Chapter 50
A/N Thank you all so much for your patience and support. I will be doing my best to crank these chapters out more often, so I don't leave all of you hanging. I promise that the next few chapters will be very interesting and i hope that you all enjoy them as they come. Thank you again for all your support. Please Read and Review and enjoy Chapter 50!
2 January 1558
Crete
King Giacomo Kantanoleos paced the floor of his council chambers while his councilors argued a matter of great importance. Unfortunately, the King had heard this argument for years. He was still not convinced that it was the right thing to do. Crete was a small island nation, and it would prove disastrous if the mission failed, but as long as his councilors refused to let it go, he had no recourse but to listen to it.
"Gentlemen, we cannot lose," said the secretary of warfare. "Our Navy is stronger than that of the Ottoman Empire. We are a nation of islanders and understand the sea better than they do."
"If our Navy is stronger, sir, then why did you mention the building of twenty new ships to support the efforts?" asked the secretary of the treasury.
"They will not see it coming," the secretary of warfare answered. "They know the size of our current fleet and could be prepared for that, but these new ships would give us the element of surprise, and five of those ships will be additional troop transports so that we can take the fight to them on land as well."
The King picked up the papers outlining the request for new ships. He had overlooked the mention of the five transport ships when reading the proposal to reconquer the lands once held by ancient Greece that were now in the hands of the Ottoman Empire. The population of Crete was growing and soon, within two generations, they would no longer be able to support the sons of the gentry who would need a way to support themselves. Greece would give them the opportunity to send many of these sons to the mainland and distribute lands that their society once occupied but had lost due to the military tactics of the Ottomans.
"You want to take our troops into a land battle with the Ottoman's?" asked the Bishop. He was an older man and the spiritual advisor on the council and had no vote in the matter but could question anything that would harm the people of Crete as the religious advisor. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time our military went into battle with the Ottoman army in 1529? We were slaughtered. They had the Devil behind them."
"Not the devil Bishop," the secretary of warfare corrected, "just a man they call their Sultan. It's true, Suleiman I is a ruthless enemy, but he is just a man. He can be defeated."
"Not by any army on this earth," the Bishop countered. "The only reason that man has not taken over Europe is that he has no interest in it at the moment. Should he set that as a goal, he will succeed."
"Enough," King Giacomo finally said, "I've heard enough of this matter today." He thought for a moment. "I will order the new ships to be built. I see no harm to our nation by building them, regardless of what we do with them afterwards, and there is little doubt that the treasury can support the costs. However, before I led or order any troops into battle, I will see detailed plans on how we are getting into these lands and how we are getting out. I want to see plans for a exit strategy should we lose, as well as fortification plans if we were to win. My ancestors have fought the Ottoman's for decades. I will not send more men to be slaughtered without a clear victory strategy. Now, leave me to the rest of my duties and prepare your arguments for the next meeting."
Crete's councilors stood and bowed to their king before exiting the room. Giacomo knew he had to do something. It wouldn't be long before the island that was their home would no longer be ably to comfortably support the people, but war was a huge risk. They could win, but they could also lose, and losing to the Ottoman's could mean anything from simply being conquered to total annihilation.
13 January 1558
Holyrood Palace, Scotland
Mary's eyes were struggling to adjust to the light streaming into her room. It took her a moment to realize that she was awake at the crack of dawn, and she wondered why she had woken up so early. Then she heard it. There was a commotion coming from the castle corridor outside of her chambers, and people were rushing back and forth.
"Has anyone informed our young Queen?" someone asked.
"No, her mother will be here momentarily," was the response.
Mary got out of her bed and rose to the feel of the familiar, warm rug under her feet. She grabbed the dressing gown from the back of her chair and put it on, heading to the door, but before she could open it, her mother entered her room.
"Your Majesty," her mother curtsied.
"Mother, what is going on?"
"Sit down daughter," her mother commanded. "This will not be easy for you to take in."
Mary sat on the edge of her bed and braced herself for whatever was coming. She had a terrible sense of dread in her stomach and wondered what the problem might be that was so damaging she was ordered to sit.
"At some point last night, your grandmother, the Dowager Queen, and your regent for these great many years, passed away in her sleep. She is in Heaven child," Marie de Guise told her fifteen-year-old daughter, with some tone of regret in her voice. Mary was surprised to hear it, as the whole nation knew that her mother and her grandmother did not get along.
The reality of what her mother said began to sink in and tears fell down the young queen's face. Marie moved to sit beside her daughter and comfort her, but Mary pulled away and stood up.
"I suppose a new regent will need to be appointed, as I will not reach the age of majority for some time, and my marriage to Prince William of Wales is still some months away," Mary responded, with a shaky voice, showing both her youth and her attachment to the late Dowager Queen. "Letters will have to be written to King Henry of England and the Duke of Somerset."
"That is for your new regent to decide, Mary, as you are not yet twenty-one or married, as you have pointed out," her mother told her.
"Mother, I may not be old enough to rule on my own yet, but I am old enough to decide to write to my great-uncle, the Duke, and my cousin, the King. I am not making laws here, just informing Grandmother's family that she is gone," Mary said, with maturity beyond her years and a sharpness in her voice that reminded Marie of her recently deceased mother-in-law. "I will also write to His Highness, Prince William of Wales, to let him know, as he is my fiancée. It is his place to know of such events."
"Of course," Marie answered. "They are family. You should write to them. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise." Marie wanted to take control of her daughter's well-being, a role that had been denied to her these many years by Margaret, but she also knew from her dealings with the late Dowager Queen that choosing the battles fought could be important to achieving the larger goal. This was a minor thing that would not change the course of anything she had planned. "I will take my leave of you for now and let you prepare for the day." Marie curtsied and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Mary watched her mother leave, closing the door, leaving the young Queen to her own thoughts. There would be many firsts in the days to come. Her grandmother had done everything for her, or had it done for her, since the earliest she could remember. Only recently had the Dowager Queen started giving Mary any sort of real responsibility. Mary wondered what kind of wife she would be to William without knowing all of the things that a wife should know. She shook the thought out of her mind. She wouldn't be a typical wife, as she was not a typical person; she was a ruling Queen, a personal of political importance. It's something that she would have to get used to, even if her grandmother would no longer be there to teach her all the things she needed to know.
Mary walked to her window and looked out at the sky, with its rising sun welcoming the newness of the day. Her grandmother would not see this sunrise, or any sunrise ever again, not from this side anyways. She went to her wardrobe and opened the doors, wondering what to wear. Her grandmother had always had her servants lay out Mary's clothing for her, but obviously her mother had not known this, or Marie would have chosen her daughter's dress. For the first time in her life, Mary chose her own clothing, a dark grey dress fitting for her mood and the mourning period that the court would now be in as they laid to rest Her Majesty, Margaret Tudor, Dowager Queen of Scotland.
28 January 1558
Scotland
Mary, Queen of Scots, looked down from her rooms in Holyrood Palace onto the courtyard where a crowd had gathered for the funeral of her beloved grandmother, Margaret Tudor, Dowager Queen of Scotland. It was overwhelming to the young queen; the amount of love and support her subjects had displayed towards the royal family since Margaret's passing. The Scots were not as cultured as some of their European counterparts, or so Mary's mother, Marie de Guise had told her, but they had more heart when it came to matters of human emotion than other societies. It made Mary proud to be their Queen, especially at moments like this, and despite the fact that she was only fifteen years old, she understood the expense some of her people had went through in order to be here today when they would lay her grandmother to rest.
The funeral was being held in the abbey at Holyrood, so it would not be a long journey for her grandmother's coffin. Mary, like so many other monarchs, would not be able to publicly attend due to customs, but she would be watching the service from a private chamber above the common area of the abbey. Afterwards, her grandmother would be placed in her grandfather's tomb, despite the fact that her grandfather's remains were never found after he died at Flodden, within the abbey floor, along with all of the children that had been lost to her family young, including Mary's own brothers who died both died before she was born. Margaret would have wanted it that way. Afterall, the older woman had loved and raised Mary when her father died, and Mary was crowned Queen of Scots.
Mary gathered her prayer book and stepped outside of her chambers to find her Uncle, Prince Arthur, Duke of Albany, waiting to escort her to the palace chapel to say her last farewell to Margaret before the funeral began. Mary took her uncle's arm and the pair walked down the stairwell leading to the foyer. Once there, they turned and headed towards the back of the palace where the royal chapel was situated. The guards opened the doors and Mary and Arthur stepped inside, surrounded by their large family.
Margert's four surviving children, the Princes Arthur, Joseph, and Victor, and Princess Sophie were all in attendance, along with their spouses, Lady Sibylle, Duchess of Albany; Lady Isabel, Duchess of Ross; Lady Amelia, Duchess of Montrose, and Lord Francis de Guise, Duke of Guise. Many of her cousins were also there. Mary nodded as each of them bowed in respect to her, then she approached the coffin of her grandmother. The young Queen knelt in respect, then crossed herself before standing up once again and kissing the coffin itself.
"So many people loved you, my Lady Grandmother," Mary whispered. "You will never be forgotten."
Mary turned and walked towards the doorway of the chapel. She was met again by her Uncle Arthur and took his arm. He patted her hand as she placed it on his, looking at her with tears in his eyes that he would not allow to spill. Then he escorted her to her private box in the abbey for the funeral to begin.
Mary's mother, Marie de Guise, was also there, waiting for her, as well as Mary's ladies-in-waiting. Mary sat down next to her mother and placed her prayer book in her lap.
"We need to talk, daughter," Marie said to her in hushed tones so that their words would not be echoed throughout the large, stone abbey.
"Not today, my lady mother," Mary answered.
"Your alliance with England is a matter of great importance," Marie began.
"My alliance with anyone will not be discussed today," Mary said, firmly.
"Watch yourself, my girl," Marie warned. "You may be Queen in name, but there will be a new regent appointed, as you are not of age to rule on your own."
"Mother," Mary said, turning to look at Marie, "my grandmother, the woman who raised me from birth, has died and today we are here to lay her bones to rest. Will you PLEASE be so kind as to respect my feelings and my orders and NOT discuss anything political THIS day?!"
Marie looked at her daughter and saw the pain and fury in the young girl's eyes. After living with Margaret for so long, Marie knew that arguing the point of the alliance would be lost, so she just nodded at her daughter. She would deal with this another day, but it would be dealt with. She could not stand the idea of her daughter being married to an English Prince, and as she would surely be appointed Mary's new regent, she had time to undo the horrible trap that Margaret had securely placed Mary into before her death.
Mary turned to face the front of the abbey, and they brought in her grandmother's coffin. The pallbearers carried the remains of their Dowager Queen in front of the altar, bowed, as was Scottish custom, and stepped aside in unison. The bishop began the service with the prayers for the dead, saying how God would raise the spirit to heaven when time had come, and how the late Dowager Queen would surely have a place beside the throne of the Almighty.
The Bishop spoke about her life, her marriage to the late King James IV, and how she had always been a model of Christian piety. He spoke of her devotion to Scotland, though she had been born an English Princess. He spoke about how she had come out of retirement when her son, the late King James V, had died to raise Mary and shape her into a just and fit ruler for the Scottish people, and how she had continued in her faith despite losing her husband and three of her children so young. Once the final prayers were said, the crowds dispersed, and those who were invited to attend made their way back to the great hall of Holyrood to attend the mourning feast.
Arthur was waiting outside of the private box to escort Mary to the hall. Her mother walked behind her, followed by Mary's ladies. Mary could sense the tension between her uncle and her mother and wondered when that had started. She had never spent that much time in the presence of both before, but it was undeniable that Prince Arthur and Marie de Guise did not like one another. As they entered the great hall, Mary put the feeling aside. Today was a day of mourning and honoring the memory of Margaret, Dowager Queen of Scotland, and as Queen, Mary would make sure that nothing marred the day.
31 January 1558
Ludlow Castle, Welsh Marches, Wales
The Royal Council Room
Prince William was walking down the corridors of his castle, as his councilmen needed him urgently. The twenty-six year old Prince was also dealing with an emotional blow, as his former mistress, Lady Elizabeth Fitzroy, would be marrying Lord Edmund Brandon, Duke of Clarence in just nine days and he would also claim he and Elizabeth's unborn child as his own. William would have to watch his child grow up from a distance and never claim him or her and it was eating him up inside. He was very angry at his father for doing this to them. He would be married in five months, so he was trying to prepare himself for it, since he knew that he would be very unhappy.
He made it to the Council Room and opened the doors.
"WILLIAM, PRINCE OF WALES!" the page announced.
William's council, which included his first cousin once removed, Lord Mark Tudor, all stood up and welcomed the Prince.
William nodded.
"Be seated." he said.
One of the Council Members cleared his throat.
"Your Highness, we are sorry to be the messenger of this news, but it seems the Sweat has come to Wales. One hundred fifty people have already died. This is not well." he said.
William eyes opened, in fear. The sweat hadn't hit England in twenty years and now it was hitting his principality and he had to act fast. The Sweat was a terrible illness and it killed very fast. He had to protect his people at any cost.
William stood up.
"We need to offer the people aid as much as we can. Dispatch the physicians and other people who think they can help the sick and dying. We will need to protect the people here at Court. As we all know, the Sweat has no cure. We all need to be careful. Any of could catch it and not survive. Let's get to work immediately." he said.
The Council Members all stood up and left the room to do what William said. The only person that stayed was Mark.
He walked up to his kinsman.
"Your Highness, what troubles you?" he asked.
William sighed.
"I feel guilty. I think that my sinful ways have brought this pestilence upon my lands. I just hope we can survive it and continue to thrive. I will admit, cousin, I am truly afraid." he said.
Lord Mark smiled.
"We will survive, cousin. We should be safe here. I assure you." he said.
William sighed again.
"I just feel like dark days are coming. I have a terrible feeling. I hope that the Lord truly spares us." he said.
9 February 1558
Whitehall Palace
Lady Elizabeth Fitzroy's Chambers
Lady Elizabeth sighed, as she stared in the mirror, as she was dressed for the wedding that she didn't want to happen. Her ladies were helping her, but they were all quiet.
Suddenly, one of the ladies walked up.
"I'm sorry, but your sister is here, My Lady." she said.
Elizabeth nodded and excused her ladies for the moment. A moment later, Elizabeth's sister, fourteen year old Lady Margaret Fitzroy, walked in and hugged Elizabeth.
"Are you well, Bess?" she asked.
Elizabeth sighed.
"My sickness is starting to ease. I can't believe that I am with child and I will be marrying a man that I do not love, Maggie." she said.
Margaret sighed.
"Bessie, what did you expect? You gave your virtue to the Prince. You should have expected better. Our own grandmother was the mistress of the late King Henry VIII, our grandfather. She was handed a bastard and a decent marriage. It doesn't end well for Royal Mistresses, Bessie." she said.
Elizabeth sighed.
"Maggie, why are you reminding me of this? I know that I have made a mistake and this is my fault. Please, be gentle with me." she said.
Margaret shook her head.
"Sister, I do love you, but I am not being hard on you." she said.
The door opened and Lord Edward Fitzroy walked in and stared at his two daughters.
Margaret smiled and hugged him.
"Hello Father." she said.
Elizabeth stood up. She was wearing a dark blue dress and was very beautiful. Her small bump was barely noticeable, but she was still beautiful.
"Hello Papa." she said timidly.
Lord Edward Fitzroy glared at his daughter. He was still upset at her actions regarding her affair with the Prince of Wales and her resulting pregnancy. He was a bastard himself and the respect
that he had at Court now took him many years to earn and he felt very angry that his daughter let passion nearly ruin her life and shame their family yet again. He was very thankful that no one's knew of this scandal and that everyone thought Lord Edmund Brandon was the father of his unborn grandchild.
"Are you ready? They are ready to begin." he said.
Lady Elizabeth sighed and nodded.
Lord Edward held out his arm and Elizabeth took it and they made their way to the Chapel where Lady Elizabeth would become the Duchess of Clarence.
The Banquet Hall
King Harry and Queen Lillian were sitting down, enjoying the festivities. Everything had gone off without an issue and now Harry's niece was the Duchess of Clarence and her reputation was spared
Queen Lillian smiled and took Harry by the hand.
"It is a beautiful day, isn't it sweetheart?" she asked.
Harry sighed
"It was. However, this beautiful day hides a sin. Also, William didn't answer my letter to return to Court for the wedding." he said.
Queen Lillian gripped him harder.
"William not attending could be a good thing. No one should suspect anything." she reassured him.
Harry looked at the Lord Edmund and Lady Elizabeth. They both were dancing, albeit gently due to Elizabeth's condition. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Suddenly, his uncle, Prince Edmund Tudor, Duke of Somerset and his youngest son, twenty-two year old Lord John, walked up and bowed to the King and Queen.
Your Majesties." they both said
King Harry smiled.
"Gentlemen, thank you for coming to Court. Uncle, are you enjoying everything? I know that you are still grieving the death of Aunt Margaret." he said.
Prince Edmund nodded.
"My sister's death has hurt me, as I am the only child left of our parents now." he said.
Harry nodded and looked at his younger cousin. The young man was staring off to the side and his eyes were glued to something and he decided to follow his eyes and was shocked to find that Lord John was staring at his own half sister, Lady Rose Fitzroy, Baroness of Windsor.
"Lord John, would you mind walking with me?" he asked.
Lord John nodded his head, as his attention returned to him.
"Of course, Your Majesty." he said.
The two men walked from their father and wife. The two cousins walked and grabbed a wine. Harry looked at John again and once again saw him following Rose around the room with his eyes.
Harry cleared his throat.
"Does something have your eyes, cousin?" he asked
Lord John turned to his King and blushed.
"Who is that young maiden, Your Majesty?" he asked.
Harry smiled.
"Lady Rose Fitzroy. My illegitimate sister and the new Baroness of Windsor. Why do you ask?" he asked.
Lord John kept staring.
"She's unearthly beautiful. She glides like an angel from Heaven. Is she... betrothed to be married?" he asked.
Harry shook his head.
"No, she has said she wishes to remain unmarried. However, if your intentions are pure, you may court her. However, I will talk to her the day after tomorrow to see if she is interested, that way you do not waste your time." he said.
Lord John smiled, while staring at Lady Rose.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." he said.
11 February 1558
Whitehall Palace, England
King Henry IX of England's Privy Chamber
King Harry was sitting in his chamber, waiting on his lunch meeting. He had barely had enough time to have lunch to himself in a while, so he was looking forward to this particular lunch.
The Page called out:
"HER GRACE, THE LADY ROSE FITZROY, BARONESS OF WINDSOR!"
The doors opened and Harry's twenty year old illegitimate half-sister walked in with two of her ladies. She didn't understand why the King wanted to have lunch with her, but she did care for her oldest half-brother and he had taken care of her better than their own Father had.
She curtsied low to the ground.
"Your Majesty." she said, meekly.
Harry stood his sister up and hugged her.
"Darling Rose, thank you for joining me. Please sit." he said, as he offered her a seat, directly in front of him.
Rose smiled and sat down, as soon as Harry sat down.
"Thank you so much for having me, Your Majesty. I do enjoy our visits. I wasn't able to speak with you at our niece, Lady The Duchess of Clarence's, wedding. How are you? Are you enjoying your new marriage?" she asked.
Harry smiled.
"It is beautiful. Lillian is an amazing wife and Queen. Between us, I do miss Anne and I always will. It feels wonderful to be a married man, yet again." he said.
Lady Rose smiled.
"I am so happy for you, Your Majesty." she said, as her meal of roasted meat and vegetables was put in front of her.
Harry took a sip of his wine.
"Have you thought of about marriage, dear sister?" he asked.
Lady Rose sighed.
"The thought does occur, Your Majesty. I used to feel that I should become a bride for the Lord, but in recent months, I have been open to the possibility of a husband. I just hope that if I am ever to be married, that he will be a good Christian and will be able to accept my position and birth." she said.
Harry nodded.
"I can definitely agree, sister." he said.
Lady Rose finished chewing her food.
"Why do you ask, Your Majesty?" she asked.
Harry smiled.
"Well, just two days ago, at the wedding banquet, a young gentlemen at Court took notice of you. He was captivated by your grace and your beauty and wanted to pay court to you." he said.
Lady Rose sighed. In truth, she definitely was a very beautiful young woman. She was tall, had reddish-brown hair, blue eyes, light skin, but not pale, since her mother had darker skin and a raised full bosom, that she always made sure to cover out of modesty.
"Your Majesty, beauty fades with age. I do not want to be in a marriage where my beauty is the only focus." she said.
Harry nodded.
"I completely understand, sister. However, I do suggest giving the young man a chance. He's a good young man and I do trust him. I do think he would respect you and maybe...even love you." he said.
Lady Rose looked down for a brief moment. She knew that a marriage filled with love was not that common with people of her particular standing. She didn't see love between Lady Elizabeth and Lord Edmund on their wedding day, but she did see the love on King Harry and Queen Lillian's face every time they were with each other.
She took a deep breath.
"Who is the gentleman, Your Majesty?" she asked
Harry sat his goblet of wine down.
"The youngest son of our uncle, The Duke of Somerset, Lord John Tudor." he said.
Rose tried to hide a small blush. She had spent the first decade of her life under the care of her uncle and his second wife, Lady Catherine Parr, before she put into a household of her own when she was twelve. Lord John was only two years older than her and they frequently played together as children and were quite close and both shared a lot in common, including losing their mothers before they could even remember them, even though Lady Rose was actually relieved of that, since her mother was executed.
"I will allow Lord John to pay court to me, but please do not expect anything. If we are not meant to be, I shall refuse." she said.
Harry smiled and nodded. The rest of the lunch between the two half siblings included the new renovations at Lady Rose's new estate, not far from Windsor Castle and Harry hoping to go on a Royal Progress with his new Queen and preparations for the wedding between Prince William and Mary, Queen of Scots.
13 February 1558
England
"Your Majesty," the page called from outside the King's bedchambers, knocking furiously on the door, waking the King from his sleep and his dreams of his new wife, Queen Lillian.
Harry sat up in his bed. "Yes?" he responded. "Come."
The doors opened and the young man walked into the room carrying a piece of parchment. He bowed to his king. "Your Grace, I'm sorry to disturb you but this was just delivered. The messenger said it was urgent."
"Thank you," Harry said, dismissing the man. Once he had left the room, Harry sat on the side of his bed and rubbed his eyes to clear them. Then he broke the seal and read the message inside.
To his Majesty, King Henry IX of England from Gerald Fitzsimmons, Stewart of Ludlow
Your Majesty,
It is with great urgency that I write to you on a matter of utmost importance. Your son, William, our beloved Prince of Wales, has fallen ill with what has come to be known as a reoccurrence of the sweating sickness. His Royal Highness was taken to his bed with the first indications of the illness on the tenth of February and has lasted longer than the physicians thought possible, but he is gravely ill. Our prayers for his Highness' recovery have not prevailed and I was advised to send word to your Majesty at once.
Your obedient servant,
Gerald Fitzsimmons
Harry reread the message. His son was ill with the same sickness that took the life of his Uncle, Arthur, also Prince of Wales. Arthur did not survive. Harry couldn't help but worry for the life of his son. He dressed quickly and went down the hall to his wife's bedchambers, where he was admitted without question.
He found Lillian still asleep and watched her for a few moments, her long hair falling around her on the pillows. He hated to wake her from her peaceful sleep, but he needed her.
"Lily," Harry said softly, touching her shoulder. She awoke to see her husband's troubled expression.
"Harry," she responded, "what is it? What's wrong?" She sat up in her bed.
"I just got word that William has fallen ill with the sweat at Ludlow," Harry said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I don't know what to do. I want to go to him, but I could bring the disease back to London if I do."
"Harry, you can't go to Ludlow," Lillian told him, placing her hand gently on top of his. "William is not yet ready to be King, should he survive. What if the illness claimed you?"
"That's in God's hands, darling," Harry said, "but you're right."
"We should pray for his recovery," Lillian suggested.
Harry just nodded. "I can't help but think of my late Uncle, Arthur."
Now it all made sense to Lillian. She recalled her father telling her about her Aunt Katherine's first marriage to the young Prince of Wales who died five months after their wedding, leaving a young Spanish Princess a widow with an uncertain future. Of course, Harry would remember that with the similarities between the two. "William is a strong young man, my love," she reminded him. "God willing, he will recover from this." She paused for a moment. "I will dress, then we will go to the chapel and pray."
Harry stood and walked to her sitting room so her ladies could help her dress. She was so thoughtful and caring, even towards his children from his previous marriage. He couldn't have asked for a better queen for his subjects. He could only hope their prayers would be heard, and that his son and heir would survive this dreaded disease.
25 February 1558
Wales
"Keep out of this room," the royal physician ordered the guards as he stepped outside of the Prince of Wales' bedchambers, "and do not let anyone enter until I say otherwise, or the King will have your heads!"
The middle-aged man walked swiftly down the hall to the chambers of Ludlow's steward, Gerald Fitzsimmons. He pounded on the door, then opened it without waiting for leave to do so. He did not care what Fitzsimmons was doing. His business was urgent.
"What is the meaning of this?" Fitzsimmons asked.
"The Prince of Wales is dead," the physician said after closing the door. "Just twenty minutes ago. . . I did everything I could, but it was no use. The sweat took him."
Fitzsimmons crossed himself, then sat down at his desk. The King had to be told before rumors started spreading. "Return to your patient, doctor," Fitzsimmons ordered, "and tell no one of this tragedy until I say otherwise." The physician nodded and left the room to return to the late Prince's chambers.
26 February 1558
England
The messenger had ridden all of the previous day and night to make it to London as fast as possible. He had traded three horses in the progress of his journey, not stopped to eat, and was almost asleep on his feet, but he had made it. He was in the King's study, awaiting the arrival of King Henry IX, to deliver a message that would have devastating consequences on the people of Wales.
The door to the study opened and the King of England entered the room. "I was told you have news from Wales?"
The messenger nodded and handed the King the parchment he was given after bowing. Before the King could open the message, the new Queen of England, Lillian, entered the room and walked to stand beside her husband. The King kissed her hand, then opened the message.
The Queen, reading over his shoulder, placed her hand over her mouth as tears fell from her eyes. The King did not cry, but he slammed the parchment on his desk before standing. He walked to the window in his study, still in shock.
After a few moments, the Queen turned to the messenger. "Thank you for bringing us this news. Please have one of the guards direct you to the kitchens and find yourself some food. The castle steward will see to your accommodations." The messenger nodded and left the room after bowing once more.
Lillian walked over to her husband and placed her hand on his shoulder.
Harry turned to look at his new wife. "My son is dead," he said. "Edward was never groomed to be the heir, or King, but now, he will be. The Scottish alliance is ruined. Everything I was taught to be is melting inside of me, Lily. I don't know what to do."
Lillian hugged him. It was all she could do. She didn't know the pain from losing a child. She couldn't comfort him like those who did know it could. After a few moments, he backed away from her. "I will go to Ludlow and make the arrangements for bringing him back to London myself."
Lillian nodded. Harry walked out of the room and was on his way to Wales two hours later to bring his son's body back to London where they could lay him to rest.
27 February 1558
Wales
The King of England stood at the bedside of his son, William, Prince of Wales, unable to express any emotions towards his loss. He had met with the physician who had witnessed his son's last hours on earth. He had heard the explanations of what had happened during the duration of the illness that had befallen his son. He knew that everything that could have been done to save the Prince had been. He could blame no one for the tragedy, but the rage the King felt that it had happened was unmistakable. The longer he stood in the room, the more it grew.
Harry had to escape the room. He crossed himself and made his way towards the door, looking back at his son's body once more, then left. He nearly ran out to the courtyard. He knew the place intimately, as he had also presided over the Welsh court as Prince of Wales before the death of his own father, King Henry VIII. Once outside, he turned to look at the castle and recalled his first view of it as a boy.
His father had never lived here. He was a second son, much like Prince Edward was, and was never raised to be King of England. Henry VIII had an older brother who died; Arthur, Prince of Wales, who had died in 1502 from the sweat. Now, as Harry looked at his former home, he cursed it in his head and in his heart. It had taken the life of Arthur, and now, William. It was an irrational thought that a castle could cause a disease, but Harry had to blame someone, or in this case, something.
28 February 1558
Wales
The servants had packed their belongings for the trip back to London. King Harry had ordered that everyone clear out of the castle so it could be aired out after the dreaded disease had passed the Welsh countryside. He wasn't taking any chances that anyone else would die from the sweat.
The priest had come to preside over a small funeral service for the late Prince of Wales. The service was full of grief, as it should have been, paying testament to William and his rule over the Welsh court. Harry noted that his eldest son had the respect of those he ruled over, which was a good thing in his eyes. He only hoped that Edward would be able to step into his older brother's shoes in that regard. Edward was a different sort of man than William had been, but he was a good soul and cared deeply for the people of England, beyond that of a typical Prince.
The guards had taken William's remains out to the carriage that would carry his body back to London. Harry would lay him to rest in the same tomb with his late mother, Queen Anne. Once the entourage was ready, Harry gave the order for them to start the journey back to London, and they left Ludlow castle, guards surrounding the body of the Prince.
Harry stayed on the grounds for nearly thirty minutes after their departure with only four of his most trusted guards. It was then, and only then, that he allowed his grief its outlet. The King hit his knees in the courtyard, crying for the loss of his son. He screamed at the heavens to know why this had happened, then he bowed his head. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the castle standing before him. He saw flashes of his life here with Anne and recalled the day of William's birth. He saw his father take William from the castle and away from his wife in his memories. Though he hadn't been alive at the time, he saw his mother in her youth, mourning the loss of her first husband, his uncle, Arthur. As he came back to the present from his memories and the stories he had heard, he felt his rage build inside. Then, he broke.
King Henry IX of England ran into the castle and drew his sword. He hacked the banners of the Welsh council down from the walls of the ancient structure. He pushed over the weapons racks that surrounded the entrance of the castle. As his tears continued to flow, he broke out the windows in the entrance. Once that was done, he turned. He saw a torch on the wall that had not been extinguished and grabbed it. He made his way towards the door, lighting the scraps of the banners on fire as he went, then exited the castle, tossing the torch into the room, which was quickly burning. As he left the castle for the last time, he thought to himself that no more pain would ever be cause by this place; not to him, not to any future King of England.
28 February 1558
Badajoz, Extramedura, Spain
Eleanor of Austria's Residence
The physician was examining the eldest sister of Emperor Charles V, Eleanor. She had been ill for awhile now and was now bedridden. The sixty year old Dowager Queen of Portugal and France hadn't had the easiest life, but now she was being taken care of by her daughter and her sister.
The physician sighed and walked to Eleanor's only child, thirty-seven year old, Infanta Maria, Duchess of Viseu.
"Alteza, I am sorry, but the Dowager Queen is not long for the world. The Lord is calling her to his side." he said.
Maria closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She had been caring for her ailing mother for months now and she couldn't believe she was losing her mother.
Maria sighed.
"Please bring my aunt, the Dowager Queen of Hungary here." she said.
The physician nodded and left and Maria's husband, Lord John, Former Prince of Denmark and currently the Duke of Vendome, walked in.
He kissed his wife of twenty years.
"How is she doing?" he asked gently.
Maria shook her head, silently saying what she didn't want to say out of her mouth.
John nodded.
"I'll get the children." he said.
Maria nodded her head and went to hold her dying mother's hand. Maria hadn't been raised by her mother, but she did care and love her.
"Mother, please continue to fight. Don't leave yet." she whispered, tears falling from her eyes.
Eleanor breathed softly, sweating since breathing took so much out of her. Her breathing was more of a wheeze nowadays.
"My precious daughter, do not worry. I am welcoming the Lord's embrace. This pain will soon be over. My only sorrow is that I am leaving you here." she said.
Maria cried and suddenly the door opened again and Maria's husband came in with their six children: Eighteen year old Lady Eleanor, seventeen year old Lord Manuel, fifteen year old Lady Isabella, twelve year old Lady Christina, six year old Lord Ferdinand and two year old Lady Maria, who was in her eldest sister's arms. Each of the children said their goodbyes to their grandmother, with tears in their eyes. They didn't have much time with her, but she was so loving and proud of them.
After Eleanor finished kissing her grandchildren, she smiled, as her breathing was labored.
"You all have made an old woman happy in her last days. God bless you all and do well to please the Lord in all things. I was twice a Queen, but never have I had such beautiful treasures like the ones in front of my old eyes. The turbulent life that I had to endure is worth it, because I have this beautiful family that I thought had been robbed of me. Continue to obey your loving mother and father. Obey the Lord above all things. My loving grandchildren, I bid you farewell and we shall meet again by the Throne of our ever gracious Lord." she said.
Maria's six children bowed to their grandmother and departed the room, in tears. As they left, Mary of Austria, Dowager Queen of Hungary walked in. The fifty-three year old younger sister to Eleanor and Emperor Charles had tears in her eyes as she approached the deathbed of her elder sister. In their retirement, they both had settled here in the land of their mother's birth. The two sisters who both suffered stayed together and now she had to watch Eleanor leave her.
Eleanor smiled weakly, after another coughing fit strained her frail body. She lifted her hand.
"Come to me, sister." she said.
Mary approached her sister's bed and kissed her hand and held it.
"Eleanor, we can summon more physicians. You can heal. Do not leave us." she begged.
Eleanor took several breaths before she continued to speak.
"Sweet Mary, we must not continue to step in the way of God's will. It is His will that I am to be reunited with our parents, our darling sister, Isabella, my husbands and my poor baby boy, Carlos. I have accepted my time has come. We didn't have the easiest lives, my sister. You lost poor Louis so young in life and I was in a marriage for seventeen years, separated from my only child. I was so angry and bitter for years, but by the grace of Our Lord, my daughter and I are reunited and I was able to see her raise a beautiful family. Go to our brother after I have passed and give him my love. I love all of you with my heart. You will be fine here, Mary. Pray for my soul and we shall be reunited one day." she said.
Mary nodded, kissed Eleanor's hand one final time. The priest then came in and gave Eleanor her Last Rites and anointed her body in preparation for her Heavenly transition.
As everyone continued to pray for Eleanor's soul, as her condition steadily declined over the hours, she looked at her son-in-law and smiled weakly.
"Thank you so much for loving my daughter and staying true to her these twenty years. She will need you more after I am gone." she said.
Lord John nodded, not trying to show emotion, for his wife's sake. He was thankful that the marriage that started with them being young and her financial security of him had blossomed to a loving union and family.
"You're welcome, My Lady Mother." he said.
Eleanor looked at her daughter and held her hand out.
"Daughter, come closer. I want to see you one last time." she said.
Maria held her mother's hand and looked into her eyes. The two women didn't say anything more and just looked at each other with love.
Eleanor's breathing began to slow and become ragged and her wheezing became worse. She gripped her daughter's hand tightly and looked into her daughter's eyes, with love, as she drew her last struggled breath and gave her soul back to He who created her.
Maria let her tears fall and laid her head on her mother's chest, sobbing for the mother she was taken away from, but thankful to have been reunited with.
1 March 1558
Scotland
Mary, Queen of Scots sat at the desk in her chambers, pouring over the guest lists for her marriage to William, Prince of Wales. The date was six months away, and she was, in truth, beginning to understand how much her late grandmother had spared her from as a child. Being Queen, even one with a regent, was an overwhelming task and a game of never-ending politics and customs, some of which seemed antiquated to the young Mary. She gazed out the window at the setting sun and wondered what her life might have been like had she not been the only surviving child of the late King James V, if her older brothers had lived, and if she was simply a princess instead of a Queen. Her mind was brought back to reality when there was a sudden knock at her chamber door.
"Enter," Mary commanded.
The door swung open and her lady, Mary Elizabeth Fleming, came into the room holding a stack of letters.
"Today's correspondences, Your Grace," the girl said, handing the stack to Mary. She curtsied and left the room.
Mary placed the letters on her desk and began to look through them. She was surprised to see letters from both Prince William and his father. She stared at them for a moment and then reached for King Henry's letter first. It was dated the 26th of February. She began to read his words.
'To her Majesty, Mary, Queen of Scotland.
Dearest Cousin,
It is with greatest sadness that I write these words, as both a King and a father. My son, your fiancée, His Highness, Prince William of Wales, has passed away. We lost our beloved son and prince on the morning of the 25th day of February. Although I know you will be unable to attend his funeral, as will I, due to royal customs that must be honored, know that I was looking forward to welcoming you as our daughter and to uniting our two nations as one.
My thoughts and prayers are with you, as we have also received your letter concerning the passing of our beloved Aunt, the late Dowager Queen of Scotland, and to lose both your grandmother and mentor, as well as your fiancée at such a young age cannot be an easy cross to bear. I pray that the Lord, our God, keeps his hands on you at this time and keeps any further tragedy from entering into your young life for quite some time.
With much devotion,
Henry IX R, King of England'
Mary brought her hand to cover her mouth in shock, not quite certain how she should react to such news. All of her life, she had been told that William was her future husband, and that England would also be her country; she had to protect it along with Scotland as its future Queen. Now, William was gone. Her grandmother was gone. There was no one left to advise her that had been a constant presence in her life. She could not turn to her mother. Since Marie de Guise had become regent for her daughter, it was clear that her own agendas for Scotland were coming into play. She could not turn to her uncles, despite their devotion to her and her rule. She felt completely alone for the first time in her young life and fear overwhelmed her.
However, Mary was a Queen, and Margaret had raised her to be a strong one, who could stand on her own when the time came. Mary closed her eyes and envisioned her grandmother's face, gathering her strength and forcing the fearful teenager to back away. Mary reread King Henry's letter, before finally putting it on her desk. It was then that she remembered the letter from William and picked it up to read his final words to her.
'23 February 1558
To Mary, Queen of Scotland
My dearest wife,
I suppose that it would be appropriate for me to call you that now, since our formal betrothal has been completed and our marriage is only months away. I have come to enjoy our correspondences and have sensed a type of energetic fire in you that longs for the same adventure that I do. I realize, of course, such actions are not possible as we are the future of our nations, but it is nice to know that someone else shares my desires to travel and see other places.
You are right when you say that love may come in time. Every letter I read from you draws me closer to you and leaves me wanting to know more about you. It is possible that we will grow to love each other, and I do sincerely hope we have a happy marriage, as my parents have had.
The court activity here is astounding, or at least it can be at times. My fathers has not had much interest of late in such events, as the attack on my brother and then the death of my great-aunt Juana, along with the passing of my most beloved mother, left father in an interesting mood. He also grows impatient with my attitude lately, but I want to be a different kind of King than he has been. His rule has not been bad, but it has not been something that will be discussed in the history books of the future. I want to be remembered. I can only hope his new marriage will send his attentions elsewhere.
I must close for now. I look forward to finally meeting you. It has been a long time coming.
Your husband,
HRH, William, Prince of Wales'
Mary stared at his words on the page for some time before placing the letter beside his father's containing the news of William's death. She could not cry. She felt sad that she would never meet William now, but she could not mourn his death the way a wife, or fiancée should. She cared for William, as anyone should care for another human being and perhaps even as a friend, but she did not love him as a wife should love her husband. She felt empty inside, but she knew what needed to be done.
She opened the door to her chambers to find her page waiting outside.
"Send for my mother, Bryn," Mary commanded, "and tell her to come at once; its urgent."
Moments later, Marie de Guise, Dowager Queen of Scotland, arrived at her daughter's chambers. She was permitted entry, then saw the tears in Mary's eyes. "Daughter, what has happened? Why are you crying?"
Mary could not speak at that point. She simply handed her mother the letter from King Henry. Marie read the letter twice before saying anything. "Such a tragedy," she said.
"Do not pretend to mourn him, mother," Mary commanded. "We all know you hated the idea of my marrying into the English royal family."
"I make no qualms about that, daughter," Marie admitted, standing and walking to the window. "His untimely passing frees you from an alliance that I felt was wrong; there is no mistake about that."
"Then why act like you care?" Mary asked.
"Because I do care that a young life has been lost," Marie replied. "When your brothers died, I not only mourned my children, but also the fact that the future was denied their presences. Who knows what might have happened had they lived? The same goes for your young fiancée. It IS a tragedy when any young life is taken and the future with them in it was denied."
Mary looked at her mother with uncertainty. She was not used to seeing any side of Marie de Guise that did not involve a bit of selfish thinking. There was more to her mother than Mary ever knew apparently, and this surprised the young Scottish Queen.
"I cannot say that I loved William, but I did see him as a friend of sorts, more than just my fiancée," Mary told her mother. "I'm not sure how to react, or how I am supposed to react, other than the necessary customs."
Marie thought for a moment. "Then act as you feel, daughter," Marie advised her. "Mourn your friend's passing in private and don't give in to pressure from others to make it out to be more than it was. Yes, you lost your intended, but you never met the boy. No one expects you to play the part of a grieving widow, but they do expect sympathy and kindness towards the English Royals. Show that and they will all see the kind and gracious Queen you are but be true to yourself so his death isn't filled with regret, as well as loss." Marie paused. "I must inform the council so a new alliance can be made after the mourning period is over. I don't know how much Margaret prepared you for, but the typical mourning period for a fiancée is three months." Mary nodded to her mother, then went to change her clothing to something more suitable for the circumstance, as custom demanded of her. She wondered where her future would lie without William as part of it. However, that thought was something left to the unknown for the time being. Mary, Queen of Scots, had to prepare for the announcement of the Prince of Wales' untimely death, and she had to show her nation that she was strong enough to lead them without him.
10 March 1558
Scotland
Marie de Guise, Dowager Queen of Scotland, sighed heavily at the situation before her. She had to admit that the untimely passing of William, Prince of Wales, her daughter's betrothed had caused an upheaval in Scotland that was unlike anything she had previously witnessed, and that included the passing of her mother-in-law, the late Dowager Queen Margaret. Mary, who was fifteen and a reigning Queen, was now one of the most eligible people in Europe, as her future husband, whoever he may be, would not only become part of the Scottish nobility, but also the King Consort of Scotland. It was not a decision that could be taken lightly.
Marie wanted her daughter to have stability in her reign, something that the Scottish Crown was not known for in recent generations, as single surviving children became the Monarch of their nation, Princes died young, and illegitimate children were born. Margaret had safe-guarded Mary from the later all of her life, but now, at nearly fifteen-years-old, Mary was of marriageable age and most of the Princes of Europe were spoken for in predesigned marriage contracts. Marie knew that choices for her daughter's husband were limited, and she knew that she wanted her daughter married to the Dauphin of France. She also knew that Mary's Uncle, Prince Arthur would undoubtedly try to sway her in the direction of England once again, betrothing her to the new Prince of Wales, King Henry IX's second son, Edward, despite the fact that he was rumored to be betrothed to Princess Elisabeth of France.
As the Scottish council entered the chambers, Marie sighed again. She was in for the fight of her life with Arthur.
"Your Majesty," each member of the council bowed and was seated. Marie simply nodded at them, acknowledging their courtesy. Prince Arthur, Margaret's eldest surviving son, did the same as he entered. Although he was born a Prince of the Realm, she was still ranked higher as the Dowager Queen.
"Gentlemen," she began, "with the unfortunate passing of His Royal Highness, William, Prince of Wales, our young Queen no longer is betrothed, I think we should begin to review candidates for her hand."
"Majesty," Arthur rebutted, "the mourning period for the late Prince of Wales is not yet ended."
"Yes, I am well aware of that Your Highness," Marie responded. "I am not asking that an announcement be made immediately, of course. That would be highly disrespectful to England and to the late Prince of Wales, but it IS something that needs to be considered and I think we can all agree that her Majesty's marriage is of utmost importance to this realm."
Everyone nodded in agreement. "Good," Marie continued. "I want to travel to France and discuss the possibility of our beloved Queen marrying the Dauphin of France. It would prove to be a strong alliance, should King Henri agree, and while Mary is away, this council can continue to act in her name."
"I don't know, your Majesty," Prince Victor, Mary's other Uncle spoke up.
"Prince Victor?" Marie questioned.
"My late mother, the Dowager Queen and her Majesty's regent for most of her young life, wanted our Queen to marry the throne of England," the Prince responded. "Should we not take that plan into consideration before marrying Queen Mary off to France?"
Marie felt the fury build inside of her, but swallowed hard and regained her composure quickly. "Perhaps, your highness, but should we not weigh all of our options? When the late Prince of Wales and my daughter were betrothed, the Dauphin was already engaged to another young Princess. We do not know if that reason factored into the decision Queen Margaret made or not," Marie reasoned.
The council was silent for a moment, considering what was just suggested. Marie knew by their silence that none of them had thought of that prior to this meeting.
"France offers us a unique situation, gentlemen. Not only would our Queen reign here, but also in France, as Queen consort of that nation. She would come to the table with the possibility of uniting the two nations through her children, and with that comes the protection for Scotland from any potential English invasions, which is more than likely what our late Dowager Queen wanted to ensure through her betrothal to the late Prince of Wales," Marie continued.
Prince Joseph looked at his former sister-in-law with disdain, but he knew that she made sense in her reasoning. He was the first to agree to Marie's plan of discussions with the French Crown. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt anything to see what France has to offer, especially since the war with Spain is over and with the passing of the late Queen Juana. I think her Majesty would be safe enough in France."
Prince Arthur looked at his brother with daggers in his eyes, but he knew he had to handle this diplomatically. "Since we are simply weighing our options, as you suggest, your Majesty, I would like to travel to England to see what, if anything, King Henry thinks about a betrothal to his newly created Prince of Wales."
"I see no harm in that," Marie agreed with a smile. "But the newly created Prince of Wales is already betrothed to Princess Elisabeth of France, and they say that the betrothal was reinstated between them because they fell in love when they first met, and Prince Edward spoke to Henri of France himself." She knew that her word outweighed his here, and she also knew that she could sign a marriage contract without his permission for her daughter.
The council deliberated for the next two hours, eliminating other nations and other Princes as candidates for Queen Mary's husband, before deciding that England and France held the best positions for Scotland to ally with. Prince Arthur would journey to England to meet with King Henry IX and confirm the existence of a betrothal between Prince Edward and Princess Elisabeth of France, while Marie would visit France to discuss a betrothal between Queen Mary and the young Dauphin.
As the meeting adjourned, Arthur and Marie's eyes met, and they knew it would be a matter of who could offer their nation more. Arthur felt sorry for his beloved niece. Her future was uncertain as long as her mother outranked him. He knew that Marie wanted what was best for herself, not Mary. He only hoped that King Henry IX of England would see reason and top anything France could offer.
12 March 1558
England
William, Prince of Wales, lay in his coffin at Westminster Abbey, draped in the traditional black funeral cloth and covered by the Tudor coat of arms. His funeral in London had been one of the largest gatherings of English subjects in the history of the nation. Although William had not ruled England, the masses had turned out to pay their respects to a future that had been lost to time.
His funeral had been presided over by the Archbishop of Winchester. The older gentleman had spoken of what the nation had lost; an unknown future where the nation would have been led by a young man who was pure of heart and soul, as well as the unification of England with Scotland, a dream that many English subjects had longed for which would have ended the rivalries between the two countries. He had also asked the people to pray for Prince Edward, who would now be required to step into the shoes of his elder brother. The service, overall, had been a beautiful testament to a life lost much too young, and of the mourners present to hear it, all but one mourned the loss of the future, more than the Prince.
King Henry IX of England had heard the Archbishop's words but could not bring himself to care about the future at the moment; he only cared about the loss of his son. Now that Westminster was empty, save only for the Archbishop and the priests, Harry walked to his son's casket and stood in silence for some time, just watching, as if he was waiting for Prince William to wake.
As he stood there in the abbey, he recalled when William was born. He and Anne had been so happy to have a healthy baby, much less a son. He remembered feeling enamored towards the bundle that was sleeping in his young wife's arms. He also recalled when their son had been taken from them by his father, the late Henry VIII, to be raised in his own residence in London. Anne had cried, despite knowing it would happen. He remembered his mother, the late Queen, Katherine of Aragon, standing up to his father when their second son was discovered. His mother was fierce and although she was obedient when his father put his foot down on a matter, she knew how to force the King's hand when absolutely necessary. She was the reason he and Anne had been able to raise their other children. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering her with love and admiration.
Harry felt a breeze sweep by him, and he turned to see the image of a woman sitting on the front pew of the abbey, looking at him softly. He would know that image anywhere. He went to sit beside her.
"It is a sad day for you, my son."
"Yes, it is mother," Harry said. "How I miss you."
"You have experienced a lot of grief in your life," she responded, looking towards the casket where her grandson's remains lay. "But you should know that where they are now, there is no more grief."
"I am glad to know their hearts are at peace, Mother," Harry replied honestly, looking at his folded hands, "but I cannot help but miss them so."
"You would not be who you are without the ability to feel that loss so deeply, Harry," Katherine said. "It has made you into the man you are today. It has made you into a King the people love." She paused for a moment. "Know this, my son, there will be more happiness in your future, and that happiness will come at a time you least expect it."
"I hope so," Harry replied, a single tear falling down his cheek.
"Trust me, my darling boy, it will," Katherine assured him. She placed her hand on her son's shoulder, then leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Always remember that you are loved." Then the breeze passed by once more and she was gone.
Harry looked up at where his mother's image had been, then over to his son's coffin. He stood and walked over to it, then kissed the casket, crossed himself, and walked out of the abbey, finally believing that better days were coming, even if he could not yet feel it inside his heart.
16 March 1558
Navarre
Lady Sancha de Mendoza, Viscountess of Narbonne, was in her chambers resting, as she had been for the last two months of her pregnancy. She was the chief lady of Queen Elizabeth I of Navarre, but after having been in confinement for the past six weeks and not attending to the Queen's household, she was bored. Her husband, Lord Carlos, had come to visit her yesterday and had brought her some material for clothing for the baby, but sewing was the last thing on her mind. She wanted this baby to be born, and she wanted to see something more than the four walls of her room.
She got out of her bed and walked to the window, pulling back the heavy drapes that covered it. Out in the gardens, she could see the servants tending to the various flowers that had been planted when she and Carlos had restored the estate they were given. None of them had bloomed yet, but the idea of all of their vibrant colors filling the space was uplifting to Sancha. She placed a hand on her stomach and smiled.
"I cannot wait for you to see all of the bright and beautiful flowers," she said to the child growing inside of her. "Once you are here, I will take you for walks in our garden and teach you what each of those flowers are called."
She took a few more minutes to glance out over their estate, then closed the curtains and turned back to her bed. As she did so, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and screamed from it, before feeling the gush of water. One of the ladies assigned to attend her rushed into the room.
"Fetch the midwife," Sancha ordered. "My time has come."
"Yes, m'lady," the girl answered and rushed out of the room once more.
Sancha made her way back to her bed. It seemed like hours before anyone entered the room again, but the midwife and her assistant came. She examined Sancha closely.
"It will be a while m'lady," the midwife said upon completing her exam. "You are only three fingers dilated."
Sancha nodded. She was no stranger to childbirth. This was to be the third of her children with Carlos. Their eldest and only son, Enrique was four, and his younger sister, Eleanor, was two. Sancha loved them both dearly and knew this child would also be a welcomed addition to their family when he or she arrived.
As Sancha went through the hours until it was time to bring her baby into the world, the ladies in the room discussed a variety of topics, including politics, which was something they usually did not talk about in front of their husbands. It helped pass the time and kept Sancha focused on something other than the pains that were occurring within her from time to time.
Finally, her contractions were coming extremely close together. The midwife checked her once more and gave her approval for Sancha to start pushing. Unlike her other children, this baby arrived quickly, and once cleaned, was placed into Sancha's arms while the midwife went to tell Carlos that his child had been born and both mother and child were well.
Carlos came into his wife's chambers quietly, sitting next to her on the newly changed sheets. He looked at the baby in her arms, then at Sancha.
"It's another daughter, husband," Sancha told him.
Carlos smiled. "Another beautiful girl to fill the world with smiles and laughter," he replied, "much like her mother." Sancha blushed at the compliment. She handed the baby to its father.
"What do you want to call her?" Sancha asked. He had allowed her to name Eleanor, so it was his turn to choose.
Carlos looked at the baby for a while, then said, "What about Catalina?"
"I think that's perfect," Sancha replied. "Catalina de Mendoza, our little ray of sunshine."
19 March 1558
Whitehall Palace, England
The Royal Gardens
Lady Rose Fitzroy was walking and enjoying the warm weather. She was dressed in black, as the Court was still in mourning for Prince William, the late Prince of Wales, Rose's nephew. Rose was not the closest with her oldest nephew, but her heart broke for her older half-brother, the King.
"Lady Rose! There you are."
Rose turned and saw her cousin, Lord John Tudor, almost running up. He had been courting her for a month now and the two had become very close in a short amount of time.
Lady Rose smiled.
"Lord John, it is a pleasure to see you. I am so sorry if you were trying to get my attention. My thoughts were on my late nephew, the Prince of Wales." she said.
Lord John sighed and crossed himself.
"It's a tragedy to England. The loss of an heir to the Throne isn't easy to overcome. How is the King?" he asked.
Rose sighed.
"i believe that Queen Lillian is a great comfort for him in these dark days. I also want to thank you, because you've been a great comfort to me as well." she said, with a gentle smile.
Lord John smiled.
"It is no problem. I just remember when we were children and we were so close. I have a great deal of respect for you. Actually...I love you." he said.
Lady Rose stopped and looked at John. She could tell that he was being serious.
"Lord John, I do have serious feelings for you as well. I have since we were children. However, I am scared. You said you love my beauty, but that will fade." she said.
Lord John touched her face.
"Do you honestly think my love will fade as we age? You are do much more than a beautiful face, my Rose." he said gently.
Lady Rose smiled. It was at that moment that she wasn't scared to love. She deserved to be happy and she would be happy with her John. She didn't know what her future held, but she hoped that included him in it.
25 March 1558
England
Lady Margaret Marlowe sat in her bed propped up against her pillows. She looked down at the baby in her arms and smiled. It wasn't that long ago that she was single and a lady-in-waiting to the late Queen of England. Now, she was married to a wonderful man, had two beautiful children, and now, another amazing baby daughter. Her life was as perfect as one could ever hope for. . . well, almost.
During her entire pregnancy with this baby, her husband had argued with her over the name if they were to have a daughter. He insisted on naming the baby Maeve, after his maternal grandmother. It was a name that Lady Margaret hated. There was no particular reason for her dislike of the name; it simply rubbed her the wrong way. She didn't want to be disrespectful to his family, but if he insisted on the name, she would have to put her foot down. She knew a woman should be obedient towards her husband, but when it came to naming their children, she felt she should have some say in it, or at least in what names shouldn't be used.
After the baby was cleaned and Margaret was ready to receive visitors, the midwife's assistant had gone to fetch her husband and bring him the good news of the safe delivery of their daughter. Lady Margaret did not know what was taking so long, but he certainly was not rushing to her side. Fifteen minutes later, her husband finally entered her chambers and came over to her bedside to see his daughter.
"May I?" he asked, reaching out his arms for his child. Lady Margaret handed the baby to him and smiled to see the gentleness he had with her. "There's my little Maeve."
"John," Margaret said, "I know that technically you have the right to name our children as you see fit, but I have to protest at the name Maeve."
John looked at his wife with some level of shock. "Why, my dear? My grandmother was called Maeve."
"It's nothing against your grandmother," Margaret told him. "The name just does not sit well with me at all."
John thought for a moment, then looked at his wife and laughed. In fact, he couldn't stop laughing. Margaret didn't know what to make of it at first, but then it started to annoy her.
"It's not funny!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, yes, it is," he argued.
"How do you figure?"
"Darling, I've known since the first time I said it that you hated the name. I kept up with it because you never protested it before," John laughed. "I never had any intention of giving our beautiful little girl that name. It's much too old fashioned for a modern lady."
Margaret looked at him for a moment, then started laughing herself. "What should we really name her then?" she asked once she could control her amusement at her husband's idea of a joke.
"You choose, sweetheart," John said, giving her their daughter. "I am certain you will give her a name befitting her station in this life."
Margaret thought for a bit, looking from her husband to her daughter and back again. "What about Anne, after our late Queen? After all, had it not been for the fact that I was out with her that day, we would have never met."
John smiled at his wife. "Anne is a fine and proper name for her, in honor of your friend and our late Queen," he agreed, then he stood and kissed his wife on her forehead before doing the same with their daughter. "I will leave you to rest and return in time for the evening meal."
Margaret nodded and held little Anne closer to her as she fell asleep.
2 April 1558
Whitehall Palace, England
The Gardens
Lady Rose Fitzroy and Lord John were walking together in the gardens and were enjoying a wonderful conversation. Rose had finally finished the construction on her estate outside of Windsor and would retire there after the summer progress.
"I am glad that everything is ready for you." John said.
Rose smiled.
"I am as well. I love my family, but Court is not my paradise. I look forward to the quiet days in my home and not having to have so much fanfare like here at Court." she said.
John looked down at the ground.
"Are you happy that you will be alone at your home?" he asked.
Rose stopped and looked at him.
"I will admit that I am not looking forward to the loneliness all the time. It'll be too quiet, but I'll have my ladies and the rest of the servants." she said.
John cleared his throat.
"But it's not love, Rose." he said.
Rose smiled.
"Of course not. I do look forward to that love, if it's the Lord's will." she said.
John stopped.
"You don't have to live there alone." he said, boldly.
Rose stopped and turned towards him.
"What do you mean, John?" she asked.
John walked a bit closer and took her hand in his and looked into her eyes.
"I love you, Rose. I love you with all my heart. You're kind and beautiful. I would have to be mad to let you slip away from me. You don't have to live in that estate by yourself. We can build a beautiful family there and you'll never be alone when I at sea. You'll always have my heart. Rose, I know what I want and that is you and you alone. Will you marry me?" he asked, tenderly.
Rose was shocked. She didn't expect this so soon.
"I love you as well, John. But, what about my brother, The King? We need his permission." she said.
John smiled.
"He has already given me consent to marry you. He just asks that we wait until the mourning period has ended for the late Prince of Wales. We can marry into the beautiful days of autumn. All I need is a yes from you, my love." he said.
Rose smiled.
"Of course I'll marry you, John." she said.
John smiled and hugged Rose and swung her around.
9 April 1558
France
King Henri of France was waiting in his council room for the Dowager Queen of Scotland, Marie de Guise, to arrive. She had contacted him to discuss a potential betrothal between her daughter, Queen Mary of Scotland, and his eldest son, Prince Francis, after the death of her daughter's betrothed, William, Prince of Wales. He had granted it. An alliance with Scotland would bring a front to his nation, one from which he could attack England and regain the throne that Eleanor of Aquitaine had cost his nation centuries before. He could also regain the honor that the English had cost his family under the reign of King Henry VIII, and he could ensure that his grandchildren would rule France, Scotland, and England from a single throne. Despite the fact that his daughter, Princess Elisabeth, was betrothed to Prince Edward, now Prince of Wales in the aftermath of his brother's death, and she would be sitting on the English throne as Queen, it was Francis and his legacy that Henri wanted to thrive.
There was a knock on the door and the Dowager Queen of Scotland was announced. She walked into his council room with her head held high, befitting a de Guise. He knew her brothers well, but she had been in Scotland for so long following her marriage to their late King, James V, that the King of France never had the chance to get to know her. Once the politeness of the situation had been observed, he offered her a seat, and pulled her chair out for her.
"So, Your Majesty," King Henri began, "you want to discuss the possibility of a betrothal between your daughter, Queen Mary, and my son, Prince Francis?"
"That is why I am here, your Grace," Marie replied. "I assume that since you agreed to meet with me in person that the possibility exists."
"It does," King Henri assured her. "The Dauphin was, until recently, betrothed to the Infanta Joanna of Portugal, but that arrangement was called off for the best of both nations, and I am looking for a new bride for my son."
"Scotland is in a position to offer France a favorable solution then, since Francis finds himself without a bride and the matrimonial market is limited among the Princesses his age. Most, as I understand, have been betrothed since an early age," Marie said.
"This is true," King Henri confirmed. He had been having trouble finding a suitable bride for his eldest son since France and Portugal confirmed the disillusion of the marriage contract. He had begun to look at some of France's noble ladies instead. This chance with Scotland was indeed rare.
"As for what Scotland can offer France, there is one thing that your Majesty will find most appealing," Marie informed him.
"And what is that?" Henri's attention was caught, as Marie had planned with that statement.
"The fact that her mother is willing to include a clause in their marriage contract that should she die without an providing an heir to either throne, Scotland will become a vassal to France," Marie said, matter-of-factly. "If she and Francis produce an heir, then France will inherit Scotland through the children. Either way, France gains Scotland permanently."
"Why would you do that to Scotland?" King Henri wondered out loud. "Why surrender the nation's freedom for the chance that your daughter would become the Queen of two nations?"
"It's simple, your Majesty," Marie explained. "Margaret Tudor and her sons have made my life a living hell. I have not had one say in my own child, my only child's, life because of her interference. She betrothed my daughter to that uncultured crew of Tudor's in England, and raised Mary to be Scottish, instead of educating her in the French culture. Although my daughter may be Scotland's queen, she is sorely in need of a cultured education and a French husband would help with that problem. Not to mention the fact that the Scottish people are extremely uncultured as well, even more so than my daughter. They need French leadership to become better than what they are."
King Henri nodded in agreement. He'd long knew that the Scots were not the most cultured of people in Europe, but he had not heard anyone else say that out loud. "Well then, your Majesty, let's discuss a dowry for your daughter."
"Is not the whole of Scotland under French control enough?"
King Henri chuckled. "I suppose it is, but if this clause of yours is to be secret, then perhaps there should be an appearance of a dowry in the contracts? Even if it is one that I choose not to enforce."
"Then the standard amount would do for a reigning Queen to marry a future King, would it not?" Marie asked.
"That it would," King Henri nodded. "Then we are in agreement?"
"Almost," Marie de Guise said bluntly. "I would like an assurance from France on one matter and then we would be in agreement, your Majesty."
"What is that?"
"Should my daughter provide more than three sons for France, I want her to be assured of a position as Queen Mother here, regardless of the age Francis were to die," Marie said.
"Why would you make such a request? It's highly unusual." King Henri said. "It sounds like you are asking for the Crown Matrimonial for your daughter."
"Not at all, your Grace," Marie assured him. "I simply want it settled that should she provide more than three sons for France that she not be forced to leave her children for any reason. In other words, France cannot use her as a marriage pawn and separate her from her sons."
"I think something can be written to those regards," King Henry said.
"Then we are in agreement," Marie said. "Draw up the contracts and I will sign them. I leave for Scotland in three days. I will need a copy to take with me for Queen Mary's council."
King Henri nodded, and once she left the room, he called for his personal secretary to draw up the contracts. They would work through the night if they had to, but the papers would be ready for her review by morning.
In her rooms, Marie de Guise, sat at her desk filled with pride at her accomplishment. She thought to herself, 'Take that Margaret. My daughter will marry France after all and your precious Scotland will fall under French rule, not English.' Today, she had bested the wants of her spiteful mother-in-law. In three days, she would be on her way back to Scotland with signed contracts that not even Margaret's sons would be able to undo. Her Mary would have a bright future as Queen of Scotland and France, and she was the reason for it.
12 April 1558
England
Prince Arthur, Duke of Albany, sat in the study of his cousin, King Henry IX of England, or Harry as he was known to close family. Arthur had been named for their mutual uncle, Arthur, Prince of Wales, who had died in 1502, and had rarely been to English court, despite having been the second son of the late Dowager Queen of Scotland, Margaret Tudor. Today, however, was the most important visit he had made in his lifetime; he had come to see his mother's wish of a united England and Scotland fulfilled in the wake of William, Prince of Wales', passing on.
King Henry entered his study. His guards had not told him who was waiting for him, only that he had an important royal visitor. He did not recognize the older gentleman right away. It had been many years since he had seen his Scottish cousins. The man stood and bowed. Harry walked around to his desk and sat, then the man did the same.
"What brings you to England?" Harry asked, not wanting to reveal that he had no idea who he was addressing.
"Your Majesty allow me to express Scotland's deepest condolences for the loss of your son and heir, Prince William," the man began somberly.
"Thank you," Harry replied, wondering if Scotland had sent him for this purpose, but his gut instincts told him there was more to this visit.
"As you must know, with the passing of my mother and your Aunt, I have been made co-regent for our beloved Queen Mary," the man said, finally identifying himself as Prince Arthur to the English King. Harry simply nodded, waiting to find out more. "I have been asked to come here and discuss the possibility of her betrothal to Prince Edward, your new heir to the throne."
Harry stared at the man for a moment. "You realize that we are still in mourning for our son, but you want to discussing replacing him as your Queen's betrothed?"
"I know that the nature of the request is ill-timed, but please understand, this marriage was something that my late mother greatly desired, as did your late father," Prince Arthur said. "However, know that I mean no disrespect to the memory of the late Prince of Wales."
"Of course," Harry acknowledged. "I understand why you are here. I just do not understand why it could not have waited until after the mourning period."
"Scotland is seen as weak in the eyes of the world, your Grace," Arthur told him. "We have a young Queen on the throne instead of a King, and although she is fifteen, she is unmarried. This leaves us in a vulnerable position. Her marriage to your heir gave our people security and hope that the monarchy would continue through bloodlines and inheritance, rather than civil unrest."
"I see," Harry said, understanding the urgency now.
"Is her betrothal to your new heir something you are willing to consider?" Prince Arthur asked.
Harry shook his head. "Please, cousin, hear me out. It's not that I think badly of your Queen, because I do not. While William was alive, I considered Queen Mary my daughter. I have nothing but the greatest respect for her."
"Then why not betroth her to Prince Edward and continue the alliance?"
"I am not sure how much you are aware of concerning Prince Edward, but many years ago, Prince Edward was stabbed by Lord Henry Grey, father of Lady Jane Grey, who was Edward's betrothed at the time," Harry began. "He almost died from the wound. While he was recovering, he told his mother and I that he wanted to enter the church, not marry. He was, and still is, a deeply religious person who sees his devotion to God just as important as his devotion to this realm." Arthur nodded. "I promised Edward that I would never force him to marry, but that he could not become a priest due to his obligations to England, and that once his brother and Queen Mary had a son, I would reconsider his request."
"I understand that, your Majesty," Prince Arthur replied, "but things are different now, are they not?"
"Yes, they most definitely are," Harry answered. "Edward is now heir to the English throne. It is a position that he was not groomed for and one that I am having to educate him on quickly. However, his betrothal to Princess Elisabeth of France is not one that can be broken, nor will I allow it to be. When my Aunt, the late Queen Juana of Spain, died, Edward attended her funeral with me and there he met the French princess, Elisabeth. He asked me to arrange his betrothal to her because despite the circumstances surrounding their meeting, he felt that God had brought her to him. He told me that when he first saw her, she appeared to glow, as if surrounded by a holy light. He asked her father for her hand on his own accord, once he had my permission."
Arthur didn't know what to make of this story. He had heard of people having divine revelations, but nothing like this. King Harry continued.
"Although betrothals are broken and renegotiated all the time among royals, I cannot do that because of the promise I made to my son when we thought he was dying," Harry told Arthur.
"I understand, your Majesty," Arthur said. "I've never heard such a tale before, but if you and Prince Edward truly believe that Princess Elisabeth was sent to him in that moment by God, no one should go against it."
"Thank you for your understanding of the matter," Harry replied, "and I can only hope that what I told you about Prince Edward's marriage will stay between us."
"It will, your Grace," Arthur assured him. "My only concern is for my Queen now that her betrothal has fallen through."
Harry nodded. Then an idea came to him. "Cousin, as I said, Prince Edward is betrothed to the Princess Elisabeth of France. They write letters often to one another. Not long ago, she told him that her brother, the Dauphin, Prince Francis' own betrothal to Princess Joanna of Portugal had fallen through. Perhaps a Scottish-French alliance would be beneficial?"
Arthur looked at Harry for a moment, bewildered at the idea that he had the same idea as Mary's mother, Marie de Guise, Dowager Queen of Scotland. "It is something to consider," Arthur said diplomatically, although he did not particularly care for the idea of a French King Consort for Scotland. Arthur regained his composure and stood, bowing to Harry. "Your Majesty, it has been a pleasure to see you once again," Arthur said.
"Cousin, if I can be of any help to Scotland, do not hesitate to ask," Harry told him, honestly. "I have no intention of carrying on the grudges of the past between our nations. We are family, and I prefer to live in peace with my kin."
"As do I, sire," Arthur assured him. He bowed once more, then returned to the rooms he had been given for his stay at English court. He hoped to return to Scotland in the morning to tell them that there was no chance for an alliance with England now. Marie de Guise may indeed get her way when it came to Mary's marriage alliance, but Arthur did not have to like it.
19 April 1558
Whitehall Palace, England
Queen Lillian of England's Bedchamber
Liliana was laying in her bed, as the room was still spinning around her. She had never felt anything like this at all. She felt very ill and didn't know why. She was generally very healthy, CV even as a child.
Lady Mary Brandon, the Duchess of Suffolk, walked in and looked at her new Queen. She did like her new Queen, even though she still missed her late Queen.
"Your Majesty, would you like to maybe go get some air. It may make you feel better." she said.
Liliana shook her head.
"No, thank you, Lady Mary. I think if I try to rest, I may feel better. The Queen cannot just stay in bed all day." she said.
Lady Mary smiled.
"The Court can carry on without their Queen for one day, Your Majesty. It's only been eight weeks since Prince William's death. You should be allowed to grieve him as a stepmother." she said.
Suddenly, Lady Charlotte Howard, Lady Mary's older sister, walked in.
"I am so sorry to disturb, Your Majesty, but the King is here to see you." she said.
Lady Mary sighed.
"Lottie, tell him the Queen is indisposed at the moment. She's clearly not well." she said.
Liliana sat up.
"No, Lady Mary. Send the King in. I will not refuse him." she said.
A few minutes later, King Harry walked in and kissed Liliana on her forehead.
"Sweetheart, are you well? Lady Mary said you have been feeling dizzy. Have you seen a physician?" he asked.
Liliana shook her head.
"I didn't want to trouble anyone, Harry. I figured I could just rest and then I would feel better." she said.
Harry looked at his wife, curiously.
"Liliana, forgive me for saying this, but I think you are with child." he said.
Liliana looked at her husband.
"Oh, Harry, we've only been married for four months and besides I'm not exactly young." she said.
Harry laughed.
"Liliana, you're not even twenty-five years old yet. You are very capable of childbearing. Also, our nights together have not been exactly filled with quiet, have they?" he asked slyly.
Liliana blushed.
"I thought that it could be a possibility. However, I didn't want to say, especially with the pain of William's death still do fresh with our family." she said.
Harry grabbed her face gently.
"This child will be a blessing, if you are with child. I will be very happy, as will my children and the entire Court. I assure you, darling." he said.
Liliana smiled.
"If I am with child, can we please not announce it to the Court until the child quickens? I was told about your mother's losses and I don't want people looking at me that way. If there is a baby, I want it strong and healthy. Also, I know you'd want a son." she said.
Harry shook his head.
"If any child you give me is a daughter, I will love her the same. I lost William and that pain will never go away, but we still have Edward and Owen. This child will be for us, not England." he said.
Liliana smiled and hugged her husband, silently praying that there was a child and that the child will heal her husband's broken heart.
Thank you all for your patience! Here's Chapter 50 and 51 is currently in the works. Make sure your alerts are on. Thank you all who have been here for many years and a special thanks to my writing partner, who still continues to help me, even in these difficult times. Please Read and Review and Chapter 51 will be up very as soon as possible! Thanks Again!