An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
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It's a pity but let's hope than in this moment of grief Isabella can come closer to her husband again.
Watch Henry blame Isabella; she protested about Henry's illegitimate sons being given titles and now one is dead. He could use that as major "shut your mouth now, woman!" fuel for a considerable while given that, you know, it's Henry.
1st of May, 1528.
Kings Langley, England. 1st of May, 1528.
Henry was uncharacteristically quiet when Dr Linacre approached him, face impassive, but with blue eyes full of emotion as the physician bowed before his king. He hesitated, fearful of what might happen if he were to give voice to his findings. The King had not been in the best of moods since word came of the death of the Earl of Somerset, completely understandable given the boy was his eldest son. Linacre, thus, feared what might happen if he were to tell another series of bad news for His Majesty. He could not risk losing his position at court.
"Sire," the man began, careful. Henry looked at him with a focused gaze before he turned back towards the door standing open behind the physician, watching the frightened hens moving around the Queen's bed, "I believe the Queen has the sweat, based on my findings. I have already instructed her ladies as to the best care for her and will even now, return to my chambers to prepare concoctions for her to ingest."
Henry nodded, barely hearing.
It was a late afternoon, the weak sunlight still streaming inside through the glass windows, but the rooms inside the palace were sweltering hot, for the sickness had made everyone fearful of any and every possible draft. All available space was covered by rugs and tapestries, every room fulminated twice a day and the court had been disbanded to prevent the spread of illness. The royal couple had retired to Kings Langley with only a handful of attendants, which included Isabella's two Portuguese ladies that moved about her chambers, tending to the pale figure sprawled on the bed.
Henry turned back to the physician, arms crossed. "What of the bleeding?" he asked, thinking about the heavy flows of blood that had preceded the sweat and her high fever. Dr Linacre took a deep breath, shutting his eyes.
"Her Majesty expelled a miscarried foetus soon after my arrival," he murmured, carefully and with a mourning tone to his voice. "It had the makings of a male around four months of gestation. I asked her ladies and they informed me that while the Queen had an inkling as to her conditions, she preferred not to say anything until the child quickened." Henry nodded. That made sense. Isabella liked to wait for the quickening before she informed him of her pregnancies.
"What killed the child?" asked Henry.
"I believe the Queen's sickness reached her womb first and killed the King's unborn son before she presented the common symptoms of the sweat," said Dr Linacre.
Henry nodded. "Does she remain fertile?"
Dr Linacre blinked before he recomposed himself and said, "I believe that once she recovers, there is no reason to think that Her Majesty won't be able to bear more children."
Henry nodded and uncrossed his arms, nodding with his head towards the open door. "Save her, doctor," he ordered, "Save the Queen."
Dr Linacre bowed and turned around, murmuring 'Your Majesty' as he left to walk to his chambers in search of his concoctions. Henry watched through the open door for another long moment, observing as Mistress Eleanor de Mascarenhas twisted a wet rag over Isabella's flushed forehead, the water dripping on her feverish skin.
Then, Henry turned around and walked away. He walked and walked until he was in his rooms again, kneeling before the religious altar pushed to the wall.
Henry clasped his hands together, praying for the health of his wife and country. He thought of the news that had come. Wolsey grew sick and died only a week previously, the eldest son of Sir John perished from the sweat as well. Not to talk of Henry, his little son. Poor sweet Henry, who would never become a man to rival his father.
Tears burned his eyes. Henry pressed his head against his hands, willing himself not to cry. He remembered his father, telling him that kings did not cry, but the man had wept upon hearing of the death of Arthur. Arthur, gentle Arthur. Was that the curse of kings? To lose their firstborn sons by the sweat?
He thought of John. Sweet little John. His heir, now his eldest son. With dark red hair and blue eyes, high giggles and chubby hands pulling his cheeks and beard whenever Henry took him in his arms.
He wanted his family with him. He wanted Teddy and Bessie, who were trapped in their nurseries until the disease died down, with him. He wanted the entire family together. He wanted. He wanted...
He wanted Elizabeth Seymour with him. She had left him when the disease struck, for her elder brother was sick and he couldn't risk his own health. He was a king. He couldn't die when his son was still a minor. John was all of five years old, he couldn't rule or take care of England.
Henry had to keep England safe. He was the only thing keeping Francis and Charles away from his shores.
But he was still a man, a man with needs. And Elizabeth was exquisite. She made him laugh, she made him happy. He wanted her with him.
After he finished praying, Henry stood up and went to his desk, sitting carefully. First, he wrote a letter to Lady Willoughby, John's old governess who still lived in Ludlow with the prince to head his household and care for his finances. Henry ordered Lady Willoughby to bring his son to the capital as soon as the epidemic ended. Afterwards, he wrote to his cousin, Lady Worcester, informing her that he wanted his second son in the capital again.
Henry did not write to Lady Bryan, since Eltham was already located in London. As soon as he returned home, he'd bring Bessie to him.
So, instead of writing to Lady Bryan, he wrote to Elizabeth Seymour.
To my sweetheart,
The days without you are devoid of any joy or love. I long for your warm embrace, for your gentle kisses and for your sweet voice, which you so often use to sing ballads and hymns of love towards my person.
I have heard of the death of your brother Edward and for that, I send you my deepest condolences as well as a gift of money to handle the funeral costs. If there is anything else you need, feel free to ask, for I am yours and I long only to please you.
For you, I'd ride across the battlefield. Were I not a king, I'd cross the country without fear of the sweat, for the promise of a kiss from you is enough to keep me safe.
As soon as this disease has been dealt with, I beg of you to take whatever you need in your journey to me, for I need you, sweet Elizabeth. Sweet, loving Elizabeth, with the pretty ducklings I trust shortly to kiss. Sweet, cheerful Elizabeth.
Henry R
--
Flanders, Low Countries. 12th of May, 1528.
Christina was walking down the corridors when she heard it. A soft mewling, weak and full of sorrow, like an abandoned kitten hungry for milk. She stopped mid-step, holding the skirts of her nightgown in one hand and turned in search of the sound.
It was late at night and she was only awake because she had been very thirsty. Not because she wanted to steal some sweets from the leftovers of the feast that day. Far from that. Christina was a sweet and dutiful girl. She would never steal sweets from the kitchen, especially when her aunt told her that she should not eat sweets so late in the evening. Even if the idea of sweets made her tummy tumble in excitement.
Christina walked down the corridors in silence, careful to keep her feet light. They were so deep into the servants' wing that there were barely any guards, but she still felt her heart racing when she whispered, "Kitten?"
No one responded, though the mewling stopped for a long second. Christina bit her lip and stepped even further down into the dark wing, the candles melted to nothing more than stumps of light wax.
"Baby cat?" she asked again, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Where are you, sweet baby cat?" Excitement thrummed in her stomach. "Do you miss your mama? I can be your mama, if you want, but you have to be very quiet because my auntie says cats are of the devil!"
She turned and a gasp left her at the sight in the dark corridor, because what had been crying was not a cat at all. It was a little boy with blonde hair and a long white nightgown that covered his legs as he wept, hugging his knees close to his chest.
"I'm not a cat!" Juan de Austria shrieked when she came closer, face shining with tears. "And I'm not a baby!"
Christina watched him for a long moment before she came close and knelt before him.
Juan had arrived earlier that day, sent by his father and her uncle, the Emperor. He was going to inherit the whole of Burgundy and the Low Countries, which meant he had to live in Flanders with her and their aunt to be educated until he was old enough to be named Duke. Aunt Margaret was so very happy when Juan arrived and the entire day had been full of celebrations, with jesters, artisans and tumblers to cheer them and celebrate the arrival of the future ruler.
Juan had been awfully sullen, though, hiding behind the legs of his nurse. The woman, named Dolores, had been sent with Juan to care for him, bathe him and feed him until he was given over to his tutors. Aunt Margaret had also assigned new nurses to also take care of him and Countess Juliana was made his governess, to mold him into the perfect overlord of the Netherlands.
"Why are you crying?" she asked softly. Christina may have been young, only seven years old, but she was very clever for her age, all her tutors commented on it, so she knew how to talk to a boy of two like Juan.
He rose his head, taking big gulping breaths. "I miss my mama!" he cried out, voice high as pearly tears slid down his chubby cheeks. "I want my mama and I want my Abuela Isabel! And I want my sisters María and Juanita! And I want my papa! And I want my mama! And I want them now!"
"But you have to stay here," Christina murmured, "And they have to stay there."
"I don't want to be here," Juan spat out, as if the mere words were poison to him. "I want my mama."
Christina twisted her lips and crawled across the floor, until she was sitting right next to him. Juan didn't say nor do anything, simply rubbing his face furiously.
"I'm not a baby," he said, though he still cried and pouted. "I'm a boy, a big boy."
"I know that," said Christina, "And you're very brave. Coming here must have been really scary."
Juan spared her a glance before he nodded, cleaning his face. "It was," he said. "My tummy didn't feel good."
Christina twisted her lips before she spoke, "I don't have my mother here with me either."
Her words had barely left her mouth before Juan turned to look at her, blue eyes wide.
"Really?" he asked.
"Really," said Christina, nodding. "She married the King of France and she left, but I still send letters to her all the time."
"I don't want no stupid letter," Juan gritted out.
"But letters can help," Christina murmured. "I also send letters to my older sister, Dot. She's going to marry the heir to Denmark, which is where we were born, and be queen someday." She shrugged. "Sometimes, if we don't write letters to each other, I feel like I don't have a sister at all. And that is scary."
Juan nodded. "Very scary," he murmured, face flushed.
Christina smiled. "I know you miss your mama and your sisters," she whispered, "But Aunt Margaret will love you just as much as the Empress does and I will love you as well." She twisted her mouth again. "See, I lost some of my brothers as well. They are in Heaven now, with our grandfather Philip. Some, I have never met, but I miss them dearly." She knocked her shoulder with his. "Why don't we make a deal?"
"A deal?" Juan asked.
"Yes," Christina said, wiggling her eyebrows to make it seem more exciting. "If you want, I can be your sister and you can be my baby brother. Does that sound fun?"
Juan nodded, rubbing his face. "A little," he admitted.
Christina smiled widely and quickly stood up, offering him a hand. "Then come, little brother," she murmured, "It's time for bed."
Juan hesitated before, finally he placed his hand over hers.
Yes, this is the start of an incredibly close kinship between the two.
Dammit not Wolsey! Who will do all the work for Henry now? At the very least he didn't die in disgrace here. Also I hope that Isabella pulls through, and that this brush with death will force Henry to appreciate her and all she does for him.
Awww Christina is so sweet, helping little Juan who must be so lonely. On another note this must be bittersweet for Margaret, to have her grandnephew in her care, who is also named for her beloved first husband. Excellent chapter!
Awww Christina is so sweet, helping little Juan who must be so lonely. On another note this must be bittersweet for Margaret, to have her grandnephew in her care, who is also named for her beloved first husband. Excellent chapter!
Henry, your wife has the sweat and just lost a baby,. Stop thinking about your lover’s breasts for five seconds.
Also, I would protect Christina and Juan with my life and I hope they continue to live happily and healthily in the Low Countries with their great-aunt who loves them very much.
And here Henry was bitching about Isabella having a daughter instead of a third son. Well, are you happy now, now she has lost the son she would give you. Feeling good Henry?