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robes and chains of office. It was clear he did not like what he saw.‘How now, my lord? What is this? A king does not mewl like an infant or sob like a girl. Leave the weeping and wailing to women, my lord.’ When this failed to do anything except unleash a torrent of even more heartfelt sobs, the lord protector turned his attention to the queen. ‘This is your doing, woman. Unhand him before you entirely unman him.’ I gasped audibly at his arrogance in talking to her with such disrespect, but Queen Catherine, though she eyed him sharply, let it pass. She had been deeply annoyed that, although his will left her a wealthy woman, my father had not also seen fit to declare her regent. But with that decision she was also wise enough to understand that any power she may once have had when my father depended on her so utterly was rapidly waning.
    â€˜Kings are not the province of women, no matter how recently they were in swaddling clothes. Come with me, my lord,’ he continued, ‘let me take you to your new apartments.’ The little king, once so imperious, obeyed, still hiccuping with sobs. He got down from his stepmother’s knee and took the man’s proffered hand, but he held out his other hand for the queen, clearly indicating that he wanted her to go with him also. At this, the lord protector fell to his knees so he was speaking to my brother eye to eye. This time he tried a different approach: a softer, more cajoling manner.
    â€˜Now, now, my lord, what is this? The queen is tired,too and needs to be attended to by her ladies. Your tutor Master Cheke awaits you in your new rooms, but he has agreed there will be no lessons this day. You are to rest, my lord, and eat sweetmeats and Master Cheke has promised to read to you quietly. Will you come, Your Majesty, and take your rightful place among the men?’
    My brother wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and nodded wearily, but as he walked with his uncle from the room, he looked back at us and two large tears rolled from his eyes to his chin.
    Poor little Edward, pitiful little king, we left him, my stepmother, my half-sister and I. We had no choice: the hard men of his privy council were hungry for government, eager to stamp their personality on the country and to reap the rewards that come with power. They wanted no soft-hearted women between them and their king. When my brother walked away, clutching the hand of the man who was called his protector, I did not protest. I merely curtsied, as a subject should, and pretended I did not see his trembling bottom lip and terrified eyes. I did not know then that it would be more than a year before I would see him once more.

When next I saw him, more than a twelvemonth later, he was a different child: his eyes cold, his tongue well guarded, his attitudes stiff and unbending, particularly when we spoke of men worshipping God. Master Cheke, religious zealot that he was, had done his work well. I do not even know if my brother was pleased to see me. We spent a few awkward and formal hours together, talking in polite generalities, before I left and wept again for the lively little boy I remembered. I felt bereft. They had ripped him from me and I knew we would never play or converse with one another in the old easy way as brother and sister ever again. I also knew I no longer had much place in his new life and that I would see him but rarely. Indeed, between that meeting and the next almost as much occurred to change me as had happened to change him.
    My sister and I stayed with our stepmother at court until April, then Mary, being fully grown, departedfor her own household to manage her newly acquired estates. As a girl of only thirteen, I left the court with the queen and went to live with her permanently. By this time, my stepmother had a brash and vigorous new husband, my brother’s other uncle, the admiral, Thomas Seymour. Somewhat to my chagrin, Queen Catherine had wasted no time