The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England Judith Arnopp (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📖

she was doing it. Where the concubine roared andstamped her foot to get her own way, Jane smiled and complimented him, or ifcircumstance demanded it, she wept a little and won him round that way. She waslike a mother to me … until she was taken.”

The girl fetches a cup. As sheholds it to my lips, a door opens and Susan enters. I have been unkind to poorSusan lately. It isn’t her fault. She misunderstands my terror at leaving thecountry to the whim of my sister. As she nears the bed, I send her a smile andshe relaxes visibly.

“Are you feeling better, YourMajesty? We have all been so worried.”

Anne moves aside to allow theolder woman to approach. I flap my hand dismissively, although I am gratefulfor her concern.

“You worry too much, Susan;you always have.”

She leans forward to adjustthe bolster behind my back and hauls me higher in the bed.

“I will send for your supper.You must eat to conserve your strength.”

“I will die anyway, whether Ieat or not. I have been supping on the past, with the help of this child.”

I wave a finger at Anne, whois standing in the shadow of the bed canopy, clutching the hanging with onehand.

“The child has whetted myappetite for conversation. She is not dull or fawning as so many are thesedays. She listens and doesn’t deny me when I speak the truth of my miserablelife.”

“She knows no better, YourMajesty…”

Susan’s face is close to mine,the light of the candle deepening the lines on her face quite unkindly.

“Perhaps she does, Susan;perhaps she knows better than all of us. Anyway, whatever the case may be, shepleases me. She hasn’t once accused me of rambling. I will reward her well,before I take my leave of you all…”

“Your Majesty must not speakso…”

“There you go again; denyingme the right to speak the plain truth. Deny it all you like, Susan; I will die soon,and Elizabeth will have the throne and turn the realm topsy turvy again.”

I wave a finger in Anne’sdirection. “Go take your ease, girl, but come back in the morning. Your companysoothes me.”

She looks pleased, bobs acurtsey and quits the room, leaving me alone with Susan.

“Where does she come from?”

“Who?” Susan stands back claspingher hands, a frown on her face.

“The child. Anne – Imisremember her other name.”

“Oh, she is the … youngestdaughter of Thomas Wren. The family fell into hardship when he was taken up fortreason, Your Majesty. Do you not recall? After his death, you took pity on themother and instructed that the offspring be found work. She is a good girl, soI am told.”

I had forgotten.

“Gently born then. I thoughther conversation too pronounced for a serving girl.” I recall her fine eyes,the smooth brow beneath her shabby cap. “Find her other, less arduous employmentand give her a bath and some decent clothes. She is too good for servitude.”

Susan bows her head inacquiescence. “I will see it is done, Your Majesty.”

“Ahh, Susan…”

I lower my head to my hand,squeezing my temples to ease the bite of an encroaching headache.

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

“She is so young, so naïve. Ihope life is kinder to her than it has been to me.”

She moves closer with a waftof fragrance, and gently touches my arm.

“There have been times whenfate has dealt you a harsh hand but … you are strong. Stronger than anyone I’veever known. You have always risen above it.”

I place my hand on hers.

“I always intended to bekind.”

“And so you have!”

“Have I? Perhaps God wouldhave preferred me to be more merciful.”

“With your enemies? The enemiesof His church? Why so? What would that gain?”

I shrug, wincing at the memoryof the people who have perished on my order – the tortures, the burnings. Ifonly they had listened to reason and followed my direction. If only they hadnot strayed from the true path, the true church. I was forced to wreak justiceon God’s foe. It was my duty as head of the church. My hands, as they say, weretied. Maybe there is no reason for guilt.

Perhaps Susan is right. Mymother always stood against heresy and lies, and so did my grandmother,Isabella of Spain. I very much doubt they spent their last days regretting the justicethey dealt. Even my great grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, would turn in hergrave at the desertion of the old ways, and her grandson’s treatment of themonasteries. All those monks – good men of God tortured and burned – and thosewho tried to stand against it; Robert Aske, hung in chains to die a slow andshameful death. I shake my head over the misguided laws of my father’s England.

In those days, I was newlywelcomed back at court and lacked sufficient courage to speak against it, butJane did, or at least she tried to. But Father was difficult to persuade.Cromwell had convinced him that monkish duplicity was rife in England, and onceFather realised the riches he could reap from the fall of the church, the greatabbeys of England were doomed. Now their ruins blight England, the greatcarcasses of a dying faith, and a world that has been tumbled and pillaged.

 By the time I finally came tothe throne, I wanted to make restitution, but how could I? Most of the propertyhad been gifted to the very people I required to help me restore order. Theabbey lands were now in the possession of the greatest lords of the realm, menwhom I needed on my side. They had supported my claim, and helped me fight mycousin to win back my crown. How could I possibly demand the return of thechurch’s property that they regarded as theirs?

But I cannot worry about thatnow. The days remaining to me on this earth are dwindling. Death comes to usall but there are matters I must address. I must prepare myself.

I would welcome Philip today,wish he would come for one last goodbye, but I know he will not. He has no lovefor me. Ours was a marriage of politics only, and now he is king of Spain, hiscountry occupies his thoughts. He will not spare more than a passing thought onthe