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

A blast ofwelcoming trumpets, a blaze of torches that makes me squint my eyes after thedarkness. The warmth of the hall is smothering after the bitter chill outside.An excited company greets us. Someone removes my cloak and I turn to thank them,but as I do I notice the queen accepting a letter from a messenger. She frownsand excuses herself from the company, slipping from the hall. After a fewmoments, in which I notice that Father has not seen the exchange, I follow her.I find her in an antechamber; she is seated at a table, weeping quietly. Shestarts when she hears my footstep, visibly relieved that it is only me. Shetucks the letter into her pocket and dabs at her eyes with her kerchief.

Surely shedoes not have a sweetheart. I frown, turn my head questioningly, and raisemy eyebrows.

“What ailsyou, dear Jane?”

“Oh, Mary.” Shedries her eyes again but the tears quickly return. Her attempt at a brave smilefails.

“You canconfide in me, Jane. Anything … I can keep a secret.”

“It isn’t asecret. It is a letter from home; my father…” She clears her throat and forcesher voice not to quaver. “It seems he was taken from us … yesterday. I – I – theyhadn’t even informed me he was ill.”

I cannotimagine losing my father. With a smothered whine of sympathy, I slide to thefloor at her knee and take her hands in mine.

“Oh, Jane!Shall I fetch the king? The celebrations must be cancelled. I will go and findhim now…”

 I attempt torise but she detains me.

“No. Please,Mary. Let there be no fuss. My father was not a figure of the court. I would notspoil the king’s enjoyment. He has been looking forward to the festivities and hashad such trouble of late. I will inform him later, when we are alone. His pleasurein the season must not be marred.”

She wipes hereyes, tucks her kerchief back inside her sleeve and smiles determinedly.“There, how do I look?” She smiles gaily and it is only by looking carefullythat I can detect she is concealing something.

Jane knows howto dissemble. Throughout the days that follow there is no sign of the unhappinessshe must be feeling. I wonder what other emotions she hides from us all.

But in Aprilthere comes a joy she cannot disguise. She is pregnant and the king is certainthat God smiles upon him at last and will bless him with an heir. While Fatherstruts about the court, talking of the son that will soon be born, Jane triesher best not to be sick and I, torn between delight and despair, battle to hidemy disappointment that the king has once more declined to reinstate mylegitimacy.

I try not toblame the unborn prince but Father was on the cusp of agreeing to my request. Mysupporters have long been searching for a way to persuade the king that mynebulous status is detrimental both to him and to me. If our position at courtwere made clearer, both Elizabeth and I would have more political value. Noprince in Christendom will consider either of us as potential brides while weare tainted with bastardy.

But, as usual,I bury my disappointment and begin to sew small garments for the forthcomingprince; I show off my efforts to all and sundry, eager not to be seen asresentful of this new usurper of my father’s affections.

Hampton Court – October 1537

My struggle to be recognised asthe king’s heir is finally at an end. It is all over. There is no point to itnow. I look down at the child cradled in my arms and despite the fact that hestands between me and my greatest ambition, love creeps into my heart. Anothersibling. Another rival for my father’s affection yet … he is so tiny. As hesleeps, he makes sucking motions with his lips, his blue-veined eyelids movingrapidly. I wonder what he dreams of. What can a child of a few days old bedreaming of when he knows nothing yet, beyond the nourishment of his nurse’steat?

What sortof man will he make?

Unaware of thetrials in store, the Tudor prince sleeps peacefully. I lift him, close my eyesas I inhale the fragrance of his fine, red hair, and gently kiss his forehead.Jane stirs in the bed, blinking up at me.

“Mary…” Shetries to pull herself up on the pillows but lacks the strength. One of herladies steps forward to assist her. “Are the preparations for the christeningall in place?”

“Yes, ofcourse.”

I pass thechild back to his nurse. “You must not worry about anything. He is beautiful,Jane. I am so glad you have birthed a son at last; Father is quite besidehimself with joy.”

To my amazementthere is no bitterness in my voice. It is gratifying to see the king restoredto his old self. It is what I have always wanted and if I am envious of thedelight he displays in his son, well, I am a woman grown and should knowbetter. I refuse to submit to such a vile emotion as envy, and vow to say a fewextra beads on the rosary this evening.

Motherinstilled in me the importance of always striving to be a better human being, akinder, sweeter girl. She never once, even at the end, rebuked my father forhis treatment and I must endeavour to be as forgiving as she. Edward andElizabeth have taken no active part in the misfortunes that have befallen me,and now that I am restored to court and in Father’s favour again, there is noneed for rancour. I must forget the past and move into the future with akinder, warmer heart. I will be the richer for it.

As midnight approacheson the fifteenth day of October, my women help me into a richly embroideredkirtle of cloth of silver. Lady Kingston bears my train as, with some threehundred other courtiers and envoys, we process from Jane’s bedchamber to thechapel royal for the prince’s christening ceremony.

A hugestructure has been built to allow all those attending the best possible view. Brandon,Norfolk and Cranmer have been given the honour of standing as God-fathers whileI am