meeting of the Queen and her Council, much to Queen Mary’s anger and revulsion.
Even w orse there are rumours that the Queen intends to make a marriage with the Hapsburgs and, unbelievably, the name of her young cousin, Prince Philip of Spain, has been mentioned. Henry Sidney has all the news from court and intends to use his knowledge to save Robert and his brothers if he can. Already he’s friendly with Renard and other Spaniards at court.
“But the Queen’s practically an old lady,” says Amy one evening at supper, “And Prince Philip is still in his twenties. Why would he want to marry her?”
“Well Queen Mary is thirty seven and could still have a child. Philip is twenty six. There’s an eleven year gap. Not insurmountable. And Philip will have to do whatever his father, the Holy Roman Emperor, tells him,” says Henry Sidney.
“You would do well to hold your tongue and keep your opinions to yourself,” says Lady Dudley to Amy, “Otherwise you will undo all the good work that Henry and I have done to secure the boys’ release.”
But as the weeks progress it’s obvious that the protesters in London don’t intend to keep their opinions to themselves. Every day there’s news of another disturbance, another gathering of dissatisfied and mistrustful citizens. Despite the Queen’s reassurances that any marriage she makes abroad would never result in England becoming part of the Hapsburg Empire, the people are not convinced and alarm spreads rapidly.
Even worse for our family, Gardiner has convi nced the Queen to bring Jane and Guildford to trial, together with the old Archbishop, Cranmer, who is imprisoned in the Tower with them. Ambrose and young Henry Dudley are to be tried at the same time. This is not a good sign. Trials for treason are usually forgone conclusions.
On a cold November day a procession leaves the Tower and winds its way towards Westminster Hall. Amy and I join the crowds along the route. Jane is dressed all in black and carries her prayer book open before her. Another prayer book hangs from her waist. Guilford, who precedes her with Cranmer, is likewise dressed in black; his velvet sleeves are slashed to reveal a white satin lining beneath. At sixteen and eighteen they look such a pathetically young couple. Ambrose and Henry follow behind.
The crowd is silent as they pass by. No one wanted this. We wait to see what will happen but, when they return, the yeoman leading the procession has turned his axe inwards, a voiceless statement of the guilty verdict. Jane is condemned to be burned alive and the men to suffer the hideous deaths of traitors, to be hanged by the neck, cut down while still alive, disembowelled and their privy parts removed, before they are finally beheaded and quartered. Jane and Guildford are composed as they walk by but women weep at the sight of them.
“Take heart in this,” I say to Amy as we walk home, “Henry Sidney says that Queen Mary doesn’t want any more executions and he’s doing all he can to gain the support of the Spaniards.”
“Let’s hope Pri nce Philip will have the old bat,” says Amy, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one’s within ear shot, “That should sweeten her up.”
C hristmas approaches and during Advent Jane is allowed to take exercise on the green outside her lodgings in the Tower. It’s a good sign and Robert tells Amy that Guildford can see his wife sometimes from the leads. He’s desperate to talk to her again.
Henry Sidney, of necessity, must spend Christmas at court so we remain at home with Mary and Lady Dudley. It’s a quiet time with none of the usual jollities of the season. We have our Christmas feasts but can hardly enjoy them for thinking of the poor prisoners in the Tower. Still the servants expect to enjoy the rich
Even w orse there are rumours that the Queen intends to make a marriage with the Hapsburgs and, unbelievably, the name of her young cousin, Prince Philip of Spain, has been mentioned. Henry Sidney has all the news from court and intends to use his knowledge to save Robert and his brothers if he can. Already he’s friendly with Renard and other Spaniards at court.
“But the Queen’s practically an old lady,” says Amy one evening at supper, “And Prince Philip is still in his twenties. Why would he want to marry her?”
“Well Queen Mary is thirty seven and could still have a child. Philip is twenty six. There’s an eleven year gap. Not insurmountable. And Philip will have to do whatever his father, the Holy Roman Emperor, tells him,” says Henry Sidney.
“You would do well to hold your tongue and keep your opinions to yourself,” says Lady Dudley to Amy, “Otherwise you will undo all the good work that Henry and I have done to secure the boys’ release.”
But as the weeks progress it’s obvious that the protesters in London don’t intend to keep their opinions to themselves. Every day there’s news of another disturbance, another gathering of dissatisfied and mistrustful citizens. Despite the Queen’s reassurances that any marriage she makes abroad would never result in England becoming part of the Hapsburg Empire, the people are not convinced and alarm spreads rapidly.
Even worse for our family, Gardiner has convi nced the Queen to bring Jane and Guildford to trial, together with the old Archbishop, Cranmer, who is imprisoned in the Tower with them. Ambrose and young Henry Dudley are to be tried at the same time. This is not a good sign. Trials for treason are usually forgone conclusions.
On a cold November day a procession leaves the Tower and winds its way towards Westminster Hall. Amy and I join the crowds along the route. Jane is dressed all in black and carries her prayer book open before her. Another prayer book hangs from her waist. Guilford, who precedes her with Cranmer, is likewise dressed in black; his velvet sleeves are slashed to reveal a white satin lining beneath. At sixteen and eighteen they look such a pathetically young couple. Ambrose and Henry follow behind.
The crowd is silent as they pass by. No one wanted this. We wait to see what will happen but, when they return, the yeoman leading the procession has turned his axe inwards, a voiceless statement of the guilty verdict. Jane is condemned to be burned alive and the men to suffer the hideous deaths of traitors, to be hanged by the neck, cut down while still alive, disembowelled and their privy parts removed, before they are finally beheaded and quartered. Jane and Guildford are composed as they walk by but women weep at the sight of them.
“Take heart in this,” I say to Amy as we walk home, “Henry Sidney says that Queen Mary doesn’t want any more executions and he’s doing all he can to gain the support of the Spaniards.”
“Let’s hope Pri nce Philip will have the old bat,” says Amy, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one’s within ear shot, “That should sweeten her up.”
C hristmas approaches and during Advent Jane is allowed to take exercise on the green outside her lodgings in the Tower. It’s a good sign and Robert tells Amy that Guildford can see his wife sometimes from the leads. He’s desperate to talk to her again.
Henry Sidney, of necessity, must spend Christmas at court so we remain at home with Mary and Lady Dudley. It’s a quiet time with none of the usual jollities of the season. We have our Christmas feasts but can hardly enjoy them for thinking of the poor prisoners in the Tower. Still the servants expect to enjoy the rich
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