A fifteen year old boy died at Greenwich on the sixth of July 1553. His death put three women on a collision course none of them had chosen. Two would soon become queens. The third would watch and wait.
His father had declared his sisters illegitimate. His father's will had restored them. As he lay dying he removed them again. A hundred men signed the document.
Cecily was the youngest of her father's twenty-two children and would give birth to twelve of her own. Thirty-three years after giving birth to her youngest son, she had outlived her husband, all her sons, and the dynasty they had built.
Two illegitimate daughters and an ex-wife arrived at the abbey to do something that had never been done before: crown a woman who would rule in her own right.
Less than a year earlier, Elizabeth Woodville had entered a great church as the pregnant wife of a deposed king seeking sanctuary. On 28 September 1471, the monks of Canterbury Cathedral came to the door to receive her as queen.
She sent Anne Boleyn a monkey. She sent Jane Seymour quails. She housed Anne of Cleves for a fortnight. She put her own daughter in the path of the king. None of it was kindness. All of it was survival. For seven years it worked. Then it didn't.
She refused to leave. So he had her dragged out by the arms. She spent a decade writing letters that nobody acted on. Then the moment came, and she told them everything.
The last thing Joan Waste did before the fire was let go of her brother's hand. Roger had walked with her from the town to Windmill Pit on Burton Road. They had been born together, blind and sighted, in the same moment in 1534. He had been beside her for all twenty-two years of her life. At the edge of the pit she held his hand for a time, and then she released it, and they tied her above the fire.
He had convinced the Holy Roman Emperor that he was the rightful King of England. He watched from his ship as the men of Kent lured his soldiers ashore with friendly words and killed them on the beach. He never set foot on English soil.
History remembers Margaret Beaufort as a devoted mother, a pious noblewoman, a woman who prayed for her son from a distance and wept when he finally came home. That is the story she wanted told. She was also the most dangerous political mind of the fifteenth century, and the two things are not separate.
Lettice Knollys, the eldest daughter of Francis Knollys and Catherine Carey, was born on the 8th of November 1543 at Rotherfield Greys in Oxfordshire, and she inherited from her mother's side of the family two things that would define the entire shape of her life. Tudor red hair, and a connection to the English crown that everyone could see and nobody was permitted to discuss.