In the Shadow of the Crown (52 page)

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.

So it was out of the question for him to perform the ceremony; and in his place was my good friend Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester,
accompanied by ten others—an impressive sight, with their copes of gold cloth and their mitres and crosses.

I was led to St. Edward's Chair, and as I sat there Gardiner declared, “Here present is Mary, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of God and man to the crown and royal dignity of the realms of England, France and Ireland. Will you serve at this time and give your wills and assent to the same consecration, unction and coronation?”

How thrilling it was to hear their response. “Yes! Yes! Yes! God save Queen Mary!”

Then I was led to the high chair by the altar, where I took my coronation oath.

The ceremony of the anointing was carried out, and afterward I was robed in purple velvet trimmed with ermine; the sword was placed in my hands, and the Duke of Norfolk brought the three crowns—St. Edward's, the imperial crown and the one made for me. Each in turn was set on my head while the trumpets sounded.

It was a wonderful moment when I sat with the imperial crown on my head, the sceptre in my right hand and the orb in my left, and received the homage of the nobles of the realm, in which each promised to be my liege man for life…to live and to die with me against all others.

Through the chamber the cry rang out: “God save Queen Mary!”

I was indeed their Queen.

IT WAS FOUR DAYS AFTER MY CORONATION WHEN I OPENED my first Parliament. It was a splendid occasion. People lined the streets to see me ride by, and everyone who could be there was present.

I realize now that I was guileless. I did not know how to dissimulate. How unlike Elizabeth I was! Innocently, I expected everyone to be as I was. It took me a little time to learn that they were not.

The people had chosen me for their Queen. I thought that meant that they were ready to turn back to the Catholic Church and that it would be just as it was before my father broke with Rome.

When it was learned that I intended to return to papal authority, there was dismay in all quarters…even where I had least expected it.

I can see now that few people cared as strongly about religion as I did. There were many who were ready enough to go back to the way it had been during the last years of my father's reign. The religion itself had not changed then. All that had happened was that the monarch was the head of the Church instead of the Pope.

There was another point. Almost every nobleman in the land had profited from the dissolution of the monasteries and acquired Church land, and they would be in no mood to give that up.

All the ambassadors were a little shocked—even Renard, who, I had thought, would be entirely with me.

“You are moving too fast,” he said.

I could not believe that I had heard aright.

“But this is what I have always intended,” I protested.

“The people know it. It is why they have made me their Queen.”

“There will be trouble throughout the country, and Your Majesty is not secure enough to withstand trouble.”

“What do you mean? Did they not proclaim me? Have you not heard how they shout for me in the streets?”

“They shouted for you because they see you as the true heir to the throne, and the people did not like the succession to be meddled with. But have a care. There are many Protestants in this country. They might accept a return to the Catholic Faith, but to take the Church back to Rome at one stroke…it would be too much… too soon.”

“But it is my mission…my purpose.”

“I know … and a worthy one. But go slowly… feel your way. Leave things as they are at the moment.”

“But I will have Mass heard in the churches.”

“That…yes. But do not press for a return to Rome… not yet.”

He was not the only one to warn me. De Noailles, the French ambassador, called. I did not trust him. He was a very wily man. I had known for some time that he was more of a spy than an ambassador. Most of them were, of course, but de Noailles more than any. I knew he hated the thought of my closeness to Spain. Simon Renard, as my cousin's emissary, was a confidant as well as an ambassador. De Noailles knew this, and I believe he wanted to drive a wedge between us, for France and Spain were perennial enemies. If the French had heard of a possible match between myself and Philip of Spain, they would do everything they could to prevent it.

But this time he was in agreement with Simon Renard. France, like Spain, wished to see England back under the papal authority; but they could foresee revolt in England if it came too suddenly. They had just seen Jane Grey made Queen—albeit for only nine days—and they realized how dangerous the situation was and how uncertain my grip on the crown. There was my half-sister Elizabeth waiting to seize her chance.

I was warned not to be too fervent a papist.

Gardiner was one of the few who supported me, but I remembered that he had made no protest when my father had declared himself Head of the Church; and now that there was a new sovereign who believed that the country should return to Rome, he was in agreement with that. Protestants, who must be deploring his release from the Tower, called him Turncoat and Doctor Doubleface.

At the opening of Parliament Gardiner was the one who announced that it was my intention to return to Rome. That was all, but the views of so many which I received afterward influenced me, and I understood that I must not act too quickly; and nothing more was done about the matter at that time.

In the same Parliament I wanted it known that the harsh laws which my father had set up were to be relaxed. A great many people had suffered under my father's rule; I wanted mine to be more merciful.

I found a certain relief in writing to Reginald because I was sure that, from the Continent, he would be watching events in England with great concern.

“I had thought it would be simple,” I wrote to him. “I thought it could be changed at once. But I have been warned. The Emperor's ambassador has warned me. I must not be too hasty. The people are not yet prepared. But I
trust you do not think me dilatory. Please do not think for a moment I am failing in my purpose. But I dare not yet show the people my intent.”