And, @FalconHonour, we all have lives and understand breaks in updates. Keep going, girl.
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Not a problem. Hope (everyone) that yours (Christmas and New Years) was enjoyable. Wish everyone the best for the coming year
VII: March 1519
It was already getting dark when there came a quiet knock on Henry’s door.
He jerked his head at the page who stood behind him, “Get it.”
“Yes, Sire,” the boy nodded, leaving his place to open the door. Charles stood behind it. he dismissed the page with a simple wave, “Out. I’ll take care of His Majesty.”
The page looked quickly at Henry, who nodded approval. The boy bowed silently, then vanished. As the door shut behind him, Charles took over, fastening Henry’s dark cloak about his shoulders.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
But Henry didn’t sound ready. He sounded more unsure of himself than Charles had ever known him. Daringly heedless of protocol, he clapped his friend heartily on the back.
“Don’t worry. The girls are clean and of high birth – as high as you’ll get in the profession, anyway. And everyone goes by a false name. No one need know you’re the King, not if you don’t want them to. It’s only a bit of harmless fun.”
“Fun you indulge in?” Henry’s voice was sharp. Mary was his treasure; the last of his family. If Charles was unfaithful to her -!
“Not since I met and married your sister,” Charles lied smoothly. He’d seen the cloud of anger pass over Henry’s face and knew well enough to head it off quickly. At his words, Henry relaxed and even managed a smile as Charles led him from the room down the twisting passageway to the back stable yard where their horses stood waiting.
It was but a short ride to the building that Charles had in mind. Upon reaching it, he tossed a nearby boy the reins and signalled to Henry to do the same. Then he turned to another and called, “Here, Will, look sharp and tell Madam Freeman that Master Lisle’s here and that he’s brought a friend. John. John…”
“Owen,” Henry supplied, as Charles cast hurriedly about for a name. Charles nodded, “Owen.
“Yes, Master Lisle. Any other message?"
Charles hesitated, glancing at Henry, "Tell Madam Freeman we'll need a gentle one for John, will you?”
"Of course, Sir! Right away, Sir!" Will tugged his forelock and dashed inside. Henry and Charles followed more sedately, so that, by the time they entered, a buxom woman with luxuriously curling chestnut hair was already shouldering her way towards them.
“Master Lisle,” she curtsied, “How wonderful to see you again. It’s such a pity that your affairs keep you away for so long at a time.”
“A great pity, Madam Freeman,” Charles breathed, lifting the woman’s hand with practised ease. Henry frowned as his best friend transformed into such a practised charmer, but, at that precise moment, Madam Freeman noticed that he was still standing alone.
“Ah, forgive me, Master Owen. I hear we need a gentle one for you, yes?”
Without giving Henry a chance to respond, she turned, clapping her hands, “Tilda. Take care of Master Owen for me.”
A young girl; a slender willow of a thing with a mass of tumbling blonde curls, moved forward.
“Of course, Madam Grace. If you’ll follow me, Sir?”
Henry cast a glance back at Charles who nodded, “Go. I’ll wait here, John.”
Fearing for his image, Henry had no choice but to follow Tilda. However, once they were away from Madam Freeman’s eagle eye, she softened.
“First time out, Sir? Don’t worry, nerves hit them all in one way or another. We can take as much time as you like. Just lie back on the bed, have a glass of wine and then, when you’re ready, I’ll show you a few tricks that will work on any girl, no matter who she is.”
Henry did as he was told, feeling a strange relief as the weight of his titles was lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t have to be King Henry here. In fact, he didn’t even have to be Henry, which meant he wouldn’t be betraying Cata’s memory by what he was about to do. He could just be John. Ordinary John looking to assuage his ordinary desires.
He kept telling himself that, with the result that, when Tilda began to stroke him in all the right places, it seemed natural to him to respond in the ordinary way.
He jerked his head at the page who stood behind him, “Get it.”
“Yes, Sire,” the boy nodded, leaving his place to open the door. Charles stood behind it. he dismissed the page with a simple wave, “Out. I’ll take care of His Majesty.”
The page looked quickly at Henry, who nodded approval. The boy bowed silently, then vanished. As the door shut behind him, Charles took over, fastening Henry’s dark cloak about his shoulders.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
But Henry didn’t sound ready. He sounded more unsure of himself than Charles had ever known him. Daringly heedless of protocol, he clapped his friend heartily on the back.
“Don’t worry. The girls are clean and of high birth – as high as you’ll get in the profession, anyway. And everyone goes by a false name. No one need know you’re the King, not if you don’t want them to. It’s only a bit of harmless fun.”
“Fun you indulge in?” Henry’s voice was sharp. Mary was his treasure; the last of his family. If Charles was unfaithful to her -!
“Not since I met and married your sister,” Charles lied smoothly. He’d seen the cloud of anger pass over Henry’s face and knew well enough to head it off quickly. At his words, Henry relaxed and even managed a smile as Charles led him from the room down the twisting passageway to the back stable yard where their horses stood waiting.
It was but a short ride to the building that Charles had in mind. Upon reaching it, he tossed a nearby boy the reins and signalled to Henry to do the same. Then he turned to another and called, “Here, Will, look sharp and tell Madam Freeman that Master Lisle’s here and that he’s brought a friend. John. John…”
“Owen,” Henry supplied, as Charles cast hurriedly about for a name. Charles nodded, “Owen.
“Yes, Master Lisle. Any other message?"
Charles hesitated, glancing at Henry, "Tell Madam Freeman we'll need a gentle one for John, will you?”
"Of course, Sir! Right away, Sir!" Will tugged his forelock and dashed inside. Henry and Charles followed more sedately, so that, by the time they entered, a buxom woman with luxuriously curling chestnut hair was already shouldering her way towards them.
“Master Lisle,” she curtsied, “How wonderful to see you again. It’s such a pity that your affairs keep you away for so long at a time.”
“A great pity, Madam Freeman,” Charles breathed, lifting the woman’s hand with practised ease. Henry frowned as his best friend transformed into such a practised charmer, but, at that precise moment, Madam Freeman noticed that he was still standing alone.
“Ah, forgive me, Master Owen. I hear we need a gentle one for you, yes?”
Without giving Henry a chance to respond, she turned, clapping her hands, “Tilda. Take care of Master Owen for me.”
A young girl; a slender willow of a thing with a mass of tumbling blonde curls, moved forward.
“Of course, Madam Grace. If you’ll follow me, Sir?”
Henry cast a glance back at Charles who nodded, “Go. I’ll wait here, John.”
Fearing for his image, Henry had no choice but to follow Tilda. However, once they were away from Madam Freeman’s eagle eye, she softened.
“First time out, Sir? Don’t worry, nerves hit them all in one way or another. We can take as much time as you like. Just lie back on the bed, have a glass of wine and then, when you’re ready, I’ll show you a few tricks that will work on any girl, no matter who she is.”
Henry did as he was told, feeling a strange relief as the weight of his titles was lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t have to be King Henry here. In fact, he didn’t even have to be Henry, which meant he wouldn’t be betraying Cata’s memory by what he was about to do. He could just be John. Ordinary John looking to assuage his ordinary desires.
He kept telling himself that, with the result that, when Tilda began to stroke him in all the right places, it seemed natural to him to respond in the ordinary way.
Remember that Henry's reputation viz the Marriage Market will be way better than it was otl. I think it was otl Marie De Guise who said that if she had two heads, one would be at the disposal of his Majesty of England.
That won't be happening here. First, Henry is still young and athletic. More important, he isn't the tyrant who beheaded two queens.
There's a distinct possibility they'll be lining up for the chance to become Queen of England.
It was Christina of Denmark, actually, but the point still stands.
However, I am saying nothing!
Whatevs...
Here, Henry's going to be the Eligible Bachelor that everyone wants to bag.
Amazing, ain't it?
Whatevs...
Here, Henry's going to be the Eligible Bachelor that everyone wants to bag.
Amazing, ain't it?
Indeed... A butterfly flaps its wings and all that...
I think the more important piece of data is that Henry doesn't have a son, so who ever is Henry's second wife could easily be the mother of the next King of England.
Absolutely.... And BlueFlowwer, you will get your Anglo-Portugese alliance considered. That much I promise you!
Actually Marie responded "that I may be a big (tall) woman, but I have a very little/not much neck"
VIII: March - April 1519
It seemed to Henry later that his night with Tilda had been a dream, a dream he longed to recapture but couldn’t.
Now that he was out of his rooms, duty overtook him once more. His ministers swarmed about him, begging for his input on this treatise or that law or some proposed Bill for Parliament. Fools. Couldn’t they manage without him for just a little bit longer? Didn’t they realise he had other matters to attend to?
Like the blonde in Mary’s ladies, for instance. He liked her. He liked her because she reminded him of Cata, in the way that she was so quietly spoken, but thankfully she wasn’t like Cata to look at. No. she was like Tilda to look at. If it hadn’t been for the obvious difference in their status, they would have been able to pass as twins. They had the same slender figure, the same big blue eyes, the same mass of blonde curls. The same ones his mother had had too.
Of course he wouldn’t lie with this girl. No. Cata was barely cold in her grave. It would be treading on her memory. Tilda hadn’t been, of course, because he hadn’t been himself then. He’d been John Owen and no one had known he was the King, but this girl would be different. She’d know he was the King. So he couldn’t sleep with her. And he wouldn’t. But he would enjoy her company. Cata wouldn’t begrudge him that, would she? Of course she wouldn’t. after all, it wasn’t as if he was in love with this girl, not the way he’d been in love with her. No. he just wanted to enjoy the girl’s company a little, as friends. That was nothing wrong in that, was there?
Mary knew her brother was infatuated with Bessie Blount. [1] She knew he was also trying to assuage his conscience because of his grief for Catalina,[2] but she knew his desires would win out in the end and he’d start courting Bessie.
He didn’t say anything. Of course not. But he didn’t have to. The way his eyes kept lingering on the girl was enough. She was just waiting for him to ask her name.
So why, when the question finally came, did it feel like something momentous was about to happen? As though it was such a threat to her place at his side as his hostess?
“Sister. That blonde girl amongst your ladies, the quiet one. What’s her name?”
“Bessie, Bessie Blount,” Mary choked out the name, desperately trying to hide the fact that the syllables were leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She had to force her face to remain blank as she watched her brother as he rose, walked over to Bessie and bent to whisper something in her ear.
She saw Bessie nod, rise and follow him out of the room. She saw the way her cheeks were tinged pink with pleasure when the two of them came back into the room and the way her brother walked with a slightly jauntier step.
He bent over her hand and kissed it, “Farewell, Sister. I must take my leave. Matters of State detain me.”
She nodded, and let him go, her mind whirling. There was no doubt about it. Whatever Charles had undertaken with Henry that one night had driven him straight into Bessie’s arms. Mary only hoped the matter wouldn’t spiral out of control.
[1] Yes. THE Bessie Blount. She's just caught Henry's eye a little later than OTL.
[2] No, this is not a mistype. In my head canon, Henry and Mary called Katherine by a Spanish version of her name (or its abbreviation) in private, as a mark of affection.
Now that he was out of his rooms, duty overtook him once more. His ministers swarmed about him, begging for his input on this treatise or that law or some proposed Bill for Parliament. Fools. Couldn’t they manage without him for just a little bit longer? Didn’t they realise he had other matters to attend to?
Like the blonde in Mary’s ladies, for instance. He liked her. He liked her because she reminded him of Cata, in the way that she was so quietly spoken, but thankfully she wasn’t like Cata to look at. No. she was like Tilda to look at. If it hadn’t been for the obvious difference in their status, they would have been able to pass as twins. They had the same slender figure, the same big blue eyes, the same mass of blonde curls. The same ones his mother had had too.
Of course he wouldn’t lie with this girl. No. Cata was barely cold in her grave. It would be treading on her memory. Tilda hadn’t been, of course, because he hadn’t been himself then. He’d been John Owen and no one had known he was the King, but this girl would be different. She’d know he was the King. So he couldn’t sleep with her. And he wouldn’t. But he would enjoy her company. Cata wouldn’t begrudge him that, would she? Of course she wouldn’t. after all, it wasn’t as if he was in love with this girl, not the way he’d been in love with her. No. he just wanted to enjoy the girl’s company a little, as friends. That was nothing wrong in that, was there?
*** *** ***
Mary knew her brother was infatuated with Bessie Blount. [1] She knew he was also trying to assuage his conscience because of his grief for Catalina,[2] but she knew his desires would win out in the end and he’d start courting Bessie.
He didn’t say anything. Of course not. But he didn’t have to. The way his eyes kept lingering on the girl was enough. She was just waiting for him to ask her name.
So why, when the question finally came, did it feel like something momentous was about to happen? As though it was such a threat to her place at his side as his hostess?
“Sister. That blonde girl amongst your ladies, the quiet one. What’s her name?”
“Bessie, Bessie Blount,” Mary choked out the name, desperately trying to hide the fact that the syllables were leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She had to force her face to remain blank as she watched her brother as he rose, walked over to Bessie and bent to whisper something in her ear.
She saw Bessie nod, rise and follow him out of the room. She saw the way her cheeks were tinged pink with pleasure when the two of them came back into the room and the way her brother walked with a slightly jauntier step.
He bent over her hand and kissed it, “Farewell, Sister. I must take my leave. Matters of State detain me.”
She nodded, and let him go, her mind whirling. There was no doubt about it. Whatever Charles had undertaken with Henry that one night had driven him straight into Bessie’s arms. Mary only hoped the matter wouldn’t spiral out of control.
[1] Yes. THE Bessie Blount. She's just caught Henry's eye a little later than OTL.
[2] No, this is not a mistype. In my head canon, Henry and Mary called Katherine by a Spanish version of her name (or its abbreviation) in private, as a mark of affection.
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Believe it or not, he's coming out worse in my Beaufort Prince story on AO3...