The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England by Judith Arnopp (best ereader for students TXT) 📕

young, doyou see? For all I’d been through I couldn’t imagine fortune would not turn thefull strength of her smile on me at once, but … the wheel turns, and then itturns again. One day sunshine, the next it comes on to rain.”

Hunsdon – May-June 1536

We are at Hunsdon when we hearthe news about the concubine’s death. The May sunshine streams through thewindows, echoing the joy in my heart that I am finally free of her. Thesurprising thing is that with the concubine gone from my life, everythingremains the same. I walk the same corridors, brush aside the same servants, eatthe same food, play the same lute…

Elizabeth ismiserable with a back tooth, her cheeks red and her eyes wet from weeping. As Iwatch her knuckle her eye and snuffle in pain, I realise she is theroyal bastard now. Her status is as nebulous as mine. I should feel triumphantbut instead the only emotion I hold in my heart is pity. I know exactly how shefeels, for her life has become an echo of my own. We have both lost our mothersand our father hates us.

I sweep herinto my arms, kiss her sweaty forehead and begin to sing discordantly todistract her from her woe. One day she will be old enough to understand thatshe is the product of a king’s lust for a concubine, and nothing more. I closemy eyes, squeezing her so tightly she squeaks in surprise.

Her nurse looksup from the fire and frowns. I suddenly realise that the nursery is unusuallyquiet; the attendants who habitually fawn upon Elizabeth’s every whimper are nolonger here.

“Where are theprincess’ women?” I ask, and the nurse shrugs, bending her head back over her darningneedle.

“We areinstructed to address her as Lady Elizabeth now,” she sniffs. I turn away withmy sister in my arms. My poor little bastard sister. She is no better than I. Herformer title is counterfeit. The best she can hope for is a place at court as ‘MyLady Bastard’. We are a pathetic pair.

 My heartjolts as I picture the next time she sees Father. She is too young tounderstand what has happened and will run to him as she always does. She willhug his knees and beg to be taken into his arms, and he will push her aside, turnaway and break her heart … as he has mine.

When she isfinally sleeping, I hurry to my chamber and write again to the king. Since hismarriage to Jane Seymour, I have written to wish him happiness and to request ameeting with my new lady stepmother. There has been no reply. Surely he hasforgiven my stubbornness; surely, he understands it now. He will welcome me backto court and into his heart. Surely my reinstatement is imminent.

Instead of theexpected loving letter welcoming me back to court, the king sends Norfolk. Witha sinking heart, I watch his arrival from the turn in the stairs.

Hisdispleasure is clear from the manner in which he leaves his companions outsideand bursts unceremoniously through the door. He sweeps off his hat and throwshis riding gauntlets on a chair. “Send for the Lady Mary.”

I pull backinto the shadows and begin to creep backward up the stairs. Once at the top, Ilift my skirts and race along the corridor and into my chamber. I sit on thebed, heart thumping, and wait for the summons. There is no reason for me tofeel such alarm, yet I know without doubt that I am in imminent danger. Norfolkcannot hurt me, I reassure myself. Bastard or not, I am still the king’sdaughter! He cannot hurt me.

A short timelater, a servant scratches at the door and summons me below. Gathering myresolve, I stand up, tidy my sleeves, straighten my cap and, with my chin ashigh as I can lift it, I follow her downstairs. A ring of greybeards awaits me,Norfolk at their centre.

He does notlook up when I enter. His delegation shuffles papers; a servant enters with atray of wine and places it at Norfolk’s side. He fills a cup, the liquid asthick and red as bastard blood. The eye he turns toward me is jaundiced andfull of contempt.

“I willdispense with pleasantries, Lady Mary. Your refusal to obey the king displays afreakish departure from the natural obedience of a daughter toward her father.”

I open mymouth to reply but he cuts across my words. “The king could banish you, removethe comforts that now ease you but … he is merciful, he is kind and is willing towithhold his displeasure if you will now submit to him.”

He places bothhands on the table and leans threateningly toward me.

“Will youaccept the laws and statutes of the realm and accept King Henry as Supreme Headof the Church and repudiate the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Rome? Will youacknowledge your mother’s marriage was invalid and accept all the king’s lawsand statutes?”

My heart skipsaround my chest, thumping loudly in my ears. Summoning all my courage, evokingthe memory of my sweet mother, the love and blessing of sweet Jesus Christ andHis Father in Heaven, I swallow my fear and whisper,

“No.”

“NO?”

He thumps thetable. The wine cups rattle. I flinch from his roar as if he is the lion andnot the messenger. I clench my fists, my nostrils flare. I am a princess ofEngland, a daughter of Spain.

“I will obeymy father in all matters save those that injure my mother, or my present honourand faith.”

Norfolk stalkslike a preying wolf around the edge of the table, his head thrust forward, thefur on his collar raised like hackles.

“You are anunnatural, traitorous jade! I can scarce believe you are the king’s daughter atall and if you were mine…” He is on his toes, his chest inflated as he towersover me. I cannot help but cringe away as his spittle blasts into my face. “...I would knock your head so hard against the wall it would turn as soft as abaked apple.”

How dare he! Istraighten up and glare into his face but have the sense to keep my lips tight.I do not speak, but my thoughts are eloquent. They must be blazing