An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
1st of August, 1523.
Toledo, Castile. 1st of August, 1523.
When they finished, Anne dropped down beside him, breathless and covered in sweat. Charles sighed, rubbing at his face and feeling his heated cheeks wet under his touch. He was exhausted, completely spent. His wife’s appetite, well that was something no man could completely satisfy, not even him.
Anne pulled a sheet over her body, covering her nakedness, and he smiled at her, throwing an arm over his face. She smiled back her cheeky smile, dark eyes glinting, and he almost laughed as he settled back on the bed.
“My lady,” he said, “You certainly have shown me your love many times over tonight.” It was a bad attempt at a jape or a joke, a provocation that she could do oh, so easily, but he was tired. And uncomfortable. Charles stretched his body, shifting in the bed, trying to remove the thing that was bothering his back.
When he could not, he sat up again. Anne was still smiling as she stretched to the side, taking her shift from where it was thrown on the ground and slipping it on. It was a warm night and she kicked away the bed coverings once she was no longer naked, her coltish legs displayed along with the mattress. “The Emperor is a dutiful lover,” she responded, “And I’m here to serve him in any way I possibly can.”
Charles laughed but said nothing else. He laid down again on the bed but found there was still something bothering at his back, something that stuck up in his spine, poking him. He passed a hand on the space underneath him, though there was nothing that could warrant such a reaction.
He stood up and walked away from the bed, taking his own shift from the floor and putting it on. Anne whined. “Charles,” she said, dragging his name with her tongue, making it sound like there were much more Es than there really were, “Come back to bed.”
“No.” He sat on her chair in front of her writing desk. Though it was too warm for the hearth to be lit, there were candles at the desk and around the room, lighting up his wife’s chambers. “Your bed is too uncomfortable. I have been telling you that for months. We should have it changed.”
“I don’t mind it,” said Anne and then she opened her arms, inviting him in, “Come back. I will make you comfortable, my love.”
He shook his head, laughing. Charles looked at the letters opened in front of him and picked them up, curiosity taking the best of him. Anne made a sound of complaint but said nothing when he continued to read. The first letter was from Renée of France, describing her new engagement to the grandson of old pope Alexander, and the other was from the Queen of France herself. Both women wrote with love spilling over the papers, clear in their adoration for his wife.
Charles looked at Anne. “You should not write to Renée and Claude,” he said, “France is our enemy.”
“But they are my friends,” complained Anne, “I shared a schoolroom with little Renée and served Queen Claude for many years. I love them as much as I love you.”
“Well, you should love me more,” he responded, “Claude is married to Francis, my greatest adversary. Any day now, we are to go to war against him for my ancestral lands. I will not have you writing to his wife and sister.”
Anne made a face, twisting her lips into a pout. “Must you go to war against France?” she asked from her spot in the bed, “Can’t we find peace some other way? There are many ways for you to win Burgundy back. Francis and Claude have a daughter. Mademoiselle Marguerite, just a little younger than our Felipe. Perhaps, if we betroth him to her, then Burgundy will be her dowry.”
“Only a fool would give away Burgundy as a dowry,” he answered, turning to look away from her, “And besides, Queen Claude is a hunchback, with a clubfoot. Why would I want my son to marry a daughter of hers? Is it not enough for us to have deformed chins, must we have deformed backs and hips as well?” Anne made a face, disappointed in his words, and opened her mouth to say something. Before she could, however, he looked at her bed and noticed, “Your bed is crooked.”
Anne stopped with her mouth open and frowned. “What?” she asked. Her confusion was understandable. Charles himself couldn’t find sense in his words, having said what came first in his mind to describe what was before him.
He stood up and walked to her. Charles pointed at the bed and the side he was laying on previously. It was very faint, almost invisible to the eyes, but he could see it, especially when he bent down. Just the slight shift in the mattress, a curve so shy that it barely appeared, but it was there. It was as if… as if there was something underneath it.
“Charles, what are you doing?” asked Anne when he knelt on the floor, alarm clear on her eyes.
“There is something underneath it.” Perhaps a bunched up sheet, or maybe an old pillow that the maids had forgotten to take out. It was such a silly mistake and one that had been bothering him for weeks, ever since he returned to sleeping with his wife. He’d complained about it, but Anne said she didn’t mind it, probably because she always slept on the same side and never felt it.
He slipped his hand underneath the mattress and pushed his arm in until his finger brushed against a leathery surface. Charles frowned. “There’s nothing there, Charles,” said Anne, her voice so high he’d normally say she was scared. But what could she be scared of?
He caught whatever it was and pulled back, bringing it to his front. As he moved, he stood up and saw that it was a book. A book? Charles frowned, not understanding what a book was doing underneath his wife’s bed. "Is this book yours?"
As he opened the book to the first page, Anne didn't answer him. Charles sighed as he read the writings. It was Latin. De captivitate Babylonica ecclesiae, praeludium Martini Lutheri. On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church, by Martin Luther.
For a long moment, he said nothing, only staring at the page before him. Then, as slowly as he could, he raised his eyes and looked at her. Really looked at her. His wife. The woman who had once dallied with Marguerite of Angoulême and her heretics. “Is this book yours?” he asked again, his anger barely contained. When she said nothing, he lost his mind, “Anne! Answer me!”
Anne tilted her chin up. “Yes,” she said, “It’s mine.”
He expected her to be demure, submissive, and wife-ly. To look at her hands and beg for his forgiveness, to ask him to be kind to her, to explain away the book as being something she only found and had never looked at. Something she never read, but why would she hide something like that?
It was stupid of him to expect such things from her. Anne Boleyn was defiant to the bone. Once, he had loved that about her. Now, it tasted like ashes in his mouth.
“Have you lost your mind?” he asked, closing the book, “This is heresy. The word of God defiled.”
“It is not heresy!” Anne answered, quick to defend her band of sinners, “It is merely another interpretation of the Bible. Luther does not blind himself with the superstition of the church. He sees things for what they truly are!”
Charles wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Instead, he asked, “Are you listening to yourself? Luther is a heretic.” A thought comes to him, “His works are banned from the Spanish kingdoms. By my own hand. How did you get this?”
She closed her mouth and looked away. The answer would not be one he’d get easily from her. Charles walked and circled the bed until he was on her side, standing right before her. When they were close, Charles shook the book in front of her. “Tell me!” he demanded.
Instead, she turned away again and tightened her lips. Charles sighed.
“How can I pretend to rule half of Europe when I have secrets in my own home?” He looked at the ghastly book and wished it away. Oh, God, he missed those fleeting minutes before when he was a fool. A fool and happy. “My own wife, infatuated by the man I persecuted? Is this a punishment? What have I done to deserve this?” He looked at the book again and then at the fireplace, the logs waiting for the fire, “I should burn this.”
“No!” screamed Anne, springing from the bed. She ran to him, “Please, Charles. Don’t burn it.”
He looked at her. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s mine and because you love me,” she offered. When he did nothing but continue to look at her, Anne sighed and put a hand to her forehead, panting, “Charles, please. You don’t want to do this. Please. You haven't even read it. Maybe if you read it, you'll see that it makes sense. Just… just read it."
"You want me to read it?" he asked, shocked. She nodded, tentatively, "Have you lost your mind? Is it not enough for you to dally with heresy, now I must do the same?"
“Charles,” she said, “It’s not easy seeing things in a new light, but maybe, we can do this together. The Pope is just a man. He has no power over us. You are the Emperor, the greatest king on the land since Charlemagne. How can you bend yourself before him?”
“I will not hear this.” He turned around, but Anne followed him, touching his shoulders and his arms with her soft hands.
“I know you loved Adrian VI like a father, but who is Clement to you? Another Italian who will attempt to rule over us, over you? He is not the descendant of St Peter and he cannot decide on our salvation. What are indulgences if not a sign of the blatant corruption in the church?” She was so close, he could feel her breath hitting the back of his neck, "Pope Alexander VI has living grandchildren and yet the clergy are supposed to be celibate. Why should we fall with them? Why should we obey them?”
“Because it’s the only way,” he responded and pulled away from her, leaving her chambers.
Interesting. But there's very little chance Charles could ever convert, even if he personally was convinced. He'd lose Spain in a second, and without Catholicism, there's not really a Holy in Holy Roman Emperor
I mean, Charles *should* have embraced Luther from the word go, but he didn't have magical foresight.
I mean, Charles *should* have embraced Luther from the word go, but he didn't have magical foresight.
Excellent update, very well written. I have no idea how Anne and Charles are going to reconcile after this because both are very stubborn but they need to find common ground on the religious issue or at least agree to disagree. Also I know this is a serious situation but Charles noticing the book under the bed because it makes him uncomfortable reminded me of The Princess and the Pea.
Lol that's exactly my inspiration. Charles is a very fragile princess indeed.
Couldn't put it better myself. I personally don't see Charles and Spain becoming protestant.
Oh no Anne, it's been discovered... Well I hope that at least she is even more discreet, and that somehow, the couple and their marriage can move past this incident. Great chapter!
True. But Henry has the additional "my daughter is a good catholic girl, and the Emperor married a lowborn heretic whore", which probably has a better propaganda ring to it.
I mean, the only person that knows George was the one who brought it is Anne and she's not gonna betray her brother like that
I don't see this. Child mortality in the Middle Ages, and even up to the late 19th century, was substantial. They'd have seen dozens of babies and children die. For instance, João's youngest brother Carlos. This one additional death would be unlikely to throw them into a paroxysm of grief, or make them start to question God.
Looking back now, I'm confused. When did João marry Eleanor? ISTM that it would have to be before Charles' meeting with Anne Boleyn.