CHAPUYS CAME TO see me.
He was very grave, although there was a hint of amusement in his gravity.
“The commissioners were ill received when they returned to the King. He is convinced that you are in touch with the rebels. There is a party forming in the North and murmurings throughout the country. Your name is often mentioned. The King is most uneasy. But you have seen how obstinate he is… and we must get you to Court. I fear he may take some drastic action against you on the spur of the moment. Do not forget, he is allpowerful in this country. Now that he has broken with Rome, the Church has no hold on him. Who would have believed this possible?”
“But we shall come back one day.”
“I beg of you, do not speak of it now.”
“But that is our eventual aim.”
“To be put away until the time is ripe. It is something to think about but never to be spoken of. If it were…your life would not be worth much. Remember. The Church relies on you. Your day will come. And until it does we must play this game as deviously as is demanded.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you cannot stay in exile. We have to do anything… simply anything…to get you to Court. Cromwell goes in fear of his life because he first told the King that you would be ready to bow to his will. The King is in such a mood of anger that no one is safe. But this is good, for it shows the extent of his uneasiness. Queen Jane pleads for you with the King. She is simple and clearly does not know the man she has married. She was heard to say that it was natural that you should defend your mother and she thought it was a noble thing to do. She was abruptly told not to meddle in matters beyond her powers of understanding and to remember that her predecessor meddled and what happened to her. It is the first time the King has been heard talking to her thus, and it shows how anxious he is.”
“Then we should be pleased.”
“Not entirely. He is capable of drastic action when aroused to anger, and his anger has its roots in uncertainty. Those about the King, including Cromwell, have to act regarding you. They are preparing a document. It is headed ‘The Lady Mary's Submission.' In it will be set down all that the King will require you to agree to.”
“That will include…”
He nodded. “Your agreement that your parents were never legally married, that you are illegitimate and accept the King, your father, as Head of the Church in England.”
“I will never do it.”
“Have you thought of the alternative?”
“What do you mean?”
“You forget that Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More lost their heads because they would not sign the Oath? You are doing the same.”
“You mean that I should lose my head?”
“I mean that you could be tried for treason… and the punishment for treason is death.”
“My father would not dare.”
“He has dared a great deal. He fears a rising in your favor. But he is the most powerful man in the country. He could put down a revolt, and then what would happen to the Princess Mary? What of the plans for the future of England?”
I said, “What must I do?”
“There is only one thing you can do. You sign.”
“Deny my mother's marriage! Deny Holy Church!”
“There could be a papal absolution which would relieve you from the sin of perjury,” said Chapuys.
“The Emperor and the Pope will know the reason why you signed. I advise you to do it. This is the only way. If you do not, I would not give much hope for the chances of your survival.”
“I would not do it for the fear of what would happen to me.”
“I am aware of that, as you are of your destiny. It would be folly now to refuse to sign.”
I knew he was right, but I had to quieten my conscience. My mother would understand. Those who cared for me, who knew that I had a duty to perform… they would all understand why I had to sign.
So, with a firm hand and a strong purpose in my heart, I put my name to the document.
NOW THAT I HAD given way, my life changed. I was treated with the respect due to the King's daughter—though not a legitimate one. I enjoyed more freedom than I had known for years. I was no longer treated with suspicion. I could write to whom I pleased and receive visitors.
I was still grappling with my conscience. I had committed perjury. I had agreed to that which in my heart I abhorred. I prayed constantly. I talked to my mother as though she were with me.
“Understand, please, dear Mother. I did this because I believe that in time it will have been proved to be the right action to have taken at this time. They would have tried me for treason if I had refused. They would have trumped up some charge against me. If the King could kill his wife, why not his daughter? Chapuys knew it. I acted on his advice and one day, I swear on all that is sacred to me, that when the opportunity comes I shall bring England back to the Holy Church.”
That was the motive I kept my eyes on. And I began to believe fervently that what I had done—however much it had been against my principles— was the only way in which I could have acted.
Elizabeth was at Hunsdon, still under the charge of Margaret Bryan. I was with her a great deal. All my enmity toward her had gone. How could one dislike a three-year-old child? Her mother might be evil but what crime had the child committed? Lady Bryan never ceased to marvel at her. She was the most perfect child it had ever been her joy to know, she told me. She was so bright and eager to learn.
“Nose into everything,” said Margaret fondly.
“If it is there, she must know what and why. Questions… all through the day. And she remembers, too. To see her skip and dance… and hear her little voice singing…She can already handle a lute, you know.”
Then she would express her fury at the manner in which her little darling was being treated now.
“Look at this kirtle! I have darned and patched it. I need new clothes for her. I keep asking but none come. It is a shameful way to treat a princess.”
“Hush, Margaret,” I cautioned her. “Do you want to be charged with treason?”
She shook her head sadly, “I know not what we are coming to.”
I took her hand and pressed it.
“I know. I understand your feelings. It happened to me… just like this. At least Elizabeth is too young to understand.”
“There you are mistaken. That child is old for her years.”
“That is well. She will have need of her good sense, I doubt not.”
“My poor innocent lamb! I suppose I must go on with this patching. She asked for her mother. ‘When will she come to see me?' It breaks my heart. At least it seems a little brighter for you, my lady. Perhaps you can put in a word for your little sister.”
“I will… when I can.”
“Bless you. There has been such suffering, but none should hold that against this little one.”
“I do not,” I said. “Nor would my mother.”
Margaret nodded. She was too moved for words.
There was a great deal of talk about what was happening throughout the country. During the previous year my father had set Thomas Cromwell to make a report on the conditions of the monasteries. This had sent a ripple of unease throughout the land. The monasteries were devoted to the Church of Rome, and everyone knew that this was no ordinary survey. It was a further gesture of defiance toward the Pope; and Cromwell was prepared to give my father what he wanted, knowing full well that he dared do nothing else.
The result was the Black Book in which were set down all the evils which were said to be practiced within those walls. I could not believe it. There were sinners everywhere, I knew, but according to Cromwell the monasteries he visited were hotbeds of vice. We heard stories of orgies between monks and nuns, of riotous and lewd behavior, of unwanted babies being strangled at birth and buried in the grounds.