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

by Judith Arnopp

  “Oh, Susan, I am bored to death with talk of marriage. Summon the other women and let us have a game of cards or something. There is an hour or more before bed.”

  After much heart searching, I decide to marry Philip of Spain and all hell breaks out in the council chamber. Gardiner, Rochester, Englefield and Waldegrave insist I should make an English match.

  “The English hate foreigners!” Gardiner exclaims. “There could be war with France over this! Your Majesty will be happier and more secure with Courtenay…”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Paget stands up, waving a sheaf of paper. I close my eyes and let their wrath wash over me. They are all fools. When I stand up and face them, I do not speak at once but wait as their argument slowly disintegrates. One by one they turn toward me.

  “Thank you,” I say when silence has resumed. “I have given this matter much thought, considered all things, pondered upon every one of your opinions. The matter of marriage is a personal one, or it should be. Although matrimony was contrary to my own inclination, my sources tell me that Philip is a kindly man who will ever show me consideration, and observe the conditions that shall be put in place to safeguard the welfare of this country. God has performed many miracles for me of late and now, he offers me a husband; a husband who will love me perfectly and never give me cause for jealousy. Therefore, gentlemen, can you not just be glad?”

  I watch them wag their heads and scratch their beards. Their arguments die unheard for they have the good sense to heed my wishes. When we turn our attention to other matters, I find it difficult to concentrate. I am to be married and while most women welcome a union and the promise of children, I only fear it.

  St James’ Palace – November 1558

  “Why did you fear it, Your Majesty?”

  I turn toward the sound of her voice, her guileless question reminding me of her youth. She knows nothing of life, or marriage, or what is expected of us. Nothing at all.

  The shutters are drawn, I am unsure if it is evening or early morning. These last weeks the hours seem to merge one into the other until time is both endless and static.

  “On my wedding day, I was approaching thirty-eight years old and knew nothing of men. Philip was nigh on ten years younger than I, and had been married before. She, Maria Manuela, died in childbed. I imagined he’d adored her and I hated being second best. I needed him to love me. Our marriage was one of arrangement. We’d never set eyes on one another, yet I was expected to share his bed, and allow him to look upon my nakedness.”

  The child makes a small embarrassed sound and I reach out for her hand before I continue.

  “What I couldn’t work out was how to maintain my queenship, shall we call it, while suffering the indignity of consummating our marriage.”

  “Oh, I see,” she says in a small, tight voice. She doesn’t see at all, of course. No woman can imagine the realities of the marital bed until they’ve experienced it. It was terrifying to me at the time, and I never found joy in it. Evidently, passion was not in my nature. I found more excitement in my dogs and horses than I ever did with Philip. Perhaps it was him. I’d no gauge with which to judge him by, whereas he … not only had he been wed before, but half the whores of Europe had been at his disposal.

  There is more I’d like to say on this subject but, taking pity on Anne, I sway the conversation and spare her blushes.

  “Anyway, child, I am getting ahead of myself. Before we could marry I had to deal with something every monarch dreads.”

  “What is that, Your Majesty?”

  “Rebellion. I love my people and when Wyatt rose up against me, the hurt I felt was overwhelming but then, when it passed, I found I was furious.”

  “Why did they rebel? Was it because of the church?”

  “That; and their distrust of Philip. They were afraid, so they said, that the country would be overrun by the Spanish. The English don’t like foreigners, Gardiner was right about that. Their fear of our blood being diluted rules their silly little hearts. They had no love for Philip because of his nationality yet they love me, or most of them do, and I am half Spanish. Any child I bore Philip would be more Spanish than English and they didn’t like the idea of that. Of course, they didn’t like the changes taking place in the church either. Every one of the men who rose with Wyatt against me were secret heretics.”

  “What, why – was Your Majesty in danger?”

  “I would have been, had they laid hands on me. I have no doubt that had my army not been the stronger, I’d have been taken down and thrown in the Tower while Elizabeth or Jane were raised in my place.”

  “Lady Jane Grey? I thought she was imprisoned.”

  “So she was, but once they’d murdered me, they’d have soon had her out again. Her father was involved in the intrigue, fool that he was. I had pardoned him once but I wasn’t about to do so again. That was why Jane had to die, do you see? I tried hard not to do it. She was my kin and I loved her, but she had to die, for the sake of England, for the sake of the church.”

  “It’s time for your physic, Your Majesty.”

  I turn toward the sound of Susan’s voice, and wave her away.

  “Leave me alone, that stuff tastes vile and does little good. What is the use?”

  She sighs gustily, and when she speaks her tone is patient and caring.

  “It can’t do any harm though, can it? Take it for me. To make me feel better.”

  She places cool fingers beneath my chin and guides me to the spoon. Small gestures like this prove that she knows my sight has gone, although I’ve admitted to no one that I am now almost completely blind.

  The concoction she feeds me is foul, I almost spit it back at her but she keeps a hand on each cheek, as if to help me swallow. Just how old must one be before free of the obligation to the bidding of others? First my father, then his bullying henchmen, then my council and now in my final days, I must obey my servants.

  “Take this now, Your Majesty.” I open my mouth and she places a segment of orange on my tongue. Flavour floods my mouth. I grunt my appreciation as the taste brings memories of my infancy when my world was full of sunshine and flavoured with citrus.

  “So, you cut off her head, Your Majesty?”

  “In the end, I had to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the uprising; because of her father; because while Jane lived she provided a rallying point for every heretic in England, and every exile overseas.”

  “It doesn’t sound very fair to her. She didn’t do anything.”

  “No; you’re right, it wasn’t. Life is seldom fair for noblewomen; especially Tudors.” I snatch my hand from hers. “Are you criticising me?”

  “Oh no, Your Majesty. I am merely curious. I know you acted for the sake of England and the church.”

  “Yes, I did. Mostly the church. Heresy is a plague, blown on the evil wind from Europe. It began in my father’s day and where it will end … I can’t imagine. It is every Catholic’s duty to stamp out heresy whenever they see it.”

  Silence falls. I can almost hear her thinking. I play with my rosary beads, the worn familiar surface bringing a small glimmer of light into my darkness. I begin to mutter a prayer.

  “I beg pardon?”

  “Nothing, child, I was speaking with God but no matter, there will be time for that later. He is always there. Was there something you were going to say?”

  “Your Majesty, if the new religion is wrong, why does God not strike the heretics down?”

  Good question. I often wish He would.

  “It is a test. He likes to test us. I am His instrument and He is striking out and showing His displeasure through me. I am His tool.”

  “So, the fires … the fires at Smithfield, they are God’s will too?”

  “They are.”

  “I see. Tell me more about the rebellion. Why did it begin and who started it?”

  I motion for the cup and she holds it to my lips while I moisten my tongue. Dabbing my chin with
a kerchief, I think back to the early days of my reign. I had wanted to focus on my marriage and the promise of children, but instead I had to defend my throne against another rebellion.

  Susan said it wasn’t a personal attack; the rebels had little argument against me. It was the true church they hated. As soon as I realised that, I knew they were fiends, instruments of the devil, sent to test me. I knew I would beat them for God was on my side.

  Richmond Palace – February 1554

  My women and I are sorting through a pile of fabric samples and trims for the fashioning of my wedding clothes. Someone is singing, the high melody accompanied by a lute. Bobbing her head in time with the music, Susan holds a piece of lilac velvet against my cheek.

  “Hmm,” she says, “too pale.” She rummages through the jumble of velvet, and draws a deeper hue from the bottom. “This is better...”

  The nap is thick and warm. I am rubbing my face against it when the door opens and Stephen Gardiner is announced. I sigh and do not rise to greet him but wait for him to approach me.

  “I hope you are well today, Your Majesty?” He bows over my hand, looking about the chamber as if wary that my women may be concealing an assassin. I regard him quizzically, growing suspicious of his errand.

  “I am in good health, sir, but please, dispense with formality. I can see you have news, so impart it quickly.”

  “I have been informed by the Imperial ambassador…”

  “Renard?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. He informs me that he believes there is a conspiracy brewing … a possible rebellion in the making.”

  “Rebellion?” I am alert now. I stand up, straighten my shoulders and narrow my eyes, all thoughts of my forthcoming wedding forgotten. “Tell me.”

  I beckon him to the privacy of an alcove.

  “It seems that a small group of disaffected men –”

  “Such as? You have names?”

  “Erm...” He clears his throat, swiveling his gaze toward the upper corner of the room as he reels off a list. “Wyatt, Carew … Croft … and Suffolk is also involved, or so we believe.”

  “Suffolk? Jane Grey’s father? Is he an utter fool?”

  “I believe he must be, Your Majesty.”

  I spin sharply, stride the length of the chamber and pause at the window. He follows, his footsteps soft on the floor behind me. Reluctantly, and sick at heart, I turn and face him again.

  “Heretics all.”

  “So it would seem, Your Majesty.”

  “What must I do to please these people, Gardiner? My only wish is to set them on the truthful path. Why will they not see the error of their ways?”

  “I know not,” he says, raising his hands and letting them drop again. “I must inform Your Majesty that Courtenay is also believed to be in the thick of it.”

  Courtenay; my erstwhile suitor. This would not have happened had I settled for him. These men that have taken up arms are not just against my church but against my union with Spain. The dogs think to rule me and tell me where I must wed. I swear to God they never dared to instruct my father. Like a cork from a casket, my temper suddenly explodes.

  “By God, the man must be missing his Tower cell! Bring him here to me! I would speak with Courtenay myself and hear first-hand what he has to say.”

  Gardiner cringes, bowing several times as he backs toward the door. I yell after him, “And ensure he is found quickly!”

  I turn from the door to find my women grouped at the table, slack-faced with surprise. I laugh without humour.

  “You look like a gaggle of drooling fools,” I frown. Susan is the only one courageous enough to brave my wrath.

  “What did Gardiner want, Your Majesty? I thought I heard him mention the word rebellion.”

  “You heard right.”

  I slump into a chair and strike the table with my fist. Pain shoots up my arm. I cradle it to my bosom, rocking back and forth. “A party has risen against my rule and plans to put Elizabeth in my place … or Jane. I should have had her head, as my council advised.”

  A shudder runs through Susan as she makes a soothing sound that riles me further.

  “It is my marriage they dislike! They seek to force me to their will. Should it not be the other way round? Are they not the ones who should do my bidding?”

  “Men will always seek to rule us, no matter what our station.”

  Our eyes meet. Hers are sad; mine are no doubt furious. I clench my lips and run my tongue around my dry teeth.

  “Perhaps I should not marry at all. I’d sooner have my council fuming about my virginity than be at the beck and call of a man … any man. There is not one male on this earth who can be trusted.”

  “But, Your Majesty, you have given your consent. Surely it is too late now to change your mind.”

  I stand up again.

  “Yes, because I am a woman. It was not too late for my father to annul his union with Anne of Cleves even after they’d shared a bed. He found a way to be rid of her, or his henchmen did. I cannot envisage my council ever being as careful of my wishes as they were of my father’s. God’s teeth! It makes me mad.”

  “Do not fret, Your Majesty. Come, sit by the hearth and I will ask Margery to fetch her lute and play for us.”

  Reluctantly, I allow myself to be guided to a favourite chair, while the women gather round me, their faces tense and unhappy.

  “What will happen now, Your Majesty?” Jane Dormer asks, and Susan scowls at her to be quiet. I turn to look at her and something about their quiet presence calms me … just a little.

  “I have sent for Norfolk. He and the council will send out an army to quell the rebels.”

  Poor Norfolk must be tired of rebellion. His service to my family has been peppered with revolt and unrest yet … I know the people love me and desire peace as much as I. It is the nobles who are full of disquiet.

  “Will there be a battle?”

  I sigh and accept a drink that Susan offers.

  “I hope not but it is possible.”

  I think back over the last few weeks. While I’ve been enjoying the Christmas festivities and planning my wedding, members of my court have been plotting against me, arranging my downfall. There is no one I can trust. I narrow my eyes.

  Elizabeth must surely be involved in this. Why else would she choose to spend the Christmas season at Ashridge rather than with me at court? All those promises to study her Bible and learn to be a good Catholic were a deception. How was I ever taken in? She is a traitor of the highest degree. How could she do this to me?

  I can find no joy in the sweet music that Margery plays. I am restless, unable to settle. Gulping my wine, I bang the cup on the table, get up and begin to pace the floor. When will I ever know peace? How can I ever feel secure with half my realm up in arms against me?

  Courtney is brought before Stephen Gardiner. I conceal myself behind a screen and listen with growing rage to his cringing remorse. There is no need to resort to the thumbscrew to get his full confession, for his former arrogance has been entirely quashed by terror. Gardiner does not speak at first, but waits and watches while Courtenay squirms in his chair like a worm on a hook. Through a gap in the curtain, I see him lace his fingers together as if in prayer.

  “Edward,” Gardiner says, his voice neutral. “Do you understand why I have summoned you here today?”

  Courtenay shakes his head.

  “No, no, my lord. I had thought perhaps t-to arrange a pageant to – to entertain the queen on her forthcoming…”

  “No. There is no pageant, but there is another matter … isn’t there?”

  He sweats, wipes a hand over his face. Shaking his head, he swallows.

  “I am at a loss then, sir.”

  Gardiner settles deeper in his chair.

  “I am informed that you and certain of your friends have spent the dark days of Yule concocting a revolt; a revolt in which you mean to depose our anointed queen, marry the Princess Elizabeth and together make a bid for Queen
Mary’s throne.”

  He jumps up, his chair crashing to the floor.

  “Nay, sir, that is not so! It is a foul lie!”

  He runs a hand through his hair so it stands like a rooster’s comb – coxcomb that he is. Gardiner sits back and regards him with cold, unblinking eyes.

  “I have sworn statements that state otherwise.”

  “Then they are false, my lord. I swear, on my life, I am a true subject of the queen.”

  His face is pale, his tongue emerges in a vain attempt to wet his lips.

  “You deny that you have sought the hand of Princess Elizabeth?”

  Courtenay coughs, splutters. I can almost see the cold sweat breaking on his brow.

  “I – I admire the princess greatly, but I would never do anything to place her in danger. I have no wish to put her on the throne. I don’t want to marry her and have no plan to.”

  “Since Her Majesty has been magnanimous enough to restore your lands and title of the Earl of Devon, there are a hundred noblewomen who would welcome a match with you. Is that enough for you?”

  “More than enough, sir, truly. I greatly value my liberty. Her Majesty has been my very good friend, and I am hers.”

  He takes out a kerchief, mopping his forehead while Gardiner’s lip rises in one corner and answers with a snarl.

  “So say Wyatt and Carew, so say James Croft and Henry Grey. The secret is out; you might as well assist us further in our investigation, unless you’d prefer to face the consequences.”

  Courtenay slumps, his head lolling with the whisper of a sob. Gardiner strikes while his foe is weak.

  “Come, sir, sit down and tell me all about it. It is the only way to save yourself. I swear, if you co-operate, the queen will hear no ill of you from me.”

  I bite my lip at Gardiner’s lie, and hold my breath while I listen, sickened to the core as Courtenay vomits up every detail of the treachery against me.

  “Summon my sister to court. I will brook no delays.” I march along the corridor toward my privy chambers, scattering orders while a scribe follows, his pen sputtering beneath the speed at which I travel.