An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

12th of June, 1523.
Eltham Palace, England. 12th of June, 1523.

As she walked through the corridors of Eltham Palace, Lady Margaret Bryan did not envy Lady Salisbury, Princess Mary’s governess. She could hear the angry screams of the king’s eldest child as her attendants attempted to convince her to get dressed and eat her supper. Poor Mary had been severely affected by her mother’s death, being just a young girl of seven, even more so because of the rumours that had found their way to her household of the king taking a new wife.

She often fled from her servants and fought against her tutors. More than once, had Lady Bryan found her in her siblings’ shared nursery when she was not supposed to be there, hiding from Lady Salisbury. It was upsetting to watch her as she suffered from the absence of the Queen, hard to not pity the poor child, so young and already so alone. What she needed was not a governess or new teachers. She needed a mother, desperately, achingly. And only the king could give that to her.

In comparison with his older sister, Prince John was an easy and happy baby. Four months old and he was already winning hearts amongst his attendants with his sweet smiles and his attentive gaze. His wet nurse, Pippa, described him as active when he nursed and in fact, his blue eyes were always searching for something whenever he was held.

He adored toys and was eager for anything that he could hold, something he had learned to do in the past month. Lady Bryan had to stop wearing necklaces around him for His Highness would certainly put them in their mouth if she ever came close to him. He was very fond of laying on his tummy and giggled incessantly whenever someone tried to talk to him. In fact, Margaret doubted she had ever heard him cry for any reason other than hunger and sleepiness since his birth.

It was so relieving to have a healthy heir to the throne after the long years of insecurity in the succession. The prince was hale, hearty and quite heavy, much like his father. The last time Dr Linacre attended to the prince, he announced that His Highness had reached thirty inches in length and one and a half stone. He was sure to become another Bluff King, though he would not be Hal, as his name was not Henry.

The only source of worry in the royal twins’ nursery, of course, remained Princess Katherine. Much unlike her brother or sister, the little one did not thrive as she was supposed to. Her nurse had to feed her twice as much as Prince John and she never seemed to be sated.

These days, she did little more than sleep or eat, never gurgling or babbling like her twin. The doctor had asked them to feed her spoonfuls of mulled wine and honey to strengthen her, but it didn’t seem to work and she remained as frail as she had been at birth, half the size of her brother. Margaret had paid for the nuns at a nearby convent to pray daily for her health out of her own pocket, fearful of what might happen to her if she let the king’s child die in her care.

His Majesty did not visit much as one might expect, thought Lady Bryan did not ever ask or complain about that. The twins and Mary were still young, unlikely to catch his attention for more than a moment or two. Besides, the Queen’s death was still fresh in the minds of everyone and it was a known fact of how much the King suffered after losing his beloved wife, much like his own father had suffered when Queen Elizabeth passed after giving birth to another Princess Katherine. Surely, the similarities between the two moments had crossed his mind.

But the King came when he could, that much was sure. Eltham was not far from the court in Richmond and the King was a loving father, devoted and gentle to his children. It was clear that he paid a good deal of attention to John, who was his only son and heir, but the princesses were not neglected. Mary, in particular, thrived under her father’s watch, accepting to be dressed and fed like a girl of her station should.

With Katherine, named after her mother, he hesitated to hold her, once mumbling out loud about not wanting to hurt her, but he loved her well. Cardinal Wolsey sent them money every week to pay for their expenses and the King took advantage of that send little trinkets and gifts for his son and daughters. Prince John had an array of wooden swords and toy soldiers, while Katherine’s little dolls were displayed near her cot from when she would be old enough to use them.

When Lady Bryan entered the twins’ shared nursery, she found John in the warms of his wet nurse, being fed, and Katherine whimpered on her cot as one of her rockers whispered to her. It seemed that everything was well, though Margaret was wary of trusting the attendants of the twins, as she had founded their wet nurses gossiping the previous day about the King’s new marriage.

If she had to be honest, Lady Bryan would say that while she was curious about the possibility of Isabella of Portugal becoming her queen, she would never let that come to be a nuisance in her duties to the prince and princess. If the King chose to remarry, it would be his choice and she would accept it gladly, but it could very well not be to the Infanta. It could be to someone else and how offended would this new queen feel when the nurses of her step-children gossiped about the King’s other choice?

Besides, gossip was not something one should do near princes. Especially John. It might give them the habit of doing as well and how could they have a King of England who behaved no better than fishers’ wives? No, Lady Bryan would not allow it. Her charge would be as grand a prince as his father, or else she would lose everything.
 
The only source of worry in the royal twins’ nursery, of course, remained Princess Katherine. Much unlike her brother or sister, the little one did not thrive as she was supposed to. Her nurse had to feed her twice as much as Prince John and she never seemed to be sated.

These days, she did little more than sleep or eat, never gurgling or babbling like her twin. The doctor had asked them to feed her spoonfuls of mulled wine and honey to strengthen her, but it didn’t seem to work and she remained as frail as she had been at birth, half the size of her brother. Margaret had paid for the nuns at a nearby convent to pray daily for her health out of her own pocket, fearful of what might happen to her if she let the king’s child die in her care.
Poor little Katherine. Here’s hoping that she gets better. Poor baby deserves to be as healthy as her twin brother.
 
Hopefully Katherine is okay. John seems to be quite the mischievous baby though, maybe he's his Father's son?
 
A lovely glimpse of the nursery there. John's going to be a handful once he can walk and talk, isn't he? And my heart goes out to Mary too. She's just so clearly hurting.

Am also hoping Katherine simply has a tongue tied or something and she'll pick herself up if they bottle feed her rather than breastfeeding her.
 
A lovely glimpse of the nursery there. John's going to be a handful once he can walk and talk, isn't he? And my heart goes out to Mary too. She's just so clearly hurting.

Am also hoping Katherine simply has a tongue tied or something and she'll pick herself up if they bottle feed her rather than breastfeeding her.
Do bottles even exist at this time?
 
30th of June, 1523.
Toledo, Castile. 30th of June, 1523.

As they walked through the lush gardens of the castle, Anne linked her arm with George’s, pulling him closer as her ladies kept themselves a step behind them. Her brother chuckled and leaned his head towards her, smiling. His hair had been brushed neatly under his dark brown hat, decorated with jewels and feathers as befitting the Empress’ brother and a Duke in his own right. His doublet was of the finest making, as were his pants and shoes. When he walked, he looked almost royal.

“We must find a wife for you, Your Grace,” said Anne, adding his treatment in the end as a special treat for him. She loved to say it, not believing that her little brother had been made a duke. A duke! This was the epitome of her ambitions and she’d been so happy when Charles told her of his plans, so proud for him, “There must be a Spanish lady who’d love to have a husband.”

George smiled and then glanced at her ladies, a step behind them. “I find it difficult to imagine a Spanish lady in my bed,” he said in English, probably so they wouldn’t understand him, “They are so haughty and pious. It would be like sleeping with a nun.”

Anne rolled her eyes and tried not to slap him as much as she wanted to. He could be so childish sometimes. “Well, you must marry someone,” she said, “Württemberg needs an heir, little brother. Even if it’s not with a Spanish woman as his mother.”

He shrugged. Things came easy with him, answers and plans were not needed at all. “I’m still just eighteen,” he said, “There is still time for me to find a wife and beget some sons. Besides, little Felipe could always inherit the duchy if it comes to blows. I’m sure Württemberg would not mind being in a personal union with the Empire.”

She swallowed her desire to demand her son’s proper title of Archduke. Felipe was still so small and many would hesitate on seeing him inherit his father’s lands just because of her poor standing at the time of their marriage, which is why she insisted on seeing him treated as befitted her station. Anne knew her lack of royal blood was part of the reason why Charles named George a duke, so she would be sister to a ruler and of sufficient nobility to be his consort.

“This is not a game, George,” said Anne, “You are the Empress’ brother, you must stop with your childish ways. You must marry someone of good standing to win us allies.”

He huffed. “Very well,” murmured George, “Who do you suggest?”

Anne stopped walking and he did too, towering over her.

“Someone from Germany,” she said, “A woman with ties to the land. Just as my son must be seen as a Spaniard, yours must be a German.” Anne sighed. She didn’t know any German ladies who were available for marriage. Her fingers touched her lips as she mulled over the subject, trying to think of someone, anyone. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

“Good job, sister,” George laughed, “I will make sure my first daughter with Lady I of Don’t Know is named after you.”

Now she did slap him, hitting his arm with as much strength as she could. “At least, I’m trying, you fool!” By the Lord, he could be so irritating sometimes! “You are the ruler of a patch of land whose language you don’t even speak and you don’t seem to care. Do you know that some Spaniards saw the Emperor as a foreigner when he first came here and they revolted against him? He almost saw his brother crowned as King in his place! What do you think the nobles of Württemberg will do to you?”

“I’ll remind the Empress that my German is perfectly fine, thank you very much,” responded George, arching his brows in defiance.

Anne stepped back and crossed her arms. “Tell me how your day was in German.”

George said nothing and that was enough of an answer for her. Anne sighed and took hold of her skirts, turning around. She walked alone for a few seconds until she heard the sound of his feet hitting the ground as he ran behind her, quickly catching up with his longer legs.

“Fine, fine,” he said, “We can ask the Emperor for his opinion on the matter.”

“Don’t you think he has better things to do?” she asked, “He is an Emperor, George. He is not Father. He can’t just arrange you a marriage. You’re a Duke. You need to arrange it yourself.”

“Oh Holy Jesu,” said George, rolling his eyes, “And how can I marry a German lady if I’m here?”

Realization hit her like a slap. “You can’t,” said Anne, “You’ll have to go Württemberg.”

“What? I’m not leaving you.”

“Oh, but you must,” she murmured, putting a hand on his chest, “Don’t you see? George, Charles has told me he plans on moving his court to Aragon for the rest of the year. This move will be the perfect time for you to leave for your lands. He’ll have to accept it. When you arrive there, you must ask your advisors for marriage options. I’m sure the regent put in place by Archduke Ferdinand is still there. He’ll have some ideas.”

“But what about you?” said George, “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m married to the Emperor,” Anne responded, “I’m never alone.”
 
I’ll remind the Empress that my German is perfectly fine, thank you very much,” responded George, arching his brows in defiance.

Anne stepped back and crossed her arms. “Tell me how your day was in German.”
This is the best clapback from Anne and I love her for calling her brother’s bluff.
 
Laughing at the idea of George - Lutheran George - being saddled with a very Spanish, very catholic wife. But Anne is right, a German lady would be much better.
 
Top