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

same stock, and I am grateful todiscover that at least he is not revolting. It will not be too difficult toaccept him into my bed.

He is politeand, over the next few days, he escorts me around the gardens and joins me atsupper in the hall where all eyes are upon us, speculating and gossiping.

I place spiesin his apartments and instruct them to report every overheard remark,regardless of whether it will please me or not. So I quickly become aware of theunkind whispers that are bandied about. I learn that his attendants describe meas a saint who dresses badly; they fear my youth has passed and my skin nolonger fits me as it should; I am pale and appear older than my years.

Despite givingthe order that he should be spied upon, I am wounded. While I am happy to takethis young, fresh prince into my bed, his countrymen pity him the task. I hadthought they would be honoured. No inkling of Philip’s own opinion reaches meand I hope with all my heart the cruel views of his household do not reflect hisown. There is, of course, nothing I can do about any of this, but I dearly wishI hadn’t demanded to be told.

As my womendisrobe me, I stand before my looking glass and see myself as the Spanish seeme. I survey my small breasts; my flabby stomach; my spindly limbs; my thin, lankhair; my pale, sagging cheeks. No man will ever lust for me and I am filledwith bitterness to have been denied marriage for so long. In my youth, I wascomely; Philip would have looked forward to my bed then. I indulge in thefleeting memory of another Philip, long ago in the palace garden – my firstkiss, my last kiss … until now. I can still vaguely recall the unfurling lustin my belly, the joy the sound of his name instilled in me. It would have beenbetter to have wed him, at least he had the wit to pretend a passion for me …but this is feeble talk. Philip of Spain is kin. It is what my mother wanted.He is a good man and will do his duty.

I have facedworse trials than this.

My wedding daypasses in a blur. Afterward, people tell me of the extravagant decoration inthe cathedral, the superb voices of the choir, the triumphant spectacle ofPhilip and his grandees. All I can recall is that my new shoes were pinching mytoes and that the Earl of Derby, who bore the sword of state before me, had satin something sticky and carried a stain on his cloak.

If theyweren’t still hanging in my closet, I doubt I would recall the clothes I woreas I swore an oath to be Philip’s true and loving spouse. All I remember isemerging from the cathedral with my arm in Philip’s, the bells crashingoverhead, the joyous cries of my people who waited so patiently in the steadilyfalling rain.

There isfeasting afterwards, of course, and dancing. I sit enthroned while a stream ofnobles and dignitaries from home and abroad offer their blessings and gifts. Igive stilted thanks and replies, for all I can think of is the enormity of whatmust come later.

I have been avirgin for so long that I imagine my fear is far greater than a young woman’swould be. A girl has the armour of confidence and youth to fortify her. All sheneed do is surrender her body, close her eyes and think of the children shewill bear. At my age, I have other worries.

As I am made readyfor bed, my women tease and make crude jokes, nudging and giggling as istradition, but I cannot stand it.

“Silence,” Ibellow and they fall quiet, duck their heads and quietly turn their attentionto my toilette.

The bed ishuge. When I am helped into it, I pull the covers up to my chin while Philip,boyish in his night clothes, climbs in beside me. Gardiner blesses the bed, andmy cheeks grow warm as the English courtiers give vent to further crude jokes,while Philip’s Spanish attendants look on, surprised at the bawdry.

Acutely awareof my nakedness beneath my thin linen shift, I flinch from the man who isequally as naked beside me. Susan curtseys low and wishes me good night. As sheleaves the room, she flashes an empathic smile. I try to take heart from herunspoken advice. Philip is handsome, she says silently, get of itwhat you can, but at this moment, I would rather be anywhere else on earththan in this bed with a man who neither knows nor likes me.

Of course, Iknew what marriage meant. I am thirty-eight years old and have heard all thestories, the grubby tittle-tattle. Susan and Jane have made quite sure I fully understandwhat is to happen. I know the -roughly what will happen, it is the executionthat comes as such a shock.

When the nightcandle is doused, we sit silently in the dark, listening to the distant soundsof celebration drifting up from the hall. I jump like a startled hind when heplaces his hand on my thigh, and my breath increases with my rising fear. Hishand travels upward but before he reaches his target, my courage fails and Ifidget away.

I am not readyfor a stranger to touch my quaint. No one has ever touched my quaint. Soas not to offend him, I slide down the bed and toward him so his palm shifts tomy hip. I smile tightly in what I hope is an encouraging manner, although Iknow he cannot see me clearly.

He sighs andhis hand roams upward, fumbling for my breast; his fingers are cold against thewarmth of my skin. I hold my breath, waiting for pleasure. I close my eyes andwill the desire to come. As he starts to tug at the hem of my shift, my mindscreams against it, but my knees part instinctively at his unspoken command.Surely he can hear the pounding of my heart; it is hammering like a drum. Whydoesn’t he speak? Why doesn’t he say something?

I am going todie of shame.

He rolls and Itilt my head, waiting for his lips