The Taming of the Queen Read online

  I trace the line of his collarbone, map the sinew of his shoulder. His warm skin under my hands and the scent of our lovemaking distracts me from sorrow.

  ‘I’ve got to leave before dawn,’ I say, glancing at the shuttered window. ‘We don’t have long.’

  He knows exactly what I am thinking. ‘Is this the way you want to say goodbye?’ Gently he presses his thigh between mine so that the hard muscle rests against the folds of soft flesh and pleasure rises slowly through my body like a blush. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Country ways,’ I whisper to make him laugh.

  He rolls us both over so that he is on his back and I am lying along the warm lean length of him, on top of him so that I command this last act of love. I stretch out and feel him shudder with desire, I sit astride him, my hands against his chest, so that I can look into his dark eyes as I lower myself gently down to the entrancing point where he will enter me and then I hesitate until he pleads: ‘Kateryn.’ Only then do I ease onward. He gasps and closes his eyes, stretching out his arms, as if he were crucified on pleasure. I move, slowly at first, thinking of his delight, wanting to make this last for a long time, but then I feel the heat growing in me, and the wonderful familiar impatience rising, until I cannot hesitate or stop but I have to go on, thinking of nothing at all, until I call on him in pleasure, calling his name in joy and at the end weeping and weeping for lust, for love, and for the terrible loss that will come with the morning.

  At chapel for Prime, I kneel beside my sister, Nan, the ladies of the king’s daughter, Lady Mary, all around us. Lady Mary herself, silently praying at her own richly furnished prie-dieu, is out of earshot.

  ‘Nan, I have to tell you something,’ I mutter.

  ‘Has the king spoken?’ is all she says.

  ‘Yes.’

  She gives a little gasp and then puts her hand over mine and squeezes it. Her eyes close in a prayer. We kneel side by side, just as we used to do when we were little girls at home in Kendal in Westmorland and our mother read the prayers in Latin and we gabbled the responses. When the long service ends, Lady Mary rises to her feet, and we follow her from the chapel.

  It is a fine spring day. If I were at home we would start ploughing on a day like this and the 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 came my way in Richmondshire, and I didn’t have any time to sit around reading. Lord Latimer wouldn’t have had them in the house. So I don’t know what all the fuss is about, and I certainly don’t have any influence with the king.’

  ‘But Kat, there are four men, who only wanted to read the Bible in English, accused of heresy in Windsor prison right now. You must save them.’

  ‘Not if they are heretics, I won’t! If they’re heretics they’ll have to burn. That’s the law. Who am I to say it’s wrong?’

  ‘But you will learn,’ Nan persists. ‘Of course you were cut off from all the new thinking when you were married to old Latimer and buried alive in the North, but when you hear the London preachers and listen to the scholars explaining the Bible in English you’ll understand why I think as I do. There is nothing in the world more important than bringing God’s Word to the people and pushing back the power of the old church.’

  ‘I do think that everyone should be allowed to read the Bible in English,’ I concede.

  ‘That’s all you need to believe for now. The rest follows. You’ll see. And I will be with you,’ she says. ‘Always. Whither thou goest, I will go. God bless me, I’ll be sister to the Queen of England!’

  I forget the gravity of my position and I laugh. ‘You’ll puff up like a cock sparrow! And wouldn’t Mother have been pleased! Can you imagine?’

  Nan laughs out loud and claps her hand over her mouth. ‘Lord! Lord! Can you imagine it? After marrying you off and setting me to work so hard, and all for brother William’s benefit? After teaching us that he must come first and we had to serve the family and never think of ourselves? Teaching us all our lives that the only person who mattered was William and the only country in the world was England, and the only place was court, and the only king was Henry?’