Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,129

on his way. “Please, Your Grace, let us go home. Your health has been poor lately,” she added as a gust of wind made me shiver.

“No.” And then I saw my boy, being led to the scaffold by Thomas Offley, the sheriff of London. Some men, angry at the queen’s decision to execute him and anxious to show him sympathy, had been waiting to greet him as he was led out of the Beauchamp Tower, and they still trailed behind him, though he was surrounded by guards. He had no priest with him, and I felt a pang of satisfaction that he had denied the queen this concession. His expression was somber but not fearful, and he had his chin slightly up. Like a Dudley, I thought.

Guildford was dressed well, as I’d expected, in black velvet. Probably he had discussed what to wear with his brothers, who had all been moved to the Beauchamp Tower to accommodate the press of prisoners from Wyatt’s rebellion. I pictured them in their crowded prison quarters, laying out one gown, then another, my Robert snorting, “I wouldn’t be seen dead in that! Pick another.”

Taking leave of his well-wishers, Guildford mounted the scaffold steps quickly and nimbly, like the young man he was, leaving his guards behind. I caught myself wondering how Jane would mount her own scaffold. Would she shake out her skirts in the fastidious little manner of hers that had so annoyed me?

But it was not the time for thinking unkind thoughts.

“Why, he’s little more than a lad,” said a woman standing near me to her companion. A few minutes before, she had been happily munching on a hazelnut. She lowered her voice. “They’ll be executing babies next, for God’s sake.”

“He’s a young ’un, all right. His poor mother will be heartbroken.”

He is, and she will be, I thought. But I kept staring at the scaffold.

Guildford walked to the rail of the scaffold, just as his father and Somerset and countless others had done before him. He cleared his throat once, then twice; he had never liked it when his tutors forced him to make speeches. I found myself nodding at him encouragingly, willing the words to come out of his mouth as if he were in his chamber with his tutor instead of standing atop Tower Hill.

“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, according to law,” he finally said, and I hoped he had not decided to appropriate Anne Boleyn’s execution speech for himself. But he continued in a voice that was louder and clearer than it had been at the outset. “I took no part in this recent unrest, but I am guilty of wishing to wear the crown matrimonial on my head, and for that arrogance and presumption I deserve to die. I thank the queen, who is good and gracious, for allowing me a nobleman’s death, instead of the traitor’s death to which I was sentenced. Oh, and I should say I was justly condemned by the law, and I bear malice to no one, and if I have offended anyone, I hope he will forgive me.” Guildford paused and stared at the crowd, plainly considering what to speak of next. “I guess that’s all I have to say,” he said after a moment and knelt quickly to say his prayers. They took considerably longer than his speech. Guildford prayed so earnestly and with so little self-consciousness, holding his eyes and hands up to his Maker again and again, I felt my own faith returning, if just barely.

My son rose, took off his gown and doublet, and neatly turned down his shirt collar. The black embroidery on it was my own handiwork. Then Guildford forgave his kneeling executioner—the lame one who had beheaded John—and considered the blindfold that was offered to him. He shook his head, refusing it, and laid himself on the block. The executioner slowly raised his axe.

“Spare him!” I pushed forward. A man was blocking my path to the scaffold, and I began to beat on his back. “For pity’s sake, don’t take my boy! He is innocent. He has done noth—”

The axe fell, and I crumpled to the ground.

42

Frances Grey

February 8, 1554, to February 23, 1554

I did not see my girl die at Tower Green, and for that I will never forgive myself. I should have had the courage she did.

Harry’s part in what became known as Wyatt’s rebellion had been short and disastrous. Ill prepared for the sudden change of plans,