I learned the details of the wedding and its splendor a few days later from a reliable source, Uncle John. He wrote to Parry, who in turn gave the letter to Colby, who let me read it at the empty cottage in the woods. Because I was searched whenever I came back from my walks, I memorized relevant passages before I returned the missive to Colby.
Philip had arrived in Southampton with great pomp and pageantry and then progressed to meet Mary in Winchester. The Spaniards who’d accompanied him were described as haughty and sneering, though Uncle John, a more charitable man, declared they were no more so than any other aristocrats.
Twenty-six-year-old Philip, their prince, was apparently handsome, blue-eyed, and athletic, and had drawn much praise for his appearance. Rumor had it that he put his attractive body to use in the bed of any lady who would have him, but that same physique also made him regal and every inch a king consort.
He’d made it quickly clear that although he was glad to pull heretic England back into the fold of the mother church, he would not oppose the fact that Mary was England’s sole ruler. This pleased the bishops and lords in Parliament and on the council, who had only at the last moment given in about the marriage—with that stipulation.
Philip also had begun organizing tournaments, with all their grandeur, so that the lords of the land could compete as they had done in Henry’s time.
Clever, I thought as I read Uncle John’s letter. Philip knows he’s not wanted and works to soften the blow.
Mary had emerged from their chamber the morning after their wedding a very blushing bride. Uncharitable onlookers claimed Philip was pale and red-eyed from having to fortify himself against the onerous task.
I read of the couple’s consummation with a qualm. A pregnancy would weaken Elizabeth’s position and at the same time strengthen Philip’s.
The royal couple was, at the time of Uncle John’s letter, traveling to London where they would continue their quest to pull England firmly under the dominance of the Catholic church. Charles, Philip’s father, had given him kingship over Naples and also styled him as King of Jerusalem, and so Mary perforce was now queen of those as well.
“And so it begins,” I sighed as I handed the letter back to Colby. “Are you still willing to wait and see whether Mary conceives?”
“It is the best thing we can do,” he answered. “For now.”
I disliked having to be idle, but Colby was correct. I could think of no other solution that would not involve bloodshed.
Colby kissed me again before I left that day, but I was too distracted to take much pleasure in kisses. Or so I told myself.
When I returned to the palace, my basket, cloak, and pockets were searched, and as usual, they found nothing. I sought Elizabeth to tell her what Uncle John had written and found her in another towering rage. Bedingfield, rigid on his knees, regarded her timorously.
“He refuses to give my Bible to me,” Elizabeth shouted when I entered her chamber. “Can you credit such a thing, Eloise? Shall I not read and study God’s word?”
“I assure you, Your Grace, you may have a Bible,” Bedingfield said in desperation. “Your Grace reads the Latin so well, I am certain it will be a joy for you to read God’s word in that tongue.”
Elizabeth screamed, fists at her sides. Bedingfield fled, and Elizabeth shouted obscenities at his retreating bulk.
The chill of autumn gave way to winter. In November we heard—openly through Bedingfield, and covertly though Parry—that Mary was with child. Elizabeth became quiet as Bedingfield read the official dispatch, her hands clenched fiercely in her lap.
One Cardinal Pole, who’d been exiled by Henry for opposing his marriage to Elizabeth’s mother, returned from the Continent bearing an edict by the Pope forgiving the nation of England for its heresy. The English people, apparently, were not to blame for their error in leaving the Church of Rome, despite two kings that had led them astray.
So, at one stroke, we were Catholic again. Mary had her handsome husband, her Church restored, and an heir inside her body. Her joy was complete.
“Meanwhile,” Colby said when we next met, “the rest of us wait and watch.”
“She will have her child,” I said unhappily. “What will become of Elizabeth, then? And me?”
“There is rumor of a plot to make certain Mary miscarries the child,” Colby said slowly. “A poison that will cause her to lose the babe.”
I flinched at the cruelty of this. “How awful. Is it true?”
“I do not know.” Colby sat beside me on the bench he’d brought in to furnish the little cottage. It had a table now too, and stools for that. “It is rumor only at this point. It would be most difficult to get near enough to her, in any case.”
“I must draw the line at that,” I said resolutely. “Even if such a child might be the death of us all.”
“It might not be.”
Colby’s tone went thoughtful, and I glanced at him, my interest caught. “Why do you say so?”
“Philip is trying to persuade Mary to be more lenient to Elizabeth. He’s told her that there is no need to disinherit Elizabeth entirely. Whether or not Mary manages to produce an heir, it is best to keep Elizabeth as a possible holder of the crown—reformed church or no.”
“Philip, pawn of the Holy Roman Emperor, prudent?” I asked with a smile. “Who would have thought it?”
