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

and Edward at play; their laughter grows loud asthey appear through an arch in the yew hedge, and I look up and wave.

They waveback at me.

Theirclothing makes a colourful splash against the solid green of the yew. As theycome closer, throwing a ball back and forth between them, Elizabeth’s voice ishigh and happy. Edward opens his mouth, his infant merriment floating on thebreeze toward me. He launches his ball toward our sister but misthrows it, soit lands with a heavy thump in my lap.

 The dogyelps and leaps off. I look down at the ball and time slows. Sounds aredistorted, and my scream unfolds slow and loud. When I raise my hands it is asif I am swimming through treacle.

 I strainaway, struggling to free myself as blood soaks through the skirts of my gown, hoton my thighs, filling my nostrils with heavy sweet scent. Katherine’s mouthopens wide, her screams piercing, merging with mine, rising upward, as theblood bubbles to our chests, our throats. The whole world is screaming. Theball in my lap grins up at me. I see it is not a ball at all. It is a head, ahead I know well. It is the severed head of my cousin … Lady Jane Grey.

 

“Your Majesty,Your Majesty, wake up! You are dreaming!”

“Susan!” I clingto her, still trapped in the grip of the nightmare.

“You are safe.You are in your bed at Westminster. You are queen. You are queen…”

“I am queen,”I repeat as I look wildly about the room, ensuring the horror of my sleepingmind has not followed me into the morning.

There is nosevered head here. I am safe.

The room isshadowed, a warm fire glowing in the hearth, my startled women grouped at thefoot of the bed. Nightgowns. Braids and bedcaps. I gasp for breath and try tosmile, and make light of my dream. But my mouth will not obey.

This morning Icannot pray, I cannot eat, I cannot even think, for today is the day mycousin Jane must die.

 St James’ Palace – November 1558

Inthe darkness, a hand tightens in mine. I turn my face toward the murmuringvoices and tuck my chin down, close my eyes. Let them think I am sleeping.

“How did the queen bear it?” Ihear the child whisper.

“Not very well,” comes Susan’smuted reply. “She was never the same afterward. All the time the PrincessElizabeth was in the Tower, the queen wavered between the conviction that she’dbeen involved in the plot against her, and the belief that shared blood holdsprecedence over politics.”

“What did you think, LadySusan? Do you believe the princess was part of it?”

A rustle of silk breaks theshort silence.

“We will never know. Elizabethhas always kept her own council. Nobody ever knows what she is thinking. Somesay she has no feelings.”

“I’ve heard she is clever.”

“Oh yes. Very clever … andagile too. A quick thinker, with a mind more akin to a man’s than a woman’s.”

“Will she make a good queen?”

Another silence, this timebroken by a sigh.

“No. It is a shame she is nota true Catholic. None of us, not even the queen, have really been fooled by herpretence. When she rules, England will become Protestant again and I, andothers like me, will be unable to stay. I could never live a lie and so I mustsee out the last of my days in exile.”

The rattle of a rosary informsme that Susan is kissing her beads.

“Where will you go? I can’timagine ever leaving English shores.”

“Spain perhaps. I have alwayswanted to go and there I can worship as my heart dictates, not my monarch.”

I open my eyes but thedarkness remains.

“Your Majesty, you are awake.”

I make a sound that fallssomewhere between a word and a grunt, and attempt to pull myself up the pillows.I am too weak. I give up and slump down again.

“Let me help you.”

Susan leans over me, and mynostrils fill with the fragrance of lavender. She places a hand beneath eacharmpit and hauls me higher up the bed.

“Thank you,” I say and hang onto her hand when she would remove it. “Can you light the candles, please?”

“It is full day, Your Majesty,but I will if…”

“No matter.” I sink my headinto my shoulders, hunching beneath the blanket like a wizened crone. It isfrightening to be in the dark with my eyes wide open. “I am quite blind now,” Isay and when they do not answer, I realise it is because they are weeping.

Someone holds a cup to my lipsand I freshen my mouth. I will die soon. I have only a short time left. Theyknow it and so do I. But I am too young, despite the lines upon my face. Gropingon the coverlet for the girl’s hand, I give it a squeeze.

“I must finish my story, child,while there is time. I regret it is not a pretty tale from here on; not thefairy tale I hoped it would be.”

She gulps audibly. “Yes, YourMajesty. Do not worry. I am brave enough to listen.”

“Where was I?”

“Your sister was in the Towerand you were just about to marry Philip of Spain.”

“Oh yes … Philip.”

Winchester – February 1554

Months of wrangling pass, and Iam exhausted from quarrelling with my ministers over tedious details before myfuture husband agrees to set foot in my realm. Why must they constantly raisepolitical irrelevances designed to postpone the day of our wedding?

Perhaps, hadthey not tried to thwart my wish to marry into Spain, I would not have foughtso hard to make it happen. I have always resented instruction and grudge iteven more now I am queen. Nobody tells a king how to act; why should a queen beat the beck and call of her advisors?

Elizabeth hasbecome the thorn in my side I was warned she would be. No matter how hard thecouncil tries to implicate her in the rebellion, she fends them off with readyanswers and makes no effort to disguise her contempt for them.

“She shows nohint of fear, Your Majesty. Not even a touch of guilt or weakness, but I knowshe was involved....”

I look up atGardiner and do not miss the reluctant admiration in his voice as he relatesthe