Chapter Number/Title: 2# An Empty Glass
Date: 8.2.13
Fandom: The Tudors
Rating: K+
Genre: Historical Fiction
Content Descriptors: Romance, Drama
Character Pairings: Princess Mary Tudor and Infante Luis of Portugal
Beta: Team Edward Rules All
Chapter I
January 14th, 1536
It had been a week since my mother died. In my childhood, my glass of time would be sparkling full of life and happiness.
Now, it was full of sadness and misery.
The glass used to be of the finest Venetian glass, decorated with my precious jewelled memories and filled with glittering water, of a beautiful shade of Sapphire blue. The pretty shade of love, pleasure, bliss and contentment. That was when I had everything. That was when my devout mother and magnificent father were happy together.
My glass had been shattered cruelly and my world torn to pieces. Once, I was the beloved child. Now, I am the bastard no one wanted.
I was the Princess Mary Tudor, the Pearl of my father's world.
Now only the Lady Mary.
The witch responsible for all this, was the whore, Anne Boleyn. It was her evil doing that changed my father against me. It was at her hands that my mother died of a broken heart and in poverty (and probably poison?). It was her fault I became the King's unwanted bastard and the position I'm in. With her large, witchy feet and nasty temper, she mercilessly stamped on my lovely glass, crushing it into tiny bits, and imperiously ordering the maids to sweep it up after her. With my glass of time in pieces, I treasured my memories more than ever. It won't be long before that Whore discovered my chest of memories and will be determined to destroy them and plunge me into the icy cold waters of despair and lifeless thoughts. I would never let her succeed.
Even with an empty glass of time, with sediments of bitterness.
I was pitied by my Aunt Mary of Suffolk and many people who loved my mother. No one dared to talk or comfort me, in fear of my father chopping off their heads. Only my bastard half-brother, Henry Fitzroy, 1st Duke of Richmond, had enough courage to see me in my impoverished room from time to time, but even he was afraid to incur our father's wrath.
My living conditions had grown from bad to worse. It was durable, but painful for a lady of my rank to submit to such a degrading state.
I looked around my room.
I was imprisoned in the dingy attic of Hatfield, while the Whore's child (Elizabeth) took up the nursery and royal apartments. Even Henry Fitzroy had better living conditions in Hatfield than me (if he decided to visit Elizabeth). The Whore knew that Henry Fitzroy is a bastard in full, but still hated and (less than me though) viewed him as a threat to her own darling red-head Elizabeth. Every night, my prison would be flooded by a river of my endless tears of sorrow. The thin pillow would be damp and wet from the rain of my eyes, and the patched, threadbare blanket would shrink every day, until finally, a day in the future, it would be no more.
The wooden floorboards would creak every time I gently walk around in circles. The windows were dusty and cracked. Whenever it would rain, drops of water would squeeze through the cracks and drop somewhere in my tiny room.
The food and drink were worse.
At times, I would be starved and denied food and drink.
On other occasions, I would be given stale, hardened bread that was barely edible, and contaminated water that even a peasant wouldn't drink! I never liked rats (or seen any) when I lived as a Royal Princess, but nowadays, I appreciated them as my only company in the lonely days and nights in the attic. With the stale bread, I would give it to them. That way, they won't starve, and my jailers won't laugh and abuse me about the decayed food.
There were times when I almost believed I would die of starvation, but Henry Fitzroy would appear with a slice of buttered bread, or a piece of fruit, and almost always a small bottle of ale. He was my shining white knight, my rescuer.
I'll never forget my half-brother.
"Mary," said Henry Fitzroy, at the door. "Are you hungry? I heard the servants talking below about you and your food rations. They were talking about the new orders from Anne Boleyn. Apparently, she ordered them to lower the loaf of bread to a slice a day, and the cup of water to half a cup. She tolerates me at Court, but you can tell she loathes me."
"I'm starving," I confessed. "It's been five days since I last ate a decent meal of a slice of fresh bread, half an apple and a glass of ale. I ate nothing."
"You poor thing!"
"It's alright. I'm used to it. I once ate and drank nothing for eight days! I'd rather starve than die from eating stale food and drinking dirty water. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the Court, having a feast of some sort? The Whore loves celebrations and would do anything to elevate the status of her ambitious family. She finds it entertaining watching me starve and live like a peasant. At least you aren't banished. Just because everyone knows you're truly illegitimate and because you're a boy. Why don't you sit with the other noblemen?"
"Illegitimate or not, you're my half-sister, and we're both hated by Anne Boleyn. Why would I sit with those Howard boys? You know as well as I do, that with their Boleyn cousin as the King's wife, they'll be everywhere in Court. Don't glower at me like that, Mary! I said that the Boleyn is the King's wife! I didn't say that she's Queen!"
I wanted to argue back, but for now, he was my only ally.
"Here," said Henry Fitzroy, placing a fresh loaf onto my palm.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
The scent of warm bread lingered in the air, replacing the foul stench of rain and mustiness. It was a larger loaf than usual. Henry Fitzroy smiled and placed a ceramic plate on the old, rickety wooden table, and filled it with a variety of different fruits. With another plate on the table, he sliced up a couple of sausages with his knife. Plate after plate, he put on the wooden table, now groaning under the weight of all the delicious food it held. Soon, the table was full of sliced sausages, pieces of bread, a collection of fruit, a small roasted chicken and even a plateful of tiny jellies shaped into towers and two slices of cake! If I was delighted with a slice of bread and a little cup of clean water, I was in Heaven, staring at the selection of food on the table!
"Eat!" Fitzroy urged me. "You can't starve! Don't wait any longer! I rode here just to have a feast with you! There's no need for etiquette! Oh! I almost forgot! You must be dying of thirst! Here! I got this freshly from the milkmaids!"
He handed me a glass bottle of milk.
"I can have it all?" I said in wonder.
Fitzroy nodded.
I drank half a bottle without stopping. My glass of life was slowly filling itself back up. A minute later, the two of us began feasting the delicious food Fitzroy had generously taken and laid out for us to share. I had only taken two bites of bread, when the door banged open.
Fitzroy and I froze.
Glaring at us angrily, was the Whore herself.
Anne Boleyn.
"What is going here?!" screeched the Whore, her eyes flashing with fury. "Explain yourselves! Fitzroy! I see that you rather the company of a bastard like yourself, rather than with the finest noblemen! Your gracious father had given you permission to go as you please, and you disobey him by staying away from the magnificent English Court! I always suspected there was a thief in the palace grounds, but I never thought it would be you! Did she tell you to steal for her?! She is no daughter of that Spanish Cow! She's a bastard through and through!"
"I gave it to her out of love," said Henry Fitzroy steadily. "Even if she's illegitimate, Mary's still my half-sister. I'd rather spend more time with her than any English courtier who benefit in their position from others. Especially courtiers that are ambitious and conniving. I'm sure you understand sibling affections, after all, you have two siblings of your own."
The Whore was red in the face.
"What's going on?"
The deep, rich, majestic voice came from behind her. It was my father, the King, Henry VIII. The Whore turned around and kissed his cheek. Fitzroy bowed. I curtsied, uncertain what will happen. Fitzroy might be let off easy (because he's a boy and he accepted the Whore as the King's wife), but I'll probably be slapped, scolded and punished more severely just because the Whore wished it. My great father is nothing more than a helpless puppet, dancing to the Whore's tune. If I could free him from his chains of captivity and enchantment, I would!
"Oh Henry!" said the Whore, her tone changing. "I came to see Elizabeth, and was told that Fitzroy is here and had gone to see Mary!"
"Really?" said my father, his eyebrows raised.
"Fitzroy had been stealing food and giving it to her!"
"Hal, my boy! Is this true? Have you become a thief? What were you thinking?! You're the King's son, and had turned to thievery! This can't be true! Why?! Why?! My own son! This is outrageous! Even if you did steal, why not give it to the poorer nobles, or even the peasants? Why Mary? She doesn't deserve to be treated like a Queen! She already receives her daily meals! She needs to learn that her stubbornness doesn't give her any favours! Hal! Why not talk and sport with your friends? I hope they weren't the ones that encouraged thievery!"
"He is a thoughtless boy, Henry!"
"I admit I stole food," said Fitzroy truthfully. "Father, I would talk and hunt with my friends at Court, but there was the guilty compassion in my heart. Mary is my half-sister, and I can't allow her to starve to death on meagre and un-edible meals."
"Un-edible?!" said my father in surprise. "What is this?! I've been well-informed that Mary was fed like and treated like a Princess!"
Such lies! Only the Whore would make it up!
The Whore stepped back a little uncomfortably.
"It's true, Your Majesty," I said quietly. "I was hardly fed, and when food is given to me, they're stale and contaminated. If I ate them, I would've succumbed to fever or disease and died. You may not believe me, but it's the truth. If I was lying, God would punish me. In any religion, any God would know a liar and a sinner from the words on his mouth."
"You can't believe her!" said the Whore at once. "She's lying! The Hatfield servants have assured me every time I visited, that she's served meals three times a day! Henry! You can't allow such liars and thieves to live and ruin the Court!"
"What do you want me to do?!" said my father, exasperated.
"Punish them as if they're any criminal!"
"I'm sorry?"
"Both of them are thieves and liars!"
"Are you implying for me to execute my own flesh and blood?! Do not interrupt me Anne! Are you saying that I'll be more popular with the people if they see the heads of my only surviving son (illegitimate or not) and the granddaughter of the great Catholic Monarchs on spikes on London Bridge? I think not! I will be the most hated man in all of Europe! Spain, Portugal and the Holy Roman Empire will declare war on England, and France and Scotland might even join! My sisters had both loved the Dowager Princess and cared deeply for Mary. England will be overrun by bloody foreigners! You always hated Hal and Mary and never bothered to hide it! It'll only be in your best interests and the interests of your foxy uncle if both of them are dead! I believe both my children, but punishment is needed. Hal, you'll be sent to Richmond Castle in Yorkshire and will be banished from Court until further notice. Mary, you'll be moved from here to Durham House."
I cringed inside of me when I heard of my new residence. My mother lived in Durham House from the beginning of her widowhood to her marriage with my father. I'd rather stay and suffer starvation here than to move there!
"You'll move in ten minutes," said my father coldly. "Take all you need."
The Whore shot me a dirty look and hurried after him.
"Take the food," advised Fitzroy, leaving after them.
I smiled, and watched him leave, knowing that it'll probably be a long time before I see him again. The Whore stopped and smirked to herself. She might've won the battle in separating Fitzroy and me, but she'll never win the war. I'll fight her with every ounce of my energy, even if my body fails me. My mother died a sainted heroine, battling against the Whore, and as her daughter and the true heir of England, I'll take her position and make her proud. My gift to her, is a humbled and humiliated Anne Boleyn, with all her allies down or captured.
With a purpose in life, my empty glass is no longer vacant.
I'm certain that God is with me. He'll help me in my mission to restore Catholicism in England, and rid the country of religious disease.
My forehead was burning up. My face was as red as a tomato, and the rest of my body was ghostly white. I felt feverish and ill.
There were rumours my food were dabbled with poison.
For weeks, I laid in bed, too sick to talk, drink, eat or move. When I arrived at Durham House, I was given two maids (Howards of course). When I became ill, neither of them thought it necessary to write to my father, or even call for a doctor! Two weeks later, they became slightly concerned, and one of them (the kinder of the two) wrote to my father. Somehow, the people learnt I was extremely unwell, and rumours spread all over England. They were furious at the Howards, and a mob even killed one of the Whore's cousins after he left a church! Hurriedly, my father sent his best doctor (Dr Butts) to attend on me, in fear of even more public outrage.
I had caught a dangerous influenza, but Dr Butts was confident that I would recover under his care (better food and less stress). The common people sent bouquets of flowers and small thoughtful gifts. A couple of nobles were brave enough to smuggle me a couple of bracelets and necklaces. One day, I had my first visitor in years.
It was my mother's friend, Maria de Salinas.
"Mary," whispered Maria.
"Maria," I said weakly.
"I heard of your illness," said Maria sympathetically. "It took a while to get from Kimbolten to Durham House. I was detained by Howard guards on the way, but I escaped. Even the King would think twice before arresting and throwing me into the Tower. I was with your mother, when she died. Chapuys will serve you first and Ambassador to your cousin second. Charles V won't be pleased, but his aunt had suffered most of her life. Do you remember Cardinal Reginald Pole? One of Margaret Pole, 8th Countess of Salisbury's sons? He read her Will to us. Even though this wasn't mentioned in the Will, I'm sure your mother would've wanted you to have this."
She handed me a jewelled crucifix. I recognised it as my mother's Spanish heirloom. It was outlined and gilded with gold, and filled with silver. Small Rubies ornamented the silver. I was told that there was a short affair about it.
It wasn't a nice affair.
When the Whore demanded my mother's jewels, my father tried to force my mother to hand in her crucifix (to rip out the Rubies and melt the silver and gold for more coins), she refused and said that it was a family heirloom, and not Tudor property. The Whore had a tantrum, but there was nothing my father could do. It had been said that Isabella I of Castile ordered five crucifixes made for her five children to give to their children in turn.
"Thank you," I said, placing the crucifix around my neck. "You are a true friend of my mother. No one else would single-handedly escape from Howard custody to give me my mother's crucifix. Where's the Spanish Ambassador?"
"In Court," answered Maria. "Still fighting for your cause."
I felt a pang of guilt in my heart.
My cause is almost over. The Whore has a daughter, to prove to the world that her marriage with my father was cemented. My father's love for her was still as strong as it was last year, and soon, when she has her brood of sons, I'll be nothing.
"He's losing interest in her," said Maria, as if reading my thoughts. "The Whore promised him sons, but all she had at the moment, is a daughter. The King isn't pleased with her. She tries to interfere in politics (to advantage her own family of course) and has violent and loud arguments with him. Being rude to his illegitimate son was the last straw. Who knows? You might be invited back to Court. The King's love is as ruthless as his hatred."
"Lady Willoughby," said Dr Butts, entering the room. "Unfortunately, you'll have to leave. It's time for the Lady Mary to have her medicine. Don't worry, I won't tell the King or his wife about this. If you leave through the back, there's a carriage waiting to take you back to your estates. I'll take care of Lady Mary from here. Good day."
Maria nodded and gave me a small smile.
"How are you feeling?" said Dr Butts, sitting next to me.
"A little better," I answered. "If only I can go back in time and talk to my mother longer than I did, it would make me feel so much better. Of course that won't happen. Do you think the King will allow me to visit my mother's grave?"
"Perhaps. Have a cup of tea, My Lady. It'll make you feel much better."
"What is it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I can tell by your behaviour and lack of words that something has happened. What is it? Is Hal Fitzroy dead? Nothing at the moment can be possibly worse than the death of Fitzroy. Is the Spanish Ambassador ill or has returned to Spain? I know doctors dislike telling rumours and Court stories to patients, but I need to know. I've been deprived of news for weeks. None of my maids want to tell me anything, and when I do, there's a good chance that they lied. They strictly work for the Howards and would never tell me the truth, while you're a neutral doctor. Please, Dr Butts. For my full recovery, I'll need to know what happened, no matter how devastating it can be."
"If you insist…after your mother died, there was an argument whether she should be buried as a Queen of England, or a Dowager Princess of Wales. The King was in a rather foul mood, and was prodded by his wife to destroy the body of his first wife. The King grew tired of it, and buried Catherine of Aragon in a plain grave in Peterborough Cathedral. The common people and admirers of Catherine, were outraged, and decorated it with flowers and pomegranates."
Tears appeared in my eyes.
I was angry, upset and grateful.
Doesn't my father have any respect for my mother anymore?!
Was her presence so strong, that her body had to be unmarked and left carelessly?! At least the people still love my mother and made her grave more suitable to the ranking of a Queen. Once I become Queen, my mother will be reburied in pomp and finery in Westminster Abbey, as a Queen consort of England and the true wife of Henry VIII.
"Calm yourself, My Lady," said Dr Butts hurriedly. "You'll think yourself ill. Matters are moving faster, and you won't remain here for long."
With a bow, he walked out.
I was confused.
What were Maria and Dr Butts hinting at? Will I or will I not be Queen? Will my father forgive me and bring me back to Court as a Tudor Princess of England? I doubt it. The Whore is still bathing in the Court glory and languishing by his side.
I fidgeted with a corner of my blanket.
How can I battle against the Whore when I'm confined in Durham House, and she's enjoying herself in feasts and balls in Richmond Palace or Hampton Court?!
I could use the Spanish Ambassador to provoke matters, but that's what the Howards and other scheming noblemen do. My mother raised me to be a gracious, devout and fine Princess, and I can't possibly lower myself to their level! My mother will be furious! Even if I'm not given the treatment due to a Princess, I still can't plot like those nobles!
The door banged open.
Panting and his forehead dripping with sweat, was Eustace Chapuys.
He slumped on a chair.
"What is it?" I said, sitting up at once.
"It's impossible!" said Chapuys, more to himself than to me. "I never thought it would happen! No one
knew what happened! God help me! It was so sudden!"
"Chapuys! What happened?!"
"Everyone blames the Whore and her Howard relatives, but why would she do that?! If she did, she basically blew her life away! The Succession still isn't clear, and problems will spark up! The Reformists would want that bastard as their Queen! She's only a couple of years old! Everyone will know that the real ruler would be her mother and great uncle!"
"The Whore and the 3rd Duke of Norfolk?"
"Yes!"
"I still don't understand what you're saying, Chapuys…"
"My dear Princess! This is the wheel of fortune! Either you will become the Queen of England, or the two of us will be running to Spain!"
"Why?"
"The King is dead!"
My eyes gleamed. For weeks, my glass had been in turmoil, being shook violently as I suffered at the hands of the Whore. With my father dead, the Whore will be no more. My glass of life is no longer empty and collecting dust.
It's filling itself up while we speak.
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