An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
It's not like Kitty's younger brother was a character in the story. And child death was common back then.
13th of July, 1531.
Rome, Papal States. 13th of July, 1531.
Henrique was studying deep in the University when everything changed.
Although his mission in Italy ended with the death of the de Lencastres months before, Henrique had found himself delaying his inevitable return to Lisbon. Rome was a city that had withstood centuries, with all the knowledge of the old world just a request away and he was powerless to stop himself from requesting a leave to João to stay and study. His brother was no fool, however, and although the idea of helping his little brother might have sounded sweet, the possibility of scarlet robes upon Henrique’s shoulders, as well as someone he trusted close to the Pope, were too good to pass. So, the money that funded his studies in the University of Rome as well as the permission from his king reached him barely two months after he first asked his brother to stay.
So there Henrique was, reading reports on the Synod of Elvira as well as other meetings that discussed clerical celibacy. His mind was racing with thoughts and ideas, trying to understand the complex order of his forefathers to remain unmarried, when he heard steps coming his way. He raised his head only slightly, still hiding in the darkest corner of the cellar at Cortile del Belvedere as he read under a waning candlelight.
Henrique was paying attention to his surroundings, trying to see if there was anyone else coming up to his hiding spot, and yet he still jumped when the door was opened, or rather, kicked open by a well-placed foot. It was not a subtle act, or even gentle against the wood, and the sound rang against his ears.
The person that came inside was wearing a nun’s habit. Henrique noticed it first, especially as her head was pending down, eyes focused on the pile of papers at her hands. As she walked closer and closer to his spot, Henrique felt his heart race, especially as he noticed the deep wrinkle between her brows and the lack of candle by her hand despite the late hour.
But nothing could have prepared him for the startled jump that his heart took when the nun raised her head, finally noticing his presence. It was her, it was Eleonora d’Este and Henrique could truly see how, even despite her serious and slightly confused expression, beautiful she was. Her dark eyes, pale skin.
Eleonora stepped back. “Forgive me,” she said, her voice as soft as honey on his ears. “I thought I would be alone.” Henrique stood up, nervous and he looked around him. The cellar was dark, barely used for anything but storage, and yet when he arrived there, looking for a quiet place to hide, Henrique had found a single desk and wooden chair. He wondered who placed it there so carefully and lovingly.
It seemed he found his answer.
“No, please,” he said, his Italian mixing together. “I will leave.”
Eleonora shook her head, stubborn.
“There is no need,” she said, already turning to leave. Henrique had stepped around the desk, trying to stop her.
It was certainly a miracle what followed, for they were in the cellar, away from any windows or holes in the walls, and yet, a strong breeze hit Eleonora as she left, dragging a handful of her papers to the ground. Henrique heard her curse in Italian as she turned to take her things at the same time that he knelt down to help.
There was no inch of curiosity in him, nothing in his personality that spoke about being nosey or thirsty for gossip, but Henrique could not stop himself from taking a look at the paper. It was a series of words written in Latin, a string of thoughts and notes taken by the edge of the paper. Henrique read it carefully, unable to stop, as he understood what was before him.
A motet, a vocal musical composition, of highly diverse form and style that spoke of religion and something his difficult understanding of complex Latin could not assist.
The paper was taken from his hands suddenly and he looked up, seeing Eleonora’s embarrassed expression as she organised her things once again.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, standing up. “Good bye.”
“Wait,” Henrique exclaimed, watching as she turned to look at him. “Wait.”
“What?” Eleonora asked, arching a bold eyebrow. “Is there something you wish to say, Father?”
He hesitated, suddenly shy. “Your composition is good,” he murmured. Eleonora chuckled, shaking her head as she whispered to ask him to stop making fun of her. “No, I’m serious. It’s good, I like it.” He sighed, shifting his weight on his ankles. “I never saw a woman composing songs before.”
“That’s because women are not allowed to compose them,” she said, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, “Infante Henrique.”
His cheeks flushed and he looked away, embarrassed. “So you remember me?” he asked, still not looking at her.
“I never forget a face,” she said. “Especially the Portuguese prince that almost killed an old man.”
“I did not almost kill him,” he murmured, shaking his head. “And I’m not a prince, I’m an infante.”
“Is there a difference?” she asked.
Henrique nodded without thinking, before stepping forward, a hand forward. “Either way,” he said, “I think it’s very good, your compositions. I would love to hear you singing them.”
She smiled. “As if,” said Eleonora. “I hate singing. I’m a composer, not a singer.”
Henrique gave her a cheeky smile. “Is there a difference?” he asked.
Yesss this is adorable, I get the feeling these two would make for quite the witty couple if they manage to escape their vows!
There's an easy loophole. Say to the Church 'We want to be released from our vows' and offer a ridiculous sum of money.
20th of July, 1531.
Stirling Castle, Scotland. 20th of July, 1531.
The child was small, even a month and a half after its birth, with light reddish-blonde hair covering his round head and tiny little red hands that reached out to grasp Anna’s necklace as she held him. Her child, the perfect child that grew in her belly until he was ready to be born deep into her confinement a week after the date predicted by the midwives. That was normal for first-time mothers, everyone said so, and he was healthy. Everyone said it.
It was a boy, as all doctors had predicted, and though he was small, everyone said he was likely to grow. Her husband had named him James, after his father and himself, but Anna had begun to call him Jimmy in her mind, at least to differentiate him from her husband. His eyes were open as he looked up at her, deep grey eyes full of love and innocence, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him and love him and watch him grow.
Only hours had passed since his baptism. James named the Dowager Queen, the Archbishop of St Andrews and his uncle, the King of England to be godparents. During the ceremony, Anna who was still in confinement took advantage to survey his gifts and decide which were worthy of her little son. The English king sent a carved cot of maplewood, with the coat of arms of the Duke of Rothesay engraved in the back, while the French king sent an entire trousseau of silk gowns and precious toys, clearly trying to one-up his great enemy.
The letter from France also seemed to suggest a new pregnancy from the Queen, a pregnancy that could end with a royal girl being born in Paris. Anna knew the King intended for said girl, who would be his second child born to his second and hated wife, to become Queen of Scotland. Or at least, that’s what he intended to imply in his words, inviting the King of Scots to be the godfather to this new heir.
Anna didn’t know what she thought of that. Jimmy was so young, just born a month before. It felt awkward to determine his bride so soon, especially one that wasn’t even born yet. She herself was never considered for any betrothals before her mother managed to arrange the marriage with Scotland, and she was the second daughter of a very powerful and rich German duke.
But Jimmy was no Duke’s son. He was a prince, the future King of Scotland and she knew he would be different from her, his entire life would be different from hers. If her husband wished to betroth him to a princess of France, then so be it. Anna would be a dutiful wife and accept it quietly.
Away from her confinement chambers, at the council room of the castle, her husband sat with his advisors and a man that had come from Nova Scotia in the New World.
The man bowed to him, before straightening up with a smile. "After hearing the news of the Queen's bedchamber, our men named the river that washes our settlement Rothesay, after the King's heir." James smiled as well. That made him feel happy with fatherly pride swelling him up, to imagine a river named after his precious son. He could not think of a more incredible honour to the infant in his mother's chamber.
"Very good, I approve of the name," he said. "And our decision to start a permanent settlement in Nova Scotia? How has it fared so far?"
The man nodded. He had been in Scotland for less than a week, with an air about him that still spoke of the New World. "I have begun to seek out women and families willing to travel to the New World since I arrived, but they have shown some resistance. I don't think many women are willing to drag their children away from the country they know for an uncertain future."
James nodded, drumming his fingers against the table under him.
"What are the natives around our lands like?" he asked. James had heard about the Aztecs being blood-thirsty monsters in New Spain, which had helped the other natives around them join forces with the Spanyards to defeat them. He wondered whether the men who lived in Rothesay were much of the same.
"The Lenape people have been around the river for many thousand years, as they themselves have said it," said the man. "Under our King's directions, we did not bother them save for attempts for trade and convert them to the one true faith." He flushed at that. "In the latter, we did not experience much success as the former."
James hummed and nodded. "What are we trading with them?"
"Corn, mostly, my lord," said the man. "Corn is a plant that the Lenape have great respect for, they have many pagan ceremonies around it." James nodded. "Our first winter in the land was quite harsh and the Lenapes took pity on us, and offered food to sustain us. In return, after they experienced a smallpox epidemic, we offered our doctor's knowledge to treat them, which they accepted."
"Have they survived the epidemic?" James asked. The man nodded.
"They have, Your Majesty. Around two or three men died out of ten, which could have been much worse," he said. "After that, the Lenape seemed somewhat wary of the Scots. It is possible that they blame us."
"I see," said James. "Perhaps, it is time that we attempt stronger relations with the natives." He stopped, trying to think how to best convey his feelings. "Maybe if we put a hold in our efforts to convert them, they will seem more willing to see some of their women married to our men."
"Sire?" asked the man, frowning.
"They know the land, do they not?" asked James. "And the children from such unions might feel more loyalty to Scotland than the Lenape, as that is where their fathers hail from, is it not?"
"Sire, the Lenape follow families in the maternal--" he began, but James simply arched an eyebrow and he quietened.
"Their mothers will teach them about the land, while their fathers will teach them about the true faith," said James. He looked up at the man, who was gulping. "Do whatever it takes to make these unions happen. You're dismissed."
The man nodded and left, clutching his hat to his chest. When he did, James turned to his cousin Alexander, who had stayed quiet along with his other advisors during the entire conversation.
"There is another matter that needs our King's attention," said Alexander, handing James a document. "Lord Lochleven's wife has given birth to a son, a boy that he says is not his." As James read the paper, he could feel all the colour draining from his face and his heart accelerating nervously. "Lady Lochleven is willing to name the true father of the baby, with the promise that she will not be divorced from her husband, or that her child will be taken from her."
James Erskine, who was the father of Lady Lochleven, had a pale look to his face, eyes wide. James could feel the heat of his emotions from his place at the head of the table.
"And why is it the council's problem if Erskine's lass is a whore?" asked Andrew Agnew with a snarl. Erskine, offended in his daughter's name, began to argue with him.
James only caught snippets of the conversation and it wasn't until Agnew shouted, "Maybe if she had kept to her husband's bed, she wouldn't be in such trouble!" that he hit his hand against the table. The loud thud made everyone turn to him.
"My lords," he said, carefully, "This is why the English think us such savages. Calm yourselves." He took a deep breath, shaking his head. James looked to his cousin. "Go to Lochleven and talk to the lord and lady. See what can be done."
"Lochleven will demand reparations for the offense," said Alexander, meeting his eye. "Maybe even call for a duel to regain his honour."
He knew. James knew that he knew. He took a deep breath and looked out to his people, to Margaret's father and wondered whether his own father had ever felt so small in his throne. Like a petulant child, caught stealing sweets from the kitchens.
"The Crown already knows who is the true father of Lady Lochleven's child," he started, carefully. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "We are willing to pay reparations for our mistake."
The men looked at him with shock in their eyes. James had other bastards. Little Jamie and Adam, as well as others he had no way of knowing, but their mothers had been servants. Nameless. Unimportant. Adam's was a kitchen girl from Angus' castle, a descendant of one of his forefather's bastards, while Jamie's mother was the daughter of a shepherd deep in the country, who died in childbirth. The shepherd's wife, in her grief, begged James to let the child be with her and he allowed it. He still sent her money monthly to care for him, but if the boy even knew his father was the king, James had no idea.
But this was different. This was a noble's daughter with a husband and James knew his reign, and Scotland, would never be the same again.
"Lady Lochleven named the child James, my lord, after yourself," Alexander continued, quieted. The King nodded. They always did.
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Wow I’m excited to see if this plan for matches between the Lenape and Scottish settlers pan out. Also James needs to keep it in his pants when it comes to the wives of his nobles.
Hopefully! Otherwise I fear he may end up on the wrong end of some spurned husband’s sword
Be interesting to see…
Was there any redress for a noble cuckolded by a king short of rebellion? Like, fairly sure challenging the King to a duel wound count as treason.
Henry and Bessie Blount…did her husband demand any redress?
All I can think is Edward VII being called to testify at the divorce hearing of one of his mistresses.
I don't think he demanded any but I seem to recall that he received a good deal of money to stay quiet about it.