Part 7 (2/2)
WEEKS Pa.s.sED. Mary could not have forgotten me, although I did feel she had utterly abandoned me. I knew that the members of the privy council did not believe in my innocence. If it had been up to thema”Sir William Paget and the earl of Arundela”I would have been put to death immediately. I was sure they would try to convince the queen that I was not to be trusted, that her crown was not secure as long as I was alive. I could imagine my sister's endless debates with her councillors: What shall we do with Elizabeth?
We cannot execute hera”that would cause an enormous outcry, a rebellion.
We cannot keep her locked up in the Tower forevera”that, too, would likely cause an uprising.
And we surely cannot set her freea”she is too dangerous for that!
If we brought her to court, we could watch her closelya”but having her at court is an offense to the queen!
So, what shall we do with Elizabeth?
Every night as I lay down in my barren chamber, I thanked G.o.d for granting me one more day. Every morning I awoke thinking that this day might be my last.
ON THE NINETEENTH of May in 1554, the anniversary of my mother's execution and three long months after I had been taken to London from Ashridge, a detachment of guards arrived at the Tower and ordered me to prepare to leave. I stood stock-still, as if made of wood.
”Where are you taking me?” I asked.
”It is not permitted to inform the prisoner.”
So, I was still a prisoner. But I was not to be executeda”at least not yet. A condemned prisoner is sent a priest to hear a last confession, and there was no priest.
Down to the Water Gate we went, my footsteps dragging. I was grateful to be alive, but still very frightened. I had no idea what lay ahead.
CHAPTER 12.
Elizabeth, Prisoner I refused to look back at the Tower as the oarsmen bent to their task and the unpainted wooden boat moved upstream with the tide, pa.s.sing under the arches of London Bridge. No one on the banks paused for a second look. Eventually we made for the landing at Richmond Palace.
”Why are we stopping here?” I asked one of the guards, who bore a livid scar from ear to chin.
”Orders of Her Majesty, the queen” was the gruff reply, a reply that told me nothing.
Once inside the palace I was led to a bare chamber. The door was quickly shut and locked from the outside, and I was entirely alone.
”Where are my ladies?” I cried, pounding on the wooden door. ”My servants?”
”You are permitted to speak to no one,” said the guard through a small opening in the door covered by an iron grille.
I paced fretfully, first the length of the small chamber and then the breadth. The single window was too high for me to see anything but a patch of blue sky. Gradually the sky grew dark.
Sometime later the guard returned with a bowl of rank-smelling mutton stew and a pewter tankard of ale, which he set just inside the door. I could not bear to touch either one. The sky faded to inky blackness.
All night I lay awake on a pallet on the floor, with only a thin coverlet. Terrified, I was certain I had been brought here so that my death could be accomplished in secrecy, to prevent an outcry from my friends and whatever supporters I might have. Wyatt was dead, along with others involved in the rebellion. But were there some still alive who wished me to be their queen? Would they have the courage to risk everything to show their support?
The hours pa.s.sed, but no soldiers arrived to drag me off to one of the dungeons in the depths of the palace. When the patch of sky at my window grew light again, the captain of the guards, the one with the scar, informed me that we were ready ”to continue the journey.”
I decided I would not give him the satisfaction of my asking any more questions. There was no sign of my ladies-in-waiting. They had all been dismissed. Surrounded by the blank faces and foul breath of the men sent to guard me, I would have welcomed even Lady Maud for companions.h.i.+p.
Fear cloaked me like a worn-out garment as I stepped once more onto the barge. We proceeded upriver, attracting no notice, until we reached Windsor Castle. The guards took me not to the great castle itself but to a small house near St. George's Chapel, where my father's bones lay buried. There I was again locked away and pa.s.sed another tormented night, listening for the tramp of feet, the click of a key in the lock, a stealthy executioner come to take my life. But another dawn broke, and miraculously I was still alive.
Not long after sunrise I was led out to the courtyard, where a rude litter waited. Also waiting was Sir Henry Bedingfield, a member of the queen's privy council. Bewhiskered and bejowled, Sir Henry presented himself to me upon his knees. ”The queen has made me responsible for your safety and comfort,” he said, hands clasped and jowls aquiver. ”I beg you, madam, regard me not as jailer but as an officer in your service.”
”Good Lord, deliver me from such officers,” I snapped. I climbed into the litter, and the journey continued, with Bedingfield riding by my side. We had turned away from the river and made our way through the green and flowering countryside. We seemed to be headed north and west, possibly toward Oxfords.h.i.+re.
Although every effort had been made to conceal the fact that I was a person of any importance, word had somehow spread that King Henry's younger daughter was traveling through the villages and hamlets. Signaled by the ringing of church bells, people all along our route turned out to welcome me. Little boys rode their fathers' shoulders and cheered, ”G.o.d save you, Princess!” Mothers pushed their daughters forward to present me with sweetmeats and nosegays. So many gifts were heaped upon my litter that scarcely any room was left for me.
This spontaneous outpouring of goodwill and affection lifted my spirits. For the first time in months, I felt hopeful. I did have supporters, thena”the simple folk of the countryside. All this wild enthusiasm made Bedingfield impatient and uneasy. He glowered at the cheering farmers and yeomen and goodwives but made no move to stop them.
Waving and laughing, I called out, ”Good people, I beg you, keep these wondrous cakes for your own enjoyment!” But that didn't stop them. I was their own Princess Elizabeth, daughter of their beloved King Henry, and they seemed determined to show their love for me. It is a great thing to be loved, I thought; far better than to be feared.
We halted for the night at the village of Rycote, where the lord of the manor entertained me lavishly under Bedingfield's disapproving eye. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed such a feast. As we prepared to leave the next morning, I thanked the baron for his hospitality.
”Bear in mind, madam,” said the baron quietly as he bowed over my hand, ”that you have many supporters who will gladly serve you as queen.”
I smiled and nodded and hurried away. Fortunately, Henry Bedingfield was then occupied with our horses and heard nothing. But my host's generous comment stayed with me as we rode on. I had the love of the common people, and I had the loyalty of some of the n.o.bility who would one day serve me. But I could not rule if I did not survive. I saw plainly that henceforward my princ.i.p.al task was to stay alivea”to wait and to watch.
AT LAST the journey ended at Woodstock Palace. Long ago a favorite hunting lodge of Norman kings, it was now reduced to a dilapidated pile of crumbling stone and shattered cas.e.m.e.nt windows in the midst of a marsh reeking of decay.
”I am to stay here?” I cried. ”Surely not!”
One look was sufficient to convince even Sir Henry that the old palace to which I'd been banished was not fit even for a jail. He decided that I must make my residence in the gatehouse. It took less time to inspect my quarters than it does now to describe them: for my use, a single chamber with mildewed walls and a rather curiously carved roof, to be shared with my maidservants; a chapel; a second chamber for Sir Henry and our menservants; and a third for my guards. This was where I would pa.s.s my days and nights, for I knew not how long.
Bedingfield's first act was to read me the rules, as set forth by Queen Mary: ”The lady Elizabeth is forbidden to walk in the garden without an officer present. She is forbidden to receive any kind of message, letter, or gift from anyone at all.”
”Books?” I interrupted. ”Surely I am permitted any books I choose.”
Bedingfield thumbed through the queen's rules. ”Only such books as specified,” he said. ”Any special requests are to be made to me, and I will forward them to the privy council, who will consider the matter.”
”This is outrageous, sir!” I exclaimed.
Sir Henry dropped to his knees. ”Begging your pardon, madam, but I can make no exceptions, nor can I make any decisions on my own.” He seemed genuinely sorry.
”Very well. Might I then also have a Bible in English?”
”I shall write to the council, madam.”
After a long delay, back came the reply: The queen forbids all of her subjects (no exceptions) to read the Bible in any language but Latin. I could of course read Latin as easily as English, but it was the principle of the thing, and her refusal put me in a foul temper.
Worse even than the rude quarters was the confinement. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to talk to but the tongue-tied maidservants.
When I saw how life would be at Woodstock, I determined to write a letter to the queen. My request for writing supplies had first to be sent to the privy council, since Bedingfield was forbidden to allow me the use of his parchment, quill, and ink. The councillors dithered and fretted, suspicious that I might be plotting to incite a rebellion. a.s.sured that I wished only to write to my sister, they relented. The materials were senta”but only in small quant.i.tya”and I composed a message, repeating to Queen Mary my declarations of loyalty and begging with all my heart for her leniency.
This turned out to be a poor idea, or perhaps it was poorly executed. Whatever the cause, my message was poorly received. In reply I got a sharp rebuke from the queen: Our pleasure is not to be anymore molested with, such letters.
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