The Taming of the Queen Read Free

sound of the curlews would ring out as loud as the ploughboy’s whistle.
    ‘Let’s walk in the garden before breakfast,’ Lady Mary proposes, and we follow her down the stairs to the privy garden and past the yeomen of the guard, who present arms and then stand back. My sister, Nan, raised at court, sees the opportunity to take my arm and slide us behind the backs of the ladies who are walking with our mistress. Discreetly, we sidestep to another path and when we are alone and cannot be overheard, she turns to look at me. Her pale tense face is like my own: auburn hair swept back under a hood, grey eyes like mine, and – just now – her cheeks are flushed red with excitement.
    ‘God bless you, my sister. God bless us all. This is a great day for the Parrs. What did you say?’
    ‘I asked for time to realise my joy,’ I say drily.
    ‘How long d’you think you’ve got?’
    ‘Weeks?’
    ‘He’s always impatient,’ she warns me.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Better accept at once.’
    I shrug. ‘I will. I know I’ve got to marry him. I know there’s no choice.’
    ‘As his wife, you’ll be Queen of England; you’ll command a fortune!’ she crows. ‘We’ll all get our fortunes.’
    ‘Yes – the family’s prize heifer is on the market once again. This is the third sale.’
    ‘Oh Kat! This isn’t just any old marriage arranged for you, this is the greatest chance you’ll have in your life! It’s the greatest marriage in England, probably in the world!’
    ‘For as long as it lasts.’
    She looks behind her, then puts her arm through mine so that we can walk, head to head, and speak in whispers. ‘You’re anxious; but it might not last so very long. He’s very sick. He’s very old. And then you have the title and the inheritance but not the husband.’
    The husband I have just buried was forty-nine, the king is fifty-one, an old man, but he could last till sixty. He has the best of physicians and the finest apothecaries, and he guards himself against disease as if he were a precious babe. He sends his armies to war without him, he gave up jousting years ago. He has buried four wives – why not another?
    ‘I might outlive him,’ I concede, my mouth to her ear. ‘But how long did Katherine Howard last?’
    Nan shakes her head at the comparison. ‘That slut! She betrayed him, and was foolish enough to be caught. You won’t do that.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, suddenly weary of these calculations. ‘Because I’ve no choice anyway. It’s the wheel of fortune.’
    ‘Don’t say that; it’s God’s will,’ she says with sudden enthusiasm. ‘Think of what you might do as Queen of England. Think of what you could do for us!’
    My sister is a passionate advocate for the reform of the church in England from the state it is in – a popeless papacy – to a true communion based on the Bible. Like many in the country – who knows how many? – she wants the king’s reform of the church to go further and further until we are free from all superstition.
    ‘Oh, Nan, you know I have no convictions . . . and anyway, why would he listen to me?’
    ‘Because he always listens to his wives at first. And we need someone to speak for us. The court is terrified of Bishop Gardiner, he’s even questioned Lady Mary’s household. I’ve had to hide my own books. We need a queen who will defend the reformers.’
    ‘Not me,’ I say flatly. ‘I’ve no interest and I won’t pretend to it. I was cured of faith when the papists threatened to burn down my castle.’
    ‘Yes, that’s what they’re like. They threw hot coals on Richard Champion’s coffin to show that they thought he should have been burned. They keep the people in ignorance and fear. That’s why we think the Bible should be in English, everyone should understand it for themselves and not be misled by priests.’
    ‘Oh, you’re all as bad as each other,’ I say roundly. ‘I don’t know anything about the new learning – not many books