Виктория Холт - In the Shadow of the Crown

It had been arranged that Elizabeth, who was to be a member of the party come to bid Philip farewell, should travel by barge. I did not want to have to compete with her for the cheers of the people. I felt that she, with her young looks and easy manners, would have commanded the greater share of the acclaim—and, worse still, it would have been noticed.

I took a barge with Philip at the Tower Wharf and was beside him as we sailed down to Greenwich.

The members of the Council accompanied us, and I noticed how ill Gardiner was looking in the torchlight, for it was dusk. I was glad of the gloom. I did not want the bright sunlight to accentuate the ravages in my face which the last weeks had put there.

There came the moment when we must say goodbye.

Philip kissed all my ladies, as he had when he arrived, and I was reminded of that day and yearned to be back in that happy time.

At last he took his leave of me. He kissed me with great tenderness, and I tried to tell myself that he was as grieved at our parting as I was; but I knew in my heart that he was not. I was aware that, if he had greatly desired to stay, he would have found excuses for doing so. He gave no sign of his pleasure in leaving, and his features were set in a mold of sad resignation.

I felt the tears in my eyes and tried to suppress them. But I could not do so. Philip would hate tears.

I clung to him. He responded stiffly and then, murmuring, “I shall be back ere long,” he left me.

I stood lonely and bereft, watching him depart. I would not move. He stood on the deck, his cap in hand, watching me as I watched him.

And there I stayed until I could see him no more.

I had lost my child, and now my husband was taking with him all hopes of happiness.

I THINK I MUST have been the most unhappy woman in the world.

Sullen looks came my way as I rode out; a pall of smoke hung over Smithfield, where men were chained to stakes and died because they would not accept the true faith. I had not wanted that.

“Persuasion,” I had said. Was this persuasion?

Gardiner had died. He had left me to reap the harvest and had not stayed long enough to see what effect it would have.

I was lonely and helpless. This was my mission. I had completed it. I had brought the Church back to Rome but there was little joy for me.

I was ill most of the time. My headaches persisted. My dreams were haunted by the screams of people chained to the stakes in that Smithfield which had become a Hell on Earth.

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.