An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
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1st of May, 1524.
Toledo, Castile. 1st of May, 1524
To my dear father,
I miss you and hope you’ve been well. It has been too long since we last spoke to each other kindly, before my wedding, and I wished to remedy that. You are still my father and I am still your loyal and loving daughter.
At this moment, I hold your granddaughter in my arms. She was born just a week past, on the 23rd of last month. The physicians say she is quite hale and is likely to live, which makes me very glad. She is so small and so perfect. Her hair is blonde, like Mary’s, but I think she has my eyes. She looks so much like Mary did, that I named her after my sister. María. The Duke of Alba wanted to name her Isabel, or Juana, after the Queens, but I insisted on the name. Just like you always said, I can be very stubborn when I want to.
I think she deserves to meet her grandfather, the only grandfather she will have. Please, father, let us put this disagreement behind us. Come to Spain, where you will be welcomed with open arms. Your grandson grows strong every day. He can talk and walk. Don’t you want to meet your first grandchild? And George is a duke now. A duke! Our family has never been higher.
Please, papa. All can be forgotten and forgiven. I miss you and mother. I need you by my side.
Your loving daughter,
Annie.
María whined high on her throat and Anne looked away from her paper, eyes turning to her little daughter in her arms. She set the quill aside and brought María closer to her face, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek.
“Hush, my dear,” she whispered in English. “Hush. Mama is here.” María settled back with her kisses and caresses, but it was too late. Her brown eyes were opened and she frowned, looking around her.
Anne was still in her confinement, seated at her bed with her daughter in her arms. They were alone, her having dismissed her ladies, and María smacked her lips, moving her tiny little fingers around and cried loudly, sobbing for milk. The Empress chuckled and looked around her, hoping that the wet nurse who waited on the outside of the chamber, did not hear the archduchess.
When a minute passed without any movement, Anne settled María back in her arms and pulled the hem of her nightgown down, exposing her left breast. She had not been allowed to do so for Felipe and had to feed María in secret, lest someone remind her once again that it was improper for an Empress to feed her own child. But she was determined. Her husband was away, so there was no fear of her feeding María preventing her from falling pregnant again. And no one could stop her from wanting to alleviate the ache on her breasts.
María’s eyes fluttered close as she ate and she went back to sleep rather quickly, mouth slacking. Anne pulled her nightgown back up and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s soft head, which was covered in thick blonde strands. “I hope your grandpapa will respond to my letter,” she said. “You will love him very much, I know it so. He was always kind to me when I was a child.” When she left for the Low Countries, her father said she was the cleverest of his children and that she’d soon surpass all of the family in terms of intelligence and loveliness. How far had they gone, when he claimed that she was no longer his daughter for marrying out of love.
He thought Charles would set her aside, but now she had two of his children. Two infantes, an archduke and an archduchess. He was only scared for her, she told herself. But now he would see that she was Empress, that she was mother to the heirs. He would accept her as his daughter again and he would go to Spain with her mother, maybe even Mary and her husband. They would be a family once more.
Anne pulled her wooden slab closer to her and picked up the quill again.
My dear husband,
I’m happy to say that you have a daughter...
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Awww very nice that Anne is at least trying, and I hope that Thomas takes her up on her offer, not only due to family reasons, but opportunity. As father-in-law to the Emperor and King of Spain, Thoms Boleyn can at the very least hope for a minor title or office, which Henry VIII is not likely to give him. Lovely chapter, I truly hope that the Infanta Maria is in fact healthy!
We'll see. Thomas is just as stubborn as his daughter.
16th of May, 1524.
Castello Sforzesco, Milan. 16th of May, 1524.
“I have a daughter,” said Charles, head bent forward as he read a letter. “The Empress gave birth last month.”
Ferdinand paused the hand bringing a goblet of wine to his lips and looked at his brother. There was a slight frown between the Emperor’s dark eyebrows as if he was confused, but also a small smile on his lips.
“Is the child healthy?” he asked after a long moment.
Charles nodded. Ferdinand looked at George, sitting on the other side of the table, and saw a quizzical expression on his face. The Duke of Württemberg raised his eyebrows and said, “What is her name?”
The Emperor looked up, almost surprised, certainly having forgotten their presence there. He gulped and looked at the paper again.
“María,” said Charles. “The Empress named her after her sister, apparently the child resembles her.” Ferdinand looked at George, who was also a brother to his niece’s namesake, almost expecting him to start describing his sister Mary then and there. “I always thought I’d name my eldest daughter after the Dowager Duchess or my mother. Before I left, I told the Empress such.” Despite the suggestion of his words, there was an amused smile on his lips and he read the letter again.
Ferdinand and George shared another look. The Archduke gulped and stood up, raising his goblet of wine.
“A beautiful name,” he said. “A toast for the newest member of our family. Long live Archduchess María of Austria, Infanta of Castile and Aragon.” George stood up and echoed his words, as did Charles, hesitantly clinking their cups together.
“Long live María of Austria!” they said together.
After they sat down and drank, Charles stood up again, wrangling his hands together. George and Ferdinand followed suit, as demanded etiquette. “I must pray,” he said, “For the health of the Empress and of the Archduchess.” Ferdinand nodded and made a bow, watching as his brother left the room.
When they were alone, George smiled at Ferdinand. “We have a new niece,” he said.
The Archduke nodded. “That we do,” he answered. Ferdinand looked around him, at the empty antechamber they were in, his antechamber. He looked at George and with a slight movement of his head, nodded at the closed doors that led to his room. George’s smile grew and he nodded, eyes darkening.
They were upon each other as soon as the doors closed again, kissing and grabbing the other's clothes. Ferdinand put a hand on each side of George's face, pulling him close. He felt warm fingers itching under his doublet, removing his shirt from his pants and a shiver ran down his spine when those fingers found the soft slice of skin of his belly.
He pulled away, gasping when someone knocked on his door. "What is it?" he asked in a bark, angry at the intrusion.
"A letter, Your Highness," said a shy voice outside. Ferdinand sighed and let go of George, walking to the entrance. He adjusted his askew clothes and opened the door slightly, allowing only his head to slip through. "Here, Your Highness."
"Thank you," he murmured without even thinking. Ferdinand closed the door and turned back to his room.
George was sitting on the bed, legs crossed and the candlelight made his skin look golden. Ferdinand broke the seal and started reading his letter.
When he was finished, he set it aside and sat beside the Duke. He intertwined their hands, caressing George's knuckles. "Who was it?"
"My wife," Ferdinand responded.
George nodded. "Do you mind telling me what she said?"
He shook his head.
"She wants me to return to Austria," he said, his voice heavy.
"Why?"
"My nephew died," said Ferdinand, looking at his feet. "István. My sister Maria's son. He was sickly like his father, I suppose."
"I'm sorry," said George. "But why is that important?"
"István was heir to Hungary and Bohemia," said Ferdinand. "Now that he's dead, I am. My wife wants me to return to Austria, in case I need to press my rights if her brother dies. The King is very sickly."
"So you've said," murmured George. He put a hand on Ferdinand's head and stroked his ear, pulling at the lobe. "I will come with you."
That shocks him and he looks up. "What?"
"I will come with you," he repeated. "There's nothing for me in Italy."
"Then why did you come?"
"Why did you?" George retorted, arching an eyebrow. "Loyalty to the Emperor, I suppose. But I will be more useful in Germany."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well," George started. "If I go to Germany, your wife can find a bride for me and I can secure my rule in Württemberg." He smirked. "And I can stay near you."
"We will be in two different countries," murmured Ferdinand, desolate.
"Not if I swear fealty to you,” said George, smiling. “If I’m your subject, I can stay at your court in Vienna. Maybe be your advisor, your lover…"
"The people of Württemberg will never accept this," answered Ferdinand. He was sure of it. The Germans were proud and distrustful. They would never accept a ruler whom they thought sold their land to the people.
"If I tell them it was a condition for you to hand the duchy over to me, then they will," said George, certain. "They have to."
Ferdinand wanted to deny, to fight the proposition because it would not work, it couldn't, but George kissed him and he could do nothing but nod.
Ooh Ferdiand and George are taking things to a new level. It's too bad about Ferdinand's nephew, but I'm sure this will affect things substantially going forward. Great chapter!
Maybe from this could happen something of good for South Germany and Austria in particular.
29th of May, 1524.
Richmond Palace, England. 29th of May, 1524.
“Who does Francis think he is?” King Henry of England exclaimed loudly at the council meeting, looking around at the men who obey him, who will follow him anywhere. “Does he think we are his subjects, to be lorded around as he pleases? That he can just hold my daughter’s betrothal over our heads and gain everything he wants in return?”
The motive of his rage was clear. Henry had just left a meeting with the French Ambassador, where the man was clear that England was required to enter the war against the Emperor and Milan or else the Dauphin would never marry the Princess Mary. It was an offence, an insult and he would not let that go mildly.
His councillors looked at him with similar expressions on their faces: rage, disbelief, frustration. All but one seemed ready to go to war for this insult, all but one looked ready to root the Valois out of their keeps and take back the lands lost by his predecessors. Cardinal Wolsey, perhaps owed by his collar, had his hands raised, murmuring words of patience and forgiveness to those sitting near him. It made Henry’s blood boil.
“Will we keep ourselves away from the war?” he asked, looking to those sitting before him. They shouted out their denials, raising hands and calling for the heads of the French. “No, I don’t think so. It is time, my lords, for us to finish what Henry V started, to take back our lands in the continent once and for all.” The privy council went silent, looking at him. “It’s time for war!”
They planned for the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon, talking about armies and ships, supply lines and much else. Henry’s head ached when he left the chamber and he flagged down a page to bring him a cup of wine. “Send a rider to Eltham Palace to warn them I will be coming soon to visit my children.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the boy, hurrying off quickly to do his bidding. Another page filled his cup with wine and Henry drank it in one long gulp, setting it aside as the door opened and Cardinal Wolsey entered with a flourish.
“Sire, may I have a word?” he asked, already sitting down. Henry felt his lips twitch at the sight of it, but said nothing, only nodding. The pageboy offered wine for Wolsey but he refused with a shake of his hand, murmuring something about needing a clear head. Henry dismissed his servants and looked at the Cardinal, who once had been his own tutor. He thought of what he had learned from him, of all that Wolsey taught him. He thought and thought.
“Well,” said Henry. “What is it? Is there something bothering you, Cardinal?”
“I’m afraid there is, Your Majesty,” said Wolsey. “I wonder if war with France really is the best idea? After all, while I understand the insult felt by you from the King, it truly is worth considering the price to pay here.”
Henry seethed. “And what is the price to pay, Wolsey?”
The Cardinal showed his hands, as if the matter was completely obvious to him. “Well, Princess Mary’s betrothal, of course. His Majesty swore to be Francis’ ally against the Emperor, after the humiliation of his marrying one of your own courtiers instead of your precious daughter. While his words were rash and rude, one can understand his wish to see English soldiers marching onto Italy.”
“Is that so?” asked Henry. “And what would I gain from this? Milan? Perhaps the Low Countries, in return for my loyalty to Francis?”
Wolsey flushed. They both knew Francis would never give an inch of land to any king willingly, at least not the extremely wealthy lands of Milan or the Low Countries. “Sire, your daughter would be married to little François, who will one day rule over all of these territories. Your grandson...”
Henry hummed. “And what of my son, Cardinal? Is he to rule just one island, not even the whole of it, and maybe some part of Ireland? And Calais, the remnants of the Plantagenet dream, is that to be my son’s sole possession on the continent?” He stood up and Wolsey did as well. “I shall speak to you later, Cardinal.”
“But, Your Majesty, I-I,” he stuttered.
“I said I shall speak to you later, Cardinal.” Henry left the room and led himself down the corridors of Richmond Palace, ignoring the courtiers who stooped low on his path.
The guards at her door did not hesitate to let him enter and he found Isabella sitting on a divan at her antechamber, reading a book as her ladies-in-waiting sat around her. One was playing the virginals, and though Henry knew she came from Portugal, he couldn’t remember her name. Another lady was sewing something, perhaps a dress or a new hat, while the others organized handkerchiefs into two piles.
“Your Majesty,” said Maud Parr, dipping into a curtsy. His wife had insisted on having her serve her and she was seated next to the Queen, dressed in a pretty green gown. “May I offer you refreshments?”
“No, thank you,” he said. Isabella rose from her sitting position and smiled at him, coming to kiss him. When they stepped away, Henry nodded at her ladies-in-waiting. “Please, leave me alone with my wife.” They nodded and left, setting their things aside so they could return to their duties once Henry left.
When they were alone, Henry allowed himself to place a hand on Isabella’s enlarged stomach. The baby inside kicked him eagerly and a bemused smile crossed his face, feeling the strong movements of his son. His son. His Duke of York. For so long, Henry had no son to follow him on the throne and now, he would soon have his royal dukes. Just the thought of it threatened to burst his heart in happiness.
Isabella laid her hand atop his and smiled, her golden eyelashes touching her cheeks as she blinked. “He is eager,” she said. “I can barely sleep when he moves at night.”
He looked at her. Her face was flushed with life, but he couldn’t help and not notice the dark circles under her eyes and the pale flutter of her pulse point. It made him think of Catherine and the pain he went through when she died. “Are you ill?” he asked. “Should I call the physician?”
“No, not at all,” said Isabella. “Please, Henry, don’t worry about me.” Her eyes searched his face and her smile softened down into a thin line. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” he said. “But I am leaving soon enough to go to Eltham Palace and see the children. I would like for you to come with me.”
Isabella shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I would love to,” she said. “But our Duke of York is as strong a soldier as his father. I’m afraid I couldn’t make the trip at this late stage.”
“Of course,” he murmured. Then, Henry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Please rest, my love. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you as well.” She nodded and rose up on her toes to press her lips against his in a short kiss, her fingers touching his chin.
When they stepped back, Isabella moved. “I have a gift for Mary,” she said and took a small chest from her table, offering it to him. “It arrived today and I would be greatly pleased if you brought it to her.”
Henry nodded and took the gift into his hand. “Of course,” he said. Then, because he thought he had to, he added, “I’m very glad to see you two getting along. My two beautiful girls must love each other.”
“Mary is just a child,” Isabella answered, “Who lost her mother. I knew she would come around with a little coaxing on my part, but don’t worry, my love. I don’t intend on giving up at just being her cousin, for I intend to have Mary love me just as she loved the deceased Queen.”
Henry nodded. “You are so much like your aunt,” he whispered. Isabella’s smile faltered and he saw as her eyes lost some of their shine, but she said nothing. His wife merely tapped his shoulder lightly and rose up to kiss him, but her lips were cold.
facepalm Henry, rule number one in marrying multiple women. Never every brings up any of your other wives, dead or not, in front of another wife. Well, maybe except the wife has that kind of kink, but yeah...