Daughter of Time

December 1547

Whitehall Palace

"Please, Your Grace," I cry, my fingers gripping the soft fur on the oversleeves of the Queen's green velvet gown. "How is His Majesty?"

Katherine looks around the corridor and ushers me over to the bay window. What she has to say could obviously put us both in danger. After all, it is treason to even imagine the death of the King let alone mention it out loud. "I fear he is sinking," She answers, her voice pained.

For a moment, it does not seem as if the guards are willing to admit us to the chamber.

"His Majesty has asked to see his daughter, the Lady Mary." Queen Katherine explains firmly, to which they instantly acquiesced, and let me pass.

As I enter the room, I am hit with the fetid scent of decaying flesh, which fills the darkened chamber, failing to be masked by the scented rushes lining the floor.

He is lying on his huge bed. Lifeless. For one horrifying moment, I fear I am too late and that my father has been called to Gods house before I could see him. However, as my timid footsteps tap gingerly on the stone floor, he stirs and acknowledges my arrival.

"Mary?" He croaks, as if in a daze. "Come closer."

Despite that he is my father, and unwell, I must not forget my duty to my sovereign Lord, and I offer him a deep curtsey.

"Come closer."

I gingerly move forward, ignoring the smell of dying flesh that grows stronger as I come nearer.

Despite the pain that has lain between us these past fourteen years, I feel no anger or resentment to this man, who could terrify the greatest and most powerful lords into a quivering shell with a mere glance, now laid so low. I see only my father; a poor sickly man, who God forgive me for even thinking it, does not look like he is long for this world.

He smiles a weak smile at me. I reach out nervously to take his hand in mine. I want to tell him that is all right. That I forgive him for the hurts I suffered in his name.

"Mary."

I feel a hot tear fall down my cheek at the sound of his great voice, now a crackled whimper

"Hush now, Mary. Do not weep."

"Yes, Sir."

"I will not be well enough to join you and the Queen for Christmas this year," he explains. "But my infirmity must not stop you from enjoying yourselves."

I make to protest. "But sir..."

"No Mary," My father insists. "It is decided. You will travel to Greenwich with the Queen and Elizabeth tomorrow, and you will make merry, and if God should see fit to heal me, then I shall join you there in the New Year," He pauses. "But if I do not. If I do not recover, and God calls me out of this world...."

I wince at the thought of my fathers' death and wretch my hands from his grasp to hide my tears.

"If I do not recover," His Majesty continues, in a firmer tone of voice. "I want your promise that you will always be kind and loving, as a mother to your brother, who I will leave a helpless little orphan."

"Please Sir," I choke through tears, knowing that it is not only Edward who will soon be left an orphan. "Please do not leave me, an orphan so soon."

"Promise me." His Majesty commands. The necessity of my promise bringing strength to his feeble voice

"I promise." I somehow manage to utter as the tears continue to fall.

"Leave me now Mary. Go to your sister and stepmother and make merry at Greenwich. But do not tell them what has passed between us."

I force myself to pull back up to my full height. Our intimate moment is over. Reluctantly, I curtsey to my father, my king, and flee his bedchamber with speed, so that he should not hear my sniffs of weeping.  I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, His Majesty will soon be called to God. Edward, Elizabeth, and I will all be orphans, and our world as we know it will be over.

It is hard to follow the Kings instructions and make merry at the Christmas festivities. For whilst I am exchanging gifts and dancing. I cannot help but think of my poor father, lying on his sickbed, close to death. It seems wrong for everything to continue as normal, as though we are not waiting for the moment a member of the Privy Council comes to tell us that he is no more. However, the Queen is insistent. It is His Majesty's command that the celebrations continue uninterrupted and so we continue as we are bid.

Edward is even allowed to join us for a few brief days and is made much of by everyone, the Queen included.

Only Katherine and I know that my brother has been brought to court so that he might be close by if our father should die.

Having been closeted away in the country, raised by his nurses, Edward is becoming a very quiet and formal child. He prefers not to play with other children who have come to court for the festivities, preferring to stay by my side as we greet the hundreds of courtiers and ambassadors.

Only when he is alone with Elizabeth, Katherine and myself is his formality is relaxed. Edward is growing into a very serious child. I never hear him jest or make a joke like my father likes to do. He is a calm water to Elizabeth's, fiery nature.

Katherine strikes the perfect balance with him. She is deferential to him in his rank, but warm and loving to him as a devoted mother. She encourages him to set aside his books, praising his devotion for learning by suggesting he accompany us on a small hunting party.

For Edward, his first proper hunt is an exhilarating thing. He rides by my side for the entirety of the day. Yet we somehow become separated from our group and find ourselves in a clearing, some yards from our party, still in the forest.

"Sister, what dwellings once stood there?" Edward asks as the dilapidated ruins of a building come into our view.

Only one type of building would be allowed to fall into such disrepair in this country. Surveying the ruins of God's house. I sigh with sadness for the sorry sight of it. "I dare say it was a religious house. Dissolved and demolished for abuses."

"Could not the King punish the offenders and allow such goodly buildings to stand? Could he not have put in better men that would have governed them well?" Edward asks, with all the innocence of youth.

"His Majesty was most deceived by bad counsellors," I explain tactfully, choosing my words with care so as not to say anything critical about our father. How can I tell this innocent child that even the wisest kings can be deceived by those in whom they have placed their chiefest trust?

"Things will never be as they once were Edward. But one day you will have the power to right the wrongs done to the church."

"You mean when I am King?"

"Yes. When you are king. But you must say nothing to anyone of this conversation. For evil people may say things that are not true. We must always be careful of whom we trust."

"I will say nothing to anyone sister. On pain of death," he swears, his eyes fixed on me with great solemnity. "And though there be few that you trust, I hope that you always confide in me. I will keep secret anything you wish to tell me."

"Bless you, you dear boy," I smile, stroking his little elfin face, swamped by the tawny velvet hat perched on top of his golden head. My heart is overflowing with love for this beautiful child. "God bless you, Edward."