The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
exactly. which is why im so glad madeleine has such an uncommon name for the period.
I was always the only Madeleine in my school classes, so it's nice to know somethings never changes. 😁
Oh, hello Madeleine!!!
Can't relate. My name is literally one of the most common in my country.
June 1464.
June 1464. Westminster Abbey, England.
The bells rang madly as she entered, her golden garments catching the light with each step. Madeleine was richly clad in a gown of thick pale golden velvet trimmed in ermine, overlaying a kirtle of deep blue silk embroidered with gold. Her hair was braided on either side of her head with delicate silver netting, held in place by a conical golden hennin trimmed with a similar fabric to her kirtle. A long sheer veil trailed down from its point, wrapped carefully around Madeleine’s wrist to keep it from falling to the floor.
Edward was similarly clad in gold and black, his shirt and doublet both of the finest make and his hose a pale gold not dissimilar to the velvet of Madeleine’s gown. On his head was a gilded crown trimmed in ermine, across his shoulders a cloak of scarlet velvet similarly underlaid and bordered in ermine. He stood at the altar, next to the Archbishop of Canterbury as she walked to him, her French ladies carrying her veil.
He offered her a hand when she climbed up the steps, and she took it, her fingers cold against his. He noted how clammy her palm was and how nervous she must have been, her fingers shaking a little. However, Madeleine had been trained to be a royal and she said nothing as they knelt in the golden pillows before the Archbishop, side by side. Her face was a white mask, pale against the gold, and for a second, she looked almost beautiful.
Thomas Bourchier smiled at Edward as he started the ceremony, inviting everyone in attendance to listen in and pray as he began the mass. Edward could feel his heart beating in his chest and the burning stare of his mother and siblings in his back. Duchess Cecily had been so happy when he told her of the upcoming wedding, feeling vindicated that, whereas Henry had only gotten the daughter of a Count, Edward married the daughter of a King. She would be full of glee at this moment.
As Thomas read the parts of the Bible selected for the marriage, Edward looked at Madeleine from the corner of his eye. She was staring intently at the Archbishop, listening in to his words carefully. Her piety was well known throughout the kingdom and in her neck hung a golden crucifix, rather simple, despite its material. Madeleine had a good profile, he could see, with her nose slightly turned up towards the end. He smiled and then looked back at Thomas.
The man was a loyal Yorkist even before his ascension. He had supported his father in his endeavours and, though he had a part in the chaotic and foolish Love Day, he crowned Edward in 1461, defying every norm of the kingdom. When Madeleine had their heir, he would crown her as well, and officially make her the Queen of England in more ways than one.
He noticed that Thomas was looking back at him, concentrated on the task at hand.
“Eduardus, vis accípere Magdalene, hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” asked the Archbishop, looking at Edward. He asked if the King accepted Madeleine as his legitimate wife according to the rites of the One True Church.
Edward looked at his wife. “Volo,” he said. He accepted.
Thomas turned to Madeleine, “Magdalene, vis accípere Eduardus, hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”
“Volo,” she answered.
Thomas took their hands and joined them together. Edward felt bold and he stroked her thumb with his own, just a simple touch, and Madeleine looked at him with alarm in her eyes.
“Ego conjúngo vos in matrimónium. In nómine Patris, et Fílii, X et Spíritus Sancti. Amen.” He joined them in Holy Matrimony, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.
“Amen,” Edward repeated as he looked at his wife.
She did not look back at him. Instead, she stared at their joined hands and her eyes filled with tears.
The celebrations following the ceremony were a blur in Edward’s mind. A grey cloud of drinking, eating and dancing when he was required to. He ate under the watch of his court, taking in his fill as his wife barely touched her meal by his side, not talking to anyone.
His cooks had been instructed to indulge their imaginations as well as promote the best of English produce, which was served on gilded plate reported to be worth as much as the income from a national tax. There would be three days of a tournament at the tiltyard at Westminster Palace to complete a week of wedding celebrations, where there would be a final exchange of valuable gifts of jewels, books and paintings to mark the transfer of Madeleine into England’s care.
His mother’s eyes bore into him for the duration of the proceedings, as if he were a child being made to eat some dreaded meal under her watch, and not a king celebrating his wedding. Madeleine was beside him through it all, conducting herself with grace and elegancy, as was expected of her. Edward wondered what thoughts could be going through her own mind as he drank. She never spoke to him or even flirted, and he found her to be cold, completely unwelcoming. He missed Elizabeth. If she had been his wife, she’d be whispering with him, smiling and kissing him, letting all of the guests know of their love for each other. He could have had the most beautiful woman by his wife, the love of his life. Instead, all he had was a grieving wife in love with another.
And it was all Warwick’s fault.
His court drank their fill, celebrating the royal marriage. He surveyed the crowd for his supporters, the Nevilles, and his brothers, who were shyly asking some older ladies to dance. Richard, who had one shoulder higher than the other, held the hand of their cousin-in-law, the Countess Warwick who whispered something to him that made him smile. He was only eleven and it was the first time he had been allowed to participate in such an event.
George, whom everyone called a poor version of him, had the Dowager Countess of Stafford on his arm and the poor widow barely cracked a grin as they danced. It was clear how unhappy she was and soon she returned to her table, where she stared at her untouched plate for far too long.
Edward looked at Margaret, blushing under the gaze of a knight bold enough to invite her to dance. She would soon have to be married, as the sister of the King, and only eighteen years old. He wondered whom. Charles the Bold was the obvious choice for him, but with his new alliance with France, it would be perhaps difficult to achieve. He’d have to ask Warwick for help in the matter, though the Earl would attempt to find a bridegroom in France. Maybe in Italy? The son of the King of Naples was still unmarried and it would not hurt to have an alliance near the Pope. Perhaps that was a good decision, though he still had to think more on the matter.
He was so distracted that he did not notice that the bedding ceremony was announced, until Madeleine stood up, her cheeks flushing furiously. He stood up as well and saw as she was taken away from him by her ladies-in-waiting, her back straight and her chin full of pride. She would not let herself be humiliated by this, he saw, and that endeared him to her.
Edward himself was led away by his grooms and companions, a few of them making some jokes on the way. They walked to his rooms, where they took off his clothes, leaving him only in a simple long white shirt made of cotton. He took a brush to his hair and washed his hands and face, trying to look better than he did. Madeleine would not want a dirty husband coming to her bed reeking of wine.
He arrived in Madeleine’s room in silence, his companions behind him making bawdy jokes he’d prefer to ignore. She was only in her shift, already under the covers, and he could hear the Bishop of London’s prayers and hymns, blessing the bed and their marriage, asking God to make it fruitful. Edward pulled the covers and laid beside her, their shoulders touching.
His mother smiled at him and adjusted the sheets around him, as she used to do when he was a child. He drank the spicy and sweet wine offered and tried not to look terrified. He had done this before, many times in fact. Why should this be any different?
The Bishop sprinkled holy water over them and half of the court watched as he led them in prayer again, asking for sons and daughters to bless this union. Edward made the cross and he saw, from the corner of his eyes, as Madeleine kissed her crucifix.
His mother and one of her ladies closed the curtains of the bed around them, leaving them in relative privacy. Edward heard the steps as people filtered out, and when the door closed behind them, he turned to Madeleine. It was dark in the room and her face was half-shrouded in darkness, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape.
He wondered why she was so afraid. She was a widow. Certainly, Gaston of Viana had done this to her at some point in their marriage. Edward touched her cheek as gently as he could, leaning forward to kiss her lips. He watched as she stiffened under his touch and then, very lowly, whispered in French, “Are they going to be here for the whole time?”
His eyes went to the wall on his left, where the forms of the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of London and Father Étienne, a priest sent by King Louis XI to counsel his sister, shifted awkwardly.
Edward turned back to his wife. “I’m afraid so,” he answered in French, “We can’t have Marguerite de Anjou petitioning the Pope for an annulment of our marriage now, can we?”
She said nothing. Her blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkened room as she looked at their companions again. Edward touched her cheeks and brought her gaze to him. He tried to smile, to look less nervous, but his heart was beating wildly in his chest.
“None of them matter,” he said, “Close your eyes and pretend that we’re the only ones who are here.”
Instead, she touched his face with the same careful elegance of all her other movements and leaned her forehead against his. Their mouths were so close, he could feel their breaths mingling, and smell the sweet wine she drank. It was a ceremony for her, he realised, no different than the feast or their meeting. A ceremony, where she was to play the part of an obedient queen, loyal to her husband.
Edward took off his shirt.
I picked it up of the internet, so its not my fault. Its the people at latinmassweddings you should talk to
interesting.
wonder if Edward will be showing some resentment of Warwick for arranging this marriage if he and madeleine don't get any closer
Deleted member 147978
My bad for my statement, I realized the Latin is ecclesiastical (Church) not the classical.
Interestingly enough, I know a little bit of Latin plus the reconstructed Classical Pronunciation.
No problem. I don't speak Latin AT ALL so you could be right and I wouldn't even know it.
Unlikely as Madeleine would remain a very good match also in the case in which their wedding will be a full disaster. Whatever Duchess Cecily believe, Kings (and noblemen) have rights to have mistresses if they want them