AN: Back to English soil at last! Finally, Elizabeth will meet one of her brother's wives. How will she and CoA get along? Read and find out! Thanks for the reviews!
FOUR – Catherine and me
If things had been different – and I daresay better – I would have never even met Catherine at all. When she married my brother after he became king, I had already left for Italy, and if it hadn't been for the troubles in their marriage, I might have never returned to English soil. But when she miscarried that last daughter in 1518, Harry sent me a letter filled with barely concealed despair and grief that sickened my heart. He had always been my favourite sibling since we were so close in age. Despite his vanity (which I actually found quite likeable at the time), I thought he made for a great king and wished only the best upon him. So when I read his letter, the urge to embrace and comfort him became unbearable.
The timing, however, was very unfortunate, as my family was currently wrapped in serious warfare over the Duchy of Urbino. In 1516, the Pope had created my husband Duke of Urbino, much to the dismay of a certain Francesco della Rovere, who had previously been the Duke. He then rallied Venetian troops and took Urbino back in 1517. Surprised and angry, the Pope ordered my husband to repay the favour and attack yet again. At times, it seemed like a game of nasty children to me, but when Lorenzo was wounded in battle, things became too serious for jokes. He would lie around in bed for months, his mood declining with every day he was forced to have others fight for him. During this time, he began to take more mistresses than usual, something which did by no means bother me. I accepted him as my husband and loved our children, the latest of which had just been born, but I did not care much about Lorenzo as a person.
The Pope's army eventually won, but only because della Rovere ran out of money and watched his soldiers desert the battlefield. It was a shaky peace and it meant that the Duchy was by no means safe. My family was once again on the brink of war when Harry's letter reached me. Of course I hesitated to give into my urge to travel to him, not only because of the unstable political situation, but also because Niccolò and I were in the middle of some very interesting discussions. But ultimately, my love for Harry won, and I asked my husband for permission to go to England with our children.
Much to my surprise, he refused. Normally, he never refused anything I asked of him, since he was too bothered with his daily business to care. I assumed then that he feared I would run off with our children since we had gone through some minor fights prior to the day that Harry's letter arrived. They were of no great importance to me, but Lorenzo obviously thought I was flimsy enough to desert him because of that. He refused, and in my despair, I turned to the only person I knew could help me: the Pope.
We were not exactly friends, but ever since my intervention on Giulio and Simonetta's behalf, he had somehow respected me, and I him. Fortunately, he happened to be in Florence at the time, so I brought my plight before him directly. It took me no longer than a few minutes to convince him that my brother, the king, would forever be grateful to the Medici family. He intervened on my behalf and had a lengthy conversation with Lorenzo, the outcome of which was that I would be allowed to travel to England for half a year in total and to take Eleonora and my baby Alessandro with me. Vittoria, however, would stay in Italy, obviously as a sort of safety to make sure I returned. I did not like it and, had I known what would happen later, I might not have agreed to it. But I did and that is how I met Catherine.
Looking back now, I would say our first meeting was rather unfortunate. She had had a stillborn daughter only months ago while I arrived with my two healthy children. But even if she did envy me, she had the nerve to conceal her feelings then and receive me politely. Harry, on the other hand, was more than just polite. He was giddy with pleasure to see me again after almost ten years and embraced me so tightly I could barely breathe. He issued a large feast to be held in my honour, much grander than the one my father had given me before my departure. And from the very first second on, he adored my children and showered them with gifts. Catherine saw all of this.
At first, we got along quite well, despite the fact that we were so different. She had been a stranger to this country once, but had been anglicised over the years, while I, a native of England, had spent the last nine years in Venice and Florence. I felt more of a stranger than her. She treated me with respect and even kindness, often inviting me to stitch with her and taking interest in my children. I did notice her gazes towards them, but did not think much of it at the time. I wasn't there to stay, anyway.
But then things got off hand. In Italy, the crisis worsened, and in England, I discovered I was pregnant again. I desperately wished to return to Italy to receive the comfort of Simonetta as I had had with all of my pregnancies, but Harry steadfastly refused to let me travel in my condition. Things back in Florence and Urbino were far too unstable for a heavily pregnant woman to arrive there, he told me in a soothing voice. It was charming to be shepherded like this, so I agreed to stay. Perhaps he was just unwilling to let me go, since I was his "only sister" at the time. Margaret had been in Scotland for forever, and Mary had still not been forgiven for marrying the Duke of Suffolk.
Soon, things in Italy became so tense that it was agreed I would have my child on English soil, and in April 1519, I gave birth to a daughter whom I decided to name Caterina. It was an attempt to appease Catherine, whom I felt had become increasingly jealous of me, and for a time it may have worked. Ultimately, however, it was doomed to fail, as was my relationship with Catherine, due to her lack of male offspring.
Do not mistake me: I do have compassion for Catherine's plight. Her days spent in shame after Arthur's death were pitiful, as was the loss of so many children, her youth, and Harry's love. It is viewed as cruel today to think of her as anything else but a wronged soul, yet I feel that this picture is twisted. Just as the people wish to see Niccolò as the devil, they wish to paint Catherine as a victim of Harry's lusts. But they didn't know Niccolò, and they didn't know Catherine. I knew her, and I know that despite her undisputable hardships, she was no saint. She was very proud and stubborn to the point of being like a rock. She refused to accept any other truth but hers. And she was a notorious idealist, which was possibly the worst of her crimes, and also the thing that would eventually break her neck.
I ought never to have been around in order to witness the events that would soon unfold, but fate had different plans. Shortly after I had given birth to Caterina, I received the news that my husband had died of the French disease or syphilis as they now call it. It came to me as a shock, for I had not even known he was infected. I might not have loved him, but I still pitied him, and moreover, worried for my Italian family. Della Rovere quickly took back the Duchy of Urbino, which the Pope obviously had lost interest in due to the fact that he now had to deal with the Turks. I quickly realised that without Lorenzo, I had nothing to return to, and that I would only live in danger from the della Roveres if I came back.
So circumstances forced me to remain in England, separated from my eldest daughter, and thus become witness to Harry's fading love for Catherine and the chaos that would follow. Once I had moved past the tears I shed for Vittoria, Simonetta, Niccolò, and others I would not see for a long time, I decided to be my father's daughter and make the best of it. I continued to be who I had been in Florence – an able player in the game of politics.
The storm that was building up inside the royal household did not remain hidden from me for long, nor did its obvious consequences. The hints were subtle, but visible. First, Harry allowed his old companion Suffolk back to court, accepting that a marriage made for love could be reasonable. Then he held a summit with the French during which his only daughter Mary was betrothed to the Dauphin. And there also was his latest and surprisingly long-lasting mistress, a certain Mary Boleyn. I knew my brother. I knew he had always been in love with the idea of love itself and that he could no longer picture Catherine in this ideal version of himself as the valiant knight.
I could not sit by idly and watch as their relationship dwindled into nothing but courtesy. I knew Harry would not stop there once he had realised that he no longer loved her. Once that happened, there was no stopping him, and I feared what it would do to him, to Catherine, to their daughter, and to England. That is the reason I decided to confront Catherine about the matter in 1524. Today I know I committed the sin of idealism myself when I believed words could change anything, but I the time I was certain my silver tongue could work it out.
I tried to address the matter subtly, casually mentioning my brother's renewed interest in reading the bible during one of these stitching afternoons with her. Catherine couldn't be provoked into a reaction.
"I hear he is thoroughly reading Leviticus as of lately," I added in a more suggestive tone.
"My husband is a very learned man," she replied sternly.
I sighed, realising I was going nowhere with subtle kindness, so I asked her if we could speak in private. Frowning, Catherine accepted and sent away her maids to the adjacent room. She looked at me with no expression at all.
"Majesty, if I may be so bold, I could not help but notice that things between you and my brother are not as they once were."
She took a moment to reply, but when she spoke, her voice was stern and unshaking. "My husband," she emphasized, "still loves me and our daughter very much. He is simply toying around with Lady Boleyn. You need not be concerned."
"Forgive me, but I have known my brother for a long time, and I fear that his infatuation with his mistress may be more than temporary. She is changing him, as did the birth of Henry Fitzroy. You know his vanity, you know how he is hurting over his lack of a legitimate son and heir."
"His Majesty loves our daughter very much," Catherine steadfastly insisted. "He would never place any of his bastards above her."
"Are you sure of that? You know he can be fickle at times."
"My husband is a good man and a good king. He knows that, if God shall not grant us a son, Mary will make for a wonderful Queen. She is the pearl of his world. He would not neglect her for some harlot's son."
"I wasn't implying that. My fears go much deeper, Madam. His affections for you are obviously fading – I would even assume that he is questioning whether you are truly his wife."
Now, at last, Catherine lost her temper. "How dare you speak to me like that? I am your Queen! I will not suffer your insolence!"
I, too, had no mind of being spoken to like that. "Forgive me, but what will you do if I continued? How will you castigate me? What would you do? Nothing, that is what would happen, for there is nothing you can do. All your power is in fact Harry's, and I highly doubt he would take any actions against me simply because you felt inappropriately addressed when I was merely speaking the truth. And that is the truth: We are women, Madam, and we are only as powerful as the men we control. And you no longer wield power over my brother."
Catherine was too stunned to say anything, or too angry, but either way she remained silent. I, on the other hand, was disgusted by her stubbornness, especially since I truly feared for the fate of her little daughter. I considered her behaviour as ungratefulness, a trait of character I always despised, and for that reason I rose from my chair.
"Where are you going? We are not finished!" She said angrily.
"We are," I returned. "You do not seem to care for what I have to say, or for the warning I wanted to give you, and you will have to face the consequences of your doings. But I will not sit by and watch as your trouble with Harry ruins everything my father has built. Madam." I curtseyed and left.
Harry came to me the next day telling me that Catherine had complained about my rude behaviour, but he didn't seem very sympathetic. It was a clear sign for me that his love for her had vanished and that I had been right all along. But still, the idea of staying in a court presided over by a woman who would rather go down with her ship and tear down others instead of being reasonable was unbearable for me. Likewise, the Italian situation had become stable once more when, after the death of Leo and his successor, Giulio de' Medici had been elected pope. He had already expressed his wish to have me and my children back in Florence and now I was ready to concede.
Harry didn't want to let me go, of course, but when I told him about my daughter Vittoria and how much I missed her, he reluctantly agreed. A parent's love for their children was one thing he always understood. I knew he loved his daughter, Mary, too, but as I had told Catherine, I also knew it would not stop him from disinheriting her if he had hopes for a legitimate son.
When I left England, Catherine was not present to bid me farewell, even though Harry had taken it to himself to escort me to Dover once again. I did not miss her presence, though. Unlike when I had last seen my father, this time I had an inkling that I would not get to see her again. Of course I could have never anticipated the strange events that would soon enfold, but I knew that something was going to happen, and that it wouldn't be pleasant for her. Time would ultimately prove me right.
