It had to be, I assured myself. The Council said so. Every man had a chance to recant and save his life. They were all offered mercy. Most of them preferred martyrdom, and the fires continued. It had become a common sight to see men and women led out to be chained to the stakes, and the sticks lighted at their feet.
It was a black day when Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London, and Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, went to their deaths. They had been tried and sentenced in Oxford, and the stakes were set up in the ditch near Balliol College.
It must have been a pitiable sight to see such men led to their deaths. They came out to die together.
The scene was later described to me. I did not want to hear of it but I had to know. Two such men… noble, good men in their ways, though misguided, to die so!
Latimer presented an impressive sight to the watching crowds, in his shabby frieze gown tied at the waist with a penny leather girdle, a string about his neck on which hung his spectacles and his Testament. I could not bear to think of this infirm old man shuffling to his death. But they said he had such nobility of countenance that the crowds watched in silent awe.
Nicholas Ridley, who came with him, presented a contrast.
He was about fifteen years younger and an extremely handsome man. Why…oh why? If only they would renounce their faith! But why should I expect them to do that? I would not have renounced mine.
I could not bear to think of those two men.
Neither of them showed fear. It was as though they were certain that that night they would be beyond all pain, in Heaven.
And as the sticks were lighted at Ridley's feet, Latimer turned his head toward him and said, “Be of good cheer, Master Ridley. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's Grace, in England, as I trust will never be put out.”
The power of words is formidable. There would be people who would never forget those. They would inspire. There would be more martyrs in England because Ridley and Latimer had died so bravely.
Latimer, being old and feeble, died almost immediately; Ridley lingered and suffered greatly.
There were two more to haunt my dreams.
MY GREAT CONSOLATION at that time was Reginald. I spent hours with him. He had done so much in aiding the return to Rome. I was hoping that in time he would come to be Archbishop of Canterbury now that Cranmer was in prison.
It seemed to me that that was a post which would suit him. He had more understanding of Church affairs than those of government.
While we talked, I often found myself slipping into a daydream, wondering how different my life might have been if I had married him as my mother and his had wished.
In spite of his saintliness, there was a strong streak of bitterness in his nature. It was understandable. His happy family life had been completely changed because my father had desired Anne Boleyn and had thrust aside with ruthless ferocity all those who had stood in his way. And so many had.
It was that which had changed the course of our lives, and Reginald could not forget it.
I was right. The martyrdom of Ridley and Latimer had had its effect. No one could have witnessed such a spectacle without being deeply affected by it. There was murmuring all over the country.
I was so unhappy that I fell into fits of melancholy. I was tired and spiritless. I longed for Philip. His absence was to have been brief, he had said, but in my heart I knew that, once he had gone, he would not hurry to return.
Here I was, barren and lonely, having to face the fact that the child I had so desperately wanted was nothing but a myth.
Why had God deserted me? I asked myself. When had He ever given me aught to be thankful for? Why should I be so ill-used? Those were dangerous thoughts. I must subdue them. I must, as my mother would have said, accept my lot and keep my steps steadily upon the path of righteousness.
It was inevitable that there should be plots; and there was one which could have been very dangerous.
Every few weeks someone was accusing someone. It was often proved that a person had a grudge against another or someone had made a certain remark which could have been construed as treason; but when a conspiracy was discovered which involved the King of France, that was a serious matter.
It was by great good fortune that this came to light before it had gone too far, because one of the plotters lost his confidence in the success of the rebellion and went along to Reginald to confess what he knew.
His name was Thomas White, and his part in the scheme was to rob the Exchequer of £50,000.
Reginald had been skeptical at first, but when White explained that he was friendly with the wife of one of the tellers in the Exchequer who had promised to get impressions made of her husband's keys, he took it seriously.
Robbery was one crime, treason was another; but it emerged that robbery was a preliminary to the greater plan. The money was needed by Sir Henry Dudley to get together an army of mercenaries who would be banded together in France and who would cross the Channel to attack the south coast.
This Sir Henry Dudley was the distant cousin of the Duke of Northumberland who had set Jane Grey on the throne. The Dudleys were a formidable family, and the fact that he belonged to it made him a figure of importance not only in my eyes but in those of many others.
If only Philip were here! I needed a strong man beside me, for it had become clear that the plot was far-reaching. I wondered whom I could trust among those around me. I could rely, as I knew from the past, on my dear friends Rochester and Jerningham, and I asked them to choose men whom they could trust to investigate what was going on.
It was revealed that the French ambassador, de Noailles, who had always caused much anxiety, was fully aware of what was happening and was reporting it to his master, on whom they were relying for help. John Throckmorton, a relative of Nicholas who had sent the goldsmith to warn me of my brother Edward's death, was one of the leaders of the plot and that threw suspicion on Nicholas.
The magnitude of the scheme was alarming, involving the French as it did. Plans for landing and taking the Tower of London were revealed, and they had all been drawn up very carefully.
I was very tired and sick. I almost longed for death.
Meanwhile the conspirators were brought to justice. The object of the plot had been to dispatch me as I had dispatched Jane Grey, and to set up Elizabeth, who would marry Courtenay.
I did not believe for one moment that Elizabeth was aware of this. She would not be so foolish. She knew the state of my health and that it would be wiser to wait. Surely I could not have long to live? I did not wish to. If Philip would return to me and I could have a child, then only would life be worth living. But deep within me I feared that would never be. I was too old. I had this illness in my inner organs. It was what had plagued me all my life. I tried to fight against the conviction that it had made me barren; and I fought hard to reject the idea because I could not bear to accept it.
It was said that Sir Anthony Kingston was involved in the conspiracy. He was in Devonshire and immediately commanded to come to London to stand trial with the others.
I was to learn that he died on the journey to London. It was rumored that he had killed himself rather than face trial.
The prisoners were tried and questioned. Only John Throckmorton proved himself to be a brave man and, even when racked most ferociously, he refused to betray any of his fellow conspirators and declared he would die rather than reveal anything. The others were less brave and implicated others, some of them men in high positions.
Executions followed and there were further arrests.
The Council urged that Elizabeth be brought for questioning, but I would not have that. I believed she was loyal to me, and I did not want them to trump up a charge against her. Apart from my sisterly feelings toward her, I feared that, if she were harmed in any way, the people would rise in strength against me. She had won their hearts. I had always known that her popularity far exceeded my own.