King Edward was not yet dead when Northumberland sent his letters to Mary and Elizabeth on July 4th—in that much he told the truth. Had they hurried to Greenwich, they might just have been in time to see Edward breathe his last, and perhaps to see guns carried up into the Tower and men hired to fight.
On Tuesday, July 6 1533, Edward Tudor was at last released from his lingering agony. Northumberland forbade any person, on pain of death, to spread news of the king's demise, and made clear to his Council that his preparations to ensure the ascendency of Queen Jane—to which they had all agreed—were not yet complete. The greatest problem was that Lady Mary had not responded to his letter. She was still free, and he needed to secure her to prevent any rising against Jane in Mary's name.
Privately, Northumberland ordered his son Robert to ready three hundred men and ride to Hunsdon to take Mary prisoner. If she tried to escape, the duke said, she was to be taken by force, even killed, for in the hands of her cousin, the Emperor, she would be a knife poised at England's throat. Undoubtedly Emperor Charles V would use the change in succession as an excuse to invade England and with Mary in his hand could claim he was not invading but restoring the natural order.
Robert Dudley was brave and clever but, partly owing to having been the indulged son of the most powerful man in the kingdom for years, not much given to acting in secret. Moreover, he soon realized it was impossible to gather and arm three hundred men very quickly or completely in secret. Robert was not ready to ride to take Mary until midday on July 7th.
Long before then, in fact as soon as Lord Richard Rich heard of the king's death and the need to keep it quiet, the yellow diamond on his finger began to flash and glitter. Rich was not completely happy with Northumberland's attempt to set Mary aside, although he had voiced no protest. Deep in his heart he believed in the old rite. As he admired his ring, he remembered his interview with the sorcerer Otstargi who had told him that Mary would be queen, that all plans against her would fail.
Rich knew that the trap Northumberland had laid for Mary and Elizabeth had already failed. That further shook his confidence in Northumberland's arrangements. And when he soon caught wind of Robert Dudley's collecting men and arms he was even less happy. Otstargi had said that whatever expedients were used, Mary would be queen and Rich could save himself only by betraying Northumberland's plans to Mary. Was there no way, Rich thought desperately, in which he could show himself Mary's friend without exposing what he had done to Northumberland?
He would not risk himself by trying to send a message, but before the king's body had grown cold, Rich bethought him of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. Sir Nicholas was a man of no importance a hanger on at Court but one who had barely escaped punishment for his strong leaning toward the catholic rite. Throckmorton, never trusted, had not been near Edward, had no close cronies among Northumberlands's few confidants, and thus was unlikely to have heard of the king's death or other dangerous secrets. No one would think it significant if Sir Nicholas left the palace.
Rich drew Throckmorton aside and told him of Northumberland's plan to replace Mary and take her prisoner. The man's eyes lit, first with rage and then with enthusiasm. When Throckmorton left the palace, he did so quietly; he did not take his horse—and indeed, no one noticed him. He walked into town and to the shop of a goldsmith with whom he had done business and in whose house it was sometimes possible to hear Mass.
Throckmorton passed along his information; the goldsmith, who had reason to trust his visitor was horrified. When Throckmorton explained he did not dare leave Greenwich lest his purpose be suspected, the goldsmith agreed and pressed his hand. He would go, he said, eyes bright with a fervent hope. He saw Throckmorton out and for a few moments watched as he walked back to Greenwich Palace. Then he turned to his journeyman and said he had to run an urgent errand.
The goldsmith left his shop by the back door. Unremarked, he made his way to a livery stable—he did not own a horse although he had been raised in the country and rode very well—and thence to the gate to the London road. At the first crossing out of the sight of the guards, the goldsmith turned north.
He rode hard, changing horses as necessary, sustained by the hope that, as queen, Lady Mary would restore the true religion. He was riding for Hunsdon, but when, in the late afternoon, he came to Hoddesdon he saw a concourse of folk around the manor house and the guardsmen were wearing Lady Mary's colors. The goldsmith made his way through the crowd, asking for the Comptroller or the captain of Lady Mary's guard.
As she came down from her own horse, Rhoslyn felt the goldsmith's anxiety. She did not know whether he was another assassin, but Pasgen was no great distance. Together they went to where the goldsmith was now surrounded by suspicious guards.
"Why do you want to see Lady Mary?" Pasgen asked.
The other guards, knowing it was he who had saved their lady's life only a day since, stepped back so he could ask his questions.
The goldsmith, clinging to his horse for support, shook his head. "I do not demand that honor," he said, "only to speak to someone who has her ear."
Rhoslyn stepped around Pasgen. "I am Mistress Rosamund Scot, maid of honor to Lady Mary." She looked at the man trembling with weariness, at the lathered horse. "What news do you carry?"
"Desperate news. The king is dead, and Northumberland has sent his son with a large toop of men to take Lady Mary prisoner. He has a 'device' signed by every Councilor and almost every man of note in the Court to declare Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth bastard and of no condition to take the throne. He will make Lady Jane Grey queen."
"God help us," Rhoslyn breathed, and then, "How do we know this is true?"
"I have no proof," the goldsmith admitted, and went on to identify himself and mention Throckmorton who brought him the news of the device to set Jane Grey on the throne in Mary's place and to take Mary prisoner to prevent her from contesting his plans. "But," he finished, "I have no purpose beyond bringing this warning. I have no suggestions for Lady Mary. She can ignore my news or she can go in any direction. You have no cause to trust me, but you have no need to trust me. I can tell no one anything, except that I found you at Hoddesdon. If I go now, I will not even be able to say whether you left or stayed."
"I will go to Lady Mary now," Rhoslyn said. "You—" she looked at Pasgen, fumbled in the purse that hung from her belt for some coins, which she pressed into Pasgen's hand "—take this good man into the town and to a good inn and buy him drink and supper. When he is thoroughly rested, let him go his way."
"I will tell the captain where you are," another guard said.
Pasgen thanked him, took the tired horse's rein from the goldsmith so that he could not mount and ride away, and drew him out of the milling crowd of arriving carts and servants toward the town. He could feel his lindys stiff and slightly quivering and knew the little creature was reflecting Rhoslyn's tension and anxiety. He did not expect that to change very soon.
Rhoslyn hurried into the house and pushed through the bustle in the reception room to the bedchamber where Mary had just sunk into a chair. Brushing by the other maids of honor so roughly that Mary's attention was drawn, Rhoslyn curtsied deeply and then simply sat down on the ground beside Mary's left hand. Straining upward, she muttered "Northumberland intends to set a usurper, Lady Jane Grey, on the throne and has sent a large troop of men with his son to take you prisoner. Likely they are on their way to Hunsdon, but they may pass here and stop to enquire because of your retinue. What shall we do, my lady?"
Mary paled, then flushed. "No one will usurp my throne," she said through her teeth, and then, "Are you certain of this news?"
"Not at all, madam. A man says he has ridden from Greenwich. He claims to be a goldsmith of that town and a true believer, that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, also a true believer, told him the news and bade him ride to warn you."
"Throckmorton," Mary murmured. "I do not know Nicholas, but I remember Sir George Throckmorton, who was trusted by my father." She blinked. "Sir George had a passel of sons. Sir Nicholas may have been one of them. But that does not tell me whether to believe this warning."
Rhoslyn had sensed the goldsmith's sincerity. It was possible that Throckmorton had lied to the goldsmith; Rhoslyn could not sense that, but Mary had not meant to stay at Hoddesdon and certainly had not meant to go on to Greenwich. To take the man's warning, then, could do no harm.
"My lady," she said softly, "even if the news is false—indeed, more particularly if the news is false—I believe it is not safe to stay here where we are known to be. Even if he means well, who knows to whom the goldsmith will carry word of your lodging."
Mary turned her head to look at the crucifix hung over the prie-dieu. Her lips moved silently for a moment, then were briefly bitten together, until she said, "Rosamund, find Rochester, Waldgrave, and Englefield and bring them here, also Jane. Bid Susan to rid this chamber of the other ladies and arrange they prepare to settle in for the night."
As Rhoslyn left, she saw Mary rise and walk toward the prie-dieu. She was still praying when Rhoslyn returned with the men of the household. Jane, who Rhoslyn had met just outside the door, was kneeling behind Mary. The men genuflected. One of them drew a sharp breath. Rhoslyn did not know which, but she sympathized with him. Mary could spend an inordinate amount of time on her knees.
This time she did not. She rounded out her prayer with a Ave Maria, rose, and went back to her chair, gesturing to Jane to close the door of the chamber. "Now, Rosamund, repeat what you told me."
Gasps and mumbled curses met Rhoslyn's news and Englefield asked sharp questions about the likelihood of it being true. Rhoslyn started to admit there was no proof of it, but Rochester made a sharp gesture.
"I fear the news is all too true. I knew something ugly was brewing. A few friends wrote that they were uneasy but had no sure word, only men who would no longer meet their eyes."
"Rosamund thinks we should leave here." Mary said.
"But we are all weary and the horses are tired," Waldgrave protested.
"I do not think it wise to move the whole cortege," Rhoslyn put in hastily, thrusting the thought of a secret escape into the men's minds. "Surely we can find a dozen fresh horses in the stable here."
The thought, diluted by the need to impress three minds at once, was somewhat less effective than usual. Frowns wrinkled foreheads.
Nonetheless Englefield, the least strong-minded of the three nodded. "If the goldsmith betrays our position—or even if he does not, my lady, you made no secret of our coming to Hoddesdon. Say that those seeking you are told by a servant left in Hunsdon or someone from the village that you planned to come here. If they follow and see all your people settled in and you are denied to them because of the hour or for any other reason, I am sure they will wait some time on your convenience."
"Yes," Waldgrave agreed. "And in the meanwhile, we can be gone in any direction. If we have fresh horses . . . I will go and see about that right now on the pretext of seeing how our own horses traveled."
"Yes." Now Rochester also nodded. "Have something to eat, my lady, and then say you are weary and wish to lie down on your bed and rest. Then, quietly, we can saddle up and be gone, no one to know any better than that you are here, asleep."
"Why not?" Rhoslyn said, projecting a feeling of relief. "We can send a messenger back here. If no one has come seeking you, my lady the cortege can join us all the better for a few day's rest."
Albertus had slipped out of Edward's chamber some hours before Edward drew his last breath. He was a good enough physician to know that the boy would not live out the day. While Northumberland was still insisting to the ambassadors from Charles V that Edward was somewhat improved, Albertus went down to the river and hired a boat. From Otstargi's house in London, he Gated to the only place his amulet would take him, the palace of Caer Mordwyn.
As always he reported first to Aurilia, but she wasted no time bringing him and his news to Vidal. Vidal instantly launched a probe to strip Albertus of everything he knew, but his probe met a block. He snarled at Aurilia but she did not release the shield.
"I told you before," she snapped, "I value Albertus's mind. I do not want it damaged. You are too rough when you are excited. Albertus will gladly tell you anything you want to know."
"You are too tender of him," Vidal snapped back. "I do not wish to waste the time with speech."
Aurilia shrugged indifferently. "Then when you send him back to London, you need only twist time so that he arrives only a few moments after he left."
That was true enough, Vidal thought, his teeth set hard; his glance at Aurilia was angry. He remembered better, absorbed all the details better, when he stripped information from a mind. Aurilia, he thought, was all too fond of this human. When Mary was on the throne and power was pouring into the Unseleighe, he would truly strip Albertus. Then he would have the secret of that cloudy blue potion Aurilia loved so well, and he would have a much tighter rein on her behavior.
"Well?" he said to Albertus.
"What I know for fact is that the king will be dead in a few hours. What I have gathered from a word here and a word there and put together with guesses is that Northumberland has forced the Council and the Court in general to agree to set Mary aside. The reason he gave to Edward was that Mary was declared a bastard when Henry's marriage to her mother was declared invalid."
"Then Elizabeth must die in the next few hours!" Vidal exclaimed.
"How?" Aurilia asked, smiling with lifted brows. "Hatfield is not a great keep, but it is a strong house and Elizabeth has a large troop of defenders guarding the place. No one is allowed admittance so there can be no human assassin. A whole army would be needed to break Hatfield, which would scarcely go unnoticed. And you cannot send any from Underhill to kill her. So open a defiance of Oberon and Titania will not go without reprisal."
"But she will be dead!" Vidal's calm had cracked and blue flickered over his fingers.
Albertus's knees gave way and he sank down on the floor, sobbing.
"Will she?" Aurilia asked, ignoring her henchman's terror. "Where are the mages you called to do away with Denoriel in that unformed land? One Elizabeth caved in like an eggshell and translocated to the Void; the other lost both his legs when she melded them with what he stood upon. Sufficiently aroused, Elizabeth can protect herself all too well."
Vidal snarled and Aurilia lifted a hand.
"No, no," Albertus whimpered; if Aurilia lost the confrontation, he would have no protection against Vidal. "Northumberland does not intend to put Elizabeth on the throne. He knows he cannot declare one daughter bastard and the other legitimate. Elizabeth is also named bastard and unfit to rule. Northumberland has another candidate for the throne and, I have heard it whispered, has forced nearly the entire Court to sign the device naming Lady Jane Grey queen."
"Ah." Aurilia nodded. "The pale weeping girl the FarSeers see come and go in the black pool. But the image is so unstable. If she rules, it will not be for long."
"Oh." Vidal's ill humor eased. "Well a civil war will be good for us." Then his expression darkened. "But Mary has no common sense. Unlike Elizabeth she has taken few precautions to protect herself. She has only twenty or so guardsmen, and the gentlemen of her household are not so young and were never soldiers."
"You cannot send Underhill creatures to protect her," Aurilia exclaimed, sounding really horrified. "As it is half of England believes Catholics are allied with the devil and the pope is his vicar on earth. You cannot surround Mary with such forces or she will not be able to rule."
"Of course not." Vidal laughed. "Albertus has hired for me a force of humans who have no connection with the devil aside from preferring the Catholic rite. They will all fight for Mary." He turned to look at Albertus who had, trembling, climbed to his feet. "That is correct, is it not?"
"Yes, my lord." Albertus nodded eagerly. "As you bid me, I told Howard-Mowbray not to dismiss the men and I supplied him with the coin you provided to pay them. I believe that most of the men he hired are of the Catholic persuasion and will be eager to protect Lady Mary and be faithful to her."
"That is excellent," Vidal said, calm again. "You told me that this Howard-Mowbray is able to use his head, so your orders to him will be simply to protect Mary in any and every way he can, not only fight for her but try to enlist others in her cause. Gold will be forthcoming if it is needed. But he is not to try to prevent a civil war. Let them fight, so long as Mary is safe and can rule when the fighting is over."
Aurilia nodded. "Very clever, my lord, just what we need." She looked toward Albertus. "And to help matters along, you will go with them, Albertus. Keep a watching over this Howard-Mowbray. If he disobeys, slip away and let me or Prince Vidal know."
"It might not be easy for me to get away if Howard-Mowbray plans to violate his trust," Albertus said weakly.
"I will give you several amulets," Aurilia said. "When you invoke one, no one will notice you. You will not be invisible. If you touch someone they will feel it and be able to see you. But if you are clever, no one's eyes will fix on you so you will be able to escape to London, from where you can Gate here."
By Tuesday, July 11th, Elizabeth was nearly hysterical with anxiety. Since Northumberland's letter had arrived on the 4th, her fate had been more and more in doubt. On July 6th there had been several small parties that rode by and even around the estate. Sir Edward believed they were scouting parties to examine the defenses of Hatfield. Sir Edward had suggested a retreat to Donnington, which was well fortified and safer, but Elizabeth was afraid to move and when Harry met her in Llachar Lle the night of the 7th, he advised against it. It was important, he felt, that Elizabeth seem less cautious than she and her advisors were. If Hatfield were attacked, Harry pointed out, Denno would Gate her to Donnington. Once she was gone, her household would be safe and could follow.
In the inn in Hatfield town on the 8th, Sir Edward heard that the king was dead—the news was all over London and was freely talked of in the tap room. And Elizabeth had a letter from a lady at the Court which she read aloud, pale-faced and thin lipped, describing how, on Sunday, July 9th, Bishop Ridley had preached against both her and Mary, calling them bastards and unworthy of the throne. The same letter mentioned a meeting of the Council that very day, not in Greenwich or Whitehall but in Syon House, Northumberland's residence.
On July 10th a hastily and ill-written letter came to the house on Bucklersbury from Cecil. It exposed the device that disinherited both Mary and Elizabeth and named Jane Grey as Edward's heir; Cecil also reported he had heard rumors an armed troop had been sent to take Mary prisoner. He was free at last to send news, he explained, because Jane had been brought into the Tower, the traditional place for a monarch to wait coronation. She had been proclaimed queen in London—which had greeted the proclamation with sullen silence.
With considerable effort Elizabeth neither screamed nor threw anything. How would Mary react? Elizabeth could do nothing. While Mary lived—as she herself had told Northumberland when he wanted her to sign away her right to the throne—she had no right at all. She could not protest against Northumberland's attempt to wrest the throne out of the direct line. The right to act was Mary's.
Elizabeth did not doubt Mary's courage to fight for what she wanted. She had seen her sister stand up against Henry himself, against Edward, and against the whole Council for the sake of her religion. But Elizabeth also knew Mary had never desired the throne, never wanted to rule. Poor Mary, she had desperately wanted to marry, to be her husband's comfort and helpmeet, to have children . . . most of all to have children. Would Mary fight for the throne, or would she accept a marriage to a suitable prince that would take her out of England?
On Tuesday July 11th, Elizabeth was so waspish that all her ladies, stung once too often, found good reason to seek employment out of her sight. Seemingly annoyed, she begged Kat to sleep in her chamber instead of one of the girls. That was not Kat's duty, but Elizabeth merely said she wanted her.
The truth was that Kat was the only one who might come in the middle of the night with tinctures or possets to calm Elizabeth, who wanted her governess in a sound bespelled sleep. With Kat asleep Elizabeth would not need to worry that Kat would get by Blanche and discover her absence. And Elizabeth intended to attend the meeting regularly held in the Inn of Kindly Laughter on mortal Tuesday nights.
Jaws clamped together on hasty words, Elizabeth allowed Blanche to array her in a night rail, allowed herself to be tucked into bed and kissed on the forehead by Kat, waited, hardly grinding her teeth together, for Kat to settle herself into the truckle bed . . . and then at last muttered the bod cyfgadur spell. Barely had Kat's eyes closed when Elizabeth sprang out of bed and ran into Blanche's room where she twitched, mouthed imprecations, and pulled her night rail this way and that until Denoriel appeared in the Gate.
"Let us go. Let us go," she urged, rushing at him. "I must hear what Rhoslyn has to say. I should have made you take me to the Inn of Kindly Laughter last Tuesday, but—"
"It would have done no good," Denoriel said soothingly. "Last Tuesday Rhoslyn knew no more than you. Mary also had a letter from Northumberland summoning her to Edward's deathbed. Last Tuesday Mary had not yet decided whether she should go and try to save Edward's soul or take refuge."
Elizabeth made some wordless sound of impatience and Denoriel took her hand and stepped back into the Gate. As they arrived at the Gate of Logres, Miralys appeared.
"What would you like to wear?" Denoriel asked as he turned to the elvensteed to mount.
"Oh, can we not go directly to the Inn of Kindly Laughter?" Elizabeth begged. "I do not care what I wear. Just anything that you can make on me. I could even stay in the night rail. No one Underhill is likely to know it is a night rail—"
"You are absolutely right about that," Denoriel said, laughing. "But I would have a dozen offers for you every third step we take. That gown is a little revealing."
Elizabeth looked down at herself, saw her dark rose nipples pressing forward against the nearly transparent lawn, saw the shadow of bright red curls on her mount of Venus. Color rose in her cheeks, but before she could turn beet red or speak, she was dressed in black boots over long black hosen, a white shirt, open at the neck and with wide sleeves buckled at the wrists, a light blue tunic that almost reached her knees belted in soft black leather, and a little hat with a feather. Absently Denno had made indentations in the brim of the hat for long Sidhe ears, which called attention to Elizabeth's human ears, but before Elizabeth could mention it, they were back on the Gate and at the Bazaar of the Bizarre.
In spite of Denoriel being far taller than Elizabeth with much longer legs, she was ahead of him past the first cautionary sign: NO SPELLS, NO DRAWN WEAPONS, NO VIOLENCE . . . ON PAIN OF PERMANENT REMOVAL and then past the second, which to her read CAVEAT EMPTOR and to Denno YMOGELYD PRYNWR. He caught up with her as she stepped through the market gates and turned to look for the sign of the inn.
He was just in time, as a long-legged creature with a head remarkably like a grasshopper and burnished golden scales reached for her arm, saying, "Whither away pretty mortal?"
"Not for sale," Denoriel said, interposing his body before the clawed hand could fasten on Elizabeth's sleeve.
"I assure you the mortal would be with her own kind and well treated," the creature said earnestly.
"Not for sale because she is a free person with all rights owing to any person in the Bazaar of the Bizarre."
"Ah. Then I must address myself to the person herself."
"Good sir or madam," Elizabeth said with a brief curtsey, "do forgive me for being less than polite, but I am in great haste."
"But I can offer you such delights as will make haste unnecessary forever."
Elizabeth shivered. "I am mortal. My life is short. Haste is natural to us and gives us pleasure. Forever is difficult even to believe in. Do pardon us and let us go on our way."
At which moment a flying creature trailing a cloth emblazoned with "Tafarn Caredig Chewerthin" came to a hover before them. Although there was no breeze, the emblazoned cloth streamed away from the flyer.
"That is the inn we want," Denoriel said.
"For what do you need an inn?" the golden-scaled creature asked irritably. "I can furnish—"
But before any more words were spoken, the entrance to the inn was no more than a few steps away, down an opening in the stalls that Elizabeth had not seen before. Ordinarily she would have asked—not how the inn could appear where it had not been moments earlier, but what would happen if two different parties wished to find the place at the same time. In this case, Elizabeth was so intent on seeing Rhoslyn and learning what Mary's decision was, if Mary had come to a decision, that she simply shook her head at the golden-scaled creature and rushed in the entrance.
There was a corridor, a feature Elizabeth did not recall but to which she paid no attention, and a faint sense of disorientation, which was common enough anywhere Underhill that it made no special impression. Then she and Denoriel were in the common room. Elizabeth looked to the left and back against the wall. Aleneil and Harry were already seated opposite each other at the table for four, which would have room for more if more arrived.
"Da, have you had any news?" Elizabeth asked, rushing to the table.
"No more than what Aleneil has already told you," Harry said, getting to his feet and embracing Elizabeth. He kissed her on the forehead and pressed her into a chair now next to his. "Jane is lodged in the Tower and Northumberland has sent out heralds and trumpeters to proclaim her queen."
Elizabeth did not react to that. Denno had already told her how the crowds in London had stared in silence, not one person aside from the archers sent to save the heralds from being torn apart had cried "God save Queen Jane." Elizabeth was not surprised. She had a sure instinct for how the people of England would react to what those who governed them did. She knew that her sister Mary was dearly beloved, her kindness and generosity to the humble folk widely known.
"His men have not taken Mary, have they?" Elizabeth looked up at him anxiously.
"That I cannot answer, my love," Harry said, sitting down again. "My eyes and ears are the servants in the Court and in a number of households—including that of Northumberland. I would think they would have picked up on the excitement if Mary were taken prisoner, but—
"No, she is still free. But I do not know for how long."