Queen Of This Realm

The Passing of a King

WHEN I LOOK BACK OVER THE FIRST TWENTY-FIVE YEARS of my life and consider the number of times I was in danger of losing it, I believe—as I have since that wonderful day when I rode into my capital city in a riding dress of purple velvet, beside me my Master of Horse, Robert Dudley, the most handsome man in England, and listened to the guns of the Tower greeting me, and saw the flowers strewn in my path—yes, I fervently believe that my destiny was to be a great queen. I swore to God then that nothing should ever stand in the way of my fulfilling it. And I have kept that vow.

I could rejoice in those early twenty-five years—and indeed all through my life have done so—because during them I learned many a bitter lesson and it has been my endeavor never to forget one of them. I was young, lacking experience in the ways of men and women; and over my defenseless head—as dangerously as it ever did over that of Damocles—hung the sword of destruction. One false step, one thoughtless word, even a smile or a frown and down would come that sword depriving me of my life.

I was not quite three years old when I had my first encounter with adversity and my fortunes changed drastically. I cannot say with truth that I remember a great deal about my mother though sometimes I fancy I do. In my mind I see the most brilliantly fascinating person I have ever known. I sense the soft touch of velvet and the rustle of silk, long perfumed dark hair and a wild sort of gaiety born of desperation. But there is one image of her which remains vividly in my mind and as long as I live I will never forget it. I am in a courtyard and my fascinating mother is holding me in her arms. At one of the windows there appears a glittering figure—large, imposing, red-bearded. It is the King and she is trying to say something to him through me. She is holding my hand and waving it at him, appealingly, desperately. For a brief second he regards us with exasperated indifference before he turns away. That actually happened. Later I discovered it took place three or four days before she was arrested and taken to the Tower. The memory of her desperation and his cruel indifference stays with me forever, and I vowed that no man should ever do to me what my father did to my mother.

Before that she had been a presence of power, and my governess Lady Bryan, who was a kinswoman of hers, was overwhelmingly anxious to please her as was Mr Shelton who was also a family connection. My mother looked after her own when she had the power to do so. But there came that bewildering sadness… the end of her visits… the days when I asked for her, and Lady Bryan turned away to hide her emotion.

My father was a more tangible presence. I thought he was the most powerful man in the world. He certainly was in England. I was fourteen when he died so I could say I knew him fairly well. He was one who inspired fear and yet affection with it, and despite all his cruelty and all his ruthlessness he never lost the love of his people. That was one way in which I intended to emulate him. I learned from my studies of our history that it is a foolish monarch who loses the esteem of the common people.

Lady Bryan told me that my father had once been very proud of me and used to stroll in the gardens at Hampton Court or Windsor—wherever the Court happened to be—holding me in his arms. I liked that picture—myself magnificently attired swinging high in the arms of a splendid king as his courtiers walked with him exclaiming at my perfections.

That ended with an executioner's sword which severed my mother's beautiful head from her willowy body.

What I do remember clearly is catching Lady Bryan by the skirts and demanding: “Where is my mother? Why does she never come now?”

And when she tried to run away to weep in silence, I refused to relinquish her and insisted she tell me. She took me onto her knee and said: “My Lady Princess, you have no mother now.”

“Everybody has a mother,” I said, for I was logical as soon as I was old enough to reason.

“Your mother has gone to Heaven,” she said.

“When will she come back?”

“People do not come back from Heaven.”

“She will come to see me.”

Lady Bryan held me to her and wept so bitterly that she bewildered me.

Then I began to realize that something terrible had happened but it was a long time before I gave up hope of seeing my mother again.

I talked of her with Lady Bryan and made her tell me about my birth.

“It was in Greenwich Palace,” she said, “a beautiful palace and one of the favorites of the King and Queen. You first saw the light of day in the Chamber of Virgins. It was given that name afterward, but before you arrived it was just a chamber the walls of which were lined with tapestry and this tapestry depicted the lives of the holy virgins.”

“Did my mother want a boy?” I must have heard some whisper of a servant to put that into my head. It was important, I knew, for Lady Bryan turned pale, and for a moment or so did not answer.

Then she said: “She wanted a boy. The King wanted a boy. But as soon as you were born they knew that you were just what they wanted.”

I was soon to discover how false that was, but I loved Lady Bryan for telling the lie. My mother's life had depended on her giving birth to a boy. If I had been a son, they would not have sent to France for that sword which cut off her head. She would have been an honored queen instead of a corpse lying in her grave in the Church of St Peter ad Vincula.

“The Queen said,” went on Lady Bryan, “people will now with reason call this room the Chamber of Virgins, for a virgin is now born in it on the vigil of this auspicious day on which the Church commemorates the nativity of the Holy Virgin.”

“Was that what she said?” I asked wonderingly.

“It was. You were born on the eve of the Virgin Mary's birth. Just think of that.”

My dear governess did so much to comfort me, but even she could not keep the truth from me. I could not but know that I who had been the important Lady Princess was now of no consequence and few cared what became of me. My mother was dead, executed for treason against the King because she was accused of taking five lovers—one her own brother, my uncle George Boleyn. Her marriage to the King had been proved by Thomas Cromwell—the King's influential minister—to have been no marriage at all, and because of this I was branded illegitimate. And naturally bastards of the King were not of the same importance as his legitimate offspring.

I began to notice the change when my gowns and kirtles grew thin and threadbare and Lady Bryan spent long hours trying to patch them.

“I don't like this old dress,” I grumbled. “Why cannot I have a new one?”

At which the good Lady Bryan turned away to hide her anger against somebody—certainly not me, for she took me in her arms and said I was her Lady Princess and always would be.

She was very angry with Mr Shelton, who had a high place in my household, because he insisted that I should sit at table in some ceremony and would give me wine and help me to highly seasoned dishes. I heard Lady Bryan quarreling with him. “It is unsuitable to let the child eat such foods,” she said.

Mr Shelton replied: “This is no ordinary child. Remember she is the King's daughter.”

“Oh, he still acknowledges her as that, does he?” Lady Bryan spoke angrily. “I am glad of that! Do you know, Mr Shelton, it is months since that child had new garments. I cannot go on patching forever.”

“I repeat she is the King's daughter and we should never forget that. Who knows…”

“Just what is your implication, Mr Shelton?”

He did not reply. I kept my eyes and ears open and because I knew strange matters were being decided outside my nursery I began to realize that for some reason Mr Shelton was trying hard to win my good graces and wean my affection from Lady Bryan. He never denied me anything that he could and he was always most obsequious.

At first I thought what a nice man he was and then when I discovered that Lady Bryan restricted me and meted out her little punishments because she felt it was her duty to do so, I did not like Mr Shelton so much; and whatever disagreement there was between us I always turned back to Lady Bryan when I was in need of comfort.

Mr Shelton, like Lady Bryan, was related to my mother, and that was the reason why they were at Hunsdon in my household. Those two were in constant conflict. Once I heard Lady Bryan declare to him: “You want to keep my Lady in royal state as long as you can, do you not, Master Shelton? But I tell you this: it will avail you little. There has been a new Queen now ever since the death of Queen Anne, and she is with child, and if that child should prove to be a boy… what of our lady then?”

“But what if it is not a boy eh?” demanded Mr Shelton. “What if Queen Jane goes the way of Queen Anne.”

“Hush,” said Lady Bryan. “Such words are treason and should never be spoken. All I ask of you is not to indulge the child. Do you not understand that these highly seasoned foods are bad for her digestion? I believe you give her sweetmeats outside meals, and if you do not desist from such I shall be forced to make complaints where they could come to the ears of the King.”

Mr Shelton was unimpressed and I learned later that she did write to Thomas Cromwell himself, telling him that I had neither gown nor kirtle, nor any manner of linen, and begging him to send something for me to wear. She also complained of Mr Shelton's insistence that I sit at table where spiced foods were served and suggested that I have plain wholesome food served in a way suitable for a child of my age.

I did get some new clothes but I think that may have been due to the intervention of my sister Mary. She was twenty years of age at that time, which seemed very old to me. She was pleasant-looking and very serious, spending a great deal of time on her knees. An example to me, said Lady Bryan, for I was far less dedicated to my religious studies than Mary had been as a child. (Lady Bryan had been her governess, too, so she could speak with conviction.) I was interested in so many things and asked too many questions, I was told. “There are matters which must be accepted without question,” said Lady Bryan. “One's faith for one, loyalty to the King for another.” Even at that stage I was beginning to have doubts of sustaining either.

Lady Mary's mother, Katharine of Aragon, had died a few months before my own, and my sister was stricken with grief because they had been especially devoted to each other. Before her mother's death Mary had not liked me at all. On the rare occasions when we had met, young as I was, I had sensed that my presence angered her. Now it was different. We had both lost our mothers; both had died outside the King's favor; we were both branded bastards. It was because of her uncertain position that Mary was not married, and it was strange for a King's daughter to reach the age of twenty without having a husband found for her. But now she was quite tender toward me and since I tried to please her we were becoming friends. When one has no mother and one's father is a king whom one rarely sees, it is very pleasant to have a sister. I hoped Mary felt this too.

I was very sad when Mary left Hunsdon but she was delighted to go, for Queen Jane had asked for her to go to Court. Much of this I learned later. Because of my extreme youth I must have been very much in the dark at this time. It was when Katharine Champernowne came to be my governess that I made my discoveries through her. Katharine—I was soon calling her Kat— was the most indiscreet and delightful person I had ever known and I grew to love her dearly.

It appeared that the King could deny his new wife nothing; fair where my mother was dark, docile where she was vivacious, Queen Jane was the greatest possible contrast to Queen Anne for whom out of the white heat of his passion had grown a burning hatred. Moreover Jane was almost immediately pregnant after her marriage, which took place, most shamefully, ten days after my mother's death by the sword.

Queen Jane, it seemed, asked the King if Mary could come to Court and be with her during her pregnancy.

“She shall come to thee, darling,” Kat told me he said; and so gladly Mary went.

I missed her, but like everyone else I wanted to hear of the birth of the child.

When Lady Bryan took me to her own private chamber, I knew I was going to learn something important. She put her arms round me and drew me close to her.

“The Queen has given birth to a son,” she said. “The King and the whole country are very happy.”

I felt my face go hard as it did when I was angry. Lady Bryan had told me of it many times. “A bad habit,” she said, “and one which can bring you no good.” I tried to curb it but on this occasion it was difficult, for how could I prevent the resentment which rose in me when I heard another than my mother called the Queen? Moreover this new Jane had given birth to a boy—the son which I should have been.

“The bells are ringing all over the country,” said Lady Bryan. “The King is so happy. This little boy will one day be King though, God willing, not for a very long time. His Grace the King has sent word to Mr Shelton and to me that you are to have the very special honor of carrying the chrisom at the christening. There! What do you think of that?”

I thought very well of it. At last I was going to Court.

How happy I was on that October day when I sailed along the river to Hampton Court, most sumptuously attired as befitted one who was to take part in such an important ceremony.

There lay the palace, majestically beautiful seen from the river. Small wonder that my father had said when it had belonged to Cardinal Wolsey that it was too fine a residence for a subject and had taken it for his own. I was enchanted by its enormous gatehouse, its privy gardens, its tennis courts and its fireplaces, each of them large enough to roast an ox. It was in settings such as this that I belonged.

I was delighted by the respect shown to me and I deluded myself into thinking that this might be the beginning of a change for me, and I wondered whether the pallid Queen who had replaced my mother was responsible for it.

Looking back it is not easy to say whether I remember the details of that ceremony or whether they were related to me afterward. I was only four years old but I do remember how happy I was—contented rather—to be among those powerful and important people. The King was not present in the chapel. He had remained with the Queen in her bedchamber for it was reported that she was very weak indeed. But several important people were there. The Duke of Suffolk, the Marquis of Exeter, the Earl of Arundel and Lord William Howard held the canopy over the baby who was carried by the Marchioness of Exeter. I heard that among the nobles was my grandfather Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire, with a wax taper in his hand and a towel about his neck, playing his part in the ceremony. I did not see him and I was glad I did not, for it occurred to me later that it was somewhat contemptible of him to take part in such a ceremony since his own daughter had been murdered by the King in order that the mother of this child might replace her. At the time I was completely happy. I was part of all this splendor, and the gloriously appareled infant who was the reason for the ceremony was my brother.

Because of my youth and the length of the proceedings I was carried in the arms of Edward Seymour, brother of Queen Jane. This was my first encounter with the family who later on were to play an important part in my life. Their elevation through the King's marriage to their sister had been swift. A few days after the christening Edward Seymour was created Earl of Hertford.

My sister Mary, who was godmother to the little Prince, gave me an encouraging smile when Edward Seymour set me down at the font. I returned it gratefully and eagerly watched while the little boy was wrapped in the christening robe and his state proclaimed.

“God, in His almighty and infinite grace, grant long life to the right high, right excellent and noble Prince, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, most dear and entirely beloved son of our most dread and gracious lord, Henry VIII.”

In spite of all the excitement I was feeling a little sleepy as the ceremony had lasted three hours and it was nearly midnight. My sister Mary must have seen this; as Lady Herbert picked up the train of my magnificent gown, Mary took my hand so that I did not stumble. I noticed how happy she looked. It was because she was at least back at Court and had the high honor of being godmother to this important Prince, our brother. I loved him already. He was the reason for my being here. His coming had so pleased my father that he was even ready to smile on my sister Mary and me who had committed the unpardonable error of being born girls.

Queen Jane lay in her bed, propped up by cushions, in a beautiful bedgown, but her pallor and sunken eyes proclaimed how exhausted she was.

As we entered the bedchamber the trumpets sounded so loudly that I who must have been half asleep started with terror, which made Mary smile.

Our father was there. He looked splendid, glittering with jewels, and he seemed a head taller than other men. How genial he looked, a great beneficent god—very different from the man I had seen in the courtyard! My father, I thought, is the greatest man in the world. His eyes were very small and so was his mouth, but perhaps they seemed so because his face was so large; and as I looked at him I could not help thinking of my mother, and fascinated as I was, admiring him as I did, I was afraid of him.

The Prince was placed in his mother's arms and she gave him her blessing.

The ceremony was over and we went back to Hunsdon.

THERE WAS GREAT CHANGE in the next few years.

The King, having got his son, was more benign. He rejoiced in Edward even though he had cost Queen Jane her life, for, poor pale creature, she died about a week after that ceremony in her bedroom.

To me the event of great importance was the coming of Katharine Champernowne.

Lady Bryan had become Lady Mistress of my little brother's household because she was considered to have proved her abilities in bringing up my sister Mary and me; and of course this position in the household of the heir to the throne was a great honor. She was in the royal nurseries at Hampton Court for a while and afterward was removed temporarily to Ashridge and later to Hatfield. To my great joy, when I was there, I shared my brother's nursery and even though he was so young he showed an immediate fondness for me.

But the big change in my life was wrought by Katharine—my Kat as I called her. She must have been in her mid teens at that time and from the moment I saw her I knew I was going to love her dearly. She was well educated—otherwise she would not have been appointed as my governess—but certainly she bore her scholarship lightly; she was inclined to be frivolous, but it was her gaiety and warmheartedness which endeared her to me. She supplied something which up to that time I had sadly missed without realizing the lack.

So Kat came, dear indiscreet Kat, who told me so much that had been kept from me and to whom I should be grateful all the days of my life.

Life became interesting, less restricted than it had been under Lady Bryan's sterner rule. We moved frequently from house to house which was necessary for the sweetening of the place. The privies would smell foul after a while and the rushes seemed to harbor horrible insects which irritated even the dogs. So when a house became intolerable we went to another while the privies were emptied and the rushes removed and the abode generally sweetened.

Kat used to tell me all sorts of things which were happening in the outside world and this delighted me for there was nothing I disliked more than to be kept in ignorance.

For one thing I learned that my father, for all his professed grief at the loss of Queen Jane, was desperately trying to replace her.

“Heirs, heirs, heirs!” said Kat. “That is a king's great need. Though why he should feel so desperate now, I cannot see. He has the longed-for boy and then there is my Lady Mary to say nothing of my own sweet Elizabeth— daughters of the King, both of you, and he has never denied that despite the fact that he got rid of your mothers—one in the law courts, one on the block—but rid himself nevertheless.”

That was how Kat talked—not so much when I was very young, but afterward when I was getting older. She was the most intriguing person I knew in those days, and if she had not been so indiscreet she could not have been so exciting.

When my father was on the point of marrying the Princess Anne of Cleves, Kat was full of information. “Who knows,” she declared, “this could mean a new way of life for you, my Princess.”

“How so?” I asked. “What if the new Queen wants to meet her stepdaughters? She is sure to be curious to see them.”

I was not yet seven years old when that disastrous marriage took place and I was very different from the child who had taken part in her brother's christening at Hampton Court. I grew up very quickly and life was full of interest, especially when Edward and I were in the same household, which quite frequently happened. We shared tutors and we had a great deal in common for we both loved learning. I found no difficulty at all in mastering languages—nor did Edward; and I think even our tutors were a little astonished at the speed with which I gained a mastery over French, Latin and Italian. I could converse fluently in all three. Edward was determined to surprise our teachers too. He was amazingly precocious and at the age of four was quite a scholar. I loved to be with him, to treat him as a little brother, and he loved that too for he was lonely, surrounded as he was by so much ceremony. No one could ever forget that he was the heir to the throne and so very precious that if he as much as sneezed, those about him were thrown into a panic.

“They guess,” said Kat to me, “that if aught befell my lord Prince, the heads of those whose duty it is to serve him would become somewhat insecure on their sturdy shoulders.”

“You do talk wildly, Kat,” I reproved her.

She fell onto her knees and half mocking, half serious, cried: “You would never betray your poor Kat, would you, mistress?”

It was strange that one as learned as Kat could also be so frivolous. But that was Kat and my life had become considerably more agreeable since she came to me.

We soon learned that my father deplored his marriage to Princess Anne of Cleves. She lacked the beauty of her predecessors, and after receiving Holbein's picture of her and the accounts of her perfections which had forestalled her arrival, he was bitterly disappointed. He found her quite repulsive.

She was my friend for many years and I often wondered why he had disliked her so much. She was wise and kind and by no means uncomely. I can only believe that he had a particular taste in women, however variable, and she did not fit any of his predilections, and so poor Anne of Cleves was discarded as two of my father's queens had been. She was lucky; she did not suffer as my mother or Mary's had; and according to Kat was as happy to be relieved of the King as he was of her. Their marriage was declared null and void. Thomas Cromwell who had arranged the match lost his head. He had once been my mother's enemy and helped those who cost her that lovely head and so I gained some satisfaction from that.

“Four wives so far,” said Kat. “I wonder, my lady, who will be the fifth, do you?”

I said it would be interesting to wait and see.

“We shall not wait long I fancy. The King has his eyes on a relation of yours, young Katharine Howard. She is a young beauty, if ever there was one.”

“You gossip too much.”

“So it is Madam Princess today, is it? Very well, I will keep my news to myself.”

But she did not of course. I would not let her. So I was well aware of my father's courtship of Katharine Howard. My father was infatuated by her, I heard. She was a lovely girl and she took an interest in me because not only was I her stepdaughter to be but she had been my mother's first cousin. I guessed she would do her best to restore me to my father's regard and I was right. She pleaded with the King that I should be allowed to go to Court, and as he could deny her nothing, gladly I went.

I had reached my seventh birthday then and although I had read a great deal and my tutors agreed that I was exceptionally talented for my age, I was a little childish in my knowledge of the world; and when I saw my mother's cousin in all her youthful beauty and vivacity with so much affection to give to anyone who asked it, I felt that all would be well. My father seemed to see no one but Katharine. I heard it said that only once before had he felt such unstinting passion, and that was for my mother Anne Boleyn in the days when she had had his favor.

The memory of my mother's fate was always somewhere in my mind and when I saw my father I often recalled that look he had given us in the courtyard and it sent a shiver through me; to see him happy with this young girl helped to soothe me. She was a Howard…a little like my mother, they said, and if she lacked her cousin's wiles, her vast sophistication, her wit and her lively mind, she made up for it with an infinite sweetness and good nature.

“Just fancy,” she said, “I am your stepmother. And I hope you will let me be your friend.”

Who would have expected a queen to talk thus to a girl who had been brought out of obscurity at her request?

The King smiled on me now because the Queen was fond of me. She talked round-eyed of my achievements and what my tutors had told her, opening her beautiful eyes wide and declaring that even to contemplate such learning was beyond her. At which the King said he was thankful for that, since she was perfect as she was—his rose without a thorn.

On the first night she dined in public with the King, she insisted that I be there as well. So there I was, opposite her, unable to take my eyes from her lovely laughing face, and watching the King touch her arm and her hand with such loving tenderness, calling her sweetheart in a voice which was soft and overflowing with love.

Kat said: “All will be different now. We shall have our rightful place. We shall be recognized as the King's daughter, which we are, of course. But our new Queen has a fancy for you, my Lady, and if she asks for your company, rest assured the King so dotes on her that she will have her way.”

If only it could have stayed like that I believe it would have made a great difference to us all. The King would have been happier for undoubtedly he loved her and, as Kat pointed out, she was not under the same stress to produce a son as my poor mother had been. “Moreover,” said Kat wisely, “the King is no longer in his first flush of youth. Don't whisper a word that I said so or it might cost me my head… but it is the truth and even kings cannot change it. No, His Grace the King has a delightful wife. Let us hope that he never wants another.”

But it seemed inevitable that the rumors must start. Kat told me of them.

“Wicked and unscrupulous men are plotting to bring a case against the Queen,” she said.

I could not understand but Kat explained that when the Queen was very young she was overflowing with affection. She was loving and giving…and that sort drew men to them like bees to the flowers and wasps to the honey. The Queen was so kind and tender to men that she found it hard to say no to them. When she was quite young it seemed she had said yes when she should have said no; and now those cruel people were looking back into her past to uncover some scandal.

“They think the Howards are getting too strong,” said Kat. “My faith! A little while ago it was the Seymours … now it's the Howards. The most dangerous thing on Earth is to be married to the King. A woman is better on her own. It may be that our little Queen would have been happier as the wife of Tom Culpepper, who they say adores her—and she not indifferent to him—than as the Queen of England.”

I did not see Katharine again. I heard terrible stories. They were accusing her of treason—that simple child whose only purpose was to be happy and make others so too. How could they? But even she, who had harmed no one, had her enemies. Thomas Cranmer questioned her about her past, accusing her of having entered into marriage with someone called Francis Dereham and thus in marrying the King committing adultery. There were tales of her wanton behavior with other men and she was arrested.

Kat said that the King was most distressed and would not at first believe those accusations against her. I was glad of that and hoped he would forgive her, but I suppose he was angry at having been deceived in her, thinking that all her loving had been inspired by him alone, and to learn that others had enjoyed it would be galling to a man of his nature.

I was very moved. I was reminded more vividly than ever of my mother. I kept wondering what she, who had held off the King's demanding passion for so long before she had submitted to him, had thought in her lodgings in the Tower, knowing that she was going to die, falsely and maliciously accused. And now poor little Katharine. She must have known what her fate was going to be. It was history repeating itself.

She was distraught, hysterical and terribly afraid. She was so young to die; and she did not believe that the King would agree to her death. She believed that all would be well if she could only see him and explain what it had been like in her grandmother's household where she had been brought up with all those young and lively people about her, and how they had been amused by her flirtations, which had grown into something more, and had helped her evade the rules laid down by her grandmother, the Duchess of Norfolk. She must have felt that she could make the King understand that she was older and wiser now and that she truly loved him and wanted to be a good wife to him. He was in chapel one morning when she escaped from those who were guarding her chamber and tried to reach the King; she ran along the gallery screaming but they caught her before she could get to him, and dragged her away. I wondered what would have happened if she had been able to speak to him. Would her life have been spared? I like to think that it might have been.

That February day stands out clearly in my memory. I had been thinking of her constantly since I knew that the King had given the royal assent to her attainder. Only two days later she was taken to the scaffold.

The poor child faced death meekly, they said, almost as though she did not understand what it was all about.

They buried her close to my mother in the Church of St Peter ad Vincula.

I felt ill for several days after. I dreamed of her mangled corpse and I shivered with a terrible fear for the fate of women in the hands of cruel men.

THE FOLLOWING YEAR my father the King took yet another wife and the result of this was that I was brought right into the family circle and began to feel more important than I had since the death of my mother. It was the first time in my life that I felt I belonged to a family.

Katharine Parr had been married twice before and of course Kat knew a great deal about her.

“Not much of a life,” she said. “First married to Lord Borough…old enough to be her grandfather some say. Well, at least he had the decency to die when she was seventeen, but what did they do but marry the poor girl to Lord Latimer who had already had two wives before. He only died this year, and there she is thirty years old and at last free…or so she thinks. I'll tell you something… she had hopes of Thomas Seymour… yes, our Prince's own bold uncle … a fine upstanding gentleman, they say, and poor Katharine Parr head over heels in love with him, which is easy enough to understand.”

“It must have been his brother who carried me at Edward's christening,” I said.

“Thomas is quite different from my lord Earl, they say. Stern… that's Hertford… seeking high office, never forgetting for a moment that he is the uncle of the heir to the throne. Perhaps Thomas doesn't either…What a handsome man he is! I saw him once…”

“And is Katharine Parr going to marry him?”

“Well, they say the King himself has his eye on her.”

“It can't be. He's… old.”

“Who says the King can't do as he pleases? Will it be a crown for the widow Parr? I'll warrant she'd rather have a plain gold ring from Thomas Seymour. There is a certain risk to a woman who becomes the wife of your royal father. There! Forget I said that.”

“But it's true, Kat,” I said soberly.

My father married Katharine Parr in July just over a year after that February day when Katharine Howard laid her pretty head on the block.

Katharine Parr proved to be different from my father's other wives. I think the most noticeable of her qualities was her motherliness. She was meant to be a mother and she deeply regretted that none of her marriages with old men had brought her children. She mothered the King, which was perhaps what he needed at his time of life. He was fifty-two years old now, his indulgences had been many and he was showing his age. I suppose the death of Katharine Howard had a particular effect on him. He had been happy with her for that short time; she might not have been so exciting as my mother, but her docility and overflowing affection had pleased him; he had not really wanted to be rid of her, but he could be ruthless when he believed himself to have been deceived. His rude health was failing him now; his bulk was turning to fat and he had an ulcer on his leg which caused him great pain and made him very irritable. Katharine Parr knew how to dress it and he used to sit with his foot in her lap, which gave it some ease. She had had a great deal of practice in looking after ailing husbands, and she was very capable at it. The King was fond of her in a mild way, but that seemed to suit him nowadays.

It was that motherliness in her which brought her to beg a favor from the King. He had a family, she reminded him, and it was sad that they were not all together under one roof. Mary Tudor was a woman now; but the two younger ones, Elizabeth and Edward, should be together. She would be a mother to them and he should be a good father.

He gave way, and for the first time I found myself within a family. I was delighted. For one thing it brought me closer to Edward, who was not only my brother but the future King. I was at the time ten years old and every day growing more and more aware of what intrigues went on about me. I realized now that because of my position as the King's daughter the smallest event might be of the utmost importance to me.

The peaceful existence of those days was due to my stepmother's influence. Yet being young I quickly chose to forget how suddenly storms could blow up and it did not occur to me that anything could happen to disturb this newly found contentment. One of my chief pleasures was the company of my brother. He was somewhat pale and thin and not overfond of outdoor sports and pastimes, a fact which did not please my father; but he loved his books, and so did I. We used to run into the schoolroom even before lesson times and could not wait to get to work. We were different in some ways although we looked alike—both had the same white skin and reddish gold hair and bright eyes with a tawny look in them—alert eyes that darted everywhere and took in everything. Edward was perhaps more of a scholar than I was. He absorbed facts, stored them in his mind and never forgot them. He accepted what his books told him and never questioned anything whereas I hesitated over every problem. I was constantly asking the question why.

During this time, when Edward was about six or seven and I was four years older, we would converse together and I would express my doubts, which I was amused to see shocked him a little. Kat used to listen to us and say we were a pair of old wiseacres; and although we did not always agree we never quarreled. The love between us was great and growing. I think he was disturbed by so much responsibility weighing on his frail shoulders; he felt more insecure than I did and looked to me for companionship and even some protection.

Because of his importance he could not be taught by someone like Kat. To tell the truth I was getting a little beyond her myself. “You know more than I do,” she said ruefully on several occasions. The Queen realized this and consulted my father with the result that the most learned tutors in the land were found for my brother, and because I shared his apartments I was fortunate enough to share his tutors as well. There was Dr Richard Cox, the Provost of Eton, who was a very erudite gentleman, and later on Sir John Cheke himself came from Cambridge. He brought with him Roger Ascham, who was very interested in my work and wrote letters of encouragement to me.

There were many at Court who marveled at this intense desire for knowledge which my brother and I possessed; they thought it unchildlike, but Kat said it had come about because my brother grew so tired out of doors, but he never did with his books; and as for me, it was the manner in which she had taught me which had encouraged my love of learning. “I never forced you,” she said. “Roger Ascham once said to me, ‘If you pour much drink at once into a goblet the most part will dash out and run over; if you pour it softly you may fill it even to the top and so Her Grace (meaning you, my Lady) I doubt not by little and little may be increased in learning that at greater length cannot be required.' I remembered that, and I always made learning fun, didn't I? You and I could make of it a game which we could play together… until now when you have become so wise as to outgrow me.”

I said to her then: “And who is this wise man? Roger Ascham, did you say?”

That was before Sir John Cheke brought him to us and the first time I heard his name.

Kat said a little coyly that he was a friend of Mr Ashley, who was a gentleman friend of hers. “He is a connection of the Boleyns,” she added proudly.

I did not think much about Mr Ashley then because I was so absorbed in what was going on. A new tutor had joined us. This was William Grindal, a scholar from Cambridge—so we continued to have the best tutors in the land.

Our stepmother managed to spend quite a lot of time with us. She was deeply religious and believed firmly that the new Reformed Faith was the only true one; she talked of this so eloquently to Edward and me that he was completely carried away. I was less inclined to accept theories than Edward, though I respected the deep and genuine faith of my stepmother and recognized the validity of many of her arguments.

There had been a great upheaval in religion since my father had broken with Rome in order to rid himself of Katharine of Aragon to marry my mother. It was a time when it was considered unwise to discuss these matters too frankly because it was so easy to say something which was not acceptable to one group or the other. However I could never resist an argument and I stated that I believed there was only one God and one Church, and all this argument over different doctrines was a waste of time.

“I believe in Christianity,” I said, “and it does not seem important to me in what method one worships God as long as one does.”

This aroused storms of disagreement from my brother and stepmother, and we continued to bring forward our points and tried to convince each other. It was the sort of discussion which I enjoyed.

Unfortunately my brother must have repeated something I had said to someone who in turn reported it to the King; my views clearly annoyed him and the result was that I was sent away from Court.

Kat and William Grindal came with my little retinue and we went back to Hunsdon. I was desolate. The days seemed dreary and I missed my brother. Lessons without him were not the same for that friendly rivalry was lacking. How foolish I had been to state freely what I thought! That was a very important lesson learned. Never say anything that might offend those who have power over you. I blamed myself, and my only consolation was in my books and gossip with Kat.

Happily the banishment did not last very long. My stepmother, who was still in high favor with the King—such a comforting nurse she was, no one could dress his leg quite as she could—begged that I should be allowed to return, pleading my youth and my lively mind, which she was sure I had inherited from my father. Edward joined his pleas to hers and complained that his studies were not nearly so interesting without me there. And the King at last gave his permission for me to return.

What a joyful reunion that was! Dear Edward! Dear Katharine Parr! I often thought of that in the years to come and I felt very sad about Katharine. However I was back.

My stepmother said: “Your tutors give such fine accounts of you that I think your father is somewhat proud of his daughter.”

The thought of his being proud of me gave me the greatest pleasure— even more than the welcome I received from Katharine and my brother. That was strange, for my father showed little kindness to me. I used to dream sometimes that I was in the Church of St Peter ad Vincula and I saw the ghostly figures of my mother and Katharine Howard there. I thought often of his cold indifference all those years ago when I was in the courtyard. He was cruel and ruthless, yet he was the great King and his good opinion was more important to me than that of anyone else.

There were some changes in the household. Lady Jane Grey had joined it. She was related to us, her mother being the daughter of my father's sister, Mary, and Charles Brandon. She had two sisters, Katharine and Mary, but Jane was the clever one and no pains had been spared to give her a good education. Her tutor had been another Cambridge man, John Aylmer, and he had coached her thoroughly in Greek and Latin. She was about the same age as Edward and as clever as he was. He took to her from the start. She was too pallid for me … I mean in temperament … too good. She never showed any temper or malice—all very laudable, of course, but insipid, and I told Kat so.

“Do I detect a little jealousy?” asked Kat, and I felt quite angry with her.

“Why should I be jealous of such a mouse?” I demanded.

“Our little Prince likes her very much.”

“Let him!” I retorted. “They are but children.”

However it was impossible to dislike Jane for long. She was such a good girl and I did respect her cleverness.

But while we were at peace in our nursery danger was brewing round us. That it could involve our gentle stepmother seemed incredible. It was not that the King was passionately enamored of her as I had seen him with his previous Katharine, but that she was such a comfort to him. He looked so pleased with her when his leg was laid on her lap and she was so gentle and always eager to please him. And then suddenly disaster threatened just as it must have done in the case of my mother and Katharine Howard.

Her life was in danger.

It was then that I first became aware of Stephen Gardiner who was to be my enemy in the years to come. He was the Bishop of Winchester and a fanatical Roman Catholic. It was now becoming generally known that my stepmother was a firm believer in the Reformed Faith. Perhaps she was not as watchful as she should have been. Because she was on such good terms with the King and he seemed delighted with her, she must have been lulled into a sense of security. She was nurse, wife and good companion. He suffered a good deal from the pain of his ulcerated leg and it could not be expected that a man such as he was should make great efforts to control his temper. He would curse his attendants and threaten them with all sorts of dire punishments for no reason at all than that they had not been quick enough to answer a summons or were guilty of some minor carelessness. They all tried to avoid him when he was in such moods.

On this occasion he was in his bedchamber and Katharine was binding up his leg which was particularly painful. She had often beguiled him with her arguments about the Reformed Faith and he usually liked to listen and lead her into discussion. He was amused and used to say to her—so she told us—“Come, Kate, what of the Reformed Faith today? What shall we talk of?” So on this occasion she had plunged into argument hoping that he would forget the pain until the unguents did their work. But he was irritable and contradicted her. Thinking he wanted her to put the other side of the question she proceeded to do so, at which he cried out in a rage: “A good hearing it is when women become such clerks; and much to my comfort in mine old age to be taught by my wife!”

It was enough, and by ill fortune the scheming Gardiner was present. According to Katharine he hurried to commiserate with the King, and the others in the chamber fell silent for a terrible dread had fallen on them. When a man has disposed of two of his wives by decapitating them, uneasy thoughts must quickly enter the heads of others. They would wonder how long that necessary part of the body would be with them.

Poor Katharine! She was most dismayed. I could see that she wished more heartily than ever that she had married the man of her choice and was Thomas Seymour's wife instead of the King's.

She retired to her apartments overcome with dread, which made her ill, and I realized that it was not only her own fate which was causing her concern. Anne Askew, a friend of hers who was a firm believer in the Reformed Faith, had been recently arrested. All this beautiful and noble lady had done was to profess her belief that the Reformed Faith was the true one; she had been accused of corrupting others and introducing books into the royal household. Katharine had been overcome with grief contemplating what was happening to Anne in the Tower and had sent her comforts by way of her ladies of the bedchamber. She was prostrate with sorrow when she heard that Anne had been put to torture and that when Sir Anthony Knevet had ordered the jailer to modify his use of the rack, Chancellor Wriothesley and his accomplice Rich had thrown off their gowns and worked the terrible instrument themselves with the utmost vigor.

And the King had given his assent to all this.

The noble lady had been condemned to be burned alive, and when this terrible sentence had been carried out the Queen had taken to her bed. It was given out that she was sick; and if the King knew that it was because of what had happened to her noble friend, he had not said so then.

Thus when Katharine heard the King speak to her in such a way and was aware of the malicious intent of Stephen Gardiner, she was so terrified that she collapsed and had to be taken to her bed.

Kat knew what was going on and could not keep it from me. She dared not tell Edward for fear he spoke to the King, and poor Kat trembled for her own head if ever it was thought that she had interfered. But she trusted me so I knew what was going on and I prayed for my good sweet stepmother and I marveled that I could still find it in me to admire my father who with his words and frowns could inspire such terror in those who had given him nothing but love. So it had been with Katharine Howard. I did not know whether my mother had loved him but I had seen for myself that these two Katharines had done everything in their power to please him. Such devotion had not saved Katharine Howard's head. Would it save that of Katharine Parr?

How relieved and happy I was when my father and stepmother were friends again. I think he must have missed her nursing, for she was so ill that she could not leave her bed. Her physician Dr Wendy was sent for and he reported that her sickness was due to uneasiness of mind. She wept piteously and could not control the trembling of her limbs. My father must have regretted giving such a ready ear to the complaints of her enemies for they had gone so far as to plan her death and were already looking out for a new queen who would be favorable to the cause of Rome. They had forgotten that the King was old, and a good nurse was more appealing to him than the sensuous charms of women like my beautiful mother and sweet Katharine Howard.

Dr Wendy, the Queen's good friend, had told her that the King missed her and he believed that if she spoke humbly to him and expressed deep sorrow for any fault she might have committed, he would be ready to turn to her because he was certainly not happy with the estrangement.

I saw my stepmother after the King's visit to her bedchamber. The change in her was miraculous. She no longer wept and that fearful trembling had ceased. She told me that after the King had said a few kind words to her he had tried to lure her into an argument. But Katharine was clever and having been primed by Dr Wendy she made an acceptable reply. She was but a woman, she said, with the imperfections of her sex. Therefore in all serious matters she must refer herself to His Majesty's better judgment. “God has appointed you to be the supreme head of us all,” she added piously, “and of you next to God shall I ever learn.”

“It seems not so,” said the King. “You have become a doctor, Kate, to instruct us and not to be instructed of us as oftentimes we have seen.”

“Indeed,” replied my stepmother, “if Your Majesty has so conceived, my meaning has been mistaken, for I have always held it preposterous for a woman to instruct her lord; and if I have ever presumed to differ with Your Highness on religion, it is partly to obtain information for my own comfort regarding certain nice points on which I stood in doubt, and sometimes because I perceived that in talking you were able to pass away the pain and weariness of your present infirmity, which encouraged me in this boldness in the hope of profiting withal by Your Majesty's learned discourse.”

How clever she was, my kind stepmother! Those words were well worth remembering. What a clear estimation of his character she had, for he replied: “And is that so, sweetheart? Then we are perfect friends.”

If only Katharine Howard had been able to reach him when she had made that frantic dash along the gallery to the chapel! Could she have changed him with her loveliness as wise Katharine Parr had with words? I asked myself then, great as my father was, so powerful that the fate of us all rested in his hands, was he not a little childlike? But was he seduced by Katharine's words or was he seeking a way out of a difficult situation which would placate his conscience? The fact was that he did not want to lose Katharine Parr. If he had wished so, nothing she could have said or done would have saved her.

The reconciliation was timely. The next day was that which had been arranged for her arrest, but now that the matter had been smoothed out between them, the King asked her to sit with him in the gardens. So she went, with her sister, Jane Grey and Lady Tyrwhit in attendance—so they were witnesses of the scene which followed.

While they were seated there, Wriothesley, the Lord Chancellor, came into the gardens with a body of guards to carry out the arrest to which before his visit to her bedchamber the King had previously agreed.

My father was furious when he saw them. Presumably he had not informed them of the change in his feelings or they would not have come.

He shouted at them in fury and told them they were beasts, fools and knaves and they had better get out of his sight or he would want to know how they dared invade the privacy he enjoyed with his Queen.

Much as I disliked Wriothesley, I felt a twinge of pity for him and so it seemed did the Queen who murmured that there must be some mistake.

My father became very sentimental, as he could on occasions when he was cruel. “Ah, poor soul,” he said. “You do not know, Kate, how little he deserves grace at your hands. He has been a knave to you…as have others.”

Ah my dear father, I thought. And what sort of a knave have you been to this good woman who has never been anything else but the most faithful and devoted wife to you? I would never marry, I assured myself. I would never give any man power over me.

The incident appeared to be over, but my father never felt kindly toward Wriothesley again, and as for Gardiner, he showed his acute displeasure toward him. Looking for excuses for his own part in the near betrayal of the Queen, he must have his scapegoats.

It had been a terribly anxious time and often when I sat with my stepmother and we did our needlework together I would look at her serene face and contemplate how near she had come to the fate which had overtaken my mother, Anne Boleyn, and Katharine Howard.

DURING THE NEXT YEAR or so I never felt quite the same again. I could not look at my stepmother without thinking how near she had come to losing her head. My father was getting old; he was often unable to stand; his body had become unwieldy and the ulcer in his leg had grown worse. There was an uneasiness everywhere. Edward was a boy and the country had a dread of kings who were minors. It always meant that power-seeking factions were formed. That was what was happening now, and the rival families were the Seymours and the Howards. Religion was the dominating factor in all our troubles and I supposed this was inevitable since my father had broken with Rome and the Reformed Religion had come into being. I watched it all intently and I thought how foolish they were to make such an issue of religion. My sister Mary was a devout Catholic still and my stepmother and Lady Jane were turning just as devoutly to the new faith. But what did it matter how one worshipped God? Wasn't it the same God? Young as I was I vowed no such folly should ever determine my actions for I had seen fanaticism wreak naught but harm. But then we had these two families—the Seymours upholding the new Reformed Faith and the Catholic Howards who continued to support Rome. The Seymours were more powerful because of their relationship to Prince Edward and it seemed likely that he would be King before long. The Howards had seen the daughters of their family, Anne and Katharine, wear the crown—now both headless in their graves—but Jane Seymour had been triumphant, at least her family had. She, poor thing that she was, had produced the heir of England for their benefit and died in her bed before she was able to savor glory…I could never forget that she had supplanted my mother, whose brilliance some still whispered about.

My thoughts were turned from these matters by complications in my own household. I had noticed a change in Kat. She had become prettier and a little absent-minded, and I knew that something, of which she had not told me, was happening.

I demanded to know the reason for the change in her, for I am afraid I was beginning to be a little imperious since I had been allowed to come to Court and share a schoolroom with my brother. Edward was so fond of me and made it clear that he wanted my company and people were becoming more and more anxious to please him. We were all thinking of him not so much as a prince but as a future king and the fact that I had a very special place in his affections had made me feel quite important.

So I said to Kat: “I insist on your telling me what makes you go about as though you are somewhere else.”

“Well,” said Kat, “I will tell you. You know Mr Ashley?”

“Know Mr Ashley!” I cried. “That gentleman comes up again and again in your conversation. It is not possible to be much in the company of Mistress Katharine Champernowne without knowing something of Mr Ashley.”

“Then you will readily understand,” retorted Kat. “He has asked me to marry him and I see no reason why I should not.”

“Marry! You!” I must confess the first thought which came to me was, But what of me?

She knew my nature well and she immediately fell to her knees and buried her head in my skirts. “My lady, my dearest Princess, never will I leave you.”

“Not for Mr Ashley?”

“I think Mr Ashley could become a member of your household. I am sure no objection would be raised against that.”

I was dubious. Kat! Married! No longer entirely mine!

People did marry, of course, and Kat was young and comely. But I felt shaken. There was so much change in the air, and I did not want change though I knew it must come. There was too much tension in the air… throughout the Court, throughout the country. I felt it in the streets on those occasions I rode out for I was very sensitive to the mood of the people.

And now Kat was to be married.

Lovingly she assured me that nothing could ever make any difference in her devotion to me. I was her special charge, her Princess, close to her heart, never to be dislodged. She made me feel that she would even abandon Mr Ashley if marrying him meant losing me.

Fortunately she did not have to make such a choice. My good stepmother said that there was a simple solution. Let Mr Ashley join my household. “I feel Thomas Parry is not as efficient as he might be,” she said, “and John Ashley is a very clever young man.”

So our problem was solved and Kat became Kat Ashley. Parry stayed of course but John Ashley became a member of the household; I was very pleased because not only was he Kat's husband but there was a family connection between him and the Boleyns.

We were at Hatfield and I was delighted to be there because Edward was with me. We used to converse in Latin—a language we both loved. I had a secret with which I intended to surprise him. There was a woman in my household, Blanche Parry, a Welshwoman, who was very proud of the fact that she had rocked me in my cradle. She was very fluent in her native language and I suggested she should teach it to me. With my aptitude I was soon able to speak in Welsh with Blanche and I thought it would be rather amusing to let Edward know that I had acquired the Welsh language of which he and the erudite little Jane Grey were ignorant. After all we Tudors had Welsh blood in our veins and royal as we were, we had inherited through our ancestor Owen Tudor.

But before I did this there was disturbing news that my relatives Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, and Henry Howard, his son, Earl of Surrey, had been thrown into the Tower.

Kat, as usual, knew all about it.

“How could Surrey be so stupid?” she demanded. “Do you know what he has done? He has assumed the right to wear the arms of Edward the Confessor. He says the concession was granted to his family by Richard II. Of course the College of Arms forbade this, but what does my Lord Surrey do but ignore them.”

“And do you mean to say that for such an offense Surrey and his father are in the Tower?”

Kat came closer to me and whispered: “It's the Seymours. You wouldn't expect them to miss a chance like this, would you? He has played right into the Seymours' hands. Silly Surrey!”

“Kat,” I said severely, “you forget yourself.”

“So I do,” she replied.

“You should not speak so flippantly of the Earl of Surrey. He is a very great gentleman.”

“He must be if he can sport the royal arms.”

“That was foolish of him.”

“He might have known the Seymours were ready to pounce.”

I was upset. I had felt quite a fondness for Henry Howard. He was a very handsome man but what made him more attractive in my eyes was that he wrote beautiful verses and people said he had me in mind when he wrote them. I always read them avidly and they gave me great pleasure so it was distressing to think of him in that cold dank prison. And his father with him—for the Duke of Norfolk could not be very young. He had once been my mother's chief adviser and although he had presided at her trial and arranged for her execution, he was still a blood relation—my own uncle.

“It is all Seymour now,” said Kat. “My word, how they have come up in the world since their sister married the King. Edward the elder is a sharp one and he has the King's ear. As for Thomas …” Kat smiled knowingly. “Now there is a man. Do you know, I don't think there is another at Court to match him.”

“Match him for what?” I asked.

“For grace… for charm…He is so good-looking…so tall, so commanding. He's much more of a man than his brother. They say there is a little rivalry between Thomas and Edward Seymour. Thomas has no wife—as yet.”

“Kat,” I cried, “since you have discovered the glories of marriage you think of nothing else. Have a care or Mr Ashley will be taking you to task.”

She laughed but I could not join in her merry mood because I was thinking of poor Henry Howard in the Tower where my own mother had lodged before her death.

I was quite fond of Hatfield then, although later I came to regard it as a prison. There was an air of peace about the ivy-covered walls, and Edward kept splendid state in the lofty banqueting hall. When we dined there I always sat beside him and we would talk seriously together, for Edward, who was as aware of the growing tension as I was and far more frightened of it, was becoming very serious indeed.

I heard that the King was at Whitehall, the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Surrey still in the Tower, and the Queen in constant attendance upon the King who could not bear her out of his sight these days.

It was December when visitors came to Hatfield. Kat saw the party in the distance and hastened to find me that she might be the first with the news. We went up to one of the turrets to watch the riders approach.

I said: “I'll guess they are coming to tell us we are going to Court and I must warn Edward of their approach.”

“Yes, you two should go down to greet them,” replied Kat.

We had a shock instead of a welcome. Our visitors were guards who had come to escort us—not to Whitehall as we had thought—but Edward to Hertford Castle and me to Enfield. We were to be separated! We protested with horror at being parted but were assured that these were the King's orders and must be obeyed without question.

How different was that Christmas from what I had anticipated! Poor Edward had been so unhappy at our parting and, since he was younger, he was less able to control his grief. I wrote a little note to tell him that I was as unhappy as he was by our forced separation and I was thinking of him all the time. He wrote such a tender letter back. I still have it.

“The change of place, dear sister, does not so much vex me as your departure from me…It is a comfort to my regret that I hope shortly to see you again if no accident intervenes…”

Tragedy intervened. We saw each other, but only briefly.

In January I heard that the Earl of Surrey had been beheaded on Tower Hill. This depressing knowledge did not help me to bear the separation from my brother. Poor reckless Surrey! How prodigal people were of life…in risking it and taking it. It seemed to me such a trivial matter to die for. Oh, but I knew it was more than arms on an escutcheon. It was the deadly rivalry for power between two leading families—the upstart Seymours and the ancient one of Howard. The Seymours were in the ascendant. Of course they were. The Seymour brothers were the uncles of the King to be.

To my great joy Edward was brought to Enfield.

It was the last day of January, cold and frosty, when Edward arrived in the company of Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, and Sir Anthony Browne. I was amazed to see these two together in apparent harmony because Sir Anthony was a firm adherent of the Catholic Faith, and Hertford, because of his powerful position in the country, was the man whom followers of the Reformed Faith looked upon to lead them.

As soon as they arrived I was summoned to the hall. Edward was standing there with Hertford on one side of him and Sir Anthony Browne on the other.

“Edward,” I cried, forgetting ceremony. I ran to him and we embraced.

The two men stood silently watching us and neither of us cared whether they considered this a breach of etiquette. There are moments when such matters can be forgotten and affection given full rein.

It was Hertford who made the announcement.

“My lord and lady, I have grave news for you. Your father, our great and good King Henry the Eighth, has died in his Palace of Whitehall.” Then he fell to his knees and taking Edward's hand cried: “God save the King.”

Edward looked startled. Then he turned to me. I put my arms about him and we wept. We had lost our father. I was old enough to know that we were fast moving into danger. I was not yet fourteen years old but I felt that I had been learning how to wade carefully in treacherous waters. But Edward… poor little Edward…to be so young… and a king!

We were crying bitterly and my tears were more for my frail little brother than for the great and glorious, cruel and ruthless yet magnificent King who had just passed out of this life.