I listened dazed, becoming more and more convinced that I was dreaming.

She smiled graciously. What did it mean? I reminded myself that I hated her. There was some ulterior motive in this… some evil purpose. She must be thinking that I was overwhelmed by this show of friendship. Did she expect me to fall on my knees and thank her?

I remained silent. I could find no words to answer her.

She went on, “There must be an end to these differences between you and your father. It is not good for the King, for you or for the country. So let us put an end to them.”

I heard myself stammer: “How?”

She smiled confidently. “You will return to Court. I promise you, you will be well treated. There shall be no discord. Everything that you had before will be yours. Perhaps it will be even better. There is only one thing you must do to achieve this.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“You must honor me as the Queen. You must be respectful … and accept that this is now a fact.”

I could listen to no more. I saw it all. She and my father wanted me there to tell the people that I was not being shut out and ill treated. They did not want me. They would not accept me as the Princess Mary. I was not to be a princess. That title was reserved for this woman's bastard.

I said to her, “I could not acknowledge you as Queen because you are not Queen. I know of only one Queen of England, and that is my mother.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are a fool,” she said. “A stubborn little fool.”

“I can only speak the truth,” I retorted. “If you would speak to my father on my behalf … if you would persuade him to allow me to join my mother…I should appreciate that.”

“You know that is not what I meant. I am suggesting that you come to Court. All you must do is accept the fact that there was no true marriage between the King and your mother, that I am the King's wife and Queen of this realm and that my daughter, Elizabeth, is the Princess of England.”

“But I accept none of this. How can I when it is not true?”

“Do you know you are in danger?” she said. “You incur the wrath of the King. Do you realize what could happen to you? I am giving you a chance to save yourself…to leave all this …”—she looked round the room with contempt—“… all this squalor. You shall have a luxurious apartment. You shall have all that is due to you as the King's daughter.”

“As the King's bastard, you mean.”

“There is no need for you to stress the point.”

“I stress it only to show its absurdity. I am the King's legitimate daughter. It is your daughter who is the bastard.”

She had risen. I thought she was going to strike me.

“I see that you are determined to destroy yourself,” she said.

“It is others who will try to destroy me,” I replied. “They have already tried persistently, God knows, but they have not succeeded yet.”

“I see I have made a mistake,” she went on. “I thought you would have more sense. You are stupidly blind. You do not see the dangers of your situation. You carelessly provoke the King's wrath. That can be terrible, you know.”

I took a shot in the dark. I had heard life was not running smoothly for her and the King, that he looked at other women now and then and was perhaps beginning to regret the hasty step he had taken. I said, “As we both know.”

It is true, I thought. I noticed the sudden color in her cheeks, the glint in her magnificent eyes.

She turned to me. “You will regret this,” she said. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I have given you a chance.”

After that she left me. Lady Shelton was hovering.

I heard Anne Boleyn say, “The girl is a stubborn little fool. I will see that her Spanish pride is brought low.”

It had been a shattering experience. I sat on my bed, my limbs trembling so violently that I could not move.

WE WERE INTO ANOTHER new year, 1535. Could there ever be another like that which had gone before, when my father had shocked the whole of Europe by the unprecedented action of breaking with Rome?

I could not believe that even he could look back with equanimity on what he had done. He was never one to admit himself wrong, but surely he must suffer some disquiet in the secret places of his mind. How could he not? He was a religious man, a sentimental man. Oh yes, if he paused to think, he must suffer many an uneasy qualm.

The rumors about the differences between him and the concubine were growing. Life had not gone smoothly for her since her marriage. She had failed again. The longed-for boy had not appeared. There had been great hopes of him until she—as my mother had so many times—miscarried. There seemed to be a blight on my father's children. Even that golden boy, the Duke of Richmond, was very ill at this time and not expected to live. If he died, as he surely would soon, there would only be two of the King's children left—and both girls.

People's attitude toward me changed at the beginning of that year. Even Lady Shelton was less insolent. It may have been that she feared she had gone too far. This was because the concubine was falling out of favor. She had a fierce temper; she was dictatorial. I daresay she found it hard to believe that she, who had kept a firm hold on the King's affection all those years, could so quickly lose it. He was becoming enamored of a lady at the Court who it seemed had decided to champion me. Whether she did this to strike a blow against Anne Boleyn or whether she was genuinely shocked at the manner in which I was treated, I could not tell. The outcome was that people were beginning to wonder whether they ought to take care how they behaved toward me.

I was allowed to walk out now. I could even take my goshawk with me. I was feeling a little better, recuperating, and when I left Greenwich and went to Eltham, I was allowed, because I was so weak, to ride in a litter.

And how the people cheered me along the route!

“Good health and long life to the Princess!”

Those words were music in my ears.


* * *

IN THE EARLY PART of that year there was indeed danger of revolt. There was nothing weak about my father. He was every inch a king. Everyone would grant him that; and when he was confronted by danger, those qualities of leadership were very much in evidence. All that happened had changed him visibly. I could hardly recognize the jovial fun-loving man in the ruthless autocrat who was now emerging.

Those who were not with him were his enemies—as had been seen in the case of his own wife and daughter.

His peace would be destroyed by the rumblings of discontent throughout the country; he knew that if my cousin Charles, the Emperor, had not been so deeply involved in Europe, he might have attempted to invade England. So he took action and, being the man he was, it was drastic. There were no half measures with him.

In April of that year the first proceedings were taken against those who refused to accept the fact that he was Supreme Head of the Church. Five monks—one of them the Prior of the London Charterhouse—were condemned as traitors and submitted to the most brutal of executions: they were hanged, drawn and quartered. There were many to witness this grisly scene, which was what my father intended. It was to provide a lesson to all those who opposed him. I was reminded of the masques my father had so loved when he appeared among the company in disguise. Now he had thrown off his mask, and in place of the merry, jovial bluff Hal was a ruthless and despotic monarch who would strike terror into all those who thought they could disobey his command.

Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More were in everyone's thoughts. Those two noble men had done exactly what the monks had. What would their fate be? The King had been a close friend of Sir Thomas More. He had loved the man—as many did; he had often been seen walking in Sir Thomas's riverside garden, his arm about his shoulders, laughing at one of those merry quips for which Sir Thomas was renowned.

What will happen to Sir Thomas? people wondered. The King must find some excuse to save him. One thing was certain: Sir Thomas was a man of high principles. He was not one to deny what he believed merely to save his life.

All over the country bishops were ordered to insist that the King's supremacy should be preached.

The Pope intervened. He created Bishop Fisher a cardinal. I could imagine my father's fury. He retorted that he would send the bishop's head to Rome for his cardinal's hat.

That seemed significant. Nothing could move the King.

On the 22nd of June Bishop Fisher went out to Tower Hill and was beheaded. On the 6th of July Sir Thomas followed him. A silent sullen crowd looked on.

This was the King's answer. No matter who disobeyed him, they should die.

The execution of Sir Thomas More sent a shiver through the country and waves of indignation abroad. The Emperor was reputed to have said that he would rather have lost his best city than such a man. The Pope—a new one now, Paul III—declared that Sir Thomas More had been excellent in sacred learning and courageous in his defense of the truth. He prepared a Bull excommunicating my father for what he called the crime. The King, of course, snapped his fingers at the Pope. He was nothing now. He could send out bulls for excommunication as much as he liked. They meant nothing in England, which was now free of his interference.

Even François Premier was shocked and remarked on my father's impiety and barbarism…as did the Emperor, but the former needed him as an ally, and political power came before pious indignation. There were nobles all over the country who would have welcomed the Emperor if he came in arms, but he could not do that. He was engaged in the conquest of Tunis, and he could not start a war on another front.