Chapter 16 #2
Mary’s entire council piled in behind Sussex, from Bishop Gardiner, eyes alight in triumph, to William Paulet, who remained carefully neutral, as usual.
“We have come to arrest you.” Sussex put a slightly apologetic note in his voice.
While Henry Radclyffe, the second Earl of Sussex, was one of Mary’s staunchest supporters, he was very aware that Elizabeth was of royal blood.
Sussex had a wife called Anne Calthorpe, who drove him a bit mad.
She not only opposed the old religion but had once been arrested and confined in the Tower for sorcery.
This accounted, I thought, for the worried lines about his eyes.
The rest of the council, save Paulet, turned hard faces to Elizabeth. Paulet managed to reflect some reluctance—after all, Elizabeth might be queen someday herself. Paulet had survived three Tudor reigns thus far. Why not four?
Sussex cleared his throat. “Sir Thomas Wyatt has been convicted of treason,” he said to Elizabeth.
“You have been accused of knowing of the plot as well as aiding and abetting it, with evidence brought forth. You are to be taken to the Tower of London, there lodged at Her Majesty’s pleasure until such time as you will be tried for your crimes. ”
The council remained a stern wall of men turned against a woman. They waited for her to fall to her knees, or perhaps weep, plead, or even collapse in a dead faint.
Instead, Elizabeth raised her head, her eyes glittering.
“What evidence?” she inquired icily. “There is no evidence that has not been manufactured, for I am innocent of this charge.”
“Nonetheless.” Sussex’s voice firmed. “Tomorrow you will be escorted to the Tower. Tonight, you will remain here to prepare yourself.”
“Let me speak to my sister,” Elizabeth demanded as though she hadn’t heard him. “She promised me before I left court that she would hear me if I were accused of any conspiracy, as I have been accused today.”
“Her Grace, the queen, does as she pleases,” Sussex tried.
“Tell her, my lord, that I beg humbly to see her.”
Sussex regarded her steadily, finding no humility in Elizabeth. “I will deliver your message,” he said. “Though I cannot speak for the queen.”
“But you do speak for her, my lord Sussex.” Elizabeth’s words were razor sharp. “You tell me from her that I am accused.”
Sussex flushed. “Even so. We will return for you in the morning.”
The gentlemen of Mary’s council turned their backs on Elizabeth. They walked out, neither shuffling nor ashamed, hats firmly on their heads, their backs straight. The insult was complete.
“This is Gardiner’s influence, I will wager,” Elizabeth seethed when the doors had shut again.
“Gardiner keeps her from seeing me. He fears that she will soften with sisterly affection. I doubt she will—she has none—but I wish to plead my case. If Mary hears me, she will change her mind. She is not stupid.”
No, but Mary was careful, I reflected. This was made evident when, not much later, the Earl of Sussex returned without the council but with a contingent of armed guards.
“You are to remain in this room,” he informed Elizabeth. “Your gentlewomen must go, save only two needed to wait upon you. You will not leave here, nor will they, nor will they pass on any communication from you to any other person.”
Elizabeth’s face was stark, her red-gold hair standing out like fire against her skin. “Mistress Ashley and Mistress Rousell shall stay with me.”
“Not Katherine Ashley,” Sussex said, eyes narrowing. “But as Mistress Rousell comes from a pious family, she may remain.”
I did my best to appear pious, or at least to keep the satisfaction from my face. I knew quite well how to get word to and from Elizabeth under Mary’s guards’ noses, but I could not do so if Sussex banished me.
“Mistress Norwich, then,” Elizabeth said without argument.
Sussex nodded as though he did not much care who she chose, as long as the dangerous Mistress Ashley was far from Elizabeth’s side.
I tried not to smile at the irony that I, a staunch supporter of Elizabeth, should be allowed to stay with her simply because my mother had married a Catholic.
Elizabeth regarded Sussex coldly, pretending she was not gleeful for having her own way. I knew she’d named Aunt Kat first because Aunt Kat would obviously be rejected—then by contrast Elizabeth could ask for who she truly wanted.
His mission complete, Sussex departed, again without bowing—but his expression before he left the room conveyed that he was sorry he’d been chosen for the task.
“Not all are in agreement, it is evident,” Elizabeth muttered to me after the earl departed. “Some of these gentlemen are reluctant to choose which royal they will offend. They wish me to remember, if I become queen, which of them disliked to see me so harshly treated.”
I agreed, but worried that Mary’s council’s divisiveness would encourage Mary to bring about Elizabeth’s end that much faster.
Mistress Norwich and I saw to Elizabeth’s needs at supper that evening, then undressed her, put her to bed, and read to her. Elizabeth’s Bible and Prayer Book had been confiscated, but she had books of devotion and poetry, and Mistress Norwich could read Greek and discuss what she read with her.
At last, we snuffed out the candles, but the night dragged on. When I peered out of the window in my corner chamber, I spied men in armor pacing in the courtyards below. Mary was ensuring that no rescue attempt would whisk Elizabeth out of her reach.
In the morning, Mistress Norwich and I dressed the princess again, and we were ready and waiting when Sussex and Paulet came for her.
If any ever did try this old saying, Elizabeth wrote, anger evident in every curl of ink, that a king’s word was more than another man’s oath—I most humbly beseech your majesty to verify it in me, and to remember your last promise and my last demand: that I be not condemned without answer and due proof.
Elizabeth had gotten her way with Sussex, who’d at last allowed her to write a letter to Mary. Elizabeth had taken her time, penning it carefully in her own hand, with me nearby, so that I could read every word.
And to this present hour I protest afore God (who shall judge my truth, whatsoever malice shall devise) that I never practiced, counseled, nor consented to anything that might be prejudicial to your person .
. . therefore I humbly beseech your majesty to let me answer afore yourself and not suffer me to trust your Councilors—yea, and that afore I go to the Tower.
In the next paragraphs Elizabeth reminded Mary of the words of the Duke of Somerset, who’d claimed that if he had spoken to Thomas Seymour before condemning him, letting his brother explain himself, Seymour might not have been put to death.
I pray God as evil persuasions persuade not one sister against the other . . .
She finished in a bolder tone. And as for the traitor, Wyatt, he might peradventure write me a letter, but on my faith, I never received any from him.
And as for the copy of my letter sent to the French king, I pray God confound me eternally if ever I sent him word, message, token, or letter by any means, and to this my truth I will stand in to my death.
Elizabeth’s letter ended near the top of a second page. She drew heavy diagonal lines across the remaining empty space so that Mary’s councilors might not fill in something unwanted, then signed it.
She handed the finished letter to Sussex, not bothering to fold it or hide the words from him.
“I thank you, my lord, for delivering this to my sister, before setting me in the boat for the Tower.”
Sussex took the paper, frowning his annoyance. “We cannot leave for the Tower now, Your Grace. The tide has turned, and we must wait for tomorrow.”
Elizabeth shrugged her slim shoulders, the set of her lips telling me she’d known full well that she’d taken too long over the letter.
If I calculated aright, the tide would turn again near midnight, but Sussex would never chance taking her on the river so late—one of Elizabeth’s loyal men might arrange for her to be plucked from Sussex’s care and rescued.
Sussex left the chamber to deliver the missive, his back quivering. He returned later to say that he’d given the letter to Mary, and that she’d read it, but she’d made no reply.
Hope faded from Elizabeth’s eyes, but she did not wilt. She merely thanked Sussex loftily and called for her supper.
Sussex gave her a shallow bow and ordered the servants to fetch her a meal.
Elizabeth, for her part, utterly ignored him. She turned from him, calling for Mistress Norwich to bring her wine.