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

support. I can only be thankful that my – my former homeat Framlingham offered you such lavish hospitality.”

His smile iscold, his rhetoric like stones against a frozen window.

“I supposeyou’d like it back? And your former office too?”

“I amundeserving, Your Majesty, but nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

My upper lipsnarls.

“And you swearto serve me, as loyally as you did my father?”

“I will serveyou loyally whether I am returned to royal favour or not. You are my queen, andI am yours to govern.”

He bows lowagain. I am sickened by his smooth insincerity and long to unleash the fury I’vesuppressed for so long. But I must not. I need his experience and the support thatonly he can provide.

I hold out myhand and try not to gag as he kisses my knuckles and pledges his lifelongfealty. When he has gone, I wipe the back of my hand on my skirt and call forwine.

My heart isheavy. I doubt any service he does me can recompense for the despairing time Ispent at Hatfield, but at least I have him where I need him. At my side.

Within days ofmy entrance into the capital, Elizabeth arrives to congratulate me on myaccession and swear allegiance. She rides into my capital and the crowds flock togreet her, all suspicion of her involvement in Northumberland’s plot forgottenby the public. They call out her name, throw greenery in her path as if she issome pagan goddess.

As always, Iam surprised when we come face to face. When we are apart, it is easy to forgetshe is a grown woman. Expecting a young girl, I am stunned by her composure,her flawless appearance, and her infuriating charm.

As soon as sheenters the room, I feel old and stout, and wish I’d chosen a different gown.She is neat and plainly dressed, presenting herself as a demure and obedientsubject. When she falls prostrate before me, I look down at the top of herbowed head and bid her rise. She raises her face and I look at her clear brow,her wide innocent eyes and flawless skin, and push back the resentment of myown wasted youth. Trying not to see her mother reflected in her eyes, I open myarms.

“Elizabeth.”

As she comesinto my embrace, her skin sweet on my lips, her fragrant hair tickles my face.I kiss her on either cheek. “My dear sister, you look so well. I heard you havebeen ailing.”

“It was just apassing thing, Your Majesty. I hope you are in good health and haven’t foundthe last few weeks too taxing.”

She will haveheard of my desperate flight into Norfolk, the near loss of my throne. Were itnot for the men who flocked to support me … she will have heard of that too. Myconfidence increases.

Although shetries to conceal it, I can see that she is not really pleased at my victory. Asfar as she is concerned, I have stolen her future. I am the queen now, and soonI will marry and bear a son to rule after me; she knows she will never wear thecrown. I expect she would prefer our Protestant cousin, Jane, to be sittinghere in my place.

But she keepsher resentment concealed behind a ready smile, and as we discuss the downturnin the weather, and the arrangements for the coronation, Renard’s warning ringslike an alarm bell in the back of my mind. Elizabeth will always be a thorn inmy flesh. She is, and always will be, a Protestant alternative to my rule. Thosewho are keen for reform will flock to her at the slightest provocation.

I must find away to be rid of her; she must marry overseas. I will arrange a marriage withsome elderly prince who can give her no children; a Catholic who will demandher conversion to the true faith.

As she speaks,my eyes fasten on her long fingers that she uses to embellish her words. She isquiet, self-assured, and righteous. She will not be easily persuaded. I wouldnot put it past her to pretend to embrace the faith, but I will nottolerate anything less than a whole-hearted conversion.

It must not bea sham.

But, firstthings first. Once my coronation is out of the way, I will turn to the matterof finding a suitable husband for myself. My future consort must be of royalblood and he must be a Catholic; I need a man in his prime who can give mechildren. Above all things, I need a son, and I need one quickly, for I am pastthe first flush of youth.

Elizabethpromises faithfully to study, and contemplate whether or not her consciencewill allow her to return to the true church. When I invite her to join me for Massat the chapel royal, she tries to wriggle out of it, claiming a headache and a sicknessof the stomach. But I insist and, reluctantly, she accompanies me. Throughoutthe service she makes loud complaint of griping pains and swears she is inimminent danger of vomiting.

Although I amfuming at her tricks, I ignore her, shut out her irreligious voice and give myfull attention to God. She might complain, she might protest, but she is here,praying in the true manner whether she wants to or not.

Of course, Iam not without empathy for her situation. It is akin to mine when Edward triedto force me to his will, but mine is the true faith. Elizabeth is not asdevoted to heresy as I am to my God. She is not prepared to suffer for herbeliefs as I was. Outwardly, as the weeks pass, she plays the part of a good Catholic,but I am not convinced by her compliance. I know her of old for a hypocrite.

Fabrics andtrimming for my coronation gown start to arrive. By the middle of September,the cities are being decorated to mark the day. Scaffolding has been erected,scenery for the pageants is built and painted, and a great walkway installed alongthe coronation route. At Westminster Abbey, a stage has been constructed soeveryone can see the glorious moment of my crowning. A moment I have only ever daredto dream of.

Of course, Englandhas never had a female monarch before and there are arguments as to