In the Shadow of the Crown Read online

  “Princess,” she said, “important gentlemen have come from France. If the King or Queen were here, they would receive them, but as you know, they are in France. So … as their daughter … you must greet these arrivals.”

  It did not occur to me that this would be difficult, and I suppose, as I felt no fear, I carried off the meeting in a manner which, on account of my youth, surprised all who beheld it. I knew how to hold out my hand to be kissed. I knew that I must smile and listen to what was said and, if I did not understand, merely go on smiling. It was easy.

  I was aware of their admiration, and the Countess looked on, pursing her lips and nodding her head a little as she did when she was pleased.

  One of the gentlemen asked me what I liked doing most. I considered a while and then said that I liked playing on the virginals.

  Would I play for him? he asked.

  I said I would.

  I heard afterward that everyone marvelled at my skill in being able to play a tune without a fault. They said they had never known one so young such a good musician.

  The Countess was gratified. She said my parents would be delighted to hear how I had entertained their guests during their absence.

  Often during the years that followed, I would look back on those early days and fervently wish that I had never had to grow up.

  In due course my parents returned from France. There was still a great deal of talk about the brilliant meeting of the two kings. I kept my ears open and heard scraps of conversation among the courtiers when I was with the Court. I learned how the two kings had vied with each other, how they were determined to show the world—and the Emperor Charles—that they were the best of friends. When they were in church together, each king had stood aside for the other to kiss the Bible first, and at length the King of France had prevailed on the King of England to do so, as he was a guest on French soil. My mother and the Queen of France had been equally careful of each other's feelings. I knew my mother had great sympathy with Queen Claude. I heard the whispers: François was a libertine with whom no woman was safe, and poor crippled Claude had a great deal to endure.

  That occasion when the King of France had forced his way into my father's bedroom when he was in bed was much discussed. My father had said, “I am your prisoner,” but the King of France had charmingly replied, “Nay, I am your valet.” And he had handed him his shirt. It was all elaborate play-acting to show the amity there was between them and to warn the Emperor Charles—who was a most ambitious young man—that he would have to face the might of the two countries, so he had better not think about attacking one of them.

  On that occasion my father gave François a valuable jeweled collar, and François responded by giving him a bracelet of even greater value. That was how it was at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Each king had to outdo the other; and because of the shift in interests, because of the wily and unpredictable games they played, very soon it became clear to both participants that the entire venture had been an enormous waste of time and riches.

  When my mother returned from France, young as I was, I detected that she was not happy. I understood later that she did not like the French; she did not trust François—and how right she was proved to be in that. Moreover, she had been most uneasy because the entire farce of the Field of the Cloth of Gold had been an act of defiance against the Emperor Charles. My mother was Spanish and, although she was devoted to my father, she could not forget her native land. She had loved her mother as passionately as I was to love her and she me. It could not give her any pleasure, considering her strong family feeling, to witness her husband joining up with an ally in order to stand against her own nephew.

  At this time there were three men of power astride Europe; they were François Premier of France, Charles, Emperor, the ruler of Spain, Austria and the Netherlands, and my father, the King of England. They were all more or less the same age—young, ambitious, determined to outdo each other. There was a similarity between François and my father; Charles was different. Not for him the extravagances, the lavish banquets, the splendid tournaments, the glittering garments. He was quiet and serious.

  My mother was torn between husband and nephew. It grieved her greatly to think of them as enemies. She could not, of course, explain this to me at that time.

  When my parents returned from France, after a short stay with them I went back to Ditton Park; but the following Christmas I was with them. Although I dearly loved the Countess of Salisbury, Lady Bryan and all my household, I looked forward with great pleasure to being with my parents. My father was such a glittering figure, and it delighted me, even at that early age, to see how he inspired a certain awe in everyone near him; even the greatest men, like the Cardinal, whom all respected and feared, bowed to my father. He had a loud laugh and when he was merry his face would light up with joy and everyone around him would be happy. I had seen him, though rarely, in a less than merry mood. Then his eyes would be like two little points of blue ice and his mouth would be such a small thin line that I thought it would disappear altogether. A terrible fear would descend on the company, and it appeared to me that everyone would try to shrink out of sight. It was awesome and terrible. Someone usually hurried me out of the way at such times.

  So, while I worshipped him, I did experience a little fear even in those days. But that only made him the more godlike.

  With my mother I felt safe and happy always. She was dignified and aloof, as became a queen, but always warm and loving toward me and while I was proud to have such a glittering, all-powerful father, I was more deeply contented in the love of my mother.

  That Christmas I spent with them was one I remember well. There were so many presents—not only from my parents but from the ladies and gentlemen of the Court. I remember the gold cup because it came from the Cardinal, and the silver flagons I think were from Princess Katharine Plantagenet, who was quite old, being the daughter of my great-grandfather, King Edward IV. In contrast to these valuable presents was one from a poor woman of Greenwich. She had made a little rosemary bush for me all hung with gilt spangles. It gave me as much pleasure as any.

  My mother made it a Christmas to delight me and sent for a company of children to act plays for me. I remember some of those plays well. They were written by a man called John Heywood who was later to make quite a success with his dramatic works.

  Those early years were spent mainly in the calm serenity of Ditton, with occasional visits to my parents. These memories are of laughter, music and dancing, of cooks and scullions rushing hither and thither with great dishes of beef, mutton, capons, boars' heads and suckling pigs, and in fact any meat it was possible to think of; of eating, drinking and general merrymaking, with my father always at the center. He could sing and hold the company spellbound—perhaps as much by his royalty as his talent; but there was no doubt that in the dance he could leap higher than any; he was indefatigable. No stranger, seeing him for the first time, could have doubted that he was the King and master of us all.

  I was proud to be his daughter, and if I could have had one wish it would have been that my sex might be changed, so that I could be the boy who would have delighted him as Henry Fitzroy did and so rid my mother of that look of anxiety which I saw more and more frequently in her face.

  But perhaps Henry Fitzroy felt something of the same, for he could not give my father complete pleasure because he was illegitimate. So he was flawed even as I was.

  Shortly after my parents returned from France, something happened which caused anxiety to my godmother, the Countess of Salisbury. At my tender age I was aware only of a ripple of disturbance, and it was not until later that I understood what it meant.

  It concerned Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, whose rank brought him close to the King, and on the surface they were good friends. Just before the party went to France, Buckingham had entertained the King lavishly at Penshurst. I heard people talking about the masques and banquets which had been of such splendor as to surpass even thos
e given by the King himself.

  Buckingham was not a wise man. He could never forget his royal descent and would remind people of it in any way which offered itself. He should have remembered that, although he was so proud of it, in the mind of a Tudor it could arouse certain suspicions. A clever man would have been more subtle, but from what I heard of Buckingham he had never been that. The King might enjoy the entertainments while they lasted, but afterward might he not ask himself: Why should this man seek to outdo royalty? The answer was, because he regarded himself as equally royal… no, not equally, more so.

  It was true that the Tudors' grip on the crown was not as secure as they would wish. My grandfather, Henry VII, had seized it when he defeated Richard III at Bosworth Field in 1485; and many would have said that his claim to it was not a very strong one. Buckingham was one of those. Later I was to see my father's eyes narrow as he contemplated such men. At that time he was more tolerant than he became later. Then he delighted in the approval of his subjects, but later he only wished them to accept his rule. It was up to them to like it or risk his displeasure. My father was a man who changed a great deal over the years. At this time he was only just passing out of that phase in which he appeared to be full of bonhomie and good will toward men, which made him the most popular monarch men remembered. It was the growing discord in his marriage which was changing him; he was turning from a satisfied man to a disgruntled one, and that affected his nature and consequently his attitude toward his subjects.

  Buckingham had powerful connections in the present as well as the past. He was married to a daughter of the Percys, the great lords of the North. His son—his only one—had married the Countess of Salisbury's daughter, so that made a family connection between him and my godmother. Small wonder that she was worried. He had three daughters, one of whom had married into the Norfolk family, one to the Earl of Westmorland and the third to Lord Abergavenny. So it was clear that Buckingham was well connected.

  Someone said of him, “My lord Buckingham is a nobleman who would be a royal ruler.”

  Knowing my father, now I can guess that such a remark would set up warning signals in his mind. His father had been plagued by pretenders to the throne—Perkin Warbeck, Lambert Simnel, to name the two most important. A king who sits warily on the throne has to be careful.

  Buckingham was a stupid man. It was a great mistake to antagonize Wolsey. Obsessed by his nobility, I suppose it was natural that he should resent a man of lowly birth who had climbed so high that the King relied on his judgment and had more affection for him than he had for the greatest nobleman in the land.

  He should have had more sense than to pit his wits against Wolsey. Precarious as his position was with the King, he could not afford to challenge the cleverest man in the kingdom.

  For some time my father must have been toying with the idea of ridding himself of the arrogant Buckingham who, in time, would doubtless be laying claim to the throne.

  Matters came to a head over a simple incident, as such matters do.

  It was the custom for one of the highest-ranking nobles to hold the basin while the King washed his hands. This was Buckingham's duty. Wolsey was standing beside the King, chatting amiably to him as they did together, for if my father liked someone he never hesitated to show it and would allow that person all sorts of privileges; and when the King had finished washing his hands, Wolsey attempted to use the basin too.

  Buckingham was incensed that he should be holding the basin for a lowborn son of a butcher, as he called him. Wolsey's father had owned land in Ipswich and may have bred sheep and cattle; if so, he doubtless sold the carcasses. In any case the epithet “Butcher's Cur” was often bestowed on him by his many enemies and frequently used by those jealous of his power. The Duke tilted the basin and poured the water onto Wolsey's shoes.

  The King was amused and nothing was made of the incident at the time, but naturally it was not brushed aside. Wolsey would not forget; Buckingham had to be taught a lesson; and as the King was already uneasy about Buckingham's pretensions to royalty, it was not difficult to bring a charge against him.

  Men in high positions can be sure of one thing: they have many enemies. It was not long before a case was brought against Buckingham and he was committed to the Tower on a charge of treason.

  I believe it was easy to prove a case against him. He was supposed to have listened to prophesies of the King's death and his own succession to the crown and of even expressing an intention to kill my father, but that was mainly hearsay. The King wanted to be rid of him. He would always be a menace. He must have remembered the uneasiness of his own father, and Buckingham was condemned as a traitor. He was beheaded on Tower Hill, and his body was buried in the church of Austin Friars.

  I should not have known anything of this at the time, as I was only five years old, but I was aware of the effect it had on the Countess, for the Duke's son was her son-in-law and it was a family tragedy. The Countess was a clever woman. She knew that the Duke had not lost his head because of treasonable acts. He had died because of his closeness to the throne. And she herself? She was even closer. Her father had been the brother of Edward IV. My father was the grandson of that Edward through his mother, so they were closely related; but the Countess through the male line.

  My dear Countess, being astute and a very wise woman, would have realized that the Duke was a very foolish man who had himself to blame for a great deal of his misfortunes. But also it would have been brought home to her that, in view of her own royal connections, she was in a very precarious position.

  Children are perceptive and perhaps, being brought up as I had been, I was particularly so. But I do remember that time and I was very conscious of a change in the Countess. She must have been a very worried woman.

  One day my mother arrived at Ditton. I was then six years old but being close to events such as the birth of Henry Fitzroy and the death of the Duke of Buckingham, I was beginning to acquire a greater understanding than would have been expected from one of my tender years.

  My mother looked happy and, having been mildly conscious of the Countess's distress and that my mother had previously been anxious about something, I rejoiced to see her so.

  She embraced the Countess and they talked together for a while. Then I was brought to them. My mother kissed me with great affection.

  The Countess said, “I doubt not that Your Grace will wish to talk to the Princess alone.”

  “Oh yes,” replied my mother. “I can scarcely wait to impart the good news.”

  When we were alone, she sat down and drew me to her. I stood beside her, her arms encircling me. I watched the happiness in her eyes and eagerly waited to hear this good news.

  “My dearest child,” she said, “you are to be betrothed.”

  I was puzzled. I thought I was betrothed. When I was sixteen I was to go to France to learn how to be Queen of that country when I married the boy who was now Dauphin.

  “Yes, my lady,” I said. “I know I am.”

  She shook her head. “You do not understand, dear child. This is wonderful news. You are going to marry the Emperor Charles.”

  The Emperor Charles! But he was our enemy! The Field of the Cloth of Gold had taken place to let him know how friendly we were with my future father-in-law, the King of France.

  “But, my lady,” I stammered, “what of the Dauphin?”

  My mother smiled tenderly at me. “That, my dearest, is over, and it greatly pleases me that this should be. It would have been a great tragedy. But let us rejoice. The Emperor Charles is the greatest ruler in Europe… next to your father,” she added quickly. “He is half Spanish… the son of my own dear sister Juana. It is what I have always wanted for you.”

  I glowed with pleasure. If my mother wanted it, it must be good. And it was wonderful to see her so happy.

  “Does my father wish this?” I asked.

  She laughed. “He wishes it…or it would not be. You see, it is better for our country to be friend
ly with the Emperor than with France. Everything is good about this match. You are half Spanish through me … and the Emperor is through his mother. Friendship with the Emperor is better for England. The alliance with France brought us no good. It would have ruined the wool trade which is so important for England for our wool goes to Flanders, and Flanders is in the dominions of the great Emperor Charles—as is so much of Europe. But you are too young to understand…”

  “Oh no, my lady. I want to know. I want to know … all.”

  She took my face in her hands and kissed it. “This is a happy day for me,” she said.

  So if it was a happy day for her, it must be for me, too.

  After that my mother, Lady Salisbury and Lady Bryan talked to me often about the Emperor. They made me feel that I was the most fortunate girl in the world because I was to be his bride.

  He was powerful; he was clever; he was handsome; he was everything that a young girl could hope for in a husband. By great good fortune I had been saved from a match with the wicked and corrupt Court of France, and now I was to be awarded the greatest prize in Christendom.

  My bridegroom-to-be was twenty-three years old. I was six, so there did seem to be a certain disparity in our ages. This was nothing, my mother told me. I would soon grow up. I wanted to say that Charles would grow too and as I grew older so must he. In seven years, they told me, when I was fourteen, Charles would be in his prime.

  It was wonderful to see everyone happy; so I was happy, too, for I believed that everything that pleased my mother must be good and right and please me.

  One day she told me that Charles was so delighted with everything he had heard of me that he was coming to England to see me for himself and that if I pleased him there would be a formal betrothal.

  I was a little anxious that I might not please him, but the Countess soothed my anxieties with a tender smile. “You are your father's daughter, Princess,” she said. “That is enough to please anyone.”