An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
1st of April, 1538.
Kenninghall, England. 1st of April, 1538.
It was much too late when Edmund Howard finally arrived at his brother’s property, his horse trotting before the magnificent building that their father had built under the permission of King Henry. The hour had grown and the air was dark around him, heavy with the smell of night. All were certainly asleep in the Howard residence, curtains pulled shut and yet, a servant was waiting for him before the closed entrance, face passive. He bowed as Edmund’s horse neighed, coming closer.
“Master Howard,” the pale-faced commoner murmured as a greeting. Edmund dismounted his horse, handing off the reins to him, which he took with a startled expression, as if not expecting it. “I welcome you to Kenninghall. Lord Norfolk and the others are waiting for you in His Grace’s writing room.”
“What others?” Edmund asked. “I was under the impression that my brother wanted to meet with me in private.” At least, that’s what the messenger that came to find him in the late afternoon led him to believe. Said it was urgent, that his brother needed him. That the family needed him. Last time such words were said, his wife Jocasta had died and Thomas needed his permission to send off his children to others who might care for their education. Since then, the Duke of Norfolk never really talked to him.
“The Earl of Surrey is also present, my lord,” the servant said. “As is Baron Howard.” That made Edmund pause as he climbed up the stairs that led to the large double doors. William was there? It was surprising. Thomas never really cared for the children born to their father’s second wife, the one rumours said he began to dally with long before their mother was dead. If William was to hear this business as well, as the firstborn of their father’s second marriage, then it was extremely important. And Edmund better hurry. “And my lord will also meet with his…”
Edmund raised a hand, the two guards posted inside the castle opening the door to let him in. “I do not care,” he said. “Go do your duty and let your betters do theirs.” The servant nodded in the corner of his vision, stepping away to handle the tired horse and Edmund continued in his path. The corridors were dark, the castle was asleep and yet he easily found his way to his brother’s private apartments, following the path of candlelight and hushed conversation.
When he entered, he found his two brothers sitting around a long table. Thomas was at the head, talking calmly with William by his side. Thomas’ son Henry Earl of Surrey was sitting on the other side of him, nursing a goblet of wine and two others were present. A girl and a boy, young with fresh handsome faces. They were similar enough, and familiar, though Edmund could not place them exactly.
Either way, it did not matter. He looked at Thomas. “Brother, you called?” The Duke of Norfolk turned to look at him and his face betrayed nothing as the two youths stood up to greet him respectfully.
“Edmund,” said Norfolk with a neutral voice, “It’s about time you arrived. I almost thought we would have to begin without you.” He waved at the end of the table where an empty seat awaited him. “Sit, if you would.”
Edmund did, though not without a grimace, pulling the chair that was directly in front of the girl present. She was a pretty little thing, even if too young for him, with light brown eyes and hair pulled under a fashionable French hood. She did look tired though, possibly because of the late hour, supporting her head on one hand as she played with the stones in an expensive necklace with the other.
“So, what is so important to call me here?” Edmund asked, settling back against his seat.
The lean and boyish youth before him made a face. It was strange to see such an angry expression in his soft features, blue eyes gentle even in that moment. “Really?” he asked with a snarl. “You’re not even going to greet us?” The girl beside him grabbed his arm, whispering something in the foot of his ear that sounded like a warning to calm down.
“Should I?” Edmund asked, responding to his boldness with just as much fire. “I see no royalty here, boy. Only a child whose father was lacking in his education.”
“Clearly,” he answered acidly, but before he could say much more, Norfolk raised a hand to stop him.
His brother turned to look at him. “Edmund, allow me to introduce you to Charles and Katherine Howard,” said. “Your fourth and fifth-born children, respectively.”
“You might remember us from when you gave us our names,” Charles murmured, “Father.”
Edmund looked at Thomas, then at William. “What are they doing here?” he asked. “Have their guardians died yet again? Do you expect me to take them into my care? You of all people should know that I am in no such position, brother. You know Margaret does not like children.”
“As if we would ever choose to live with you and your little whore!” Charles shot back. Edmund would have throttled him if he were any closer, but the table between them stopped him. As did William grabbing his arm when it seemed he might do just that.
“Margaret is my wife, and your mother by the laws of God and men,” said Edmund. “And certainly she will not abide an impetuous youth who forgets to respect his elders.” He looked back at Thomas. “Was my daughter Margaret not married this year?” And to Sir Thomas Arundell of Wardour Castle of all people. The most splendid match. “Surely, William and the Baroness have an opening in their house. Has Mary been wed yet?” He had not heard anything about it, but considering he didn’t attend Margaret or Hank Howard’s marriages, he wouldn’t be surprised to not have been invited.
“Will you listen--” William started.
“If I must take one, I will see the girl provided for,” Edmund admitted. “She has yet to prove as willful as her brother. Should she hold her tongue and know her place, Margaret will take no offence to her.” He looked at Katherine, who was holding her brother’s hand tightly. “It will not be the same as living with the princess, but I can find you a good husband. I’m still a Howard, after all. How old are you, child? Thirteen? Twelve?”
The Duke of Norfolk brought his fist down on the table hard, rising to his feet with a snarl. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low and his face was full of anger, and frustration.
“I will not send the girl away, you drunk fool,” he said. “And certainly not to you, so you can sell her to pay off your debts. This child is the key to greater rewards than we have known thus far. She will ensure the Howards are unimpeachable once and for all, and that damned Suffolk knows it just as well as we do. Removing her now at this critical moment is tantamount to surrender, and I will be damned before I admit defeat to the son of a standard bearer.”
“So my sister is to be sold off for your political needs and not my father’s debts? A touching display of filial loyalty, uncle.”
“Charles, be quiet,” Norfolk said sharply. He looked back at Edmund, then to Katherine. “Tell him what you have just told William and Hank, Katherine.” His voice was calm, kind even, as if he was unwilling to risk alienating Katherine. It made Edmund frown.
“Uncle Norfolk, please, I don’t know if King John would even want me in the next year or two. Who’s to say His Majesty won’t find another? One prettier and more deserving. His father had such appetites and I am hardly the loveliest maiden in court. He might very well find several others before I am sent away to the Low Countries with Lady Elizabeth, and how could I find a marriage there if I have been with the King?”
“Nonsense!” Norfolk exclaimed as he sat down. “If we play our cards right, you will stand above all other women. And no one will stand in your way, not even a prettier pair of eyes.”
“Wait.” Edmund raised a hand. “What is going on? Are you speaking about parading my daughter off like a common whore?”
“Not at all,” said Norfolk. “The King has given her a necklace in the Tudor colours and with the pendant of a rose. Nothing is as royal these days as a rose.” He smiled like a lion watching its prey.
“The token of a possessive young man, hardly a proposal of marriage," said William. "Perhaps the young King intends to flaunt that he has her and no other may touch what is his?”
“The King would never do that,” Charles growled, rising to his feet. “He is a good man and if he holds Kitty in such regard, he would never wound her honour and callously trade her off.”
“His Majesty has not had a mistress, as far as I know,” Hank admitted, the first time he spoke since Edmund arrived. “But he is young. Just fifteen. It is possible that this is his first attempt at a liaison before his marriage.”
"He has kissed her lustfully in a public place," said Norfolk with a respectful nod at his son. "If it had been witnessed by anyone else, Katherine would be ruined."
Edmund looked at Katherine, who blushed as she averted her eyes. Then he turned back to his brother. “Is she?” he asked and Norfolk raised his brows, not understanding him.. “Ruined?” he clarified. “Is there the possibility of an illegitimate birth in my child’s future?”
It was Katherine who answered, “No. I remain a maiden, father.” Edmund nodded, relieved and settled back.
“She must remain so,” said Norfolk. “I’m well aware that the Dowager Queen has tasked Sir John Dudley with arranging for the King’s education when it comes to the marital bed. Soon enough, he will have a mistress. No matter who she is.”
“And you want us to be certain that his mistress is my child?” Edmund stood up in outrage. “I will not hear this any longer. Katherine, you shall come with me and we will go somewhere your reputation will remain intact and you--”
“Sit down or I shall tell your creditors where you live,” Norfolk interrupted him with an annoyed expression, almost lazily. Edmund sat down. “Do you still not understand, Edmund? The girl can charm the boy and keep him entranced. He has no experience, and he clearly has eyes for her. Should she hold his interest, she can lead him far. He has not had any other woman to convince him that the chase is unnecessary when one is the king.”
“You want the King to marry my daughter?” Edmund asked.
Thomas laughed, a high and fake sound. “Thank you, brother, for finally reaching us,” he said. “Yes, I want the King to marry your daughter. Katherine is pretty, gentle and highborn. She had an education equal to Lady Elizabeth’s and, of course, thanks to our dear sister Elizabeth, has ties with the imperial family. The King has dithered about finding a wife since he came of age, not in the least encouraged by Suffolk, who wants him to remain unmarried so his son may inherit England. Why should he not try one closer to home with such benefits, and one to challenge that overreaching bastard, no less?”
“How--?” Edmund started, unable to think straight as they discussed the possibility of him becoming a father to the Queen of England. “How would such a thing happen? How would you make it come true?”
“That is hardly your concern, Edmund. All I need from you is to keep your tongue and mind your spending. Your debts may soon be repaid by coin from the royal coffers, but your daughter will need my sponsorship in this endeavour.” Norfolk looked at Katherine. “How many dresses do you have, girl?”
“Five,” she answered shyly.
Norfolk nodded. “You shall throw them out,” he declared. “Or better yet, donate them to a parish. I shall pay for a new dressmaker to come within the week and make you garments fit for a queen. Do you understand me?”
Katherine looked from her uncle, to her father and then to her brother at last, before she nodded. “I understand.”
“And you, boy.” Norfolk looked at Charles. “It will be to you to sing your sister’s praises and make sure the King knows that all his subjects want him to make a domestic match, instead of a foreign one. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you are saying, but I do not agree with your methods.” Charles offered, his voice cold and thin.
“Mind your tongue, boy. The advancement of your sister is the advancement of us all. Now, invite the King on a hunting trip on Howard lands in a month to celebrate your birthday. Insist you wish to see your family and the hunting lands are the finest in England. I will show that boy the benefits of our hospitality and Katherine will charm him while Lady Elizabeth and the Queen are occupied with our kinswomen. He will propose marriage to her by midsummer, I’m certain of it.”
Katherine and Charles sighed. “If you think so, uncle,” they said.
Thomas Howard seems very confident in his niece’s relationship with John. Howards gonna Howard. Also Kitty and Charlie need to be protected at all costs, I am rooting for them to get everything they deserve.
I hear ya! Those 2 are too precious!
John will definitely take a page out of his Great-grandfather, The Soldier King. Edward IV.
Ahhh, there's the moustache twirling Norfolk we know. Welcome back, Uncle Ambition.
Ah I see the Duke of Norfolk is prepared to take advantage of this situation as best he can. Even if his reasons are selfish, his pushing Kitty and John together can only help his niece's prospects.
And let’s face it: marrying someone who seems nice and is close to her own age is a far better fate than being given to a mercurial and invalid older man who by that stage could barely even walk…
Family Tree - Austrian Habsburgs
King Ferdinand I of Bohemia and Hungary (March 1503-) m. Anna of Bohemia and Hungary (July 1503-)
- Elisabeth of Austria (July 1525-) bet. Zygmunt August (August 1520-)
- Maximilian of Austria (July 1526-) b. Juana of Austria (December 1526-)
- Anna of Austria (July 1527-) b. Karl Ferdinand Bullen (September 1527-)
- Ferdinand of Austria (June 1528- ) b. Báthori Erzsébet (1528 -)
- Maria of Austria (May 1530-)
- Magdalena of Austria (August 1532-)
- Katharina of Austria (September 1533-)
- Eleonore of Austria (November 1534-)
- Margarethe of Austria (February 1536-)
- Georg of Austria (April 1537-)
- Unborn child due in April 1538.
well, the two lines were extinct over a century and a half after Charles and Ferdinand had their sons. Do with that what you will.Another great family tree and Ferdinand and Anne have been really busy.
No worries for either the Spanish or Austrian lines to go extinct anytime soon huh?
I will. But i got a good feeling about this ones. specially with the fresh injections of non-related genes Anne provided for the Spanish line.
Yep, Habsburg policy was to retain their holdings and alliances through marriages: See Joana/Felipe, Maria/Afonso and Maximilian/Juanita.
But every once in a while a fresh non-related partner will be most welcomed unless the gene pool gets a little too shallow (see Carlos el Hechizado).
5th of April, 1538.
Madrid, Castile. 5th of April, 1538.
“Felipe, please, stop pacing around like a donkey!” his grandmother begged, sprawled on a recliner as a Moorish woman fanned her sweaty form. With the desperate tone on her voice, the Prince of Asturias stopped to look at her, observing her flushed round face and her trembling hands as she attempted to work in her embroidery. The Queen rolled her eyes and he huffed. “You are making me nervous.”
Felipe turned back to the window, moving away a curtain with the back of his hand. “Perdóname, Abuela,” he said in dutiful Castilian. “I’m merely excited for the arrival of my lady wife and child.” He turned back to her. “Your granddaughter and great-granddaughter, may I remind you.”
The Queen pointed her needle at him. “Your tone is not appreciated, young boy,” she said with a biting smile. “Keep it up and I shall send you back to live with your father.”
“Please.” Felipe chuckled. “You love me too much to send me back to the dog.”
“Watch it,” his grandmother murmured, turning back to her sewing. “You may be my favourite, but Charles is my son. And your father. And the Emperor. You must treat him with respect, Felipito.”
As if to make her point any clearer, his grandmother stood up, throwing her sewing aside as two of her ladies moved to stand up as well. Felipe saw it coming before she even did it, stretching her hands up to move his dark hair around. He was not wearing a hat in such intimate settings, a decision he regretted most ardently, and his grandmother smoothed down his hair. He tried to swat her away.
“Stop it!” he whined. “I have it the way I like it.”
“You look as if you have been riding all day,” she responded with a pout. “If Joana is to come here, you must be presentable, Felipe. Look like the handsome prince that you are.” As she moved her hands away from his hair, she pinched his cheeks, making a face.
“Joana likes my hair the way it is,” he replied. Felipe stepped away, adjusting his doublet. “At least, she did when we last saw each other. She had no trouble with it.”
“You were a boy then,” the Queen responded, waving her hand as if the matter was not important. “Your fifteenth birthday is coming up and soon, you will be a man.” She pinched his cheeks again. “Let her see it, Felipito.”
“How can that happen if you insist on treating me like a child?” he asked. “Please, grandmother. Leave my cheeks be.” She chuckled and walked away, her greying locks swaying at her back as she had refused to wear the proper clothes for a woman of her station. Instead, she wore the dark clothes of a nun with the expose hair of a prostitute.
“I shall,” she said teasingly. “Your cheeks are Joana’s concern now.” She chuckled and Felipe turned away, his face burning. He looked back out the window and saw, from the horizon, as a royal procession came rocking to them.
His heart raced, barely able to be contained. Without a second thought, Felipe ran out of the room, bounding away. Joana and Ana had come.
--
Windsor, England. 12th of April, 1538.
His father had been buried together with his true mother, Queen Catherine. John remained silent as he walked around it, the large sarcophagus of the two marbled statues clasping hands. His father’s face was easy to recognize, the larger than life figure that had been a shadow in his life for so long, but John found himself stopping before the image of Queen Catherine.
She was beautiful, he had to admit it, frozen in time. With her round face and peaceful expression, kneeling down in a marbled pillow. One hand clasped his father's as another was turned up, as if waiting for a priest’s blessing. John looked at her face, the face that everyone said was his own and he felt a strange twist deep in his stomach.
She had given him his life. Gave her life for him and his twin sister Katherine. He moved his eyes slightly to the plaque that spoke of Kathy's short life, the birthday that they shared and the death date that took her from him. And the inscriptions of his brothers, remembered in small marble statues of peaceful babes. All named Henry, after his father and grandfather.
It was strange to see the others, the others who came before him. Mary was the only other sister he’d known to come from his mother and he had hardly any memory of her. The rest all came from Isabella, who was his mother by all regards but birth, no matter his feelings. He remembered the ones they lost, Teddy and Herry, only fleetingly. But Bessie, Nora and Maggie were the only siblings he could recall clearly. And they had a different mother.
There were fleeting moments he almost could forget that he was not Isabella’s in every way, and it felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders. Looking at himself in the mirror, he only saw the similarities to his father or to his sisters. Was it wrong not to honour the woman who gave her life for him every day? It felt just as wrong to not honour the woman who guided him, who cared for him, who loved him as if he came from her. How could he honour both, when one held a dearer place in his heart, though he regretted to admit it aloud?
Catherine might have gave him life, but Isabella made him the man he was.
John knelt down in the pillow afforded to him by a prepared servant, clasping his hands. He looked at the kneeling figures of his father and Queen Catherine, his heart racing. They had married for love, everyone said so. There were others his father could have chosen. Eleanor of Austria, especially. But he chose her, his mother.
She was older than him by five years. Beautiful, everyone said, but barren. Somehow, with only two children of her large brood living to adulthood. And John was the only boy of a multitude of produced sons. The only one not named Henry. And that was because of her. Because of Catherine. His father named him John, because that was the name his mother wanted him to have. After her brother and an old Duke of Lancaster. And his twin sister was named Katherine.
For Catherine. It was all for Catherine. For his mother.
He knew his father would want a marriage for alliance, someone ready and eager to help England face its enemies on the continent, who seemed to rear their heads every time John sneezed. Hadn’t England always been the outlier, the monarchy on the periphery instead of being in the thick of things? Perhaps looking to their own people for a bride would be something his father could appreciate, if only as a slight to those greater powers who looked down at England. Who wanted them only when it was convenient, only as a leverage against an enemy.
And his mother. Would the proud Spanish Infanta approve of her son marrying the niece of an English Duke, no matter how well-connected he might be? He imagined she might be cross with him, he heard once that she was cross with her nephew for marrying Anne Boleyn. But Anne Boleyn ruled well as an empress and a queen, and John was no emperor. Perhaps she would chastise him for not putting his state above his heart, but she might chastise him for failing to honour Kitty with a union before God if he were to have her.
He closed his eyes. “Mother,” he whispered, “I never asked for you to give your life for me." She was seven and thirty when he was born and most other women would have given up having children already. But she didn't. For his father. And for him. For Katherine. "But since you gave your life for me, you would want me to live my life as I will, wouldn’t you?”John didn’t know much Spanish, there was never any true reason for him to learn it, but he tried to find it in his mind. Amidst all the French, Latin and Greek that his father hired tutors for, there could be one or two sentences in his maternal tongue. It rolled off easily, as if his Spanish blood was triumphing the English, “"La quiero, mami. La quiero más que la vida misma."
And he didn’t even know why. Kitty was pretty, and her eyes lit up whenever he entered the room. She looked at him whenever he talked, really looked at him, as if whatever he said was the most interesting thing in the world. And lately, they had been able to talk so often. Alone. More than anything, Kitty made him feel peaceful. At ease. She was a burning candle in an otherwise dark room. Talking with her never left him wondering if he had to consider some ulterior motives. She truly was his rose without a thorn. She never asked for anything, only gave him all the kindness she had in her beautiful heart.
“I can’t tell Queen Isabella about my plans,” he murmured, opening his eyes, “But I can tell you. Her brothers will be lords. And she…” He looked up at the stained glass filtering colourful light inside St George’s Chapel. “She will be my queen.”
It was all for Katherine.
--
Vienna, Austria. 30th of April, 1538.
They had told him to behave, and said it would be unmanly to make a fuss around his mother's bed. Women gave birth every day and had done so since the start of time. Besides, it was no unusual event in the House of Austria, as this would be the eleventh of his parents’ children to be born, and as a girl, no one really cared beyond the usual revelry associated with a healthy archduchess.
But still. The room was dark when he entered, lit up by only a few candles and Maximilian frowned slightly, taking in his mother’s pale face as she reclined against the pillows. The doctors had assured and reassured that the birth went well, and Maximilian knew it for he was with his father when news came, but there was an air of exhaustion around her that moved his heart. Her blonde hair was clinging to her sweaty form, her blue eyes lighting up when she saw who had entered.
“Come here, my sweet.” His mother smiled as he did so, beckoning him closer and bidding him to let her kiss his cheek. When he did, Maximilian was happy to see that though she was sweaty, and much exhausted, she seemed well. Her cheeks had a healthy glow. “I missed you so much, my little archduke.”
“I have missed you too, mama,” said Maximilian. He was eleven years of age, and would be turning twelve in just three months, but he still felt like a little boy in his mother’s presence. He loved her so much, after all.
“You have a new sister,” she offered, her voice content. Maximilian nodded, sitting at the edge of her bed. He looked at the small cradled in the corner of the room, the buxom nurse rocking it slightly as his sister cooed. “Barbara, we have decided to call her.”
Maximilian nodded again. “That makes eight,” he pointed out. “Austria will have much to be happy for when they bring alliances to our family across the continent,” he japed, smiling as his mother gave a breathy laugh.
“My clever boy, you and your father must wait to marry this one off until she’s out of swaddling clothes at least,” she said with a charming smile. “Besides, she may very well take on the veil like sweet Maria. We have Poland and Württemberg already, with Liesl and Anke. Maybe even Jülich if your father’s negotiations with that prideful Duke ever reach a satisfactory conclusion. And there’s the Italian states to consider.” She smiled wryly. “And I suppose you should consider your own marriage to Spain approaching fast.”
He blushed as she leaned in conspiratorially, her voice lowered. “I may very well be holding a granddaughter instead of a daughter in a few short years.” His mother chuckled. “Won’t that be wonderful? Finally, a rest to my troubles.”
He frowned. “A rest?” There was a hint of worry in his voice and his mother took his hand, squeezing it gently.
“Do not fret,” she said. “I am merely japing. Childbirth is troublesome, but children always give twice the joy as they grow. You shall know that in good time, when you and Infanta Juana have the next generation of archdukes and archduchesses to worry about.” His mother shrugged, an intimate and unqueenly behaviour in such a private setting. “Grandchildren will be wonderful. I am quite close to being more suited to a grandmother’s lot rather than that a new mother. And I am ready. It’s much more fun to worry only about spoiling grandbabies than raising your own.” She smiled, reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “I suspect Barbara may well be my last. Perhaps I might give your father one more son. Imagine if he were to wear a cardinal’s robes. Wouldn’t that be grand?”
“You ought to rest, Mother,” he dutifully said. “I don’t need another brother, I need you. You’ve given Austria a healthy archduchess, you need your rest.”
“You are so like your father, he worries too.” She clasped his hand in hers, rubbing the back of his palm with her thumb. “Very well, I will rest if only to ease your mind. But do not worry about me, my son. I’m the mother, not you.”
“You’re my mother,” he replied. “The best mother there is in the entire world.” His mother chuckled, cupping his face.
“And you are the best son anyone could ask for,” she replied. His mother leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't tell Ferry and Georg."
He chuckled. "I won't," he promised.
A sudden rapping on the door caused them both to turn, another servant opening it to let in a young maid in a crisp skirt and apron, head bowed as she gave a quick dip at the knees for formality’s sake. When she straightened again, Maximilian saw the grave look on her face, the pallor to her skin. He recognized her easily; she was an attendant at the nursery. She looked after his younger siblings.
“Your Majesty,” she murmured. “Forgive me, but there is something the matter with Archduke Georg.” His mother clutched his hand in her nerves. “The physician has been called. The King ordered for you to be told, in case anything happens.”
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