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

One day,I scream internally, one day I shall take my revenge on you for this … andyour henchmen. I will hang you from the highest tower in the land and unravelyour sorry innards before the nation. I shall bring you down and Norfolk willbe NO MORE!

My courage lastsonly as long as it takes for them to gather their things and ride away. Then Icollapse on the floor, a girl again, stricken with terrified tears. Try as Imight, I am unable to compose myself and lie limp in the arms of the servants whotake pity and carry me to my chamber.

Afterwards, Iam kept under constant surveillance. I am allowed no privacy, no peace, and lettersfrom my friends and supporters are confiscated. Cromwell, who lately spoke inmy support, now backtracks and advises me to sign the required articles or Ishall be the most vain, ungrateful, unnatural and obstinate person living. Butthere is something inside me, something I cannot control, and I refuse to obey.I cannot and will not concede defeat and so … my father names me traitor.

The king thenturns his attention to my friends, starts to target my supporters. Anyone withsympathy for either me or my dead mother is removed from office. Sir WilliamFitzwilliam and the Marquess of Exeter are dismissed from the Privy Council, andsometime later Sir Anthony Browne and Sir Francis Bryan are arrested andinterrogated in the Tower. Sir Nicholas Carew, who has long been sending meletters of encouragement, is also arrested, along with Thomas Cheyney and JohnRussell, who is thrown into the Tower along with Lady Anne Hussey, the wife ofmy chamberlain.

It will be myturn next, I know it will.

Sometimes myfear is so great it steals my breath away. There is only God, yet when I fallto my knees, gasping for air, afraid of the walls, afraid of the sky, afraid ofthe very world, I am not sure He is listening.

There is to bean enquiry into my treachery. I am to be questioned and judged. I know theywill find me guilty. They will say I am wilfully defiant of the king’sauthority and must die by the sword. I imagine climbing the steps to thescaffold, speaking bravely to the people, but the picture is washed away by mytears. They say Anne Boleyn died bravely. Will I be so courageous? I do notthink so. I think I will die a screaming craven.

Lower than Ihave ever been, I write with terror in my heart to Chapuys, beseeching aid fromSpain. I can wait no longer. I must escape the country now!

When at lasthis reply arrives, I greet his words with both relief and disappointment. If mylife is in peril, he urges me to consent to the king’s will. My safety is paramount,and I must sign whatever damn paper the king wishes in order to preserve mylife.

With thethreat of imminent death hanging heavily over my head, I take up the pen andperuse the despised papers.

First, Iconfess and acknowledge the king’s majesty to be my sovereign lord and King, inthe imperial Crown of this realm of England, and do submit myself to hisHighness, and to all and singular laws and statutes of this realm, as becometha true and faithful subject to do…

I inhalesharply and, before I breathe again, I sign it: “Mary.”

I do recognise,accept, take and repute and acknowledge the King’s Highness to be supreme headon earth under Christ of the Church in England, and do utterly refuse theBishop of Rome’s pretended authority, power and jurisdiction within this realmheretofore usurped…

I sign it:“Mary.”

I dofreely, frankly recognise and acknowledge that the marriage, heretofore hadbetween his Majesty and my mother, the late Princess dowager, was, by God’s lawand Man’s law, incestuous and unlawful.

I hesitate; closemy eyes and beg my mother’s forgiveness before signing it: “Mary.”

I throw thepen aside and slump forward onto the table, my head in my arms. I have betrayedeverything I believe in, all that is dear to me. I have named my mother a whore,and myself a bastard, and offended not only the Pope in denying him but my dearGod in Heaven too.

There is not aperson on this earth whom I despise more than I despise myself.

Within weeks, Iam summoned by the king to a private audience. Full of trepidation, I wait foradmittance, walking on wooden legs through the door where he holds out his armsand invites me into his embrace.

It is as ifall my prayers have been answered. Instantly, I forget the years of neglect,the nights of weeping, the cruel separation from my mother. His vast chest pillowsme, his lips are warm on my forehead, and when he pulls away and looks into myface, I see there are tears standing in his eyes … as there are in mine.

“Mary,” hesays. “My own sweet daughter, how glad I am that you are obedient once more.”

I smileuncertainly, piqued by his sentiment, but I say nothing for my attention hasbeen drawn to the quiet presence of a woman waiting a discreet distance away.This must be his new wife, Jane. I release the king’s hand, turn toward her andcurtsey low, but she moves swiftly forward and raises me up, kissing my cheeks.

“My dear Mary,you are most welcome. I am glad to have you home, where you belong.”

 She pressessomething into my hand, something that digs sharply into my palm and, when Ilook down, I see it is a diamond ring.

My ownjewellery was taken when I was sent to Hatfield, and I gave it little thoughtduring my years of want, but the thoughtfulness of the gift, together with thewarmth of her welcome, is almost my undoing. I swallow grateful tears, slidethe ring onto my finger and offer up a watery smile.

St James’ Palace – October 1558

“Whatwas she like, Queen Jane? I’ve only ever heard good things.”

Jane’s face fades from mymemory. I blink at Anne, rubbing a dry hand across my face as I readjust to thepresent.

“She was a good woman, mildbut not so meek as some would have it. She was subtle, worked her wiles on theking without him even knowing