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

king doesnot wish to take your life!” Rich shouts. “He merely seeks your obedience, yourloyalty. You must see it is your duty to submit.”

How I despisethese men.

“You give mefair words, sir, but your deeds are ill toward me. I will never consent to yourwishes.”

It might beeasier to give in, as I gave in once before. Once, when my father’s men bulliedme to admit my parents’ marriage was no marriage, I thought it would be easierto be a bastard than an unloved princess, spurned by the father I adored. Igave in once before. I will never do so again, even if death is my reward.

Petre throwsdown his hat and storms from the room, quickly followed by Rich. Wingfieldhesitates, then gives a sketchy bow and a look of helplessness before scurryingafter them. As their footsteps dwindle, I remember something I have forgottento say.

I hurry to thewindow, clamber on to the seat and wrestle with the casement catch. It opens sosuddenly that I lurch forward, the ground below rushing up to meet me, seeminglyclose. My head swims and I pull back, catching my breath before looking downagain.

From myvantage point the enemy is foreshortened, like midgets that amuse us at courtfestivities. I notice the beginnings of a tonsure on Rich’s scalp – and notethat a man less like a monk has never walked this earth. As they storm acrossthe bailey, he harangues his companions, furiously wagging a finger and nodoubt cursing my very name.

“Master Rich!”I call and they stop, turning a circle before locating my voice and looking upat my window.

 “I forgot tosay.” My veil, caught by a sudden breeze, blows across my face. I push it asideand shout into the wind. “I require the return of my comptroller, RobertRochester. I am having to take account of how many loaves of bread be made of abushel of wheat. My father and mother never brought me up with baking andbrewing, and to be plain with you, I am weary of the office. Therefore, my lords,send my officer home with all good speed, and my other men too.”

I slam thewindow with satisfaction and plump suddenly onto the seat.

“Good lord,Susan,” I say. “After that, they will either leave me alone or hang me. Onlytime will tell.”

February 1553

The council allows me no respiteuntil its attention is taken up by renewed hostilities between France andSpain. Worried that England will join with France against them, the Hapsburgsconsider invading us and placing me on the throne. I know of this only throughthe small gossip that filters through the ever increasing security measuresimposed by the council. I know of it when it would be safer not to. It will nottake Edward’s council long to see the benefits of implicating me in the plot.

I am enjoyinga rare day of sunshine when a messenger arrives from court. I break the sealand scan the contents.

“Blast.”

“What is itnow, my lady?” Jane and Susan stroll toward me and join me on the arbour seat,one to either side.

“The king requestsmy presence at court, to help entertain Mary of Guise. No doubt they wish toprove that I am no threat and all is well between me and the king.”

“Shall you go,my lady? You could wear the new velvet gown with the high collar. It becomesyou so well…”

“No. I won’tbe attending. You must tell my secretary to inform the king that I am unwell. Ishall retire to my bed now in case anyone is sent to test the truth of it.”

I remain inbed for the duration of Mary of Guise’s residence in the capital. The weatherturns nasty so I am missing little. In fact, it is quite comforting to propmyself on pillows and leaf through books, write letters or strum my lute. It islike a holiday that requires none of the discomforts of travel.

When at lastEdward and his council cease to bombard me with demands for compliance, I sighwith relief. It is many weeks later when the reason for their silence becomesclear.

Edward, aftera bout of measles in April, has taken sick again and this time his physiciansfear it may be the consumption. With the king’s health deteriorating, thecouncil dares not risk offending me. I am, after all, the heir to the throne.They are well aware that my vengeance would be harsh should I suddenly becomesovereign.

Their effortsfor church reform do not cease during the king’s malady; instead they growapace, and the royal council does all it can to push through the changes in law.They work desperately. As the king’s health continues to deteriorate, they knowthat, should Edward die, my accession to the throne will mean the reversal oftheir heresy, and the end to their reformation.

A return toRome.

But, althoughthe idea of the crown is thrilling, the thought of losing my brother is not. Iorder my household to make ready for a journey and leave for London, determinedto gain admittance to the king.

With twohundred lords and ladies in attendance, I ride along Fleet Street toward thecity, where I am met by John Dudley and a cavalcade of knights and gentlemen.He makes a great show of friendship but I am not deceived. I know he concealssome nefarious scheme. I take comfort from the crowd that gathers to greet me,their roars a delight to my lonely heart. I lean from my saddle and make agreat show of calling down a blessing on those nearest to me. Dudley pushes backhis cap and scratches his head, clearly disconcerted by their devotion.

‘Mary!Mary!’ I hear them call and I twist and turn in my saddle, my hand raisedin acknowledgement. How I have missed this feeling; I relish the honour done tome and, as the city gate grows near, I sit taller, more confident of my futurethan ever before. These are Edward’s people, but they love me. They will allownothing to injure their princess. They love me!

I repeat thosewords silently, the truth of their affection soft and warm about my chillyheart. But the next morning, when I request an audience with the king, I amtold he is too sickly. Not one of the council members can look me in the