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wont of late, hands clasped behind his back. Northumberland stared up at the portrait of the man who had so magnificently changed the rules to marriage, to ruling, to legitimacy. He wondered if the portraits still laughed at him. If they did, he was no longer aware of it.

Time was not to be on his side. In June, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, accepted the imminent death of Edward; it was a matter of weeks, if not days, he had been told. There was no way Jane and Guildford could produce the heir he needed. Northumberland needed to get the Devise changed, Edward had to sign the amendment with the privy councillors witnessing it. The heir to the throne would then be the Protestant Lady Jane. Dudley began to draw support to his cause. Lady Jane must ascend to the throne of England and Catholic Mary, the chief rival to his scheme, must be secured, when the time came, in the Tower.

The Devise for the success was written in Edward’s own hand. A single page whose words would direct the future of England. Naming Jane Grey’s male heirs as his successor had placed the event of his death far into the future. Northumberland had been able to assure the young monarch that this was a mere security, an eventually that he needed to provide against. Now, however, Northumberland needed Edward to change it, and that required that the boy be aware of the immediacy of his death.

Edward, propped up on pillows, his breath rasping noisily from tortured lungs regarded the Duke with dark-rimmed eyes as he approached the bed.

“Where is Henry? Send him back. I don’t want to be alone.” Young Sidney, who spent his days at the boy’s bedside, now slept in an adjacent room so he was on hand when he was needed.

“I have a grave task,” Northumberland said as he pulled a chair close to the side of the bed and sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving Edward’s spent body.

Edward regarded him with a frightened gaze.

“Your country, your Kingdom needs you to safeguard her. Your physicians tell me that God is calling you to his side.” Northumberland spoke the words slowly, watching Edward carefully, hoping the boy still had the capacity to understand what he was telling him and that he was not too late.

A gasp caught in the dry throat, and Edward’s cracked lips parted, his voice little more than a whisper. “But Henry is giving me one of Brom’s pups when they are born next month.”

Northumberland ignored the remark and the boy’s distress. “I need you to perform for me one last task, a simple one, and I will help.”

Edward looked at him, confusion plain on his face. “Did you hear me?”

“We need you to amend the Devise, we will help you. Will you do it? It is a simple matter of a few words,” Northumberland pressed, leaning towards the boy.

“I want Henry,” Edward said, his voice cracking.

“He shall be returned to you, after this is complete,” Northumberland’s voice was hard.

“Please.” Edward protested, trying to raise himself up on the pillows.

“He will be brought back to you as soon as we have this simple matter dealt with.”

“Henry, come to me,” the boy tried to raise his voice and call for his friend, but the command could not be heard outside of the darkened bedroom. “Bring him back, please,” Edward tried again.

“Once this is done. The longer we argue the longer you will be without him,” Northumberland made the threat quite clear.

“I will do it, bring him back,” Edward conceded quietly, desperation in his voice.

“Very well,” Northumberland, his hands on the arms of the chair he began to rise.

“Only if you bring him back now, I’ll do it, but I want Henry here, now,” Edward managed, the effort of making the demand sent him into a coughing fit, his body falling back against the pillows.

Northumberland did not really want any more witnesses to this event than were necessary, and those that would see it had been carefully chosen. Henry Sidney, though, posed little threat, and he was sure he could control him. “As you wish.”

The assembled group had evidently been waiting outside of the door, privy councillors chosen for their loyalty to Northumberland, they would witness the changes. Entering with them, alarm on his face, was Henry Sidney.

The sheet that required Edward’s alteration was placed on his lap on the bed. When it became obvious that the boy was reclined too far to be able to write it was Northumberland who hoisted him up while another of those in attendance pressed a pillow behind his back to support him. Hunched over, damp hair clinging to his temples, Edward tried to focus on the sheet on the board before him.

“Here, I want you to draw a line through these words,” Northumberland indicated with a blunt forefinger where he meant on the sheet.

“I can’t see them properly,” Edward’s whistling voice declared.

Northumberland growled an order and a second sheet of clean parchment was produced, dropping it over the Devise it covered up the bottom lines exposing only the first line. “The first line at the top, strike them through.” A pen was placed in his hand, his fingers coaxed around the quill.

“Leave him be.” Henry Sidney pushed between the councillors.

“Henry, sit with me,” Edward managed, and the pen they had pressed into his right hand dropped to the covers.

“Damn it, Henry stand back. This needs to be done,” Northumberland growled. Retrieving the pen he slid it back into Edward’s hand. “These words, strike them through.”

A deadly silence fell as a pale emaciated hand drew a line through the first sentence on the Devise.

For lakke or issue of my body cumming of thissu femal

There was an exclamation from the man to Northumberland’s left, and a rapid and heated conversation. Henry Sidney looked in alarm between the dying boy in the bed and the squabbling privy councillors.

“We needed that line, it still needs to say ‘For lack of issue,’” The man supplied when Northumberland turned on him. “He’s erased too much.”

“Damn it man you needed to be clear!” Northumberland swiped the devise from the board in front of Edward and the men in the room peered at the ruined document.

“He can write it in again here,” one pointed to the space left between the title and the erased line, “as long as it’s between the title and the signature it will still be binding.”

Northumberland, having difficulty containing his temper, turned back to Edward. “I was badly advised, your Majesty, just a few more words from you and we will leave you in peace.” Then to the man on the opposite side of the bed, “Give him a pen, hold it for him.”

The pen was again in Edward’s hand, and slowly he wrote the words one at a time that Northumberland dictated. Each one written above the line he had struck out, and each one in a shaky script.

“For.” Six pairs of eyes watched the word appear on the parchment.

“Lack, yes lack. That’s right, now write of issue…”

The process took place in silence, the only sound the tiny scratches on the page from the quill’s tip and Northumberland’s voice directing the writer.

“You’ve missed male,” the man to the left of Northumberland piped up when Edward had finished as he was directed.

“Male!” Northumberland rounded upon him.

“It should read ‘lack of issue male of my body,’” the councillor supplied again.

Northumberland’s colour had risen again, and before further argument could ensue he had pushed the pen back into Edward’s hand, sliding the Devise beneath it, demanding “male, write that one word here.”

“No!” The call came from the man holding the board on the opposite side of the bed. “It’s the lady’s male heirs not his, you fool.”

There followed a frantic and loud argument during which the Devise for the succession was amended five more times, more words that Edward had added were crossed out. The final document witnessed and signed by the King that would direct the succession after his death looked more like a schoolboy’s poor work rather than the document that would determine who controlled England during this tumultuous time.

 

 

Chapter Four

London – May 1553

 

†

At Syon House on the Thames, the ready pawn, Jane, waited to be moved one or maybe two paces forward. Northumberland was there too, deep in conversation with Jane’s father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk. The subject, as always, was a further assessment of the strengths and likely success of Northumberland’s subversion of the succession. Dissecting, county by county, the likely support and assessing which could be counted on.

“If it comes to it, we can hold London against Mary. Her support is confined to the north. The Protestant cause will pull southern counties to us, cutting her off before she can draw them from the north, and we will take the day,” Suffolk summarised the discussion.

“Mary’s papacy will bring her no support on that front, I agree. We must be prepared,” Northumberland replied thoughtfully.

“Can we count on Cranmer?”

“Has he any choice?” Northumberland sputtered. “He knows his execution awaits him if Mary has her way, and Ridley knows that as well.”

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, was an ardent supporter of the reformed religion. Ridley, Bishop of London, was an adherent of Cranmer’s. Both men held a lot of sway. Ultimately, though, they would do what was best for themselves.

“They are powerful men, John, and they can pull many to our side. We need to nurture their support,” Suffolk pointed out.

“I need do no such thing!” Northumberland replied angrily. “Understand this,” he said, leaning forward, “Mary will throw the altar cloth over all of England the first day she puts a toe on the steps to the throne. All Protestants will suffocate under its weight. Cranmer and Ridley cannot afford to hesitate. It is Jane and the reformed religion or a heretic’s end. I should say it would not be a difficult choice.”

Suffolk was not intimidated by Northumberland’s attitude. “Can I take it from this that your policy on publicising the state of Edward’s health has changed? I assume that there are still only a few who know how perilously close to death he is.”

“Word will spread soon amongst our supporters. They should only need a little time to consider the alternatives. You forget, Henry, times are changing. Here is an opportunity that for many comes rarely in a lifetime. Those who stand with us know where our favours will lie when Mary is in the Tower. I rely on the Protestant cause, yes, but more than that, Henry, I rely on ambition. Ambition is the key.”

Henry sat back in his seat and considered John’s words. There was not much he could say, for it was his ambition that had led him to marry Jane to Northumberland’s son. Henry saw two men behind the throne of England, Northumberland, father-in-law of the Queen, and himself with an even closer tie.

“So, how fares Jane?” Northumberland asked after a lengthy pause.

“Jane is much improved. Some minor ailment I am told laid her low last week.” Henry didn’t want to talk about Jane.

“Good, that is progress. We cannot have another in ill health.” Henry knew that Northumberland’s interest in the health of his son’s new wife was no idle enquiry. The answer Henry should have given was no, Jane was not faring well and was not a willing participant in their plans. Jane fought with her new husband, verbal battles