In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,77

He has aged considerably. I have heard that there is an ulcer on his leg which is very painful. There is a possibility…But perhaps I should say no more. Indeed, it might be unwise to…”

I knew what he meant. My father was ageing. He had not been spectacularly successful in begetting children. What if he could get no more? Then who would follow him? Elizabeth? She was out of favor now, judged a bastard, for the King did not accept his marriage with Anne Boleyn. Nor did he accept his marriage to my mother. So there were two of us. Young Richmond—Henry Fitzroy—could not be counted because he would not be here much longer. I was the elder, and I would find greater favor with the people than the daughter of Anne Boleyn.

Chapuys was pointing to a dazzling prospect. Queen of England! A queen with a mission, which was to bring England back to the Holy Catholic Church.

Something happened to me then. I was lifted out of my despondency. I had a reason for living.

God would smile on me, surely. He would approve. My father had sinned against the Church. If ever I were Queen of this realm, I would repair the damage he had done.

Everything had changed. I was a woman with a mission.

I MUST RETURN to Court. I had been long enough in exile. I was not sure how my father felt about me, but I did know that he had been very angry about my loyalty to my mother. I had stood firmly for her against him and what had especially infuriated him was that the people were on my side. He would remember those cries of “Long live the Princess Mary!” when he had declared that I was no princess. Even now they were shouting loyally for me, and he could not have liked that.

I dared not write to him direct. Instead I addressed myself to Cromwell.

I did humble myself. I hoped my mother would understand if she could look down and see what I was doing. If I continued to be obstinate, I should be in exile forever, always wondering when someone would consider it necessary to make an end of me. Chapuys had now endowed me with a new ambition. I would succeed. I must succeed. I should have Heaven on my side, for I should be the one to bring England back to the true religion.

And if to do so I must humble myself, then humble I must be.

So I wrote asking my father's forgiveness, and I said how sorry I was to have disobeyed his wishes.

I waited for some response. There was none.

I wrote to him again and, having written, my conscience smote me. How could I, even as I stepped toward that dazzling future, deny the legality of my mother's marriage? Whatever the result, I knew that could only give her pain; and she, with her Catholic Faith, her unswerving devotion to the Church of Rome, would never wish me to deny my faith…no matter what good it brought to England.

On impulse I wrote a separate note to Cromwell, telling him that, while I wished him to give my letter to the King, I feared I could not deny the validity of my mother's marraige and I could not agree with the severance from Rome.

In spite of this, Cromwell seemed determined to do all he could to bring me into favor with the King. He was fully aware that the people expected it and wanted it and that the King should do it for that reason. He must have been uneasy as to the effect my father's conduct was having on the people, who had clearly shown their support for us; true, they had hated Anne Boleyn when she was puffed up with pride, but people are apt to change their minds when those about them fall from grace. There was no cause now to envy Anne Boleyn, and envy is often at the roots of hatred.

Cromwell was first and foremost a politician and he would see that I must be received back at Court, which was the safest place for me to be… not for myself so much as for him and the King. He wanted no supporters gathering round me, seeking to right my wrongs.

My father must have realized that it could be dangerous to refuse to bring me back. I was, after all, no longer a child, being twenty years old— old enough to be a figurehead, old