The Taming of the Queen

I cancel the preachers who come to my rooms and instead I summon the king’s chaplains to give us readings from the Bible. I don’t invite them to comment or lead a discussion, and my ladies say nothing, but listen in respectful silence as if none of us is capable of thought. Even when the reading is of great interest to us, something that we would normally study, perhaps even go back to the original Greek to make a new translation, we nod like a convent of orthodox nuns hearing the laws of God and the opinions of man, as if we had no minds of our own.

We go to chapel before dinner and Catherine Brandon, the king’s new favourite, walks beside me.

‘Your Majesty, I am afraid that I have some bad news,’ she starts.

‘Go on,’ I say.

‘A London bookseller, who has supplied me for years with texts, has been arrested for heresy.’

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ I say steadily. ‘I am very sorry for the trouble for your friend.’ I make sure that I don’t even check in my stride as we go side by side down the gallery to the chapel. I incline my head to a group of bowing courtiers.

‘I’m not asking for your protection for him. I am warning you.’ She has to hurry to keep up with my rapid pace. ‘This man, a good man, was arrested on the orders of the Privy Council. The arrest was made out specifically to him by name. He is John Bale. He brings in books from Flanders.’

I raise my hand. ‘Better that you tell me nothing,’ I say.

‘He sold us the Testament in French that you have,’ she says. ‘And the Tyndale translation of the New Testament. They’re banned now.’

‘I don’t have them,’ I reply. ‘I have given away all my books, and you had better get rid of yours, Catherine.’

She looks as frightened as I feel. ‘If my husband were alive then Bishop Stephen Gardiner would never have dared to arrest my bookseller,’ she says.

‘I know,’ I agree. ‘The king would never have allowed Charles Brandon to be questioned by such as Wriothesley.’

‘The king loved my husband,’ she says. ‘So I was safe.’

I know that we are both wondering if he loves me.

GREENWICH PALACE, SUMMER 1546

The ritual of the court moves on, and I – who once led it boldly – am trapped inside it, going through my paces like a blinkered horse, allowed only to run the length of the tilt rail, blinded to the world outside my narrow, frightened view. We transfer to Greenwich for the pleasure of the gardens in the summer weather, but the king hardly emerges from his rooms. The roses bloom in the arbours and he does not smell their scent, heavy on the evening air. The court flirts and plays and competes in little games and he does not bellow advice nor award prizes. There is boating and fishing, riding at the quintain, racing and dancing. I have to appear at every pastime, smile on every winner and maintain the normal life of the court, running in its agreed course. But at the same time I know that people are whispering that the king is ill, and does not want me at his side. That he is an old man struggling with illness and pain but everyone can see his young wife watching the tennis, or the archery, or boating on the river.

My physician comes to see me as I am looking at my birds. Two pairs of canaries have nested and one cage has a row of adorable chicks, opening their beaks in unison, stretching their stubby pale wings. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ I say irritably. ‘I didn’t send for you. I am perfectly well. You will have been seen coming here, please make sure that you tell everyone that I am perfectly well and that I didn’t send for you.’

‘I know you didn’t, Your Majesty,’ Doctor Robert Huicke says humbly. ‘It is I who needs to see you. I can see that you are in your full health and beauty.’

‘What is it?’ I ask, closing the cage door and turning from the birds.

‘It is my brother,’ he says.

At once I am alert. Doctor Huicke’s brother is a known reformer and scholar. He has attended the sermons at my rooms, has sent me books from London for my studies. ‘William?’

‘He has been arrested. It was an order from the Privy Council naming him, him alone, not the other scholars that he studies with. None of his circle. Just him.’

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

My blue parrot sidles along his perch as if to listen. I offer him a seed and he takes it in claw and beak, positioning it so that he can crush it and eat the kernel. He drops the husk on the ground and looks at me with his bright intelligent eyes.

‘They asked him about your opinions, Your Majesty. They asked him what authors you cite, what books he has seen in your rooms, who else attends the sermons. They searched his rooms for anything written by you. They suspect him of taking your papers to a publisher. I think they may be building a case against you.’

I shiver as if I am cold despite the warm summer sunshine. ‘I am afraid you are right, Doctor.’

‘Can you speak to the king in favour of my brother, Your Majesty? You know he is no heretic. He has thoughts about religion, but he would never undermine the king’s settlement.’