the outline of church spires and the high steeple of St. Paul’s Cathedral. That night, I lay listening to the sounds of the river for a long time: oars creaking, ferrymen calling. And the splashing of the water made me think of Ned by the stream.
There must have been at least three hundred of us in the Great Hall that Christmastide Eve. Suddenly, silence fell and everybody turned towards the gallery. A thin boy stood there, wearing a doublet of blue velvet.
King Edward.
My eyes were drawn to his hands gripping the edge of the balcony – long and white and tapering like candles. Men on either side held him upright.
I was so shocked by his frail body and his gaunt face that I forgot to curtsy. I stood gaping.
“Curtsy to your King.” It was Dudley, nudging me sharply from behind.
“It is not for you to tell me what to do,” I whispered. “It is for the King.”
Dudley leaned over me. I could feel his breath on my neck. “Do not forget that I tell the King what to do.”
I was right to dread Dudley.
When the King had left, I stood in a corner with Catherine and Ellie. Dudley’s head stood out above the others. Each time his eyes rested on mine, I looked away. At last, he strode over to us with his five sons. Guildford, the youngest, was a tall boy with cheeks as flushed and as fleshy as a robin’s breast. Only his lips were bloodless. He bowed so low to Mary that his hat fell at her feet. She picked it up and handed it back. Catherine and I laughed out loud. We could not stop ourselves. Then he stepped back in line with his brothers and walked on.
“I detest them all,” I whispered to Catherine. “If they come near me again, I shall go to my bed.”
“They are not to blame for what their father does any more than we are to blame for what our father does,” she replied.
Touché? My sister was becoming wise at last.
She was exquisite that evening. Her dress was blue to match her eyes and edged with silver fur. Silk threads lit up her hair. Except for my pearls, I wore no jewellery with my sombre dress. I did not want to attract attention.
John Dudley’s voice reached my ears. “I taught them a fine lesson,” he was boasting. “The men of Norfolk have not caused me any trouble since that day.” I paused to listen. “They say that their leader’s body is still hanging at Norwich Castle.” He laughed. “Yes, Ket’s skeleton is a sober reminder to the good people of Norfolk!”
I pushed myself into the centre of his circle. “Have you read your Bible, sir?” I asked. “We are told in Proverbs that if you oppress the poor, you insult the God who made them. But kindness shown to the poor is an act of worship.”
John Dudley looked down at me. Amusement lightened his voice. “The Bible also says that wicked people bring about their own downfall by their evil deeds. They were traitors, and in this country we kill them.” He turned back to his sons as if he did not expect a reply.
“They were just poor people looking for an honest living,” I said. “The traitors were the rich landowners who took the common land from them. What did you expect them to do?”
John Dudley sniffed the air as if scenting a fox and his sons laughed, Guildford the loudest of them all. Then he sighed. “God punishes his enemies. Have you not read Isaiah? ‘ Their corpses will not be buried, but will lie there rotting and stinking .’”
I stood straight, trying to make myself look taller. “They were not your enemies,” I replied. “And if you had read Isaiah properly, you will know what else was written: ‘ Do not use your power to cheat the poor .’” I heard only the sound of my own voice. “And everywhere in the Bible we are told to love one another. Tell me, sir, does the King do everything you tell him?”
John Dudley gasped, angry, but his face relaxed as my father reached me. Dudley nodded to the musicians in the gallery. “She preaches well, sir,” he said to my father. “We should put her
There must have been at least three hundred of us in the Great Hall that Christmastide Eve. Suddenly, silence fell and everybody turned towards the gallery. A thin boy stood there, wearing a doublet of blue velvet.
King Edward.
My eyes were drawn to his hands gripping the edge of the balcony – long and white and tapering like candles. Men on either side held him upright.
I was so shocked by his frail body and his gaunt face that I forgot to curtsy. I stood gaping.
“Curtsy to your King.” It was Dudley, nudging me sharply from behind.
“It is not for you to tell me what to do,” I whispered. “It is for the King.”
Dudley leaned over me. I could feel his breath on my neck. “Do not forget that I tell the King what to do.”
I was right to dread Dudley.
When the King had left, I stood in a corner with Catherine and Ellie. Dudley’s head stood out above the others. Each time his eyes rested on mine, I looked away. At last, he strode over to us with his five sons. Guildford, the youngest, was a tall boy with cheeks as flushed and as fleshy as a robin’s breast. Only his lips were bloodless. He bowed so low to Mary that his hat fell at her feet. She picked it up and handed it back. Catherine and I laughed out loud. We could not stop ourselves. Then he stepped back in line with his brothers and walked on.
“I detest them all,” I whispered to Catherine. “If they come near me again, I shall go to my bed.”
“They are not to blame for what their father does any more than we are to blame for what our father does,” she replied.
Touché? My sister was becoming wise at last.
She was exquisite that evening. Her dress was blue to match her eyes and edged with silver fur. Silk threads lit up her hair. Except for my pearls, I wore no jewellery with my sombre dress. I did not want to attract attention.
John Dudley’s voice reached my ears. “I taught them a fine lesson,” he was boasting. “The men of Norfolk have not caused me any trouble since that day.” I paused to listen. “They say that their leader’s body is still hanging at Norwich Castle.” He laughed. “Yes, Ket’s skeleton is a sober reminder to the good people of Norfolk!”
I pushed myself into the centre of his circle. “Have you read your Bible, sir?” I asked. “We are told in Proverbs that if you oppress the poor, you insult the God who made them. But kindness shown to the poor is an act of worship.”
John Dudley looked down at me. Amusement lightened his voice. “The Bible also says that wicked people bring about their own downfall by their evil deeds. They were traitors, and in this country we kill them.” He turned back to his sons as if he did not expect a reply.
“They were just poor people looking for an honest living,” I said. “The traitors were the rich landowners who took the common land from them. What did you expect them to do?”
John Dudley sniffed the air as if scenting a fox and his sons laughed, Guildford the loudest of them all. Then he sighed. “God punishes his enemies. Have you not read Isaiah? ‘ Their corpses will not be buried, but will lie there rotting and stinking .’”
I stood straight, trying to make myself look taller. “They were not your enemies,” I replied. “And if you had read Isaiah properly, you will know what else was written: ‘ Do not use your power to cheat the poor .’” I heard only the sound of my own voice. “And everywhere in the Bible we are told to love one another. Tell me, sir, does the King do everything you tell him?”
John Dudley gasped, angry, but his face relaxed as my father reached me. Dudley nodded to the musicians in the gallery. “She preaches well, sir,” he said to my father. “We should put her
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