Queen of This Realm

WHEN I LOOK BACK OVER THE FIRST TWENTY-FIVE YEARS of my life and consider the number of times I was in danger of losing it, I believe--as I have since that wonderful day when I rode into my capital city in a riding dress of purple velvet, beside me my Master of Horse, Robert Dudley, the most handsome man in England, and listened to the guns of the Tower greeting me, and saw the flowers strewn in my path--yes, I fervently believe that my destiny was to be a great queen. I swore to God then that nothing should ever stand in the way of my fulfilling it. And I have kept that vow. I could rejoice in those early twenty-five years--and indeed all through my life have done so--because during them I learned many a bitter lesson and it has been my endeavor never to forget one of them. I was young, lacking experience in the ways of men and women; and over my defenseless head--as dangerously as it ever did over that of Damocles--hung the sword of destruction. One false step, one thoughtless word, even a smile or a frown and down would come that sword depriving me of my life. I was not quite three years old when I had my first encounter with adversity and my fortunes changed drastically. I cannot say with truth that I remember a great deal about my mother though sometimes I fancy I do. In my mind I see the most brilliantly fascinating person I have ever known. I sense the soft touch of velvet and the rustle of silk, long perfumed dark hair and a wild sort of gaiety born of desperation. But there is one image of her which remains vividly in my mind and as long as I live I will never forget it. I am in a courtyard and my fascinating mother is holding me in her arms. At one of the windows there appears a glittering figure--large, imposing, red-bearded. It is the King and she is trying to say something to him through me. She is holding my hand and waving it at him, appealingly, desperately. For a brief second he regards us with exasperated indifference before he turns away. That actually happened. Later I discovered it took place three or four days before she was arrested and taken to the Tower. The memory of her desperation and his cruel indifference stays with me forever, and I vowed that no man should ever do to me what my father did to my mother. Before that she had been a presence of power, and my governess Lady Bryan, who was a kinswoman of hers, was overwhelmingly anxious to please her as was Mr. Shelton who was also a family connection. My mother looked after her own when she had the power to do so. But there came that bewildering sadness . . . the end of her visits . . . the days when I asked for her, and Lady Bryan turned away to hide her emotion. My father was a more tangible presence. I thought he was the most powerful man in the world. He certainly was in England. I was fourteen when he died so I could say I knew him fairly well. He was one who inspired fear and yet affection with it, and despite all his cruelty and all his ruthlessness he never lost the love of his people. That was one way in which I intended to emulate him. I learned from my studies of our history that it is a foolish monarch who loses the esteem of the common people. Lady Bryan told me that my father had once been very proud of me and used to stroll in the gardens at Hampton Court or Windsor--wherever the Court happened to be--holding me in his arms. I liked that picture--myself magnificently attired swinging high in the arms of a splendid king as his courtiers walked with him exclaiming at my perfections. That ended with an executioner's sword which severed my mother's beautiful head from her willowy body. What I do remember clearly is catching Lady Bryan by the skirts and demanding: "Where is my mother? Why does she never come now?" And when she tried to run away to weep in silence, I refused to relinquish her and insisted she tell me. She took me onto her knee and said: "My Lady Princess,Plaidy, Jean is the author of 'Queen of This Realm' with ISBN 9780449209790 and ISBN 0449209792.