All I could think of was the Countess. How I longed to see her, but I guessed that, in view of the suspicions under which her family now lived, that would never be allowed.

Then, to my horror, I learned that the Earl of Southampton and the Bishop of Ely had been sent to her home to question her and as a result she was taken to Southampton's house at Cowdray and kept a prisoner there. What was my father trying to prove? It was years since the Countess had been snatched from me, but I wondered if he were trying to implicate me.

He was in a vicious mood. Many people were against him, and that was something he could not endure. I heard, too, that his leg, far from improving, was growing more painful. He had always been watchful of those of royal blood. I waited for news in trepidation.

An attainder was passed by Parliament against Reginald and the Countess, among others, including Montague and Exeter who were already dead. Southampton had found a tunic in the Countess's house which had been decorated with the arms of England—the prerogative of royalty.

She was taken to the Tower.

I could not stop thinking of her plight. I knew how bitterly cold it could be within those stone walls when one had no comforts at all, no heat, no warm clothing; and she must be in her late sixties. How could she endure it?

I wanted to go to my father. I wanted to ask him what harm an old lady like that could do.

It was not so much that I feared to face his wrath but that if I attempted to plead for her I would not only arouse his suspicions against myself but make things worse for her. But if I could have helped her, I would have done anything. I found I did not greatly care what became of me, but my instinct told me that to plead for her would only increase his anger against her. He had destroyed Montague and Exeter…royal both of them. Geoffry Pole was too weak to be a menace; Reginald, whom he regarded as the arch conspirator, was out of reach. And, apart from that, the Countess was the last of the Plantagenet line. But how could he really believe that she would harm him?

How precariously we all lived!

Chapuys came to see me.

“You must act with the utmost caution,” he said.

I replied that I was worried about my very dear friend who had been as a mother to me.

He shrugged his shoulders. “The Countess will remain in the Tower, whatever you do.”

“It is ridiculous to say that she is a traitor. She would never harm the King. She is guilty of no crime.”

“She is guilty, Princess, of being a Plantagenet.”

I turned away impatiently.

“Listen,” he said. “The King is fearful of revolt. Those who would take up arms against the King look for a figurehead. He is pursuing a perilous path. I cannot believe he fully understood what he was doing when he proclaimed himself Head of the Church of England.”

“He is determined to remain so.”

Chapuys looked over his shoulder and whispered, “It could cost him his throne. And little Edward is too young. A baby cannot rule a country.” He looked at me steadily. “The King greatly fears the influence of Cardinal Pole. He has hired assassins and sent them to Italy to kill him.”

“Oh no!” I cried. “Will this nightmare never end?”

“In time it will. Have no fear. We are aware of what is happening. The Cardinal will take care. He believes it is his duty to live, to play his part in righting this wrong. He always travels in disguise. None could recognize him as the Cardinal.”

“What are his plans?”

“Perhaps to gather together the foreign princes and force England back to Rome.”

“You mean war?”

“The King will never admit that he is at fault. He will never come back to Rome. It would have to be a new king…or queen…”

I caught my breath.

Chapuys lifted his shoulders. “We can only wait. But for the state of affairs in Europe this would have been done long ago. But … François is unreliable, and my master has many commitments.”

“The times are dangerous.”

“It would be well, my lady Princess, if you remembered that. Lie low. Say nothing that could have any bearing on what is going on.”

“But I am so wretchedly unhappy about the Countess.”

“Curb your grief. Remember… silence. It could be your greatest friend at this time.”

MEANWHILE MY FATHER was becoming restive. He had been a widower far too long and he wanted a wife. He had been very set on the beautiful Mary of Guise and was furious when she was promised to his nephew James V of Scotland. He raged and demanded what they thought they were doing, sending the woman to that impoverished, barbarous land when she could have come to England?

No one said that the lady might be remembering that the King of England had had three wives—one who was discarded and might have been poisoned; another who was blatantly beheaded; and the third who had died in childbirth; and that he had been heard to say when her life was in danger, “Save the child. Wives are easily found.”

Now, it seemed, not so easily.

Thomas Cromwell, always looking for political advantage, had turned his eyes to the German princes. They were Protestant—a point in their favor; moreover François and the Emperor were now behaving in a friendly fashion toward each other. So …Protestant Germany seemed to offer a possible solution.

The Duke of Cleves had recently died and his son, William, had succeeded him. Alliance with England and the possibility of his sister Anne becoming Queen of England would be a great honor for his little dukedom.

My father was very eager to have a young and beautiful girl for his wife. He remained furious with Mary of Guise who was going to Scotland. It was a slight hard to forgive, and he needed to be soothed by a bride younger and more beautiful than Mary of Guise.

He was interested in Cromwell's schemes for the new alliance: it would give him particular satisfaction to snap his fingers at those two old adversaries, Charles and François; alliance with the Germans would give them some anxious qualms. He could attain two desires at one blow—disconcert them and get a beautiful bride for himself.

But she must be young, she must be beautiful, and she must match Anne and Jane in physical attraction and at the same time be docile, loving and adoring…everything he would ask for in a wife.

He sent Hans Holbein to Cleves to make an accurate portrait, and when the artist came back with an exquisite miniature, my father was entranced. The contract was signed at Dàsseldorf and with great impatience he awaited the arrival of his bride.

Cromwell had learned his lessons from Wolsey, who had always sought to strengthen alliances through marriages; and now Cromwell concerned himself with mine. Perhaps he should have paused to remember poor Wolsey's humiliating end and that some of the easiest projects to disappoint were these proposed marriages. At first he decided that the brother of Anne of Cleves would be just right for me, but before the plan could be put into action, he had discovered a man who, he felt, would be a more powerful ally than William of Cleves. He would have the alliance with Cleves through the duke's sister Anne, so why not strike out in another direction? The aim would still be among the German princes. Philip of Bavaria was a nephew of Lewis V, the Elector Palatine, so by this alliance we could have allies in two places instead of one.

Moreover Philip of Bavaria would be coming to England with the embassy which was to arrive for the wedding of the King and his new wife.

For so long I had been the victim of frustration. I had reached the age of twenty-two, which is old for a princess to remain unmarried; and when I came to think of all the prospective bridegrooms I had had, I had come to believe that there would never be a marriage for me.

And now…Philip of Bavaria was here and I was to meet him and, as Cromwell was anxious to forge the bonds between our country and his, it really did seem as though my marriage might be imminent.