“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.