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

by Judith Arnopp

  It is not my place to worry, and I dare not even ask Father for his opinion. I am forced to wait until he offers it. In the end, it is the queen who informs me that the king is looking to Saxony and Antwerp for an alliance with the Duke of Holstein and the German princes.

  But war doesn’t go away. For months it looms over us, a shadow on our gayest feasts, our brightest days and then, while Father is in Portsmouth surveying the fleet, the French navy sails almost into our harbour and, almost under the king’s very nose, sinks his favourite ship, the Mary Rose.

  Father rages and storms, weeping one moment over the loss of life and his beautiful ship, and the next he is ferociously cursing his enemies, demanding to know who is to blame. When he cannot lay hands on the French, he turns on his own.

  Lord Lyle bravely defends our shores and prevents the French from invading, but Father takes no comfort from that. He wants vengeance.

  “I will crush the French! I will see every one of their ships on the bottom of the ocean!”

  He clenches his fists, red-faced with fury, and then, like the turning tide, his rage recedes and he descends once more into self-pity.

  “My ship,” he moans. “My lovely ship!”

  He subsides into sentimental reminiscence while the queen and I sit in silence, unable to think of a single word to offer by way of comfort.

  He recovers, of course, but his confidence has taken a heavy blow. As the months pass, he becomes ever more suspicious, ever more vindictive towards those who attempt to thwart him. Everyone at the Palace, be they high or low, treads with caution.

  St James’ Palace – October 1558

  “When my father was angry, people crept about the palace fearful for their lives and liberty, and I was no different.”

  I slump into my pillow, the discomforting memory of Father’s last few months of life painful to recollect. I blink away the fear of it.

  “They were hard times. I’d no idea then that harder times were to come, of course. Much harder times.”

  “We never know what the future holds.” Susan snips her embroidery thread and folds her linen away. “It is time you had something to eat, Your Majesty, before you fall asleep again.”

  I glance toward the window and sense the light of the day is beginning to fade. The days pass so quickly. Who knows how many more I have left. I pleat the edge of the sheet between my bony fingers.

  “The king grew rapidly ill after that. He was always irascible of course but now there was no one who could predict his moods. He swung left, and then right, and if you weren’t careful and drew his attention, you’d like as not find yourself in the Tower for the least offence.”

  Anne’s eyes are wide, glistening and full of youthful vigour. I would give all I have to be as young as she with all my life ahead of me. Not the life I’ve lived but a new, untroubled one.

  “And in his sickness, the queen was vulnerable. The encroaching death encouraged the queen’s enemies to work against her. The old war between Gardiner and Cranmer raged on.”

  “I thought Queen Katherine was a good woman, why did she have enemies?”

  I throw back my head and make some semblance of laughter. “We all have enemies – even you, if you thought about it. Royal enemies are just more dangerous. As for Katherine, she had too much influence and she was a reformer – as far as Gardiner was concerned, she should have gone to the scaffold … as other queens had before her.”

  “But she hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Oh, that didn’t matter; she’d have been found guilty of something.”

  Behind the shock in Anne’s eyes, I sense sadness … disappointment. She is still young enough to believe there is such a thing as justice, and I feel a twinge of regret at disillusioning her. I reach for her hand; my rough old fingers rasp against the smoothness of her skin. “There is little fairness in this world, child. It is more about power than goodness. Yet, sometimes, no matter how good we are or how much we pray, we are punished. God’s ways are mysterious and harsh, child. Remember that.”

  “Queen Katherine’s enemies … she wasn’t sent to the Tower, was she? So if she won, it proves that sometimes the good do win.”

  I think back, through the days of my own triumph, the days of treason, the dark days of my brother’s reign, to the last months of my father’s.

  “Gardiner worked hard against reform and I applaud him for it but … Katherine was different. She was a wise woman but a misguided one. Imprisonment wasn’t for the likes of her. She needed a talking to, an education, do you see? All heretics should be shown the error of their ways and then, if they refuse to see sense...”

  Anne nods, her eyes fixed on my face. I dab some spittle from my lips.

  “At that time, reformers were being taken left and right. Everyone was treading on glass. The queen, fearful of arrest, cleared her apartments of anything that might condemn her. She was afraid. I was afraid. People were being arrested and thrown in the Tower. When the heretic Anne Askew was taken and tortured, that was one thing, but then Father’s friend Sir George Blagg was arrested and the king stepped in and stopped it. He was reprieved in time. Gardiner was getting above himself but, although Blagg was freed, the rest were burned.”

  “Burned?”

  “At the stake, for heresy, as is the law of the land.”

  There is horror in her eye. A memory stirs of a time when my own stomach turned at the thought of roasting men alive. Those days have passed.

  “When they came to take the queen, she must have been terrified. The warrant was signed but at the last minute the king changed his mind. Katherine must have already felt the lick of flame against her skin when Father clouted Gardiner about the head and sent him away. He couldn’t go through it all again; do you see? Even had Katherine been the worst heretic in England he’d not admit it, because he couldn’t bear to lose another wife. He was too old. Too fragile.”

  “So, her enemies were thwarted by the king, even though she was guilty of … heresy and deserved to be punished? She didn’t die?”

  “Well, she is dead now, of course, but no, she didn’t die then. Father died instead.”

  January - May 1547

  The world is very different without Father. Although I was never in the habit of seeing him every day, the fact of his existence was what held us all together. I am shaken by his death – we all are. It is as if we are a pack of dogs whose tether has been severed; we are no longer sure where to run, or who to bite. The court is edgy, and the queen is now so vulnerable to her enemies that her hands tremble. Everyone speaks in whispers, there is nobody living who can clearly recall life in England before Father took the helm. He may have been erratic, he may have been terrifying, but he was there, like an immoveable mountain beneath which we all sheltered. Now, with just my small brother to take his place, we are faltering, and the future is uncertain.

  “It won’t be Edward leading us at all, will it?” the queen whispers. “It will be the council, led by Hertford, at least until the king reaches his majority.” She plucks at her skirt, her face drawn and pinched with concern.

  My brother is just nine years old. I remember my school lessons where I was taught of other boy-kings, other protectors. It never turned out well but Hertford’s wife is my friend … or she was. I can’t imagine her or Hertford resorting to infanticide.

  But the old ways are swiftly overturned and there are new men at the helm. Norfolk, after falling victim to Father’s displeasure, languishes still in the Tower, and Gardiner no longer holds a position of power. In fact, most men who support the old church have been ousted from prominence by those who support the new. The reformers are in control and I sense division such as the country has never yet seen under Tudor rule.

  For all his bilge and bluster, my brother is a small worm, ready to be gobbled up by the flock of reformers who surround him. They will take his infantile mind and mould it to their will.

  “We must pray they take as much care over the health of his body
as that of his soul.”

  I am with Katherine and her sister, Anne, in her private chamber, her women are seated a short distance away. Like us, despite their leaning, they are uncertain of what will happen next and full of horrified speculation. Katherine has never been a friend of Hertford.

  “My Lord Hertford has bought himself the support he needs, offering titles and property in return for the backing of the council. John Dudley has been made the Earl of Warwick, and Wriothesley is Earl of Southampton. In all but name, Hertford is now king. He has made himself Duke of Somerset while only allowing his brother Thomas a barony.”

  Her voice softens, and she caresses the name of Thomas, who was her sweetheart long before she caught the eye of the late king.

  “He has been given Sudeley Castle,” I remind her. “That is not something to be sniffed at.”

  “No.” She smiles vaguely, and doesn’t meet my eye.

  “Somerset should be careful. He raises himself too high, too fast, as other Lord Protectors did before him … they who climb too high, often fall…”

  “Hush, Mary…” The queen, whom I must now learn to call ‘dowager’, leans forward, glancing toward her women. “You must promise me not to speak so. We lack the protection of the late king now … we are more vulnerable than ever before. Remember that.”

  I frown at her serious face.

  “But … my brother…”

  “… is nine years old. He is powerless. A figurehead and nothing more. It is Hertford – Somerset – and his ilk whom we must answer to now.”

  Belatedly, I recall that Lady Hertford is one of Katherine’s women, but I do not see her gathered with the others. No doubt she has abandoned her post and is enjoying her husband’s new-found status, swanning about court and waving her title of Duchess as if it is a swansdown fan. I have often wondered if her friendship with me has more to do with status than liking. I frown at my own thoughts.

  Katherine sits back and fumbles with her embroidery before tossing it aside again with a gusty sigh.

  “It is best that we trust no one other than our closest kin. Mary, despite our differences in matters of religion, you and Elizabeth are my family. I would never wish harm to come to either of you. Therefore, heed me, keep a close tongue, and your own counsel and your opinions to yourself – especially when it comes to religion. You can sometimes be quite outspoken.”

  We clasp hands. I am thirty-one years old and although I have never enjoyed the full extent of a father’s affection, without him, I am like the most wretched orphan. Katherine is the closest thing I have to a mother.

  “It has been agreed that Elizabeth will join my household,” she continues. “What do you propose to do, Mary? You are now in possession of a vast fortune, with many houses in which you could make a home.”

  I frown, a little piqued at not being invited to remain with her but … I would have refused anyway. I want the freedom to follow my own heart when it comes to religion and pray in the manner I see fit. I’d never be free if I shared a house with Katherine.

  “I will retire to my estates, Hunsdon perhaps or Kenninghall,” I say. “I must confess, it is very satisfying to have inherited so many of the great Howard properties. It is little in the way of compensation but … well, perhaps I am petty.”

  Katherine smiles. I smile in return. She knows well my abhorrence for the Howards, the kin of Anne Boleyn. Then her smile fades and she bites her lip. “Mary,” she says, and pulls a face.

  “What is it, Katherine? Is there something…”

  “I do have something I must tell you. I am loath to take such a step behind your back but … I am more afraid of losing him again.”

  I sit tall, my back straight.

  “Him? You mean Thomas Seymour?”

  She nods, dabs at a tear and looks down at her kerchief.

  “I have loved Thomas for … oh, for so long I cannot quite remember. While I was wed to your father, I did my duty as queen and as his wife, but now … Mary, I have been wed three times and never once where my heart dictated. This time, I want to make my own choice. It is my last chance at happiness.”

  “And you think the admiral will make you happy?”

  I had not meant to sound so doubtful but my reservations are loud in my voice. She looks down and begins to pull at her kerchief, shredding the fine lace edging.

  “I can only hope he will.”

  “Do you expect the council will permit it?”

  She is silent for so long that I speak again. “Oh Katherine, surely you don’t intend to wed without the permission of the king?”

  She lets out a sound, halfway between a sob and a sigh.

  “Thomas says we must. He says they won’t allow it because I am the dowager. They will insist we wait to be sure I am not carrying the late king’s child … but I know I am not. It is not possible. If we wait, I will lose him again … I know it! Do – do we have your blessing?”

  Silence falls like a portcullis. She sits like a lamb awaiting slaughter while I mull over what she has told me. If I give my support, it will go ill with the council when they discover it; if I refuse it, I will lose a valued friend, my substitute mother. I shift uneasily in my seat.

  “Katherine. Privately you have my blessing but I cannot openly support such a match. And need I remind you, you’ve just been warning me to tread carefully yet … here you are about to commit social suicide.”

  Her tears are flowing freely now; they trickle down her cheek and drip from her chin. She puts her hands over her face and I notice that her women have fallen silent and are watching us, their sewing abandoned in their laps. I shift in my seat so my back is turned toward them, blocking the dowager from their view.

  “Oh Mary, I have no choice!” Her hands drop, she covers her stomach and my mouth falls open as shock drenches me.

  “You are with child?” I hiss, leaning forward so her women cannot overhear. She puts up a hand.

  “Oh no, no, I am not. I swear it, but … perhaps … soon.”

  I have never been so disappointed in anyone in my life. She is the dowager queen of England, a woman of integrity and grace, a woman of intelligence, yet she cannot govern her own conduct. She has allowed lust to obliterate her common sense. She should have known better. She should have waited. Why does love drive out all sensible thought? I suspect I will never discover the answer to that.

  I stand up, smoothing my skirts. She grabs my hand.

  “Mary, please, do not deny me your friendship.”

  I look upon her lowered head and speak quietly.

  “I will never do that, Katherine, but you must see that I need to distance myself from this. If the council were to suspect that I knew of or condoned your actions, I would risk my own security. Believe me, I wish you well, you and your admiral. I hope all goes well with you.”

  I fear it won’t. The admiral is a rogue, a flirt and a villain who once even approached me with the idea of marriage, but Katherine shall not learn of that from my lips. Shortly afterwards, with a sense of impending doom, I leave her company, obliterate all thoughts of court intrigue from my mind, and travel to East Anglia to inspect my new properties.

  Kenninghall – Summer 1548

  “Oh, my lady, you shall enjoy being in residence here!” Susan leans from the window and looks out across the gardens.

  “Yes, it is most pleasing.” I look around at the refurbished apartment, the new tapestries and cushions. My women are busily delving into chests, arranging the chairs to make the most of the light from the tall windows.

  I think of Norfolk living here. While he worked against me and dreamed of smashing my head against a wall, these were the ramparts that sheltered him. The man is a monster. I am glad he is in the Tower – I hope he rots there. As I live and laugh in his house, I shall think of his present suffering often.

  I have no plans to attend court. Already they are making changes in the realm that I can never agree with. I know I would be unable to govern my rage were I to witness
at first hand the heresies that they are allowing to creep into England. No, I shall remain here, away from it all and, as long as they leave me to my own devices, all will be well.

  After a walk in the grounds, I sit down to write to Katherine. I extol the virtues of my new house, exchange some light gossip about women of mutual acquaintance, but I do not acknowledge her marriage, or her husband’s ambition to get closer to the throne. Somerset will keep his brother as far from the king as possible, I have no doubt of that. From her last letter, Katherine is happy in her new state. Elizabeth has been joined at Chelsea by our cousin Jane; the cleverest pair of girls ever to enter the schoolroom.

  My sister has always been bright – precocious some might say, and Jane is similarly gifted but unfortunately she is a strong advocate for the new religion. Elizabeth will be targeted both by Jane and the dowager queen. Katherine will encourage them both. It is a pity. It would be far better to concentrate such minds upon truth and tradition.

  The pair of them dress as plainly as paupers and keep their noses so deep into their books that they become like moles; short of both sight and insight. But it is no matter to me what they think or how they worship, so I do not chide them.

  From time to time, I get a long erudite letter from my sister with a gift she has sewn or a passage she has translated. Her letters are dutiful rather than affectionate and it is impossible to detect in the words any semblance of the child I once doted on.

  At first, all seems well. But even though I am far from court in the depths of the Norfolk countryside, rumours reach me of events taking place there. The protector is allowing changes that violate the six articles laid down by my father. They do not merely meddle with Mass but order that images be destroyed; processions are to be abolished and the ringing of bells and the lighting of candles is to be forbidden. Cranmer, in his Book of Homilies, attacks the Mass. His beliefs are heretical but when Gardiner rightly points this out he is swiftly imprisoned and the abuse against the Mass increases.