I can't imagine Henri without Diane de Poitiers in his life, tbh. Indeed, he's naming one of his daughters after her ITTL - though he does at least manage to consummate his marriage somewhat earlier than OTL.
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
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Most likely, yes, at least once he turned 18, but, as said above, with a bit more conciliar control on his power than Richard III...
Yeah, gross though it may be it's no different than OTL Henry VIII and Catherine Howard... It'll probably help that both bride and groom don't have reproductive deformities... I'd imagine that a Mary Tudor that actually marries at a young age would manage to have at least four children, given that her mother and both grandmothers were pregnant quite a few times...
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Well, I have all of Henry's sons- and daughters-in-law and grandchildren planned out already, but I am saying nothing more than I have already said just yet. Spoilers and all that...
Not guaranteed as while she can have some pregnancies, she can also have the same pattern of miscarriages and stillbirths of her mother, and most important kids born alive can die in the first months or not becoming adults...
Section CLXII - March 1525
Woking Palace, March 1525
Henry let out a whoop of glee when he heard of Francis’s imprisonment.
“Sire!” The other men around the council table couldn’t hide their disapproval at his gloating conduct, but he waved them off.
“Don’t you see? The cockerel will never be able to resist my naming Lord Richard Duke of York and Normandy from an Imperial prison. We must take full advantage of this and present Francis with a fait accompli when he manages to get himself released. Send for the children at once!”
Then he positively bounded out of the Star Chamber, shouting for Marie, before anyone could say anything against his plans.
*** *** ***
The heralds banged their staves upon the flagstones, hushing the crowd instantly.“Their Highnesses the Lord Richard and the Princess Mary!”
Maria and Dickon, as little Richard had come to be known, advanced down the hall, Maria carefully husbanding her steps to match the faltering ones of her eleven-month-old brother, who clung to her hand to keep himself upright, melting every noblewoman’s heart in the process.
Henry, beaming with pride, mouthed a thank-you to his eldest daughter as they reached him and then gestured to them to kneel on the velvet cushions before the dais.
Maria sank down gracefully, her skirts of green damask rustling as they slid into place behind her. She tugged on Dickon’s hand.
“Do as Papa says, Dickon,” she ordered grandly, all too evidently relishing in being able to play the older sister at an occasion as important as this one.
There were stifled laughs at her conduct, and even Henry had to fight a smile, as, realising Dickon wasn’t in the mood to kneel just then, he gave up, lifted a hand to still Maria’s protests, and came down to crouch beside his second son.
Recognising the cue, the Garter King of Arms unrolled the scroll he was holding and announced for all the world to hear, “Lord Richard, it is His Majesty’s very great sovereign pleasure, on this, the 29th day of March in the sixteenth year of his reign, anno domini 1525, to create thee the Duke of York and Normandy.”
Applause broke out as Henry, having placed the ducal coronet on his son’s golden head, pinned a specially cut-down version of the robes of state around the boy’s shoulders and lifted him up, proclaiming, “Arise, My Lord of York and Normandy!”
“Papa!” Dickon crowed gleefully, catching at his father’s sleeves and pulling at the bright fabric. He squirmed in his father’s arms, reaching for Henry’s beard, obviously eager to play.
Hearing the laughter around them, Henry indulged the boy for a few moments, before handing him over to Charles, who stood nearby
“Hold His Grace for a few minutes, would you, Charles? I have a duty to perform for his sister.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Charles bowed, settling the wriggling Dickon in his arms as Henry, heedless of the potential slight to his friend’s dignity, turned back to Maria and nodded to the King of Arms.
“Princess Mary, it is His Majesty’s very great sovereign pleasure, on this, the 29th day of March in the sixteenth year of his reign, anno domini 1525, to create thee the Marchioness of Clarence.”
Reaching down, Henry took the Countess’s coronet off Maria’s head, and replaced it with a marquisate one, before doing the same with her ermine-trimmed robes.
“Arise, My Lady Clarence!” He announced, before handing her the scroll proclaiming her new rank and bestowing upon her the kiss of peace.
Unlike her brother, Maria stood perfectly still throughout, even dipping him a half-curtsy in thanks, before slipping her hand through his arm when he offered it to her.
Then he took Dickon back from Charles, and the three of them processed out of the hall, preceded by proud trumpeters blowing for all they were worth, proclaiming to all who could hear that Maria and her brothers and sisters were the living embodiment of England’s future.
Good for the Tudor dynasty in general, I think
Lionel and Dickon have the Succession secured, and Maria, Caitlin and Jackie can secure a raft of alliances between them.
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A perfect picture of Family Unity. Henry must be loving every minute of it.
He really was the sappiest of sappy sentimentalists...
All the Irish Clarence estates, so the old De Clare lands in Leinster and Ulster, ideally, but it may be more of a nominal ladyship, given Maria's age and what have you!
Oh, I think the Tudor siblings are more like Henry IV and his sons than Henry II and his, don't worry. Lionel and Maria grow up quite close, as do Dickon and Caitlin, while Jackie is the baby of the family - her mother and oldest sister are both quite protective of her.
Section CLXIII - May 1525
Sizergh, May 1525
Harry paused outside Anne’s lying-in chambers, leaning against the doorjamb to watch her with the children. Two weeks after the birth of their second daughter, Philippa, or Pippa, as little Kitty had christened her, finding the longer version difficult to say, Anne had regained much of her energy, and seemed to thrive on having the children bounce around her.
It was the hour of Maggie’s morning nap, but even as Harry watched, Anne laid a gurgling Pippa in the cradle at her side and let Kitty clamber on to the bed to nestle against her. She slipped her arm around the little girl, patting her boisterous blonde curls affectionately, before beckoning to Charles.
“Right, young sir. Time for your French lesson. Bring me Lefèvre’s book and read some to me. We’ll see how you’re getting on.”
“Yes, Cousin Anne,” Charles said obediently, before crossing to, to Harry’s astonishment, Anne’s clothes press, and retrieving a small leather-bound book.
“Where had we got to? Acts, wasn’t it?” Anne asked softly, so softly Harry had to strain to hear her.
Charles nodded quickly, opened the book and began to read in halting French.
“When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability…”
“Is that Lefèvre’s New Testament?!” Harry sprang forward into the room before he even realised he was doing it. He snatched the book out of Charles’s hand and spun to face his wife, who, though she flushed, met his eye steadily.
“Is there a better book to teach Charles French out of than the Scriptures?”
Temper rose in Harry at Anne’s words and he had to fight to control it as he looked back at Charles, who stared up at him wide-eyed,
“Take Kitty and Pippa and go and find your nurses, please, Charles.”
“Yes, cousin Henry,” Charles muttered, quickly picking up Pippa, who was suddenly grizzling, as though she could sense the tension blooming between her parents, and shepherding his sister out of the room. Harry shut the door behind him and then stalked back to the bed, staring down at Anne for several long seconds.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?!”
“Why do you say that?” Anne blinked up at him and reached out imploringly, “Harry, you know Madame Marguerite gave that book to me…”
“Yes, and you know the King sees that tome as heretical!” Harry cut her off, almost flinging himself back out of her reach. As much as he hated to upset her when she was still lying-in, he knew he had to impress upon her how dangerous what she was doing was, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if they were close enough for her to be physically affectionate with him. God help him, but he could never be harsh with her when she was being physically affectionate, “You heard him ranting about the spread of Luther’s ideas only the last time we were at Court. If he knew you had that book…”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Lord Hastings protects the religious exiles who flee to Normandy. You think the King doesn’t know about that? He doesn’t seem to be doing anything about that, so why would he mind my reading Lefèvre’s…”
“Protecting the religious exiles who flee Francis’s Court is one thing. It’s about proving his power on the Continent as much as anything. But to know that the heresy – because, yes, Anne, that is what he sees it as, has spread to his own Court, his own inner circle? That would be a whole other kettle of fish and you know it. Christ, Anne, it’s scarcely a year and a half since we were allowed home, and you want to risk that favour already by brazenly showing a forbidden book to a child barely seven years old? In front of his four-year-old sister, no less? If either of them accidentally told the wrong person… I’m not even sure Marie could protect you, if I’m honest!”
“And why should it be forbidden?” Anne flashed back, “Why shouldn’t I show it to Charles? Am I not teaching him the Word of God alongside his French, if I use this book for his lessons? We both read the Scriptures in Greek and Latin. Why should reading them in French be any different? Does it not improve our understanding of the Word of God, deepen our relationship with Christ, if we can read the Bible for ourselves, in our own tongues?”
“Debate the theology all you like, Anne, but that is the law as it stands and I am trying to protect you! From our own tenants as much as anything. Do you realise how conservative the people of Lancashire are? And those of Northumberland? God, my own grandfather was killed by a rioting mob because he betrayed the House of York at Bosworth. Four years after the fact! That’s how long their memories are! Do you really think they’d take kindly to realising that their future Countess has heretical sympathies?”
Harry exhaled exasperatedly, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“If it were up to me, we’d burn that book here and now, but God forgive me, I can’t do that to you. Not when I know how much Madame Marguerite means to you and how much you treasure every gift she has ever given you. But showing it to the children stops now. Read it yourself if you must, but never show it to any of the children again, am I clear?”
Anne’s eyes filled with tears at the harshness in Harry’s voice. He’d never raised his voice to her. Not once. Not in over three years of marriage.
“Harry, please…”
“No, Anne. Not this time. If I ever catch you showing that book to anyone again, it is going on the fire. I mean it. What you choose to do is a matter for your own conscience, I know I have no control over the way you think, or what you believe, but don’t, for the love of God, get anyone else embroiled in all this.”
Trembling with fury, Harry stormed to the door and wrenched it open. He was gone before Anne could say another word.
All the same, it wasn’t until much later that evening that she realised just how irate he truly was. For the first time, he didn’t stop in her room on the way up to bed to wish her goodnight.
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Wow!
Not sure what I am more impressed by, A) the introduction of Protestant-ish-ism as a theme for possible future conflict in the story; or B) Harry Percy growing a pair to stand up to Anne. (Poor, doomed Harry Percy never comes across well in any Anne Boleyn story I've ever read; fiction or non-fiction)
Not sure what I am more impressed by, A) the introduction of Protestant-ish-ism as a theme for possible future conflict in the story; or B) Harry Percy growing a pair to stand up to Anne. (Poor, doomed Harry Percy never comes across well in any Anne Boleyn story I've ever read; fiction or non-fiction)