A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France

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HRH Cecily

HRH Cecily

Will he die as child thirteen is coming into the world? I know that sounds dark but unlucky thirteen and birth - death juxtaposition is always interesting…. 🤔
 
Tennyson13

Tennyson13

Cate13 said:
Is 13 considered unlucky at this point? Who know that kind of thing?
Click to expand...
*Googles "when did 13 become an unlucky number*

According to History channel, it's associated with the unlucky guest, Judas being the 13th guest at the last supper who then betrayed Jesus and a Norse legend of Loki being a 13th guest at a wedding where bad things happened.
So it may have been a thing but it wasn't considered a widespread belief until the 1890s.
 
Section LXVII - December 1527
  • Index
    • FalconHonour

    FalconHonour

    Richmond, December 1527​

    “Will! Bring me my skates! I can’t wait a moment longer to be out on the ice!” Mary tosses her head as she calls to the fair-haired knight, beaming at him as he bows, sets his goblet of hippocras aside and kneels to strap her skates on her feet.

    “Your wish is my command, Your Grace,” Will Carey smiles up at the younger woman, pausing in his work to brush his lips briefly across her knuckles, “How can it not be? Your Grace holds all of England ransom with your beauty.”

    “Careful!” Mary chuckles, colour tinting her cheeks for a few moments, “If the King should hear you, he might think you aspire to steal away that which cannot be yours. Noli me tangere, Sir William. Noli me tangere!”

    “I would never dare do more than dream, My Lady. I know Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion. But, if I may be so bold, every man likes to know his wife is admired. It reminds him how lucky he is to have her on his arm.”

    Will crooks a smile at the Queen and she swats at him playfully, “You’ve a clever tongue, Sir William, I’ll give you that. But I’ll catch you out one day, you just see if I don’t.”

    It is rare to see Mary Talbot in such a joyous mood. But then, she has reason to be joyous this Yuletide. The season itself is a merry one, and on top of that, with the eyes of all of England upon them, her husband is making a conscious effort to portray them as a loving couple. He has brought the children to Court and is doting upon all three of them. Moreover, he hasn’t so much as danced with his maitresse-en-titre all week.

    Mary turns to look behind her as Will Carey helps her to her feet and steadies her with a hand on her arm. George is chasing Lillibet and Mary along the snow-covered riverbank, his dark hair gleaming in the winter sunshine. She smiles to see him keeping pace with his father’s godson, Viscount Lisle. Hal Brandon is over three years older than George. To see George keeping up with him is visible proof to anyone in the vicinity just how lusty he is, how secure the succession is in resting upon his shoulders.

    So content is Mary with the current state of affairs that she doesn’t even scowl to see Lord Somerset and Lord Kendal playing with their half-siblings, shouting and hallooing with the best of them.

    She does, however, scowl to see her sister, Lady Clifford, approach her out of the corner of her eye. Maggie is always such a spoilsport.

    “What is it, Maggie?” she asks irritably, keeping half an eye on Henry, who is skating round the river with Lady Suffolk. She’ll get this conversation out of the way, and then go and cut in on them. Henry won’t mind. He doesn’t really like Lady Suffolk, though he honours her for the sake of his friendship with the Duke.

    “Let me take His Highness inside for his nap, Madam. He’ll never make it through the gift-giving and the banquet tonight if he doesn’t sleep now.”

    Mary throws a glance over her shoulder at George. He is sitting atop the Earl of Kent’s son, flushed with glee at having tackled the older boy to the ground. He squeals delightedly as Harry Grey shows him how to shape a snowball and helps him throw it at Meg Douglas. Take him out of this merriment, when he’s having such fun? Never! If he’s tired, he can sleep on her lap later. Henry loves to see her with their little boy in her arms.

    “He’s fine, Maggie,” she says dismissively, “Leave him.”

    “But - ”

    “Leave him! That’s an order!”

    She throws the words over her shoulder and then whirls out on to the ice to find her husband, taking care to stay close to the edge where the ice is thickest. She’s heard whispers that it is creaking dangerously in the middle, and she doesn’t want anything to spoil this glorious day.


    George is tired of chasing his sisters. They always make him chase them. They say they’ll chase him after he’s caught them, but he never catches them! They’re too fast! It’s not fair! They’re too fast!”

    “Not playing!” he shouts, stamping his foot, “You too fast! Not playing!”

    His only answer is a laugh from Eliza Brandon as she shoots past, determinedly pursuing her older brother.

    Flushing with fury, George turns away, pouting.

    The skaters on the ice catch his attention and he watches them, scowling. How dare everyone else have fun without him?

    Just then, he hears his mother laugh.

    Mama! Mama will make Mary and Lillibet let him win!

    The thought flashes into George’s head like a torch flaring up as it is lit from a brazier. He sprints out on to the ice, shouting for her.


    “Oh, Mary, I wish every day could be like this!” Henry exclaims, sweeping his wife into his hold and whirling her around in a wild dance. He can’t remember the last time they were so happy.

    She laughs, her dark hair streaming out behind her in a silken ribbon. Her cheeks sparkle like pink diamonds in the frosty light.

    “You’re the King, my husband. Only command that it be so, and the Court shall obey,” she teases. Henry throws his head back, roaring with laughter.

    “Oh, darling. You have far too high an opinion of my powers!”

    He bends his head to kiss her.

    “Mama! Mama!”

    Before their lips can meet, George’s high, piping voice cuts between them, and Mary whirls on her heel to crouch down to meet their precious boy, her arms open wide.


    Mary beams as George runs towards her. His little legs are pumping fiercely and his dark hair is whipping back in the breeze. His cheeks, like her own, are pink with cold and excitement.

    Suddenly, Henry freezes beside her.

    “The ice! The ice won’t hold him!”

    Cold horror fills Mary as she realises what her husband means. She opens her mouth to shout a warning.

    “Geo -”

    Her words are drowned out by a deafening crack. George is flung forwards, hitting the ice face first.

    Lunging forward, Mary makes a desperate grab for him.

    Her fingers brush the hem of his sable-trimmed cloak for one long tantalising moment.

    He sinks. Flailing and screaming, he sinks out of reach. Out of her reach, out of Henry’s, out of Lord Suffolk’s. Doomed by his swathes of long fur wraps, he is dragged down into the water’s murky depths and not one of them can help him.

    The silent ripple of the water as it closes over his smooth dark head is the sound of the end of the world.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index

    • vandevere

    FalconHonour said:
    Richmond, December 1527​

    “Will! Bring me my skates! I can’t wait a moment longer to be out on the ice!” Mary tosses her head as she calls to the fair-haired knight, beaming at him as he bows, sets his goblet of hippocras aside and kneels to strap her skates on her feet.

    “Your wish is my command, Your Grace,” Will Carey smiles up at the younger woman, pausing in his work to brush his lips briefly across her knuckles, “How can it not be? Your Grace holds all of England ransom with your beauty.”

    “Careful!” Mary chuckles, colour tinting her cheeks for a few moments, “If the King should hear you, he might think you aspire to steal away that which cannot be yours. Noli me tangere, Sir William. Noli me tangere!”

    “I would never dare do more than dream, My Lady. I know Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion. But, if I may be so bold, every man likes to know his wife is admired. It reminds him how lucky he is to have her on his arm.”

    Will crooks a smile at the Queen and she swats at him playfully, “You’ve a clever tongue, Sir William, I’ll give you that. But I’ll catch you out one day, you just see if I don’t.”

    It is rare to see Mary Talbot in such a joyous mood. But then, she has reason to be joyous this Yuletide. The season itself is a merry one, and on top of that, with the eyes of all of England upon them, her husband is making a conscious effort to portray them as a loving couple. He has brought the children to Court and is doting upon all three of them. Moreover, he hasn’t so much as danced with his maitresse-en-titre all week.

    Mary turns to look behind her as Will Carey helps her to her feet and steadies her with a hand on her arm. George is chasing Lillibet and Mary along the snow-covered riverbank, his dark hair gleaming in the winter sunshine. She smiles to see him keeping pace with his father’s godson, Viscount Lisle. Hal Brandon is over three years older than George. To see George keeping up with him is visible proof to anyone in the vicinity just how lusty he is, how secure the succession is in resting upon his shoulders.

    So content is Mary with the current state of affairs that she doesn’t even scowl to see Lord Somerset and Lord Edmund Fitzroy playing with their half-siblings, shouting and hallooing with the best of them.

    She does, however, scowl to see her sister, Lady Clifford, approach her out of the corner of her eye. Maggie is always such a spoilsport.

    “What is it, Maggie?” she asks irritably, keeping half an eye on Henry, who is skating round the river with Lady Suffolk. She’ll get this conversation out of the way, and then go and cut in on them. Henry won’t mind. He doesn’t really like Lady Suffolk, though he honours her for the sake of his friendship with the Duke.

    “Let me take His Highness inside for his nap, Madam. He’ll never make it through the gift-giving and the banquet tonight if he doesn’t sleep now.”

    Mary throws a glance over her shoulder at George. He is sitting atop the Earl of Kent’s son, flushed with glee at having tackled the older boy to the ground. He squeals delightedly as Harry Grey shows him how to shape a snowball and helps him throw it at Meg Douglas. Take him out of this merriment, when he’s having such fun? Never! If he’s tired, he can sleep on her lap later. Henry loves to see her with their little boy in her arms.

    “He’s fine, Maggie,” she says dismissively, “Leave him.”

    “But - ”

    “Leave him! That’s an order!”

    She throws the words over her shoulder and then whirls out on to the ice to find her husband, taking care to stay close to the edge where the ice is thickest. She’s heard whispers that it is creaking dangerously in the middle, and she doesn’t want anything to spoil this glorious day.


    George is tired of chasing his sisters. They always make him chase them. They say they’ll chase him after he’s caught them, but he never catches them! They’re too fast! It’s not fair! They’re too fast!”

    “Not playing!” he shouts, stamping his foot, “You too fast! Not playing!”

    His only answer is a laugh from Eliza Brandon as she shoots past, determinedly pursuing her older brother.

    Flushing with fury, George turns away, pouting.

    The skaters on the ice catch his attention and he watches them, scowling. How dare everyone else have fun without him?

    Just then, he hears his mother laugh.

    Mama! Mama will make Mary and Lillibet let him win!

    The thought flashes into George’s head like a torch flaring up as it is lit from a brazier. He sprints out on to the ice, shouting for her.


    “Oh, Mary, I wish every day could be like this!” Henry exclaims, sweeping his wife into his hold and whirling her around in a wild dance. He can’t remember the last time they were so happy.

    She laughs, her dark hair streaming out behind her in a silken ribbon. Her cheeks sparkle like pink diamonds in the frosty light.

    “You’re the King, my husband. Only command that it be so, and the Court shall obey,” she teases. Henry throws his head back, roaring with laughter.

    “Oh, darling. You have far too high an opinion of my powers!”

    He bends his head to kiss her.

    “Mama! Mama!”

    Before their lips can meet, George’s high, piping voice cuts between them, and Mary whirls on her heel to crouch down to meet their precious boy, her arms open wide.


    Mary beams as George runs towards her. His little legs are pumping fiercely and his dark hair is whipping back in the breeze. His cheeks, like her own, are pink with cold and excitement.

    Suddenly, Henry freezes beside her.

    “The ice! The ice won’t hold him!”

    Cold horror fills Mary as she realises what her husband means. She opens her mouth to shout a warning.

    “Geo -”

    Her words are drowned out by a deafening crack. George is flung forwards, hitting the ice face first.

    Lunging forward, Mary makes a desperate grab for him.

    Her fingers brush the hem of his sable-trimmed cloak for one long tantalising moment.

    He sinks. Flailing and screaming, he sinks out of reach. Out of her reach, out of Henry’s, out of Lord Suffolk’s. Doomed by his swathes of long fur wraps, he is dragged down into the water’s murky depths and not one of them can help him.

    The silent ripple of the water as it closes over his smooth dark head is the sound of the end of the world.
    Click to expand...
    I can see why you were talking about hiding from us. That was cruel. Very well written. But cruel nonetheless. But, now that that's done, what's next?
     
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