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.