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The Tudors - The King, The Queen, and
the Mistress
This
was a book I "novelized" from the scripts by Michael Hirst
for the smash hit Showtime TV series, THE TUDORS.
I'd
never done this before and I found it a very interesting process.
I took the plot, the characters and most of the dialogue directly
from the script, so don't expect it to be typical of my other stories.
I
did a lot of research into the Tudor period, and particularly the
reign of Henry VIII. I became fascinated along the way. He really
was an extraordinary man, and though most people tend to remember
him for his wives and the sad fate most of them suffered, and for
his role in the forming of the Anglican church, Henry was much more
than that.
He
was the sort of man who would have been a great man in any era.
Intelligent and extremely well educated, he had an enormous and
wide-ranging effect on not only England, but also Europe.
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These
two portraits of Henry show how he changed from a young boy of just
18, to a king in his prime at 29.
The
young Henry VIII was passionately addicted to all forms of sport,
to hawking and jousting and particularly to tennis.
When the king played, courtiers sat in the galleries, watching and
applauding, seeing and being seen...
For more about the early form of Tennis, click here.
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Extract 1~ Spectator sports
The tennis ball slammed
off the black painted back walls in an unreturnable shot. From
the crowded galleries came a burst of clapping. Henry smiled,
enjoying the applause. He looked well, playing tennis, he knew.
The ladies could hardly take their eyes off his strong thighs
and muscular arms.
Henry, as usual, was winning today, paired with his close friend
Charles Brandon, against cohorts Anthony Knivert and William Compton.
Henry had a passion for tennis; it was a fast, hard, aggressive
game and he excelled at it. He'd had the tennis courts constructed
some years earlier, along with a bowling alley, a cockpit, and
a pheasant yard. His pleasure buildings he called them, perfect
for when the weather was too wet or cold for hunting or hawking
or jousting.
"And what took you to your house at Jericho last evening?"
Brandon murmured as he positioned himself behind Henry for the
next serve. "Or need I ask? Assuaging your grief, I believe."
He hit a return and added, barely missing a beat, "And how
does Lady Blount?"
"She 'does' most satisfactorily, though she's fretting."
"Fretting?"
"Her husband is jealous. He's threatening to send her to
a nunnery."
"A nunnery?" Brandon swore under his breath. "What
a waste!"
"Indeed it would be -- if I allowed it," said the King.
"Play!"
They played several more points before Henry paused to wipe the
sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He cast a speculative
eye over the spectators. "The pretty little blonde, behind
Norfolk," he said to Brandon. "I haven't seen her before."
Brandon followed his gaze. "Lady Jane Howard. Norfolk has
just brought her to court, as a lady-in-waiting to her Majesty.
Ready?"
Henry nodded and they played on,. "Have you had her yet?"
Henry asked.
Brandon grinned. "She has the sweetest, plumpest breasts...
and she sighs when you kiss them."
Laughing, Henry returned the serve in a winning shot. "Our
game, I think, Anthony."
Knivert made mock obeisance. "Your majesty knows we're just
letting you win!"
"Actually, I'm playing as hard as I can!" Compton puffed.
Henry grinned. "Play!"
"Now, there is someone I have to try," Brandon murmured
a short time later. "Look over there: middle gallery, blue
dress. See her? See that exquisite, virginal face?"
Henry nodded. A sweet morsel indeed. "Who is she?"
Brandon cracked the ball, unplayably, off three angles, to more
applause. He gave Henry a grin. "Buckingham's daughter."
Henry glanced up at the sweet face of the girl who sat next to
her proud and haughty father, unaware that the king and his best
friend were discussing her. "A hundred crowns you don't succeed."
"Done," Brandon accepted. "Play!"
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Extract
2 ~ "This fish is not fresh."
Dinner was served to
King Henry and Queen Katherine in the King's private apartments.
Each dish was carried in by servants, tasted for poison by the official
taster, then passed to the gentlemen of the privy chamber, who in
turn passed it to the nobles who waited on the king and queen. This
day, the Duke of Buckingham had the honor of serving the king while
Lady Blount served Queen Katherine.
Flutes, recorders, a trombone and harp played from the gallery as
the dishes passed before them; tender haunches of venison from the
royal deer parks, roasts of beef, pheasant glazed with rose water,
coneys roasted whole, and platters of vegetables, especially artichokes,
for the King was fond of them.
Henry, as always, ate with good appetite. He'd passed a very active
day. He glanced sideways at his queen. She merely picked at her
food, waving most of it away. Once he'd thought her the most beautiful
woman in England; now she looked old, so much older than he did.
Such was the trouble when a young man married an older woman.
Of course the miscarriages had exhausted her. So many children,
and only one still living.
"How is our daughter?" Henry asked her.
"She is well." Despite her many years in England she still
spoke with a marked Spanish accent. Once, Henry had found it charming.
"Her tutors say she has exceptional talents, especially for
music." She smiled at him. "Like her father. Your Majesty
should be proud.”
Henry smiled back. "I am, sweetheart. You know it. Mary is
the pearl of my world." He gestured to Buckingham.
"Majesty." Buckingham bowed and presented another dish;
a whole baked turbot with saffron sauce— Henry's favorite.
"Will you have some?" he asked his wife. She shook her
head. Henry sliced into the succulent flesh and ate it delicately
with knife and fingers.
"You have not answered my nephew's letters," Katherine
said quietly.
Henry pretended not to hear her.
She persisted. "Why have you not answered his letters?"
"Just because your nephew is the King of Spain, does he think
I have nothing better to do?"
"You know he advises you to sign a treaty with the Emperor
recognizing France as your mutual enemy."
Henry, his mouth full of fish, didn't answer.
"He also advises you not to heed everything Wolsey tells you,
since Wolsey is so biased for the French."
Henry snorted. "Since when are you a diplomat?
She raised her head proudly. "I am my father's daughter!"
Henry clenched his fist and answered in an undertone. "You
are my wife! You are not my minister, or my chancellor, but my wife."
There was a pause, and aware that ears were craning to hear the
soft, furious exchange, they both smiled.
Katherine leaned across and whispered in Henry's ear, "And
I should like to be your wife in every way. Will you not visit my
bedchamber again, as you used to?"
Henry stilled, his appetite suddenly gone. He stared down at the
turbot's glassy eye for a long moment.
"This fish is not fresh," he declared and pushed the plate
away.
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The
pomegranate, a tart, delicious fruit much favoured in Tudor
times, was Katherine's personal emblem
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Extract
3 ~ Moist,
ruby flesh
Later that evening, as Henry was being readied for bed, her words
came back to him. He lifted his arm for one of the grooms of the
bedchamber to tie up his nightgown. Another pulled back the curtains
around the ornately carved tester bed while a third removed the
warming pans.
A priest presented a jeweled crucifix to him. He kissed it, said
a silent prayer and crossed himself.
His gaze wandered to a side table where a silver bowl containing
various fruits. An attendant, anticipating his wants, seized the
bowl and offered it to him. Henry wasn't really hungry, more...
restless, but he reached out absently, and found he had selected
a pomegranate, perfectly ripe.
He sliced the fruit in half. For a moment he stared at the rich,
moist, ruby flesh inside, plump with glistening seeds...
"Fetch my gown."
"Yes, your Majesty."
As Henry sucked out the fruit with relish, the servants fetched
a dressing gown. Two more servants took flaming torches from the
walls, and led Henry into the secret passage which connected his
private apartments to Katherine's.
How long had it been, Henry reflected as he strode down the corridor.
A year? More? No matter. He had chosen a pomegranate, which was
Katherine's emblem, and it was ripe. God willing, old as she was,
tonight he would get a son on her.
When Henry threw open the door that only he ever used, the Queen's
ladies fell into a flutter. As one, they dropped into a low curtsey.
Among them was Lady Jane Howard, last seen applauding him at tennis.
The ladies rose, babbling, clearly flustered.
"Your Majesty, we did not kn—"
"Welcome your Majesty. The queen did not expect—"
"Where is the queen?" Henry addressed Lady Jane. Up close
she seemed even younger and more beautiful.
"Her Majesty is still at prayer, your Majesty."
Henry paused. He stood, staring down at her. Her skin was like silk,
luminous, milky white, her hair thick and glossy. From the tight,
smooth bodice, a pair of pert breasts pressed eagerly. Fresh. Young.
Henry took a deep breath and came to a decision. "Tell her
Majesty that I came to offer her my love and devotion, as her true
husband." He turned away, but as he did so he caught the eye
of one of his own servants, who understood immediately.
As Henry returned through his private door, the man hurried over
and whispered in Lady Jane's ear.
A short time later Lady Jane was escorted into Henry's bedchamber.
She came to him, eyes downcast, slightly flushed and nervous, sank
into a low curtsy and remained there. Henry made one swift gesture,
and the servants instantly withdrew to the outer room.
He turned to Lady Jane and gently lifted her to her feet. "Jane,"
he said softly. "Do you consent?"
Her blush deepened, flooding the milky breasts with a delicious
pink. "Yes, your Majesty."
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