It was difficult for me. I kept thinking of my mother. How could I deny her? She had always been adamant, even though she had believed her enemies were trying to poison her and would possibly use other means to kill her. Always she had stood defiant against them. But Chapuys had shown me my mission.

Even so I could not bring myself to accept the verdict that my mother had never been truly married to my father, that I was bastard and the Pope was not the Vicar of Christ but just another bishop.

I tried to keep that glittering future in mind. I prayed for guidance. If God meant to lead me to my destiny, He would help me.

But I could not do it. I said I would obey my father in all things save his denial of his marriage with my mother and his break with Rome.

They were very angry—in particular Norfolk, who was a violent man and not of very good character, as his Duchess could well confirm. Both he and Sussex were abusive. I was understanding more of people now and I guessed that they were afraid. They would have to go back to the King and tell him that I stood firm on the two very issues which had caused all the contention between us. He would have to face the fact that he had a rebellious daughter and that many of his subjects, who were already murmuring about the state of the Church, would agree with her. I could see that I was a danger and that my father wished to have me back in the fold. He wanted to ride out with me and the new Queen, showing the people that I was his beloved daughter—though illegitimate—and that all was well between us. And these men would have to go back and tell him that they had failed.

Messengers bringing ill news were never popular; and the King's moods were variable and could be terrible. He had changed with the failing of his health. “Bluff King Hal” peeped out only occasionally now and then, when years ago this had been the face his courtiers saw most frequently.

Sussex shouted at me, “Can it be that you are the King's daughter? I cannot believe this to be so. You are the most obstinate woman I ever knew. Surely no child of the King could be as wayward … as stubborn… and as foolish as you are.”

I looked at him sardonically. He might have known that what he called my stubbornness had been inherited directly from my father.

Norfolk was even more explicit.

“If you were my daughter, I should beat you.”

“I am sure you would attempt to, my lord,” I replied. “I believe your conduct toward your wife, simply because she objected to your mistresses, has been especially brutal.”

His eyes narrowed and his face was scarlet. “I would beat you … to death,” he muttered.

“I am of the opinion that, if you attempted to do so, the people in the streets would set upon you and you would suffer a worse fate.”

He knew there was truth in my words and he shouted, “I would dash your head against the wall until it was as soft as a baked apple!”

“Threats worthy of you, my lord. And they affect me not at all. You would not dare lay a hand on me. And I should be glad if you would remember to whom you speak.”

Lady Shelton had complained of my regal manners, so I suppose I possessed them; and now, with Chapuys' prophecy before me, perhaps they were even more apparent.

They slunk away, those irate commissioners, like dogs with their tails between their legs.


* * *

CHAPUYS CAME TO see me.

He was very grave, although there was a hint of amusement in his gravity.

“The commissioners were ill received when they returned to the King. He is convinced that you are in touch with the rebels. There is a party forming in the North and murmurings throughout the country. Your name is often mentioned. The King is most uneasy. But you have seen how obstinate he is… and we must get you to Court. I fear he may take some drastic action against you on the spur of the moment. Do not forget, he is allpowerful in this country. Now that he has broken with Rome, the Church has no hold on him. Who would have believed this possible?”

“But we shall come back one day.”

“I beg of you, do not speak of it now.”

“But that is our eventual aim.”

“To be put away until the time is ripe. It is something to think about but never to be spoken of. If it were…your life would not be worth much. Remember. The Church relies on you. Your day will come. And until it does we must play this game as deviously as is demanded.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you cannot stay in exile. We have to do anything… simply anything…to get you to Court. Cromwell goes in fear of his life because he first told the King that you would be ready to bow to his will. The King is in such a mood of anger that no one is safe. But this is good, for it shows the extent of his uneasiness. Queen Jane pleads for you with the King. She is simple and clearly does not know the man she has married. She was heard to say that it was natural that you should defend your mother and she thought it was a noble thing to do. She was abruptly told not to meddle in matters beyond her powers of understanding and to remember that her predecessor meddled and what happened to her. It is the first time the King has been heard talking to her thus, and it shows how anxious he is.”

“Then we should be pleased.”

“Not entirely. He is capable of drastic action when aroused to anger, and his anger has its roots in uncertainty. Those about the King, including Cromwell, have to act regarding you. They are preparing a document. It is headed ‘The Lady Mary's Submission.' In it will be set down all that the King will require you to agree to.”

“That will include…”

He nodded. “Your agreement that your parents were never legally married, that you are illegitimate and accept the King, your father, as Head of the Church in England.”

“I will never do it.”

“Have you thought of the alternative?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forget that Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More lost their heads because they would not sign the Oath? You are doing the same.”

“You mean that I should lose my head?”

“I mean that you could be tried for treason… and the punishment for treason is death.”

“My father would not dare.”

“He has dared a great deal. He fears a rising in your favor. But he is the most powerful man in the country. He could put down a revolt, and then what would happen to the Princess Mary? What of the plans for the future of England?”

I said, “What must I do?”

“There is only one thing you can do. You sign.”

“Deny my mother's marriage! Deny Holy Church!”

“There could be a papal absolution which would relieve you from the sin of perjury,” said Chapuys.

“The Emperor and the Pope will know the reason why you signed. I advise you to do it. This is the only way. If you do not, I would not give much hope for the chances of your survival.”

“I would not do it for the fear of what would happen to me.”

“I am aware of that, as you are of your destiny. It would be folly now to refuse to sign.”

I knew he was right, but I had to quieten my conscience. My mother would understand. Those who cared for me, who knew that I had a duty to perform… they would all understand why I had to sign.

So, with a firm hand and a strong purpose in my heart, I put my name to the document.


* * *

NOW THAT I HAD given way, my life changed. I was treated with the respect due to the King's daughter—though not a legitimate one. I enjoyed more freedom than I had known for years. I was no longer treated with suspicion. I could write to whom I pleased and receive visitors.

I was still grappling with my conscience. I had committed perjury. I had agreed to that which in my heart I abhorred. I prayed constantly. I talked to my mother as though she were with me.

“Understand, please, dear Mother. I did this because I believe that in time it will have been proved to be the right action to have taken at this time. They would have tried me for treason if I had refused. They would have trumped up some charge against me. If the King could kill his wife, why not his daughter? Chapuys knew it. I acted on his advice and one day, I swear on all that is sacred to me, that when the opportunity comes I shall bring England back to the Holy Church.”

That was the motive I kept my eyes on. And I began to believe fervently that what I had done—however much it had been against my principles— was the only way in which I could have acted.

Elizabeth was at Hunsdon, still under the charge of Margaret Bryan. I was with her a great deal. All my enmity toward her had gone. How could one dislike a three-year-old child? Her mother might be evil but what crime had the child committed? Lady Bryan never ceased to marvel at her. She was the most perfect child it had ever been her joy to know, she told me. She was so bright and eager to learn.

“Nose into everything,” said Margaret fondly.

“If it is there, she must know what and why. Questions… all through the day. And she remembers, too. To see her skip and dance… and hear her little voice singing…She can already handle a lute, you know.”

Then she would express her fury at the manner in which her little darling was being treated now.

“Look at this kirtle! I have darned and patched it. I need new clothes for her. I keep asking but none come. It is a shameful way to treat a princess.”

“Hush, Margaret,” I cautioned her. “Do you want to be charged with treason?”

She shook her head sadly, “I know not what we are coming to.”

I took her hand and pressed it.