Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,98

Durham House, where he was to muster his troops and set out the following morning. With him would be going our sons Jack, Ambrose, and Hal, as well as our daughters’ husbands, Henry Sidney and Lord Hastings. Andrew, John’s brother, and Francis Jobson, his half sister’s husband, were also accompanying John.

John knelt before Queen Jane, sitting in her chair of state. The night before, having heard of his agreement to take her father’s place at the head of her army, she had thanked him, sounding almost human in her gratitude. “We wish you Godspeed,” she said now as John kissed her outstretched hand. “You will keep us apprised of the pretend queen’s movements?”

“I shall, Your Majesty,” said John, rising in response to Jane’s gesture.

“Our trust is in you.”

“And in Your Majesty’s council.” In a low voice, John said, “Your Majesty, do be alert for treachery. I accuse no man, but these are volatile times.”

“We will be, my lord.”

With a final bow, John backed out of the queen’s chamber and walked through the council chamber as I and my daughters followed, wanting to be the last to see him off. The Earl of Arundel stopped his path. “I wish to say, Your Grace, that although we have had our differences in the past, I pray that God be with you,” the earl said, pressing John’s hand. “You may rest assured that I will spend my blood at your feet if the occasion warrants it.”

“I pray it may not come to that,” John said, obviously moved. “But I am grateful to hear this.”

Arundel looked down paternally at John’s page, Thomas Lovell, off for his first taste of battle, which I prayed would be slight. “Farewell, gentle Thomas, with all my heart,” he said, and ruffled the boy’s hair.

At last, I stood by the Tower landing with my daughters and my daughters-in-law as John prepared to step into the barge that would take him to Durham Place. He did not like long, undignified farewells in public, and in any case, we had given each other such a farewell in the privacy of my bedchamber the evening before, with the additional merit of it being pleasurable. So I settled for a kiss and a quick embrace, and my companions with me followed suit. “Do take care of yourself, my love,” I said as we pulled apart. “The Dudley women will not rest easy until you return,” I added lightly.

John smiled, then surprised me by sneaking a kiss just before he got on the barge. We stood there waving a few minutes more. Then John turned his attention to his companions, and we women filed back into the Tower. Back to the councilors waiting there, their false smiles still on their Judas faces.

***

I need not dwell at length on those next six days in the Tower. What is to tell? The council sent out proclamations urging various men to support Jane, who nodded approvingly at the denunciation of her opponents they contained and signed them in a firm, bold hand her great-uncle King Henry might well have appreciated. The Duchess of Suffolk and I sewed shirts for the poor and kept a silent count of the occasions when either Guildford or Jane slighted or irritated the other. Bad news of various defections to Mary trickled in, but there was nothing that made me lose heart entirely. John’s victory would not be as easy as we had hoped, but I had confidence there would be a victory.

Then, on July 19, Guildford came in, ashen. “The council’s taken off. I wasn’t asked to come along. Neither was the Duke of Suffolk.”

“Where have they gone? What are they doing?”

“I don’t know.”

A bell started pealing insistently. Some sort of news was to be proclaimed. Had John won a victory?

Without speaking further, Guildford and I hurried through the Tower gates and to Tower Hill, where a crowd had already assembled. There, I saw with relief, was the Duke of Suffolk, mounted on a horse. We pushed closer to him but could make no progress through the mob, which had started to light bonfires in its midst. Wine, ale, and beer were being passed around freely—too freely, really. John, a temperate man, would disapprove.

Then came the cries, faint at first but growing louder as the speakers approached. “Long live Queen Mary!”

“Good Queen Mary, daughter of our King Henry!”

“Long may she reign!”

Someone shoved a bottle in my face. Unthinkingly, I took a deep draught. “Mary?” I said, passing it back to the