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.”