Chapter 1 - Greenwich 1516
Chapter 1 – A most fortunate birth - Greenwich 1516
Every church bell in London rang out loud in the city in on the 18th of February in 1516. To the commoners in the streets and the merchants in their houses it meant one thing had occurred. The speculations about the queen’s latest pregnancy had spread way outside the kingdom’s borders, in the Italian states and even to the court of the ailing Emperor Maximilian in Vienna. Ferdinand II of Aragon had died in nearly a month earlier and his passing had changed the board of European politics. Castile and Aragon was now to be handed over to Charles of Austria, the Duke of Burgundy, a man of mere sixteen years old. A year earlier the aging Louis XII had died and the new king was the dynamic and ambitious François of Angouleme. The European kingdoms were changing hands at this time and Emperor Maximilian was not long for the world either.
The household in Greenwich Palace was blooming with joy and delight. But none was as happy as Catherine of Aragon was in this moment. A son! She had a son! After all the stillbirths and miscarriages, she finally had living son. The loud shout of joy from the midwife had been enough to tell her as the baby had entered the world in one hard push and the tears streaming down her face had been both from the pain as well as happiness that engulfed her. The baby had been big and strong, with healthy lungs that he displayed at once. Immediately a messenger had left to find the king, to let him know he had an heir at last. Catherine had heard him arriving long before he entered her chamber, his booming voice shaking the dust from the rafters and sending the drowsy birds scattering from the roofs.
“Is it true?! Where is my son, I will see my son!” King Henry VIII came bursting through the doors, parting the courtiers and maids like the red sea as he strode towards the bed where the swaddled and sleeping infant was resting in his mother’s arms.
“Kate, oh my beloved Kate. Are you well? I must know, for you shall lack for nothing now. You have made me the happiest man in England. This is our son, our Prince. Kate, hand me my son, so that I shall see his face.
My lord and husband, I pray that this child shall be as great a sovereign as his father and his blessed ancestors and restore England to the greatness the lord intended it to be.”
Henry leaned over and kissed Catherine’s damp brows. “And so, it shall be!”
The king strode out of the chamber where the members of court had gathered, eager to hear the news leaking out by every passing minute.
Holding up his son, he loudly proclaimed him to the assembled crowds:
“My lords and ladies, behold your future king, Prince Edward of England!”
Outside of the door, a drowsy Catherine could hear as the courtiers went to their knees, shouting in relief and praising their queen for delivering the salvation of the kingdom to England. And with that sound ringing of the walls of Greenwich, she shut her eyes and let sleep take her away. In her heart, she knew that this son had been her salvation, as he had protected her from disgrace and a fall that she had seen looming ever closer in the past years. Many in court also knew it, that their queen's standing had been shakier in the past years as no child she had borne had lived longer then a few weeks. Many prayed deeply for her as this latest pregnancy continued and for their Spanish queen to deliver what the Tudor dynasty desperatly needed: A Prince of the Red and White Rose for England.
Edward Tudor, Duke of Cornwall in 1516
Author's Note: So I have been contemplating this scenario for a while now: What if Mary I was born a son in 1516? And this first chapter is the result of that madness. Expect Tudor Drama and shenanigans as well as references for future Shakespeare plays, because why not.
Every church bell in London rang out loud in the city in on the 18th of February in 1516. To the commoners in the streets and the merchants in their houses it meant one thing had occurred. The speculations about the queen’s latest pregnancy had spread way outside the kingdom’s borders, in the Italian states and even to the court of the ailing Emperor Maximilian in Vienna. Ferdinand II of Aragon had died in nearly a month earlier and his passing had changed the board of European politics. Castile and Aragon was now to be handed over to Charles of Austria, the Duke of Burgundy, a man of mere sixteen years old. A year earlier the aging Louis XII had died and the new king was the dynamic and ambitious François of Angouleme. The European kingdoms were changing hands at this time and Emperor Maximilian was not long for the world either.
The household in Greenwich Palace was blooming with joy and delight. But none was as happy as Catherine of Aragon was in this moment. A son! She had a son! After all the stillbirths and miscarriages, she finally had living son. The loud shout of joy from the midwife had been enough to tell her as the baby had entered the world in one hard push and the tears streaming down her face had been both from the pain as well as happiness that engulfed her. The baby had been big and strong, with healthy lungs that he displayed at once. Immediately a messenger had left to find the king, to let him know he had an heir at last. Catherine had heard him arriving long before he entered her chamber, his booming voice shaking the dust from the rafters and sending the drowsy birds scattering from the roofs.
“Is it true?! Where is my son, I will see my son!” King Henry VIII came bursting through the doors, parting the courtiers and maids like the red sea as he strode towards the bed where the swaddled and sleeping infant was resting in his mother’s arms.
“Kate, oh my beloved Kate. Are you well? I must know, for you shall lack for nothing now. You have made me the happiest man in England. This is our son, our Prince. Kate, hand me my son, so that I shall see his face.
My lord and husband, I pray that this child shall be as great a sovereign as his father and his blessed ancestors and restore England to the greatness the lord intended it to be.”
Henry leaned over and kissed Catherine’s damp brows. “And so, it shall be!”
The king strode out of the chamber where the members of court had gathered, eager to hear the news leaking out by every passing minute.
Holding up his son, he loudly proclaimed him to the assembled crowds:
“My lords and ladies, behold your future king, Prince Edward of England!”
Outside of the door, a drowsy Catherine could hear as the courtiers went to their knees, shouting in relief and praising their queen for delivering the salvation of the kingdom to England. And with that sound ringing of the walls of Greenwich, she shut her eyes and let sleep take her away. In her heart, she knew that this son had been her salvation, as he had protected her from disgrace and a fall that she had seen looming ever closer in the past years. Many in court also knew it, that their queen's standing had been shakier in the past years as no child she had borne had lived longer then a few weeks. Many prayed deeply for her as this latest pregnancy continued and for their Spanish queen to deliver what the Tudor dynasty desperatly needed: A Prince of the Red and White Rose for England.
Edward Tudor, Duke of Cornwall in 1516
Author's Note: So I have been contemplating this scenario for a while now: What if Mary I was born a son in 1516? And this first chapter is the result of that madness. Expect Tudor Drama and shenanigans as well as references for future Shakespeare plays, because why not.
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also, you’re missing a thread mark