In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,211

they were wondering about me and the baby which had never existed. I knew there must have been fantastic rumors. There was one I heard about a certain woman—and even mentioning her name. It was Isabel Malt, who lived in Horn Alley in Aldersgate. She had given birth to a beautiful healthy boy at that time when I was waiting for mine. It was said that a great lord had offered Isabel a large sum of money for her baby if she would part with him and tell everyone that the child had died. The baby was to have been smuggled into Hampton Court and passed off as mine.

These wild rumors might have been amusing if they were not so tragic; and unfortunately there will always be those to believe them.

If I had had a child, I wondered, what rumors would have been created about him?

I had never been so unhappy as I was at that time. As I rode through those crowded streets and met the curious gaze of my people and heard their half-hearted, if loyal, shouts, I thought I would willingly have given my crown for the happiness of a loved wife and mother.

It had been arranged that Elizabeth, who was to be a member of the party come to bid Philip farewell, should travel by barge. I did not want to have to compete with her for the cheers of the people. I felt that she, with her young looks and easy manners, would have commanded the greater share of the acclaim—and, worse still, it would have been noticed.

I took a barge with Philip at the Tower Wharf and was beside him as we sailed down to Greenwich.

The members of the Council accompanied us, and I noticed how ill Gardiner was looking in the torchlight, for it was dusk. I was glad of the gloom. I did not want the bright sunlight to accentuate the ravages in my face which the last weeks had put there.

There came the moment when we must say goodbye.

Philip kissed all my ladies, as he had when he arrived, and I was reminded of that day and yearned to be back in that happy time.

At last he took his leave of me. He kissed me with great tenderness, and I tried to tell myself that he was as grieved at our parting as I was; but I knew in my heart that he was not. I was aware that, if he had greatly desired to stay, he would have found excuses for doing so. He gave no sign of his pleasure in leaving, and his features were set in a mold of sad resignation.

I felt the tears in my eyes and tried to suppress them. But I could not do so. Philip would hate tears.

I clung to him. He responded stiffly and then, murmuring, “I shall be back ere long,” he left me.

I stood lonely and bereft, watching him depart. I would not move. He stood on the deck, his cap in hand, watching me as I watched him.

And there I stayed until I could see him no more.

I had lost my child, and now my husband was taking with him all hopes of happiness.

I THINK I MUST have been the most unhappy woman in the world.

Sullen looks came my way as I rode out; a pall of smoke hung over Smithfield, where men were chained to stakes and died because they would not accept the true faith. I had not wanted that.

“Persuasion,” I had said. Was this persuasion?

Gardiner had died. He had left me to reap the harvest and had not stayed long enough to see what effect it would have.

I was lonely and helpless. This was my mission. I had completed it. I had brought the Church back to Rome but there was little joy for me.

I was ill most of the time. My headaches persisted. My dreams were haunted by the screams of people chained to the stakes in that Smithfield which had become a Hell on Earth.

It had to be, I assured myself. The Council said so. Every man had a chance to recant and save his life. They were all offered mercy. Most of them preferred martyrdom, and the fires continued. It had become a common sight to see men and women led out to be chained to the stakes, and the sticks lighted at their feet.

It was a black day when Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London, and Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, went to their