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

details of the interviews. Somehow, she has managed to dip and dive aroundthe most agile minds in the kingdom and emerge unscathed. Short of putting herto the rack, I can only surmise her innocent, but I am not yet ready to freeher.

I read throughthe reports once again, the words on the page evoking her so clearly the sceneruns like a mummers’ play through my mind. I imagine her entry into Londondressed all in white, the curtains of her litter open so that all might lookupon her. She woos the people with her pretty face and youthful innocence, andher sudden descent into fever increases their pity further. I don’t believe aword of it. She claims to be ailing, covered in bumps and pustules, sickunto death, and the physicians I send to determine the truth of it also swearit to be true. But Elizabeth will not die. She is too clever.

But then arumour starts up that she is not sick at all but pregnant – although whosechild she is supposed to be carrying is not certain. Again, I know it is a lieand she is quick to prove it. She parades herself before the people, standingtall and enviably slim to prove to the people she is not and never has beenwith child.

Later, when themoment is described to me, Renard is clearly impressed.

“She was lofty,somewhat scornful but rather magnificent, Your Majesty,” he says and I lose mytemper, swipe a tray of cups to the floor and leave the council to it. Theymust find a way of removing her, she is a barb in my finger and must not beallowed to turn bad.

Later, theEarl of Sussex brings me a letter, written in haste by my sister.

If any everdid try this old saying that a king’s word was more than another man’s oath, Imost humbly beseech Your Majesty to verify it in me and to remember your lastpromise and my last demand that I be not condemned without answer and due proofwhich it seems that now I am for that without cause proved. I am by yourcounsel from you commanded to go unto the Tower, a place more wanted for afalse traitor, than a true subject which though I know I deserve it not, yet inthe face of all this realm appears that it is proved. Which I pray God I maydie the most shameful death that ever any died afore. If I may mean any suchthing; and to this present however I protest before God (Who shall judge mytruth, whatsoever malice shall devise) that I neither practiced, concealed norconsented to anything that might be prejudicial to your person any way ordangerous to the state by any means. And therefore I humbly beseech YourMajesty to let me answer before yourself and not suffer me to trust yourcounsellors yea, and that before I go to the Tower (if it be possible) if notbefore I be further condemned, howbeit I trust assuredly Your Highness willgive me leave to do it before I go, for that thus shamefully I may not be criedout on as now I shall be, yea and without cause. Let conscience move Your Highnessto take some better way with me than to make me be condemned in all men’s sightbefore my desert known. Also, I most humbly beseech Your Highness to pardonthis my boldness which innocence procures me to do together with hope of yournatural kindness which I trust will not see me cast away without desert, whichwhat it is I would desire no more of God but that you truly knew. Which thingsI think and believe you shall never by report know unless by yourself you hear.I have heard in my time of many cast away for want of coming to the presence oftheir prince and in late days I heard my lord of Somerset say that if hisbrother had him suffered to speak with him he had never suffered, but thepersuasions were made to him so great that he was brought in belief that hecould not live safely if the admiral lived and that made him give his consentto his death. Though these persons are not to be compared to Your Majesty yet Ipray God that evil persuasions persuade not one sister against the other andall for that they have heard false report and not harkened to the truth.

Thereforeonce again kneeling with humbleness of my hart, because I am not suffered tobow the knees of my body, I humbly crave to speak with Your Highness which Iwould not be so bold to desire if I knew not myself most clearly as I knowmyself most true, and as for the traitor Wyatt he might peradventure writ me aletter but on my faith, I never received any from him and as for the copy of myletter sent to the French king, I pray God confound me eternally if ever I senthim word, message, token or letter by any means, and to this my truth I willstand in to my death.

I humblycrave but only one word of answer from yourself.

Your Highness’smost faithful subject that hath been from the beginning, and will be to my end.

 

Elizabeth.

It is a longand somewhat repetitive letter and Elizabeth has filled the blank areas of thepage with thick black lines to prevent her enemies from adding a damningcodicil. I squint at the page in the poor light.

It is untidyand mis-spelled, the script is cramped and blotted, yet my sister’s voice is clearin every line. How can I not remember writing similar letters to my father,to my brother?

Elizabeth livesin dread of the Tower and who can blame her? The memory of her mother, if indeedshe remembers Anne Boleyn at all, must be at the forefront of her mind. Sheknows too well that those who enter the dark recesses of the Tower of London asprisoners rarely come out alive.

Yet, my handsare tied. I shake my head.

“She must go tothe Tower, Sussex. I must be seen to be doing what is right. It is what Spainexpects.”

I find itdifficult to speak, for grief is strangling