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

April arrives.Although I am not permitted to look outside, I sense the sky is bright blue,the trees slowly turning green, tiny white flowers emerging beneath bare winterhedges. It will not be long now. I place my hand on the mound of my belly, andwait for him to kick.

“The child hasbeen quiet for days,” I say. “Do you think that is a sign he is about to beborn?”

“I am sure itis, Your Majesty, but I am woefully ignorant of such matters. You must ask themidwife.”

The reply isthe same to all the queries I make of my women. They seek to soothe me, lull meto sleep, to rest and relax and wait. I am tired of inactivity. Tired ofwaiting. So very, very tired.

By the end ofthe month, I am so restless I could scream. I pace the chamber floor, ignoringtheir pleas for me to rest. I no longer feel in the least queasy and myappetite is returning. I turn from the pinkness of Elizabeth’s youth and peerinto my looking glass. My face is pale from lack of fresh air, my eyes areshadowed and dull, my jowls droop like a jew’s purse. I look every one of mythirty-nine years. I hate myself.

Everything isgoing wrong. Swivelling on my heel, I dash the mirror to the floor, sendingshards of glass exploding about the room. Wrenched from her usual annoyingcalm, Elizabeth leaps to her feet and my attendants come running as I knew theywould.

I amtrembling, head to foot. My women are full of calming words, their cloyinghands inducing me to sit, to lie on the bed, to take a draught of wine. Eachword, each touch drives me into a greater rage. I dash the cup away.

“How long am Isupposed to bear this?” I scream. “I have been incarcerated for months. I amsuffocating in here!”

“Your Majesty,you must calm yourself; think of the child…”

I wrench backthe thick curtain, fumble with the shutter and push the window wide. Closing myeyes, I breathe in deeply and drink in cool fragrant air, listening to the pealingchurch bells.

 I open myeyes, stand up straighter.

“Why are theyringing the bells at this time? Has something happened? Send for Gardiner.”

I turnsuddenly, in time to glimpse a dissolving smirk on my sister’s face as murmursof shock ripple about the chamber. Gardiner is a man, forbidden to enter thelying-in chamber. I wave a hand at them. “For Heaven’s sake, I am your queen! Doas you are told.”

A littlelater, Gardiner creeps sheepishly through the door, reluctant to look at me,his bovine cheeks as pink as a maid caught with her paramour.

“I heardbells, Gardiner. Why were they sounding?”

He clears histhroat, gulps the air for a few seconds.

“They wererung in error, Your Majesty, there have been rumours…”

“Rumours ofwhat?”

He swallows, andwhen he smiles it does not reach his eyes.

“A rumour hasbeen circulated that the prince has been born. The people became over … erm … excited,Your Majesty. I have sent orders for a retraction.”

I turn away,cross the chamber to stand before the open window again. Supposing the childnever comes, supposing he has died in my womb? He has been very still oflate; the regular kicks and squirms ceased days ago. I dare not voice my fears.Without turning, I address the window.

“Very well,Gardiner, you may go.”

“Shall I sendyour attendants in, Your Majesty?”

“No. I have noneed of anybody.”

The doorcloses softly and I am left alone with my shrivelling hopes.

 1556

I don’t know which is greater;the grief for my unborn child or the humiliation that I was mistaken. Howcan I have been mistaken? My belly was huge and my breasts were full andpainful … the physicians assured me.

At first, I cannotsummon the strength of character to venture beyond the gardens. They will allbe laughing. I cannot bear to be seen by anybody but I know I must return tocourt at some time. Even though there are none brave enough to mock me openly,the fact of their private ridicule is torture. But I do not feel weak or sad,and my tears have long stopped falling.

I am angry …furious. I have done nothing to deserve this.

All my life, Ihave put my duty to God first. I have stood firm for the true church, I have triedto be a good, honest woman, and a conscientious queen. But, it seems thatwasn’t enough. I am constantly punished, and the knowledge that I am stillfound wanting fills me with a fury such as I have never known.

Unable to lookon her, I dismiss Elizabeth from my presence and shut myself away from thosewho love me. From now on, I will concentrate solely on ruling the country and persuadingmy subjects to embrace the Roman church.

No matter whatthe cost.

The older Ibecome, the faster the days and months seem to pass. No sooner is it summerthan the leaves are falling, and I realise it is winter again. There is no time;no time for reflection, no time to gather my thoughts and consider my futurepath. Thick and fast, problems are hurled at my feet and I must jump andscramble to avoid stumbling over them. Court activities, visiting dignitaries,matters of state rain down on me like confetti at a celebration. But there islittle joy in it.

During myconfinement, I’ve been blind to those who continue to resist the reinstatementof the church. I have made it an offence to deny the established religion,punishable by death, but I have been lenient with transgressors. From now on,it will be up to me and my council to enforce their obedience, but it would beso much easier if they would cooperate freely.

The terribleanger in my heart does not fade. Daily, it grows stronger, and when Philiptells me he is leaving court to lead an army against France, it grows strongerstill. It becomes an ungovernable force within me and I vent it at any who darecross me. I cannot even bring myself to be kind to Susan and Jane. My womencreep about my chambers as if there is a wounded lion in the corner, liable topounce at any moment.

I do not fightthe rage. I have to let it loose. I shout