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

given the blessing of being named God-mother. Proudly, I take my positionat the font and watch as Archbishop Cranmer anoints the head of the heir to thethrone. The child squirms, opens his mouth in a silent mew of protest before fallingasleep again. After the confirmation, the heralds announce the new prince, hisname echoing out across the chapel.

 “Edward, sonand heir to the King of England, Duke of Cornwall, Earl of Chester.”

The sudden boomof the announcer’s voice wakes the child and he opens his mouth and screams forthe duration of the ceremony.

“We can becertain there is nothing amiss with his lungs,” I remark to nobody inparticular, and those closest to me titter. When the prayers are at an end, takingElizabeth’s hand, I lead her back to the queen’s chamber to offer up ourbaptismal gifts.

As I urge heralong the corridor, Elizabeth yawns widely, and I jerk her wrist to gently remindher of her manners. She smirks unapologetically. “I’m tired,” she explains.“Why am I up so late?”

I am unsure ifit is late or early but, stifling a yawn of my own, I swing our joined hands.

“It will beover soon. You did well carrying the chrisom-cloth; Father will be very pleasedwith you. Once we have given the queen our gifts for the prince, you can returnto your bed. You can lie like a slugabed all day if you wish.”

“Slugabed,”she repeats. “I like that word,” and to demonstrate her love of it she repeatsit like a mantra all the way to the queen’s chamber. I wish I’d chosen a wordless appealing.

I havecommissioned a gold cup for the christening gift and, as a gesture ofappreciation, I offer Edward’s nurse and rockers each a gift of £30. While wegather in the queen’s chamber, outside the palace the city celebrates withgreat bonfires on every corner, and the night comes alive with the sound of churchbells celebrating the birth of the boy who will continue the Tudor line.

Everyone inthe kingdom is joyful.

Father’s voicerises above the clamour, hailing his son as a miracle incarnate. He has thebluest eyes, the sweetest nature and the heartiest lungs in all England. Iconcur with Father’s last claim, as the child can still be heard adding to thedin.

Amid thishubbub, the queen wilts on her pillow and tries to look as if she is enjoying herself.But I notice a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, and the deep shadowsbeneath her eyes. She should be allowed to rest but … it is the obligation ofqueens to suffer such things. Personal comfort must always be put aside for thesake of duty.

Elizabethbegins to tug at my hand and I see her attention has been drawn by ThomasSeymour, the queen’s brother. Since the king deigned to wed his sister, Seymourseems to see himself as an uncle to all the king’s children. He is a handsomeman with a playful manner that I find overbearing. I never know how to respondto his jests but Elizabeth adores him. She delights in his teasing while I amnever sure how to react. I try to ignore him while he loudly discovers a few coinshidden in Elizabeth’s ear, but when he goes so far as to draw a silver sixpencefrom mine, I step back sharply and scowl at him.

Elizabethroars with delight and, unhindered by my disapproval, he laughs with her andproceeds to lift her onto his shoulder so she can see the queen, who now hasthe infant prince cradled in her arms. Elizabeth’s skirt has become caught, andI bite my lip and tug the hem down to hide her chubby ankles.

Rising ontiptoe, I peer over a gentleman’s shoulder. I am concerned that Jane seems tobe in danger of dropping the prince.

“Oh,” I cry andthe gentleman before me turns around. I discover myself face to face withNorfolk.

“My LadyMary.”

He bowspolitely, as if there has never been a cross word between us.

“My lord,” Ireply, scowling at him before pushing through the crowd to make my curtsey tothe queen.

“Let me takehim, Jane. Are you feeling quite well? Shall I try to get the company todisperse?”

“Oh no,” shesmiles whitely. “Thank you, Mary, but it is such a happy crowd, such a happyday. It would be a shame to spoil it.”

Doubtfully, Iwithdraw, find a quiet seat at the perimeter of the room and observe thecelebration. Even in my mother’s day I never saw such lavish joy. Englandfinally has a male heir. Everyone is relieved.

Things will beeasier now, I reflect, watching my father fling an arm about Brandon’s neck. Helaughs loudly, his mouth wide, cheeks stretched. He is a different man now hehas fulfilled his duty of fathering an heir and soon, God willing, others willfollow. The royal nursery will be replete with princes, Father’s anger willfade for ever and, with Jane’s help, the country will return to Rome. It willbe a glad day when the true church thrives again in England.

But, just aweek later, I open my eyes to see a lighted candle bobbing across my chamber. Afigure bends over the bed.

“Margery?”

“Yes, my lady.It is me. I have some news … ill news, I am afraid.”

I sit up andfumble for my prayer beads while she lights another candle.

“What is it?What has happened?”

“Oh, my lady.It is the queen … she has gone. God has seen fit to take her from us.”

The candledips and dances as the breath is forced from my body. I put my hands to myhead.

“No, not that!Not that!”

I knew she wastaking a long time to recover. I heard only yesterday that the physicians hadbeen called in again. But she cannot be dead. Jane cannot be dead.

Margery and Icling together. We pray for Queen Jane’s passing soul. We pray for my father,for the poor motherless prince, and for all of us. When will we ever be merryin England again?

 St James’ Palace – October 1558

“Poorsweet lady…”

I blink into the gloom, clearmy throat and fumble at the neck of my bedgown.

“Yes, she was. Life has a wayof striking the best people down when you least expect it. We were all grief-stricken.It was as if God was denying our right to be joyful, as if