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

by Judith Arnopp

  They order an English Bible to be placed in every parish church and, horror upon horror, the clergy are now to be allowed to marry! In the end, when I can contain myself no longer, I sit down to write a letter outlining my objections. England is no longer the peaceful and stable kingdom my father left behind, but our realm must not become so divided.

  Somerset’s reply, when it finally arrives, is disappointing. He states, to my great chagrin, that my father did not leave a peaceful kingdom but an incomplete reformation. He believes it to be a situation that can only be remedied by completely abolishing Popish doctrine as well as the authority of Rome. In other words, he infers that my father had not yet completed the changes he intended to the church. But he is very much mistaken. My God-fearing father would never champion Lutheran teaching; to break with Rome is one thing but to work against God? That is something he would never do!

  I screw Somerset’s letter into a ball and toss it across the room with a futile scream of rage. He has no right to make such changes to the constitution; he is a protector, a servant of the king! Only my brother, the reigning monarch, can contradict the six articles … when he is of age to do so. Until then, the matter should be left alone.

  Shortly afterwards, I begin to receive bullying letters from court informing me that my religious practices are in opposition to those accepted by the crown. My response is to increase the number of Masses I attend daily; sometimes hearing as many as four in a single day. I ensure that in all my households the traditional rites are followed to the letter. Somerset and his ilk can go hang themselves. They can hardly have me thrown into the Tower. I am, after all, the heir to Edward’s throne.

  So, my hopes of a peaceful life in the country are spoiled by intimidating messages from the protector. I write to Spain, who warns Somerset to leave me in peace, claiming there is no harm in me following the faith I was born into. But the orders continue to arrive from court. I deal with Somerset as politely and as coldly as I am able but, when fresh news comes from Queen Katherine, it takes the strength from my knees.

  It breaks my heart to write of this, dear Mary, but I have discovered Elizabeth indulging in lewd behaviour with Thomas. At first, I though it only play but then … then I came upon them together and I saw quite plainly that I was wrong…

  My mouth drops open. Poor Katherine! She must be distraught. Not only betrayed by her husband but by her beloved stepdaughter too! Two of the people she loves most in the world have committed sin beneath her very roof. What was Elizabeth thinking? What was Seymour thinking? It is not as if he can divorce Katherine and wed Elizabeth. Katherine is expecting his child!

  Katherine, of course, is reluctant to speak ill of Seymour and her tight lips make me suspicious. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault at all. Perhaps he wasn’t the one to initiate the ill behaviour. Perhaps Elizabeth is her mother’s daughter after all.

  Anne Boleyn somehow induced my father to act like a man possessed, to throw away all he valued for the promise of her bed. Elizabeth might be young, but she is sharp. Is she likewise able to bewitch men with those Boleyn eyes?

  I peer into my looking glass. I have my father’s small and unprepossessing eyes. I will never bewitch anyone with them. No man will ever dance to my tune. I sigh and turn away, my head beginning to ache with the worry of it all.

  I learn that Elizabeth is to be sent away from the queen’s Chelsea household in disgrace, while Katherine takes up residence at Sudeley to await the birth of her child.

  The poor infant will be born into a world of turbulence, the child of a rogue. It is well her mother is possessed of such sweetness. Hopefully she will make up for Thomas’ lack. Despite her love for the new religion, Katherine has always been good to me … and Elizabeth. She nurtured all of us. She was born to be a mother. She does not deserve to be so ill-used.

  During the weeks that follow, I fashion some small garments and send them to Katherine with my next letter, bidding her luck in her coming confinement. I make no mention of either Elizabeth or Katherine’s husband. After the messenger has ridden away, my thoughts turn to Elizabeth. Perhaps I should invite her to live with me. She is young, in dire need of a mother figure to look up to, to emulate. If anyone could set her on the correct religious path, it is me. But for now, she remains in Katherine’s guardianship. I will discuss the matter with her when the child has been born.

  Almost by return, a letter arrives informing me she has given birth to a daughter, and my ladies and I drink to her long life and happiness. But, just six days later, I receive further word. Turning my back on my women, my temples begin to throb as I break the seal and see the words, scored so heavily on the page.

  Katherine has died, taken suddenly by childbed fever, leaving her daughter, whom she named Mary in my honour, to the devices of her wayward father.

  It is cool and dark in the chapel and I relish the silence. I send my women away that I might pray for Katherine alone. When I am at prayer, I seem to leave the world behind and exist in a high and lonely place where sin can never intrude. There is only me and God and the love I bear Him. As the cares of this world melt away, I stand before Him and beg that Katherine’s soul be allowed to pass quickly from purgatory.

  She was the best of women, the kindest of souls who may have been misguided in life but surely is deserving of the sweetness of Heaven. Before I leave, I remember to pray for the child too, for only God knows what her future will be – daughter of a queen and a reprobate.

  My heart is heavy. I grieve for Katherine, for the loss of my father, and for the end of the world I loved, the religion I refuse to divert from.

  I pray for little Mary Seymour, and for all the children of the true church in these perilous days. The summer passes, wet and warm, the crops rot in the fields, the cattle take sick and die. And, months later, when Thomas Seymour is taken up for treason and condemned to death by his own brother and nephew … it seems somehow fitting. I never expect to hear good tidings in these sorry days. As the world slowly implodes, the only thing in my power to do is pray.

  St James’ Palace – October 1558

  “Were those times truly perilous, Your Majesty?”

  I squint at the child, flexing my toes beneath the covers.

  “Of course they were; it was terrifying. I could trust no one. I had never had faith in Thomas Seymour but I cannot truly believe he meant to hurt the king. He was always fond of children, especially us royals, and he never once called without a gift of some kind; a box of sweetmeats for Elizabeth, a toy for Edward. I recall he once gave my brother a pet monkey. It may have all been … to the purpose of securing favour and a place in the future royal household but … I will not believe that. He was a fool but he did not deserve to die.

  “In those uncertain times, peril was around every corner especially if, like me, you refused the jurisdiction of the protector. I, and people like me, found ourselves caught in a cleft stick. I could not forswear Christ, and I could not in conscience obey the law of the land. I stood in direct conflict to Somerset’s wishes and yes, my life was in great danger just like anyone else who stood in opposition to him.”

  Anne shuffles closer, her face shining like a moon in the darkness of the chamber.

  “What happened? Why did they not arrest you?”

  I sniff, wipe the tip of my nose on the edge of my sleeve and try to blink away the darkness that encroaches on my vision.

  “Ah, well I had the backing of Spain, you see. I’ve relied on Spain, some might say unwisely, throughout every crisis of my life. Had Somerset come down too hard on me, he’d have been ever after looking over his shoulder to see if my cousin was coming for him. The Spanish ambassador … what was the fellow’s name … Van de Delft … he suggested I flee the country and take up residence at Charles’ court but … I could never leave England. It is the only home I’ve ever known. I always looked upon it as my country … even then, when I appeared to have no part in its future.”

  “So what happened next?”

&
nbsp; I peer into the past, that seems to have come to life among the bed hangings.

  “Well, in the end, after months, years of bullying, even the council had enough of Somerset. The citizens whom I lived amongst in Norfolk rioted – I swear I had nothing to do with it. Somerset sent Dudley to deal with the trouble and the fighting was fierce, and the punishment of the rebels fiercer still. The people of East Anglia hated Dudley ever after … and Somerset too. I was powerless while England balanced on the edge of civil war and could do nothing but pray, but … it seems that God was listening after all.”

  “What did He do?”

  Anne’s eyes are shining as if she expects me to reply that Heaven sent a fearsome angel to smite down His enemies. I smile at the image, laughter bubbling in my belly.

  “He just made Warwick, Southampton and other members of the privy council come to their senses and toss Somerset from his pedestal.

  “He didn’t go easily, of course. As soon as he got wind of what was happening, he took possession of Edward and bundled him away to Windsor Castle. To speak plain, he kidnapped the king.”

  Her mouth falls open, her eyes swivelling as she tries to absorb the enormity of the events I describe.

  “Kidnapped the king?”

  She plucks a grape from my bowl, forgetting whose company she is in, but I don’t mind. I rather enjoy her lack of fear, the absence of false deference. I have the feeling that when God finally frees me from this earthly penance, she will be one of the few to regret it.

  “Yes. He wrote to me of it afterwards; the king, I mean. He complained of rough treatment and of catching a fever. He said he greatly missed his chamber and servants, and having books or toys to play with. As I recall, Somerset had forgotten to take the king’s spaniel along. I laughed when I read that. The country in turmoil, an anointed king in danger of his life, and my precocious little brother is angry that he has mislaid his pet dog.”

  Our conjoined laughter makes the candles dip but I sober quickly and frown at the top of her head. “The truth of the matter is, the coup turned my brother, who was the hope of Tudor dynasty, from a revered king into a frightened little boy. I never forgot that and neither, I suspect, did Edward.”

  “So, everything was all right after that?”

  “I thought so, for a while. I imagined the coup was a triumph for the old church and that the ancient ways would soon be restored but I was wrong. Northumberland was just as ambitious as Somerset, you see; another scoundrel who was just as wed to heresy as the rest of them.”

  A door opens, the past and the people who inhabited it with me trickle away and I remember I am trapped in the present.

  “The doctor is here, Your Majesty.”

  I tug the covers to my chin.

  “I have no wish to see him.”

  “But you instructed me to send for him, Your Majesty.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve been talking to Anne here.”

  I glance at my companion, but her seat is empty, the skeletal remains of the grapes she has eaten the only testament to her having ever been with me. I frown at her absence. I don’t remember her leaving me.

  The doctor steps forward from the shadows, clutching his robes. He clears his throat.

  “Your Majesty, your woman tells me you are having trouble passing…”

  “I have no wish to discuss that.”

  “Your Majesty, if I might just…” He rubs his hands together to warm them and Susan, like a traitor, snatches back the sheet. My bedgown is bunched about my knees and my lower legs are swollen and pale like those of an invalid. I remember when they were shapely, and muscled from dancing and long days in the saddle. Not that anyone ever saw them.

  “Come, Your Majesty, let me remove the pillow that you might lie flat.”

  There is no use complaining so I do as I am bid and submit to the indignity of examination. My bedgown is tugged higher and I raise my knees. As cool air wafts around my quaint, an aroma of piss and sickness rises, but nobody dares remark upon it.

  The doctor’s hands are warm and dry. He presses my flaccid belly, making me wince.

  “You feel pain, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course I do, man. You’d feel pain too were you so ill-treated.”

  “There has been no return of…”

  Susan shakes her head and covers my nethers, her face pink with embarrassment on my behalf.

  “Her Majesty eats very little and says she isn’t hungry, but she drinks copious amounts. Yet … well, she doesn’t pass much water.”

  “That will account for the swelling in her ankles and the pain in her stomach.”

  He scratches his chin, frowning at me, and I wonder if he thinks my body is like a bucket and my ankles are full of piss.

  It is not so long since this fool of a doctor concluded that I was pregnant, and set all England rejoicing. The fool.

  For a short time, I was so happy. Preparation was made for the birth of a prince – the hope of the realm. The royal cradle was brought out and dusted down again, my women made garments, and swaddling bands were prepared.

  The lying-in chamber, when I entered it, was dark and warm, the shutters sealed, the bed hangings showing only images of peace and fertility. For months I waited, Philip waited, my women waited, the realm waited and, as their hopes receded, my mortification grew. Of the myriad humiliations I have suffered in my life, that was surely the greatest.

  “I will have a powder prepared,” the doctor says. After a perfunctory bow, Susan follows him from the chamber, murmuring secrets as to my diet, and my bowel movements.

  I hate sickness. It is weak. A monarch should never be weak. I am not a child as my brother was. I should not be at the mercy of fools such as these. I should be strong as I was in the beginning.

  Kenninghall – 1548-49

  When I refuse to attend the Christmas court, I am not as sick as I pretend. The truth of the matter is that I am loath to rub shoulders with reformers or be refused the right to hear Mass. Sometimes, it seems as though all the demons of Hell have been unleashed in England and now gather to cavort in a lewd heretical dance at my brother’s court. It is wiser not to visit him if I cannot obey his laws.

  When the Mass is forbidden in June of 1549, I continue as before; the aroma of incense is thick in my chapel, the bells ring loudly and the forbidden candles burn just as brightly as they ever have. Some faithless jade, and I know not who, carries word of this to the privy council who send word, demanding that I stop my practices immediately or find myself in defiance of Edward’s authority. In other words, guilty of treason.

  How does one make a heretic understand?

  They are blind and deaf to my defence. They are ignorant of the sin they themselves are committing against God and I cannot make them see it. There is no question of the path I must take. I can choose to defy my king or my God, and if death is the punishment for making the right choice then, so be it.

  My Lord, I perceive by the letters with which I like received from you, and all of the King’s Majesty's council, that you be all sorry to find so little conformity in me touching the observation of His Majesty's laws; who are well assured that I have offended no law, unless it be a late law of your own making, for the altering of matters in religion in which my conscience is not worthy to have the name of a law, both for the King’s honour’s sake, the wealth of the realm … and (as my conscience is very well persuaded) the offending of God, which passes all the rest.

  Before I can change my mind, I dispatch a servant with the letter and await the consequences. I do not have long to wait.

  I am up and breakfasted, my women just completing the last of my toilette, when I hear a party of horse arriving. One of my women, Margery, I think, cranes her neck at the window to see who calls so early. She turns, white-faced.

  “I believe by his badge it is Lord Rich, my lady, and some other gentleman. Oh, my lady, do you think they will arrest us all? I only ever did as you instructed!”

  She screws her skirt
into a crumpled ball, her features turning upside down with fear.

  “Don’t be foolish. They cannot arrest my entire household. I doubt very much if they can even take me; not unless they want my cousin to send his armada. Pull yourselves together. These men are bullies; rogues and bullies. We have God on our side.”

  My brave words do not prevent my knees from quivering. I clasp my hands tightly together, stiffen my spine and await their coming with my head high.

  They enter in a flurry of cloaks, with a gust of fresh air at their heels, and I suddenly have the urge to be outside, on the chase, in pursuit of a hind. Here, inside, I am the quarry instead of the huntsman.

  “Lady Mary.”

  Lord Rich bows over my hand but he does not allow his lips to touch my skin. His fellow, whom I recognise as Sir William Petre, does likewise. They are warm from the ride and I note a sheen of sweat on Rich’s brow, and the way Petre’s hair is plastered to his scalp. Perhaps, I think with a stirring of confidence, they are as ill at ease as I.

  Lord Rich pulls out a chair from beneath the table and bids me sit on it. I obey as slowly and as regally as I can, perching perilously on the extreme edge and clasping my fingers tightly together. My whole body is tense, my muscles clenched as I wait for the blade of their displeasure to strike.

  Rich clears his throat.

  “My lady, I will not mince my words. You are in breach of the king’s law. Despite our several attempts to dissuade you from it, you and your household…” he looks pointedly at my hovering women, “… continue in your heresy.”

  “My heresy, sir? It is your reforms that have invited the anti-Christ into our church.”

  I stare coldly into his face. His lips compress, turn white, and the lower lid of his left eye twitches.

  “You must – we all must – comply with the changes in the law. You and your household imperil your lives by ignoring the reforms.”