Chapter Text
January 25, 1515
France
The sun shone brightly on the Feast Day of the Conversion of Saint Paul. The bitter cold wind did not tear through the city of Reims, leaving everyone shivering down to the bones. It was as if the Almighty had made this day glorious on purpose. Nonetheless, the sky was a clear bell of arctic grayness, cold with the promise of frost soon. It was not snowing today, and the streets had been cleaned from the earlier snow in advance.
Resplendent in ermine cloaks, the new monarchial couple rode on their white stallions caparisoned in blue and white velvet, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis. They were King François I of France and his consort, Queen Anne. Often, queens were crowned separately from their husbands at Basilica of Saint-Denis, even if they ascended to the throne together. Monarchs could be still crowned alone to emphasize the subordinate role of a queen in the French realm due to the ancient Merovingian Salic law.
Large crowds lined at both sides of the narrow streets. Reims was the gateway to the Champagne region of France, and it was located a day’s ride from Paris. Having arrived from the Île-de-France and Champagne, as well as other provinces in addition to the inhabitants of Reims, these people had all gathered to watch the coronation procession of the ruling couple. Their youth and vivacity, as Anne and François flashed grins and waved at them, embodied the dawn of a new era in the people’s minds.
The King and Queen of France had arrived in Reims yesterday with their entourage. The governor of Reims and some officials had met the royal cortege at the gates and handed the keys from the city to them. Then the Valois couple had conducted the joyful entrée into Reims, with many tableaux vivants dedicated to the history of the French monarchy having been performed in the streets, thronged with countless spectators.
François veered his gaze to his wife. “Some nobles offered me to have you crowned at Saint-Denis after my own coronation at Reims. I categorically refused.”
Despite being a Frenchwoman through and through, now Anne was annoyed with her country’s traditions. “Ah, the Salic law… Sometimes, I think it needs to be abolished.”
He lifted his brows in bewilderment. “We cannot! I’ve never expected to hear this from you, mon amour. A daughter of one of our previous monarchs!”
“I know.” In fact, she mentioned that because of the lack of male heir after years of their marriage, which worried them both. “Or there might be many foreign pretenders for our throne, and perhaps a civil war.”
Her husband smiled. “Indeed. So, we will have our joint coronation.”
They were interrupted by cheers. “Long Live King François and Queen Anne!”
François and Anne waved at them, holding their smiles in place while they spoke. As per custom, the king and his wife had spent the previous night before their Sacre at Palace of Tau, or Palais du Tau. It was the palace of the Archbishop of Reims. At dawn, they had been awakened by two ecclesiastical peers – Louis de Bourbon de Vendôme, Bishop of Laon, and Louis de Villiers de L’Isle-Adam, Bishop of Beauvais. According to the rule introduced by King Charles V in 1364, the bishops of these dioceses had come to fetch the monarchs in their rooms. The clergy and officials, involved in the coronation, had assisted the spouses in dressing for the Sacre in gowns prepared in advance.
“You would not have dared to deprive me of this ceremony because of your love for me.” Her lips lengthened into a grin. “And I’m a daughter of King Charles the Eighth.”
He teased back, “Yes, for these reasons. Yet perhaps I would have dared do so.”
Anne lowered her voice as she replied, “At times, I want to slap you, François.”
“Try.” His quiet voice nearly vibrated in his chest. “But later, please. At night.”
Charles IV, Duke d’Alençon, and Duke Charles de Bourbon, as well as Louis d’Orléans, Duke de Longueville, rode just behind the monarchs. They were followed by the high-ranking clergymen: the Bishop of Laon and the Bishop of Beauvais, together with Gilles de Luxembourg, Bishop of Chalons, and Charles de Hangest, Bishop of Noyon.
Besides, there were other nobles and prelates, all clothed in expensive ermine and sable cloaks. They were those whom King François had selected to serve as the holders of the Sainte Ampoule. Having taken the Holy Ampoule, they had sworn to return it back after the Sacre to the Abbey of Saint-Remi, which kept the relics of Saint Remigius, Bishop of Reims, who had converted the Frankish King Clovis I to Christianity in 496. The Sainte Ampoule was a flask containing a sacred oil, which, according to legend, had been applied during the baptism of Clovis.
Soon the royal cortege stopped near the magnificent Cathedral of Reims. It stood at two-hundred and sixty-six feet tall, its towers seeming to touch the clouds above. Since Clovis of the Franks, the basilica embraced many moments of history. In 816, Louis the Pious, the King of the Franks and co-Emperor, had been crowned at Reims by Pope Stephen IV together with his father, Charlemagne, Holy Roman Emperor. Since then, many French rulers had gotten coronated in this magnificent chapel.
Helped by the grooms, François and Anne dismounted, and the others followed suit. Everyone glanced up at the cathedral with a sense of wonder. The Carolingian, early Gothic church had been destroyed by fire. The present Gothic Reims cathedral had been constructed starting from the 13th century and until the mid-15th century. They entered the basilica after the chanting of the canonical hour of Prime.
Inside up on the many archways were the stained-glass windows, depicting the early Capetian and Valois kings of France and some biblical scenes such as David and Goliath. There were grand statues of former monarchs craved in the walls. The people in the pews stood up as the new monarchs were making their way down the aisle.
King François had not shaved his beard, determined to make such rugged looks fashionable. After he had discarded his sable cloak, his outfit of white and blue velvet ornamented with rubies and diamonds, shimmered in the candlelight. There was a gold and blue brocade mantel draped over his shoulders, flowing out behind him. All of these things were embroidered with the Valois coat-of-arms and golden fleurs-de-lis.
On his arm, Queen Anne was garbed in a gorgeous white and blue damask gown with golden fleurs-de-lis etched into the fabric. Her crescent stomacher was of golden brocade, studded with diamonds. Anne’s auburn hair was pinned behind a bejeweled French hood. From her neck dangled a sapphire necklace, which her husband had granted her for their wedding day, having said that it sparkled like her eyes.
Unlike her usual somberness, the queen was smiling radiantly, as was the man beside her. Their mood soared to the ache of exhilaration as they promenaded along the long nave, admiring rose windows, the vaulted roof of the nave, and upper galleries.
The choir commenced singing prayers. The abbot and monks of the Abbey of Saint-Remi, clothed in red robes, were arriving in a long line. The monks carried the Sainte Ampoule in its reliquary, connected with a golden chain with the neck of the Archbishop of Laon, who traditionally possessed the holy mixture during the ceremony. Four monks bore a silk canopy over him. Everyone bowed reverently as they passed them.
Adonis and Helen of Troy, Louise de Savoy observed from where she was in the front pew, misty-eyed. Oh, dearest Cecile, if only you could see them now. You would be so pleased. They are the golden couple of France. Louise was fond of her daughter-in-law, as if she were her flesh and blood. Nonetheless, the lack of a son worried her. Being now in this sacred place, Louise prayed hard for the bright future of this couple and begged the Lord to give them a male heir.
The young royal couple approached the altar and waited. Dressed in sumptuous crimson robes, Cardinal Robert de Lenoncourt, Archbishop of Reims, and others reached the altar. Lenoncourt, as well as the other present archbishops and bishops solemnly swore to return the Sainte Ampoule to the Abbey of Saint-Remi after the Sacre.
The Archbishop of Reims led François through the coronation oath. Now in his early thirties, Lenoncourt was a tall man, with a pale and strict countenance framed by a long beard at the bottom, and smooth black hair, covered by his red flat cap.
In an uncharacteristically subdued tone, the chestnut-haired monarch recited, “I, King François of France, first of my name, swear to uphold the justice and laws of the land. To keep the peace and prevent iniquity. I swear to defend the Catholic Church and my people from all our enemies both domestic and foreign.” His conviction rang true for all to hear. “To act as a knight protecting my subjects as well as leading them.”
All around, the Valois and Bourbon princes of the blood, aristocrats, dignitaries, and churchmen turned their attention to their new sovereign. Then their eyes shifted to Queen Anne, who approached her husband and proceeded to her own oath.
The Archbishop of Reims spelled pronounced: “Et per praesentem traditionem nostram, omnium scilicet episcoporum, caeterorumque Dei servorum.”
The queen spoke clearly and regally. “I, Queen Anne of France, pledge to be a steadfast consort who serves her people dutifully and loyally. I pledge to uphold God’s will, as well the king’s will as his consort and his dutiful wife.” It was a necessary thing to say in the country where the Salic law was of paramount importance. “I promise to help my husband, our lord and master, govern with wisdom and compassion.”
Upon saying the oath, the monarchs rose from the floor. Anne curtsied to her husband before going to stand a few feet away from the dais, knowing this part of the ceremony was for the monarch alone. François was already king, but the ancient rituals had to transform him into the true son of God chosen to rule the French lands.
The monarch was then aided to change into a special shirt for the upcoming anointing. This garment would later be burned after the coronation according to tradition.
The Duke de Longueville, Grand Chamberlain of France, placed a pair of leather shoes, decorated with the fleur-de-lis, and laced them up before attaching a pair of golden spurs to them. Once he was finished, he bowed and took a step back.
Duke Charles d’Alençon was attired in a blue and crimson jerkin with red breaches. The fair-haired man of twenty-six had been honored with the same role his grandfather had performed at the coronation of King Charles VII almost a hundred years earlier.
“My king,” Alençon breathed as he held the legendary sword Joyeuse, which was said to be wielded by Charlemagne himself. “Accept this sword from our hands, and with it be a great ruler and warrior, just as the illustrious Charlemagne.”
“May I always be worthy of wielding it,” François proclaimed with determination.
The monarch received it with his knees bent, then put it to the altar, and retrieved it back. Finally, from his hands, it was given back to one of the seneschals who would keep it unsheathed throughout the ceremony until the return to the Palace of Tau.
After the ritual of chivalry, it was the time for anointing, the center of the ceremony. The Archbishop of Reims approached François, carrying the Sainte Ampoule. With the thumb, the prelate took the mixture of oil, which had almost mystical importance in this ritual, and traced nine cross-shaped anointings across the sovereign’s body, while also pronouncing the ritual words. François felt the gentle touches on the top of the head, the chest, between the two shoulders, the right shoulder, the left shoulder, the joint of the right arm then of the left arm, and then on the palms of the hands.
Afterwards, what was left of the holy mixture in the Sainte Ampoule would be returned to the Abbey of Saint-Remi. This reinforced the popular belief in its inexhaustible contents.
The queen was anointed with holy chrism twice on her chest and her head.
A few moments later, the royal insignia was brought by Pierre II de Gouffier, Abbot of Saint-Denis. In the meantime, the Grand Chamberlain helped the ruler dress into a red brocade tunic similar to that of the sub-deacon. Then Longueville helped François put on a dalmatic like that of the deacon and a mantle like the chasuble of a priest. All these items were of red brocade, with the Valois heraldry, and fleurdelized.
The Archbishop of Reims blessed and placed the ring on the fourth finger of the monarch’s right hand. “Your Majesty! Please, accept this sign of holy faith and the integrity of the kingdom to encourage the good and correct the bad, to lead the righteous in the right way, and to protect the humble.” Then prayers followed.
Within the next few minutes, the King of France received the scepter, a symbol of his authority, from Michel Boudet, Bishop of Langres. The Archbishop of Reims then put a majestic golden crown, composed of a golden circle surmounted by four fleurs-de-lis placed on a velvet cap adorned with pearls, upon the head of the monarch. François then settled in a grand throne, holding the scepter.
Robert de Lenoncourt neared the throne and declared, “May God make Your Majesty the mediator of the clergy and the people.” Then he stepped aside.
The peers of the realm approached the throne. Each performed an act of homage to their liege lord with a kiss on the hand, saying, “Long live the eternal king!”
A number of birds were released under the vaults. François and his mother, Louise, had purchased more than seven hundred sparrows and doves beforehand for this occasion. A host of them was flying as if in slow motion along the length of the cathedral, twittering and causing the congregation to laugh. Then coins and medals were thrown up.
As the presentation of the insignia and the enthronement, King François and Queen Anne attended a celebratory Mass in the basilica. In addition to standard prayers and the Te Deum, the Mass for the coronation of King François I and his consort had been composed by Claudin de Sermisy, who was a musician of the Sainte-Chapelle since 1508 and a member of the Chapelle Royale since the reign of King Louis II.
The ceremony lasted for at least five hours, and by its end, everyone was tired, impatient to return to the Palace of Tau to attend the splendid coronation banquet.
At the Palace of Tau, the court had their fill of meat pies, legs of mutton, pastries, and rich delicacies. After a scrumptious meal, with many toasts to the new royal couple, it became time for dancing.
The music started playing as the men and woman of the court divided into two lines with the king and queen leading, holding each other hands. They glided across the room slowly, moving with the beats of the music.
“Mademoiselle Marie is most put out,” Anne noted as they took two steps to the right and then to the left. “I think she was hoping that you would choose her as your dance partner.”
François frowned, not even glancing towards his mistress. I sense a trap, he mused, she is going somewhere with this. “It is our coronation celebration: I shall dance with no one but my wife.”
As they shifted their wight side to side, the queen’s eyebrow rose up her forehead as if she were intrigued by his words. “And what of the celebrations afterwards? Will you dance with your mistresses then, snubbing me for their favor?”
Her husband was affronted. “Do you think I would humiliate you so?” Their marriage was a happy one, born from their childhood friendship and genuine affection for each other.
“What if you met a woman who demands such treatment, wishes for you to publicly show your devotion?” Anne inquired.
“Then she is unworthy of my attention,” proclaimed François. “I will not choose someone who disrespects you.”
“That is all I ask, husband.”
The Basse dance came to an end as the couples did the reverence where the men bowed, and the women curtsied at their partners.
Taking advantage of the lull of music as the musicians tuned their instruments, François led Anne to a secluded corner.
He wanted to know why after five years of marriage, she was bringing this up now. “Why do you ask such questions? Do you think I would humiliate you so?” he reiterated.
Although, the brown-haired man knew of his wife’s cynicism, he had always thought she at least trusted him.
“Would you like my honest answer?” Anne asked, her eyes darting around the hall, making sure that no one nearby was listening in.
“It pains me that you even have to ask that,” François muttered.
The queen inhaled deeply, having the air of someone choosing her words carefully. “I wish to be consulted when you make a woman your mistress so I may be assured of her character.”
François pressed his lips together in thought. That was…not an unreasonable request. As king, there would be many ambitious women vying for his affection, who might put on a mask of sweetness to hide their shrewish nature.
Although his mother, who had a knack for knowing all that transpired in the court, would be able to sniff out such snakes and intervene before he became smitten, having a mistress the queen could get along with, would keep the harmony of the court.
“I still get the final say.” Despite the sternness of his tone, François knew that if Anne asked him to banish his lover from court, they would be gone before she could finish her sentence.
Anne smiled knowingly at him as if she could read his thoughts. “Of course, my love. I would never deny you that.”
The music started again, a jaunty tune, signifying it was time for the tourdion.
François extended his hand in silent invitation, bowing shallowly. His wife took it wordlessly and they sauntered back to the dance floor, joining hands with the other dancers.
They took a step to the left before moving back, then they swung forwards.
“We’ll meet again,” François jested as he twirled her around, having her take the spot on his other side.
“You’ll wait for me then?” Anne laughed.
“Always.”
March 18, 1515
England
The nursery was quite crowded for the first time in many years. The York children huddled around the crib to see their newest sibling. Even Queen Elenora of Denmark was there, she and her husband having decided to visit England to strengthen the alliance between their countries, in hopes they would provide aid to the reconquest of Sweden.
“Isn’t she precious?” Elenora cooed, reaching down to touch the infant’s face. She could not help but feel a bit of jealousy as she had only two children in the past five years while her older stepmother had four.
Then again it was not her fault that her husband like spending time with his ill-bred mistress instead of her. Hans and Edvard were proof that she could birth healthy heirs and they were enough.
“Princess Isabel,” Elizabeth whispered from where she was standing with the year-old Kitty in her arms. “Her name is the Spanish version of my name.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “We know that.”
“Lottie,” Eleanora warned, giving her sister a meaning glance. “Be nice.”
“We didn’t know that,” Johnny pipped up.
Much like Thomas and Henry had latched on to Charlotte, John and Liam had latched onto Lizzie.
It reminded Eleanora of the days when it had only been her, Ritchie, and Ed. Back when things were quiet and peaceful. Before the tragedies started happening and the tension between her uncles boiled over.
She had left England three years after her mother died, a girl of fifteen. Before she did, she had gone to her mother’s rooms, just to look around one last time, seeing her mother’s chambers untouched and unchanged.
Her first meeting with her stepmother had been awkward to say the least, for when Eleanora stepped foot in the queen’s apartments, she almost lost her composure.
Gone were the tapestries of scenes of Robin Hood and his Merry Men and the images of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. Gone was the portrait of Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy---her mother’s famous ancestor. Gone were the gentle touches her mother had scattered around her chamber.
She had known her mother was dead for years. However, in Denmark, it was easy to pretend that her mother was still there, just an ocean away. Somehow not even her father’s real marriage had really deprived her of that silly notion. Seeing the changes in her mother’s chambers was finishing blow. Her mother was gone, and nothing would bring her back.
“Your Majesty.” Queen Katherine’s voice broke through her thoughts, gently pulling her back to reality. She had just been given the all clear to have visitors, having emerged from her churching.
“Forgive me, I have not been in my---I mean the queen’s apartments for some time,” Eleanora amended, berating herself for being so foolish. “It is a little jarring. I hope you will not take my melancholy as an insult.” She tried to make a joke, but she was sure it fell flat.
Pity swam in the queen’s eyes, and she gestured for Eleanora to sit down beside her on the black velvet couch.
As she sat down, the former English princess was relieved that Katherine had dismissed her ladies, allowing them to have some privacy.
“You must think I am so childish,” Eleanora blurted out, touching her cheeks to be sure there was no wetness on them. “I am a woman grown and I knew my mother was gone but coming here like I have so many times as a child and not recognizing the place is overwhelming.”
“I understand.” Katherine did not apologize for making the apartments she lived for the past four years her own, but she could empathize with Eleanora’s sadness.
She had left Spain before her mother died, coming home to witness all her mother’s things being replaced by Margarita’s possessions had been unnerving to say the least. Granted, she had also been mourning the loss of her husband and baby daughter that it had taken a toll.
“My mother would have loved you,” Eleanor remarked.
The queen stared at her in surprise. “Really?”
“The last thing she ever said to me was I hope that your father loves again because I don’t want him to waste away in unhappiness.”
Eleanora took Katherine’s hands in hers. “Thank you for being there for my father, for bringing him joy.”
Katherine said nothing more. She took the girl in her arms and hugged her.
“HOW DARE YOU!”
There was the sound of a slap as Katherine thrust open the doors. Inside her bedchambers, Maria was looming over Elizabeth Stafford, eyes filled with fire. As for Mistress Stafford, she was clutching her cheek with one hand, with her other hand holding something behind her back.
“What is going on here!” Katherine demanded, shooing the ladies behind her away so she could deal with this, closing the door behind her.
“Lady Maria hit me!” Elizabeth Stafford sounded like a child tattling to her mother. “I didn’t do anything, and she slapped me!”
“You pathetic little liar,” snarled the Spanish woman.
“Maria!” Katherine admonished, scandalized by her lady’s outburst. Even in private, noble ladies were supposed to be in control of their emotions.
“Forgive me, Majesty, but I just found this thief rifling through your things, reading your letters,” Maria reported. Although her tone was much calmer now, red fury was still painted on her visage.
Katherine’s scrutiny flew to her troublesome lady-in-waiting. As the woman was the sister of the Duke of Buckingham, she could not be fired without proof of wrongdoing---well she could be, but the queen had no wish to alienate a high ranked duke especially when he was married to the king’s sister.
Edward Stafford was a prideful and temperamental man. Nonetheless, if Maria’s words were true, then not even he would disagree with his sister’s dismissal.
Katherine drew herself up, schooling her features into a stoic mask. “Well? Lady Stafford, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“My lady, I swear I know nothing. I was minding my own business---” Elizabeth Stafford fell silent when the queen raised a hand.
“Please do not insult me with an obvious lie.” Katherine kept her tone carefully measured as she took a step towards the woman who was acting like a mouse backed in a corner. “Hand it over. Now!” The last word was sharp enough to make Elizabeth Stafford jump.
The blonde had a sullen expression on her face as she shakily brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing a nearly crumpled piece of parchment.
Katherine snatched it from her, smoothing out the paper and giving it a cursory glance to confirm it belonged to her. She felt a surge of fury when she recognized her daughter’s handwriting.
Although it was enraging that the lady, she had trusted to serve her would invade her privacy, there was something about this wretched wench reading the letters her beloved Marie wrote to her that just infuriated her.
She could imagine this spiteful witch laughing at her sweet daughter as she poured her heart out, admitting her deepest wishes, confessing her darkest fears.
It was enough to make her want to rip the woman’s hair out.
Katherine took a deep breath, steadying herself, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She certainly could empathize with Maria’s earlier outburst, but she had to lead by example, always remaining composed.
“Who paid you to read my letters?” she inquired.
Elizabeth Stafford had nothing to gain and everything to lose by snooping through the queen’s things. Regardless of her feelings towards her mistress, being the queen’s lady-in-waiting was a coveted position and she wouldn’t take such a risk unless there was a payoff.
The Countess of Sussex bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Finally, she stuttered out, “My brother, the Duke of Buckingham. I didn’t dare refuse him.”
Whoever hired her to spy on me must have been desperate to have hired her, Katherine jeered. My four-year-old son lies better than that.
“Maria, have someone summon the Duke of Buckingham,” the queen commanded, keeping her gaze locked on the disgraced lady. “I wish to get his side of the story.”
Lady Sussex turned white as a sheet. “Wait, don’t.”
Katherine quirked a delicate eyebrow as if astonished. “Why not? If your brother is bribing my ladies, I want him to be aware that this behavior will not be tolerated,” she declared. “In fact, I may have Edward banish him from the court for his deceitful behavior.”
Beside her, Maria had not moved, and she put a hand on her mouth as though she was concealing a vindictive smile.
“It wasn’t my brother,” divulged the soon-to-be ex-lady-in-waiting. “It was the Earl of Northumberland. He hired me to make copies of the letters you wrote and the ones you received as well as inform him of your activities.”
“How long have you been working for him?” Katherine demanded.
Elizabeth Stafford fell silent. The queen was about order her to answer when King Edward burst into the room, a dark scowl on his face. His sudden appearance was so startling that only Maria remembered to curtsy. “Answer my wife’s question,” he instructed in a dangerously soft voice, having overheard everything.
“Since I was first assigned to her household,” Elizabeth Stafford admitted, tears in her eyes as she knew what was coming next.
Edward opened his mouth, only for Katherine to place her hand on his arm, silently requesting he let her handle this. After all, it was her lady who had erred, and it was her privacy that was invaded.
Her husband nodded his consent. Katherine swiveled towards Lady Stafford.
“You will leave court immediately and return to your husband’s estates,” she ordered coldly. “Your post as my lady has been terminated. I will be sending a full report of what has transpired to your husband and to your brother.”
Perhaps it was pettiness, but the queen very much wanted Buckingham to know of his sister’s attempt to shift the blame onto him.
Now Elizabeth Stafford was crying as she fled the room. Katherine dismissed Maria with a nod. Her most faithful companion curtsied twice before vacating the bedchamber, allowing the monarchs some privacy.
“I will be having a sharp word with Northumberland,” declared Edward, his eyes flashed with wrath. “He will be exiled from court along with his co-conspirator.”
Katherine didn’t think she had never seen him so irate. But then betraying his trust was one of the few things that caused him to lose his temper.
“No, don’t,” she protested, reaching out to stroke his arm. “He already is insisting that I am against him and his sister, this will only fan the flames.”
“I will not let this go on unanswered,” Edward said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You should not have to deal with a man who is making it his mission to undermine and slander you.”
“He can squawk all he wants, it doesn’t mean anyone will listen,” Katherine pointed out with a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“I still don’t like it and I will be making sure he knows that.” Edward’s tone broached no argument.
His former brother-in-law had always been pompous, ever since Eleanor and he married, and the only reason he had not ousted Northumberland from court was for his wife’s sake.
Katherine kissed him, deciding to change the subject. “Did you just come to visit, or did you have a reason?”
“Perhaps visiting you is my reason,” the king teased, lowering his hands from her shoulders, caressing her arms until her was at her hands. He entwined their fingers and lifted one of her hands up so he could lay a kiss on the back of it. “We have received an invitation to make a state visit.”
“Oh?”
“King François and Queen Anne have invited us to spend a month in France,” her husband announced.
It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “We’re going to see Marie,” she breathed.
“We’re going to see Marie,” Edward confirmed.
For all of Katherine’s belief of keeping poised even in front of her loved ones, she all but wept in her husband’s arms at the notion of holding her little girl again, after eight years apart.
“I want you to know I had nothing to do with my sister’s treachery.”
King Edward chuckled. “I never said you did.”
After leaving his wife’s apartments, he had gone to his private audience chamber and summoned Northumberland, while he was waiting, his other brother-in-law all but demanded to be permitted in his presence.
“I will of course be apologizing to the queen for this conniving behavior on her part as it has shamed my entire family.” The Duke of Buckingham was usually red faced, but this time it seemed to have spread to his ears and neck.
And he hasn’t even been told about his sister trying to make him into a scapegoat, Edward mused dryly.
“I must be cursed to have such wrenches for sisters.” Buckingham was continuing to rant, including the disgraced Countess of Huntingdon in his sentence. He had not talked to Anne Stafford for many years and had never laid eyes on his bastard nephew.
“My lord,” Edward interrupted the man, raising his voice slightly to catch the duke’s attention.
Immediately, Buckingham fell down to his knees, clearly expecting a scolding. “Forgive me, Sire, I am just overcome with anger.”
“While I can understand your outrage, it is not you who she spied on,” the king reminded him sharply. “It is not you whose trust she betrayed.”
His father had snakes in his court and in end it had nearly destroyed his family. Katherine had begged him to not incite the Earl of Northumberland. Nonetheless, he would not allow another Clarence or Gloucester to destroy his family.
The younger man nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Majesty, I apologize for my imprudence. Despite my sisters’ actions, I swear to you that I am loyal.”
Edward rubbed his temples, mentally making a list of his brothers-in-law.
Obviously on top of the list were the late Henry and Charles, both he would have gladly called his family without them marrying his sisters.
Then there was Juan of Castile, he never had meet him in person, but they had written countless letters back and forth, and managed to come to an understanding. In fact, they were thinking of marrying Elizabeth with Infante Alfonso. King James of Scots had been a polite man who treated Anne of York well even giving up his mistresses for her, but he and Edward had not gone past formal pleasantries.
Buckingham was second to last. He was entitled and temperamental. However, he was satisfied with the roles he received. Katherine suggesting him as the Lord Deputy of Ireland certainly had made him happy.
Lastly was Henry Percy. He used to be Edward and Dickon’s childhood friend but after all of his actions, the English ruler was ready to strip him of his titles and lands just to humble him.
However, Katherine was right, if he did that, she would get the blame and he would rather not to punish Eleanor’s nephews and nieces for their father’s foolishness.
“The Earl of Northumberland is without.” Edward was brought out of his musing by the voice of his steward.
“Thank you for your words, my lord.”
Buckingham recognized the dismissal in his voice. He got up from his knees and bowed before backing out of the room. He glared at Northumberland as he passed him.
If that didn’t give Henry Percy a clue that he was in trouble, the furious look on Edward’s face was enough for him to drop to his knees just as Buckingham had done just moments before.
“Your Majesty, I beg your---”
“DO NOT SPEAK!” Edward roared, slamming his fist on the table. “You hired someone to spy on my wife!” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Was she the only one? Tell me now!” He would have Richard Pace interrogate the queen’s ladies to make sure that there were no other disloyal vipers in her household.
“I have no spies, Your Majesty, I swear!” Percy vowed. “That woman was lying, I swear to you.”
“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” bellowed the monarch, gripping the table’s edges just to make sure he did not rush over and pummel that knave to a bloody pulp.
How Ali was related to him, I will never understand, Edward snarled.
“Sire, this is clearly some sort of misunderstanding.” Northumberland kept his face lowered to the floor, his manner carefully composed. Yet there was a trace of fear and dismay. “If you will just let me---”
“Enough,” Edward injected, grinding his teeth. “Your lies will only make me angrier. Against my better judgement, I will not be punishing you as harshly as I would like. However, let me make this most clear to you, if you put a toe out of line ever again, if I can trace any rumor back to you, if I find out that you have paid anyone else to spy on my wife, you will be lucky if I only throw you into the Tower of London!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Northumberland stayed on the ground, shaken by the viciousness of the king’s rant.
“Additionally, I think you were about to ask me to retire from court for…let’s say six months,” decided Edward, turning his back on the man.
Katherine was right that Northumberland would think any banishment came from her, but he would not allow his former brother-in-law to escape unpunished.
“Is that your wish, my king?” the earl inquired, lifting his head. “Or your wife’s?”
Edward couldn’t take it anymore. He spun around, marched to Northumberland, and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up.
“You listen to me, you pathetic worm,” he snarled, spit flying out of his mouth. “Eleanor wanted my happiness more than anything in the world!”
“Even at the expense of her children!” Northumberland shot back. “There are rumors about King Ferdinand, how he poisoned his son-in-law, Prince Alfonso of Portugal. For all we know his daughter could try to get rid of her sons’ rivals for the English throne.”
How dare he! How dare he make such a vile accusation about Katherine! Edward punched Henry Percy, sending him sprawling to the floor. “GET OUT NOW! IF YOU ARE NOT GONE FROM THIS PALACE IN AN HOUR, I WILL HAVE YOU ARRESTED!”
Thankfully, the earl seemed to have gotten the message that he had gone too far, and he quickly scurried away, leaving King Edward to seethe alone.