1 – HISTORY REINVENTED
Rodrigo Borgia, now known to most as Pope Alexander VI, quenched his thirst downing a cup of finest Spanish red wine. It was one of his great passions and a reminiscence of the land of his ancestors. The called him the "Spaniard" and despised him for being a foreigner, but he had defied them all by occupying the seat of St. Peter. Now they accused him of nepotism and simony, but he couldn't care less. Pope Alexander was at the height of his power.
The year was 1536. He had been appointed pontiff two years earlier following the death of Clement VII. To his mind, his predecessor had been a terrible pope for many reason, the worst of them being his Medici ancestry. He had spent vast amounts of money on political matters, thereby making more and more enemies and weakening the Papal States with every coin slipping through his fingers. He had also allowed the Sacco di Roma, the great sack of Rome, to humiliate the eternal city. What a shame it had been! And still, Clement had been so weak that he had been forced to acknowledge his defiler as Holy Roman Emperor and an adornment of Catholicism.
The new pope was determined to abstain from his predecessor's mistakes. He was determined to restore the former glory of Rome and the papacy and also to foster the interests of his family. His long-time mistress Vanozza had given him four wonderful children. Alexander was determined to leave the world to them.
"What news is there in the world?" Alexander asked while opening a pomegranate. He liked to be well-informed. Only an unprepared man could be taken by surprise.
"There is little news of the Spanish venture to the new world. However I heard rumours that a new city would be founded in the lands of silver," the young Cardinal replied in a rather bored voice. His name was Cesare Borgia, the Pope's eldest son. "Lucrezia has written to us announcing that she will come to Rome to join us for the wedding of our brother Gioffre. The King of France has also written a letter. He demands to receive a final answer on the matter of Naples and seeks your help in the matter of his son, who is currently held prisoner by the Emperor. I believe the winds of war may soon be blowing over us again."
"Our darling daughter is coming home at last," Alexander said smiling, completely neglecting the threat of a major war in Europe. "It is with such pleasure that we think of the upcoming wedding, if only to see our sweet Lucrezia again. We sometimes fear that our decision for her was unwise. Tell us, Cesare, what news is there of her marriage?"
"None, I fear," Cesare hated to admit. "Her husband appears to be very strict, but not in an unseemly matter. Yet I swear to you, Holy Father, on my life, that if I ever found he was ungallant, I would personally hold him responsible."
The Pope nodded. Driving his teeth into his pomegranate, his thoughts drifted away from earthly politics back to the angelic face of his only daughter. Had he really made the right choice for her? Doubts were nagging him almost every night in his sleep. In order to distract himself from them, he turned to his son again.
"Is there anything else? Any news?"
"Only some minor rumours. The French queen is believed to be pregnant, the English king obviously plans to rid himself of his wife, and there are rumours that the Protestant movement will soon take over Denmark and Norway."
The Pope nodded again, still absent-minded, but once his brain processed all the information, a curious frown appeared on his forehead.
"What were you saying?"
"I said they were just minor rumours about the French queen and…"
Alexander waved his words away. "No, no, no, what were you saying about the King of England? How can he rid himself of his wife when only a few days ago, I was told that brave Queen Catherine had died in poverty and shame?"
"Not this wife. The other one, the one who is presently called his Queen," Cesare corrected him.
The Pope's eyes widened even more. "The King plans to rid himself of Anne Boleyn? Why? Why on earth would he throw away the woman he severed his ties to Rome for? He has defied our predecessor in order to marry her – why would he now undo her?"
"I can only speculate, Holy Father, but I presume his desire was influenced by the fact that she has suddenly lost the son she was carrying. Rumour has it that she miscarried after catching the King in flagranti delicto, copulating with his latest mistress," Cesare reported in a very sober way. "They also say that the King plans to marry said mistress and make her his new Queen."
"Oh, how history repeats itself. But we are curious: How does he mean to accomplish this? There is no pope that he can deny this time in order to free himself. If he declares the marriage invalid, he must thereby acknowledge his own fallibility. We had always thought him to be too proud a man for that."
Cesare shrugged. "Perhaps his desire for a son is even greater than his pride. In any case, he will get what he wants. He has tastes his power once; he will not shy away from using it once more." He poured himself a cup of wine now. "My man at the English court is a very shrewd man. He tells me that the King might try to end the marriage by citing the forbidden proximity that existed as a result of his previous relationship to the Queen's sister. My man also says that the King might go even further and accuse her of adultery."
"Adultery is an abominable sin," Alexander said nodding. "And in the case of a Queen, it is a treasonable crime as well. It would cost her life."
"I believe so, too, Holy Father," Cesare agreed and took a sip.
Alexander leant forward. "In which case, we ought to be grateful. It must be His doing that the Queen is deposed, since it has come to our ears that she is a Lutheran heretic. We cannot allow such nefarious lies to come from the mouth of anointed monarchs, can we?" He smiled. "Surely, dear Cesare, this is His doing. We shall pray to Him that the King's next wife will be a godly woman who can give him a son so that this whole sordid affair can come to an end. We are rather irritated by the constant news from England. We want peace."
Cesare nodded. "Yes, Holy Father, we shall pray for it."
He had no intention of doing so. In fact, he couldn't care less for the trifles of English politics. It mattered not to him who the King of England considered to be his wife and whether or not he got his longed-for son. Many had been absorbed by the tale of betrayal and love that had grown from the love-triangle between King Henry and his two Queens. Cesare hadn't. He had never pitied Catherine of Aragon, knowing that she could have had a much better life for herself and her daughter if only she hadn't been so terribly stubborn. He cared little for Anne Boleyn either. She had opened Pandora's Box and would now pay for her ambition. She had set a precedence for others to follow, so it seemed only consequential that she should now be replaced by the same means by which she had gained power. But least of all, Cesare couldn't bring himself to form an interest in the person of King Henry VIII. He was so obviously a slave to his passions, a character trait that Cesare despised. Men like Henry weren't fit to make politics. He knew that the King had once been destined to become a priest instead of a ruler. If only it had been that way, if only Henry had become a cardinal and he could have been a layman!
But life wasn't like that. Life was unfair. To him, to King Henry, to dead Queen Catherine, and now to Queen Anne. What did it matter to him?
Cesare couldn't take his eyes off of her. Could it truly be that each passing day had made her more beautiful? Her long, honey blonde hair flowing from the top of her head like a waterfall of gold, her deep hazel eyes that seemed to change colour every time you looked, those sweet pink lips… Lucrezia was an angel made flesh; the perfect woman with one exception: She was his sister. Being a cardinal, he was forbidden to admire any woman, but even if he had been a layman, adoring his own sister would have been a sin. Cesare knew it very well, but there was no escape. To him, his beautiful little sister was the image of perfection.
"Do you think they will be happy?" Her sweet, bell-like voice asked.
Cesare feigned a smile. "I certainly hope so. Gioffre may be young, perhaps too young for being married, but at least his wife is pretty."
Gioffre, the young boy of twelve to whom he was referring, was their brother whose marriage to Sancia of Aragon had given Lucrezia an excuse to return to Rome, if only for a short while. Sancia was the illegitimate daughter of the King of Naples. She was four years her husband's major and enticingly beautiful, though she did not meet with the taste of time. 16th century Italy idolised women like Lucrezia; sweet, pale and light-haired. Sancia however was tan, busty, and more of a fiery beauty. Her eyes betrayed the fact that unlike her young husband, she was neither a virgin nor inexperienced, a fact that may have been lost to an innocent soul like Lucrezia, but not to Cesare. And apparently, her seductiveness had also not gone unnoticed by their other brother Juan. Cesare had seen the exchange of glances between them during the wedding. If Sancia wasn't his mistress already, she would soon be.
Of course, Cesare would not mention his thoughts to his darling sister. She was an ingénue, a kind soul who wished best for all her siblings. He could not trouble her with his fears of the future. If Juan truly overstepped boundaries, it would be his brotherly duty to stop him, and he would do it in the most discreet manner possible so as to spare Lucrezia the shock. For her, he would do anything.
"Alas, a pretty wife may not always be enough," Lucrezia said sighing.
Her tone alarmed Cesare. He took her hand into his and tried to look into her eyes. "Is your marriage unhappy, sis? Has your husband been unkind?"
"He… is my lawful husband and uses me as a man does his wife," Lucrezia admitted reluctantly. "Please make me say no more."
"What is it, sis? You must tell me," Cesare insisted. "Have you forgotten the time when we promised to be true to each other, every day, always? There is nothing you could not tell me."
Lucrezia flinched. "There is nothing to say, brother. I have chosen to go down this path for the sake of our father, and it is for him that I will continue."
"But if he mistreats you, no, if anything there is not to your liking, I would alter your plight and…"
"No," Lucrezia said firmly, putting a finger on his lips. Her skin felt as soft as silk. "There is nothing you can do and I would have it this way. Please, Cesare, if you wish to do anything, if you must do anything, then cheer up my spirits with curious stories. Don't ask. Please."
Cesare nodded reluctantly. He could tell that she was keeping something from him, but he did not know exactly what it was. It was probably safe to assume that she wasn't very happy in her marriage, but if he acted upon this assumption, he might risk his father's precious alliance to the powerful Sforza family. Hearing her words, he realised that she was becoming a mature woman with a grasp of politics. For once, he would trust her judgment and ask no more, but if ever he encountered a proof of her husband's mistreatment of her, his fury would be without limits.
"Curious stories?"
"Yes, Cesare. Tell me something worth listening to, a story, just like my beloved Cem used to," Lucrezia insisted sadly.
It hurt him to see her this way, still suffering from the loss of their oriental friend Cem after all the time that had passed. Of course she didn't know that her own brother Juan had poisoned Cem in order to gain money for her dowry. If she did, if she was aware that her friend had died to make way for her unhappy marriage, it would break her. Cesare could never allow that to happen. So in order to turn her mind away from her own plight, he decided to speak about a marriage that was far worse than hers.
"Have you heard of the Queen of England?" He asked gently. "People say that the King means to rid himself of her."
Lucrezia raised one of her slender eyebrows. "Really? I was told that he loved her more than anything. He has defied the Holy Church for her, has he not?"
"Indeed, sis, but it seems their love has soured. After three years of marriage, all she has given him is a daughter and some stillborn sons. Now it seems his love has wandered again. I am told he means to marry his latest mistress."
"And drive another woman to death for displeasing him. Is this what happens to unlucky wives?" Lucrezia asked, sadness besmirching her beautiful face.
"Oh no, no, it is far from common," Cesare tried to assure her, cursing himself inwardly for having chosen the wrong topic. "The King of England is unique in his tastes. And surely he has good reasons to want out of his marriage."
Lucrezia looked up into the perfectly blue sky of Italian spring. A golden curl slipped from her shoulder.
"I pity her," she said quietly.
Cesare frowned. "You pity her, sis? Why? You know what she has done to the former Queen, do you not think it just that the same fate should befall her?"
Lucrezia's eyes wandered towards the aviary. "She is but a pawn in the games of others. She is a bird in a golden cage, brother. In this, she is just like me."
Her words shocked him. Did she really feel that way, like a bird in a cage? "But our father sees it as an intervention of God that a heretic like her should lose the crown," he tried to object.
"It does not matter. She was in love," Lucrezia said absent-mindedly. "There is no stronger force than love, Cesare. It overcomes everything and dwarves even religion. Surely you must know that."
"I do," he admitted very silently.
"What will happen to her?"
"She will probably take the veil and become a nun once her marriage to the King is annulled. But there is also the possibility that she might be tried for adultery, in which case it is highly likely that she be sentenced to death."
Lucrezia shuddered visibly. "The poor woman."
The deep, never-ending sadness in her eyes caused Cesare's heart to bleed. He felt like tearing it from his chest only to escape the pain that it was causing him. Had he not tried to cheer her up? Instead his story had only made her more miserable.
"Would it please you if her life was spared?" He heard himself asking.
Lucrezia's hazel eyes were immediately resting on him. "Could you do that?"
"If it would help to cheer up your spirits, sis, I would do anything. I would defy death for you if necessary," Cesare said sternly. "And if my sweet Lucrezia says that she wants to see the English Queen live, I am sure that the Holy Father can do something about it. I hear he is very interested in seeing said Lucrezia smile."
And indeed she did just that, smiling at her brother in the sweetest way possible. "Oh Cesare," she whispered.
"Sweet sister." Gently he put back one of her curls behind her ear and returned the smile. "I promise to do everything to make you happy."
Lucrezia leant her head against his shoulder and clutched his hand ever tighter. "I know, Cesare, I know."
"What has changed your mind?"
Cesare fled his father's gaze. They were standing in the papal parlour looking at each other as if they were just father and son, but of course they were not just that. They were powerful men. They were politicians. They were men of God.
"When we last spoke to you, you told us that the English Queen would likely pay the ultimate price. We agreed that it was a just punishment, Cesare, but now you are telling us to intervene on her behalf," Pope Alexander continued. "Why the change of mind?"
Cesare considered his options. He could tell his father the truth: That he still didn't care whether the Queen of England lived or died, but that he had promised to make his sister happy. But it was dangerous for a man to admit such fondness, even for his sister, even to his father. A man like him couldn't afford weakness. He chose to go for a convenient half-truth.
"My man in England has indicated that the Lord Chancellor might be the mastermind behind the machinations against the Queen. People say there has been much discord between them as of lately," Cesare began. "Now, Holy Father, as you well know, this Thomas Cromwell is quite obviously a fervent Protestant, constantly pushing the King of England farther away from the See of Rome. The Queen may be a heretic, but surely the true devil must be the man pouring poison into the King's ear."
The Pope frowned. "We might agree with you on this, but we do not see why our distaste for Master Cromwell should make us more inclined to like the Queen."
"Then allow me to point it out to you." Cesare took a deep breath and began the story he had come up with to justify his irrational desire to please Lucrezia with rational means. "If the Chancellor is plotting against the Queen, his former ally, it must mean that they no longer share a common ground. Perhaps his actions have become too radical for her? Maybe the Queen never wanted to push so far, so he decided to rid himself of the only other person who could affect the King's decisions? Holy Father, it seems entirely possible that Queen Anne is not so much our enemy as we might have thought. She might be misguided, but then, many people are. Is it not our holy duty to lead them back to the path of righteousness?"
"Ah." A smile crossed Alexander's face. "But what about Cromwell?"
"Oh, he is beyond salvation, no doubt, but the Queen may be not. They say she is a shrewd woman, a male mind in a female body. She might be useful to our family."
The Pope ventured a few steps towards his son. "But what makes you believe she would? Even if she is not as radical as others, she still despises the very idea of the papacy."
"I think you may find that revenge is a very strong force, especially in women," Cesare returned grinning. "We share a common enemy."
There was a moment of silence while the Pope thought it through. Cesare tried to avoid biting his lip. Had he been convincing? Would his plan work out, or would he be forced to tell the truth after all? No, surely his arguments had been good. Impressively plausible. His father would buy it.
"What do you suggest we do, Cesare?"
"Write to the King of England, Holy Father. Remind him that in your eyes, he was never truly married to Anne Boleyn and is thus, after the death of Catherine of Aragon, free to marry whom he chooses. But," Cesare paused. "But you must also remind him that if he was never married to Lady Anne, he can hardly try her for adultery. Convince him to send her into exile… here. We can make it an offer that he can't refuse. An offer to lift the threat of excommunication, if need be."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "And if he agrees, what are we to do with her?"
Cesare smiled. "We're making her our friend. We're making her the best advocate of your papacy. We're making her a Borgia."
Anne Boleyn looked out of the window but didn't see anything except for a blinding white sky. She wasn't uncomfortable, at least not physically. There were far worse lodgings at the Tower of London like those that were occupied by Mark Smeaton at the moment. Unlike all the others they had accused of sleeping with her, Mark was born a commoner and thus denied certain privileges. They had probably tortured him as well. Anne's heart clamped at the thought.
She was physically unhurt, yes, but her heart had broken into a million pieces. It wasn't just the thought of poor Mark rotting in the dungeons, it wasn't just the fear for the heads of all the others, it wasn't just the outrage she felt when thinking they had even accused her of incest… it was Henry. His betrayal hurt the most. Had he not promised to love her and only her? London would have to melt into the Thames first, he had told her. Apparently, it had, and it had taken her whole life with him.
In a way, it was a relief to finally know that she had lost him. Those months, no years of agony had been far worse. The uncertainty had killed her from within. She had seen Henry's love fading, she had felt it, yet she hadn't been able to stop it. At first she hadn't believed it could be possible, so she had ignored the signs, but when she finally realised something was going terribly wrong, her heart had begun to bleed. The thought of living without Henry's love was unbearable. Now, sitting in a cell of the Tower, Anne had to do just that. Could she have done anything to stop it? Maybe if she had been more pliable, less jealous, less… herself? If she had been more like the Seymour girl?
No, not like that wench, Anne thought angrily. They call me a harlot, but is she any better? They won't call her a harlot. They will call her a pure white angel, a peacemaker, and whatnot. She will trick them just like she has tricked Henry. It is so unfair! But it doesn't absolve Henry from it. He is the one who betrayed me, the one who left me to rot when he had promised to love me. How could he do that? How could he believe any of these accusations to be true? How could he think Elizabeth wasn't his child? Just look at her, every inch a Tudor!
Anne's gaze wandered off blindly, her mind soaring far away to Hatfield and her daughter. What would they tell her about her mother once she was gone? Anne had no hopes of seeing her beloved child again. Her future knew only two options now that she was imprisoned in the Tower: a nunnery or the block. Either way, she would never be allowed to contact her daughter again. She would lose the only person who truly loved her unconditionally. It felt far worse than the prospect of death.
The door opened. Curiously, Anne's gaze met with the eyes of Master Kingston, the constable of the Tower. He was a kind and respectful man, but even he couldn't heal the pain that was tearing her up.
"Master Kingston?"
"Madam, I am here with news from His Majesty. Your trial has been suspended."
Her ladies gasped, but Anne simply frowned. "I had thought to be tried tomorrow, Master Kingston. Has the King changed his mind?"
"Majesty…" Master Kingston gave her a pitiful look. "An ecclesiastical court headed by the Archbishop of Canterbury has found your marriage to the King null and void on the grounds of his previous affinity to one of your blood."
"Mary," Anne whispered.
"Since you were never His Majesty's wife in the eyes of God, a charge of adultery is no longer lawful. Those accused with you are to be released."
Anne raised an eyebrow. Just like that? Henry believes his pride was wounded yet he lets us off just so he can marry his pale wench? Where is his revenge? This isn't the man I have known.
"What is to become of me?"
"The King… has decreed that, for your wantonness, you must still be punished. He has therefore decided to send you to Rome as a token of peace-making."
Anne couldn't believe her ears. "Peace-making? With whom?"
"With His Holiness Pope Alexander. Your ship leaves the day after tomorrow."
Master Kingston bowed and turned to go, but in a sudden rush of fear, Anne ventured forward and stopped him.
"What of my daughter, Master Kingston? What is to become of her?"
"I do not know, Madam. I believe she will be considered a bastard now, but…"
"But what? Please, for the love of God, tell me what you have heard!"
He sighed. "There are rumours that the King may believe the Princess to not be his child."
Anne withdrew. Her face grew pale. "So he might disinherit her altogether."
"I fear so, my Lady."
Anne tried to get to grips with all the facts that had just rained down upon her. She had no time to wonder about Henry's change of mind regarding the vicar of Rome, not when her departure was scheduled in two days. There were more important things.
"Would you do me a favour, Master Kingston?"
He nodded quickly. "Certainly, Madam, anything."
"Will you please thank the King for his mercy and goodwill and inform him that I humbly beg for my daughter to leave the country with me? Since she is either a bastard or no child of his to the King, she will be of no use to him. He will soon beget legitimate children from the wife I am sure he means to take. No matter the mother's faults, a child is innocent, is it not, Master Kingston? And any child should be with their loving mother," Anne said hurriedly. "Please, can you find the words to convince the King? It'd mean the world to me."
He nodded again, this time more reluctantly. "I will, my Lady, but I cannot promise anything. I will include your wish in my prayers."
"That is all I can ask for, Master Kingston. Thank you."
Anne closed her eyes as he left her cell. She took a few deep breaths trying to realise the new situation she found herself in. She wouldn't burn. A fear that had haunted her for months now, the prophecy that a Queen of England would burn at the stake. It wouldn't be her. Her life was spared by some strange coincidence. Anne was sure it wasn't Henry's doing; she knew how spiteful he could be when he believed himself wronged. Someone else must have tried to save her and it must have gone wrong somehow. Prisoner of the Pope!
Anne grinned. Life was being cruel to her. She would escape one dark fate only to be tossed into another. She could expect no friendliness in Rome, of that she was sure. Pope Alexander may not be her enemy as much as his predecessor had been, but he would despise her nonetheless. She would be thrown into a lion's pit. Was it really wise to ask for Elizabeth to come with her?
Yes, Anne told herself. No matter the perils that await me in Italy, they cannot be worse than living a life in disgrace and shame here in England. Elizabeth should be with the parent that loves her, not with the one for whom she has been a constant disappointment. She deserves to feel loved. I love her. I will protect her from everything. She is my daughter. My Elizabeth. My reason for living.
AN: Welcome to this story. Please feel free to leave me a little review; I'd like to hear your opinions. Cheers, Rahja