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

“My lady.” Heoffers me assistance from the saddle and when my feet touch the floor I findthe strength has gone from my knees. I clutch at his arm, almost falling, buthis strong hands keep me upright until Rochester pushes forward.

“Forgive me,my lady,” he says and, sweeping me into his arms, proceeds to carry me up thesteps to the hall.

“I can walk,Robert,” I protest, embarrassed by my hitched skirts that are revealing myknees.

“No need towalk if you don’t have to, I always say.”

 Robertcarries me up the steps and into the welcome darkness of Sawston Hall. I see almostnothing of the interior on our way through the house, but I am grateful for thewelcome fire in my chamber, and the large wooden bath that stands before it.

Susan, dustyand tired as she is from the road, steps forward to help me disrobe, but I holdup a hand.

“No, Susan, youand Jane must be as tired as I. You look to your own needs. Sir John will finda maid who can assist me.”

Sir John’sservants are, of course, not as sensible of my particular preferences as my ownwomen, but I make no complaint when they help me into a robe before my skin is quitedry. When one of them snags my hair as she combs it, I do not remonstrate withher. My mind is focussed on the large bed, the promise of a soft mattress andpillows.

“Pass me myrosary,” I say, and one of the girls takes it up and carries it gingerly towardme. I remember that my brother ordered rosaries to be banned. She is probablyfearful that the king’s men will suddenly appear and place us all under arrest.

My bonesshriek as I rise from the chair at the fireside to kneel at the prie-dieuin the corner. Although I am thankful to have survived the journey so far, I donot pray for long. My knees are full of knots and my back aches keenly. Thethought of climbing into the saddle again in the morning is not a welcome one.

The next day,and the day after, I am faced with a similar ride. It is as if I am caught insome recurring nightmare. On the seventh day of July, we set out in dreardrizzling rain, the clouds low in the sky.

“It will bebrighter by mid-morning,” Susan assures me but I cannot find it in me to makereply. I am so tired, I put my head down and focus on the ground, watching themiles pass and wishing my horse could move faster.

 Euston Halllies close to Thetford, and when I spot it through the trees, I have neverknown a more welcome sight. Although it is only a little past noon, aftergreeting and thanking Lady Burgh, I am conducted straight to a chamber where I manageto snatch a few hours sleep. When I awake, I call for my women to help me rise.I am just slipping from the bed when someone knocks upon the chamber door.

“Who is it? Goand see,” I say.

Susan opensthe door, and I hear her whispering.

“Lady Mary is notyet risen from her bed,” she hisses, and I hear the rumbling tones ofRochester. I’d have thought he’d be resting too, given the ride we’ve shared, butperhaps he is made of sterner stuff.

“Rochester?” Icall. “What is it? Have you news?”

With anappalled expression, Susan opens the door wider and allows Robert into thesanctum of my chamber. His face flushes at the sight of my bed gown, thebraided hair across my shoulder. I draw a shawl across my chest.

“Forgive me,my lady, but … Robert Reyns has arrived and he brings grave news from court.”

He doesn’tneed to tell me, I can read the news in his face.

“My brother isdead, isn’t he?”

His face is calm,deeply cut with lines, worry lines engraved by his years of service to me.

“He is, my la… Your Majesty.”

He drops tohis knees, and somehow my hand is in his and he is kissing my fingers. Fromsomewhere deep within me a bubble of laughter emerges at the ridiculous picturewe must make. Here I am, barefoot and exhausted, stripped of every vestige ofroyalty, and a man kneels at my feet, swearing fealty.

I push my amusementaside and concentrate on the severity of the moment.

“And Dudley,what is he doing?”

“By allaccounts, he has installed Jane in the Tower.”

“So theycontrol London, the armoury, the munitions and gunpowder … and the great sealof England.”

He inclineshis head in agreement.

“They do, YourMajesty, but I swear before God they shall not hold it for long. I offer you mylifelong allegiance and pledge to assist you to your throne.”

“Get up,Robert,” I say, aware of my women’s scandalised faces. “Our journey is not yetdone.”

“No, YourMajesty, but we have begun. Already, men are flocking to your cause. In themorning we will continue our journey to Kenninghall.”

My face fallsat the thought of more hours in the saddle.

“Don’t worry, YourMajesty. It is a mere ten miles or so. We will be there in a matter of hours.”

I am boneweary. Lady Burgh will be hoping for us to stay and enjoy a light supper atleast.

“I feel weshould not wait. We should leave right away.”

“My  – YourMajesty, we cannot. At least … not until you have eaten…”

“I will hear Mass,partake of supper, and then we will ride through the night. Order preparations tobe made for a further journey.”

“As you will, YourMajesty.” He bows low again and leaves me.

“Susan,” Isay, “you must dress my hair, it feels like a bird’s nest at the back…” butwhen I turn, I find she is on her knees, her head lowered, her hands raised soI might bless them.

“I pledge myallegiance, Your Majesty, the great honour that you do me…”

“Oh, for Heaven’ssake, Susan! Get up, you fool, and see to my hair.”

The rhythmicmotion of the comb lulls and soothes me, and my thoughts float like whitefeathers in a breeze. My little brother is dead but I am still one step awayfrom the throne. All I need do now is deprive Dudley of his power and snatchback my crown from my cousin.

The feather,suddenly tarnished, drops like a stone and