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CHAPTER ELEVEN – MIDDLEMAM AND WESTIMINSTER, FEBRUARY-JUNE 1474
A lot could change in a year. Marion and Dickon left London just as 1474 dawned on a cold, blustery winter day. Upon arriving back at Middleham, they had come upon a most curious sight. Lady Anne, preparing to leave the castle with John and Katheryn, intending to go to Hornby Castle so that she could return the children to their mothers, since the young ones had asked for her to do so. To Marion, this was a very big step for Anne – she was willing to meet with Kate and Nan, and return their children to them, upon her own will. It seemed that Anne had fully accepted John and Katheryn, and had forgiven Dickon for his past mistakes.
As the months passed, preparations were put in place for Marion's coming nuptials. She stayed at Middleham for the duration of that time, helping Lady Anne whenever she needed it, and watching over the children. They were all growing so fast. On most days, Marion would awake to high pitched giggling coming from the nursery, walking in to see Mistress Burgh tending not only Dickon's children, but other young ones fostered at Middleham. The lot of them were a delight to Marion, she loved watching them play and grow. That March, Katheryn would be turning five, in April, John would be three, and in May, little Neddy would be celebrating his first birthday.
The previous December, when Marion had journeyed to London, the King had decreed that she was to be wed before the next feast of Saint Martin – called Martinmas – that coming November. Thus, in mid-January a letter was sent from London, stipulating that Marion had to return in all haste to be wed in February, so her husband could return home in the best sailing conditions.
This news put Anne's acceptance of John and Katheryn to the ultimate test, in ways that Marion would never have dared imagined possible. One oddly sunny morning in the middle of February, Marion, Katheryn, and John were called to Dickon's solar, where he delivered some shocking news, a smiling Lady Anne standing by his side.
"Marion, Katheryn and John; Kate and Nan are coming to Middleham. They will arrive on the morrow."
Katheryn's dark blue eyes popped wide, and her mouth fell into a perfect O. John began to bounce around the room like a ship on stormy seas, shrieking joyfully:
"Mama come! Mama come!"
Marion blinked, and stepped forwards tentatively. "Are they really coming? Truly?"
"Truly," smiled Dickon, taking his wife's hand.
"I invited them," Anne declared. "I thought it would serve you well, Marion, to have your sister here before Dickon takes you south for your wedding."
Katheryn squealed, darting forwards to hug the Duchess. "Pretty Lady Annie!" she gasped, using a nickname she had come up with for Anne when she was three, and had met the Lady for the first time. "Thank you!"
Anne smiled, and gently patted the girl's unruly curls. Marion watched the display quietly, before a small smile – seldom seen on her face these past few months – twisted her lips. When Katheryn let go of Lady Anne, Marion hugged her, trying to pour all her gratitude into the gesture.
"Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you, thank you..."
Their arrival was met with no fanfare, or great joy – save that shown by the children. The women arrived bearing saddle bags laden with many things, mainly gifts for Lady Anne in thanks for being allowed into her home as they were. Kate looked very pretty, Marion thought, in a gown of blue, with a dark leather belt wound about her hips. Her hair had been twisted up into a net, a white wimple secured to that, so that she looked a bit like the Virgin Mary. Nan Harrington looked equally as lovely, wearing a gown of dark green, cut into a style that Marion had only seen here and there, a newer style it was. Her hair was also covered with a wimple, but this one was folded elaborately, giving it a distinctly horned appearance. Upon dismounting, and after receiving hugs and kisses from John and Katheryn who squealed with delight upon seeing their mothers, the women presented their gifts.
"I know it is not much, my Lady, but here are a number of seedlings from my garden, as well as a gown that did belong to my mother. As horrible as that woman was, I feel that the dress will look lovely on you, from what my sister has told me of your looks." Kate said, holding out her saddle bag.
Lady Anne gaped in a very unladylike fashion, before managing to smile slightly. "Th-thank you, Katherine Morton..."
"Please call me Kate,"
"Kate, then." she nodded, before turning to Nan. "And you are Nan Harrington?"
"Yea, my Lady. I present to you this day, yet another dress. This is one that matches mine own, showing the newer fashions from Burgundy. I hope it pleases you."
Anne was openly grinning now, and accepted the second saddle bag. "Thank you, both of you. I did not expect such gifts to be lavished upon me this day, and I am utterly surprised. I do hope that the hospitality that you receive here will only begin to make up to this kindness you have shown me, when you really have no reason to do so." her last words were bitter, her eyes dark and downcast. Kate and Nan smiled back, their eyes wide with sympathy and understanding as they held their bastards close.
Servants openly called Kate and Nan "Our Lord's whores," insults that did not sit well with Marion. But because of Kate's insistence, she did not react to it as she wished to do. A small, but nice dinner, was served to welcome the women, in which Kate expressed her delight that Marion and Katheryn ate like ladies.
"They eat like cows and home," Kate smiled.
Marion glared at her sister across the long table. "Well, we are not ladies, so have no cause to eat like ladies." She paused, before smiling at Anne. "Unless we are with ladies, then we eat properly."
"You will be a lady soon enough – or a princess, I should say – Marion." Kate wiggled her eyebrows teasingly.
The girl scowled. "Do not remind me, sister. Please do not remind me."
Nan had laughed so hard she nearly chocked on her wine.
Marion sat in front of the looking-glass as Kate, Nan and Anne curled her hair, and made small adjustments to her appearance. Today was the day of her departure. Marion wore a splendid gown of red-gold cotton, styled in the new fashion for gowns from Burgundy with a high girdle and a low V neckline, a white kirtle (or under gown) cutting a straight, square line across the V. A small pendant of amber hung at her throat, a gift from her sister. Her dull brown hair had been twisted into tight curls, and her pale skin glowed from a long bath. There was nothing particularly striking – in Marion's opinion – about her looks, apart from her pale green eyes. A green that must have been her mother's. A slight widow's peak dipped her brow, emphasizing high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a wide nose. All in all, boring, if Marion had to give a one-word description of her looks. Her poor husband would most likely be sorely disappointed with what he saw.
"You look beautiful," Kate said softly, stroking Marion's cheek.
"Yes, you do." nodded Nan.
"Nay," said Anne. All turned towards her, looks of shock and anger on their faces – except Marion, who was relieved that at least one person was speaking sense.
"You look beyond beautiful, Marion. He will love you." hazel eyes crinkled around the edges, as the mouth of the speaker stretched into a wide smile.
Marion felt her heart swell with love for all three women in the room – even if their eyes did deceive them. These women who now called themselves friends.
"Thank you, so, so, much."
Because of her heightened nerves, this trip to London was far quicker than the last. Marion traveled with only Dickon, the women and children staying back at Middleham until either both, or one of them (that one being Dickon) returned. To offer her some comfort, Dickon chatted amiably as they rode:
"You know, it is well known that scholars and priests view a woman as half a man, therefore, needing twice as much as everything a man has, in order to function. So, in regards to courage, a woman would ultimately have twice as much courage than a man when she needs it."
"But... where would courage come from?"
He smiled. "Ah, well, it is my personal belief that a man can only be brave when he is scared, therefore, calling upon courage when he needs it most. And, if a woman is half a man, and therefore has to have twice the amount of courage as a man to be brave in scary situations, then a woman will always be the braver one. Remember that, Marion. You can be brave, you have more courage than I ever would have in this situation. You are brave."
When Marion first laid eyes on Frederick of the House of Wettin, son of Ernst, Elector of Saxony, her first reaction was horror, quickly stifled. Her husband-to-be was far taller than she, and decidedly ugly. He was rather chubby, bordering on fat, with a head of dark blonde curls, bleary brown eyes, and the beginnings of a teen-aged pimple problem. He wore flamboyant clothes of bright, garish colours – such was the fashion in Germany – that made Marion's head hurt. He was of an age with her, though nearly a year older, being born in the January of 1463, while Marion had been born in the December.
Rudolph acted as translator for them, mediating countless chess games, too-formal conversations in the gardens of Westminster, and the occasional banter or jape. Marion got the feeling that Frederick hated her, because she was plain, because she could not speak his language, and because of her status, and thus, her inability to give him lands.
Thankfully, Frederick did not seem to expect – or want – Marion to return to his homeland with him. He rather gave the impression that he did not want – nay, that he could not stand – to have her moping around the halls of whatever incomprehensibly named castle he lived in. For that, at least, Marion was thankful.
"Are you liking London, so far?" Marion asked dryly as she, Frederick, and Rudolph walked through the lush gardens of Westminster.
The older man bent his head to whisper her question into his charge's ear. Frederick turned is watery gaze to Marion, replying in a tone just as dry: "Ja,"
Marion nodded, and the betrothed children lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Marion could hear Frederick's oddly gruff voice worm its way into her conscious thought, and the interpreter's high-pitched one shed some light on what he was saying.
"It never rains this much in Germany. Prince Frederick misses the sunshine very much."
A flare of anger and hatred for this fat boy burned through Marion, unbidden, and terribly sudden.
"Well then, we must hurry up and wed, so you can be on your way home. And I will stay here until I have flowered, then come and join you."
"Ja, Maria." Frederick said, using the strange German version of her name, as he had since the day he arrived. Marion huffed in annoyance.
"We must attend to details, then." added Rudolph.
"Yes, we must. And my name is not Maria. It's Marion."
At the same time that Marion and Frederick grudgingly prepared for their wedding, King Edward was working on formalizing his alliance with the Hanseatic League, a group of traders from all over Europe, who had a main base in the German part of the Holy Roman Empire. This marriage, the King said, would also secure an alliance with Germany itself, giving England someone to back them in any other future war with France (England still being rather jittery when it came to France after the end of what would be known as the Hundred Years War not too long ago). Marion's marriage would simply be the bargaining chip needed to secure troops and peaceful trade.
The day arrived. February 28th was a bleak, dreary day where the chill of winter seemed to hang in the air. Marion wore a white cloak over her fine little gown, but it did nothing to ward off the damp cold. Her gown was of the palest blue, intricately woven, and made to fit her body perfectly – not that there was much to see. The blue skirt parted in the middle to reveal a layer of cloth of gold – an ode to the colours of the House of York. Her hair was not curled, simply left in its natural wavy state. White roses – symbolizing her loyalty to the House of York, just like the colours of her gown – were woven through her hair. Marion looked beautiful, though she felt anything but. Frederick's attire was much more appealing than the day they met. His tunic was of a much more muted colour – dark green, though the cloak he wore looked to be a great deal heavier than Marion's. Beads of sweat trickled down his round brow; if they were from nerves or because he was stood beside a sconce bearing a lit torch, Marion could not tell.
Once he had walked her to the alter, Dickon had squeezed her shoulder, leaned down, and whispered a well met reminder in her ear: "You are brave,"
They knelt before the priest under the hard gazes of the King, Queen, Elector or Saxony, Rudolph, and Dickon, in the open, yet suffocating environment of Westminster Abbey. Candles burnt in sconces mounted all along the walls, and when Marion tipped her head back slightly to gaze at the arched ceiling, she saw that the shape of said ceiling was of a cross. It made her head swim. Marion cast a glance to her right, seeing her friend standing stiffly, glaring at the King, his mouth pulled into a scowl. Dickon did not approve of this. The priest bound the children's hands in the cloth of his belt, and they chanted meaningless vows in Latin – a language both only knew through prayer. A quick kiss (and much grimacing and stifled gagging on both parts), and a simple wedding band made of gold, with a lapis stone in the center with a tiny ruby either side, sealed their union.
Not that it was an entirely valid union. As Marion and Frederick left the Abbey, both could hear the arguing going on between Frederick's father, and the King. Ernest, Elector of Saxony was of the opinion that because marrying bastards to noble true born people was just not done that the marriage was breaking some kind of law, and therefore, invalid. King Edward waved away his words and said in a rather strained voice that the marriage was sealed, and that there was nothing to be done about it. When Marion looked back at him, she saw Dickon trying to get a word in (probably to speak on the children's behalf, as his eyes kept darting their way), while Queen Elizabeth stood regally beside her husband, a vicious smirk on her face.
After the initial ceremony, a wedding certificate was signed, as well as a treaty, stipulating that German traders from the Heseanic League could dock in English ports along with another treaty stating that Germany would help England in their new alliance with Burgundy against France. For even though the King had not mentioned this part of the deal to his brother the Duke of Gloucester (and therefore, to Marion herself), the marriage was also going to cement the Treaty of Utretcht, signed in 1474, as well as the Treaty of London, 1474.
A small feast was held afterward, in honour of this new alliance. Representatives from the English ports of the League sat at lower tables, chatting to their German counterparts who lived in the port area of London. The King and Queen sat at the High Table of the Great Hall, looking resplendent, the cloth of estate bearing the royal Coat of Arms hanging above them. Dickon sat at a table just below the High Table, with Marion and Frederick, while the royal children took up seats near their parents. Beth smirked down at Marion in a fashion that was very much like her mother. At a table across from theirs, Marion saw Frederick's family, Ernest shooting his son sad smiles here and there over his goblet of wine. Beside her, Marion saw Frederick leaning as far away from her as possible, his right hand stabbing idly at his food with an eating knife. Clearly he was not hungry, and neither was Marion. Thank God the feast was not such a big event.
They spent their wedding night in the same chamber, in the same bed, but being children, nothing was expected of them – at least, until Marion had flowered and moved to Germany. Kate had explained to Marion the transition from girlhood to womanhood before she left Middleham, and as Frederick turned his pillows into a barrier between them, Marion was delighted and thankful to God, that she was still a girl of ten.
"Guten natch, Maria." were the first words Frederick spoke to her since the ceremony. Of course, there had been the feast afterward, but he had not spoken a word to her.
Marion took those words to mean something along the lines of "good night", and she didn't even bother correcting him when he called her by the wrong name again.
"Good night, Frederick. " she replied, before rolling over and falling into an uneasy sleep.
"Your marriage could not have come at a better time," Dickon said as he placed a sheet of parchment on his desk.
It was now December once more, and Marion had been married for five months. She had bade her husband farewell in August, promising to join him when she was ready, and that she would keep in touch. She returned to Middleham straight after that.
"Why does the King say that?" the now Lady and Princess asked the Duke.
He smiled, a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. "Because Isabella of Castille has started a civil war in her country against her niece, Joanna, who contends her claim to the Castillian throne. And, if England were to somehow get involved in that, well... it would be good to have an extra ally on the continent."
"Oh,"
"So now, if this impacts badly on England, and we find ourselves with another enemy in Europe – other than France – we have Germany to come to our defense."
"I am glad I could help,"
Another bitter smile. "I wish it had not been you. The Queen has daughters – many daughters – who would have been even more desirable as brides. But she only used you because you have no ties to lands. Lands that the Woodvilles do not want to lose."
"I know," Marion said.
And truly, she did. It had not taken her long to figure out the Woodville Queen's motives for choosing her as a bride for Frederick, and, truly, the whole travesty had been to the queen's advantage. Since Marion had no claim to lands, it was land the Queen could keep for her large and terrifying family. All Marion was, was a reminder to Germany that they had a friend in England, and that they would return the favour, if need be.
"I know, Dickon, that I am merely a commodity, to be bought and sold by powerful men."
From the look of sadness on his face, Marion knew that her statement was right.
"Maybe to the King and Queen, but not to me, nor to all those who love you."
Warmth spread through Marion, from her heart outwards. And she knew that Dickon was right, too. Maybe she was wroth more than she had originally thought. Maybe, someday, Frederick would see that too.