Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2: The Queen’s Fool, The Virgin’s Lover, The Other Queen. Philippa Gregory
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they can never decide. They forced me to execute poor Jane Grey. She offered them a choice and they cannot choose. They are like children who will go from apple to plum and take a bite out of each, and spoil everything.’
The cardinal nodded at the king. ‘Her Grace is right,’ he said. ‘They have suffered change and change about. Best that we should put the whole country on oath, once, and have it all done. Then we would root out heresy, destroy it, and have the country at peace and in the old ways in one move.’
The king looked thoughtful. ‘We must do it quickly and clearly, but with mercy,’ he said. He turned to the queen. ‘I know your passion for the church and I admire it. But you have to be a gentle mother to your people. They have to be persuaded, not forced.’
Sweetly, she put her hand on her swelling belly. ‘I want to be a gentle mother indeed,’ she said.
He put his hand over her own, as if they would both feel through the hard wall of the stomacher to where their baby stirred and kicked in her womb. ‘I know it,’ he said. ‘Who should know better than I? And together we will make a holy Catholic inheritance for this young man of ours so that when he comes to his throne, here, and in Spain, he will be doubly blessed with the greatest lands in Christendom and the greatest peace the world has ever known.’
Will Somers was clowning at dinner, he gave me a wink as he passed my place. ‘Watch this,’ he said. He took two small balls from the sleeve of his jerkin and threw them in the air, then added another and another, until all four were spinning at the same time.
‘Skilled,’ he remarked.
‘But not funny,’ I said.
In response, he turned his moon face towards me, as if he were completely distracted, ignoring the balls in the air. At once, they clattered down all around us, bouncing off the table, knocking over the pewter goblets, spilling wine everywhere.
The women screamed and leaped up, trying to save their gowns. Will was dumbstruck with amazement at the havoc he had caused: the Spanish grandees shouting with laughter at the sudden consternation released in the English court like a Mayday revel, the queen smiling, her hand on her belly, called out: ‘Oh, Will, take care!’
He bowed to her, his nose to his knees, and then came back up, radiant. ‘You should blame your holy fool,’ he said. ‘She distracted me.’
‘Oh, did she foresee you causing this uproar?’
‘No, Your Grace,’ he said sweetly. ‘She never foresees anything. In all the time I have known her, in all the time she has been your servant, and eaten remarkably well for a spiritual girl, she has never said one thing of any more insight than any slut might remark.’
I was laughing and protesting at the same time, the queen was laughing out loud, and the king was smiling, trying to follow the jest. ‘Oh, Will!’ the queen reproached him. ‘You know that the child has the Sight!’
‘Sight she may have but no speech,’ Will said cheerfully. ‘For she has never said a word I thought worth hearing. Appetite she has, if you are keeping her for the novelty of that. She is an exceptionally good doer.’
‘Why, Will!’ I cried out.
‘Not one word from her,’ he insisted. ‘She is a holy fool like your man is king. In name alone.’
It was too far for the Spanish pride. The English roared at the jest but as soon as the Spanish understood it they scowled, and the queen’s smile abruptly died.
‘Enough,’ she said sharply.
Will bowed. ‘But also like the king himself, the holy fool has greater gifts than a mere comical fool like me could tell,’ he amended quickly.
‘Why, what are they?’ someone called out.
‘The king gives joy to the most gracious lady in the kingdom, as I can only aspire to do,’ Will said carefully. ‘And the holy fool has brought the queen her heart, as the king has most graciously done.’
The queen nodded at the recovery, and waved Will to his dinner place with the officers. He passed me with a wink. ‘Funny,’ he said firmly.
‘You upset the Spanish,’ I said in an undertone. ‘And traduced me.’
‘I made the court laugh,’ he defended himself. ‘I am an English fool in an English court. It is my job to upset the Spanish. And you matter not a jot. You are grist, child, grist to the mill of my wit.’
‘You grind exceeding small, Will,’ I said, still nettled.
‘Like God himself,’ he said with evident satisfaction.
That night I went to bid goodnight to Lady Elizabeth. She was dressed in her nightgown, a shawl around her shoulders, seated by the fireside. The glowing embers put a warmth in her cheeks and her hair, brushed out over her shoulders, almost sparkled in the light from the dying fire.
‘Good night, my lady,’ I said quietly, making my bow.
She looked up. ‘Ah, the little spy,’ she said unpleasantly.
I bowed again, waiting for her permission to leave.
‘The queen summoned me, you know,’ she said. ‘Straight after dinner, for a private chat between loving sisters. It was my last chance to confess. And if I am not mistaken that miserable Spaniard was hidden somewhere in the room, hearing every word. Probably both of them, that turncoat Pole too.’
I waited in case she would say more.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, no matter,’ she said bluntly. ‘I confessed to nothing, I am innocent of everything. I am the heir and there is nothing they can do about it unless they find some way to murder me. I won’t stand trial, I won’t marry, and I won’t leave the country. I’ll just wait.’
I said nothing. Both of us were thinking of the queen’s approaching confinement. A healthy baby boy would mean that Elizabeth had waited for nothing. She would do better to marry now while she had the prestige of being heir, or she would end up like her sister: an elderly bride, or worse, a spinster aunt.
‘I’d give a lot to know how long I had to wait,’ she said frankly.
I bowed again.
‘Oh, go away,’ she said impatiently. ‘If I had known you were bringing me to court for a bedtime lecture from my sister I wouldn’t ever have come.’
‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘But there was a moment when we both thought that court would be better for you than that freezing barn at Woodstock.’
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Elizabeth said sulkily.
‘Princess, it was worse than a pig’s hovel.’
She giggled at that, a true girl’s giggle. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘And being scolded by Mary is not as bad as being overwatched by that drudge Bedingfield. Yes, I suppose it is better here. It is only …’ She broke off, and then rose to her feet and pushed the smouldering log with the toe of her slipper. ‘I would give a lot to know how long I have to wait,’ she repeated.
I visited my father’s shop as he had asked me to do in his Christmas letter, to ensure that all was well there. It was a desolate place now; a tile had come from the roof in the winter storms and there was a damp stain down the lime-washed wall of my old bedroom. The printing press was shrouded in a dust sheet and stood beneath it like a hidden dragon, waiting to come out and roar words. But which ones would be safe in this new England where even the Bible was being taken back from the parish churches so that people could only hear from the priest and not read for themselves? If the very word of God was forbidden, then what books could be allowed? I looked along my father’s long shelves of books and pamphlets; half of them