When the Tudor Roses are plentiful

[kaiidth]

A tiny Tudors challenge TL
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The first few months of her pregnancy seemed wonderful to Anne, wife of King Henry VIII of England. Her belly had swelled satisfyingly quick with her first child, she has only once more had her courses after her wedding took place and thus had proved herself to be with Child after the first month of wedded bliss , her husband adored her and she knew that he would do even more so after he would be able to hold her and his son. Yes, Anne thought to herself, this year was surely a happy one.

The next few months turned her good mood a bit sour though, because where first her belly swelled quick but normal in relative size as her sister told her, now her belly had turned out to become nearly monstrously large.
The Respected doctors and an experienced midwife gently pressed her belly, laid the ear trumpets against her big bump and then Anne and the King received the astounding news that there was more than one Child in Anne's belly.

King Henry was happy about that, he felt himself now truly on the right side. Wasn't this the sign for him, for everyone else, that he, Henry Tudor was right by what he did and thus now blessed by God?
Yes, Henry felt that absolutely!

Anne, less so!. It was her first pregnancy and then already two at once. It scared her a bit to think about such a birth but with her sister by her side and the knowledge that Henry would now be even more in love with her for giving him two sons at once, she forced herself to swallow her fear, straighten herself as much as she could with the heavy bump in her middle and to look forward to the birthing bed.

And dear God, her desire for the birthing to be done grew daily over the last few months of her pregnancy, especially when she had to spend the last couple of weeks in bed, earlier than she had hoped for and just because she had grown such a huge belly that she just could not move anymore without being helped by Ladies to steady her.

And then, finally then it all started at the seventh day of September in this year of 1533.
After long and painful hours in the birthing bed, Anne had proven herself true to her promise which she had given Henry at their wedding.

King Henry VIII was finally once more father of a son and another one and a daughter and another one of that too.

Yes, four children at once had been birthed by Anne Tudor and as soon as she had rested enough and the pain had been thankfully dulled down considerably, she felt as glorious and safe as never before.

Henry, King of England felt even more so. Hadn't the almighty God proved with this miracle birth that he, Henry was blessed by him? Yes, of course the father in heaven did so!

This miracle of four children at once, granted to be possible by the almighty and made by by his, Henry's royal seed, had shown the World that he, the King of England had been right in his way and the Pope in Rome had been wrong. Hah!

In short, King Henry was on top of the World and was absolutely gleeful that had he proved himself to be wiser and smarter in choosing his Anne, than all of his opponents had with their resistance against his will.

And so, when the Princes Henry and Edward and their sisters, the Ladies Elizabeth and Margaret, were presented to the Court and the represents of other lands, King Henry was in a jubilatious mood. God had shown his favor and it was towards him, Henry and damn all those who had stood against it.

Anne had proved herself to be of a plentiful womb and the future finally looked satisfyingly childfilled again.

 

[kaiidth]

When the Holy Father, Pope Clement VII received the unfortunate news about the lucky blessings of four living children at once, which had been born to the unpleasant English King, it resulted in said Pope at first not believing such a thing even possible and then suddenly sinking back in his chair, grabbing desperatly at his chest and then dying barely half an hour later after having received the news from England.

This sudden death unfortunately delayed the wedding Preparations between his niece Catharina de Medici and Henri, the second son of the King of France.

And then the Wedding was stopped altogether when the young Catharina died suddenly two days after she attended the burial Ceremony of her late Uncle, Pope Clement.

These two deaths were of course unfortunate for King Francis of France, who had hoped for a wealthy Bride for his second son and one who came with influence too but in the end, he found it only a minor setback.

The Duke of Florence , who found himself quite a bit more enriched with Catherina's death, since he was her closest relative after all and thus the one who was the logical heir to all wealth of Catherina, well to be honest, 'Il Moro' was not tragically sad but instead quite satisfied.

And the King of England was once more rather assured that the Lord in Heaven was on his side. The Heavenly Father had proved it after all who he favored, with blessing Henry and killing the Pope.

 

[kaiidth]

She had prayed now for ten days, barely resting and sleeping two or three hours at night in between and nearly starving herself at the same time because of her inability to eat.

But no, that was not the right way to tell it, for she could eat, the food did just not stayed in her during these days. She outvomited everything that she consumed these last couple of days, little enough as it was in the first place.

At first she had thought that it had been God's way to make sure that she fasted properly but after she could not even swallow simple broth nor milk anymore without being violently sick immediately afterwards, she became concerned.

It must be a sickness which was spreading inside her body, a sickness which had started after she had received the news that the whore had born her husband the four babes at once.

Catalina fought down the tears which threatened to spill from her tired and red-rimmed eyes. This Boleyn whore had given birth to four healthy babes, the babes which should have belonged to her, Catherine Wife of King Henry of England. But no, the whore had born them to Henry and with the news of these babes she, Catherine had fallen sick.

That must have been it, thought Catalina to herself, this must have been the sign of the good Lord in Heaven, that these babes were created from devilish intentions and these same sins poisoned her, the true wife and Queen.

This was that moment in which she decided to find a way to flee. And to find a way to make sure that her daughter was to be freed too.

Her good and lawful girl, the only true and sinfree child of the King of England.

 

[kaiidth]

The emperor was a man who had learned early that his live brought him not only great honors and power but also more than enough of responsibilities, of unpleasant and hard duties.

He lived his life in the full knowledge that for every joyful moment the Lord of Heaven had gifted him with, he also received a burden.

And since the emperor was a man of duty, he gladly took every burden as a sign of the good Lord's love for his, Carlo's dutiful belief and honorful behavior.

But the news which came first from England, about the heretics and the honorless behavior of the King, the husband of his, Carlos's aunt, were hard enough to swallow. As if there were not already enough heretics in his, Carlos lands.

And if all the troubles were not already enough, the King of England had now been given the longed for sons, two at once and with two girls born at the same time, in his clearly bigamistic new marriage.

The emperor had sighed deeply after receiving these rather unwelcome news from Chapuys.

With these hale and healthy sons, born to the English King by his lowborn mistress, or wife as the Tudor called her himself, Carlos now knew that every remaining Chance his aunt might still have had to stay recognized as Queen of England and wife of her husband, had officialy ended for good.

And if these news about all the troubles in England would have not been enough, now the Holy Father had died too.

The emperor sighed even deeper and more exhausted. It was of course good that this had led to a failed enrichment for the damned King of France, with the failed marriage to the Pope's niece and all, but at the same time the emperor had to admit that losing a halfway tamed Pope in a time of religious unrest was quite unfortunate.

Carlos mentally shuffled the English Problem behind the Pope problem and called for his secretary. The first thing to be cleared would have to make sure that the Cardinals would vote for a good and compatible new Pope, not some French beholden false one, then there would be time for the English Problem.

 

[kaiidth]

The fourteen year old Duke of Richmond and Somerset looked towards his royal father in a strange mood.

For so many years Henry Fitzroy had been the only living son of King Henry but now there were two true born and healthy boys at once, two legitimate Princes who both captivated the King's interest and love.

And were there once was only one legitimate girl, his three years older half sister Mary, who was the living daughter of his father the King, there were now two more living and legitimate healthy girls as well.

Four children born at once, this was rather unheard of, thought the young Duke to himself. But he knew that the former Lady Anne Boleyn and now wife of his beloved father and thus Queen , had promised said beloved father, that she would give him a son. And had she not made true to her promise ans doubled it already now?

Poor former Queen Catherine, thought Richmond to himself while he looked towards his father who was presenting his four babes to all of the Court and the representatives of other Courts, poor first Wife of father, for she would now never see her dreams and hopes come true of Mary becoming Queen of England.

The young Duke of Richmond tried not to think too much about poor Mary, who had never resented him as much as her mother had always done, but for just one moment he hoped that his royal father would take her back to the Court and treat her as gently as he should as her father.

But then Henry Fitzroy glanced towards the father and the brother of the new Queen and thought of how poor Mary would feel with them and the Queen Anne at the same Court and he thought to himself that it would be maybe better if Mary would be married to somewhere far away from the English Court, so that she wouldn't always be reminded of what her mother and she had lost due to her mother's inability to give the King a true born and surviving son.

And these thoughts let the young Duke think for a moment of his own upcoming marriage to Mary Howard, a relative of the new Queen by her mother's side.
He hoped that he will find himself in a happy marriage with his soon-to-be wife.

 

[kaiidth]

Damn the man. His uncle had actually been blessed with sons again and if all spys spoke the truth, then these boys were a lot hardier than the ones which the Spanish wife had born Uncle Henry so many years ago, those all had died quite young or had been stillborn.

But not only his uncle had now been given two boys for the price of one, he had received two healthy girls on top of it too. The King of Scotland remembered that his own mother once had told him that her brother always had had uncanny luck and thought about how these news now proved that his mother had spoken the truth about her brother, the King of England.

James Stewart grumbled in frustration about his uncle's new children and thought about his own Situation. Here he was, a young King who had already a couple of bastards but no noble bride in clear sight.

Of course there was the promise from the French Court of a Bride of noble Blood but no binding words had been given till now.

James thought about the daughter of his Uncle from his first and true marriage to the Spanish Princess. Cousin Mary was only four years younger after all and of royal blood from both sides but since her mother had been shoved aside by the reformatic Boleyn woman, which Uncle Henry now claimed to be his true wife, Mary herself became rather useless and without riches.

No, asking for his Cousin Mary as Bride would bring him, James, nothing in Power of riches and would only lead to more discontent with his Uncle. Though that was of course the less important problem since he, the King of Scotland disliked his uncle for the religious matters and the eternal rivalry between their lands quite a bit more. Mary just wasn't worth even such a small bit more trouble since she brought nothing but her ancestry with her.

But who to choose as a Bride then, thought James to himself. He would prefer a daughter of the King of France of course but Francis had already sent the information that his oldest daughter Madeleine was too frail for marriage and the only other daughter was barely ten years old. James thought about the names and informations which he had received from the King of France, concerning the lesser Ladies from which he could take a Bride.

Isabella of Navarre was of his age and had been recommended by her sister-in-law, King Francis' own sister. James thought for a moment about having his own share into the possibility of the inheritance of Navarre but it was not that interesting to him.

The King of France himself had also suggested the oldest daughter of the Duke of Vendome, Marie de Bourbon, who had been born 1515.

James did had sent the information early to the King of France that he, the King of Scotland was beholden to his Parliament to marry a Princess, as it had been signed for in the Treaty of 1517.

But this offer of King Francis for Marie of Bourbon to be the Bride, it had come to James with the information, that the dowry would be the same as for the King's own daughters and had come with Francis' declaration again, that his own oldest daughter Madeleine would not be given into marriage.

James Stewart thought once again about how interesting it was that he had received these offers from the King of France barely two weeks after all royal Courts had received the news about the wondrous birth of the four Tudor babes.

Maybe the King of France was right, thought James to himself, maybe he should not wait for a Princess Madeleine to be given to him, which would seemingly never happen, but should instead accept the other possibilities the French offered to him.

The new Queen of Scotland could easily be from a Ducal family after all, if only her dowry would be that of a Princess of France.

 

[kaiidth]

Sixty-three days ago, the woman who was at fault for mother's and her own situation, had given birth to four babes, two of them boys and two them girls.

The good King Henry, her poor mislead father, had declared them his legal children by his legal wife and when they had been christened, the King of France had sent gifts and had been one of the godparents through an envoy.

Mary looked up from her kneeling position in front of the picture of the Queen of Heaven. She looked up to the immaculate Virgin Mary's face and hoped for a sign. Anything would be welcome, anything to show her why all this had happened to her poor mother and her.

But no matter how often she had prayed already, no sign of the good Lord or the blessed Virgin had come to her and slowly she felt desperate for answers.

At least Chapuys had helped her to sent a couple of letters to her dear Mother and to have some from her too.

She had cried just yesterday, after she had received the latest letter from her noble Mother through their loyal helper, she had cried just yesterday after reading of her beloved Mother's plans.

Since then, she, Mary had prayed to the blessed Virgin to stand by her Mother's side and to help her.

Surely the good Lord in Heaven would give them his help, would make sure that she, Mary would be able to be with her Mother, the Queen again.

Had they both not proved themselves to the good Lord and the blessed Virgin after all?

Queen Catherine had always be a good daughter of the true church and had made sure that she, Mary had as her only living child, had fully understood how important it was to be a true believer.

Surely she and Mother had finally suffered enough, thought Mary to herself while still kneeling, surely they had suffered enough for whatever wrong they had done in the past. Surely they would finally find them absolved of their past sins, whatever they had been and the good Lord in Heaven would at least let the Queen's plans come true and thus let mother and daughter be together again.

Mary looked finally away from the blessed Virgin with these thoughts in her poor exhausted mind and then started to cry silently.

These last couple of years had been hard enough as they were, the change in her good father had come so final, so absolutely. He had loved her once, his only true child. He had loved her once and he had loved her mother once, his true wife and Queen Catherine.

And then came this woman, she who had led him astray from the true path and made him into a sinner.

No, Mary forced herself to stop these path of thoughts , she shouldn't think so about her own father after all. He was still a good man, a good King and she knew that her Mother still loved him as her true husband, even through all the displeasant Situations.

She thought once more about the Boleyn woman who had led her good father away from his true marriage, had made him declare himself unbound from his true wife and even managed to made her good father, the King take her, the Boleyn woman as new wife and Queen.

It was not a true marriage, Mary knew that, her Mother had written it to her and Chapuys said so too, but father had declared his marriage to the Boleyn woman true and his real one to mother as wrong.

And now, more than sixty days ago now, the Boleyn woman had given birth to her four children and all four were still healthy and alive these sixty-three days later.
Mary had wished so much that these children would be clearly not from her father but all four of them had father's hair color and the two boys and one of the girls had even father blue eyes. The exact same shade of blue as father had.
Only one of the girls had the Boleyn woman eyes.

The woman had given these children to her, Mary's Father. They were of the King's blood and there was nothing to be done about it.

But, Mary thought to herself tiredly, but if only father had not discarded Mother and her for this woman and her ability to give him children.

Mother would have lived with the woman and her children, the same as she had lived with the other child who father had decided to lift into the Royal Court.

For a fleeting moment, Mary thought about Henry Fitzroy, the oldest of her father's bastards, then one who became Duke of Richmond and Somerset because of father's generosity.

Surely father could have arranged something like that for the children he would have had with the Boleyn woman, if he had only taken her as mistress. But no, this woman had wanted so much more and had thus taken Mother's rightful place, just as her children had taken hers, Mary's rightful place.

It was just not fair that this Boleyn woman and her greedy family should win and the true Queen had been cast aside and she, the true heir had been declared illegitimate while bastards born by a heretic mistress were called the King's heirs.

Mary felt the anger in her risen up, the hatred displacing her former sadness and promised the good Lord in her heart, that she would not give in to easily to this dreadful Situation.

She turned her eyes once more to the blessed Virgin and then to the Cross on which the Savior hung and then she started to pray once more, with even more vigor as before, to pray that her mother's plans would come true.

 

[kaiidth]

It was the evening of the Christmas day and a tearful Henry Fitzroy was holding the lifeless and bloodstained body of his dear wife in his arms.

They had been married for barely a month, their marriage still unconsummated because both had felt to young for such and had only kissed each other.

And now he was already a widower. The Duke of Richmond and Somerset lifted his wet face away from his wife's neck and towards his royal father.

Henry, King of England looked from his widowed boy's face towards his own wife. Anne's sharp yet lovely face was pale, tears were streaming from her keen eyes, all the while she was kneeling beside the bloody corpses of her brother and his wife and the one of her and her brother 's mother.

Somewhere behind himself, Henry VIII could hear the painful gasps of Anne' s father, the stuttering breath grewing ever more labored.

Besides these noises which showed that Thomas Boleyn was at least still alive and not dead as his wife, son and daughter-in-law were, the rest of the huge hall was now nearly painfully quiet.

Barely two hours ago, the noises had been as from the cruelest of War itself.

Just over two hoursago, he the King himself and his beloved wife, had been late to arrive to the Christmas feast and Anne had been angry about that, seeing as she had looked forward to her grand entrance with the children she had born him, her husband and King, only to be advised by the doctor in the nursery, that all four children had a mild fever and it would be better to let the children stay in said nursery and not show them at the feast.

Henry and his wife had been worried about their children then but had learned from the doctor that the first teeth often brought mild fever to babes and that all four of the royal children were starting already to show signs of teething, even though they were not even four months old.

The King himself had found himself so satisfied about such strong and good growing children but Queen Anne was really a bit angry that it was ruining her triumphant presenting on the so very important Christmas feast.

But now, just a bit more than two hours later, it all had become so unimportant.

Now, after the deaths of so many beloved ones, it seemed to King Henry that it had been a good thing that his children could not be presented once again to the Court. Who knows what would have happened to them then. Who knows if these mad ten men who murdered Anne 's family and his oldest boy' s wife, would not then have killed his four babes instead.

King Henry's mind grew hatefilled at these thoughts and he swore to himself that he would torture the last three still alive murderers with his own royal hands to find out who had sent them.

Whoever had managed to hide these ten murderers among the servants and made sure that they had been close enough to Anne and her family to do their evil deeds, was already on Henry's list to kill too.

 

[kaiidth]

Queen Anne reeled back from her husband as if he had punched her in the face. And in a way he had done so, though not with his hands of course but with the words he had just spoken. These words had felt to Anne really like she had been punched without mercy.

She looked at her King and husband and her wet eyes met his flinty ones.

"These ....these murderers of my family...they wanted to kill me, they wanted to kill our babes....they accused me of witchcraft and our children as devilmade?......"

Henry, King of England nodded grimly. He was still too upset about these words which had spilled under torture from the filthy mouths of the attackers.

The King watched how the tears fell from his wife's eyes. His own eyes finally softened and he carefully and tenderly embraced her. He even managed to force himself to look not as angry anymore as he still felt because of the murderers.

Anne had lost most her family because of these ten men after all and even though the henchmen had been ruthless till last breath had left the murderers under heavy torture , the three initially surviving attackers had sworn that these reasons, which he had just told his wife, were why they tried to kill Anne and the four babes the same as her family.

"Do you believe it of me then, my Lord husband, do you believe these vile lies about our children then?" asked his wife, standing there with him and embraced by his arms.

And Henry Tudor, King of England, looked down to his wife, the mother of his legitimate sons and shook his head.

The boys looked exactly like him after all and if they had been devilmade, then he would have been the devil himself.

And then King Henry thought about the four names which one of the miscreants had uttered after he had been broken to pieces.

Maybe, Henry thought to himself, maybe he could give these four peoples, who had planned this murder attack, hell on earth though, even if he was King of England and not like the devil, the King of Hell.

He thought about these four names while he still embraced his wife and he still thought about the four names when he went to bed a few hours later.
Two of the Church, one diplomatic Courtier ...and one former wife.

 

[kaiidth]

Francis I, King of France leaned back into his comfortable chair with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

The Trouble in England was developing rather excellent and the involvement of the English King's first wife and the Spanish ambassador in the attack upon the Boleyn family had also made sure that the damn emperor would also be involved now in the English trouble.

For one short moment Francis thought about the really intelligent and quite promising Italian Priest who he had sent to England many months ago and who had sadly fallen to the Tudor's revenge. Oh well, thought the King of France to himself, without this Priest he wouldn't have managed to get Chapuys involved and without Chapuys, Catherine of Aragorn would not have become involved into this quite entertaining pandemonium.
This all was really worth to let die one excellent and promising Italian Priest and his Irish companion under the English torture.

Chapuys was now imprisoned in the Tower, how that must anger the damn arrogant Spaniards.

And the holier-than-thou former Queen was now under arrest and watched by the Duke of Richmond, who had lost his own wife during the attack.

Francis would have loved to see her arrogant face now, being the prisoner of the bastard of her Husband.

She wouldn't be as haughty now, as she once had been at the Field of Gold.

All in all, thought the King of France to himself, it all went better than he had hoped for many months ago, when he had planned this all with his oldest son, as a way to get back at the damn Spaniards for all they had done to him and his sons and also to make the damn English less arrogant.

 

[kaiidth]

For three weeks now, he had watched the woman who had once been Queen and wife of his father, till said father declared their marriage for wrong and had undone it and then married his second wife, the current Queen Anne, who had given him his longed for heirs.

For three weeks now this woman, this first wife of his father was in his custody.

He wanted to hate her so much and he did hate her for what happened to his wife and how she had always openly dismissed him as his father's, her husband's bastard who was treated better than he deserved, but his hate was not as burning or complete as it should be.

For he felt pity for her too. Not much of course, but this tiny bit of pity for how she had fallen, was there in his mind and his heart.

His father had loved this woman once, had loved their daughter, his half-sister once and even before this woman had become Queen of England, she had been of royal blood, the daughter of two Royal Houses.

And now, now she had fallen so low, even though she was still holding herself up like a Queen and behaved as it had been good, as if she had been in the right to let murderers fulfill her plans.

Henry Fitzroy watched her telling the Lord Cromwell that all the deaths had been necessary to free her beloved husband from the witchery of the Boleyns, who were all devil worshippers. Catherine of Aragorn was holding herself up, was behaving herself as if she was at Court like once and as if Cromwell would do well to heed her words as Queen.

The Duke of Richmond forced himself to stay quiet as he was watching Cromwell leading the former Queen ever deeper into her selfmade Trap.

She was such an intelligent and wellspoken woman, always had been, way more than the King was and Richmond loved his father dearly but he could admit that easily, at least to himself.

But as intelligent the former Queen was, Cromwell was it too and he was sharper, crueler and without pity. He was like a Bloodhound, he found every little mistake the Aragonese made and where there were none, he had been asking in such a cruel and nearly rude way, that the former Queen had finally shown cracks in her smooth and noble behavior.

And now she was talking about witchery and devil worshippers and while there were serious accusations, her reasoning about the Boleyns having been such, were clearly wishful or spiteful thinking, spoken so because of Anne Boleyn having become the new wife of Henry Tudor and thus Queen and then have given birth to the blessed four babes.

The way Cromwell was spurning Catherine of Aragorn on in her rambling, the way he was carefully but tireless leading her into her own complete downfall, it was, well it was really unbelievable.

Henry Fitzroy was watching with a bit sadness, a tiny bit pity but also with immense satisfaction, how the proud former Queen Catherine was as good as freely admitting full treachery against her former husband and her wish that the new Queen and her babes had died with the rest of the Boleyns.

And Cromwell was still without pity. He gave Catherine of Aragorn still no rest till she signed her words.

It was madness, thought Henry Fitzroy to himself. Pure madness which had let her to confess and admit such horrible things. Of course he wasn't doubting her plans against father's second wife and the babes, but that she said so, was telling it so openly now, let Fitzroy believe that she maybe had the same sickness of her mind as her oldest sister was rumored to have.

This would be the former Queen's complete downfall and Henry Fitzroy knew that his father would see it as his absolute right to end his former wife's life.

 

[kaiidth]

She had been brought to a new place every few days now, the people around her changed more often as than she could learn their names and all of this had been going on since the last day of the old Year 1533. Mary looked around her newest room, her newest prison now.

She had arrived here barely an hour ago and was deeply exhausted from her latest travelling. It must be the first day of February now, the whole of January had been went by her and she, Mary had not managed to find any way to sent a letter to Mother of to Chapuys. And neither had she received any news from them. It made her nervous and afraid for her mother.

A servant came into the room a good hour later and he brought Mary a pot full of good beef broth, fresh baked bread, it was still a bit warm and also a couple of baked apples and a large jug of honeyed milk. The jug came with two Cups though instead of one. Mary waited nervously for someone to come in now, after the servant left her with all the food, the milk and the two Cups.

She waited for a long time but no one came to her. The smell of the thick broth, of the bread and of the baked apples was tantalizing but she dared not to taste from any of it. She also did not touched the jug, even though she was quite thirsty.

Instead she forced herself onto her knees and prayed. How often she had prayed like this already, she did not know anymore but it always helped to stay strong, no matter what was done, no matter how she felt, she always felt stronger after a good and long prayer.

She must have been to enclosed in her own mind thus, for when she finally straightened herself up again, there was someone behind her.

Mary turned quickly around when she heard someone coming closer to her and her eyes went wide at the sight of the bot only one but two men who were now standing in front of her.

She scoleded herself mentally for having been so deep in her prayer that she could not have heard the two men entering her room.

But then, Mary reminded herself to not show fear in front of these two men, that no matter what they would say or do, she wouldn't show fear.

What should her bastard brother do to her after all? And the jumped up opportunistic father of her father's heretic whore could do even less to her.

She was still Mary Tudor after all. The only man she would truly need to fear in the end was her own father and not his oldest bastard son, nor the old man who gave both his daughters as whores to her own father, the King.

 

[kaiidth]

The girl had arrived three hours ago, had been brought in the room that was secured extra for her and then, a bit later, he personally had sent a servant with nourishment to her.

He watched her from the small hidden space that connect hers to the next room and had a well concealed spy hole into her room.
She touched none of the food and the milk also stayed untouched. Instead this damned girl went to her knees and started to pray, mostly quiet but some mumblings were loud enough for him to nearly understand.

He turned away from the spy hole and then carefully and quietly locked it before he stepped away from it and back into the other room and than he carefully and quietly closed the door to the interspace between both rooms as well.

Then he went to the nearest Chair and sank into it with a relieved sigh. It had been nearly torturous for him to stay so quiet when the girl could still hear him but now, with the closed hole and the closed door, the noises he made in this room could not reach her ears.


He thought about the girl's reaction to the food. Sinking to her knees and praying instead of eating. The girl showed quite a bit of self control . And he knew that she must be more than just a bit hungry, she must be absolutely starved. He knew that Cromwell had given orders to the people who brought her here after all, orders that she would have no food at all for three days, only watered down wine.


And now this girl still showed restraint and prayed instead wolfing down the much needed food. He wished that he could really admire her for her self control, but instead it made only the fire of hate in his heart burn stronger and hotter. How dared she to be alive after all when his beloved wife had been killed, his son had choked on his blood while dying back then and his grandchild died in the womb of Jane, his murdered daughter-in-law.

How dared this girl be alive, able to be in control of her own desires, able to pray instead of being thankful and humbling herself for nourishment, while he had lost his family to the madness of this girl's mother and her hired murderers.?

Thomas Boleyn leaned his had back against the high backrest of his chair and then uttered a vile curse. All his plans, all his years of service and always finding good possibilities to rise higher and higher and then Anne first becoming Queen and then being so triumphant in the end, all had been so well then. And for what end? Only to be attacked in such a way, to nearly loose everything.

He straightened himself in the chair then and shook his head. No. No, not loose everything of course, for his younger daughter still was Queen and her four babes were thankfully all alive and healthy and his older daughter was alive with her family as well and he........ and he had survived, while his wife and son and the family of his son, all died before his eyes. Thomas remembered the feeling back then, just five weeks ago, the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of nearly choking on his own blood, the feeling of the blood running down frown his wounded hands.......... he rembered the last grunt of his son as the knife of one of the murderers went into George's chest while he thrown himself in front of his sister to protect her, Thomas remembered the strangled noise his own wife had made when both he and her had been thrown down by their attackers and he remembered how deathly silent his wife then soon was, while he, Thomas had struggled against the damned murderer. He could not remember how George's Jane died, he only remembered how the attacker then was lifted from him by the furious King himself. Thomas Boleyn still rembered how hard it had been for him to breath then, how he had felt himself swallowing down his own blood, all the while he had watched as the King had strangled the attacker to death.

He relived this Christmas day whenever he closed his eyes.

While he was still remembering, he heard the door from the hallway into this room being opened and turned his head towards the one who entered.

It was Henry Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset. The boy who had so much in common with himself. Thomas remembered all too clear the boys young and tearful face, while he had been holding his own young and murdered wife in his bloody arms. The boy had been attacked too and fought bravely and ruthless against his attacker and then he had killed the one who had attacked his wife, it had been just too late for the young Duchess.

Thomas Boleyn watched as the boy, no young man, came closer to him and then stopped in front of him.

It was time to confront the daughter, to find out if she knew of her mother's plans. And then, if she was really innocent at all, as Henry Fitzroy and Anne, his own daughter, suspected her to be, then to give her the three options to choose from.

Thomas looked at the young Richmond in front of him and hoped that the King's Bastard was wrong. He hoped that his own daughter was wrong. Thomas really hoped that they were wrong and that Mary Tudor had known what her mother had planned and that she would be incautious enough to prattle.

He really hoped so, because he did not want to offer her a way out of the certainty of death, he did not want her to be able to marry Anne 's Candidate or Richmond' s Candidate and thus stay alive.

He really hoped that she had known her mother's plans and if she hadn't, he still hoped that she would choose death nonetheless, instead of marriage.

These were his thoughts while he and Richmond left his room and entered the one in which Mary Tudor was still praying.

 

[kaiidth]

She looked tired. Bonedeep tired and a bit mistreated.

Her clothing was still a bit dusty, as she had been given no other dress to change into after she had been brought into this room, nor had she been given the Chance to wash herself.

Good food had been brought to her but she had left that untouched and had been busy with praying instead.

Henry Fitzroy looked away from his older half-sister and turned his head slightly towards his companion. Lord Boleyn looked like he had been carved out of granite, so unmoving and hard was his face. The eyes of the older man had been without any warmth in them, back earlier when Henry had spoken to the Queen's father in the other room.

Without warmth but instead like Flintstones or Ice, completely without any emotion.

But no, one emotion had been there still in these eyes. Hate was there, cold and stark naked hate, pure enough to cut.

And Thomas Boleyn was the one who started to speak to Mary, asked her questions about her mother, about Chapuys and about her own plans. He interrogated her, mentioned the letters which had been found, the murders which had been done, the treachery which had been admitted.

Mary stood still at first, her eyes tearing up though and her face turned pale but after a while she crumbled down with tears running down her face. She spoke of plans for escape and escape only and nothing of murder.

The Duke of Richmond himself believed his sister and after a long time of Boleyn 's sharp words, he asked the older man to stop. As soon as Boleyn went quiet, he seemed to loose all will and strength to stay up any longer and went towards the chair by the table behind Mary. Old Boleyn sat down in the Chair, his limbs shaking and exhaustion clearly etched into his features.


Now it was Henry Fitzroy's part to play and he liked to believe of himself, that his own eyes and his own mien were not equal to those of Lord Boleyn now as he himself was standing opposite of Mary's now kneeling person. She was still the daughter of his own father after all and he believed the evidences, or more to say the lack of evidence.

All letters that had been found from Mary in the hands of Chapuys and in the hands of the former Queen had only spoken of Mary's wish for luck when they, she and her mother, would flee and be together again and in safety.

The letters from her mother and the damn Spaniard, which had been found among Mary's own things had spoken of plans for the planned escape.
Of course these letters had been already betrayal but they had not included any hint about the murderous plans to kill the Queen and her children.

Boleyn, Cromwell and even father had of course spoken days ago in London of burned or otherwise lost letters, but he himself, Henry Fitzroy and the Queen Anne herself had both spoken against Mary being in the knowledge of the murder plans.


The Duke of Richmond liked to believe that the Queen was really interested in Mary to be finding at least a bit of family and sureness in her life again, but he knew of course that his father's wife had named her own father as possible husband to Mary so that his sister would be so disturbed by it,that she would agree in the end to marry the Cromwell son, who had been brought forward as Candidate by him, Fitzroy himself.

In the end, Father had agreed to these ideas if Mary proved herself to be innocent.

He only added that if even if she proved herself to be innocent, but would not choose a husband from among the two named men, then her third option would only be death, for he, the King was tired of the treachery and bloodthirstyness of Spanish blood.


And all of this he, Richmond now told his half-sister and as he did so, he saw her face turned from already pale to deathly waxen, her eyes turning from tired but slightly feverish to empty, deadlike and broken things.

Her face was turned to his but at the same time, her eyes seemed to stare off without seeing anything anymore.

Behind her, Boleyn was still sitting down as he was of course still bothered by his recent injuries and his own earlier work and was drinking the now cold honeyed milk.

They waited.

After a long long time, Mary finally answered. Her Voice sounded broken, bloody and harsh as if she had swallowed Stones while she agreed to marry.
She had chosen young Cromwell after all.

 

[kaiidth]

There was another Change of Guards in her room but she was still praying and did not care.

She looked up after she finished her deep prayer to the good Lord in Heaven.

She had grown used to be watched at every time of the day and night and so she had remained calm when more than the usual one new Guard stepped inside her room and watched her as she did her daily prayers.

Now though, now that she had finished and looked up, now she could see that it wasn't a second Guard who had come into her room but instead the widower of her good and beloved sister in law, dearest Mary's husband Charles Brandon.

Catalina closed her eyes for a moment when she thought about Mary Brandon, former Queen of France and one of her dearest friends during her years here in England.

If only Mary would still be alive, she would have helped her, Catalina to free the King, Catalina's beloved husband and Mary's beloved brother, from the devilish clutches of this horrible mistress and her witchery family.

Alas, she was now in Heaven surely and Charles Brandon was now here, in front of her Catherine Queen of England, surely to help her in the name of his late beloved wife.

Catalina watched as he ordered the Guard out of the Room and even though the man seemed reluctant to go, he finally did as the Duke of Suffolk bid him.

And then she was alone with him, the Duke Charles, the widower of her beloved friend and sister, he who was the best friend of her beloved husband the King. He looked at her with an uncommon look in his eyes, like he never looked at her, his Queen before.

She thought his eyes unsettling and unfriendly, not gratious enough but nearly obnoxious instead.

He had no right to gaze at her in such a way, as if he had found her to be lacking or so it seemed.

He had still not spoken any word but just stared at her, he had not yet shown her the necessary respect, had not bowed his head as he have should done.

He just stood there and looked at her.

Was he waiting for her to speak first, she wondered. Was this his crude way to show her the only tiniest bit of the respect he owed her still? Or was it his way to be disrespectful to her?

She asked him why he was there but he kept quiet. She asked him to tell her where her daughter was, where her husband was, but he still answered her not.

But who he thought himself to be, that he would be allowed to behave himself so?

She was Catherine of Aragorn, wife and Queen of Henry, King of England. This Duke owed her respect.

She asked him once more of why he was in her room and then he finally answered.

"The King has decided that you should die for your crimes, Madam. You will be beheaded for the crime of treachery against Henry, King of England, for the crime of sending assassins against the Queen and her family, for the crime of conspiracy with the Spanish Ambassador, for the crime of planning to abduct the Kings illegitimate daughter, Lady Mary and finally for the crime of witchcraft with which you had tried to bring all your plans to fulfillment." he finished and then waited.

She looked as if he had hit her. For a moment she wasn't even able to speak but then she straightened herself and told the Duke that she wanted a proper trial and the Chance to defend herself against all the accusations.

He looked at her nearly compassionate while he told her that the King himself deemed her too wicked and too prone to evil trickery for a trial in front of impressionable lesser men and thus had been holding Council with Lord Boleyn, Lord Cromwell, the Queen and the Duke of Norfolk and this was what had been decided.

She, Catherine of Aragorn, widowed Princess of Wales would be beheaded in the ninth hour of the twentieth day of February in the Year of the Lord 1534.

"That means less than an hour now for you Madam. Make your Peace with God." said the Duke

She stared at him and then she protested anew, told him that it was a mistake, that Henry her beloved husband and King would not treat her in such a way. All were lies from the other ones, all were plans from the other ones. He, the Duke should help her, to free the King from these treacherous Creatures who were poisoning his mind and Heart.

The Duke Charles Brandon looked at her, now the compassionate look in his mien had changed to one of clear annoyance and finally he answered her in a near barking Voice.

"It was our King who was the one demanding your foolish head woman. All others tried to talk him into jailing you for the rest of your life in the Tower but the King himself wants you dead and finally gone from his life.

And one more thing, which I initially wanted to spare you from knowing but which I will tell you now too. Your daughter Mary had been given as Wife to Lord Cromwell's son Gregory less than a week ago, on order of the King himself."

These last words from the Duke stopped all her protesting. She uttered no more words, not even when she was brought out to where the block was waiting for her.

Then, just a step away from the block, she turned her head to Charles Brandon, who had walked behind her and she asked him to tell her daughter that she would pray for her, Mary's soul and to also tell her husband and King that she, Catherine was ever his loving and true wife and that she was forgiving him.

Then she took the last step, kneeled down and laid her head so that the enforcer could easily strike her neck.

Catherine, first wife of Henry Tudor or Catalina of Aragorn as she had been known in Spain, died in the ninth hour of the twentieth day of February in the Year of the Lord 1534. She was forty-nine years old and was beheaded for treachery, witchcraft, conspiracy, planning and sending of murderers and finally because King Henry wanted to get rid of her.

Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk looked down at the headless corpse and on the severed head and hoped desperately that this decision of his best friend and King would not bring more new problems than it had solved in the moment.

 

[kaiidth]

Mother...

Mother, beloved Mother, I hope that you found peace in the end. I hope that you have felt no pain in the end.

I hope for you to pray in heaven for my damaged Soul and that you have gone to your final sleep without an ill thought of me in your gentle Heart.

I was not as strong as you were and I will have to live with this failure till the end of my days.

Please forgive me Mother, please forgive me for not being as strong as you were, please forgive for not choosing the honorable death instead of living in a sinful marriage with an heretic.

Please Mother, forgive me, your weak daughter for bowing to the false Queen and for not helping father understand the wrongness and evilness of his words and deeds against you.

I beg your forgiveness Mother and I hope that I will not further shame your noble memory but instead that you might look down upon me and see the love I still feel for you and the True Church and that your love and Soul will help me to guide my Lord Father and King back to the true Church too.

Please Mother, help me to not loose my way again from the truth and help my sinful Heart and Soul to never give up again, to never doubt again the might of the blessed Virgin Mother and the Good Lord in Heaven.

........
A prayer of Lady Mary Cromwell, written down in an old Bible which she had inherited from her late Mother, Catherine of Aragorn, at the first day of March 1534

 

[kaiidth]

Since poor Mary Fitzroy died after just after being married for a few weeks and thus Henry Fitzroy is already a young widower at the age of fifteen, I am looking for a second wife for him.

Not quite now of course but I think to have him given the command by his father, to be married in about two years time, maybe three years at the most.

Which noble women would make sense?

 

[kaiidth]

The fourteenth day of March in the Year of the Lord 1534


In the most fearsome cells of the Tower, a group of men were laying on the cold and dirty floors.

Each of the men were bound on hands and feet and every single one of these shackled men had been tortured throughout the last weeks.

Tortured merciless and often to such gruesome details that some of the seven men would not even necessarily had been needed to be shackled at all, for they were too hurt and to weak to even move anymore by their own.

From another cell, loud shrieking of a woman could be heard, a wailing sound which grew ever more quiet though.

One of the bound men, shifted his hurt body a bit to find a position in which his injuries hurt less and he remembered how the woman in the other room had just told him less than a year ago of her prophecies in regards of the King and wondered how he himself had been unlucky and unseeing enough to not have been aware of the upcoming danger which she had presented.


And now, into this Situation was what his too mild approach had brought him in the end, the absolute loss out of all the King's favor and a broken and tortured body. Sir Thomas Moore shifted anew because his broken legs started to cramp.

He heard the closest man on his right side groaning with pain. Poor John Fisher, thought Sir Moore to himself, the Bishop had been tortured the most of all of them but then it was no wonder, wasn't it, after all the secret letters the Bishop had received from the Emperor by the hands of Chapuys had enraged King Henry more than anything else.

Sir Thomas still remembered the shrieks of Bishop Fisher during the countless days of torture, louder and way more shrill than those of the woman in the other cell.

In the end, they were all guilty, weren't they? Even he himself, thought Sir Thomas self-critical, even he himself failed his own moral standard.

What had all the plotting brought Fisher but a torture beyond measures, what had all the prophecies brought for Elizabeth Barton, the woman tortured now in the other cell, what had the belief in these prophecies had brought the five ardent supporters who were laying here in this cell too and what it all brought him, Thomas More himself? Nothing but torture and pain and failing bodies and certain death.

Would Fisher's plotting with the Emperor have worked in the end like Sister Elizabeth Barton had seen in her prophecy, if only the good Queen Catherine had not sent the assassins too early with Chapyus' help?

Or had it not mattered at all in the end?

Fisher and Sister Barton and her confessor Edward Bocking had all screamed under torture that the four children the concubine had born to the King were the devils get and it had only intensified the ills brought upon them.

Sir Thomas blinked tiredly at the thought and then he stopped in his memories and came back to the current time.

There were no more screams and shrieks to hear from the cell in which Sister Barton had been tortured again. The silence was nearly painful now.

Then the door to his and the other men's cell was opened and two noble clad men came inside.

One of them, the younger one, was carrying a torch and the bright flame showed him to be the oldest bastard son of the King, the other and quite a lot older man was the father of the King's heretic Whore who had born the four youngest bastards.

Sir Thomas watched as both men came closer, his eyes fixated on the daggers in their free hands.

Richard Risby, one of the tortured Franciscan Friars who had been the Nun's supporters, was the closest to Old Boleyn and he was thus the first one who had his throat slit open by the father of the Whore.

Man after man was killed in this quick way, one more by Old Boleyn and all the others by the Bastard Fitzroy and finally they reached Sir Thomas. He tried to speak, to tell them that they had actually done a favor to each of the others by killing them this quickly but his throat was too raw from all his screaming in the days before and so he remained silent and just watched the two men.

And they just looked at him for a moment before Fitzroy was the one who took the last step forward and killed Thomas More.


All together, the seven men, Sir Thomas More, Bishop John Fisher, Edward Bocking and John Dering, both Benedictine Monks, Hugh Rich and Richard Risby, both Franciscan Friars and the Priest Henry Gold, died in less than the quarter of an hour through the hands of the two men who lost their loved ones all these months ago in attack of the assassins. This had been King Henry's way to give his son and his father-in-law at least a bit of satisfaction.
....................
It was brought to the knowledge of the World that all the seven men had admitted under firm questioning, to have helped the plotting Spanish Ambassador Chapuys and the widow of Arthur, Prince of Wales, in their evil plotting and to have done so because of the devilsend prophecy of the Mad Nun Elizabeth Barton.

The seven men and the mad Nun had all chosen to escape their lawful execution by comiting suicide before and thus their remains would receive no graves at all.

For England and King Henry though the troubles had just started.

 

[kaiidth]

Bishop John Fisher was dead and the Emperor hoped dearly that the foolish Englishman burned in hell for his idiocy, he and all his damned Co-traitors.

And aunt Catalina should really really burn in Hell till the end of time too. The devil only knows what sickness had spread in her foolish head to come up with such idiotic plans and how she even had managed to lure Chapuys into this conspiracy.

The Emperor closed his eyes tiredly for a moment and thought of ways to undo this latest complication with the English King.

......................
More later

 

[kaiidth]

The last couple of months had been disappointing once more. The heir of his old enemy had been recently married to the oldest daughter of the King of Poland and Eleanor had written about it quite detailed.
The dowry alone had been the equivalent of around 220'000 escudos and the young bride had added another bloodclaim on Milan through her mother's family into the Royal family of France.

The Emperor grumbled with annoyance and dissatisfaction about the unwelcomed luck which the damn King of France always seemed to have in the most inopportune moments.

And the second of the French Whelps might have lost the first rich bride but if the Spys spoke the truth, than the next one would come soon enough for sure.

And if the French would not be uncomfortable enough, he the Emperor himself was forced to trouble himself with the new Holiness in the Vatican.

The new Pope Paul was less agreeing in certain things than he should be and proved himself to be actually more self assured than he had the right to be.

And were these problems not already enough?

No, his aunt in England had to loose the last bit of her mind and only burdening him, her own nephew with even more troubles.

The newest letters from the spys in all corners of England had just arrived on his desk and he started to read them with a dreading feeling in his belly.

........................
Bishop John Fisher was dead and the Emperor hoped dearly that the foolish Englishman burned in hell for his idiocy, he and all his damned Co-traitors.

And aunt Catalina should really really burn in Hell till the end of time too. The devil only knows what sickness had spread in her foolish head to come up with such idiotic plans and how she even had managed to lure Chapuys into this conspiracy.

The Emperor closed his eyes tiredly for a moment and thought of ways to undo this latest complication with the English King.