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

eye;instead, they exchange glances, stare at the floor, anywhere rather than at me.What are they hiding?

“I will nottire him. I will just stay a moment, just to wish him well.”

The greybeardsshake their heads, looking to all corners of the room instead of into my eyes.Once more, I force my irritation down and try to accept defeat cheerfully.

“Then I shallwrite to him instead,” I say. “You can convey my letter to him, my lord. Itwill cheer my brother as he recovers.”

There islittle they can do other than reluctantly agree. I write Edward a lovingletter, hand it to Dudley and return to Copped Hall, promising to visit theking again when he has recovered his health. But, although I cannot pinpointthe reason, in the weeks that follow, I am unsettled and wake every morning toa sense of doom; as if someone has unleashed the hounds of Hell.

St James’ Palace – October 1558

“Hounds of Hell? What do youmean?”

“I mean thatif I thought Dudley was evil before, in the months that followed he turned intothe devil himself.”

The aroma of citrusfills the chamber and I realise Anne is peeling an orange. She presses asegment into my hand and I pop it in my mouth, the sharp flavour bursting on mytongue and making me cough. I wipe my watering eye on my sleeve and when I amcalm again she urges me to continue with my tale.

“Dudley waspure evil; that I know for sure. It was a sharp lesson to me when I heard howthey’d been working against me for months, seeking to put me down before I’deven risen. I should have been more wary when I learned he’d secretly wed hisspindly-legged son to my cousin, Jane – the clever one, the reformer that Ispoke of before. His intention all along was to put her on the throne in myplace. I never found out what he intended to do with me. He probably would havetaken my head if he could have got close enough.”

She gasps,puts a hand across her mouth and turns at Susan’s approach.

“Did you knowof this, Lady Susan?”

“Know it? Iwas there. I’ve always been there, at Her Majesty’s side.”

She places ahand on my arm and I pat it.

“So you have,Susan. Through thick and thin…”

We smile atthe memory of it all. The tears, the laughter, the terror, the joy – life islike a pudding; a mix of all those things; without dark times there would be nolight – and vice versa. But, sometimes I think the cook neglected to give mypudding a good enough stir, for the mixture was ever uneven – the odd taste of sugarbut mostly bitter, bitter rue.

“Did they sendyou to the Tower?”

“Nay, child,but they would have, had fortune not smiled upon me.”

“Dudleypersuaded the king to change the succession,” says Susan, taking a seat at thegirl’s side and picking up her needlework. “Weeks before his death, the kingdisinherited both our queen and the Princess Elizabeth, declaring themillegitimate again. He named the Greys instead; they were the heirs of HenryVIII’s sister, Mary. Jane was Mary’s granddaughter.”

The child turnsfrom Susan to me. I see her face change as she notices the tears on my cheek. Iseek to explain further.

“I was injuredby the treachery of my Grey cousins, more than any others that worked againstme. Edward’s last actions were to my detriment. I was still grieving for himwhen I discovered it. I still remembered the weight of his infant body in myarms. My mind was full of memories. I recalled how I used to kiss his fingers,count his toes, smell the scent of his hair – to think he had been warped somuch, and taught to hate me…” My voice breaks. The women make soothing sounds.

Swallowing mygrief, I shake my head, dispelling the grimness of my thoughts, but Susan,noticing my struggle, fills the brief silence.

“It waspolitics, Your Majesty. The king loved you well. You know that.”

“He loved thedevil more; his desire to deny Rome outweighed any love he once had for me. Hewent so far as to reconfirm that my parents’ marriage was invalid, and I wasdeclared a bastard all over again.”

“He disparagedthe Princess Elizabeth too…”

“Yes. I wonderwhat she thought about that? He declared that, since Anne Boleyn had beeninclined to couple with courtiers and paid the penalty with her head, herdaughter was unlikely to be the king’s. Even I could see that was nonsense –Elizabeth is made in our father’s image; a Tudor through and through.”

“Had it notbeen for my spies, I’d have known nothing of this. Had those true to me notbrought me news, I’d have been thrown into the Tower before Edward could draw hislast breath. Imagine that. If I’d been replaced by Jane Grey! Oh, when Irealised the truth, and the fight I had on my hands, I could do nothing butstep up to the mark. The days that followed were fraught with danger but theywere indeed my most glorious days…”

Norfolk – July 1553

I am at Hunsdon whenNorthumberland finally summons me to court. I order the servants to make readyfor a journey before retiring to pray for Edward’s gentle passing in my privatechapel. It is dark and quiet, the beads of the rosary cool and solid beneath myfingers. I will soon be queen.

The knowledgeintrudes upon my prayers, softening the sharp stab of sorrow I feel for theloss of my brother. I shake my head to dispel the thought. There will be timeenough to think of the future when Edward is gone. And I know now that he willnot survive.

As I whisperthe familiar words, his face swims in my mind’s eye. I persist in rememberinghim as a laughing infant, his baby chin damp with dribble. I see his firststeps, his first time on a pony. I see him, older now, on my father’s throne; achild too young to resist the pressure put upon him by our enemies. For hiscouncil were enemies to both of us. They corrupted him. He could havebeen so much better than he was. My throat closes and a small groan escapes me.I pray harder, my voice rising…

“My lady?”

I raise myhead