The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England

by Judith Arnopp

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

  Rising on tiptoe, I peer over a gentleman’s shoulder. I am concerned that Jane seems to be in danger of dropping the prince.

  “Oh,” I cry and the gentleman before me turns around. I discover myself face to face with Norfolk.

  “My Lady Mary.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Margery?”

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

  I sit up and fumble 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 candle dips and dances as the breath is forced from my body. I put my hands to my head.

  “No, not that! Not that!”

  I knew she was taking a long time to recover. I heard only yesterday that the physicians had been called in again. But she cannot be dead. Jane cannot be dead.

  Margery and I cling 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 merry in England again?

  St James’ Palace – October 1558

  “Poor sweet lady…”

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

  “Yes, she was. Life has a way of 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 even after all we’d suffered, we still needed a lesson in humility. Perhaps we did. Perhaps we deserved it. Perhaps I have deserved all the misfortunes that have been strewn in my path.”

  “Oh, no, Your Majesty. Do not say such things. You have suffered but you will be rewarded in Heaven.”

  “I hope so. Would you call for Susan? I have a need for the close stool. What time is it, anyway? Earlier, I thought I heard music. Is that daylight I see beneath the shutter? Am I late for Mass?”

  Susan comes bustling in; from the hoarseness of her voice I can sense she has been weeping. I hang on to her arm as she hauls me from the mattress and assists me to the screen in the corner of the chamber.

  “What are the tears for?” I pull her close, searching her face and, seeing the lines engraved upon it, I know she was weeping for my passing. “I am not dead yet, Susan. I am still here. It is too soon for grief. Save it for when I’ve gone.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she says, hastily wiping away a stray tear. Turning discreetly aside while I go about my business, she lowers her head, rubbing her arms.

  “I’ve left instructions for you all when I go,” I call from the close stool, “all save that child, Anne. Can I rely on you to look after her, secure her a good place?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty. I will be glad to.”

  She helps me to stand and pulls my bed gown down to cover my knees. With me clinging to her arm, we totter back to the bed.

  As the morning wears on, I sense activity in the outer chamber and cock my ear to the low buzz of voices and hasty footsteps.

  “What is amiss?” I ask as I am helped to a chair while the maids remake the bed. “Has something happened?”

  “No, Your Majesty. Nothing has happened – people have come to enquire after your health, that is all. I will order them to be quiet.”

  “They can’t wait for me to go, can they? Before my eyes have closed for the last time, they will be calling for their horses and high-tailing it up the Great North Road to Elizabeth.”

  I picture them fawning at her feet, wishing her long life and pledging their loyalty – loyalty that used to be mine. Her joy at laying hands on my crown will overshadow any fleeting grief she may feel at my passing. God rot her shallow soul. Men will fall at her feet as they never did mine; even at Kennilworth when they flocked to my banner, it was not due to the beauty of my person but only to the power of my name. Mary Tudor.

  They will love Elizabeth as they never have me. She will look the part of a queen, resplendent in the same royal finery that has never sat well on me. She will marry, she will have sons. Her body is healthy and strong, where mine was ageing and sick. I was kept too long a maid. I know that, had I been allowed to wed sooner, I’d have borne many healthy sons, and she would never have come to wear my crown.

  Who will she marry? I wonder. There will be no lack of suitors. Half of Europe will come courting, and our own nobles will already be polishing their plate in an attempt to impress her. Even my Philip will gamble his chance on her. I’ve seen him admiring her golden good looks, her light step on the dance floor.

  On their first meeting, he laughed each time she made some sharp witty comment. How I hated him for it. On one occasion, he snubbed me by offering her his arm on the way to the great hall. I had to make do with the ambassador.

  Oh God, I will not bear it if Philip makes her an offer of marriage. Although, by then, I suppose I will be past caring. My preferences will be irrelevant. I will be irrelevant. Me, my church, my rule will be in the hands of a heretic!

  A screech of frustration escapes my lips and instantly my women come running. “Do not fret yourself, Your Majesty.” “Can I fetch you anything, Your Majesty?” “Shall I call the physician back, Your Majesty?”

  I wish they’d leave me alone. I wish Philip would come.

  I picture him throwing open the chamber door, his handsome face alight with the pleasure of seeing me again. Perhaps he will fall to his knee at my side, take up my hands and kiss my fingers, declare his love for me has never wavered…

  And what would I do? Would I believe him? I shake my head. No; the scales have long since fallen from my eyes. I can only see our marriage for what it is. Where once I had hopes of it being a union of love, I now admit it was political, nothing more than that, at least on his side.

  I was smitten at first, of course. He was the man I had dreamed of as a girl, and a Spaniard at that. Tall, handsome, powerful – I imagined our bedding would touch the part of me that had never been breached, a part of me I longed to discover. I dreamed of being able to give myself to someone at last but … I was wrong about that too.

  Our first joining was embarrassing and painful but mercifully quick. My only consolation was the hope that I would bear a child, but I was mistaken in that too. I search my mind for a time in my life when I have taken the right decision or been right about anything.

  Philip is a cold fish, and arrogant too. His lack of consideration grew to such proportions that I was actually glad of the respite the last time he returned to S
pain.

  “Tell those children to either sing louder so I can hear properly, or to shut up.”

  “Children singing, Your Majesty? What do you mean?”

  “Surely you can hear them. They’ve been singing all night. If I could only catch the tune…”

  I thrust my ear toward the outer chamber but the sound dwindles, then fades away altogether. I straighten up, feeling a little ridiculous. “They’ve stopped now. No doubt they will start up again when it is time to sleep.”

  Susan squeezes a small sponge over a bowl of water and gently dabs my skin, washes the crust of sleep from my eyes, makes certain my nose is clean. The linen towel is soft and fragrant. I bury my face in it for a moment before it is taken away.

  “Just a loose gown,” I say. “I will not be leaving the chamber today.”

  In fact, I doubt I will leave the chamber ever again, not until the day they place me in a casket.

  “I am not ready…”

  “Not yet, Your Majesty. Just your cap to fit now…”

  “I meant, I am not ready for the grave.”

  I pull my cap about my ears and turn the collar of the gown up to screen my neck from draughts. “I suppose none of us ever are.”

  She lowers her head and I see something glistening on her cheek.

  “There’s no need for sentiment, Susan. We both know God will call me soon. He, or the devil, comes for all of us in the end.”

  From her stricken face I see my words offer no comfort, so I flap my hand at her and change the subject.

  “That girl, Anne. She’s an interesting little thing.”

  “What did she speak to you about, Your Majesty?” Susan takes a stool beside me and begins to clean my nails. I think back on my conversation with the child and realise she said very little. I was the one who did all the talking.

  “Well, she listens well anyway,” I concede grudgingly.

  “I hope we all listen, Your Majesty. I have been at your side for…”

  “Oh, don’t count the years, for goodness sake, or you’ll remind us we are in our dotage.”

  She laughs, the merriness of the sound belying the lines and wrinkles on her cheek, the dullness of her eye. It seems just days since we both enjoyed the full flush of youth. Life passes so swiftly but we don’t realise it until it is done. Until it is too late.

  “Perhaps it just pleases me to have a new audience. It seems to me that if I can explain it all to her, make her see what my life has been like, she will speak well of me when others may not. I would hate to be disparaged once I am gone.”

  “Who would do so?”

  She is offended at the suggestion, but I know better.

  “Those who abhor the true church, and those who would undo my good work. They will not hesitate to speak ill of me. They will twist things, distort the truth. There are many who resent the deaths … the burnings of the heretics.”

  She sniffs and flaps her hand.

  “They knew the risks of flirting with the devil, it was their choice. The law is written plain for all men to see.”

  I beckon a hovering servant. “Fetch the girl, Anne, back again. Let us see what she thinks of it all.”

  When I ask her, astonishment erupts on her neat features and her cheeks burn ruddily.

  “I am not fit to judge, Your Majesty. I am unschooled in politics and the law.”

  “Well, those two things have never been honest bed partners.” My laughter cackles about the chamber. Then I sober abruptly and rub my hands over my face, eradicating the fleeting mirth.

  “Imagine yourself a heretic. Imagine you deny the true church, the sacrament … would you then believe you deserve to die by the flame?”

  She is pale now, her chin wagging up and down as she searches for the right answer. She is loath to offend me. I place my hand over hers to still the rising panic.

  “I don’t require the right answer; I want the true answer, the one that is in your heart. There will be no punishment.”

  She blinks at me. I watch a pulse beating in her pretty neck. She swallows and, at first, her voice comes hoarsely.

  “I imagine I would not like it, Your Majesty, but it is the law. Everyone who acts against the law of the land knows the risks. Obedience to the monarch and to God is paramount, we all know that.”

  “So they deserved a roasting, you think?”

  “If they were guilty then yes, if taken up in error then … no.”

  The last is but a whisper. I have never considered that a heretic may have been taken in error. I suppose she is thinking of the common folk, the women and children who perished at Smithfield. Now that it is too late, I see that the children could have been spared. It is damned rude of her to point that out.

  Anger stirs in my old bones and my heart begins to race. I put a hand to my chest as if I can slow my heart, squeeze it into compliance. How many of them think this way, and believe my punishments too harsh?

  If the people had only been more obedient I’d have cherished them all, but they were the devil’s creatures. Sent to try me. All I did was chase them back to Hell where they belonged. Anne notices my frown and shuffles her feet.

  “I am sorry to displease you, Your Majesty, but you did order me to speak truthfully.”

  “You don’t understand how hard it was. The things I’d suffered. When … Queen Jane’s death came just as I’d begun to think all would be well again. It wasn’t just an end to my hopes of happiness, it was the beginning of hell on earth.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Why? Because my father was almost mad with grief. Because he would look at none of us, speak to none of us. He closeted himself away, lost faith in his own self. He ceased to believe that God would ever smile upon him and that made him increasingly mean; increasingly dangerous.

  “He said things to me that still burn in my memory to this day. His only comfort was Edward and even though I was glad he had that small comfort, it stung as fiercely as a thousand wasps that he didn’t choose to turn to me … and there was no balm, do you see? Nothing to soothe any of us.”

  Hampton Court Palace – 1537 - 40

  I spend as much time as I am able with my infant brother and sister. Now that her mother is dead and Edward is heir, the resentment I felt toward Elizabeth transforms into love. I may be far above them both in age, but in my heart I am a motherless child … just as they are. It is a bond, and knowing as I do the unpredictability of our father, I try to offer them some form of stability.

  Cromwell assists me in forming a new, and very restricted household. Where I once had three hundred people in my service, now I have just forty-two. But at least I am free to come and go and am no longer given the lowly status of servant.

  To my great delight, Susan Clarencius joins me and so does Margery Baynton, and it feels good to be among friends again. Away from the cloying grief of my father, I wish I could live the lavish life I’d once been accustomed to. Unfortunately, my purse is short and I find it almost impossible to live within my means. I resume my studies in Latin and music and endeavour to be content with the company of my household women, to practise my lute and the latest dance steps, but it isn’t easy.

  Those who have missed me during my travail come calling almost straight away, and I welcome their friendship, realising that there was nothing they could have done to assist me when I was out of favour.

  I throw away my old worn clothes and spend far too much of my income on replenishing my wardrobe. I have a great weakness for finery and jewels, and indulge my passion until my coffers are almost empty and I must apply to Father for extra coin. It is impossible to be scrupulous in my spending but one day, I tell myself, one day I will have all the coin I could wish for.

  Father continues in his search for a husband for me but I still hanker for a union with Spain. The king and council prefer the suit of Dom Luis of Portugal or the Duke of Orléans. But I have received so many offers of marriage in my life that I no longer waste my time fearing, or even expecting, it
to take place.

  Relations between Father and I are still uncertain. As my household expands and my friends are no longer afraid to show affection for me, I come to realise that the king greatly dislikes them. I suppose he imagines we are working against him, plotting to usurp his throne and his hold on the church.

  Of course, the dream of restoring Catholicism is never entirely out of my mind but I love my father and would never work against him, or do anything that might risk his favour any further.

  He seeks to drive a wedge between the emperor and I, and I am as torn now between Spain and my father as I was in my youth. Chapuys continues to urge me to escape England and seek the safety of the emperor’s protection but … although he is unpredictable, the king is my father and I cannot let go of that fact. No matter what dangers I face, I am loath to quit his kingdom because I know that to do so would be to lose his love forever.

  While I live in bodily comfort, ostensibly in my father’s favour once more, outside the palace walls there are stirrings of unrest. Cromwell, in his attempt to put an end to the old ways once and for all, persuades the king to move against the old Catholic families.

  Since my grandfather’s day, those of Plantagenet blood have never wholly been trusted. One by one, members of the Pole family, and the Nevilles and the Courtenays who were so supportive of my mother, are targeted. They are arrested for treason, interrogated and found guilty of conspiracy against the crown.

  Father knows best, I tell myself. He is the king. I am powerless to stop him, but my heart breaks for my old friends. The Poles never failed us in the past and showed unwavering support for my mother’s plight. If I was brave I would speak out, risk my own life for theirs, but Chapuys warns me that to do so would be suicide.