As promised, Plantagenet, a link to The Beaufort Prince 
https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053499/chapters/40096703
Let me know if it works
https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053499/chapters/40096703
Let me know if it works
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
As promised, Plantagenet, a link to The Beaufort Prince
https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053499/chapters/40096703
Let me know if it works
This is decent, just read through the first 5 chapters.
Thanks for putting it up.
Glad to hear you enjoyed it - Mary's child makes an appearance next chapter, which is just as well for Anne's sanity, really!
XX: October 1519
Marie was sewing and gossiping with Sarah one morning when their mistress called, “Sarah, Marie. I plan to hold a masked ball to celebrate my return to Court. The Virtues and the Vices. Sarah, you can play Perseverance and Marie, I’d like you to play Gentleness."
Marie lifted her head and sought her mistress’s eyes. A current of understanding passed between them.
“As Your Grace wishes,” she murmured.
There was a flourish of trumpets and a dozen masked knights, led by Sir Loyalty and Sir Ardent Desire, rushed into the hall.
One of them, Sir Ardent Desire, put up his sword.
“My Lady Vices, I desire – nay I demand – that you release these, your gentle prisoners.”
“As Lady Cruelty, I feel I may withhold their delights a little longer”, Duchess Mary laughed.
“Aye, for myself alone,” Susanna, or rather, Lady Selfishness, added.
“As Lady Scorn, I laugh at your desires,” Jane Parker improvised.
The audience howled with laughter. Sir Ardent Desire’s eyes flashed.
“My Lady, I think you will find that desire overcomes all,” he countered, before clenching his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword and raising the blade above his head.
“Attack!” he yelled.
Amid howls of merriment, the knights rapidly scaled the battlements. As befitted a masque, the Vices yielded after only the most token of resistance, though Marie did see Lady Cruelty being led off by Sir Ardent Desire, so presumably she would be dancing later, having been granted clemency for yielding.
As Marie watched her go, however, she was recalled to her part in the masque by Sir Loyalty’s hand closing over her wrist.
“Gentleness, you are my prisoner now,” he breathed.
Though Marie recognised His Majesty’s voice instantly, she didn’t let it show, only half-curtsied and let him lead her from the battlements, face impassive.
No words passed between them as they stepped together through the first part of the salladre, but when they switched partners as the dance demanded, Marie felt his eyes following her.
And when, released from Sir Francis Weston’s – Sir Courage’s – hold, she took his hand once more, she could tell he was barely able to restrain his curiosity.
“Who are you?” he murmured, “Have I seen you before, Lady Gentleness?”
Marie hesitated for just a beat or two – to steel herself for what she was about to do just as much as to heighten his curiosity. Then she let her eyes flash – just for an instant – up to his face.
“I’m Marie,” she whispered, “Marie Boleyn.”
Marie lifted her head and sought her mistress’s eyes. A current of understanding passed between them.
“As Your Grace wishes,” she murmured.
*** *** ***
The weeks passed in a haze of rehearsals and all of a sudden, the day came. Marie found herself, not only resplendent in a gown of ivory-coloured silk, but standing on the highest tier of a painted wooden castle, symbolically “trapped” by her mistress, herself dressed in scarlet and black satin in her role as Lady Cruelty.There was a flourish of trumpets and a dozen masked knights, led by Sir Loyalty and Sir Ardent Desire, rushed into the hall.
One of them, Sir Ardent Desire, put up his sword.
“My Lady Vices, I desire – nay I demand – that you release these, your gentle prisoners.”
“As Lady Cruelty, I feel I may withhold their delights a little longer”, Duchess Mary laughed.
“Aye, for myself alone,” Susanna, or rather, Lady Selfishness, added.
“As Lady Scorn, I laugh at your desires,” Jane Parker improvised.
The audience howled with laughter. Sir Ardent Desire’s eyes flashed.
“My Lady, I think you will find that desire overcomes all,” he countered, before clenching his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword and raising the blade above his head.
“Attack!” he yelled.
Amid howls of merriment, the knights rapidly scaled the battlements. As befitted a masque, the Vices yielded after only the most token of resistance, though Marie did see Lady Cruelty being led off by Sir Ardent Desire, so presumably she would be dancing later, having been granted clemency for yielding.
As Marie watched her go, however, she was recalled to her part in the masque by Sir Loyalty’s hand closing over her wrist.
“Gentleness, you are my prisoner now,” he breathed.
Though Marie recognised His Majesty’s voice instantly, she didn’t let it show, only half-curtsied and let him lead her from the battlements, face impassive.
No words passed between them as they stepped together through the first part of the salladre, but when they switched partners as the dance demanded, Marie felt his eyes following her.
And when, released from Sir Francis Weston’s – Sir Courage’s – hold, she took his hand once more, she could tell he was barely able to restrain his curiosity.
“Who are you?” he murmured, “Have I seen you before, Lady Gentleness?”
Marie hesitated for just a beat or two – to steel herself for what she was about to do just as much as to heighten his curiosity. Then she let her eyes flash – just for an instant – up to his face.
“I’m Marie,” she whispered, “Marie Boleyn.”
Before anyone asks, yes, this is supposed to be an ATL! Chateau Vert pageant - with certain characters in different roles because Mary, Queen of France is running it and not Cardinal Wolsey - and of course, we have no Anne to play Perseverance...
Haven't really thought yet, although my Methodist chaplain did once point out that I had done the Anglican Chaplain out of a job by not breaking with Rome...
Thomas Cranmer? Probably. Who was Archbishop of Canterbury as of the present moment? John Fisher?
That's right. I was having trouble remembering who was whom, and where they were positioned in this tl...
Edit: Fisher's another one who won't be executed due to no Act of Succession...
What about the Monasteries? I had read that Cardinal Wolsey was preparing to close down several lax monasteries before he fell out of Henry's favor.
Also...Wolsey...
Any plans for him now that he doesn't have to worry about "The King's Great Matter"?
Edit: Fisher's another one who won't be executed due to no Act of Succession...
What about the Monasteries? I had read that Cardinal Wolsey was preparing to close down several lax monasteries before he fell out of Henry's favor.
Also...Wolsey...
Any plans for him now that he doesn't have to worry about "The King's Great Matter"?
No Great Matter doesn't mean Wolsey is going to get out of this completely unscathed. Haven't thought about Fisher, tbh. More will make an appearance, but he's by no means a major character...
As an aside, as I know a couple of you were interested, 'Beaufort Prince' has been updated with the birth of an Alt! Henry Fitzroy.
@The_Last_Plantagenet @Cate13 @Jammy.
I hope to have an early chapter up for you all tomorrow, before I go away to Edinburgh for the weekend
@The_Last_Plantagenet @Cate13 @Jammy.
I hope to have an early chapter up for you all tomorrow, before I go away to Edinburgh for the weekend
XXI: 10 November 1519
Solemn bells were tolling, marking the gravity of the occasion; telling London that, on this day a year ago, England’s beloved Queen Katherine had died in childbirth and, along with her stillborn son, been taken up to meet her Maker in Heaven.
Closeted in the relative privacy of the Chapel Royal at Greenwich, Henry heard them tolling and felt his grief welling up afresh. It might have been a year, but today, the wound still felt as raw and vulnerable as that very first day, the day Dr Linacre had come out of Cata’s lying-in chamber with his eyes so grave and his voice so heavy.
Giving in to his pain, Henry sank to his knees, sensing the entire Court do the same behind him. His younger sister, so recently returned to Court from her confinement and her trip to Suffolk, slid her hand daringly into his, vainly trying to offer some comfort as Archbishop Warham started the Mass, “In nomine Patris, Filli et Spiritus Sancti…”
Henry echoed his words automatically, fighting the urge to turn and seek solace in his sister’s grieving eyes. Or in those of her confidante, Mistress Marie. The one who had played Gentleness in that masque a few weeks ago. She had been everywhere Henry turned in the days since then, and although he usually hated feeling pressed in by anyone, he couldn’t feel that way about Mistress Marie. He couldn’t. She was too quiet and gentle to make anyone angry at her for anything. One could even say that she embodied Gentleness.
Suddenly, Henry shook his head. What was he doing? This was no way to be thinking, not at Cata’s memorial service. Today, today of all days, ought to be her day! Her day and no one else’s!
Angry at himself now, Henry determinedly pushed away the thoughts that were betraying Cata’s memory and forced himself to pay attention to the service.
“Dear God, please. Please. Give Mama back. Give Mama back and I be good, I promise.”
A hand touched her shoulder, “Come, Your Highness. You’ve prayed enough. The Lord will have heard your prayers by now. It’s time for you to eat.”
Mary flinched away, “No! No!,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice low, as everyone had to do in church. She couldn’t go now. She couldn’t! She was just asking God for the most important thing, to give them her Mama back, so that Papa would be happy again and she could be his Princess again. His pearl again. Or to give her a Mama, at least.
But Lady Bury was spoiling it all. She kept disturbing Mary and now God would never hear her. It wasn’t fair! Mary hadn’t disturbed Lady Bury when she was praying. She hadn’t! So why did Lady Bury do it, when she always told Mary that interrupting was rude? Mary was the Princess, after all.
Lady Bury’s voice came again, “Come, Princess Mary.”
Mary pulled away, wishing she could tell Lady Bury to go away. Then somewhere, as if in answer to her prayer, came a faint memory of Papa shouting at someone because they hadn’t done what they were told. She couldn’t shout, of course, not in church, but she could make her voice angry like his.
“I say no, Lady Bury. Leave.”
Her governess’s hand left her shoulder and Mary couldn’t help turning to see how she had reacted. The woman had fallen back a step or two, surprised at the testiness in her charge’s voice.
“Leave,” Mary repeated, smiling inside as she watched her governess nod slowly, beckon the other ladies and leave the chapel. She felt proud of herself for finally managing to remind them who was the Princess and who had to do what they were told.
But pride wasn’t allowed, it wasn’t nice, and God would never hear her prayers if she wasn’t nice, so Mary felt guilty. Kneeling back down, she let her lips move almost soundlessly, whispering, “I’m sorry, but please. Let Lady Bury realise she not Mama. That she no tell me what I do. And please, help Papa be happy again. Help him find new Mama for me, so he happy and love me like used to.”
Mary begged the Lord under her breath, hoping against hope that God had heard her. Hoping against hope that she’d have a new Mama soon.
Closeted in the relative privacy of the Chapel Royal at Greenwich, Henry heard them tolling and felt his grief welling up afresh. It might have been a year, but today, the wound still felt as raw and vulnerable as that very first day, the day Dr Linacre had come out of Cata’s lying-in chamber with his eyes so grave and his voice so heavy.
Giving in to his pain, Henry sank to his knees, sensing the entire Court do the same behind him. His younger sister, so recently returned to Court from her confinement and her trip to Suffolk, slid her hand daringly into his, vainly trying to offer some comfort as Archbishop Warham started the Mass, “In nomine Patris, Filli et Spiritus Sancti…”
Henry echoed his words automatically, fighting the urge to turn and seek solace in his sister’s grieving eyes. Or in those of her confidante, Mistress Marie. The one who had played Gentleness in that masque a few weeks ago. She had been everywhere Henry turned in the days since then, and although he usually hated feeling pressed in by anyone, he couldn’t feel that way about Mistress Marie. He couldn’t. She was too quiet and gentle to make anyone angry at her for anything. One could even say that she embodied Gentleness.
Suddenly, Henry shook his head. What was he doing? This was no way to be thinking, not at Cata’s memorial service. Today, today of all days, ought to be her day! Her day and no one else’s!
Angry at himself now, Henry determinedly pushed away the thoughts that were betraying Cata’s memory and forced himself to pay attention to the service.
*** *** ***
Far away, in Eltham’s own little chapel, the three year old Princess Mary also knelt before the altar, praying for her mother. Unlike her father, however, she wasn’t using the Latin condoned by His Holiness. She was using her own words.“Dear God, please. Please. Give Mama back. Give Mama back and I be good, I promise.”
A hand touched her shoulder, “Come, Your Highness. You’ve prayed enough. The Lord will have heard your prayers by now. It’s time for you to eat.”
Mary flinched away, “No! No!,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice low, as everyone had to do in church. She couldn’t go now. She couldn’t! She was just asking God for the most important thing, to give them her Mama back, so that Papa would be happy again and she could be his Princess again. His pearl again. Or to give her a Mama, at least.
But Lady Bury was spoiling it all. She kept disturbing Mary and now God would never hear her. It wasn’t fair! Mary hadn’t disturbed Lady Bury when she was praying. She hadn’t! So why did Lady Bury do it, when she always told Mary that interrupting was rude? Mary was the Princess, after all.
Lady Bury’s voice came again, “Come, Princess Mary.”
Mary pulled away, wishing she could tell Lady Bury to go away. Then somewhere, as if in answer to her prayer, came a faint memory of Papa shouting at someone because they hadn’t done what they were told. She couldn’t shout, of course, not in church, but she could make her voice angry like his.
“I say no, Lady Bury. Leave.”
Her governess’s hand left her shoulder and Mary couldn’t help turning to see how she had reacted. The woman had fallen back a step or two, surprised at the testiness in her charge’s voice.
“Leave,” Mary repeated, smiling inside as she watched her governess nod slowly, beckon the other ladies and leave the chapel. She felt proud of herself for finally managing to remind them who was the Princess and who had to do what they were told.
But pride wasn’t allowed, it wasn’t nice, and God would never hear her prayers if she wasn’t nice, so Mary felt guilty. Kneeling back down, she let her lips move almost soundlessly, whispering, “I’m sorry, but please. Let Lady Bury realise she not Mama. That she no tell me what I do. And please, help Papa be happy again. Help him find new Mama for me, so he happy and love me like used to.”
Mary begged the Lord under her breath, hoping against hope that God had heard her. Hoping against hope that she’d have a new Mama soon.
I hope Henry and Mary have not drifted too far apart and the father still has time for his daughter.
Nice update @FalconHonour
Nice update @FalconHonour