Chapter 29 – In which I both won and lost

I expected to wake up any moment now. What I had wagered the demon I would do, I had now done, had I not? I had found a peaceful and forgiving end for Henry and Catherine. I had preserved Henry's longed-for son. I had saved his relationship with Anne. I had strengthened England's power and reputation abroad. I had averted a major religious crisis in England. My job was done, was it not? I had set out to give England a better future, to make the major players happier – had it not been done?

But I didn't wake up. I was Mary, Princess of England, still, no matter what happened. Slowly, I began to wonder whether I might have bet too high. Would I really remain here for the rest of Mary's lifespan? Even if I died as the original Mary had, that would mean another 15 years or so of continuous struggle. I wasn't sure I wanted that.

On the other hand, I also wasn't sure I wanted to go. It was no longer just a project for me – no, it had become my reality long ago. Henry VIII no longer was a fat man in pictures, he WAS my father. And I loved him. Him and my mother and my siblings and many more. Part of me wanted back into my real life, but part of me also felt that this was my life now. I felt torn.

About as torn, I presume, as my dear cousin and namesake Mary of Austria, regent of the Netherlands, did. You might remember how much she had complained to me about the situation in the Low Countries and how utterly alone my cousin the Emperor left her. True, our joint intervention in the Italian wars had brought prestige to both Mary and England, earning her a few much needed coins from her brother, but he had left it at that. The Dutch were ever insubordinate and recalcitrant, making Mary's situation worse by the day. It was also no hidden truth that her subjects received aid from their neighbours in Northern France, who were all too happy to spite the Emperor.

In short, something had to happen if Mary wasn't to face outright rebellion, and it had to be done fast. Her pleading letters had begun to come each week now, and despite all my troubles at home I felt compelled to aid her. The only feasible option, however, was to put an end to French support for the rebellious Dutch merchants, and that was nigh impossible without the French king's help. Getting him and Mary to work together would be even more impossible. Can you say that? More impossible? Well, that's how I felt about it.

I had taken my stepmother, the Queen, into confidence, explaining to her the situation and why we were needed. Anne, of course, was still on good terms with King Francis. Having recently signed the peace treaty with my cousin, Francis was no longer officially at odds with the House of Habsburg. Anne's charm would be enough to sway him in favour of at least listening to our demands. It fell to me to convince Mary of such an alliance, which was certainly more difficult. It took me letter after letter urging her to listen to reason and look past her burning hatred for the Ottomans. Yes, they had killed her beloved husband, but Francis was no longer their ally, I told her. He had forsaken their friendship when he had signed the treaty. He was her brother-in-law through her sister Eleanor, after all. And wasn't the fact that the Turks continued to raid along the Mediterranean without French help proof enough of the fact that the Franco-Ottoman alliance was broken?

In the end, she reluctantly agreed to meet with Francis, but only if certain requirements were met. One was that they would meet neither on Valois nor Habsburg ground. She wanted the safety of neutrality, which Queen Anne and I were glad to offer in the shape of Calais. It was an English city, after all, located conveniently between France and the Netherlands. Her second demand was that an armed English envoy oversee their discussions.

The Queen and I put it to my father, and after a short moment of deliberation, he agreed.

"It is a good opportunity for us to enforce our position as defenders of peace in Europe. I'll send an envoy as well as a few select noble men. Suffolk could go, don't you agree?"

"Yes, my love. And perhaps also my father, who knows Francis so well from when he was your ambassador to the French court," the Queen replied.

"Agreed. Your father is a fine choice."

"I would like to go," I suddenly blurted out.

They both looked at me in disbelief. I expected my father's ranting any second, to hear him say how much he needed me here and that it was men's business and such, but there was only silence. He and the Queen exchanged glances. Then, much to my surprise, he nodded.

"A wise idea, sweetheart. You'll show them gentleness and Tudor fierceness at the same time. It is about time that the kings of Europe see the bride they missed out on."

I couldn't agree more. So in autumn 1537, I set sail once again for the continent, although the passage through the English Channel was rather short and unspectacular. What would follow, however, was spectacular. Historical, even.

Mary, regent of the Netherlands, and Francis, King of France, met at Calais to discuss their alliance and cooperation. Suffolk was the official leader of the English envoy appointed to guard the meeting, but as a member of the royal family, I outranked him. It fell to me to act as hostess to both the French and Dutch guests.

"Your Highness, it is a great pleasure to see you again after such a long time," my cousin Mary greeted me as she entered the reception hall of the Calais palace designed to host the summit. "And might I state that I was more than pleased to hear that you were, above all, to attend this meeting?"

"Cousin," I returned smiling and embraced her. "I am just as pleased as you are. Ever since my gracious father, the King, allowed me to join our envoy, I have been praying that my presence will help ensure the beneficial outcome of this gathering."

"I am sure it will. There is no other I would rather have beside me when I face that… the King of France." Her last words were almost hushed.

I nodded. "But please keep in mind that I am a defender of peace in this first and foremost, for to be such I was commanded by my noble lord father. I am here to facilitate an advantageous friendship between you and King Francis."

It wasn't the answer she had expected, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless. She had no other choice, anyway, for the herald was already announcing the French ambassadors and their king. Mary and her servants stepped aside to make way for our second guest. I straightened my shoulders and tried to recall the farewell words of Her Majesty, Queen Anne.

"Never lose composure, whatever the French may do or say. They make a habit out of blindsiding their opponents, only to take them off guard. Politeness and smiles are your weapons. That is how you survive the French."

Politeness and smiles, I recanted in my head. Politeness and smiles.

Francis seemed older than I had expected, but he had tried his best to appear the ever charming young king he had once been. As he strode towards me, clad in crimson and gold, a smug grin on his face, I knew he wouldn't be easily subdued.

"Your Highness," he said with a smile, hinting at a bow before me.

I put on the kindest smile I could muster. "Votre Majesté," I returned, surprised by the ease with which the French flew from my lips. In my real life, I had always scraped against the minimum requirements of my French classes, but Mary's tongue had been excellently trained. "Je suis ravie de faire connaissance avec vous. J'ai pris mon mal en patience pour ce moment."

He laughed, and then he clapped his hands looking at his retinue. "Magnifique, Princesse Marie. Votre maitrise de français est impressionnante. But I have been told that this was to be a summit hosted by the English, non? In which case I would gladly offer to forsake my beloved mother's tongue for a given time."

"Your Majesty is far too kind," I said accepting his proposal. "May I introduce you to Her Imperial Highness, Archduchess Mary, who is, I believe, also your sister-in-law."

Mary stepped forward. You could see the discomfort she felt about this moment in her every movement, but she complied nonetheless. Francis, on the other hand, seemed far more comfortable.

"Ah, another charming Princess Mary for me to meet. Madame, it is my pleasure."

Mary allowed him to pretend a kiss on her hand, but the way she did it was more than just stiff. I shot her a dunning glance.

"The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty. I think it is high time we were introduced."

"Indeed so. I should call you sister, should I not," Francis joked, but apparently, his lightness was lost on Mary. She looked as gloomy as she had before.

"You might, yet I wonder why you have not brought my sister with you," she all but shot back.

Francis' smile died down.

My mind rang alarm. Do something, quickly! "Your Majesty must be exhausted from the journey. I have taken liberties to have the finest rooms prepared for you as well as a light supper. We may dine together tonight, and begin our negotiations on the morrow. Would that be convenient to you?"

Francis slowly turned his gaze away from Mary. His smile slowly returned as he looked at me.

"I am very grateful for Your Highness' consideration. I shall see the ladies come nightfall, then. Allons y!"

I sighed very deeply as I watched him and his French courtiers leave. Mary, still standing by my side, clearly overheard me.

"He's as much a spoiled upstart as my sister told me," she hissed. "How can I ever make peace with a man who doesn't even consider bringing my dear sister with him, if only as a sign of goodwill?"

"We'll find a way," I simply retorted. Mary repaid me with a puzzled look. "Cousin, I asked you here because you need this treaty. Not me. You. If you want my help, you'll have to accept certain things that you won't like. The absence of Queen Eleanor will be the least of them. Tell me now if you are unwilling to proceed, so I may find a suitable way to tell King Francis without making this a political disaster."

Mary opened and closed her mouth. She looked at me in bewilderment. Then, finally, she shook her head.

"I'll see you at dinner," I then said and beckoned the English servants to guide the Dutch envoys to their rooms. Mary left without saying another word.

Had I been harsh? She was my cousin and friend, yes, but I didn't think she would benefit from me sugar-coating the truth. Her position was difficult and she needed French support. If she allowed her pert emotions to rule these discussions, they would be doomed from the start. I could only hope I would be able to keep her anger in check as well as Francis's ego.

Perhaps I should have never come in the first place, I thought that day.

Perhaps I should have never come in the first place, I thought as we sat and had dinner that night.

Perhaps I should have never come in the first place, I thought as our talks commenced the other day. It took Mary only one hour of conversation before snapping at Francis.

Perhaps I should have never come in the first place, I thought on any other of the following three days.

I fought hard to keep matters peaceful and friendly, and while we made good progress despite Mary's animosity and Francis's cockiness, I couldn't say the same for myself. My health seemed to decline with every passing day. I had headaches the first day we started to speak. I lost my appetite on the second day. On the fourth day, I emptied my stomach right after breaking my fast. It was then that I had to admit something was genuinely wrong.

So I summoned my cousin to my chambers after breakfast.

"I need your help," I told Mary nonchalantly. "Surely you have a physician in your retinue?"

"Of course I do. Why do you ask? Is there something amiss?"

"I fear for my health. Headaches and ill bowel movements… I feel like all my power is drained from me, and I do not like it one bit. It would not do me well for King Francis to see my weakness."

Mary nodded. "I understand, of course. But why not ask your fellow Englishmen for help? You must have brought able physicians as well."

"We do, but they are also answerable to my Lord Suffolk, who is my uncle by marriage. Were he to know that something was amiss with my health, he would surely send me home by the first tide. I have no wish to go… I just need some concoctions."

"Cousin, I… may I be so bold as to as you whether it might not be an illness after all?"

"You may. I have also considered the possibility of being pregnant, although I had some bleedings only a while ago. Alas, I cannot be sure of anything. Which is why I turned to you for help, for I know you would not betray my trust. And whatever the outcome of this examination, I would like a friend close by."

She smiled, for the first time since she had met King Francis. Then she assured me she would do just that. And, what can I say? She stuck to her word. She brought a physician, Dr Fell, and swore him to secrecy. Then she dismissed everyone except him from my chambers, and stayed with me as he examined me from head to toe. It was no pleasing experience, I can assure you – modern medicine was far more in accordance with my tastes. But what was I to do? I had no medical knowledge beyond seven seasons of watching House, MD. If I didn't have any special kind of lupus, the physician might be actually better suited to diagnose me.

When he finished, Dr Fell was approached by my cousin, and they hastily exchanged a few words in muttered voices, trying to make sure I didn't overhear them. Mary's gaze however told me that something was truly wrong. My heart began to beat faster.

Then she came to the bed I had been lying on and gave me an apologetic look.

"Out with it," I said rather harshly, unwilling to allow her any more pitiful glances.

Mary flinched for a moment, but then she nodded. "Dr Fell says you were indeed with child."

It took me a second, then I understood. I only repeated one word: "Were."

"Unfortunately so, yes. He said you must have lost it a day or so ago. Second month, perhaps. You couldn't have been further along, else you would have clearly noticed yourself. But you should not pin the blame on yourself. Dr Fell assured me that it happens quite frequently, especially in young women before their first child."

I nodded slowly. Of course I knew that. Hell, I probably knew more about pregnancies and childbirth than that damn doctor! But to grasp the fact that it had now happened to me… there is this weird notion that bad things only happen to others. Yes, many women lose unborn children before the end of the first trimester, even in modern times, and some will never notice that it has happened. I knew that. I just hadn't expected it to happen to me.

"Your Highness has no cause for worry or concern," the doctor himself now assured me in his heavily accented English. "I see no impediment for you carrying a child to term. It has mere pleased God to call this one away so soon."

"Thank you, Dr Fell," I said monotonously. "I'll see to it that you receive payment for your services."

"I'll cover the expenses. Dr Fell is in my employ, cousin, and should anyone ask, he examined me, not you."

I nodded again. "Thank you."

She smiled ever so kindly

Looking back from what I know now, I believe that this situation had a big impact not only on me, but Mary as well. She had never been granted the chance of being a mother, but somehow, it appears, she had hoped for me to be one. For me to have what she didn't have, a loving and living husband and a happy family. Now that this dream had been shattered, if only for the moment, she seemed to pity me and more. All of a sudden, Mary became overly protective of me.

The next day when we convened with Francis, she would not yell or scream. Whenever she got angry, she looked to me, and apparently remembered there were greater plights than hers right now. I can only assume all this, of course, but her actions seem to prove my theory.

Three days later, a deal was finally struck. In retrospect, I sometimes feel my child had died for this historic document to be born. Of course, it was no fair trade, nor was it actually true. Still, it somehow lessens the grief I feel about this loss when I delude myself into thinking I at least got something in return. That there was a plan behind all this.

I don't think there is a plan, though, nor ever was. Not even my plans were perfect, I realized as I sailed back to England after the summit was over.

Such high hopes I had had, and even though many had played out well, others had not. My brother Michael had died. The Seymours had conspired to kill my stepmother and siblings. Jane Boleyn was dead, and the whereabouts of her husband were unknown. I had received conflicting messages about him – some rumours claimed that he had dealt a decisive blow to the Turks on Malta, while another claimed he had fallen in battle somewhere in Greece, and one sailor swore he had seen George drinking himself into a stupor in a Sicilian harbour tavern.

But the worst of all my failures, I now realized, was my marriage plan. I had laid it out so carefully, weighing the pros and cons of any possible candidate. I had allowed myself to be swayed by the prospect of marrying a battle-seasoned general, and of the sweet romance between Mary and Philipp in the TV series. Perhaps it had been true in real history as well, if we had met later. But now…

As I stood on the ship watching the English shores draw closer, I dreaded the second I would see Philipp again. I would have to tell him about the babe – our child – that had been lost from my womb. He would comfort me, perhaps, or blame me for the loss. I didn't know. But what was even worse – I didn't care. As I approached the English coast, I realized that my marriage to Philipp had been a good plan so long as one of my two most fundamental assumptions held true – that either we would eventually fall in love, or that I could be medieval pragmatist enough to accept a marriage of convenience.

Now, I realized, none of these things were true. I liked Philipp, but I didn't love him. There was no spark, no fire, no passion… and I also realized I didn't want to try anymore. That being stuck in a marriage of convenience made me feel hollow. That I was being childish and selfish and stubborn… but thinking of Philipp's face when I told him about our dead child didn't cause any disturbance in my heart. It didn't touch me. Not as the death of my brother Michael had. Not as the betrayal of Chapuys had. Not as the proud smiles of my father had. Not as the rumours about George's death had.

As I set foot back on English soil, I realized I may have won my political matters in Europe, but lost my wit there all the same. I was married to a man I wouldn't love, but whom I had chosen precisely because he would suit the needs I had in politics. What could I do now?

For the first time since I entered this world, I had literally no idea.

I was lost.