Sharon Penman wrote The Sunne in Splendour, a historical novel about Richard III's life. It's really good.
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
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I don't understand that reference but, Penman wrote some wonderful trilogies based on the Empress Matilda/Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, as well as the Welsh Princes. They start with 'When Christ and His Saints Slept' and 'Here be Dragons' respectively. Definitely worth a read, and yes, far better than Gregory!
XXIV: March 1520
Henry sat playing cards with his sister and brother-in-law, when there was an urgent knock on the door.
“Enter!” he called jovially, trumping Charles’s seven of diamonds with his Queen of Spades. Mark Blount put his head round the door, “Excuse me for interrupting, Sire, but my cousin Cecily felt you ought to know. Bessie has gone into labour.”
“Bessie has gone into labour.” The words rang in his ears, echoing oddly round his head. he felt the blood drain from his cheeks and his cards slid through his fingers, scattering over the table-top as his grip went slack.
“Harry? Mary ventured, putting her hand out to him. Shaking his head, he pulled away and went to the window, gripping the ledge so tightly that his knuckles went white. He scarcely heard Charles slapping Mark heartily on the back and inviting him to take a cup of ale with them.
This was it. He’d know within days – maybe even hours – whether or not the Tudors truly were cursed. Whether they were forever doomed to lose their women in childbirth or whether there was still some hope for them.
All of a sudden, his lips parted and he found himself praying as he had scarcely ever prayed before, “Please, God, in Your mercy, don’t take them away from me. Not them too. They don’t deserve to die. Any sin they have committed is through me. They are innocent. Please. Let them live. Haven’t we suffered enough? Haven’t we paid the price for taking the throne by force? My son, my brother, my mother, my Queen – weren’t their lives enough? I beg you, say that they were. Grant Bessie and her child life and repeal our curse. In Your mercy, I beseech you.”
“Harry?” Mary repeated, touching his arm again, “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?”
“Marie,” Henry spoke the name without quite knowing he was going to, “Get me Mistress Marie.”
Reading the pain in his eyes and knowing that only Marie’s soft touch and gentle voice would soothe her brother now, Mary nodded and sent a page running to the Boleyn apartments. Unfortunately, a few minutes later, the lad was back…alone.
“Begging Your Graces’ pardon, but Mistress Boleyn was nowhere to be found. Her brother said he saw her ride out about half an hour ago, but he has no idea when she’ll be back.”
“Oh damn her!” Mary swore, “I thought she was reliable!”
Henry felt as though he ought to defend his sweetheart – he had promised to be her Sir Loyalty, after all – but he was feeling let down too. How dare Marie abandon him when he needed her most! How dare she?! After everything he had done for her! How dare she?!
Still, she had, so there was nothing for it but to let Mary take her place at his side; to let her find his hand with hers and grip her soft skin in his rougher skin so tightly that he might have been a drowning man and she his driftwood.
Mary would have protested at the ferocity of her brother’s grip, but one look at his ashen face told her protest was futile, so she merely took a deep breath and stood silently beside him, willing him to take some of her strength and use it to get himself through the next few hours.
Locked together like that; like they hadn’t been since they were children in the nursery, waiting to hear how their mother fared after giving birth to one of their younger siblings, or how their brother Arthur was faring after one of his many illnesses, the Tudor siblings waited for news.
“Enter!” he called jovially, trumping Charles’s seven of diamonds with his Queen of Spades. Mark Blount put his head round the door, “Excuse me for interrupting, Sire, but my cousin Cecily felt you ought to know. Bessie has gone into labour.”
“Bessie has gone into labour.” The words rang in his ears, echoing oddly round his head. he felt the blood drain from his cheeks and his cards slid through his fingers, scattering over the table-top as his grip went slack.
“Harry? Mary ventured, putting her hand out to him. Shaking his head, he pulled away and went to the window, gripping the ledge so tightly that his knuckles went white. He scarcely heard Charles slapping Mark heartily on the back and inviting him to take a cup of ale with them.
This was it. He’d know within days – maybe even hours – whether or not the Tudors truly were cursed. Whether they were forever doomed to lose their women in childbirth or whether there was still some hope for them.
All of a sudden, his lips parted and he found himself praying as he had scarcely ever prayed before, “Please, God, in Your mercy, don’t take them away from me. Not them too. They don’t deserve to die. Any sin they have committed is through me. They are innocent. Please. Let them live. Haven’t we suffered enough? Haven’t we paid the price for taking the throne by force? My son, my brother, my mother, my Queen – weren’t their lives enough? I beg you, say that they were. Grant Bessie and her child life and repeal our curse. In Your mercy, I beseech you.”
“Harry?” Mary repeated, touching his arm again, “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?”
“Marie,” Henry spoke the name without quite knowing he was going to, “Get me Mistress Marie.”
Reading the pain in his eyes and knowing that only Marie’s soft touch and gentle voice would soothe her brother now, Mary nodded and sent a page running to the Boleyn apartments. Unfortunately, a few minutes later, the lad was back…alone.
“Begging Your Graces’ pardon, but Mistress Boleyn was nowhere to be found. Her brother said he saw her ride out about half an hour ago, but he has no idea when she’ll be back.”
“Oh damn her!” Mary swore, “I thought she was reliable!”
Henry felt as though he ought to defend his sweetheart – he had promised to be her Sir Loyalty, after all – but he was feeling let down too. How dare Marie abandon him when he needed her most! How dare she?! After everything he had done for her! How dare she?!
Still, she had, so there was nothing for it but to let Mary take her place at his side; to let her find his hand with hers and grip her soft skin in his rougher skin so tightly that he might have been a drowning man and she his driftwood.
Mary would have protested at the ferocity of her brother’s grip, but one look at his ashen face told her protest was futile, so she merely took a deep breath and stood silently beside him, willing him to take some of her strength and use it to get himself through the next few hours.
Locked together like that; like they hadn’t been since they were children in the nursery, waiting to hear how their mother fared after giving birth to one of their younger siblings, or how their brother Arthur was faring after one of his many illnesses, the Tudor siblings waited for news.
I couldn't not do it. Mary was Henry's favourite sister. Of course they must have had moments like that!
Jesu, Henry's entitlement is really bad. How dare Marie not be at his side all the time!?
To be fair, he is feeling insecure. But yeah, Henry VIII at his finest, really.
XXV: March 1520
Since the last one was fairly short, have another chapter.
Marie swung herself off her horse in the courtyard of Eltham, pausing only to throw the reins at a passing stable boy and to pull herself together before she swept into the Palace with her head held high. Lady Salisbury, the Princess’s governess, rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her. A moment later, much to Marie’s surprise, she curtsied shallowly.
“Mistress Boleyn.”
Marie hesitated, unsure as to how to respond. On the one hand, the fact that Lady Salisbury had acknowledged her, that she knew who she was, meant that the news that she was high in the King’s favour had travelled, which might make her job easier. On the other hand, if Lady Salisbury thought she was as arrogant and loose-moraled as the Lady Blount, she might refuse to let her near the Princess Mary, which would mean she’d had a wasted journey.
In the end, Marie decided to use both her influence and her Boleyn charm to her advantage. Sinking into a deep curtsy, a curtsy that acknowledged the other woman’s royal heritage, she smiled up at the older woman.
“Lady Salisbury. Good morning. I apologise for disturbing you, but I’ve just ridden over from the Court at Havering to visit the Princess so that I might tell His Majesty how Her Highness fares.”
“You've come from Court? To see the Princess Mary?” For a moment, something like incredulous horror flickered across Lady Salisbury’s face, but then she collected herself and nodded, “Very well, Mistress Boleyn. You’d better come up to the nursery then, though you’ll have to excuse me while I prepare Her Highness to see you. She’s not exactly dressed for visitors at the moment.”
“That’s fine, Lady Salisbury,” Marie assured the older woman, and the two of them fell into step beside each other as they walked up to the nursery suite. Once there, Marie hung back, distracting herself with the tapestries in the outer room, while Lady Salisbury disappeared into an inner chamber.
Before long, however, Marie couldn’t help but overhear the shrieks of protest that were coming from the other room.
“I no want see her!”
“It’s ‘I don’t want to see her’, and I’m afraid you must, Your Highness. As a Princess, you always have to be gracious, no matter how you yourself feel,” Lady Salisbury’s voice sounded surprisingly tired, as though she had argued this point far too often already. As indeed she probably had, judging by the way the angry roars only got louder.
“No correct me! No! I no have do anything! I Princess! I no have see Miss’es Boleyn if I no want! You not Mama, Lady Bury. You not tell me what I do!”
Lady Salisbury sighed audibly. Unable to help herself, Marie pushed open the door the elder woman had just gone through.
She barely suppressed a gasp at what she saw.
A tiny fair-haired girl was thrashing in Lady Salisbury’s arms, kicking wildly as she fought to be free. If Marie hadn’t known that this was the Princess Mary, she would never have guessed. The girl’s long fair curls were tangled and matted, so much so that they clearly hadn’t been brushed for weeks. Her dress of green velvet was crushed and crumpled, with so many stains down it that, in places, it was hard to tell that it was meant to be green at all. Her eyes were swollen with tears and glittering with anger, while her skin was rough, filthy and blotchy, the antithesis of what a Princess’s skin should be.
Grateful for her courtier’s training, Marie nonetheless managed to keep her face blank as she curtsied low, “My Lady Princess. So you don’t want to see me, hmm? That’s a shame. I’ve just come from Court and I was hoping to be able to tell you how your Papa was and maybe even take a message from you to him, if you’d like me to.”
Lady Salisbury gasped at the informality of Marie’s address, but it worked. Little Mary stilled in her arms, looking across at Marie with a new emotion in her eyes. An emotion that hadn’t really been there since her mother died. Curiosity.
“Papa? You tell me about Papa?” she asked. Marie nodded, kneeling down and half-holding out her arms to the little girl, “If you like, Princess.”
In seconds, the little girl had flown out of Lady Salisbury’s hold and was in Marie’s, nestling into her arms trustingly, looking up at her hopefully. Instinctively, Marie closed her hold around the Princess’s waist, trying not to show her alarm at how thin she was. Even for a four-year-old, she was as light as a feather.
Carrying Her Highness over to the window, Marie sat down on the sill and began to tell her an edited version of all that had happened since she had been sent to Eltham.
Marie swung herself off her horse in the courtyard of Eltham, pausing only to throw the reins at a passing stable boy and to pull herself together before she swept into the Palace with her head held high. Lady Salisbury, the Princess’s governess, rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her. A moment later, much to Marie’s surprise, she curtsied shallowly.
“Mistress Boleyn.”
Marie hesitated, unsure as to how to respond. On the one hand, the fact that Lady Salisbury had acknowledged her, that she knew who she was, meant that the news that she was high in the King’s favour had travelled, which might make her job easier. On the other hand, if Lady Salisbury thought she was as arrogant and loose-moraled as the Lady Blount, she might refuse to let her near the Princess Mary, which would mean she’d had a wasted journey.
In the end, Marie decided to use both her influence and her Boleyn charm to her advantage. Sinking into a deep curtsy, a curtsy that acknowledged the other woman’s royal heritage, she smiled up at the older woman.
“Lady Salisbury. Good morning. I apologise for disturbing you, but I’ve just ridden over from the Court at Havering to visit the Princess so that I might tell His Majesty how Her Highness fares.”
“You've come from Court? To see the Princess Mary?” For a moment, something like incredulous horror flickered across Lady Salisbury’s face, but then she collected herself and nodded, “Very well, Mistress Boleyn. You’d better come up to the nursery then, though you’ll have to excuse me while I prepare Her Highness to see you. She’s not exactly dressed for visitors at the moment.”
“That’s fine, Lady Salisbury,” Marie assured the older woman, and the two of them fell into step beside each other as they walked up to the nursery suite. Once there, Marie hung back, distracting herself with the tapestries in the outer room, while Lady Salisbury disappeared into an inner chamber.
Before long, however, Marie couldn’t help but overhear the shrieks of protest that were coming from the other room.
“I no want see her!”
“It’s ‘I don’t want to see her’, and I’m afraid you must, Your Highness. As a Princess, you always have to be gracious, no matter how you yourself feel,” Lady Salisbury’s voice sounded surprisingly tired, as though she had argued this point far too often already. As indeed she probably had, judging by the way the angry roars only got louder.
“No correct me! No! I no have do anything! I Princess! I no have see Miss’es Boleyn if I no want! You not Mama, Lady Bury. You not tell me what I do!”
Lady Salisbury sighed audibly. Unable to help herself, Marie pushed open the door the elder woman had just gone through.
She barely suppressed a gasp at what she saw.
A tiny fair-haired girl was thrashing in Lady Salisbury’s arms, kicking wildly as she fought to be free. If Marie hadn’t known that this was the Princess Mary, she would never have guessed. The girl’s long fair curls were tangled and matted, so much so that they clearly hadn’t been brushed for weeks. Her dress of green velvet was crushed and crumpled, with so many stains down it that, in places, it was hard to tell that it was meant to be green at all. Her eyes were swollen with tears and glittering with anger, while her skin was rough, filthy and blotchy, the antithesis of what a Princess’s skin should be.
Grateful for her courtier’s training, Marie nonetheless managed to keep her face blank as she curtsied low, “My Lady Princess. So you don’t want to see me, hmm? That’s a shame. I’ve just come from Court and I was hoping to be able to tell you how your Papa was and maybe even take a message from you to him, if you’d like me to.”
Lady Salisbury gasped at the informality of Marie’s address, but it worked. Little Mary stilled in her arms, looking across at Marie with a new emotion in her eyes. An emotion that hadn’t really been there since her mother died. Curiosity.
“Papa? You tell me about Papa?” she asked. Marie nodded, kneeling down and half-holding out her arms to the little girl, “If you like, Princess.”
In seconds, the little girl had flown out of Lady Salisbury’s hold and was in Marie’s, nestling into her arms trustingly, looking up at her hopefully. Instinctively, Marie closed her hold around the Princess’s waist, trying not to show her alarm at how thin she was. Even for a four-year-old, she was as light as a feather.
Carrying Her Highness over to the window, Marie sat down on the sill and began to tell her an edited version of all that had happened since she had been sent to Eltham.
She's not. She's just refusing to eat properly, or let Lady Salisbury brush her hair or anything like that. Lady Salisbury hasn't got the heart to force a clearly grieving little girl to do anything she doesn't want to do unless it's essential. And yes, she has been trying to tell the King how Mary's behaving. Henry is just ignoring her messages...
Mary's just a very confused, and very sad little girl. Hopefully Marie will be able to help sort things out...
Well the fact that Mary trusted her enough to run into her arms within moments of meeting her is certainly a good start!
Do you really think I can leave a little girl in that much pain for a whole lot longer??
And I might be joining you...No, because you know I will pour gravy in your shoes then.
That was well written and horribly sad
I really look forward to the reaction of Henry to Marie's conversation about Mary because knowing Henry he might not like his mistress taking initiative like that.
No, he will not. However, it is better than his wife taking initiative. He can listen to a clever mistress without any blow to his pride, a clever wife is quite another kettle of fish. That being said, Marie could have chosen a better day to go than that on which Bessie Blount goes into labour...