“Lágrimas Negras: La Plegaria de Mary Tudor, Reina de Inglaterra”, por Mercy Rivera

February 18, 2017 in Hall of Crowns (Mercy Rivera), Historical Fiction, Queens of World History, Spanish Language Diary Entries by Mercy Rivera

por Mercy Rivera

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Reina Maria Tudor

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Video producido por Mercy Rivera (piratesse4)

 Mercy no posee nada del contenido.

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Fui una vez la perla de este reino, la luz de los ojos del Rey mi padre, y la vida entera de la reina, mi madre. Heredera de sangre noble, de casta fuerte, con ancestros de linaje impecable, y legado precioso, mas aún, a pesar de todo eso, no soy amada por mi reino, ni por mi marido ni por los que me rodean. Yo, la nieta de Isabel y Fernando de Castilla, hija de la noble Catalina de Aragón, hija del león, Enrique VIII, estoy reducida a menos que nada, con una corona que me pesa, que me duele, que me da un inmenso poder pero al mismo tiempo me condena a una soledad extrema. ¿De que me sirve cargarla en mi cabeza si no me puede dar el amor de mi súbditos y de mi rey, de que me sirve si no me puede dar herederos, de que me sirve si solo inspira el miedo de los que pasan por delante de mi? ¿Para esto me esforcé tanto durante mi niñez, para esto es que me mantuve en pie ante todas las amarguras que viví?

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Me miro en el espejo, y no me reconozco. He perdido la lozanía de la juventud, más por causa de las penas que por el paso de los años, me he convertido en una mujer de piedra, fría e indomable. Le he dado mi alma, mi corazón y todo mi ser a Inglaterra como siempre fue mi deber, no me arrepiento, porque he vengado a mi madre, y a mí misma por las injurias del pasado. Desde el momento en que fui unjida y coronada, le devolví el honor a mi casta, recuperé lo que siempre fue mío por derecho, eliminé a mis enemigos y a los enemigos de la Santa Fe Católica, uno por uno cayeron ante las llamas del fuego puro de la justicia de Dios, misma que por mi mano recibieron, poco a poco he destruído la herejía que vino con La Bolena y su estirpe, Inglaterra es una vez más una con Dios y el Santo Padre. He cumplido con un deber sagrado, y aún así, no soy amada. El reino entero murmura, la gente me llama “Maria Sangrienta”, me temen y me odian, no se atreven a decirme de frente lo que gritan a mis espaldas. Soy la Reina, María Primera de Inglaterra, regente sin duda alguna, y no soy amada. Hablan de mi a escondidas. Susurran sobre como la reina envejece y aún no se escucha el llanto del heredero al trono de Inglaterra. ¡Dios, como me torturan, lo peor es que son palabras ciertas, es una verdad que me hiere profundamente! ¿Acaso estoy maldita, acaso Dios me castiga negándome lo que más he querido tener en el mundo? Un hijo, un hijo al cual amar, un hijo que limpie mi alma de tantas amarguras, de tantos pesares y que borre para siempre de mí, ese pasado que tanto me envenena. Un hijo me daría la paz que perdí hace muchos años, me devolvería la alegría de vivir, hasta la misma juventud perdida. Un hijo que sería mi legado más grande, un hijo que continuaría con lo que ya he iniciado. Un hijo, una bendición, una criatura a la que amaría y entregaría todo, sin importar su género, pues jamás cometería el cruel error de mi padre, de rechazar a una hija por el deseo de un heredero varón, yo no cometería nunca esa crueldad con quien sería sangre de mi sangre, carne de mi carne.

Pero estoy vacía, y me niego a creer que no hay oportunidad, ya tuve esa dulce sensación dentro de mí una vez, y fue como si algún maleficio le hubiera hecho desaparecer. Dios sabe cuanto le anhelaba, como pude sentir que florecía la vida misma en mi vientre, no fue engaño, yo se que estaba dentro de mí. Pero por voluntad divina o maligna, no pudo ser, perdí a ese pequeño ser que el amor creó dentro de mis entrañas y mi corazón, sin dolor físico, pero si en mi alma, que nunca pudo entender el por qué de tan cruel burla de este destino mío que se empeña en condenarme a la soledad.

Destino maldito! Destino que cambió mi vida en mis años de niña cuando permitió que Ana Bolena descargara su veneno en mi vida, arrebatándome todo, a mi padre, a mi madre, mi rango y todo lo que yo amaba. Cruel destino que me puso por delante madrastras que poco hicieron por mí, por miedo a enfurecer al tirano de mi padre, al que aveces perdono, y al que aveces odio con todo el corazón, cada vez que pienso en las lágrimas de mi amada madre, y en las mías, Como sufrí en aquellos días, lejos de quien me dio el ser y de todo lo que dulcemente me rodeaba, de la protección que el rango de princesa me otorgaba, como recuerdo el terror de pensar que al día siguiente vería ante mí la sentencia de mi muerte, por la mano de esa perra de Bolena, que me convirtió en bastarda bajo el embrujo que la hizo reina sobre la desgracia de mi madre. Y es por eso que no puedo amar sin dudas a mi hermana como lo manda la ley de Dios, no solo por ser el fruto de la unión que me separó de todo lo que una vez fue enteramente mío, también, porque siempre me sentí menos que ella, si esa es la verdad aunque me pese. Posee una belleza que opaca a la que yo una vez tuve, heredó lo mejor de su madre, tiene ese encanto hechizante que atrae a las masas, los embruja con solo una sonrisa, ¡es por eso que ella no debe ser mi sucesora, no lo puedo permitir! Isabel será lo que una vez fue su madre, una reina hereje, apartará al reino de la obediencia al Santo Padre, de el dulce consuelo de la Madre de Cristo, reinstalará el mal que yo ya he erradicado y no lo puedo permitir! Y aún con todo lo que ya se, no la puedo odiar, no la puedo matar, por sus venas corre la misma sangre que por las mías, admito que recuerdo con cariño los momentos que pasamos juntas cuando la soledad y el desprecio eran nuestra única compañía. Mas como creer ahora en sus palabras de afecto, si estoy segura que su corazón anhela tener sobre su cabeza la corona que yo poseo, estoy segura que su alma es tan ambiciosa como la de su estirpe materna, ella en los huesos también es una Bolena. Isabel, mi hermana y mi rival, mi ruina, y al mismo tiempo la salvación de este reino.

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Isabel, tan joven aún, en cambio yo, a mi me han consumido las penas de tal manera, que los años se pueden considerar inocentes, ante el deterioro tan evidente en mi apariencia. Isabel, la envidio y le temo, la quiero y la desprecio, nos unen y nos separan tantas cosas. Me pregunto, ¿ como ha podido superar los martirios de su soledad, como ha logrado mantenerse fresca y bella a pesar de los miedos que la torturan, por qué a ella le ha bendecido la vida con belleza espléndida a pesar de sus penas, mientras que a mí me ha emparejado con la misma decadencia? No tengo respuestas que me conforten, que me hagan comprender y conformarme, y es por eso que ese amor que le tuve cuando era una niña, denigrada a bastarda como yo, sin madre y sin rango, se ha desvanecido, la rivalidad ha tomado el lugar de ese sentimiento que una vez fue dulce, pero que ya no es más que solo amargura.

Lejos están de mi aquellos recuerdos que dulcemente me consolaban, todo cambió desde los días en que mis padres se mostraban amor a puertas abiertas, tanto que les vi besarse, romper protocolos para brindarse sonrisas, mi padre el Rey, que corría a recibirme en sus brazos y me llamaba “La Perla de su Mundo”. Y mi madre, la hermosa Reina Catalina de Aragón, que guiaba con ternura mis pasos, la que con fervor curaba mis fiebres y me cantaba nanas en la madrugada cuando las pesadillas me aterraban. Dios sabe cuanto extraño su dulce voz, sus consejos, y aquellos regaños, que inspiraban admiración y respeto, pero miedo, eso jamás. Mis padres fueron Reyes, mas yo nunca los vi de esa manera, fueron mis padres, y con ellos fui feliz. Por eso siempre prometía a mi madre que el día que fuera Reina de Inglaterra, haría honores a mi Casta de Castilla y Aragón, haría que la Rosa Tudor marcara por siempre la Corona. Pero Ana Bolena me arrebató todo, y no importa si dicen que mi padre tuvo mil amantes, y un bastardo al que puso por encima de mí, aún con todo aquello yo era la luz de sus ojos, yo lo se. Fue ella y la llegada de Isabel, quienes sellaron mi destino para mal, y todo lo que fui, todo lo que amé, ya nunca más fue mío, y aquella promesa que mil veces le hice a mi madre, ahora mismo se tambalea, se encuentra en peligro de perecer sin ser realmente cumplida.

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Isabel, siento que tristememente en un tiempo no tendré muchas fuerzas para enfrentarte, a veces quisiera olvidar todo, y tenerte conmigo, verte como la hermana que siempre quise a mi lado, más no puedo, ya sea por envidia, por miedo, por desprecio u orgullo, debo mantenerte lejos. Yo se, que los ojos de mi esposo el Rey se han deleitado con tus encantos, los mismos que heredaste de tu madre, bien que eres cuña de su mismo árbol. ¡Me duele y me indigna! Pero en el fondo quisiera ser como tú. Te veo tan llena de vida, mientras que yo me consumo como una llama en medio de la tormenta, sonríes con dulzura, y yo ya no puedo, eres delicada, como lo fui yo en mis años felices, eres ciertamente hija de nuestro padre, hija del león, igual que yo, pero más fuerte, has sobrevivido tus penas sin marchitarte, y es por eso que, aunque me cueste admitirlo, siento que en este reino no habrá reina más amada y recordada que tú. Pues ya no puedo seguir posponiendo lo inevitable, mis fuerzas no son las mismas, y siento que lo que llevo en mi vientre, no es el dulce latir de un hijo, aunque lo deseo con todas mis fuerzas, cada día que pasa me doy cuenta que lo que crece dentro de mi me absorbe la vida, se alimenta de mi de manera ponzoñosa, más no con la dulzura con la que un a criatura de Dios lo hace dentro del vientre materno. Permita Dios y me equivoque, pero si estas dudas se tornan ciertas, tendré que heredarte todo Isabel, pasar mi corona sobre tu cabeza, y al irme de este mundo ver una vez más la perversa sonrisa de tu madre, regocijada en tu triunfo sobre mí.

Lágrimas negras he llorado, lágrimas que encierran rabia, rencor, soledad, amargura y miedo. Lágrimas negras que comencé a derramar desde el día en que me separaron de mi madre, desde el momento en el que el Rey mi padre me lanzó a la sombras para llevar a la luz a su amante en todo su esplendor, mientras que su verdadera reina, se consumía en le verguenza y en la pena de su abandono. Lágrimas negras derramé cuando me degradaron a sirvienta, siguiendo los pasos de mi hermana recién nacida y bajando la cabeza ante aquellos que siempre debieron inclinarse ante mí. Lágrimas negras he llorado sin consuelo, a solas, con el único apoyo de mis recuerdos felices, de aquella niñez que fue cortada tan temprano. Siempre escuché de mis damas decir: que las lágrimas de una princesa, siempre deben ser de alegría, pues el alma de una princesa, siempre debe brillar de felicidad, como el oro con el que fue labrada su corona al nacer. Fácil forjar palabras bellas para alagar a una princesa cuando la gloria le favorece, más cuando ésta cae en desgracia, nadie forja palabras de igual belleza para consolar, y hacer que esas lágrimas negras, tan llenas de agonía, dejen de brotar.

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Lágrimas negras han secado mi alma, se han llevado la juventud de mi rostro, lavaron con su frialdad mi alegría de vivir, ya nunca pude ser de nuevo aquella joven de gran altivez, de presencia cálida que a todos agradaba. Lágrimas negras, lloré cuando al ver mi reflejo en los ojos de mi padre el rey, ya no veía el amor de un padre, si no la rigidez del tirano que solo buscaba mi obediencia y complacencia absoluta, en su mirada fría pude ver mi propio temor, pues me di cuenta que si me mantenía firme en mis convicciones, era claro que no se tocaría el corazón para ordenar mi muerte. A partir de ese momento mi alma se fue marchitando, y así mis sueños e ilusiones igual fueron pereciendo. Pasaba el tiempo y para mí no habia esperanzas, solo la muerte de mi hermano me devolvió lo que siempre debió ser mío en primer lugar, El Trono de Inglaterra.

La dulce victoria de mi llegada al trono fue cálida, yo tenía tanto por hacer, por primera vez me sentí segura, recompensada por tantos años de rechazo y amargura. Pero de nada sirvió, porque la soledad no me abandona, y tampoco la mala fortuna. En las noches siguen brotando lágrimas negras, caen por mi rostro tan frías como el invierno mas duro, porque no hay alegría a pesar de mis logros, no hay amor a pesar de mi deseo, no, no hay amor, pues no lo veo en los ojos de el hombre al que amo, en el que había puesto todas mis esperanzas de felicidad. Me mira con desprecio, y aveces creo que hasta con asco, y no le culpo, ya no soy hermosa, al menos no como una vez lo fuí, pero le amo, ¿acaso no es eso suficiente? No, creo que no lo es, tanto que mi madre amó a mi padre, y aún así fue abandonada. ¿Por qué, Por qué para una reina es tan dificil ser amada por lo que es, por quien es, es que acaso las reinas de Inglaterra tienen prohibido el placer de amar y ser correspondidas, con la misma libertad y pureza que ese sentimiento divino profesa.

Cruel destino el mío que solo ha hecho brotar de mis ojos lágrimas negras. Tan corta fue la dicha en mi vida, y tan larga mi pena. ¿Será que mi estirpe está maldita, a causa de pecados pasados, será este el precio a pagar? Dios sabe que mis actos fueron hechos con el fin de traer a Inglaterra de vuelta a la luz, a la Fe única y verdadera. No me arrepiento de nada, pues lo hice actuando con mi consciencia, hice lo que juré en silencio mi madre y a mí misma. Pero quizás sea mi negativa a perdonar, lo que realmente me esté envenenando por dentro. Puede que esa sea la raíz de todos mis males, pues Dios mismo ha ordenado en Su palabra perdonar, aún a nuestros más fuertes enemigos. Bien pues, tomando en cuenta que dentro de mí, siento un nuevo ardor de vida, elevo al cielo una plegaria, abro mi corazón al perdón, pues si es el precio a pagar por una esperanza de felicidad, de ser amada por mi pueblo como su reina, estoy dispuesta a tragame mi orgullo, y dar el perdón a quienes más daño me hicieron en esta vida.

De rodillas, suplico a Dios y a la dulce Virgen María que escuchen mi clamor, es mi deseo, dejar mi odio atrás, que me den la fuerza que necesito para tragarme mi orgullo, y perdonar a mi padre, a esa mujer, Ana Bolena, que con su lujuria y ambición destruyó mi vida, pido por el alma de ambos, para que reciban el perdón.Te perdono, padre mío, por darme el cruel látigo de tu desprecio después de tantos años de veneración y amor, jamás podrás imaginar el dolor tan inmenso que me hiciste padecer, y si está tu alma finalmente en el cielo, no lo se, aún me siento muy herida como para anhelar que así sea, aunque mi corazón te perdone en mi memoria están ardiendo aún los recuerdos de esos días negros, que tanto marcaron mi existencia. Y ella, Ana Bolena, espero que Dios le haya perdonado todo el mal que causó, tanto a mí como a tantos hombres buenos que sirvieron al Rey con fervor y lealtad. Mi confesor una vez me dijo que ella con la pérdida de su cabeza ya había pagado todas sus maldades, tal vez sea la verdad, y sea hora de olvidarla y dejar de pensar en ella con tanto odio. Pido también por el alma de mi madre, a la que nunca olvido, la que vive en mi corazón y en mis recuerdos, que esté en paz y me ayude desde el cielo a hallar la mía propia. Y más que todo, pido que esto que siento latiendo dentro de mí, sea la esperanza de este reino, y mi redención, mi recompensa a tantos años de miedo y sufrimientos. Que me equivoque en mis malos pensamientos, que sea vida y no desventura o enfermedad lo que dentro de mi viente siento crecer, que sea un heredero, creo merecer esa bendición, ¿verdad?

Deus, animam meam: dimittite me ut plangeret prohibere nigrum lacrimis. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.

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English Translation:

Black Tears:  The Prayer of Mary Tudor, Queen of England

I once was the pearl of this kingdom, the light of the eyes of the King my father, and the whole life of the queen, my mother. Heir of noble blood, strong caste, with ancestry of impeccable lineage, and precious legacy, but still, in spite of all that, I am not loved by my kingdom, neither by my husband nor by those around me. I, the granddaughter of Isabel and Ferdinand of Castile, daughter of the noble Catherine of Aragon, daughter of the lion, Henry The VIII, I am reduced to nothing, with a crown that is too heavy for me to carry, it hurts me, a crown that gives me an immense power But at the same time condemns me to extreme solitude. What good is it to have it on my head if it can not give me the love of my subjects and my husband, what good is it to me if it can not give me heirs, what good is it if it inspires only the fear of those who cross my path? It is for this that I worked so hard in my early years, it is for this that I kept myself together during all my years of suffering?

I look in the mirror, and I do not recognize myself. I have lost the freshness of youth, more because of the pain than for nature of years, I have become a woman of stone, cold and indomitable. I have given my soul, my heart and my whole being to England as it was always my duty, I do not regret it, because I have avenged my mother, and myself for the insults of the past. From the moment I was anointed and crowned, I returned the honor to my caste, recovered what was always mine by right, I eliminated my enemies and the enemies of the Holy Catholic Faith, one by one fell before the flames of pure fire Of the justice of God, which by my hand they have received, I have gradually destroyed the heresy that came with The Boleyns, its lineage and all their allies, England is once again one with God and the Holy Father. I have fulfilled a sacred duty, and yet, I am not loved. The whole kingdom murmurs, people call me “Bloody Mary”, they fear me and they hate me, they do not dare to tell me on my face what they shout behind my back. I am the Queen, Mary First of England, regent without doubt, and I am not loved. They talk about me on the sly. They whisper about how the queen grows old and the cry of the heir to the throne of England is not yet heard. They torture me, the worst thing is that their words are true, it is a truth that deeply hurts me! Am I cursed?, perhaps God punishes me by denying me what I have wanted most in the world. A son, a son to love, a son who cleans my soul from so many sorrows, from that past that poisons me so much. A son would give me the peace I lost many years ago, would give me back the joy of living, even the lost youth. A son who would be my greatest legacy, a son who would continue with what I have already begun. A son, a blessing, a creature I will love and give everything, regardless of gender, for I would never commit the cruel error of my father, to reject a daughter for the will of a male heir, I would never commit that cruelty with who would be blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh.

But I am empty, and I refuse to believe that there is no chance, I already had that sweet sensation inside me once, and it was as if some curse had made it disappear. God knows how much I longed for a child, how I felt that life itself flourished in my womb, it was not deception, I knew it was inside me. But by divine will or dark evil, could not be, I lost that little being that love created inside my heart without physical pain, why so cruel mockery of This destiny of mine that insists on condemning me to solitude?

Damn destiny! Destiny that changed my life in my childhood when allowed Anne Boleyn to discharge her poison in my life, snatching everything, my father, my mother, my rank and everything I loved. Cruel destiny that put me before stepmothers who did little for me, for fear of infuriating the tyrant of my father, whom I sometimes forgive, and whom I sometimes hate with all my heart, whenever I think of the tears of my beloved mother , And in mine, As I suffered in those days, far from who gave me life and everything that sweetly surrounded me, the protection that the rank of princess granted me, as I remember the terror of thinking that the next day I would see Before me the sentence of my death, by the hand of that bitch of Boleyn, who made me a bastard under the spell that made her reign over my mother’s misfortune. And that is why I can not love my sister as God’s law commands, not only because she is the fruit of the union that separated me from everything that was once entirely mine. Also because I always felt less Than her, that is a fact I can not deny.

She has a beauty that overshadows the one I once had, she inherited the best of her mother, Elizabeth has that enchanting charm that attracts the masses, she bewitches them with just a smile, that is why she should not be my successor, no I can not allow it! Elizabeth will be what her mother once was, a heretic queen, she will remove this kingdom from obedience to the Holy Father, from the sweet consolation of the Mother of Christ, she will reinstall the evil that I have eradicated and I can not allow it! And even with all that I already know, I can not hate her, I can not kill her, her blood is also my blood, I admit that I remember with affection the moments we spent together when loneliness and contempt were our only company. But as I now believe in her words of affection, I am also sure that her heart yearns to have on her head the crown that I possess, I am certain that her soul is as ambitious as that of her maternal race, she in the bones is also a Boleyn . Elizabeth, my sister and my rival, my ruin, and at the same time the salvation of this kingdom.

Elizabeth, so young, yet I have been so consumed with such pains that the years can be considered innocent, in the face of the deterioration so evident in my appearance. Isabel, I envy her and I fear her, I love her, the sorrows unite us and separate us from so many things. I wonder, how she has overcome the martyrdoms of her solitude, how she has managed to keep herself fresh and beautiful despite the fears that torture her, why she has blessed her life with splendid beauty despite her sorrows, and I am in decay? I have no answers that comfort me, that makes me understand and conform, We both were denigrated, called bastards and we both lost all we loved and cared for, and yet, I was the most devastated by bitterness.

Far away are those memories that sweetly comforted me, everything changed from the days when my parents showed their love openly, many times I saw them kissing, breaking protocols to give themselves smiles, my father the King, who ran to receive me in his Arms and called me “The Pearl of his World”. And my mother, the beautiful Queen Catherine of Aragon, who tenderly guided my steps, who fervently cured my fevers and sang me nanas at dawn when the nightmares terrified me. God knows how much I miss her sweet voice, her advice, and those scoldings, which inspired admiration and respect, never fear. My parents were Kings, but I never saw them that way, they were my parents, and with them I was happy. That is why I always promised my mother that on the day that I was Queen of England, I would honor my Caste of Castile and Aragon, I would lead the Tudor Rose to mark forever the Crown. But Anne Boleyn took everything from me, and it does not matter if they say that my father had a thousand lovers, and a bastard whom he put above me, even with all that I was the light of his eyes, I know. It was her and the arrival of Elizabeth, who sealed my destiny, and everything I was, everything I loved, was never mine anymore, and that promise that I made to my mother a thousand times, is now tottering, Is in danger of perishing without actually being fulfilled.

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Elizabeth, I feel that sadly in a while I will not have much strength to face you, sometimes I want to forget everything, and to have you with me, to see you as the sister I always loved at my side, but I can not, either out of envy, out of fear, out of contempt Or pride, I must keep you away. I know that the eyes of my husband the King have delighted in your charms, the same ones you inherited from your mother, well, you are wedge of her own tree. It hurts and makes me angry! But deep down I would like to be like you. I see you so full of life, while I consume like a flame in the midst of the storm, you smile sweetly, and I can not, you are delicate, as I was in my happy years, you are certainly the daughter of our father, Daughter of the lion, just like me, but stronger, you have survived your sorrows without waning, and that is why, although I admit it, I feel that in this kingdom there will be no queen more loved and remembered than you. For I can no longer postpone the inevitable, my strength is not the same, and I feel that what I carry in my womb, is not the sweet touch of a child, although I want it with all my strength, every day that passes I realize That what grows within me absorbs my life, it feeds on me in a poisonous way, but not with the sweetness with which a creature of God does it within the womb. I pray God that I am wrong, but if these doubts become true, I will have to inherit all to Elizabeth, pass my crown on her head, and when I leave this world I will see once again the wicked smile of her mother, rejoicing in the triumph of her daughter over me .

Black tears I cried, tears that contain anger, rancor, loneliness, bitterness and fear. Black tears that I began to spill from the day they separated me from my mother, from the moment the King my father cast me into the shadows to bring to light his mistress in all her splendor, while his true queen , Was consumed in the shame and the pain of his abandonment. Black tears I shed when I was degraded to a servant, following in the footsteps of my newborn sister and lowering my head to those who always had to bow before me. Black tears I cried without consolation, alone, with the only support of my happy memories, of that childhood that was cut so early. I always heard of my ladies saying that the tears of a princess must always be of joy, for the soul of a princess must always shine with happiness, like the gold with which her crown was wrought at birth. It is easy to forge beautiful words to swell a princess when glory favors her, but when she falls in disgrace, no one forges words of equal beauty to comfort, and make those black tears, so full of agony, cease to spring.

Black tears have dried my soul, they have taken away the youth of my face, washed with coldness my joy of living, and I will never again be that young woman of great pride, with a warm presence that pleased everyone. Black tears, I cried when seeing my reflection in the eyes of my father the king, I no longer saw the love of a father, but the rigidity of the tyrant who only sought my obedience and absolute complacency, in his cold gaze I could see my own Fear, for I realized that if I held firm in my convictions, it was clear that he would not touch his heart to order my death. From that moment my soul wilted, and so my dreams and illusions alike were perishing. Time passed and for me there was no hope, only the death of my brother gave back to me what must have always been mine in the first place, The Throne of England.

The sweet victory of my arrival to the throne was warm, I had so much to do, for the first time I felt safe, rewarded by so many years of rejection and bitterness. But it did no good, because loneliness does not abandon me, nor does bad luck. In the nights, black tears continue to come, they fall on my face as cold as the hardest winter, because there is no joy despite my achievements, there is no love despite my desire, no, there is no love, for I do not see it in the Eyes of the man I love, in whom I had put all my hopes of happiness. He looks at me with contempt, and sometimes I think that even with disgust, and I do not blame him, I’m not beautiful anymore, at least not as I once was, but I love him, is not that enough? No, I do not think so, so much so that my mother loved my father, and yet she was abandoned. Why, why is it that for a queen it is so difficult to be loved for what she is, for who she is, is it that the queens of England are forbidden the pleasure of loving and being reciprocated with the same freedom and purity as that divine feeling Professes.

Cruel destiny of mine that only made black tears come out of my eyes. So brief was happiness in my life, and so long my grief. Shall my race be cursed, because of past sins, is this the price to pay? God knows that my actions were done in order to bring England back to the light, to the only true Faith. I do not regret anything, because I did it by acting with my conscience, I did what I swore in silence, for my mother and myself. But maybe it’s my refusal to forgive, which is really poisoning me inside. That may be the root of all my evils, for God himself has commanded in His word to forgive even our strongest enemies. Well, taking into account that within me, I feel a new ardor of life, I raise a prayer to heaven, I open my heart to forgiveness, for if it is the price to pay for a hope of happiness, to be loved by my people as His queen, I am ready to swallow my pride, and give the forgiveness to those who have done the most harm in my life.

On my knees, I beg God and the sweet Virgin Mary to listen to my prayer, it is my desire, to leave my hatred behind, to develop the strength I need to swallow my pride, and to forgive my father, that woman, Anne Boleyn, Who with her lust and ambition destroyed my life, I ask for the soul of both, so that they may receive forgiveness. I forgive you, my father, for giving me the cruel whip of your rejection after so many years of veneration and love, you can never imagine the Pain that you made me suffer, and if your soul is finally in heaven, I do not know, I still feel very hurt to yearn for it to be so, although my heart forgives you, in my memory are still burning the memories of those dark days, that marked so much my existence. And she, Anne Boleyn, I hope that God has forgiven all the evil she caused, both me and so many good men who served the King with fervor and loyalty. My confessor once told me that with the loss of her head she had already paid for all her evil action, perhaps it is the truth, and it is time to forget and stop thinking about her with so much hatred. I also ask for the soul of my mother, whom I never forget, who lives in my heart and in my memories, who is at peace and help me from heaven to find my own. And above all, I ask that what I feel beating within me, may be the hope of this kingdom, and my redemption, my reward for so many years of fear and suffering. I hope that I am wrong in my bad thoughts, that is life and not misfortune or disease what I feel growing, that he is an heir, I think I deserve that blessing, right?

Deus, animam meam: dimittite me ut plangeret prohibere nigrum lacrimis. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen

“Black Joan of the Dolphin” (Experimental Fiction — Deep Total 1st Person)

July 2, 2016 in Hampton Y Court, Historical Fiction, The Tudor Thomases by Beth von Staats

Artwork by Susan Santiago

Artwork by Susan Santiago

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“In the midst of life we are in death, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection.”

~~~ Thomas Cranmer, The Book of Common Prayer

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Joan Cranmer: For weeks now, I languish in this pitiful chamber. The walls, I do swear, they are closing me in. The window wide ajar, no air comes of it. My back aching, my belly bulging, my legs swollen, my lungs pushed small, the summer heat stifling, my nightgown glued to me with sweat, no comfort eases me. Bored, I yearn for company, yearn for Thomas, yearn for his lessons. I am desperate to learn to read, learn the scriptures, learn all the Greek scholars, learn of Erasmus, Aristotle, all the things rummaging in his mind — anything, just anything to pass the time. Day by day, the room gets smaller, the air staler, the bed harder, the candles dimmer… closing me in, closing me in, closing me in tight. Wide awake, unable to settle myself, distracted by his snoring, again I can’t sleep. All I want to do is sleep, Lord. I beg for respite. Can’t You just grant me that? I try to rise from bed to at least catch a breeze by the window, but it’s no use. For the last fortnight, Thomas has helped me in and out of our bed, and up from my favorite soft chair. God, please, I beg you. Bring this babe to us soon.

I look at my husband, and I’m angry. He did this to me. Yes, he calls himself a religious scholar, but he did this to me. What kind of man does this to a woman? Thomas, that’s who. How dare he sleep while I am so pitiful? Look at him, so peaceful, deep in dreams of God knows what, snoring like a sleeping sow. How dare he? How dare he? I look again, and guilt suddenly consumes me. Thomas is a good man, a gentle man. My God he is beautiful, just beautiful. I fill with love for him, this Godly man who will never be a priest. No longer the clergy’s, no longer the pilgrims’, no longer even God’s, he is mine, and I need not share him.  I nudge his shoulder. “Thomas?” I nudge him a little harder, and yet once again. “Thomas?!” Heavens is the man deaf?  ”THOMAS?!!…  THOMAS?!!”

Thomas Cranmer: Startled, stunned, I awaken, sit up straight, groggy, a tad dazed. Oh my… oh my… I shake the sleep out of my head. It must be time. ”Joan, shall I rush for the midwife?” My wife, she has been with child since the birth of Eve from Adam’s rib. It must be time.

Joan Cranmer: Men are daft. Soothingly, as I see his panic, I say simply. “No, not yet. Just help me out of bed, love.”

Thomas Cranmer: Joan woke me from the dead to help her out of bed? Even the birds sleep soundly. Why can’t she? “Yes, Joan. Of course, dear woman.” I rise, stagger to her side of things, and help her to sit up, move her body gently over the side, and raise her gently upward. Oh my, as my wife stands, I look to her belly. It’s huge and dropped low, so low I believe the babe will drop from it right now, on to the straw, just like that. Now what is that sound? What? I look down, my eyes wide as the moon is full. The ocean’s currents lay on the floor before me.

Joan Cranmer: “Thomas, I think I just passed the babe’s water.” I look to him and smile. “Do rise the midwife. I think it’s time.”

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Thomas Cranmer: All was planned since I was a babe in the cradle. As the second son, there would be no inherited title. As the second son, there would be no worldly goods passed from one generation to the next. As the second son, there would be no advantageously arranged marriage. So, as the second son, I would enter the clergy. Ordained from the womb, I knew my role in life. I accepted it. I welcomed it. I cherished it. I embraced it. At Cambridge twelve terms, I finally mastered it, finally was awarded a fellowship, finally grown in my knowledge and studies to begin doctoral work. Once completed, my family’s hopes, prayers and expectations — and my destiny — would be fulfilled, ordination into the priesthood. I was on my way. I could taste it. I could smell it. As I read the scriptures, Erasmus and Aristotle, I could see. I could touch it. Why am I here with all these rowdy men and barmaids at the Dolphin Inn then? Why do I nervously sit at a back table with the owner drinking stale ale? And why am I a lowly ostler shoveling horse dung, you ask? Well, my world changed on the flip of a crown. On cool autumn day I met her, the exquisitely blonde Joan Black — and now, here through the day and night, then day and now night again, I sit in stunned silence, frozen in fear.

Henry Black: A rowdy night, the revelers carry on, ale pouring freely, the barmaids entertaining the menfolk.  The singing, the merriment, the noise bounce off the large wooden ceiling beams, and bounce back along the long wooden tables, ring stained from reveler’s past. New straw Thomas needs toss upon the flooring, I note as I pick off a few pesky fleas.  Farthings fill the coffers, though, so ’tis a good night for mine taxes and tithes.  I look to poor Thomas, and he worries so. In truth, so do I. My wife long dead from child bed, this is taking too long, much too long. Lord God, I pray, don’t take my daughter, too.

“Thomas? Thomas? Have some more ale, lad. It will take the edge off.”

I motion over the men’s favorite wench, and as she pours the ale, her breasts spill before us.  I force a wide smile and nod. “Thomas, all will be fine lad. ‘Tis a first babe, so long we wait.”

I pause, and he looks at me, nods politely and says nothing, drinking the ale down in one long swig. There be thoughts, though, filling that head of his. There always be. That lad always be thinking, always be reading, always be writing on his books, all over the pages yet. I told Thomas once, “Don’t be doing that. How can you sell the thing once done?” He looked at me odd-like and said, “I never sell my books. They are part of me, like an arm, like a leg, like my heart, like my soul.” For a smart young man, he sure be daft.

“Thomas, pray tell me what is on your mind, lad? Let it out before it spills out your ears, before it spills out and asunder like Pandora’s Box.”

Thomas Cranmer: Should I tell him? There are no priests to confess to, and this man is gentle spirited and forgiving, so maybe so. I swallow hard. “When I became a father, I thought it would be to celebrate the Eucharist, hear confessions, counsel the downtrodden, christen infants, marry lovers and bury the dead. I misunderstood God’s will all these many years. He wants me to marry a wife, father children, raise them well. How could I not know? I am unprepared. I studied not for this.”

Henry Black: I laugh. “There be many Godly men who are not priests, Thomas. Look no farther than our glorious king. His Majesty is godly, a husband, and now a father. God will soon give us an heir by the Spanish queen, and a new king will carry on his glorious reign. What say you?” Smiling I chide before he can answer, “You be smart, but God needs to show you His will, as you are stubborn like the goats in the barn — and He did.”

Thomas Cranmer: I smile. This man humors me so. “All I know is scriptures. The church welcomes not a married man.”

Henry Black: I see now. The lad worries of livelihood. Reassuring I reply, “You tutor the school boys, and I will tutor you, Thomas. Look around lad. Once God calls me, all this be yours and Joan’s. I willed it.”

Thomas Cranmer: Christendom just lifted from my shoulders. “Thank you, good man.” We smile and rise our goblets in toast.

Oh my God in heaven, a crashing shriek cuts through the loud reveling and festivities, cuts straight to my very core. A woman’s voice cries out pathetically, “Noooooooooooooooo, nooooooooooo God!”

No man can stop me, though several try. I run up to the stairs, and head straight to our chambers. Oh Lord, the women are crying. I try to open the door, and it’s bolted, locked tight. I start banging on in, again, again. “Let me in! Damn it, let me in!” I begin slamming the side of my body against the door to try and force it, beginning to crack the threshold. As I try once again, knowing success is one jarring jolt away, Joan’s father and three other men, God knows who, I care not, hold me back.

He says gently, “Not yet, Thomas. Not yet.”

I look to him, tears streaming, both of us. I say meekly, “No baby cries, but women do.”

I drop down to the floor, huddled, waiting, Joan’s father beside me, helpless. God, please don’t foresake us, not now.

As I sit quietly, waiting… waiting… waiting, hoping, praying, my mind is filled with her, my whole body and soul consumed by her. “Yes, Lord, I fell fast. I fell hard. I’m in deep. Joan’s blonde hair flows long and glistens in the sunlight. Her blue, then green, then blue and green as one eyes look deep, straight through to my soul. Her lilting voice, accented from the south, soothes the demons within me. Her soft skin brushed up against me arouses every sense in my being, every feeling deep within. Yes, Lord, it’s helpless. It’s hopeless. She owns me. Your will? She must be. My will? She is. Yes, I confess as virgin as Christ’s mother, we learned together, exploring each other, molding one to the other, fading in to each other. Where Joan ends and I begin, I do not know. God, You did bless us before the parish priest did, my seed growing and the babe quickening within Joan’s belly as we said our vows. I am released from my fellowship. My doctoral studies are terminated. I’m disgraced by my family. Please, the penance is paid. It matters not, really. I will tend the inn’s horses, shovel their stable muck, tutor the town’s school boys, and die without a farthing to be with her. God please, I am happy to shovel the muck. I need crowns not. I need Cambridge not. I need ordination not. I need indulgences not. I just need her, nothing else, nothing ever.”

The door opens. I look up inquisitively. I venture, “My Joan?” Tears falling, the midwife shakes her head. Joan’s father, his voice cracking, asks, “The babe?” Her head looks to the floor, the answer clear. My heart stops beating. I can’t breathe. Joan’s father helps me rise, and we enter. I want to see, pray to see, afraid to see what I know in my heart now is God’s will. I look with dread and yet wonder. My Joan, my beloved agape, she lays peacefully as if sleeping, in her arms a babe, so tiny. It’s quiet, so quiet it’s deafening, only the sound of the women’s tears, my tears, my internal rage, my swirling thoughts of joining them in leaving this world, filling the room. I look on not knowing what to do. I want to jump into bed with them, hold them, love them. Is that proper? Would God frown? I do not know. At Cambridge, they never taught me. The scriptures, they do not say.

“Thomas…. Thomas,” I hear the midwife call me. “Sit down here, good man.”

I sit in a chair close beside the bed. I watch as she carefully picks up the baby, swaddled in a blanket Joan lovingly sewn.

“A girl Thomas. Look, she is pretty.”

Trembling, I ask the unthinkable. “Can I hold her? Please? I just want to hold her.”

She hands me the babe, my daughter, and I cradle her gently. I open the blanket, and she looks so perfect. She can’t be dead. I poke her gently once, and yes she is. I gaze up and see them leaving, the women, the midwife, and Joan’s father, who with graceful nobility nods and quietly closes the chamber door. Here with my family, with my thoughts, with my tears, with my God, I am but alone.

~~~~~~~~~~ Fade To Black ~~~~~~~~~~

/
Someday we’ll all be gone;
But lullabies go on and on;
They never die;
That’s how you and I will be.
~~~ Billy Joel ~~~

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Meet Susan Santiago and see her beautiful art. She is amazing. The Art of Susan Santiago

Note: Very little is known of Thomas Cranmer’s two marriages, particularly his first. All that is known is that Cranmer married a woman named Joan, surname stated at his heresy trial to be either Black or Brown, between 1515 and 1519. Ralph Morice, Cranmer’s devoted secretary and biographer, details that they were married “within one year” and that Joan died, along with their baby, in child bed. Due to an association undefined with the Dolphin Inn, and the short length of marriage, Roman Catholic detractors labeled Cranmer “an ostler” (a person who takes care of horses stabled at an inn), and scornfully referred to his wife as “Black Joan of the Dolphin”, inferring she was pregnant before marriage.

CHRONICLES OF A RESTLESS SOUL, by Mercy Rivera

May 20, 2016 in Hall of Crowns (Mercy Rivera), Historical Fiction, Queen Anne Boleyn -- All Website Content, The Final Days of Queen Anne Boleyn by Mercy Rivera

Mercy Alicea Rivera Mercy Rivera

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Queen Anne Boleyn Historical Writers is thrilled to introduce to you historical fiction short story and non-fiction article writer Mercy Rivera.

Mercy Rivera is a founding member of Queenanneboleyn.com and is highly respected as the website’s Queen Anne Boleyn reenactor. A native of Puerto Rico, Mercy also writes Spanish language articles and stories for the website. A woman of many talents, Mercy is a video hobbyist. The videos included with Mercy’s short story Chronicles of a Restless Soul are of her creation.

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Chronicles of a Restless Soul

 

I am trapped in time, trapped in silence, memories, in pain, sadness and agony. I am trapped within the walls of this Tower, below the sky, in the traces of the path of the story of my life.  I see life coming and going every single day…. Sometimes I make myself felt, and sometimes I just act like a cold whisper that makes them remember that one day I was real.

I have been a silent witness of the changes of time… eras came and left, and everything is different– but life is the same. Everyone wishes the same things. I hear them when they speak. Some of them praise me and admire me… others… judge me like the ones who sent me to my death. But in this era I must say… I have more supporters than when I was a living Queen. Oh! And how much they admire my precious Elizabeth. That makes me feel so proud and assures me that my life and my fate were not in vain.

But my favorite time is when the night comes… when all the noises, the rush of the living and the interruptions of the… extreme modern era that is now, goes quiet.  Is at night when I come out freely. Sometimes I get too bored and make fun of others…I scared the guards a little, but I never go too far… like some legends that I heard from visitors.  When you are… like I am now, you are free to go wherever you want; and you can also see those who once shared a life and a death with you.

I do not spend too much time wandering in the Tower. This cold and dark place that I hate with all my being, but that is also part of me… This was my last home.  I was blessed with power and glory here… and also judge, abandoned and unjustly condemned.  I leave the tower every night, and I fly away towards my home…the place where I grew up, where I was happy, where once I heard poems and was captivated by my King… my darling and cruel Henry.  Oh Hever… you have changed but not too much….the essence of my existence is still present in all the corners.  My home, too many memories…. At least I am still here to remember.  Sometimes I see my brother around…. But his soul is too damaged. He just looks at me and then he fades away. In more than four hundred years since… that happened, I have not been able to speak to my dear George. For some reason he refuses to be with me in death… he remembers his pain more than the fact that we were inseparable in life. 

And over there…my beautiful gardens….they are taking good care of them, even when I see changes is still precious.   I find my sister Mary here sometimes… She talks to me. She pardoned my pride and cruelty towards her back when I was Queen and arrogant.  My poor sister… And my mother, the gracious and proud Countess of Wiltshire and Ormond, also haunts this place…is hard to see her, because every time we see each other, all is sadness, mixed with smiles. She just looks at me. Even in death we can touch each other. I can feel her maternal caresses. Then she says “I am so sorry” and like my brother… she fades away in an extreme level of sorrow.  Alas, I never see my father here… but I can hear him… He cries out loud. He is in pain.  I know that very well. He betrayed his own blood and that will never let him rest. My poor father….

 Then I start to have memories of the days that marked the beginning of my end; and when that happens.  I think… why my fate changed?  I was in love with another man, a simple man that would never treat me with cruelty or betray my love, but then…I was forced to capture a King and I lost the way… I lost myself.

 I remember that masked ball… when I met the King. He was Honesty and I Perseverance, symbolic indeed.  At first… I did not care for him.  I had a duty.  I had to obey my father and my uncle’s wishes, but then….when I looked in to his eyes….he captured me. Maybe that is why all worked so well at the beginning. True love was finally the base of the game, and one day, I was his Queen. I bore him a daughter…. And I lost two children. The last sealed my fate.

Sometimes I spent days and nights wandering here in Hampton Court… Oh Hampton court, so many stories… Henry haunts here…. He really liked this place. I only found him here once. I can not remember the time. I do not follow the count, but it was a long time ago. He usually hides from me, but I can always feel him when he is around.  It was a stormy night when I found him in the Gallery, alone. He felt my presence and he turned around; he said “Anne, Anne, why are you here?

And I answered; you should know… since you ordered my death. 

He looked at me for a long time, and he finally said the words I wanted to hear since that horrible day; he said:   Anne, forgive me. I destroyed all that I loved and cared of in my days — my greed, my obsession for a male heir… my madness, my fears, turned me in to a monster. I sent you to a death you did not deserved. I killed you, but you must know that even when I hid it. I never forgot about you. That is why I kept Elizabeth away for a long time… Every time I looked at her… I was seeing you; and that was a torture to my conscience!  But you won Anne. The son I had with Jane was not the monarch I dreamt; but our daughter… she was greater than me, greater than my forefathers! She was the True Tudor Rose!  Anne, oh Anne, I am a tormented soul. I am doomed to be trapped in the ruins of my deeds and I deserve it.  If only I could turn back time… and be more human and less king, more a man and less a tyrant…forgive me, forgive me. 

He stood there, waiting for my answer, but I could not speak. I just walk slowly towards him, and I touched his face with my cold and pale hand, and I saw our lives in flashes of light. I saw the best moments of our fairy tale romance, and then I smiled, and finally found the words for him: “Your Majesty… even when you caused me pain, agony, fear, deception and sorrow, I can not hate you. In the times when you used to love me, you made me the most happy; you gave me all, you made me your queen, and you also helped me with the blessing of motherhood. Elizabeth was part of you and me, the glory of our existence, and the fruit of the love we once shared. I can not forget the suffering you caused me. You condemned me even when you knew in your heart that I was innocent. For that… I can not give you a full pardon. But I do not hate you, because I loved you… and because the glorious memory of Elizabeth will always remind me of it.  Tell me my lord… Do you remember the passion we shared?  I do — our love was like no other… our passion was never seeing in the open like we showed it. Can you remember that? 

When I asked him that his expression changed. He smiled and I swear that I saw the shine of tears in his eyes. We looked at each other for the longest time. We were remembering the passion that made both of us immortal in the annals of history.  He says to me: “We were to powerful to be man and wife. We competed all the time. You wanted to be on top of me, to be higher than me and I could not allow that! But I admit that I always longed for the passion you gave me, and when I see you know, with the beauty that charmed me… I feel the pain of being dead.

After a moment, I said to him: “Not only my cruel and undeserved death will torture you forever, the passion, the lust and the intense love I gave you, will always live in your mind, eternally. I marked you as well as you marked me, your majesty.

Immediately I saw in his eyes that familiar anger that he always showed to me when he felt defeated, when he wanted to be stronger than me at any cost. With a frowned face, he disappeared in a cold and furious phantom breeze.  Since then, I can only feel him, but I can not see him.  Henry… my love and my damnation, the seed of this purgatory.

The night is long and I continue with my travel around the ruins and places where I once lived, smiled, cried and despaired.  And in the gallery… near the old main chamber, I find her one more time… It is strange… I have not seen her over a century and tonight. She once again dares to appear before me, the woman who carried the seal of my death behind her innocent face… Jane Seymour.  Like in the first time I saw her after… her unexpected passing, she carries a candle and her face is adorned with the grey glitter of sadness. Here we are again, face to face, but of course… in extremely different circumstances.  I finally speak to her translucent image: “Jane… this night must be somehow special, since I see thee and just one moment ago I was meditating about his Majesty”. 

She was staring at me, with tearful eyes, and finally she answered: “Have you seen my son?  I am trying to find him but I can not”.  She is indeed lost in her own misery. Her punishment was harder than mine. It is true that I lost two babies, but at least I had the joy of spent time with my Elizabeth. I was blessed with the chance to be a mother… even when that chance was minimum.

I do not know how to answer to her.  Suddenly her expression changed… she now seems to recognize me:  “Anne, Anne Boleyn; we are both trapped between the dead and the living. I did to you, what you did to Queen Catherine of Aragon. We moved the world and we acted with cruelty for the love and power of the same man. We lost our purity, our sense of humanity and care for others. I was overjoyed when you die…I must admit that sometimes… My conscience tortured me.  I assumed the same happened to you in your time.  But I ask you now… in mercy, please forgive me so I can escape this limbo and reached the soul of my son. 

The bitterness of my days are still with me. It is true that I was a huge contribution in the sadness and misery of Queen Catherine of Aragon, but I did not sent her to a brutal and unmerciful execution. Catherine died abandoned, and so did I — but she had the consolation of prayers. She will always be remembered as a sacred monarch, while I… Some say that I desired Catherine of Aragon’s death, that I even poisoned her but that is a lie. When I was desperate, paranoid and lost in the wild seas of wine and lonely nights, I said things than later I regretted. Knowing myself, if somehow I meant those threats in my days for sure I would have put them in action, but I never did.

Finally, I speak to the waiting spirit of Queen Jane Seymour: Alas Jane, I can not give you that. I carry a lot of pain with me… you are true when you said that I was the cause of Queen Catherine of Aragon’s misery, but you caused me greater pain. Because of you I lost my last chance to survive as queen and human being. I lost my boy because of you and because of Henry too.  You said you rejoiced in my death, and then you want my forgiveness. Why should I be merciful with you, when you were never merciful with me? 

Jane bows her head, and then looks at me again: “I am sorry that I caused you pain… but I guess, it will be impossible to forgive when we are not able to pardon ourselves.  My son died young… while your daughter reigned long and supreme. I envy you so much for that, even in death. I gave him the son he wanted…. You did not, but I failed because he was weak and he died, while you will always be remembered eternally as the woman who gave birth to the greatest monarch England ever had.  You see? I think I do not deserve your pardon after all.  Jane disappears.Nnow I pity her… She is envious of me, and she can not even find the soul of her son. At least I do not have that burden upon me anymore.

I continue with my nightly routine in Hampton Court. The night is walking towards its end, but I still have time to enjoy my freedom.  Suddenly… I hear the heavenly sound of a violin. It must be him, my dear friend Mark Smeaton! Oh; Mark, you are here…and you are playing the violin for me.  I feel touched by the sweet notes he is playing, and then, my joy arises more when he appears before me, near the entrance of what it once were Henry’s main bedchamber.

I walk towards him with a smile, and he smiles back while he continues to play Como poden per sas culpas. This one brings so many memories back to me… especially of my younger days, when my passion for Henry burnt more than the wildest fire.  Mark… my poor Mark, he died for my cause… and innocent soul dragged to darkness thanks to the cruelty of the almighty and  unjust Henry VIII, and my failure to give him what he wanted.  I smile with sadness towards my dear friend Mark… he did not deserve that bloody and cold death.

Suddenly, he stops playing, and comes closer to me:  My glorious queen and friend, please do not be sad for me, because as long as you decide to wander here… I will be around to please you with my music.  My death was my own. Torture can turn a man in to a coward in the blink of an eye. I paid for that… but now I am here… to make your burden less hard to bear. 

With that, he starts to play the violin again. I smile and nod to him, then I look to my left, and there I see a gentleman that I will always remember with sorrow, Sir Henry Norris. In my days of despair I was disrespectful and unfair with him, but fear was the detonator for that — but I can see no hard feelings in his presence.  He is there, looking peacefully at me, with the same admiration and that flirty essence that somehow condemned him in the end. He bows with elegance before me, and disappears. I turn my gaze to Mark again, and he continues to play the violin with greatness and a very subliminal essence.

But suddenly he stops playing, and disappears. I feel a tense aura, a coldness that is no natural not even for us.  When I turn around, I see three of my old enemies… together.  Cardinal Wolsey, Sir Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell.  I have no reason to fear them or hate them anymore. There is nothing we can do to re-do our lives or make all different, but when I look at them, I see they do not feel the same.

In an instant, Cromwell leaves his place beside Wolsey and appears right in front of me. Then he says: “I see you still here Madame;  it seems all of us will continue to see each other eternally… until judgment day.

I smile to him and then reply:  Judgment day? I have been judged already my lord Cromwell, but when the Lord comes back to pass His own judgment to the living and us, the dead; I will be calmed, since I died innocent, and with so little guilt.

Cromwell smiles, I know he has more to say: “Little guilt you said, Majesty. If I well remember you caused the downfall of that poor man over there. You and all your Boleyn kin, and of course, the Howards.  I see your uncle around here from time to time, and his son; the poor boy; even in death both are difficult to bear.  And then… I still remember how you treated me, on your days of queen. 

I am ready to answer him: Is true I helped in the downfall of Wolsey… but he was not a saint. He had his deeds but yes, I and my kin as you well said, we took advantage of that. Sir Thomas More hated me, and I guess I returned him the same feeling. I am well aware that he died because of me; for sure after his death Henry began to hate me. And I remind you that my attacks against you were well based.  I was right because you were misleading our reformation, and you supported the King’s liaison with Jane Seymour. And worst, you built an abominable plot against me. You sent me to the scaffold when you knew I was innocent. You damned your soul only to please the King. And how it ended?  With your death…even more bloody than mine, you suffered… for sure you felt an immense amount of pain, and endless agony. You tried to reach beyond heaven… and your fall was terrible. Now… anything else you wish to tell me, my lord Cromwell?

Cromwell looks at me with rage in his eyes, but I can also see pain and devastation in his presence. He disappears. Then I look at the ghostly presence of Cardinal Wolsey. He is just there, in silence, but I can see the hate in his eyes towards me. He walks away, and fades in the distance. Finally, Sir Thomas More turns his back and disappears.  I am alone again, so I decide to continue with my journey.

I walk near the King’s private Chapel, when I hear the sound of a young girl sobbing. I look towards the gallery and then I see her… poor Catherine Howard. my poor little cousin, who shared my fate.  She looks at me, and then she comes running like a desperate soul in need. She is finally before me, her expression of panic touches my heart: “Please, I need to see the King, he has to listen to me. Please let me see him. I beg you!  I must see him — don’t you understand? As soon as I see him everything will be all right!

I feel pity for her… She is not entirely a lost soul; she is an echo of an extreme sorrow, pain and desperation. I look at her with tenderness: “My poor child, and sweet cousin, there is no need for you to be in despair. All is over. You do not need to see the King and beg for forgiveness; is over”. 

She looks at me with tears in her eyes. They are like little drops of ice: “How can you say that?! Is not over! I know I can make him understand. He loves me. He will forgive me!  I need to speak to him!

It is useless. She is lost in her agony and the fear she suffered. It make me feel sad when I see her like that. She walks through me and starts to hit the Chapel doors and screams Henry’s name and begs for mercy.  Tired of not having a response, she disappears in front of the Chapel doors.  Poor Katherine Howard…. It was not her fault either. Like me she was a moth drawn to the flame… and burnt.

The cold of the night is fading away….that means the dawn is near — and now I am here, contemplating the resting place of my beloved daughter, Elizabeth.  I am so proud of her, fiercely proud. She was so clever… The Queen who is still remembered in this era. As The Virgin Queen, her reign was a golden age. She was strong, just, kind, candid, fair. She was the best of Henry and me. But alas, love was not kind with her…She never married, even when she loved with all her being… like I did once.  Suddenly, I hear the laughter of a child, a playful breeze walks beside me and then… I see her…  Elizabeth, she looks like the last time I see her, my beautiful baby girl. She decided to appear before me, just like in the last time I held her in my arms. I smile as I see her. I can not believe it!

As ghosts we can do as we wish… and she wants to be my baby girl again.  I walk towards her. I pick her up and I hold her again. She looks so beautiful and sweet:  “My sweet and beloved Elizabeth, I loved you since I saw you for the first time… I loved you then and I love you now with the same force that nature brings in motherhood. You did great in life. You honored your name, your blood and your destiny.  Your father is also very proud of you. My beautiful virgin Queen; my Elizabeth. 

She looks at me with bright eyes, is in her eyes where she is showing me all the events of her life… the story of her, who filled my life with joy, my last triumph in this life was her.  And then she smiles, oh how much I missed that sweet smile.  I hold her, is wonderful how God can continue blessing the souls of those who are still trapped in the walls of the past, like me… like so many others. And then, I hear footsteps. I do not dare to look back, since I can recognize who it is.  Then, I hear her voice:

“You can hold her with pride, Ana Bolena. You proved in the end that you were better than me, in capturing the heart of Henry; and your daughter… was your redemption. Since I have to admit, that you die innocent. 

Still holding Elizabeth, I slowly turn around, and I see her, Queen Catherine of Aragon. She is there, and I can not see hate in her eyes.  I respectfully make a little curtsey to her, and to my surprise, she nods and then does the same. “My poor Mary died young… your Elizabeth had a long and prosperous life… She was right and was wise when she decided to never marry. She was he own ruler, her own keeper.  She was stronger than us.  I am now ready to answer:  “Madame, I admit I was arrogant in my days… but I never turned my threats into actions against you or against your daughter. Alas, I know I caused you pain and misery, and I tried to reach your daughter’s heart but… her mind was poisoned against me, even when I know, that she was… correct in feeling hate towards me. I destroyed her parent’s marriage. 

She smiles to me, and peacefully replies:  “My marriage was dead before you entered in our lives. I just… did not want to admit it.  I loved Henry with a force stronger than myself, stronger than the world itself and that… that made me blind.  Also my Spanish Pride made me stubborn enough to fight for what was mine.  My pride… my love for Henry, my worthless fight for my place as Queen, that also destroyed Mary. If I could turn back time, I would probably do all different. I shall have let him go to you… probably Mary would had suffered less.  

She is touching my heart with her words. I look at Elizabeth, she looks so peaceful in my arms:  “I am sorry, your majesty; for all the pain my presence caused in your lifetime”. 

She once again smiles:  “I pardoned you and Henry a long time ago… that is why I am not trapped as you are, as many of those I knew are.  I come down and up again…because I still want to find my daughter, but she is not here… She is not within this walls, or in the ruins of our times. She is trapped elsewhere, in a darker place.  Her bitterness, her sad and damaged soul twisted her mind, and she lost the way I taught her. Mi preciosa Mary. I lost her, forever. 

With that, she walks away, and disappears in the distance.  I look at the window on my left, and I can see the first rays of the sun between the dark clouds of the dying night. It is time to go back to the walls, to the ruins, to hide from the presence of the living. I look at my darling daughter once more:  “Time to sleep, my baby girl, go to rest, mama will do the same…go to the angels my sweet Elizabeth. I will guard your dreams, eternally. She smiles, and slowly disappears from my arms, like a soft cold breeze. Now I feel so empty, but I know I will see her again… since we belong here…this is our home, the memories keep us alive, and as long as we are remembered, we will never die.

“Tell me, MASTER Cromwell…”

April 29, 2016 in Historical Fiction, Tudor Y Writer's Group by ADMIN: Royal Squire

 

Thomas Cromwell: The man is impossible. I should have left for Parliament two hours ago, but here I still waiting in my office for my Lord of Suffolk to arrive. The arrogance of the man. He seems to think because I am common born that my time is not as valuable as his.

Charles Brandon: When I received Cromwell’s note this morning that he wanted me to join him by his office after council, I was really displeased because this man unnerves me. He always has reports. His nose is everywhere, and his attitude towards me makes me rage. He’s a lap dog to me,  a very annoying lap dog.  As I arrive at his office, where I am announced by his assistant. ”Master Secretary, his Grace, the Duke of Suffolk is here.” I come in, and he bids me to sit, offering a goblet of wine.I observe it suspiciously.

Thomas Cromwell: What a toad, snubbing his nose at the fine wine gifted to me by the Imperial Ambassador. I look across my desk, and get rigt to the point. ”His Majesty is seeking your support in an important matter of state. I should have been at Parliament over two hours ago, but yet again you are late for our meeting. I am bringing with me this series of parchments which detail the Act of Succession. In effect, it will change the succession of the crown from the LADY Mary to the children His Majesty will seed in our new and gracious Queen Anne.” I pass the parchments over. ”I suggest you review these carefully. His Majesty expects your support in pushing this through the House of Lords.” I drink some wine. It is sweet.

Charles Brandon: I finally decide to gulp down the wine, and it tastes very fine, fruity and good … but with Cromwell, you never know. ”His Majesty always has my support,” I say, even before listening to him … but once he tells me of the new Act of Succession and the fact that the Princess Mary is no longer a Princess, my face changes. My chin drops, damn it. ”He wants me to push this through the House of Lords?” I ask him, mostly reassuring myself of what I must do. Cromwell nods, and I take the papers into my hands, reading them quickly. … Indeed, the word Princess is stripped off Mary’s name, and it’s like a punch in my throat. I care not for religion, but deep down I am Catholic. She’s a catholic treasure to me. ”Queen Anne,” I say and look at him. ”I wonder why His Majesty sends you to tell me this when he can do it himself… Tell me, MASTER Cromwell, is it you who wrote this?”

Thomas Cromwell: He intimidates me not. I look him directly in the eye. ”I am the King’s Secretary and Chief Minister, YOUR GRACE. Obviously, it is my job to draft law at the King’s pleasure, and obviously it is my job to be instructing you of his desires in the matter. His Majesty is a busy man, and does not deal with such trifles. He just wants it done, by me in the House of Commons and by you in the House of Lords. This is his will, and the King’s will is the law, is it not?”

Charles Brandon:  I listen to him and sigh, loudly … It’s clear that we both bug each other, quite a lot. BUT, we are different. Cromwell has to respect me. And me? Well, I don’t have to… ”Yes the King’s will is law, but I wonder if it’s really his will,” I whisper lowly. His face shoots up, looking at me straightly. I sigh again and ask for more wine, which is poured to me immediately. ”I will do as the King commands Cromwell…” He smirks and I look at him, not being able to help it. ”I feel like I should know you by now, but somehow I don’t…” He looks at me emotionless, and I take a deep breath. ”Nevermind, I know what I mean.” I clear my throat. ”Ah, Cromwell… my wife sends her regards.” I laugh sarcastically. There’s no one that dislikes him more than me, but my wife… She dislikes him quite a lot.

Thomas Cromwell: I lean over the desk, and reply feigning concern… ”I do hope she starts her bleeds soon, Your Grace. I am sure you desire more children. It would be a shame if you had to wait too long.”

Charles Brandon: I want to laugh but… ”MASTER Cromwell, how dare you… how dare you speak in those terms of my wife?” I speak sternly, but inside my head I’m laughing, a lot… Tt was funny, but nevertheless, he must know his place. ”You are a servant; you can’t speak to me like that.” I looks at him with all seriousness.. ”Ironic isn’t it? That I have a wife next to me, that loves but you… can you say the same? Oh no wait, you are alone, like a street dog…” I clear my throat ”Now, I know your secret so… you better learn to respect your betters,” I say.

Thomas Cromwell: This man, also born common, forgets his roots. He knows “my secret” not. If he did, I would already be a dead man. No matter, let him gloat. I know who sleeps in my bed, and she isn’t a child. ”Your grace, I was merely stating concern on your behalf. And, my private life is not your concern. As you so commonly point out I am low-born. Obviously, I am not chasing the ladies here at court, but seek my comforts elsewhere..”

Charles Brandon: ”Very well, Master Secretary… I don’t see any point in continuing this conversation,” I say and finish my wine. I stand up and pick up the papers that he so graciously handed me over. ”I shall pass this through the House of Lords; you can tell his Majesty that it shall be done as he says,” I add and head out, back to my apartments. That man, one day, I will get rid of him… piece by piece, I will get rid of him.

Thomas Cromwell:  ”I am so glad we have an agreement, Your Grace. Carry on.”

Thomas Cromwell: “The song is about me, Your Grace.”

Charles Brandon: I roll my eyes and sneer, “No, MASTER Cromwell, it’s about ME.”

~~~~~ FADE TO BLACK ~~~~~

Reference Letter from King Henry Tudor for Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk

April 29, 2016 in Historical Fiction, News, Tudor Y Writer's Group by ADMIN: Royal Squire

 

THE TUDORS

To Whom It May Concern:

It is a pleasure for Henry the Eighth, by the Grace of God, King of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and of the Church of England and also of Ireland in Earth Supreme Head to provide a character and professional reference for Sir Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. The following lists my Lord of Suffolk’s notable strengths and accomplishments:

1. My Lord of Suffolk is an outstanding sportsman. He excells at jousting, tennis and hunting. This stated, as evidenced by direct observation, he is a poor archer.

2. My Lord of Suffolk is respectful of authority, following His Majesty’s commands, whether or not he agrees with them. This stated, he does continually whine about it.

3. My Lord of Suffolk is an excellent father to his children. This stated he does not know who they all are.

4. My Lord of Suffolk is fair and unbalanced in how he views others within his work team. This stated he engages in fraternisation, as evidenced by his secret marriage to His Majesty’s sister and very close friendship with the King himself.

5. My Lord of Suffolk fully takes on his job responsibilities with moral integrity. This stated he married his 14-year-old ward who was legally engaged to his son and has children with her. (See verification provided below.)

6. My Lord Suffolk follows all policies and procedures as outlined in His Majesty’s Personnel Policy Manual. This stated he consistently abridges the Realm’s Sexual Harassment and Other Unlawful Harassment Policy through the engagement of sexual relations with a variety of female subordinates.

Please feel free to contact the office of the Chief Minister and Secretary of His Majesty’s Realm should you have any questions or require additional information. Unfortunately, given His Majesty’s very busy schedule, he is unavailable to communicate with prospective employers directly.

Sincerely,
Master Thomas Cromwell
Chief Minister and Secretary to the Realm of England and Wales

 

Memoirs of a Fading Rose: Elizabeth Howard’s Story

January 27, 2016 in Hall of Crowns (Mercy Rivera), Historical Fiction, Mercy Rivera: Memoirs of a Fading Rose, News by Mercy Rivera

by Mercy Rivera

_________________

Leeds Castle
Maidstone, Kent
May 21th 1536

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The sounds of rain and thunders fill the surroundings. The beauty of the place is clouded by the storm that seems to show some supernatural sadness, a sadness that is the cruelest of all, a sadness that nature despises above all, a sadness of a mother that loses her children in the bloodiest way ever imagined. All is in the name of greed, lust, ambition, intolerance and infidelity. The rain falls hard from heaven, like determined to wash away the stains of the barbaric events of two days ago and joining the endless tears of her who lost so much in so little time. The breeze is cold, piercing like the pain and the agony of an eternal loss. The day cries along with the one that suffers alone.

Elizabeth Boleyn, the once powerful, vain, charming and elegant Countess of Wiltshire and Ormond, mother of the Queen of England, the symbol of wisdom and strictness behind the King Consort’s throne, is now a frail lady, with tearful eyes, a broken heart and a painful guilt that burns her guts with every single breathe. She grieves in silence. She fell from grace even before the execution of her children. For that she never received comfort. Alone in her chamber, Elizabeth tries to find a reason to go on with life, and so far she has none. Her beloved daughter Anne, Queen of England, and her son George — finally the important man his father always wanted him to be — were murdered in the savagest way a human being can be destroyed. Both treated as traitors, when in fact they were just victims… victims of those who were supposed to care and protect them from all harm. And the last thorn on her side is Mary, who is still alive, but far away and too much hurt to even think to give her comfort. Mary is a living ghost for Elizabeth. She knows Mary will never return to her. A wounded soul, that is what Elizabeth is now. All she was before is gone.

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All that misery has also twisted Elizabeth’s heart and worked on her appearance. The hate she feels for her brother the Duke of Norfolk, the one she used to respect, follow and love is now the lowest being on earth. And her husband, the clever and charming Thomas Boleyn, the man that was her passion, her desire, her lover, friend, mentor and hero, is now a shadow of malice that stills haunts her mind. Physically, Elizabeth is no longer the magnificent model of elegance and beauty. Sometimes she used to win over the exotic looks of her daughter Anne. Now she is a pale, thin and devastated figure. Her auburn hair is no longer loose below her shoulders, is no longer beautifully curled and adorned with jewels. Now it lays hidden in a simple bun, making her look a lot older than she really is. In her silence, Elizabeth can not understand how this happened. When did it all go wrong? Why was it too late to stop the bloodbath?

Suddenly Elizabeth hears the sounds of footsteps approaching. She takes a deep breath while tears keep falling from her dark brown eyes. A young maiden enters the room and glances at the sad but elegant lady  in front of her. With great respect she curtsies and then speaks to her.

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”Madame… you have a visitor.”

Elizabeth only wishes to be left alone.

”Whoever it is, is not welcomed. I do not need the pity of anyone. The hypocrites, all they want is to have a look of me in my misery. I will not allow it!”

Then, after those words from Elizabeth, a woman in a black dress joins the young maiden in the room, is a lady a little older than Elizabeth, but with the same elegance and an intense spark of wisdom in her eyes.

”All I want is to give you comfort sister.”

Elizabeth turns fast as soon as she hears the voice in the room, and she is impressed when she sees her older sister Margaret in the room. Lady Margaret Bryan is her sister and closest friend, the guardian of her beloved granddaughter, the only part of Anne that remains in this world.

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With a gentle nod, Margaret gives the young maiden license to leave the room. The sisters are now alone. Elizabeth does not move and Margaret knows why. Nothing is a secret in a realm. After Queen Anne’s death, all that is said and done related to her becomes an open word. Margaret sees the immense sadness in the appearance of Elizabeth and it kills her deeply. But Elizabeth’s bitterness is also present, and it soon will explode.

”It is true when I tell you Elizabeth, that my heart cries for the sorrow you are feeling now.”

”I do not believe you. I know that you will treat my granddaughter as a bastard, and run back to court when Jane Seymour delivers the expected little prince.”

”Elizabeth….”

”You are as evil as they are… perhaps worst because the child is also your blood.”

”I don’t forget that sister. But this is a cruel world, a heartless realm, and if we want to survive it we need to hold the tears and carry on. The child must learn that if some day she wants to be on her father’s good graces.”

After those words, Elizabeth gives her sister a little smile of irony.

”You want her to be in the King’s good graces? I rather hope she learns to hate him.”

Margaret swallows hard, then collects her courage and walks towards her devastated sister. While she approaches her, Margaret is impressed with the decline in her sister’s appearance. She looks skinnier than she used to be, the paleness of her skin chills the blood, and her hair, that beautiful auburn hair that she used to comb and adorn in times when royalty was far from their lives.

” Tell me, is that what you desire for that child? You want her to hate the King her father and grow up to be twisted and bitter? What if she reaches the crown one day? You want her to be a vengeful Queen? With thorns in her heart, with a desire to make others suffer for the pain that already marked her young existence? Tell me Elizabeth, is that what you want for her?”

Elizabeth looks down, and allow her tears to fall freely. Then she holds her sister’s right hand and squeezes it strongly in her own. She knows Margaret is right, but in her heart, her only desire is for the King to be hated for what he did. The idea that her granddaughter could treat him with honor, devotion, love and respect makes her sick. But the child is also his blood, and that can not be change,not even by hate.

”I do not even know what I want for her Margaret. She is  just a little girl still with absolutely not knowledge about the world but in a few years her mind will be poisoned by the King and her mother’s enemies.  It would be awful if Elizabeth ends up despising her mother.”

Margaret kisses her sister’s hand and is ready to ease her worries and perhaps part of her immense sorrow. Perhaps her actions can change all for the best.

”The Lady Elizabeth has a special gift sister. She is a very clever little girl. The child in her own way knows something is wrong. I have tried to diminish the pain of the death of her mother, even with the sadness that it brings.   Just yesterday she asked me why I called her now My Lady Elizabeth instead of “Your Highness”. She knows that none of us treat her like before and she is upset about it. Believe me, I do not even know how to treat her anymore and in my heart I would love to comfort and protect her but you know how it is. Soon the King will send her away and if I create a bond  it will be hard for both of us. I do not have a heart of stone sister.”

Margaret makes a pause, knowing that speaking about how bad things are now for the child will not give comfort at all to Elizabeth. Is time now for some ailment to her wounds.

”What I am going to do now goes against the King’s wishes, if he finds out I will probably see the walls of the Tower. But this is the only chance I have to do it, and the last one you will have to see her.”

Elizabeth looks at her older sister with a curious glare.

”See her?”

Margaret smiles and walks away from the room. Elizabeth has no idea of what is going on. Then, the sounds of footsteps return. If it is Margaret again she is not alone. Then, the door opens again, and there they are, her sister Margaret with a glorious and beautiful companion, The little Lady Elizabeth.

The child enters the room. She no longer wears the royal clothes of a Princess, but she is wearing a pretty gray dress, with a delicate black tiara that makes her reddish hair to shine gracefully. The child looks at the lady in white in front of her. She knows who the lady is, and with the same aura of charm that Anne used to have, the child curtsies perfectly before her grandmother. Lady Boleyn smiles with tearful eyes while she admires her granddaughter. Slowly she approaches her. She holds her sorrow back and keeps smiling. At this time, Margaret knows is time to leave them alone.

”I do not have much time sister, the rain storm is the only thing that keeps this meeting secret, we must go before it stops.”

Elizabeth understands. Painfully this will be her only chance to see her granddaughter again. Margaret leaves the room. Finally, the child and her grandmother are alone.

Elizabeth kneels before the child. She gently caresses her granddaughter’s pretty face. Her eyes are like Anne’s, some of her features too. Of course, her hair is all Tudor. Elizabeth wants to say many things to the child, but she does not where to start. When she looks into her eyes she can see an emptiness that pierces her heart. Of course she knows, how can she not know?!   Purity and innocence, that is what the child is and represents in all the cruelty that surrounds her. Margaret is right, that can not be destroyed.

”You have your mother’s eyes Elizabeth. .Did Lady Bryan told you what happened with her?”

”She went to heaven.”

”Yes, she is in heaven my love. And up there, she can see you and protect you. Your mother loved you very much Elizabeth.  You can not see her now, but she will always be with you, always.”

After these words, the child’s eyes fill the the shine of tears. Elizabeth hugs her with all the love she feels for her. She gives her comfort and a sense of protection.  Elizabeth breaks the hug for a moment to look at her granddaughter. She is trying to find the proper words to give her security, comfort and strength. It seems nearly impossible to make a small child understand complicated and cruel things. Is so awful to imagine how hard her life will be from now on, when by blood and right she is a princess. It is not fair! Elizabeth tries to control her emotions for a moment, once again the words of Margaret make echo in her mind. But how can she praise the King that killed her children? Being forced to do that for the sake of her granddaughter is a huge sacrifice, only God and the love she feels for the child will help her in the task. With a faked smile and struggling with all the bitterness inside her, she finds the way to speak to the little girl again.

”I already told you that you look a lot like mama, but there is so much of the King in you. You must be good with papa, he is the greatest of princes.  Always, always be obedient to him my sweet girl, fill your mind with books, art, music. You like all that don’t you?”

The little girl smiles, and nods positively. Elizabeth now can see it. The child indeed is her mother’s daughter. The smile of the child brings light to her tortured heart. Gently she caresses her granddaughter’s face. She can feel little traces of the coldness of tears. Elizabeth would give all she has left only to keep sadness away from her, but she knows she will not be allowed to protect her, nor even be near her. So, as Margaret advised, she must at least fill the child’s mind with the goal of always be in the King’s good graces, even if that increases her hate towards the man that unmercifully killed her children in levels that word can not describe. Wiping back her tears, Elizabeth once again gives support to her granddaughter.

”Well, you must study and learn to be good in all that. Papa will be very proud of you, and also happy. I know you will shine with your own light my dearest girl. Honor your father the King, and the sweet memory of your mother, in all you do.”

Margaret enters the room, announcing with her presence that is time to leave. Elizabeth embraces her granddaughter with all the strength she has left. Her tears fall with the pain of knowing she will never see her again.

”I love you Elizabeth. May God Bless you and keep you forever.”

Margaret is deeply moved by the moment, she takes a deep breath to control her desires of crying, since for her is something that must be hide.

”We must go. Please sister.”

Elizabeth nods and releases her granddaughter. She looks at her for a long moment, just seconds, but making sure that the image of the child will be in her mind until the day she dies.

” My love goes with you my darling girl, along with my blessing. Grow up and be happy.”

Margaret takes the little girl’s hand and starts to walk away. She takes a look back for a moment to see her sister.

”I will come to see you as much as I can sister…and as long as this child is under my care I will give you reports. I promise.”

Almost choking with her pain and tears, Elizabeth replies to her stoic sister.

”Thank you, Margaret.”

Finally, Margaret leaves, taking the child with her. As soon as the door closes, a lightning illuminates the room. A strong thunder makes the walls shake and mixes with the howl of pain that escapes from Elizabeth’s mouth and soul. She lost everything, her children, now her granddaughter, no friends, no family, no comfort.

On her way out of the Castle, Margaret finds the young maiden that is in charge of the care of her sister Elizabeth.

”What is your name girl?”

”Lady Joyce Hawthorne, my lady.”

”Lady Hawthorne. Not a word of this encounter between my sister and the Lady Elizabeth. I am still in charge of this child as if she were a princess still so if you disobey my order is like to disobey the King himself.”

Margaret adorned the words a little but she needs to protect the child, her sister, and also herself. Lady Hawthorne is not even a full woman yet. She has not knowledge of the King’s laws nor how the royal world works. Immediately, Lady Hawthorne shows she understands perfectly.

”I will not say a word madame. Personally I loved Queen Anne, my mother served her and thanks to her, the shadows of this realm were banished, we saw the light and escaped from evil doctrines.”

”Just remember not to repeat that again openly. It could cost you more than you think.  If you loved the Queen as you said, take care of her mother with devotion. Serve her and honor her as if you were serving Queen Anne. Do this, not only in the name of the late Queen, also in the name of this child…and in mine.”

”I promise,  I will care for my mistress with all honor and devotion.”

”Thank you. Do you have news about the Duke of Norfolk and… Thomas Boleyn?”

”No Madame. But my mistress does not want them here. She forbid their presence in this place.”

”I see. Thank you Lady Hawthorne.”

”Madame.”

Rain keeps falling. The escort of Lady Bryan runs with a robe to protect the child from the cold water and takes her away towards the carriage. Margaret gives a last glance to the Castle. Those stoned walls that keep her sister away from the world, like a prisoner of misery. The coldness is unbearable, just like the bitter task of obey royal rules. Swallowing her own sadness, Margaret looks straight on and walks away under the rain. Careless of it, she wants to feel the touch of the raindrops in her face, in that way her tears will not be noticeable.  She needs to keep her reputation as a woman with a well controlled sense of emotions. She serves the King of England, a man that does not tolerate frailness nor weakness. Besides, the Lady Elizabeth needs her. She is all the child has now and God knows for how long it will be like this. And her sister, her poor sister.   Margaret wonders if she will be able to keep her word and give reports to Elizabeth about the child. If the King finds out for sure would cost her banishment from court or even death.

It is clear that the King of England is determined to achieve his goals whatever the cost. He moved the world to be with Anne and change the Kingdom. Then he murdered her to achieve his desire for a living son. He has absolute power over this realm. Nothing can control him nor stop him. There are also strict orders to all the King’s servants, to the Council, to everyone close to the King even by blood or friendship, to keep Anne’s name buried. She will not me mentioned at court at all, not even in private. The King wants to erase any trace of her existence — like if that would be possible, a part of her lives, strong and gracious. The presence of the Lady Elizabeth will be a constant reminder of the legacy of Queen Anne Boleyn. To only glance at her is enough, same eyes and same features, and for sure while she grows the resemblance will be more marked. Would that be the damnation of the child? If fate allows her to be the mirror of her mother in the future, will the King hate her? Fear overwhelms Margaret. What will happen now?

The carriage leaves. Lady Hawthorne in the company of the Castle’s gatekeeper close the main doors of the castle, and both of them return to their places, knowing that they must keep in secret all that they saw and heard in this stormy day.

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To Be Continued…

 

 

 

 

Henry Percy’s Goodbye Letter to Anne Boleyn, by Gayle Hulme

September 6, 2015 in Anne Boleyn -- Reflections, Historical Fiction, Queen Anne Boleyn -- All Website Content by ADMIN: Royal Squire

HISTORICAL FICTION

 

Mistress Anne

Please excuse the tone of this letter, as I know it will not be in keeping with our past correspondence and I am deeply saddened that it must now be this way. Although my life as heir to the estates of my father, the Earl of Northumberland is a gift from God and the King, I now see that it is also a curse that will separate us forever.

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you this day. I hope this letter will go a little way to easing my conscience and make you more comfortable about my shortage of communication. I feel it is my duty to tell you of the circumstances that have befallen me and subsequently have touched you also.

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My Master, Cardinal Wolsey on learning of our affectionate behaviour towards each other in the Queen’s chamber upbraided me for not seeking the King or my father’s permission to proceed as we wished. He also informed me that you are a ‘foolish girl’ and that the King has in mind another match for you, which grieves me to my very soul.

Believe me I have fought tooth and nail for your honour and for my own but to no profit. Cardinal Wolsey and my father, on the King’s instructions have made it clear that should we have proceeded with our plans I would have been summarily disinherited and left without rank or income.

Indeed when my father arrived from his estates in the north I was immediately and to my undying mortification publicly chastised like a child. He bellowed that I was ‘proud, presumptuous, disdainful, and a very unthrifty waster’. He wasted no time in predicting to all within earshot that I would be the ruin of his house.

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The insults I have suffered have been further compounded, as I am now to marry the Earl of Shrewsbury’s hag of a daughter Mary Talbot. I can think of nothing worse. She is but a feeble candle to the strength of your blazing fire. Please forgive me for the crudeness and plainness of my speaking, but I am at a loss to know how I will carry out my duty and produce an heir of my body with her. Please God she will find herself with child quickly and that I will not need to suffer her company or her bed for long.

By the time this letter reaches you I will be securely chained and shackled into marriage and I’m sure the King through the Cardinal will have advised your father, Sir Thomas Boleyn of the match he has in mind for you. I pray that your proposed marriage will be a happy and contented one. Any man would be blessed with a life of domestic harmony with a wife of such beauty, intelligence and wit.

Yours

Henry Percy

A New Queen of France, Z Court, Alernative History

June 26, 2015 in Historical Fiction, Tudor Z Court by ADMIN: Royal Squire

 

The day of Mary’s wedding had finally arrived. She sat in silence as her ladies dressed her in her wedding gown. It was a rich gold brocade and enhanced with sumptuous ermine fur which trimmed her gown. Her gown was covered with diamond clasps that shimmered as her dress moved. She wore her magnificent golden hair down, which cascaded around her shoulders. It was set in place by a tiara of rich, colored jewels. Never had she looked more beautiful. The French style of the gown was most becoming to her. As the king’s representative, Suffolk was by her side. Mary was proceeded by her Knights and heralds. Each of her ladies were between two men. Mary and her entourage walked through the gardens amongst gasps from people who crowded the palace to see the nuptials. At the other end her bridegroom would be waiting for her.


Mary Rose Tudor

Mary and BrandonI felt as if I was in a dream, the man who I should be marrying was by my side. He kissed my hand and then held it lightly in his,  tracing the inside of my palm. I walked slowly and knew we made a grand entrance with all my knights, trumpeters, ladies and gentleman. It would have been the most glorious day, if I was marrying Charles Brandon. ” I whispered to him, “I should be marrying you.” But we both knew that was an impossibility. I had to fulfill my duties to my king and country. It did not matter that the king was my brother. As we walked through the gardens, I could not look at Charles and smiled as the French people crushed in the palace to see us. They threw lilies and roses and shouted long live the king and his new queen. I carried myself as a queen but my thoughts were allIMG_4054 about Charles. I wanted to lay with him as his wife, not a decrepit old man. I shuddered for a moment, and Charles tapped my shoulder with a look of concern. Once again I looked up and whispered so no one could hear. ” I love you and only you. ” A teardrop fell but I hoped the people would think it was from happiness. Only Charles and Lady Guildford knew my true feelings.

Charles Brandon

Charles BrandonDespite searching the depths of my being, no emotion, memory, thought or feeling could mask the utter despair and fear that consumed my heart and soul.

The darkness of the past days, had never migrated from my heart. Now, it had spread to every extremity of my body, it’s sickly tendrils creeping through me, snaking to and constricting every feeling, so that only the darkness remained.

The colour, splendour and emotion of the pageant, lost upon my eyes. All colour drained from the scene before me, the happiness of the crowd was drowning in the ocean of my desperation. I cast aside all thoughts of duty, honour, precedence and politics…. I do not care about them… But, I do care about my Princess.

On turning to my Mary, brightness and light radiated from her, her beauty quenching my thirst for even a droplet of hope! Our whole world could have existed in that brief moment as our eyes met. Her words gave evidence of the only emotion I needed to survive this ordeal; the emotion I needed to help me complete this revolting task, the emotion that would support me for the days I must endure….. She had given me hope!

Despite the power of my muscles, the stamina of my lungs and the surge of my skill, she has the strength!
I could only admire her fortitude and sense of duty, for if she had given me the word, at least six of the Royal Guards would have felt the sting of my dirk! We would have be racing away on horses before their blood had stained the ground.

“Then let them try and catch me!” But the thought melted from my mind as I felt my feet pacing towards the altar.
This was a fitting ceremony for an altar, an item once used by the pagans to kill their sacrificial offerings to the ancient Gods. But on that day, it was not blood that ran over the stone, but it was our love. Though there was no sacrificial dagger to offer a life to the Gods, Mary’s life was being sacrificed for political expediency and economic gain!

As we arrived at the altar, I glanced at the King, he was the embodiment of a vile and lecherous lunatic, he belonged in the deepest circle of Hell, not by the side of my Princess, not in her bed…… Bile rose in my throat and I pushed such thoughts from my mind, locking them away with others that I did not wish to torture my soul.Brandon

I knew that her heart was mine, this, plus the hope she kindled in my heart, gave me just enough strength to keep my hands away from my dirk. In my thoughts I saw the King’s writhing on the ground, thick blood oozing from wounds in his stomach and chest!!! I must be strong for her! She has accepted this vicious, odious and repugnant act! I must be strong for her, support her and love her. We would be together one day! I did not know how or when, but I knew it to be true. So, I must endure and wait for her. As her hand left my arm to join the King, my heart broke in two…


King Louis XII

Dressed in the matching rich, gold brocade , trimmed in the royal ermine fur, I anxiously awaited my beautiful Tudor King LouisRose. Finally seeing a glimpse of her, my breath is taken away. Never had I laid eyes upon such a divine creature. Arthur wanted to hand his elder sister as my bride but no, I wanted the enchantress from heaven. My angel will bring back my health, strength and vitality. I will be overjoyed to see the sour expression from Louise Savoy and her insolent son when I announce that my Madonna carries my heir.

The Duke of Suffolk looks stoic as he brings my dainty bride to my side. I see how frightened she is, a virtuous, guarded princess would have many fears. But I am a king of much experience and will be romantic, gallant and treat her as delicately as possible. I smile to myself thinking of the pleasures of tonight.IMG_3081

I clasp her hand in mine with a reassuring squeeze. Her tears of happiness and naieveity make her so much more precious. Before the ceremony starts, I nod to my page and he brings me a box. I open it and reach for necklace with rubies the size of quail eggs, diamonds illuminating a gold filigree necklace, which I take out and claps on my beloved’s neck and give her a sweet, gentle kiss. ” You look ravishing mon Marie, you have made me and France very happy.

We are asked to kneel as the prayers are recited in Latin and my eyes can not stop looking at my enchanting bride.

Claude of France

ClaudeMary Tudor looks very sweet as my father takes her hand, she glimmers as her gown rustles into place. The Court admires our new English queen, whilst trying to hide their bemused looks – she is but three years older than me.

Francis had hoped that my father would not remarry, in case a long awaited son would appear. I suspect from the glitter in my father’s eye, he will certainly give it a try.

Louise De Savoy

The bride looks pale, how not? The richness of her gown and the splendour of her jewels does nothing to improve her unfortunate lot in life. As fresh and beautiful as a breath of spring, she will soon wilt in the cold hand of the lecherous fool she is marrying.Episode 210

Seemingly oblivious to the picture he makes, the king smiles broadly as she approaches him. He clasps a gaudy bauble around her slim, white neck. And there, sweet princess, a collar from your new master. I could almost cry for the girl, were she not my son’s greatest threat.

I swear I can hear the kings old bones creak as they kneel together so that their union may be blessed. Two other times he has knelt and the Lord did not find it pleasing, nor bless him with a son. This time will be no different, I tell myself. Yet behind my false smile, I grit my teeth.

Dauphin Francoise

There is so much English beauty on display, I know not where to look! The new queen is beautiful and dressed exquisitely. Her ladies are all dressed in the finest French fashion, and I know I shall enjoy strolling through this English garden soon!

Dragging my thoughts back to this solemn occasion, I bow my head piously with my own sweet wife as the prayers IMG_3569are said. Louis will not be claiming that this bride is malformed, as he did with his first. No, I believe he will leap into the marriage bed with this one.

I am not worried. My time will come. If the bridegroom is able to to do his marital duty, his seed is weak. He has gotten only daughters on his wives. He is beloved by the people, despite his military failures, but I will show them something new, something better. And now I pray in earnest, let him cast his seed upon stone. Grant him no issue, I plead. As an afterthought, I ask God to comfort the queen in what can only be misery and suggest to my heavenly father that He might, in His mercy, make her suffering not last too long.

Anne Boleyn

As much as I enjoyed serving the Archduchess Margaret, it paled in comparison to this French court. All of Queen Mary’s ladies are dressed in French gowns. We now only to dress in the French style. I think they are much more flattering than our Mary and Anne Boleyn 2typical English gowns. Standing next to my sister is pleasant. We have not been together in a long time. I hope we become closer. I notice a lot of French nobles looking at Mary and wonder if she is flattered by their attention.

I turn my attention back to the queen and king. I have never seen a diamond as big as the one his Grace just put on her neck. She looks exquisite but pallid. I cannot help but wonder if she is happy about marrying the king of France. But it is her duty and he dotes on her. Surely being queen of France makes up for having such an old bridegroom. I catch the dauphin looking at Mary’s direction. He seems to completely ignore his wife. I must warn Mary to wary of him tonight at the ball.


Joan Vaux, Lady Guildford

I tried to help Mary as best I could while she got ready for her wedding, but once it was time for me to leave and go to the chapel there was not anything left I could do, I just hope she holds herself together long enough to get through the ceremony and not embarrass King Arthur and England. France is a good match, I knew, but I also knew Mary’s IMG_2724true affection lay with Charles Brandon. To his credit, he looks cold and unfeeling as he gives her away, a far cry from how the two were last night when I allowed him to see her.

I turn my attention to the old French king and frown with distaste. I do not like the way he is looking at my Mary, like she’s a piece of meat being sized up at the market, but there’s nothing I can do, so when I lock gazes with her I give her a reassuring smile and nod to her.
Mary Boleyn

Mary Boleyn 2I am practically bouncing with excitement! The French Court is nothing but exquisite with all in the princess’s ladies – pardon me, the new French Queen! – dressed in the latest fashions. We were buzzing as we readied her Grace for this moment.

I am awed as the Duke leads our princess to the French King. Mary looks pale – her nerves are evident as the gift is clasped about her neck. I smile at my sister, who catches my eye as she watches the spectacle about us. This is certainly more exciting than the courts we have grown up in.

We cheer as our princess is made queen – we try not to wince as the old king is enthusiastic in his affections. I smile as we trail out behind the newly married couple. I think of all the dancing ahead of us. Je suis très excité!
Elizabeth Grey, Viscountess of LisleIMG_1989

Charles is so handsome! He looked very grand as he walked the princess to stand with her husband, dressed beautifully and carrying himself with such dignity. I try to catch his eye as he passes me, but he is very busy being the king’s representative. My mistress is as perfect as an angel in my Book of Hours, but she seems rather sad, even when the king gives her the most dazzling diamond. I wonder what Charles will give me on our wedding day?

There is to be dancing later and much merriment. I hope to dance with Charles. Our wedding will not be as grand as this one, but maybe even the king will attend.

I turn my attention back to the ceremony as it ends. Queen Mary looks pale, but the king is beaming. He must be the happiest man in all of Europe today, to be married to the most beautiful queen the world.
Mary Rose Tudor

So it is done. I am now the queen of France. All I want to do is run to Charles , and have him take me as far away as possible. But it is not to be for I now belong to Louis XII, King of France. I return his kiss, and keep myself from shuddering. I pray that my bridegroom drinks too much wine, and cannot perform his marital duties. But I shall do all that is required of me as the queen of France. I will make Louis and Arthur happy until my time comes, and I become the duchess of Suffolk. For that is where my true destiny lies.

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Lady Buckingham’s Sincerest Deceit (Z Court)

June 23, 2015 in Historical Fiction, Tudor Z Court by ADMIN: Royal Squire

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Flower garden

Erica had a day to get over the fiasco that should have been a happy party for her but no matter how bad she felt, she knew Bessie had to be heartbroken. Erica invited Bessie to have a picnic with her in the rose garden. Her mouth was watering as she smelled the fresh baked breads, pungent cheeses, game pies, figs and sweet pastries. She was hoping that she could help put a smile on Bessie’s face. She wanted to do all she could to comfort her dear friend.

Elizabeth Blount Z

I walk with my face held high hoping to avoid all the stares and whispers. Since the party, it seems that no matter Bessie walkingwhat,  Henry and I are the topic of discussion at court. I could barely remember my outbreak at the party. But I knew it was unladylike like. Though for some reason or another,  it did not bother me. I meant every word! Lady Norfolk was slowly ruining everything; I knew that if were not for my friendship with Queen Erica, Henry would have had his divorce by now. I smiled at the thought of my dear friend who I felt very bad fo; since her wonderful party had been ruined by my own husband’s manners. I approach the garden and can see her waiting. “Your Majesty,” I say with a curtsy “It was very gracious of you to invite me, a nice picnic away from court. I know it shall be a pleasant outing.

 

Queen Erica of England Z

I kiss Bessie’s cheeks and take her hand as I smile at her. ” I have everything set up for us in the rose gardens. I am famished. I am always hungry. Were you like that with your pregnancies?” I absently pat my stomach; it grows larger by the day. ” Wait till you see this feast. I order us to eat our fill of everything. Especially the desserts, Arthur had my favorite Lingonberries shipped here.

Attachment-1 (3)We sit under the tent as the the servants fill our goblets with the rich, fruity wine and bring in platter after platter of delicacies on gold plates. ” Bessie, I do not know how we are going to take care of the Duchess of Norfolk, but mark my words, she will be taken care of.”

” I cannot help but notice how Gilbert Talboys looks as you. He looks like a love struck puppy. Tell me Bessie, could you ever lay with Henry again after all the pain he has caused? Do you want to stay married to such a man? ”

I wove the dainty roses together in a crown as I waited for her answer, seeing the pain on her beautiful face.

Elizabeth Blount Z

I sigh and look around the garden filled with bright, blooming roses. The thought of my husband’s actions still plague me and I wonder if Henry and I can truly move on. “To be honest, I am not sure. I love my husband and most Bessie Blount 3likely always will. But I am not positive we will ever get passed what the Duchess has done to us. I will fight for my daughter’s inheritance. She will get what she deserves before any of his bastard do.” I try to think of sweet Gilbert. He had helped me back to my chambers after the horrid events. “ Sir Talboys is a friend, a good friend who I trust. I am thankful for his kindness and help.”

 

Anne of Buckingham Z

I had spied the queen and Henry’s poor, suffering wife make their way to a pretty tent in the rose garden from the castle, and now found myself making my way to ‘accidentally’ happen across this little luncheon.unnamed (1)

I breeze past loitering courtiers who narrow their eyes at my presumption. I am not intimidated by two women who do not have a drop of royal blood in their veins. Well English at least, The Swedish think they have royals… This will be a measure of whether the queen is beginning to trust me.

I have my lady-in-waiting Jane cut a posy. We make our way ywith my frequent exclamations of the beauty of the flowers, admiration of the delightful scent punctuating our journey. Another lady enjoying the summer day. As we round the last hedge, I turn from Jane, the posy in my hand and spy the tent and it’s royal occupants.

“My Queen! Princess Elizabeth!” I sink into a deferential curtsy. “I apologise for my interruption. I have so missed the royal rose gardens. They are the finest in the land.” I smile at the pair. Queen Erica has a brow risen at my arrival, and I can still see the sadness on the princess. Poor girl. “Please pardon my interruption.”

Queen Erica of England Z

Attachment-1 (1)Looking at Lady Anne, the hair on my neck rises. Is she here to spy for her niece, the harpy concubine? Or is she here for her brother the Duke of Buckingham and Arthur’s mother. I will happily play her deceitful game.

” What a pleasant interruption Lady Anne, are you hungry? Please join us; there is much too much food for her Grace Princess Elizabeth and myself to finish. ” Giving Bessie a look so she knows what I am up to. I continue my conversation with Lady Anne. ” Does not the pickled herring smell heavenly? I cannot stop craving it.” I pat my protruding belly and flash her a charming smile ,while in my head, I see imagines of snakes devouring each other. I wonder if her skin feels reptilian?

” Come take a seat on the green, feather pillow. It is most comfortable. We were enjoying the warmth from the sun. It is such a beautiful day. Do you not agree?”

Anne of Buckingham Z

“Your Majesty is too kind, I would be honoured to join you.” I thrust the bouquet at Jane who finds a vessel to arrange them in and adds it to the groaning table.Anna buckingham 5

“The Lord blesses us with this paradise, ’tis truly perfect.” I perch on the green cushion and take a dainty bite of the pickled herring. “What a treat for one’s taste buds!” I swallow the delicacy and am surprised by the pleasant taste. “How delicious!” I look at at the royal ladies and smile cheerfully. The queen gives me a doubtful look like she does not know what to make of me. Which is exactly what I want at this court.

“I hope you have been pleased with my service your Majesty. I know it is.. difficult at present with everyone’s loyalties up in the air. I would like to assure you of my never wavering loyalty.” I pick up plum and take a delicate bite.

Queen Erica of England Z

Looking into the eyes of Anne of Buckingham, I see no trace of intensions yet. She is the ultimate courtier, full of smiles which may hold numerous deceptions.

” Lady Anne, please try the custard with lingonberries. I am pleased that you are enjoying food from my home land. You bring up a very important point. Where do your loyalties lay? They can support my brother-in- law and his concubine, your niece Pregnant womanI believe. Or the Dowager Queen and your father. It would not be a stretch for me to believe you perhaps work with them.”

Tracing the scar on my neck absentmindedly, I think about why bother taking a chance with a Buckingham in my service. I must protect my child, patting my stomach as I feel my child move.

” Why should I be assured of your never wavering loyalty?” I look at her sternly and watch how Bessie is processing her. I know that I can trust, Arthur, Clarisa, Gustav, Sven, Bessie and Wolsey, the new Pope. A powerful ally. ” Your family is against me and wants me dead. Why should I believe that you are loyal to me and not spying on me? I asked strait forwardly.

Anne of Buckingham Z

gif to useI cannot help but smile at the queen. I was beginning to think she was quickly sinking amongst the wreckage that the Tudor house was bringing down upon itself.

” That is a fair question your Majesty, it must be a difficult time for you and the king with his brother and mother constantly looking to undermine Arthur’s rule.” It’s not just my family who are running wild – and it doesn’t hurt to remind the queen of that.

I lean forward. ” Your Majesty, to be truthful, I am embarrassed by the behaviour of my family” I speak nothing but the truth here as the women before my exchange a glance at the judgement in my tone. “My father would be rolling in his grave! The Stafford’s are of royal blood ourselves, and this is certainly not the way to uphold the family honour. Not to mention the petulant Prince Henry!” I wave my hand dismissively “Though I expect nothing of the Dowager Queen, the Woodville’s knew not how to behave in their elevated situation.”

I take a sip of wine and consider the queen before me. “Your Majesty, I simply want to see honour restored to the English throne – and I believe that is through you. We are becoming the laughing stock of Europe.”

Queen Erica of England Z

” Do you honestly believe the Europe cares more about the tantrums of England’s spoiled prince, or the strength that the Swedish alliance is bringing to both our Navies? Our king is strong and England’s future now lays safely in my Amanda Seyfried at Press Conference at the Four Seasons Hotelwomb. No matter whose child your niece carries, it will be called a Howard. Norfolk is too proud to let Prince Henry have his bastard. ”

Turning to Bessie, I take her hand.” Prince Henry has a child, and she is Princess Mary. He also has a lawful wife who happens to be my closest friend, Princess Elizabeth.” I smile at Bessie and feel bad that she must be part of this conversation. ” Lady Anne, if you are ashamed of your niece’s wanton behavior, then perhaps you could help us.” I look boldly into her face.
Talk to the duchess, and let us know what her and the prince are planning. Give me something that I can use against the concubine, and I promise you will be well rewarded.” I absently touch the scar on my neck as I wait for her reply. Has her face gone pale, or is it my imagination?

Anne of Buckingham Z

I lean forward slightly, intrigued. My eyes have a little sparkle as I contemplate this mission.

Anna buckingham“Your Majesty, I shall do as you requested.” I turn to the princess. “I apologise if my observations have made you uncomfortable Your Grace. It certainly was not my intention.” The princess gave me a small nod, she looked a little pale. I wonder if she will survive this drama?

iI turn back to the queen. “Your Majesty, never underestimate the power of gossip, including those in foreign courts all looking for an advantage.” I stand, curtsy and smile. “You shall not be disappointed.”

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Written by Queen Erica of England Z, Elizabeth Blount Z, and Anne of Buckingham Z

“Farewell Life”, Deep POV Introspective Fiction, by Mercy Alicea Rivera

May 18, 2015 in 2015 Tribute to Queen Anne Boelyn, Hall of Crowns (Mercy Rivera), Historical Fiction, Queen Anne Boleyn -- All Website Content, Queens of World History, The Final Days of Queen Anne Boleyn by Mercy Rivera

By Mercy Alicea Rivera

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Here I am, in the silence of this quiet night, the last night of my life. And is so beautiful. Even when I can not see the full sky, it is beautiful. Tomorrow, by this same hour, I will be there, close to the stars, close to those I miss now, those I lost in my name and in the name of cruelty. By dawn, I will slowly become a memory…fading in my last steps. Will he be thinking about me? Will he regret my death? I guess I will never get an answer. He hates me now with the same strength that he once loved me. I know that but part of me dreams with the hope that he stops my execution tomorrow, and take me in his arms and give me another chance. This fate would be easier if I did not to love him. My mistake was that, to change a game of wealth, for a love story, the best story of my existence, the one who make me a mother, a Queen.

Life, life is a circle of ironies. This place, this tower, a few years ago I was here, shining like those stars up there. These walls, covered with silver and the finest tapestries, with our names entwined as symbol of eternal love. Now, the walls are empty, cold, the color of the stones covered the golden splendor of my days of glory — when I thought the world was mine… when I felt that I was… the most happy. It is over, everything is. This is my last chance to say goodbye to all that I lost and I can not recover. I must free my soul tonight, so tomorrow I can walk towards my death with only the comfort of my faith.

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First, I must say goodbye to this land, to England. I was born here, my first light of happiness was lit here — a wonderful childhood, when I was loved for who I was, when I was still.. just a daughter, a child meant to be loved and protected. Farewell to that, to my beloved Hever, to my mother and… yes, to my father. He once loved me and treasured me, back when power was not important to him, when he was still… young and… human.

Goodbye Mary… my sweet sister. Please forgive me for all the harm I caused you. May God protect you and keep you safe. Live your life, because if you do, half of me will still live. Thank you for being always my companion, especially in our days in France. I always thought that I did good when I learned to be the opposite of you. Perhaps if… I would had imitate you, I would not be here like this. Being his mistress at least could save my life. You won Mary. You have a peaceful life with your children. You do not care of what people say. I envy you now so much dear Mary. You are free and I am dying. Be blessed, be happy, for both of us.

Natalie-Dormer-as-Anne-Boleyn-tudor-history-31281420-1600-900

Farewell to my youth here…farewell to my first love… At least the first one that made know what love was. Forgive me, for leaving you, for change in your sweet promises for the game of a crown. Goodbye to the days when all the eyes of the court were upon me, when he noticed me and my game started. And there is a ghost marked in this era of my life — the Queen I helped to destroy, a woman I never cared to know — a woman who never caused me harm — a Queen I swore to honor and obey. I ended up speeding her death. I took by force and humiliation what was hers… and here I am now, slowly waiting for the dawn of my execution. Soon we will share the dust of England’s Crown. We will be under the same land, yes, under, because our King will pass the crown to a new one, she that will shine just after my blood soaks the scaffold. Forgive me Katherine. What I did to you was done to me, we are even but…  I am still guilty of my actions against you. First I was moved my greed, and I regret what I did during that time. Love took over… I was fighting for happiness, for him, and for that I can not feel regret nor guilt.

I am sorry! I am! I can not scream it to the world but… I am sorry. Because I can not change what I did and at the same time… I regret less when it should be more. Forgive me. And I pray God… that someday your daughter Mary will forgive me, too. She is innocent. She always was, and now my daughter will live the same life. Both sisters will now be neglected by their father, suffering because of their mothers — two Queens, with the same failure.

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Farewell again, to the land where I gave birth to my precious Elizabeth, the only pure thing in my life, the best I ever did on this earth. The only proof of my love, my feelings, my hope and my joy as a woman, and my only valuable jewel as Queen. This land, this realm, will watch you grow, become a woman and yes.. Queen, because I know you will be Queen my dearest girl, my beloved child. I will not be here to guide you in the path of life, but I promise, that my love will always follow you. It will keep you warmth when the sadness of my absence became cold in your heart, because I have faith that you will remember me with kindness, with tenderness and sweetness.

You are part of me, the clean essence of my soul, and there is no hate in the entire world that can destroy that. God Bless my princess, my love, my everything. Shine brighter than me. Rule England with the heart, with the true of your soul and the wisdom of your forefathers. And think of me in silence. Never dare to mention me. It is better for you to keep the love of your father the King. Praise his name and keep me locked in your heart, that will keep you safe, and protected. Please learn all you can from the darkness of this realm before you get trapped in the light of it. God forbid you get blind by the beauty and temptations of this Kingdom. Be strong first, then be the rest you must be.  You are my precious jewel, my sweet Elizabeth.

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Pretty stars, my dead ones are above, walking around them, waiting for me. Play sweet music for me Mark, when you see me. I want to be received by the gentle notes of your violin. My darling Mark, my friend, my confident, I am so sorry for all the pain you suffered on my behalf. I never wished that upon you. Forgive me, our friendship led you to your death, and I am sorry. Please, play the violin when you see me Mark.

I know I will see you, Sir Henry Norris. Your admiration for me was the key to your downfall. My charms condemned you. I ask your forgiveness and please, smile to me when you see me tomorrow. Please, show me that chivalry that I always liked from you.

You will also be there, Master Bereton. I never knew why you… always looked at me with such coldness. The strictness of your behavior towards me was more a hint of your disgust about me than respect for my rank. What I did to cause that to thee? Will you tell me when I get there? Or you will look at me with the same despise, with the cold disguise of respect?

And there it is, the brightest star, the one that comes when dawn is near. There you are my sweet George, my darling brother. Oh the pain of seeing you die! It burns my heart! I felt your agony deep in my bones. I have that image carved in my soul. My dearest brother, you are the only one who really knew me from the start — the one who never dared to betray me. You were my comfort and I was your courage. Since we were children it was always like that. George, my gentle George, do not despair. Soon we will be together again, open your arms for me when I get there, and hug me with all your strength. Give me the pureness of our brotherly love, that sincere and innocent love that was cause of our doom.

How can they twist something so clean, immaculate and transparent like the love between brother and sister?! They are the impure ones, not us, never us! Wait a little longer my brother… Soon I will be back to you. Soon.

And there, a little far from the brightest star, two small ones, with a tiny spark, I am sure those are my two dead sons, my princes that I never had the chance to hold, soon my little angels, soon we will be together. I will hold both of you, and this time, we will share eternal life, in peace.

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Farewell to the souls of those I helped to crush and destroy… Cardinal Wolsey, the one who used to call me “The Black Crow” and the “Silly Girl”… the man I thought that had a pride higher than mine. Sometimes I thought I was wrong even when I never liked him. He was loyal, like a father to the King. He was a man whose birth was low… and worked hard to climb to the top of this realm. Where was the wrong in that? Now I wonder.

Sir Thomas More… he hated me and I him. He was so stubborn, just like and me and my kin. He died for his faith, for his beliefs. He was a great man, beloved friend of the King. I feel his death marked the start of my downfall. Farewell to poor Bishop Fisher…another man who died for his faith. Why did we turn our wish for the Truth and staine it with blood? That was my first criminal sin, to help in the production of a bloodbath in the name of Reformation and Power. This is how I see it now.

Farewell to my still living enemies. Mary, Lady Mary. Your hate towards me is justified in all the senses. To remember the reasons will not change anything nor make you forgive me. All I hope is that you become in time a protector of your poor little sister, who now will share your fate. May God help you to love her and cherished her. May the force of blood be stronger than the force of your hate for me. Forgive me Mary, even when what I did to you is unforgivable.

Cromwell… someone I helped to rise and now I am a victim of the power that he won towards me and my family. I underestimated you, and now I am here. I won your hate and that was my greatest mistake. All I can say to you is… enjoy the power while you can. I am sure that… being as proud and ambitious as you are, it will not be long when your head falls from the scaffold.

And you, Chapuys, you who represent all the faction here in England and Spain that hate me as much as you do, be in peace… the witch will be dead tomorrow. Spain can rejoice. All my enemies will rejoice, but do not smile too much. My death will not bring the glory and peace to England… it will be just a pause until the next horror comes by the hand of the tyrant King Henry.

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My last goodbye is for you Henry. I wanted to hate you when you changed me for Jane, when you forgot all we were for her, when you ordered my arrest, imprisonment and execution under those corrupted and false charges. I can not hate you. My love for you is stronger than my desire to despise you. And it is strange because… I remember I fought so hard to avoid loving you when all started. I failed… I loved you when we met, when we danced for the first time, when I was Perseverance and you were Honesty. I was yours since that day…I refused to admit it but… you captured me, totally. I learned what passion was in your arms. I learned that lust was far from sinful in the power of your kisses, and I loved the sweetness of every caress you gave me.

You can tell the whole world that I am a whore, but you know I became a woman in your bed. You can whisper on Jane’s ear that you love her, but you know that you will never feel with her what you felt with me. I know this sounds…vain but I know that… you will always remember me, even if you hate me now, you will never be able to erase me from your heart. Forgive me my King. I know I broke a promise. Believe me it was painful… I wanted to give you a son with all my heart, with every part of me and I am sorry. I am so sorry for my failure.

In the end, I can see your love was not unconditional like you once whispered to me. I was the fool because I believed it. I disrobed my pride, my will and my strength before your words, your touch and your charm. I die as an innocent, and my blood will always stained your actions from now towards the end of your days, that is my silent prophecy for you my love. Joy will not find your place again, you will never be the same after tomorrow, is painful for me to feel this, but it is what it is… You do not deserve happiness after what you have done.

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Farewell my love, my King. I never knew you and I loved you like no other woman will, not even the fair and innocent Jane. I am sure that if she does not please you like you expect, you will drag her down and replace her. You are loveless man now, a King and not a man. Power overcame you. I take with me the satisfaction that I enjoyed your human part, the one that will totally die with me tomorrow. Part of you will die with me, the best part of you, and to that part with myself, I say farewell.

And here comes the dawn… Farewell to the stars, I will join you tonight and I will come down just to watch the dreams of my darling girl. Farewell to the last night I live here on earth. Hello to my last dawn. Farewell to the rage, the scorn, the malice, the regrets, the pain and the intrigues. Farewell to the joy, the illusions, the dreams, the hopes and the love. Farewell to everything I knew and never will. Farewell to the words I said, the things I did and the love I gave. May all that I destroyed be fixed, and all that I created remain. Farewell Life.

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