The Titian Portrait

Chapter 4

Late afternoon on a grey day. Some small brightness licks at the lattices of the window and filters light into the chamber. It soon fades. I dislike winter days and especially as the light dims early and plunges us into night and darkness. The candles can be lit early on and usually are at my discretion, but a gloom still pervades the chamber at this time of year. The deep-brown panelling around the room seems to lose its sheen as night starts to fall. Even the colourful tapestry on the far wall appears pale and lifeless at this time of day.

I dismissed all my ladies-in-waiting a short while ago as I felt the need to be solitary and my Lady Margaret Douglas was beginning to irritate me with her tiresome anecdotes about past queens that she had heard from her many admirers. After sitting here for a while in the ever-encroaching gloom, however, I am feeling the need of at least one companion. I send for more candles and have them lit, deciding that artificial light is preferable to no light at all. I send next for Jane Dormer for, if I am to have one companion who will not irritate and darken my mood, it is she. Jane is of a bright and cheerful disposition almost always and rarely fails to brighten my mood. She is in no wise a handsome creature, but her soft features and ready smile are good enough for me; I tire very quickly of pretty women who are always preening themselves. Jane too, is small in stature, has copper-coloured hair, clear eyes and we are not unlike physically and in deportment generally. Like me, she is very short, has red hair and plain, wan skin but bright blue eyes. Physically, too, it seems, we have much in common.

She enters the chamber with a warm, bright expression on her face that cheers me immediately. I send for sweet French wine and raise my goblet with Jane. Sweet, with a hint of bitterness and as refreshing as could be desired, it perks me up immediately. Jane thinks that I look quite pleased about something and tells me so.

“You know, I was just reflecting on my speech at the Guildhall,” I confess. “My Lord Howard was gracious enough to call it magnificent.”

Jane raises an eyebrow slowly.

“What, you think I exaggerate or did not deserve the compliment?”

Jane utters a short, tinkling laugh. “I’m sure you deserved every word, although we should perhaps bear in mind that if you said black was white Howard would agree with you.”

“He wouldn’t,” I protest, unable to suppress a smile. “Anyway, you may scoff but it had the desired effect. Who could have dreamed the man would recruit 20,000 men to the militia in less than 24 hours?”

Jane agrees immediately on that point and expresses wonder that Wyatt and his rebels were crushed so swiftly and convincingly so soon after he had been successful early on in his disastrous campaign. She finds it impressive that Wyatt was lured in towards the City of London and then had the gates at Ludgate closed against him. On the other hand, she whispers satirically, it would be difficult for the finest warriors in the world to resist 20,000 armed and bloodthirsty soldiers coming towards them.

“Not all 20,000 at once,” I say, keeping a straight face and a bland expression.

“No, not that,” agrees a laughing Jane.

At any rate, it is done now and over and I can continue with my policy of restoring the authority of the Holy Roman Church in our land, safe again from those who would overthrow me, doubtless take my life and put my half-sister Elizabeth on the throne of England. It will be a long and painful process and may not even be achieved in my lifetime, but I will never rest from my attempts to complete it. There is much to do also in building up our navy to resist all attempts by those who would invade our shores and colonise us.

“When is his trial?” Jane asks.

“In a few days’ time, I am informed.”

“So soon?”

“The sooner the better. He can have no defence of his infamous behaviour. We will have his head on a spike before March is out.”

“Indeed.”

As soon as Wyatt is locked securely in the Tower, my trusted officials will interrogate him vigorously to ascertain what part Elizabeth played in this uprising. If the plan were to overthrow us and put her on the throne, I cannot believe that she was not a willing conspirator with them or, at the very least, knew of the plan and heartily approved it. He may not wish to implicate her or admit her involvement, but my interrogators are advised by me to be very, very persuasive. The truth will come out, of that I am sure. As it is a concern and worry to me, I mention my fears to Jane.

“She wouldn’t dare openly ally herself with Wyatt, surely?”

“How can I tell, Jane?” I enquire sombrely. “Members of my own family have hurt and attempted to break me as much as my worst enemies. My father, my half-brother, Lady Jane Grey and my half-sister, Elizabeth.”

Jane’s expression conveys to me that she is shocked and sympathizes with my predicament. She is a goodly friend and, I think, of all my ladies, the one I trust the most as loyal and true. She is one of few intimates to whom I have opened my heart in discussion; she knows the pain I endured when my father annulled his marriage and sent my faithful, God-fearing mother away into isolation. I never saw her again after that and I suffered grievously as a result. Worse was to come when my father, with his new wife, that Boleyn woman, had a daughter and I was assigned to wait upon her as a servant. After that, how could I ever have a normal bond with Elizabeth? Only Jane knows the full details of these transgressions against me as I had to confide in one good friend or I fear I should have gone mad.

“I can’t believe Elizabeth would be so foolhardy,” Jane muses quietly but I see from her expression that she is as doubtful as I.

“It is not just her,” I continue irritably. “Jane Grey has languished in the tower these past six months and now that her father and brother took part in Wyatt’s rebellion and traitorous upsurge, I have little choice but to have her executed. As she is my cousin, I resisted all attempts by my councillors to have her sent to the block, but I fear I can no longer do so. She is a symbol for the English church that Wyatt and his motley crew wanted to perpetuate, and she must, I regret, go to her death.”

“If that is what you must do, Mary, you will do it,” Jane says. “You are much stronger than your enemies have ever realised.”

I smile. She is right, of course. Have I not resisted an attempt by my half-brother to have me eliminated from the line of succession to claim the throne that is rightfully mine? Have I not resisted and crushed an attempt to overthrow my government, have me killed and put my half-sister on the throne? And have I not resisted the strong advice and attempted persuasion of my councillors to abandon my plan to marry Price Philip of Spain and wed an English noble?

I remind Jane of these achievements and she nods in agreement. “So what of young Philip?” she asks.

“He is tall, handsome,” I tell her cheerily, “and he will make a wonderful husband.”

“Where and when did you first meet?” she asks, grinning at me. “Tell me all.”

“We have never met,” I admit, quietly. “Yet.”

“Never met?” she says incredulously. “And never spoken?”

“Well, no, he speaks extraordinarily little English, I am informed.”

Jane laughs and shakes her head vigorously. She says I never fail to surprise and sometimes amaze her, but she knows, well enough, that I must have a plan and, knowing me, it is one that will work. She is sincere, too; I can see that in her face and the way she speaks. So many of my ladies of the court just want to please me and flatter me and I see through them all. They are tiresome. Jane is an exception.

“But how on earth will you communicate?” she wants to know.

“Come with me,” I say, rising and signalling to a servant to open the door, “and you shall see.”

We walk into the corridor and move along until we reach the chamber where I keep my most prized possessions. On the wall that receives the most lighting from the window lattices hangs a magnificent portrait. I turn to Jane and invite her to take a good look.

“So this is Prince Philip?”

“It was sent to me from another Mary, in Europe,” I murmur softly. “They say it should be returned later.”

“And will you return it?”

“Never.”

Jane lets out a high pitched, tinkling laugh. She adds that it is, indeed, a striking portrait.

“Isn’t it? Painted by Titian and who better in Christendom to produce a more faithful likeness?”

“Impressive,” Jane breathes quietly, nodding as she looks at the portrait.

“Is he not the boldest, the most handsome man you ever set eyes upon?” I ask her. “I often come in here on a bright morning when the light is best and gaze at the portrait for ages.”

I take a step back, the better to admire the large picture and its imposing subject. The light is fading now so this is not the best time to study it although I am held, entranced by the painter’s work. And the man represented therein. I am impressed by his choice of apparel and the bright colours but most of all it is the figure and the upright bearing of the man himself. Those eyes, the straight nose and his firm chin from which sprouts the neatest, small, pointed beard. I am informed that Phillip arranged for this portrait to be sent to me as an indication that he would be a suitable husband. Well, I am convinced, to be sure.

“It isn’t just that a marriage like this, linked with Spain will be fortuitous to our realm,” I tell Jane as we return to my smaller, privy chamber. “There is the question of leaving an heir who will continue the Tudor line.”

“But a Spanish prince?” Jane begins, confused.

“One who will have no authority whatsoever in this land,” I inform her brightly, “should he outlive me. I have made sure of that and my government has ratified it. Philip was not happy about signing away such influence, but he agreed to it, reluctantly, as a way of ensuring that the marriage should go ahead.”

“Oh, I see.”

We settle back down in the chamber as the light begins to fade further and, at a movement of my hand, further candles are lit. More wine is brought, and our goblets recharged. Outside, beyond the window lattices, I hear the early chiming of bells, calling the people to evening prayers. A servant builds up the fire, which burns brightly and sends waves of heat and shadows across the chamber. The sounds of heavy cartwheels can be heard passing below the window in the street outside. The scent of cinnamon rises and pervades the dusky room.

“And he will have little or no authority in the country during our lifetimes,” I continue. “My government was firm on that point, and I agreed readily as the basis for their support of my marriage to a foreign prince.”

“Even though they were set on your marriage to an Englishman?”

I raise an eyebrow slowly. “It is whom I wish to marry that carries the full weight,” I say. “Not what the government suggests.”

Jane nods and I note the wonder in her eyes that such arrangements have been concluded to my satisfaction.

“Nor will he have the authority to take us to war with any other nation unless it is with my approval.”

“What will he have authority to do, for heaven’s sake?” Jane asks mischievously, her eyes glinting.

“Provide me and our realm with a son and heir,” I tell her joyously. “Although a daughter will be acceptable now that I am established as England’s first queen regnant.”

Jane laughs, a fluttery sound that echoes round the chamber.

“Such times we are living in.”

“Indeed we are.”

A courtier enters following a rap on the door just as Jane and I are settling in again and taking draughts of wine freely. I cannot hide my annoyance at this unwanted interruption to our repose but bid the man state the purpose of his visit immediately.

“Bishop Stephen Gardiner, Sir Francis Englefield and ambassador Renard are here,” he states flatly. “They wish to speak with you, Your Majesty, and state that it is of an urgent nature.”

“Do they, indeed?” I reply harshly. “Very well, I will see them. Jane, join the ladies and bid them prepare for supper. I will join you all very soon.”