Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,121

by Guildford, then by Jane and her two ladies, and then by Ambrose and Hal.

Jane, wearing a black velvet gown and a black French hood, with a black velvet prayer book hanging at her belt and yet another black book in her hands, looked more an archbishop than the archbishop himself, save for her disadvantage of gender. She nodded at Frances, who dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief Stokes passed to her while Florio heaved a Florentine sigh.

I drank in the sight of my three sons, whom I had not seen since July, although their wives had been given permission to visit them. Their imprisonment was not harsh, and they all looked well-tended, though the exercise they were allowed—walking on the Tower leads—was far less than the sort of vigorous activity to which they had been accustomed. My sons each had a taste for fine clothing, and since the days of their young manhood, they had never gone to an event together without consulting with each other about what to wear. This trial was no exception. All wore short gowns over black embroidered doublets. The three of them sought me out with their eyes as they entered the room, and smiled.

I smiled broadly in return.

Sitting in judgment of the prisoners were the Duke of Norfolk, who had sentenced John to die, and fifteen others. One by one, the accused were brought to the bar. None had lawyers to assist them; it was not the way of a treason trial.

The archbishop pleaded not guilty. Then came Guildford’s turn. “Raise your hand.”

Guildford obeyed.

“Thou, Guildford Dudley who stands there are accused of taking possession of the Tower and of proclaiming Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, as queen. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”

My son did not hesitate. “Guilty.”

Jane was next. Accused of taking possession of the Tower and proclaiming herself queen, with the additional charge of signing writings as the queen, she asked, “My lords, if I plead guilty, may I speak afterward?”

“You may.”

“I plead guilty,” Jane said, as easily as if she appeared in court every day of her life. “Yet I would like to add that although I accepted the crown, I never sought it, and that some of those before whom I stand sought to place it on my head.”

Norfolk, who could congratulate himself on having had the foresight to be a prisoner in the Tower during the events in question, nodded curtly. “You are finished?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Stand down.”

Jane obeyed. Her reproof to the judges had been no more successful than John’s, but I could not begrudge her a speck of admiration for having made it.

Ambrose and Hal, each charged with taking the field against Queen Mary and proclaiming Jane as queen, also pleaded guilty.

Because the archbishop had pleaded not guilty, the other prisoners had to wait until his trial was finished before their sentences were pronounced. At last—Cranmer having changed his plea after the Crown presented its evidence—each of the prisoners was called to hear his or her sentence. “Guildford Dudley, as you have pleaded guilty to high treason, I hereby sentence you to death by drawing, hanging, and quartering.”

Hal’s wife, sitting next to me, clutched my hand. I fought back nausea.

“Jane Dudley, approach the bench!”

The only sound in the Guildhall was Jane’s skirts swishing against the floor. “Jane Dudley, as you have pleaded guilty to high treason, I hereby sentence you to be burned alive on Tower Hill or beheaded as the queen should please.”

Frances Grey slumped over in a faint on Adrian Stokes’s shoulder. Jane’s face had not even changed.

My two other sons were sentenced to die the same grim death as Guildford. Then the prisoners once again formed a neat line and exited the Guildhall, this time with the axe facing them as a signal to the crowd that they had been sentenced to death.

Under the devoted ministrations of Master Stokes, who had all but knocked the curious out of the way so that his lady could come to herself in peace, Frances was reviving as I began to make my way out of the Guildhall. She looked up at me as I passed. “The queen promised me she would spare my daughter. Do you think her majesty will do so now that my child and your sons are under this dreadful sentence?”

“You know her better than I do, my lady. Unlike you, I have not been allowed into her presence.”

I had struck home. Frances blushed. Then she said,