The Taming of the Queen

I bow my head against her reproach; but she is right. It must be a sin to pray for the death of another, even of your worst enemy. An army going into battle should pray for as few deaths as possible even while they prepare themselves to do their duty. Like them, I must prepare myself to do my duty, risking myself. And besides, he is not my worst enemy. He is constantly kind and indulgent, he tells me that he is in love with me, that I will be everything to him. He is my king, the greatest king that England has ever had. I used to dream about him when I was a girl and my mother would tell me of the handsome young king and his horses and his suits of cloth of gold, and his daring. I cannot wish him ill. I should be praying for his health, for his happiness, for a long life for him. I should be praying for many years of married life with him, I should be praying that I can make him happy.

‘You look terrible,’ Nan says bluntly. ‘Can’t you sleep?’

‘No.’ I have been getting up all through the night to pray that I shall be spared.

‘You have to sleep,’ she rules. ‘And eat. You’re the most beautiful woman at court, there’s nobody even comes near you. Mary Howard and Catherine Brandon are nothing beside you. God gave you the gift of great beauty: don’t throw it away. And don’t think that if you lose your looks he’ll desert you. Once he decides on something he never changes his mind, even when half of England is against him . . .’ She breaks off and corrects herself with a little laugh, ‘Unless of course – suddenly – he does, and everything is upside down and he is determined on the opposite course and no-one can persuade him otherwise.’

‘But when does he change his mind?’ I ask her. ‘Why?’

‘In a moment,’ she says. ‘In a heartbeat. But never that you could predict.’

I shake my head. ‘But how does anyone manage? With a changeable king? With a slippery king?’

‘Some don’t,’ she says shortly.

‘If I can’t pray to be spared, what can I pray for?’ I ask. ‘Resignation?’

She shakes her head. ‘I was talking to my husband, Herbert. He said to me that he thinks that you have been sent by God.’

At once I giggle. Nan’s husband, William, has never troubled much about me before. I measure my growing importance in the world if now he realises that I am a heavenly messenger.

But Nan is not laughing. ‘Truly he does. You have come at the very moment that we need a devout queen. You will save the king from sliding back to Rome. The old churchmen have the king’s ear. They warn him that the country is not just demanding reform but becoming Lutheran, completely heretical. They are frightening him back to Rome, and turning him against his own people. They are taking the Bible from the churches of England so that people cannot read the Word of God for themselves. Now they have arrested half a dozen men at Windsor, the choirmaster among them, and they will burn them in the marshland below the castle. For nothing more than wanting to read a Bible in English!’

‘Nan, I can’t save them! I was not sent by God to save them.’

‘You have to save the reformed church, and save the king, and save us all. This is godly work that we think you can do. The reformers want you to advise the king in his private moments. Only you can do it. You have to rise to it, Kat. God will guide you.’

‘It’s easy for you to say. Doesn’t your husband understand that I don’t know what people are talking about? I don’t know who’s on which side? I am not the person for this. I know nothing about it, and I have little interest.’

‘God has chosen you. And it’s easy enough to understand. The court is divided into two parties, each of them convinced that they are in the right, guided by God. On the one hand are those who would have the king make an agreement with Rome and restore the monasteries, the abbeys and all the ritual of the papist church. Bishop Stephen Gardiner and the men who work with him: Bishop Bonner, Sir Richard Rich, Sir Thomas Wriothesley, men like that. The Howards are papists and would have the church restored if they could, but they’ll always do the king’s bidding, whatever it is. Then there’s us, who would see the church go onwards with reform, leave the superstition of the Roman practices, read the Bible in English, pray in English, worship in English, and never take another penny from a poor man for promising him remission of his sin, never cheat another poor man with a statue that bleeds on command, never order another poor man on a costly pilgrimage. We’re for the truth in the Word of God – nothing else.’

‘Of course you think you’re in the right,’ I remark. ‘You always did. And who speaks for you?’

‘Nobody. That’s the problem. There are more and more people in the country, more and more people at court who think as we do. Almost all of London. But we have no-one of importance on our side but Thomas Cranmer. None of us has the king’s ear. That’s why it has to be you.’

‘To hold the king to reform?’