The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
He may have only had two "Official" mistresses. But he also had a very roving eye. However, he also had a much more pleasant personality than Henry VIII; a much more easy going nature.
The differences between the personalities of the two kings, and their upbringing, is rather telling...
Henry VII was very cold, very distant, as a father. I think Henry VIII's insecurity, his self-centerdness, and his capacity to "Act Out", directly correlate to his relationship with his father, and his awareness that he was only the second son, and perhaps shouldn't have been King in the first place.
Francis I of France, on the other hand, had a very different upbringing. His father, Charles, Count of Angouleme, died young. Francis was only two at the time, so he would have no personal memories of his father. Instead, he was raised by his mother, Louise of Savoy, and she spoiled him rotten, along with Marguerite, Francis' older sister.So, Francis grew up surrounded by women, all of whom adored him; and that, too, would have exerted an influence on his personality...
Absolutely. I was just pointing who some of his successors also were know for the large number of their mistresses...
Louise of Savoy made sure he did not get to marry his ugly ex-fiance Anne of Navarre.
XXXIV: July 1520
“It is His Majesty’s pleasure, on this, the third day of July in the eleventh year of his reign, Anno Domini 1520, to create thee, Sir Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Ormonde and Viscount Rochford,” the herald announced. A respectful hush filled the small chamber in Woodstock Palace where the ceremony was taking place. Thomas Boleyn remained kneeling, his head dutifully bowed but anyone standing between him and the head of the room would have seen the small, satisfied smile flit on to his face at the herald’s words. The Ormonde title, his birthright, was his at last. Perhaps it was just as well that nothing had come of Mary’s – or Marie’s, as the silly chit insisted on calling herself now – suggested betrothal to Piers’s boy. Her dowry would have been wasted, whereas now he could use it to secure a more glittering match for her. A Talbot, perhaps, or a Neville.
With these thoughts in his mind, it was no wonder Thomas Boleyn was smiling one of his very rare smiles. Henry saw his smile, but said nothing. To see his Marie’s relations smile made him smile, so he merely returned the new Earl’s smile with a blazing one of his own as he came down off his throne.
“Arise, Lord Ormonde,” he beamed, taking the older man by the hands and helping him up before draping the robes of state about his slender frame and the Earl’s coronet on his head. turning, he took the beribboned scroll into his own hands and caressed it briefly before handing it over.
“The patent of your nobility, Lord Ormonde,” he said, a generous note creeping into his voice.
“Majesty,” Thomas bowed slightly, then stepped back as Mark Blount appeared at the other end of the room, a three-month-old infant wriggling in his arms. He came forward, then knelt on the cushion before the dais, careful not to lose his grip on the babe as he sank to his knees.
The herald stepped forward, unrolled another beribboned scroll and began all over again, “It is His Majesty’s pleasure, on this, the third day of July in the eleventh year of his reign, Anno Domini 1520, to create thee, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset and Earl of Nottingham.”
Henry motioned to Mark to rise, took the child out of his arms, kissed the tiny cheek tenderly, then wrapped his son in a specially cut down ducal mantle, before touching a minute ducal coronet to the lad’s downy reddish-blonde hair.
The baby whimpered at the unexpected weight, a whimper that turned into full-blown crying as Henry, cupping his son’s hand with his own to help him hold the patent of his nobility and the sword of his new office, swung the baby round to face the crowd and they all burst into sycophantic applause as their King declared, “My Lords and Ladies, His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Somerset!”
Bessie Tailboys nee Blount, the new Baroness Tailboys, clapped along with the others, though her heart was torn open at the sound of her son’s distressed cries.
She might not have fed him from her own breast, but she still loved him. He was still her son; her little baby boy and she longed to catch him up in her arms and soothe and protect him. Soothe his current fears; protect him from his future responsibilities, responsibilities far too heavy for a child so young.
Tears welled in her eyes and she was grateful when her neighbour surreptitiously passed her a handkerchief, “Is everything all right, Lady Tailboys?”
“He just seems so young for such a great responsibility. And I’m afraid he’ll be taken from me, given his own household and forget his Mama, “Bessie sniffed, “A woman’s foolishness, I know.” As she spoke, she tried to collect herself and paste a smile on to her face for the benefit of those watching. This was Hal’s day, she reminded herself. Hal’s. She had to be happy for him, whatever her own feelings. Yet, when her neighbour placed a reassuring arm about her shoulders, she couldn’t help but lean into it.
“It’s not mere foolishness, Lady Tailboys. I assure you, it’s not. His Grace is extremely young for such elevated titles. But don’t worry. He shan’t be taken away from you. Not yet, at any rate. I’ll ensure that he isn’t.”
Bessie might have thought to ask how her neighbour could promise such a thing so confidently, had she not been so relieved by the pronouncement. Her heart leapt at her companion’s words and all she could do was whisper “Oh, bless you! Bless you!” in a tone that fairly rang with gratitude.
She would have turned her head to see who it was, but, at that precise moment, her companion withdrew their arm from her shoulders and melted away into the crowd. All Bessie had a chance to glimpse was a swirl of pale rose taffeta and a flash of golden hair before her comforter was gone, leaving Bessie with nothing to do but wonder who she had been speaking to.
Bessie froze at the call. She knew that voice only too well. What was the Dowager Queen of France doing in this passageway, at this time, when the rest of Court was still celebrating the new nobles, Bessie’s son among them? Oughtn’t she to be in the Great Hall?
Bessie didn’t think she wanted to know, especially not now, when her emotions were in too much turmoil for her to sort out. When, despite her pride for her son, all she wanted to do was slip away, slip away and hide at Gilbert’s country estates, where she wouldn’t have to watch another girl dance and ride at Henry’s side the way she used to do.
On the other hand, it had never been in her nature to allow others to see her fear, so she drew herself up and turned to face the King’s younger sister.
“Actually, my Lady, I think you’ll find it’s Lady Tailboys now,” she said coolly, dipping down into a slight curtsy.
For a moment, she had the satisfaction of seeing shock ripple across the older woman’s beautiful face, before Her Grace sniffed.
“Only because my brother is too noble for his own good.”
The two women glared at each other for another moment. Suddenly, Mary raised her hand.
Bessie had no warning, no chance to get out of the way. The blow struck her cheek with enough force to send her reeling, staggering backwards several paces as a scarlet hand-print bloomed across her pale skin.
“I’ve wanted to do that for over a year.”
Bessie heard the words, heard the venom in the older woman’s voice, but they made no sense to her. She stared up at Mary, her hand instinctively cupping the stinging ache. Her eyes were wide.
Mary almost laughed at the younger woman’s naivete.
“Do you truly think you didn’t deserve that, Mistress Blount? Hmm? When you had my brother doting on your every move, when you were so arrogant as to dare to make me, a Princess of the Blood, bend the knee before you? Oh, I know my brother went along with it, but you forgot one thing in your handling of my brother. He blows hot, he blows cold. He might well do anything for one of his hussies in the heat of his desire, but once his ardour cools? Well, that’s another story. I, on the other hand, am his sister. I know him better than any of you will ever do. I have more influence over him than any other woman in England, and I will always have that influence over him, because I share his blood. And blood, unlike lust, never dampens, never dies.”
Mary let her words hang in the air. The only sounds were Bessie’s muffled whimpers of pain as she clutched her cheek.
“Get out of my sight. Run and hide in the country, where a mouse like you belongs. Run and hide in the country and never let me see you back at Court again.”
Bessie didn’t need telling twice. She scurried away before Mary’s fury could come crashing down on her with any more force than it already had.
With these thoughts in his mind, it was no wonder Thomas Boleyn was smiling one of his very rare smiles. Henry saw his smile, but said nothing. To see his Marie’s relations smile made him smile, so he merely returned the new Earl’s smile with a blazing one of his own as he came down off his throne.
“Arise, Lord Ormonde,” he beamed, taking the older man by the hands and helping him up before draping the robes of state about his slender frame and the Earl’s coronet on his head. turning, he took the beribboned scroll into his own hands and caressed it briefly before handing it over.
“The patent of your nobility, Lord Ormonde,” he said, a generous note creeping into his voice.
“Majesty,” Thomas bowed slightly, then stepped back as Mark Blount appeared at the other end of the room, a three-month-old infant wriggling in his arms. He came forward, then knelt on the cushion before the dais, careful not to lose his grip on the babe as he sank to his knees.
The herald stepped forward, unrolled another beribboned scroll and began all over again, “It is His Majesty’s pleasure, on this, the third day of July in the eleventh year of his reign, Anno Domini 1520, to create thee, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset and Earl of Nottingham.”
Henry motioned to Mark to rise, took the child out of his arms, kissed the tiny cheek tenderly, then wrapped his son in a specially cut down ducal mantle, before touching a minute ducal coronet to the lad’s downy reddish-blonde hair.
The baby whimpered at the unexpected weight, a whimper that turned into full-blown crying as Henry, cupping his son’s hand with his own to help him hold the patent of his nobility and the sword of his new office, swung the baby round to face the crowd and they all burst into sycophantic applause as their King declared, “My Lords and Ladies, His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Somerset!”
Bessie Tailboys nee Blount, the new Baroness Tailboys, clapped along with the others, though her heart was torn open at the sound of her son’s distressed cries.
She might not have fed him from her own breast, but she still loved him. He was still her son; her little baby boy and she longed to catch him up in her arms and soothe and protect him. Soothe his current fears; protect him from his future responsibilities, responsibilities far too heavy for a child so young.
Tears welled in her eyes and she was grateful when her neighbour surreptitiously passed her a handkerchief, “Is everything all right, Lady Tailboys?”
“He just seems so young for such a great responsibility. And I’m afraid he’ll be taken from me, given his own household and forget his Mama, “Bessie sniffed, “A woman’s foolishness, I know.” As she spoke, she tried to collect herself and paste a smile on to her face for the benefit of those watching. This was Hal’s day, she reminded herself. Hal’s. She had to be happy for him, whatever her own feelings. Yet, when her neighbour placed a reassuring arm about her shoulders, she couldn’t help but lean into it.
“It’s not mere foolishness, Lady Tailboys. I assure you, it’s not. His Grace is extremely young for such elevated titles. But don’t worry. He shan’t be taken away from you. Not yet, at any rate. I’ll ensure that he isn’t.”
Bessie might have thought to ask how her neighbour could promise such a thing so confidently, had she not been so relieved by the pronouncement. Her heart leapt at her companion’s words and all she could do was whisper “Oh, bless you! Bless you!” in a tone that fairly rang with gratitude.
She would have turned her head to see who it was, but, at that precise moment, her companion withdrew their arm from her shoulders and melted away into the crowd. All Bessie had a chance to glimpse was a swirl of pale rose taffeta and a flash of golden hair before her comforter was gone, leaving Bessie with nothing to do but wonder who she had been speaking to.
*** *** ***
“Mistress Blount?”Bessie froze at the call. She knew that voice only too well. What was the Dowager Queen of France doing in this passageway, at this time, when the rest of Court was still celebrating the new nobles, Bessie’s son among them? Oughtn’t she to be in the Great Hall?
Bessie didn’t think she wanted to know, especially not now, when her emotions were in too much turmoil for her to sort out. When, despite her pride for her son, all she wanted to do was slip away, slip away and hide at Gilbert’s country estates, where she wouldn’t have to watch another girl dance and ride at Henry’s side the way she used to do.
On the other hand, it had never been in her nature to allow others to see her fear, so she drew herself up and turned to face the King’s younger sister.
“Actually, my Lady, I think you’ll find it’s Lady Tailboys now,” she said coolly, dipping down into a slight curtsy.
For a moment, she had the satisfaction of seeing shock ripple across the older woman’s beautiful face, before Her Grace sniffed.
“Only because my brother is too noble for his own good.”
The two women glared at each other for another moment. Suddenly, Mary raised her hand.
Bessie had no warning, no chance to get out of the way. The blow struck her cheek with enough force to send her reeling, staggering backwards several paces as a scarlet hand-print bloomed across her pale skin.
“I’ve wanted to do that for over a year.”
Bessie heard the words, heard the venom in the older woman’s voice, but they made no sense to her. She stared up at Mary, her hand instinctively cupping the stinging ache. Her eyes were wide.
Mary almost laughed at the younger woman’s naivete.
“Do you truly think you didn’t deserve that, Mistress Blount? Hmm? When you had my brother doting on your every move, when you were so arrogant as to dare to make me, a Princess of the Blood, bend the knee before you? Oh, I know my brother went along with it, but you forgot one thing in your handling of my brother. He blows hot, he blows cold. He might well do anything for one of his hussies in the heat of his desire, but once his ardour cools? Well, that’s another story. I, on the other hand, am his sister. I know him better than any of you will ever do. I have more influence over him than any other woman in England, and I will always have that influence over him, because I share his blood. And blood, unlike lust, never dampens, never dies.”
Mary let her words hang in the air. The only sounds were Bessie’s muffled whimpers of pain as she clutched her cheek.
“Get out of my sight. Run and hide in the country, where a mouse like you belongs. Run and hide in the country and never let me see you back at Court again.”
Bessie didn’t need telling twice. She scurried away before Mary’s fury could come crashing down on her with any more force than it already had.
So utterly satisfying to read
Thought you might like that bit. You knew it was coming, of course....
Am I the only one wondering who the lady in taffeta is?
Still, while Mary's attitude to Bessie is perfectly understandable, I do wonder if she isn't being a touch arrogant in her boast about havig more influence than any other woman in England
Still, while Mary's attitude to Bessie is perfectly understandable, I do wonder if she isn't being a touch arrogant in her boast about havig more influence than any other woman in England
At the moment, I don't think she is. With Katherine dead and Henry without a Queen, and little Princess Mary so young, which other woman is Henry truly going to turn to, at least in the long-term? Mary has always been his favourite sister, after all.
As for the lady in taffeta, well, who do you think feels secure enough in Henry's affections to make a claim like that, at least at this point in the story?
I suspected it might be Mary Boleyn, however, several thnigs made me second-guess that:
a) Lady Tailboys is likely to be at least familiar with the newly minted Lady Mary Boleyn. After all, weren't they both in the Dowager Queen of France's household?
b) OTL when Jane Seymour attempted to bring Mary and Elizabeth back into Henry's good offices, he told her "madam, you would do better to look to secure preferment for our own children/any children we should have". Ergo, Mary's mouth is perhaps writing a check her ass can't cash. Plus, I can hardly see Lord Boleyn (why did you create him earl of Ormonde here, when OTL he was named earl of Wiltshire? Author's fiat, or is this a prelude to something further down the line?) or Mary's uncle, Norfolk (who ironically is also Henry's uncle), wanting preferment of a bastard if that girl is to be queen?
In OTL Thomas Boleyn received both the Earldom of Ormonde (who was held by his maternal grandfather and who he was claiming against an Irish cousin) and the Earldom of Wiltshire
About your b) Jane Seymour at that point was trying to persuade Henry to make Mary legitimate again and naming her as heiress presuntive and not trying to get Mary and Elizabeth back in their father’s good office (plus Jane at the beginning never talked in favour of Elizabeth and started to work for Elizabeth only after Mary was already back in favour, likely under Mary’s request)
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Exactly. Giving Thomas Boleyn the Earldom of Ormonde made sense, since he had a claim to it, and also frees both Boleyn girls up for other matches...
No worries - it's easily done, forgetting the odd title. But yes, I chose Ormonde over Wiltshire deliberately. It gave me a new angle to play with in the story which will become apparent in a few years (story time)...
Glad to hear you enjoyed it. I love writing Mary Brandon, she's such a powerhouse of a woman.