—I presumed because I had lived more abstemiously. Dressed in purple velvet, I looked quite regal, I believed, seated on my horse and surrounded by my ladies.

My sister had come to Wanstead to meet me. She was to ride into London beside me. I was sorry for this in a way, and yet I could not forbid it. She was so much younger and in such blooming health. She was much taller and about twenty years old—in her prime, one might say. The people cheered her and she did everything she could to win their approval, waving her hands and holding them up in acknowledgment of their greeting. She had very beautiful hands, and I had often noticed how she used every opportunity to bring them into prominence.

These people had shown their affection for me; they had proclaimed me as their Queen, and I believed that meant that they wanted the old faith restored. Had they forgotten that Elizabeth had refused to attend Mass? Were these Protestants who were cheering her? Or was she so popular because she was young and attractive to look at and showed such pleasure in their applause? Of one thing I was certain: wherever she was, she would bring a certain lack of ease to me, a certain puzzlement, for I should never understand the workings of her mind.

I kissed all her ladies to give an impression that I was pleased to see her but, as we rode along, I was thinking that I should have been happier if she had stayed away.

As we approached Aldgate, I saw streamers hanging from the houses; children had been assembled to sing songs of welcome. It was a heartwarming sight. The streets had been freshly swept, and members of the city crafts had gathered there, clad in their traditional dress. They looked very smart, and they were smiling and waving their banners with enthusiasm.

We were met by the Mayor. Lord Arundel was present, holding the sword of state. They joined the procession with a thousand men—and so they led me to the Tower.

This was London's welcome and meant that the city regarded me as the rightful Queen.

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.

So I considered Edward Courtenay. He had so much to recommend him. Charm, good looks, vitality, but perhaps most important of all, his father's mother had been Princess Catharine, the youngest daughter of Edward IV, so he was of the blood royal.

He was about ten years younger than I. Was that important? My thoughts had turned to marriage, as they must do before it was too late. There might just be time if I married quickly; and I was more likely to become pregnant if my husband was a young man rather than an old one.

I had had such ill luck with my proposed marriages, but that was because of what they called my dubious birth. The constant question had been, was I or was I not illegitimate? Now that was all over. I was the acknowledged Queen of England, and there would be many eager to marry me.

The more I saw of Edward Courtenay, the more I liked the idea.

He was very merry and kept us amused. He talked of his years in the Tower, but there was nothing morbid in his conversation; he was one of those people who find life amusing; he made a joke of the smallest things which were truly no joke, but while one was with him one accepted them as such. One laughed with the laughter of happiness rather than amusement. I felt younger in his presence than I ever had in my life.

I began to ask myself if I were in love.

I wondered what the people would think of such a marriage. They would be delighted, I was sure. In the first place they would approve of my sharing my throne with an Englishman. Foreigners were always suspect. A young man who had been imprisoned by my father and set free by me…a young man with whom I had fallen in love and he with me…it was so romantic. The people loved romance.

They would approve, but what of the Council? There would be opposition from them; they never liked to see one of their own set above them. But what of that? Was I not the Queen? Was it not for me to decide the question of my marriage? I should certainly have my own way.

Simon Renard came to see me again. I was sure his all-seeing eyes had already detected the growing friendship between myself and Edward Courtenay.

As soon as he talked to me, I began to see that I had been living in a foolish, romantic dream.

There should be as little delay as possible in your marriage,” he said. “The Emperor has always had a fondness for you. He would marry you, but he is much too old.”

I felt emotional at the thought of marrying the Emperor. Ever since that day when my mother had presented me to him at Greenwich, and he had made much of me, he had been a leading figure in my imagination. He was the greatest and most powerful figure in Europe, and I had always convinced myself that he was my savior. In fact, it had been his diplomatic presence that had done that rather than any act of his. In any case I had kept my awe of him.

“But,” Renard was saying, “he has a son, Philip. He is as devout a Catholic as ever was. He is the Emperor's beloved son, and the Emperor is of the opinion that there should be a match between you. It is a suggestion. I bring it to you before I take it to the Council.”

When he left me, I was in deep thought. Philip, son of the Emperor. He was my second cousin, I supposed, since the Emperor was my cousin. A devout Catholic—one who would help me bring England back to Rome. He would be younger than I by eleven years. But it seemed I was destined to have a husband either my senior or my junior by a good many years.

Renard had said, “Think of it. I am sure such a great marriage would bring you great joy.”

I was not sure. I had been thinking too much of Edward Courtenay. But queens have other matters with which to occupy themselves than romantic dreams.

THE CORONATION WAS FIXED for the 1st of October.

On the previous day I left the Tower in a litter drawn by six white horses. I was dressed in blue velvet decorated with ermine, and over my head was a caul netted in gold and decorated with precious stones. I found it rather heavy and looked forward to having it replaced with the crown. As I passed along, followed by my ladies, all in crimson velvet, I was immensely gratified by the cheers of the crowd.

There were also cheers for Elizabeth, who followed me in an open carriage shared with Anne of Cleves. They were identically dressed in blue velvet gowns with the long hanging sleeves made fashionable by Elizabeth's mother. All members of the household were there in the green and white Tudor colors; and my dear Sir Henry Jerningham, who was now the Captain of the Royal Guard, brought up the rear.

The citizens of London had shown themselves to be wholehearted in the matter of welcoming me. There was music everywhere, and I was met by giants and angels; and what delighted the people was that the conduits ran with wine. And, passing these splendid displays, we came at length to Whitehall.

I was so tired that I slept well that night in spite of the ordeal which lay before me the following day.

I felt a great exultation, a belief in myself. I felt the presence of God within me. He had chosen me for this mission, and I was convinced now that He had brought me to it in His way. The sufferings of my youth had been necessary to strengthen my character. I had a great task before me, and I must perform it well; and so should I, with God's help. So, after praying on my knees, I went to bed and knew no more until they awakened me in the morning.

October of the year 1553. It is a day I shall never forget—the day when I truly became the Queen of England, for no monarch is truly King or Queen until he or she has been anointed.

With my party I went by barge to the private stairs of Westminster Palace. It was a shell now after the great fire which had happened during my father's time. The Parliament Chamber was, however, still standing, and there I was taken to put on my robes and be made ready for the procession to the Abbey.

It was eleven o'clock when we set out. In my crimson robes, I walked under the canopy, which was, according to custom, carried by the wardens of the Cinque Ports. I was aware of Elizabeth immediately behind me. Her presence there seemed symbolic. I was glad Anne of Cleves was still beside her.

The ceremony should have been performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, but this was Thomas Cranmer, who was, at this time, in the Tower. He had been involved in the plot to set Jane Grey on the throne, although he had tried to persuade Edward against changing the succession; but Edward himself had asked him to sign his will and, with a hint of a threat, my brother had said that he hoped he was not going to be more refractory than the rest of the household. I could see the dilemma Cranmer was in. He did not agree that the King should change the succession, but at the same time he was a strong supporter of the Reformed Faith and he knew that when I came to the throne I would regard it as my duty to turn the country back to Rome. He was committed to the Protestant cause; and therefore, when the people had shown so clearly that I was the Queen they wanted, he was sent to the Tower and was there awaiting judgement.

So it was out of the question for him to perform the ceremony; and in his place was my good friend Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, accompanied by ten others—an impressive sight, with their copes of gold cloth and their mitres and crosses.

I was led to St. Edward's Chair, and as I sat there Gardiner declared, “Here present is Mary, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of God and man to the crown and royal dignity of the realms of England, France and Ireland. Will you serve at this time and give your wills and assent to the same consecration, unction and coronation?”

How thrilling it was to hear their response. “Yes! Yes! Yes! God save Queen Mary!”

Then I was led to the high chair by the altar, where I took my coronation oath.

The ceremony of the anointing was carried out, and afterward I was robed in purple velvet trimmed with ermine; the sword was placed in my hands, and the Duke of Norfolk brought the three crowns—St. Edward's, the imperial crown and the one made for me. Each in turn was set on my head while the trumpets sounded.

It was a wonderful moment when I sat with the imperial crown on my head, the sceptre in my right hand and the orb in my left, and received the homage of the nobles of the realm, in which each promised to be my liege man for life…to live and to die with me against all others.

Through the chamber the cry rang out: “God save Queen Mary!”

I was indeed their Queen.