You might want to rethink Francis then đ Perhaps someone less canibalistic
A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Ah. I hadn't heard those allegations. At the risk of admitting I'm watching too much Teen Wolf at the moment.... Would Tyler Hoechlin meet with your approval instead?
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Oh the whole British Royal Family is, didn't you know that? đ It's something of an open secret...Charles is a Werewolf?
Now that would be a twist!
For anyone curious, Michelle Dockery is Marguerite, and Ruth Gemmell is Louise of Savoy.
I approve heartily!For anyone curious, Michelle Dockery is Marguerite, and Ruth Gemmell is Louise of Savoy.
I'm drafting a cast list as I go, so if anyone wants to know who I envisage as various characters at any point, just ask
I'll post the full one when I've finished the story (which will doubtless be a while off!)
I had to reverse Pavia, yes đ
Thank you for writing most of chapter 42 for me â¤!
And @Cate13 I promise you we are gearing up for a full-on Katherine/Henry argument soon!
If I wasn't asking you to write something for me, I'd accuse you of being a monster to your characters. Oh... wait... Never mind. I've just remembered what I have coming up. It includes a horse -- and someone's head.
As for the Henry/Katherine argument...
Oh, god.
Is this story going to go onto FFN when it's done here or is it just staying on here?
You probably don't want to know. If you are interested, it's the father of a certain person I am borrowing from you.
@Tudorfan and I have known each other for years, and regularly discuss our stories, hence the inside jokes đ
Section XXXVI - October/November 1521
Greenwich, October 1521
âHoly Mary, Mother of God, have mercy on me,â Katherine crosses herself for the hundredth time. Her knees have begun to protest their prolonged use, despite her hassock, but she pays them no heed, fixing burning eyes on the finely carved statue of the Virgin before her.
How could this ever have happened? How could Henry, her Henry, who had once delighted in nothing so much as being called her Sir Loyal Heart, have turned from her so viciously?
Oh, heâs always been keen to prove himself a warrior King, on a par with his grandfather, or even his celebrated ancestor Edward III, but even so, to do this!
Upholding the French alliance, even after Mary betrayed him by following her heart rather than letting Henry choose her husband, as she ought to have done, was bad.
Breaking her precious Mariaâs Imperial betrothal in favour of wedding her to little Henri of Orleans was worse, although Katherine has to admit that a small part of her was grateful for that, as it meant sheâd get an extra three years with her darling daughter.
But this is beyond the pale. Not content with supporting Francisâs vile ambitions with money, or even with a few soldiers under Norfolk or Suffolkâs command, he sailed from Lynn himself, ignoring her pleas to the contrary. He led the vanguard in both Rotterdam and Antwerp, seizing both cities with nary a care in the world! And he has the gall â the gall â to order her to celebrate his victories at Court, as though they are something to be proud of!
Does he not care that Charles is her nephew, his own daughterâs cousin? Does he not care that a slight against Charles is a slight against her? Why, not even ten years ago, heâd never have dreamed of riding into battle against her family, let alone sought to celebrate seizing such a large swathe of their lands.
But now he thinks nothing of doing so, or even of remaining in France to gloat with Francis and Marie.
Suddenly, a pit opens in her stomach. Marie. When they were in France last summer, Maria de Salinas had brought her word of rumours that Marie was urging her brother to set Katherine aside, that sheâd promised him French aid if he petitioned the Pope for an annulment.
Katherine hadnât paid much heed to the rumours at the time, but now they come crashing back into her head, loud and angry. Henry has always been too soft on his baby sister, and heâs already said heâll stay and celebrate Christmas with them, if the peace talks go on long enough for him to need to. Given enough time, Marie can blandish him into anything. And Francis wonât stop him. Why would he, when a distrust of Katherineâs natal country has been bred into him for as long as heâs drawn breath?
And Charles â dear, dutiful Charles, who would normally fight tooth and nail for her honour â is Francisâs prisoner. Usually so powerful, he is currently trapped and impotent.
Katherine thinks of the short, scrawled message heâd sent her only a week earlier, âDearest aunt, all is lost to me save honour and lifeâŚâ and despite herself, she has to press the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop the leak of tears.[1] She canât lose her crown. She canât!
âMy God, My God, why have you forsaken me!â The quote from Matthewâs account of the Crucifixion springs to her lips and she sobs brokenly, pressing her forehead against the cool bronze of the altar rail as her fury gives way to despair.
[1] Yes, I did just use Francis's OTL letter to Louise of Savoy for Charles to write to Katherine. It was too perfect not to use.
Rouen, November 1521
âNo! No, no and no again! I will not accept these terms!â
Charles jumps to his feet, purple with rage. He slams his hand down on the table between himself and his brother monarchs with sufficient force for the impact to upend an ink bottle, sending a pool of black cascading across the cherrywood surface.
For a moment, Marie, sat between Henry and Francis to underline their unity, wonders if Charles is going to stamp his feet like Henri does when he wants his own way, and has to stifle a giggle at the thought of the Holy Roman Emperor throwing a tantrum like an unruly two-year-old.
She quickly wipes her face of mirth, however, when Charles, sensing her amusement, fixes her with a glare. She canât afford to undermine Francis and Henry in these delicate talks.
Henryâs face clouds at Charlesâs sneering tone and she puts a hand on his arm to placate him, shaking her head slightly when he glances across at her. Let Charles rage all he wants. It will only make him look all the more impotent, particularly if neither Henry nor Francis rises to his bait.
Francis, for his part, throws his head back and laughs, although Marie can hear the hidden edge in his voice as he replies, âIt amuses me, cousin, that you think you have a choice.â
âIâm betrothed to the richest Princess in Europe. Sheâs sworn to bring me a dowry of 900,000 cruzados. Why would I throw that over to marry a parcel of used goods like your sister? And money aside, I need heirs. A woman of 29, who never once quickened in twelve years of marriage, isnât going to give them to me.â
âDoes Marguerite know her future husband is already maligning her like this?â Henry murmurs, âI fear you might have difficulty getting her to the altar if she ever hears of these words.â
âSheâll do it for France. She loves Francis too much not to,â Marie replies in an equally soft undertone, never once taking her eyes off her husband.
Secure in his supremacy, Francis merely scoffs, âYou do have to share a bed with your wife in order to beget heirs, you know.â
Charles freezes in confusion, and Henry darts a look at Marie. This time, she does turn to smirk at him before turning back to watch her husband as he draws himself up and continues, âIf youâd really cared for Isabella of Portugal, or even for her dowry, youâd have married her this spring instead of throwing your energies into a vainglorious crusade for the sake of injured pride.â
âYou broke our alliance! You decided to waste your daughters on the leaders of provincial backwaters and paltry city states!â Charles spits, but Francis simply raises his voice a fraction and hardens his tone, before carrying on as though the younger man hasnât even spoken.
âYou are my prisoner, Charles, and it would behove you to remember that. I might hold you in fetters of silk, and treat you with the honour your rank deserves, but you are my prisoner just the same. If you do not marry Marguerite, I will not let you go. It is that simple. How much good do you think your Portuguese Empress will do you, if she is in Lisbon and you are in Paris? Not even the most potent Spanish bull can impregnate a heifer from clear across three countries.â
Marie feels the heat rising in her cheeks at her husbandâs blunt words and fights to hide her blush. Sheâs a married woman and a mother-of-four, for Heavensâ sake! She canât ruin her husbandâs moment of triumph by behaving like a scandalised child scarcely out of the schoolroom!
Fortunately, Charles is too intent upon her husband to notice her flaming face.
âYou wouldnât dare!â he splutters.
Francis glares right back, âTry me.â
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