be crowned with me. I could not allow this. I did not want the crown myself, but at least I had some claim to it through my birth. But that they should crown Guilford because they had made me marry him…I would not have it. I said that if they made me Queen I must have some authority. They were so angry with me. They forgot for a time that they had made me Queen. They maltreated me…
“Your Majesty, you should know that I am ready to die for what I did, for that deserves death. But, dear Majesty, it was not of my doing.”
I read this with tears in my eyes. It was true. I thought of her unhappy life. The happiest hours she had known must have been with Edward when they pored over their books and enjoyed a friendly rivalry as to who could learn their lessons the more quickly. And now, here she was, a prisoner in the Tower, awaiting death.
How could I ever bring myself to harm her?
MY THOUGHTS WERE PREOCCUPIED with marriage; and Reginald Pole was in the forefront of them. I wondered what he looked like after all these years. He was sixteen years older than I, and that would make him fifty-three years of age. Hardly an age for marrying.
I was excited to receive a letter from him. I opened it with eagerness, wondering if it would contain a reference to a marriage between us. I was not sure how I should feel about that; but I reminded myself that, if it did come to pass, it would have the blessing of my mother and the Countess if they were watching in Heaven, for it would be the fulfillment of their dearest wish.
He congratulated me on my accession to the throne. But his greatest pleasure was in the fact that he hoped to be receiving from me directions as to how we should set about restoring papal authority to England. There was one sentence in his letter which indicated clearly that marriage had been far from his mind, for he advised me not to marry. There would be plans for me but I was no longer young, and it would be better to remain single so that I should have full authority to bring about the necessary religious reforms.
It was hardly the letter of a lover.
There was also a letter from Friar Peto who, when he had escaped from England after he had so offended my father, had lived with Reginald ever since. I remember how Peto had angered my father from the pulpit when he had openly criticized him for deserting my mother. He it was who had said that, as had happened with Ahab, the dogs would lick his blood after his death. The prophecy had come true. There was no doubt that Peto was a brave and holy man.
“Do not marry,” he wrote to me. “If you do you will be the slave of a young husband. Besides, at your age, the chances of bringing heirs to the throne are doubtful and, moreover, would be dangerous.”
I felt depressed after reading these letters. The truth was stressed, by the blunt Peto, and I had to face the facts. I was too old for childbearing. But it had been one of the dearest wishes of my life to have a child, and in my heart I would never really give up the hope. It was doubly necessary for me to have a child now. I should give birth to an heir. If not…Elizabeth would follow me, and who could tell what Elizabeth would do?
She was being very cautious now. She was in a difficult and highly dangerous position and none would recognize that more clearly than Elizabeth. I who knew her well could read the alertness in her eyes. She was taking each step with the utmost care.
I must have a child.
I would not listen to Peto or Reginald. They had been too long out of England. They had probably heard of my bouts of ill health. No doubt they had been exaggerated. I did believe they had been in some measure due to my insecure position. When I think of all the years I had lived close to the axe…surely that could have accounted for my delicate state of health?
But I had come through. God had shown clearly that He had chosen me to fulfill this mission.
I had to succeed… and I would. I would have an heir. And for