Great to her, and let's pray her marriage is much better than that of her namesake.
An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Who is her namesake? Her aunt Catherine of Austria had a pretty ok marriage.
Catalina de Aragon, in Anne's own words, the greatest Queen England had ever seen.
Girl you wrote it hahaha - Tho ttl Catherine of Aragon had a great marriage and her son is now king of England - It’s all good
I'm sorry, but to me, Catalina de Austria's namesake has to be a Catherine of Austria!
Well, Anne could also had her in mind as well, but the text ain't lying, the primary namesake was Catherine of Aragon.
12th of November, 1544.
Chapter first posted on my patreon.
João, third king of Portugal to bear that name, opened and closed mouth slowly, blinking his eyes weakly in the darkness of his rooms. His second daughter, Infanta Manuela, cleaned the sweat off his forehead just as the Duchess of Viseu brought a cup of mulled wine to his lips, strictly following the physician’s instructions. His sons, the Prince And the Duke of Beja, stood by his bedside, faces stricken with unshed grief.
As an ordained priest performed the final rites for his king, João de Aviz waved him off. "Enough!" he called out with as much strength as he had left. "Leave me. All of you. It was the Lord's will that I be here."
"Don't tire yourself, please," Infanta Manuela pleaded, her nun's habit covering all of her body except for her hands and face. "Let them do as they wish, papa."
"The Lord already knows of my regrets and sins," said the King. He opened and closed his eyes, looking around himself confusedly. "Joana? Where is Joana?"
Afonso leaned in. "Joana is in Castile, father," he said. "She married the Prince of Asturias some years ago." His father closed his eyes and nodded. In the pillow behind his head, there were large drops of dark blood, born from his incessant coughing during the night.
"And my grandsons?" the King asked. "Are they healthy? Is the Portuguese throne secured?"
"It is, father," it was Filipe who spoke. His marital celebrations had been cut short by the worsening of their father's disease and the knowledge that he would soon die. "Your legacy is safe."
"My legacy?" The King opened and closed his eyes again. "It is the legacy of my wife, who laboured nine times to bring us here." He stretched his head as Margarida helped him drink more wine, to make him comfortable. Father let out a deep groan of pain as the wine sloshed down his aching throat, falling back against the bed with a muffled thud.
"Papa…" Manuela sniffed.
"I do not fear death, my love, for it will bring me closer to my beloved Leonor." His fingers reached forward, as if running through Dona Leonor's red-brown curls. "And my lost babies."
He closed his eyes again, his lips pale but for the blood trimming his teeth, gathered from his weak lungs. "Joana?" he called out again. "Joana, bring me your daughters, my love. I want to meet my granddaughters." Afonso shared a worried glance with Margarida. "Luís? Where are you?"
"The Duke of Beja died some years ago, father," Filipe answered gently, but their father didn't even seem to hear him.
"Mother is looking for you," he whispered. “Mother is looking for you.” Margarida leaned forward and pressed her hand against the King’s forehead.
“He is burning up,” she murmured. “The fever is making him delirious.”
“Father?” the King called out, his body trembling, blood dripping down his mouth. “Father, I’m scared. They told me I'm to be king someday." João III opened his eyes, a shot of brown, glinting under the candlelight. He stretched his arm forward, all of his remaining strength gathered in that one limb, fingers reaching for something unknown. "Leonor?"
His arm fell back, his mouth opened with a weak gasp, a sigh of agony slipping past his dry and bloody lips. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one even breathed and then, a woman started screaming.
"No, no, no," Manuela cried out, clutching their father's shirt. "No!"
"Papai!" Margarida sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Even Filipe pressed his fingers against his eyes as he crossed himself, tears slipping down his cheeks.
But Afonso stood there as all members of the court fell to their knees, a buzzing growing in his ears. Stopping him from reacting in any way other than total and absolute shock. “The King is dead,” someone said. It didn’t matter whom. “Long live the King!”
Hours later and it hadn’t yet struck him that he was the King now. He knew that his father was dead, he knew what it meant, but he couldn’t yet understand. The sun rose high in the Portuguese horizon, the bells ringing to signify the death of John the Pious and yet Afonso stood in his bedchambers, with his uncle and brother sitting before him as they made plans.
“We must travel to Lisbon and summon the cortes,” said Afonso, playing with his fingers. It was necessary for him to swear an oath before the nobles of his realm and to be recognized as king governor of Portugal. “Is it possible for Jorge to be sworn in as Prince of Portugal already?”
“Of course,” said the Duke of Aveiro. “Your own father was sworn in at the age of one.” He smiled. “And if I recall correctly, you were not even three.” Afonso smiled, even if he could not remember that day.
He looked at his fingers again, at the rings that he bore as Prince of Portugal. “He may handle that,” he said, thinking of his son. Jorge was four and clever for his age, everyone said so. He would be able to handle the tedious ceremony of being accepted as heir to the kingdom.
Afonso closed his eyes. How he wished María could be there, at the meeting of the cortes, to witness their boy’s triumph. And their own triumph as well. He was a king now. Afonso VI. And she would be his queen. But now, he was a widower and their son lacked a mother to witness his oath proudly.
“Your Majesty,” Filipe started carefully. Afonso looked at his brother, the seventeen-year-old Duke of Beja. “The nobles will take advantage of the meeting of the cortes to bring attention to his Majesty’s remarriage.”
The Duke of Aveiro nodded. “We must be certain that many will bring their own comely daughters to Lisbon, hoping for the chance to make of them a queen,” said his uncle Henrique. Afonso sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Let all know that I shall not entertain thoughts of remarriage until the months of mourning are over,” he murmured. “I wish to be crowned, alone, in Lisbon after the meeting of the cortes.” Was there no end to his duties? Did they all truly wish to saddle him with some poor woman who didn’t understand the burden of ruling?
“And after the mourning?” his uncle began. It was clear in his voice what he truly wanted.
“After the mourning,” Afonso said, “I shall send an entourage to Castile.”
“For what purpose?” It was Filipe who spoke this time.
Afonso looked at his brother. “For the purpose of arranging my marriage to Archduchess Catalina de Austria,” he said. “If it is a queen the people want, it is a queen I shall give them.” But Afonso would not allow himself to be led by anyone. He knew who deserved the throne beside him. And who didn’t.
Paço Real de Évora, Portugal. 12th of November, 1544.
João, third king of Portugal to bear that name, opened and closed mouth slowly, blinking his eyes weakly in the darkness of his rooms. His second daughter, Infanta Manuela, cleaned the sweat off his forehead just as the Duchess of Viseu brought a cup of mulled wine to his lips, strictly following the physician’s instructions. His sons, the Prince And the Duke of Beja, stood by his bedside, faces stricken with unshed grief.
As an ordained priest performed the final rites for his king, João de Aviz waved him off. "Enough!" he called out with as much strength as he had left. "Leave me. All of you. It was the Lord's will that I be here."
"Don't tire yourself, please," Infanta Manuela pleaded, her nun's habit covering all of her body except for her hands and face. "Let them do as they wish, papa."
"The Lord already knows of my regrets and sins," said the King. He opened and closed his eyes, looking around himself confusedly. "Joana? Where is Joana?"
Afonso leaned in. "Joana is in Castile, father," he said. "She married the Prince of Asturias some years ago." His father closed his eyes and nodded. In the pillow behind his head, there were large drops of dark blood, born from his incessant coughing during the night.
"And my grandsons?" the King asked. "Are they healthy? Is the Portuguese throne secured?"
"It is, father," it was Filipe who spoke. His marital celebrations had been cut short by the worsening of their father's disease and the knowledge that he would soon die. "Your legacy is safe."
"My legacy?" The King opened and closed his eyes again. "It is the legacy of my wife, who laboured nine times to bring us here." He stretched his head as Margarida helped him drink more wine, to make him comfortable. Father let out a deep groan of pain as the wine sloshed down his aching throat, falling back against the bed with a muffled thud.
"Papa…" Manuela sniffed.
"I do not fear death, my love, for it will bring me closer to my beloved Leonor." His fingers reached forward, as if running through Dona Leonor's red-brown curls. "And my lost babies."
He closed his eyes again, his lips pale but for the blood trimming his teeth, gathered from his weak lungs. "Joana?" he called out again. "Joana, bring me your daughters, my love. I want to meet my granddaughters." Afonso shared a worried glance with Margarida. "Luís? Where are you?"
"The Duke of Beja died some years ago, father," Filipe answered gently, but their father didn't even seem to hear him.
"Mother is looking for you," he whispered. “Mother is looking for you.” Margarida leaned forward and pressed her hand against the King’s forehead.
“He is burning up,” she murmured. “The fever is making him delirious.”
“Father?” the King called out, his body trembling, blood dripping down his mouth. “Father, I’m scared. They told me I'm to be king someday." João III opened his eyes, a shot of brown, glinting under the candlelight. He stretched his arm forward, all of his remaining strength gathered in that one limb, fingers reaching for something unknown. "Leonor?"
His arm fell back, his mouth opened with a weak gasp, a sigh of agony slipping past his dry and bloody lips. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one even breathed and then, a woman started screaming.
"No, no, no," Manuela cried out, clutching their father's shirt. "No!"
"Papai!" Margarida sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Even Filipe pressed his fingers against his eyes as he crossed himself, tears slipping down his cheeks.
But Afonso stood there as all members of the court fell to their knees, a buzzing growing in his ears. Stopping him from reacting in any way other than total and absolute shock. “The King is dead,” someone said. It didn’t matter whom. “Long live the King!”
Hours later and it hadn’t yet struck him that he was the King now. He knew that his father was dead, he knew what it meant, but he couldn’t yet understand. The sun rose high in the Portuguese horizon, the bells ringing to signify the death of John the Pious and yet Afonso stood in his bedchambers, with his uncle and brother sitting before him as they made plans.
“We must travel to Lisbon and summon the cortes,” said Afonso, playing with his fingers. It was necessary for him to swear an oath before the nobles of his realm and to be recognized as king governor of Portugal. “Is it possible for Jorge to be sworn in as Prince of Portugal already?”
“Of course,” said the Duke of Aveiro. “Your own father was sworn in at the age of one.” He smiled. “And if I recall correctly, you were not even three.” Afonso smiled, even if he could not remember that day.
He looked at his fingers again, at the rings that he bore as Prince of Portugal. “He may handle that,” he said, thinking of his son. Jorge was four and clever for his age, everyone said so. He would be able to handle the tedious ceremony of being accepted as heir to the kingdom.
Afonso closed his eyes. How he wished María could be there, at the meeting of the cortes, to witness their boy’s triumph. And their own triumph as well. He was a king now. Afonso VI. And she would be his queen. But now, he was a widower and their son lacked a mother to witness his oath proudly.
“Your Majesty,” Filipe started carefully. Afonso looked at his brother, the seventeen-year-old Duke of Beja. “The nobles will take advantage of the meeting of the cortes to bring attention to his Majesty’s remarriage.”
The Duke of Aveiro nodded. “We must be certain that many will bring their own comely daughters to Lisbon, hoping for the chance to make of them a queen,” said his uncle Henrique. Afonso sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Let all know that I shall not entertain thoughts of remarriage until the months of mourning are over,” he murmured. “I wish to be crowned, alone, in Lisbon after the meeting of the cortes.” Was there no end to his duties? Did they all truly wish to saddle him with some poor woman who didn’t understand the burden of ruling?
“And after the mourning?” his uncle began. It was clear in his voice what he truly wanted.
“After the mourning,” Afonso said, “I shall send an entourage to Castile.”
“For what purpose?” It was Filipe who spoke this time.
Afonso looked at his brother. “For the purpose of arranging my marriage to Archduchess Catalina de Austria,” he said. “If it is a queen the people want, it is a queen I shall give them.” But Afonso would not allow himself to be led by anyone. He knew who deserved the throne beside him. And who didn’t.
Can’t wait to see Felipe’s reaction to that marriage offer… Long live King Afonso! May king João rest in peace with Leonor
Whatever Felipe will think, I doubt who he would refute the proposal and in any case is still Charles is the one who must say yes or no and he would have no reason to say no
Yeah but Charles is in Austria right about now. And news travel slowly.
Poor João...well, at least he is with his deceased loved ones now. Good luck to Afonso as king!
Awww poor Joao, at least his sufferings are at an end. Ooh we finally see who Afonso wants to remarry to, but I suspect we'll be on our seats on if he marries Catalina or not...
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I erroneously thought Joao was already dead. Rest in peace, your majesty. Alfonso decided to marry Catalina? Good, I wish them love and happiness.
Sorry this is what is get for typing this before having coffee.
RIP Joao. At least he’s reunited with his beloved wife and children.
I suppose we can expect to see the breakdown of the relationship between Charles and Felipe?
I suppose we can expect to see the breakdown of the relationship between Charles and Felipe?