And you sure know how to make things interesting...in the chinese sense
Anno Obumbratio: A 16th Century Alternate History
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in the whatAnd you sure know how to make things interesting...in the chinese sense
Chapter 40. Memoriae Sacrum
Chapter 40. Memoriae Sacrum
1549-1553; England.
“The king, my husband, is dead.
This is the first time he has truly upset me.
May God receive him in his glory.”
— Queen Mary of England
Musical Accompaniment: Reges Tharsis Et Insule
Queen Mary in Mourning: Painted in 1551, these dual portraits portrayed the queen in both black (and white) mourning; AI Generated.
The English court received the news of King John’s death with great shock. It was said that when Mary received the news from her father-in-law, she collapsed to the ground in a fit of emotion. “Her Majesty was not one for hysterics,” Anne Fitzalan wrote in her diaries. “I had not seen her weep since the death of the queen dowager nearly nine years before. But she truly gave herself to sorrow… she retired to her chambers at Greenwich and refused to see anyone—not even myself.” The queen’s chambers were draped in black crepe, and candles provided only some light, with the queen refusing to allow the sun in. Queen Mary, once known for her distinctive wardrobe of bright colors, fled into the comfort of black and white as her mourning colors. The business of state ground to a halt as she refused even to see members of her Privy Council—she had nothing to say to them until they had arranged for John’s body to be returned to England. This proved a tricky issue with the former king’s body in Norway: the Danish envoy intimated to the council that Christian II desired for his son to be buried in Denmark within the Chapel of the Magi in Roskilde Cathedral. When the news reached the queen, she was furious: “He was King of England first and foremost,” Mary argued. “He should be buried in England.”
It was with great difficulty that John’s body was secreted from Akershus by members of his household, who also desired that he should return to England. Admiral Throndson was vital in providing a convoy for the English ships that would take John back to England, much to Christian’s consternation. “When the King of Denmark’s troops had finally dealt with the rebels and offered relief to Akershus, they discovered that the English had given them the slip.” Though Christian would protest furiously to his daughter-in-law for the undignified sight of his son’s former household, Mary said nothing. “He is where he belongs,” she reportedly told those closest to her. John had been King of England. His travails to Denmark had only caused further issues and had led to his demise; Mary saw no reason why he should come to rest there. He had been brought to England to be its king and had sired a new line of princes and princesses—he deserved to be buried where his accolades would be celebrated. The return of the king’s body to England in the winter of 1548 was not without issues: England’s great flagship, the Mary Rose, which served as part of the convoy accompanying John’s body, ran around near Dover—sinking and killing some 300 sailors. “The sinking of the Mary Rose presented a true end to an era—the most prominent ship built by Henry VIII sinking in the return of John II.” When John’s body finally arrived home, the queen was visibly pregnant in her fifth month. “Her Majesty discovered that she was pregnant some weeks before the letter from Denmark arrived,” one lady-in-waiting wrote to a friend. “She was in such a terrible state that we all feared for a time that she would not carry the child within her to term. But she has championed onward and holds a steady face of resolve.” Despite her grief, Mary was determined that her husband should have a proper send-off.
John’s body had been taken care of in Norway. His surgeon had disemboweled the king and removed both his heart and lungs—with his heart being preserved in alcohol, along with parts of his entrails. Household officers stuffed his body with herbs and spices before the young king’s chandler, in charge of his candles and soaps, performed the embalming process. His body was then dressed in his favorite golden armor, which he had worn in so many victories and his last defeat. Finally, his household wrapped the body in cerecloth, a wax-coated cloth for burial shrouds. “Given the weeks that passed, the king’s body was in reasonable condition once it arrived in England,” one memorialist of the period wrote. “The queen ordered fresh scents to be plied over her husband’s body before ordering that his body be enclosed in sheets of lead that would be placed in his coffin. The king’s coffin was magnificent—a great dark oak, covered in purple velvet decorated with lace and gold gilt nails.” The king’s heart had accompanied him home, which would be placed in a silver casket before burial in the Chapel Royal of Greenwich. The king’s entrails did not accompany him to England—Mary agreed that they should be given to Christian II and buried in Roskilde.
The Flaying of the Marsyas, Titian; c. 1570.
For twenty days, Mary arranged for John’s body to lie in state within Richmond Palace. The highest respects were paid to John, mimicking those given following Henry VIII’s funeral. Members of John’s household stood vigil around the clock, praying for their former patron’s soul—while masses were celebrated for John’s soul. The formal funeral occurred in December 1548, and one of John’s servants wrote: “It was a cold and snowy day. The king’s coffin was placed on a magnificent hearse of gold and gilt silver, drawn by four white horses that carried him to his final resting place: Westminster Abbey. A wooden effigy of the king was placed atop the coffin, dressed in the last outfit he had worn before he had left for Norway. The effigy held a scepter, and atop its head was the crown of Henry VII…” The abbey was bedecked in black cloth, the altar trimmed with purple velvet, with a purple canopy erected over the dean’s place. A great platform was built for the king’s coffin, decorated with purple velvet, gold cloth, and gilt figures of Christ and his disciples, while others depicted saints, such as St. George. All the court turned out for the funeral, and the Archbishop Tunstall of Canterbury gave the great oratory. Before the burial, the officers of John’s household (but not the great officers of state) broke their staves before throwing them into the grave. Mary intended to construct a tomb for both her and her husband—until then, John would be interned in a vault. The whole affair cost Mary nearly £12,000—but she insisted upon it. John had been King of England and deserved to be buried as one. With John’s burial, his household was formally dissolved. However, Mary would employ many: William Paget, for instance, remained close to the queen, and his wife Jane Seymour was even made a gentlewoman of the bedchamber. The Bishop of Hereford remained another close companion—until his death towards the end of 1548.
In April 1549, Mary gave birth to her final child: a daughter whom she named Joan in honor of her father. “You are most precious to me,” Mary reportedly cooed to the newborn following her birth. “Because you are truly the last gift your father bestowed upon me.” Little Joan would become Mary’s favorite child and the most cossetted of her children. “Queen Mary was a hard taskmaster, especially with her children,” one historian would write. “She expected them to thrive and succeed, seeing them as extensions of her glory as England’s sovereign. Princess Joan, the youngest, was absolutely the apple of the queen’s eye… she could do no wrong, sometimes to the irritation of her older siblings.” John’s burial also meant the queen needed to return to governance—for a time, there were discussions amongst the council about what might happen next. Was the queen capable of governance in this time of sorrow? Might she seek to remarry at some point? Many questions remained unanswered until Mary addressed the council in the spring of 1549—shortly after the birth of Joan, in what would become known as her Dedication Speech.
“As you know, these last months have heavily burdened me,” Mary announced before her assembled council. “Know that I value your knowledge, support, and the good you have handled for the realm in my absence. I remain sorrowful… but I know that my husband would wish that I press forward for England’s good. For you see, my dear lord husband, beloved in memory—he was first and foremost an English patriot. Tho’ he was not born of this land, he served it just as my beloved mother had. He would wish for me to continue doing all I possibly can for my people and subjects; after all, before my wedding oath, I took a coronation oath—to be your monarch and queen until my last dying breath. Though my husband is gone, I wish you to remember well that I am still bound to England—her mother and guardian. Those are my duties and my lifeblood, and I swear to you that all that remains of me shall be dedicated to this kingdom until I, too, take my last dying breath. I also know there has been grave confusion; what shall we do now that the king is gone?” At this, Mary wasted no time in producing the late king’s will—which addressed and bade those within the council to obey Mary as they had before her marriage—and as they had when he was frequently abroad, that the powers vested within him should by proper return to the queen. “I shall strive to be England’s monarch until my dying days… I make this oath to you, my dear councilors, and my beloved lord husband. In this, I must ask that you hear me plainly: understand that I shall never again marry—England may lack a king, but they shall have always had a queen, more dedicated and more ardent than any king before her. To be dedicated to England, I must remain in my widowed estate, which suits me more than any other now that my lord husband is gone.”
In a master show, Mary played upon her feminine frailties to appease the council while holding onto sole authority. All was within her hands now, given to her by John within his will. Never again would Mary allow another man to dominate her or undermine her authority. “On that day,” Mary recorded in her diary. “I felt free, as I perhaps never had before. I mourned John—but in his death, he freed me from my gilded cage. He might have easily beseeched that I remarry, but he did not. He knew I was capable when perhaps I did not yet know myself if I was. I loved him even more for that.” John’s will included bequests for servants and asked that the queen attend to his debts—which stood at some £33,000—with the last payments due to his English troops in arrears. Several servants were nominated for pensions and honors—Paget was nominated to receive a pension of £500. Others, such as Antoine de Perrenot de Granvelle and Ascanio Arianiti, John asked that the queen continue to employ them—requesting that Perrenot receive a clerical benefice. At the same time, Ascanio was nominated for a knighthood. John’s bequests alone totaled some £10,000. England’s financial situation, once bright at the onset of Mary’s reign, now looked much gloomier: the crown’s debt toppled nearly £300,000 in 1549. Costs of the royal household also continued to increase, and in 1549, topped almost £65,000 annually. £5,000 alone was dedicated to Prince Henry’s household, while the costs of Queen Mary’s household numbered around £45,000—leaving £15,000 to care for the other royal princes and princesses. Though Parliament provided a subsidy of £29,000 to the Board of the Green Cloth to help cover the increasing costs of the royal household—it was not enough—and Mary was forced to cover the remainder from her own income: around £120,000 per annum.
Queen Mary & Parliament; c. 1550s.
Despite this, Mary intended to show her position as England’s sovereign and continued to host a sumptuous, if subdued, court. By the fall of 1549, Mary received the credentials of Spain’s new ambassador, Beltrán de la Cueva, the Duke of Albuquerque. “Her Majesty was overjoyed to receive an ambassador from her mother’s homeland…” one lady wrote in a letter home. “She thought the Duke of Albuquerque was debonaire, and they often spent time speaking in Spanish and of Spain.” Rumors swirled about the court—some even believed that the ambassador had arrived to bring the queen an offer of marriage from her nephew, the Prince of Asturias. While the duke did come seeking marriage, it was not for the queen—but rather for her eldest daughter. “The Prince of Asturias’s eldest son has lost both his wife and child,” one court gossip wrote. “The Duke of Alburquerque has come to ask for the hand of Princess Mary.” At fourteen, the queen’s namesake was still a young girl. Quiet and sedate, she took after her father—with brown hair and bright green eyes. “Princess Mary was the queen’s treasure—she was like a little mouse, always willing to do whatever the queen asked and striving to please her.” The princess sought to excel in her studies and was quite devout. “Did I have reservations about sending her away?” Mary would write later in her diary. “Of course! I could not imagine being parted from her. But even then, I ached for my mother and her stories of Spain. She often told me that had I not been born Queen of England… she would have been pleased to have made me Queen of Spain. I saw this as my daughter’s destiny—her role was to be Queen of Spain and sire Spain’s next kings and to make my mother’s wish come true.” Princess Mary and Prince Fernando were betrothed through the Treaty of Windsor signed in October 1549—it was agreed that the pair should be married in the next year.
Of the queen’s eldest children, there remained Princess Catherine. While Louis IV of Naples showed interest in the princess for his eldest son Renato, discussions broke down regarding her dowry. France proved equally recalcitrant in discussing any possible marriage treaty, desiring Catherine to bring Boulogne back to France as part of her dowry. Mary refused to release Boulogne back into France merely as her daughter’s dowry. Negotiations with the court of Savoy debated a match between Catherine and Filippo Giano Amedeo (b. 1533), heir to the Duke of Savoy. This culminated in the Treaty of Asti, which betrothed the pair—with the official marriage to occur in 1553, Catherine came of age. “If only I were concerned with the futures of my daughters,” Mary lamented with Jane Paget—wife of William Paget. “But I am not, and I cannot be. There are graver concerns that look upon my sons for succor.” Aside from her young daughters, Mary soon became gripped into a conflict with Christian II and Denmark through Denmark’s envoy. To the surprise of none, Christian II sought to press Mary into sending one of her younger sons—preferably Charles, the Duke of York—to Denmark to be educated and to serve as his grandfather’s future heir. Mary demurred and deferred as much as she could. In early 1550, Christian II sent a new ambassador to represent him in London, Otte Vinstarr, who had recently been named Bishop of Børglum. Mary received Bishop Vinstarr lavishly at Eltham and even allowed her to accompany her on a small progress to Woodstock. “Henry, the Prince of Wales, is hale and most resembles his late father,” Vinstarr wrote in a memorandum to Christian II. “The Duke of York and Somerset are young and handsome boys… one cannot be found without the other. The princesses are equally enchanting; the eldest, Mary, is nearly fifteen and will wed the Prince of Spain soon. Catherine is a year older than the Prince of Wales, betrothed to the son of the Duke of Savoy… she is a pretty little thing who entertained us by playing the virginals. Isabella, named in honor of the great Isabella of Castile and your late wife, is a crafty little girl… I have no doubt that she will grow up into a beautiful creature. Little Joan, a little over a year old, is growing steadily… a pretty babe.”
Fountain of Youth, Lucas Cranach; c. 1546
At Woodstock, Mary had a formal interview with Bishop Vinstarr—with some members of the council present. “I am sure that you know why I have been sent here, madam,” Vinstarr allegedly told the queen. “Indeed, I do—but I ask that you speak it plainly before me and my ladies. You are in a trusted space.” At this, Vinstarr was finally forced to admit his genuine reasons for coming. “His Majesty understands the delicate situation regarding the late king’s demise; he believes it truly the one thing that only you and he shall understand. You have lost a husband—and he, his only son and heir. He looks to you at this time of need and hopes that Denmark and England shall continue to enjoy a cordial relationship. In this, he asks only one thing of you: he desires that when his time comes, he should be succeeded as king by one of his grandsons—one of your sons. He wishes to name the Duke of York as Prince of Norway and formally acknowledge him as his successor. He asks that you accede to his wishes and allow me to take the Duke of York to Denmark—so that he should be educated as befits a future King of Denmark.” It proved a logical request—but the bishop was speaking with the queen, who just lost her husband two years previously. Queen Mary could not keep her calm—and exploded upon the ambassador in a show of Tudor rage. “You dare to come into my presence and ask for my son?!” Mary thundered angrily as she dressed down the Danish ambassador as her councilors looked askew—they had dealt with such rage but had never seen the queen attack an ambassador in such a way. “Remember who your master is and what he has done. It is his follies that have resulted in the death of my beloved husband and his heir. So long as I breathe, I shall surrender no child into his care, for he is no better than a murderer. He led my husband willingly to his death, and I shall never allow him to lead any son of mine—or any daughter—into the same fate! I know not how Denmark is governed, but the feet do not seek to direct the head in England. Silly little sir—a sniveling, mealy-mouthed rat who cowers in your bishop’s robes that you are not fit to wear. I say this plainly—neither the Duke of York nor any of my sons shall be the king’s heir. I renounce and reject your offer, sir. If the king needs a prince, then maybe he should remarry. Leave now, and never show yourself in my presence again!”
Mary refused to see the bishop again. Before taking his leave, he was invited to meet with the council—who provided him with a document that would become known as the Renunciation of Woodstock, where Mary renounced for her children all rights and claims that they inherited from their father, covering the Kingdoms of Denmark, Norway, Sweden—along with the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein and any other associated territories. The renunciation was signed by the queen and stamped with the privy seal—and included the signatures of the witnesses—including the Privy Council members. The legality of the renunciation had long been debated among royal genealogists and historians—did the queen truly have any right or authority to renounce claims for her underage children? Some argued that she could not, while others argued based on their blood: as children of John II, they were members of the House of Oldenburg, and in them ran the heritage of Denmark and her associated dominions. No paper could rid them of that which they had possessed since their first breath. Some others believed the queen, as guardian of her children, had the right to renounce any claims to their paternal inheritance. Another argument centered around Mary’s sovereignty—and that as Queen of England, she had a right to determine for her children to avoid dragging England into further conflicts. “England was weary following the king’s death—his governance had entangled England into commitments in Scandinavia, which had burdened and indebted the kingdom,” one historian wrote. “None looked upon the idea of the Prince of Wales, or even the Duke of York becoming King of Denmark with fondness. Signing the queen’s renunciation was the less odious option.”
Even among the council, there were different arguments surrounding the renunciation: “The queen intends to sign the final draft tomorrow,” Baron Paget wrote to Bishop Gardinier. “I know, as you know, that the queen is emotional over this matter—it is not a political tactic. We agree it is a mistake, but she is adamant that it must be done…” Regardless of the decision’s legality, Bishop Vinstarr was forced to return to Denmark empty-handed—a scrap of paper instead of the Duke of York. Without Queen Mary’s cooperation, the idea of proclaiming one of her sons as Denmark’s heir was floundered. Now nearly seventy, Christian II debated marrying again to secure the succession. “They say that King Christian has made an offer to the King of Poland regarding his two youngest sisters,” one courtier wrote. “Two are still unwed—Sophia and Catherine, who are twenty-five and twenty-six.” Discussions over either princess’s possible dower rights ultimately floundered the negotiations. Other discussions centered on Christian’s mistress, Ingeborg Jendatter, the daughter of a wealthy burgher—with some suggesting that the king should wed her if she fell pregnant—which she did not. “I am an old man weary of this world,” Christian II reportedly told his chancellor. “I do not wish to walk down the aisle again.” This left the matter of the Danish succession unsolved… a wound that would fester onward.
Despite these troubles, 1550 was not without its glories. In May 1550, Princess Mary was wed by proxy to Prince Fernando Alonso, with the Duke of Albuquerque serving as her proxy. “Queen Mary watched in tears as her eldest daughter was wed in the chapel royal of the Palace of St. Sylvester—the first royal marriage to be celebrated there. Afterward, the queen hosted a feast and ball,” one courtier wrote in a letter home. “Where previously the queen had danced and ate with gusto, she merely sat upon the dais in her somber gown—allowing Princess Mary the honor of the first dance. After an hour, she withdrew from the festivities, which continued late into the night…” Mary accompanied her daughter to Portsmouth, where a Spanish squadron awaited. The handing-over ceremony saw Princess Mary leave behind her English household before passing from the care of her mother into the care of the Bishop of Plasencia, Francisco de Trujillo. Princess Mary was only allowed to take a few of her English servants with her—this included her old nursemaid, Jane, Lady Browne[1], who had lost her husband Anthony Browne at Akershus, and a few younger maids of honor. “Her Majesty wept piteously as Princess Mary boarded the Spanish Galleon, the San Fernando sent to retrieve her,” the Dowager Countess of Essex wrote in a letter. “They had embraced until they could no longer… her majesty bade her retinue stay, and they watched until the Spanish ship faded into the horizon… several English ships, the Henry Grâce à Dieu, John and Mary, and Golden Lion, provided salutes as the San Fernando passed away… the fortress of Portsmouth thundering in applause as well.” The queen realized then how quickly her children were growing up—and how difficult parting with them could be.
Cardinal Reginald Pole, c. 1549.
News from Rome also proved prudent—in 1549, Pope Gelasius III died after a long illness shortly after formally opening the Council of Bologna. The papal conclave opened in December of 1549 but was dragged into the spring of 1550, marred because of conflicts between the French and Imperial parties over differing candidates. Among those considered papabile was Cardinal Reginald Pole—once Bishop of Salisbury, he had been named Bishop of Palestrina by Gelasius III in 1545. Aside from serving as Queen Mary’s informal ambassador, Cardinal Pole played a vital role within the Roman Curia. “The bounties of Rome that it deigned to bless England with were because of Cardinal Pole’s intercession,” one historian wrote. “His close connection with the queen gave him a vital avenue, and some envied him.” François II of France had several favorites—Louis of Vendôme, a prince du sang and Bishop of Laon; and George of Amboise. He knew both were likely unelectable and chose to support Ippolito d’Este—presently the Archbishop of Milan. On the other hand, Charles V saw Niccolò Ridolfi as a potential candidate alongside Georg of Austria, the Prince-Bishop of Liège, and an illegitimate son of Emperor Maximilian. Disputes between the squabbling factions saw some look upon Cardinal Pole as a possible compromise candidate, and by May 1550, he had attained all the votes he needed to become pope except for two. Though Gian Pietro Carafa attempted to attack Pole’s credentials to paint him as a heretic, Pole ultimately succeeded, with the support of the imperial faction. On May 27, 1550, Pole was elected. He took the name Adrian VI in honor of the last English Pope.
In Ireland, Mary continued to push for further crown control over an isle and a clampdown against the clans flouting her authority. William Brabazon served as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland until he died in 1551 while dealing with the so-called King of Leicester, Cahir Mac Art Kavanagh. Though Brabazon was killed, his troops succeeded in winning against Kavanagh’s forces—forcing him into submission. He was forced to renounce his title, The MacMurrough, but in exchange, he was granted a royal pardon, and the queen named him Baron of St. Molyns. In 1551, Mary ordered that Thomas Butler, son of the last Earl of Ormond, be restored to his title and a portion of his lands. Though the new Earl of Ormond, who was twenty, begged the queen for a permit to return to Ireland, she refused. “He is better under our nose,” Mary reportedly uttered. “I do not wish him to trouble us as his father did.” Though some within the council suggested the Earl of Surrey go to Ireland, Mary refused. “He is foolish and will cause too much mischief amongst the Irish—we must have a more moderate disposition.” She chose to nominate the Earl of Arundel for the position. Arundel accepted the position with hesitation—and though Mary loathed to be parted from her dearest friend, gave leave to the Countess of Arundel to accompany him. The Countess of Arundel would pass away in Ireland in 1552. Arundel would spend his tenure carrying out Mary’s orders as best he could—and frequently coming into conflict with Irish chieftains and Highland Scots from Kintyre who were invited to settle in Antrim by the O’Neills and caused further trouble. Mary’s prime policy in Ireland was the creation of plantations—where seized land was handed to those who might use it productively. Chief among the recipients were Catholic religious orders, such as the Jesuits, who received land in West Meath. This was the beginning of the Jesuit Plantations—missions in Ireland where the Jesuits would use the native Irish as forced labor while attempting to make them good Catholics. Other groups benefitted as well, with the Knights Hospitaller being granted lands near Granard to open a new priory.
From this time, the English crown was also forced to deal with subversive religious influences that would have significant repercussions in Ireland. The first printing press arrived in Ireland in 1550, set up in Wexford, almost a year before the English set up a printing press in Dublin. Wexford became a center for Irish opposition to the English cause in Ireland, and numerous tracts against the English were published. This also included religious works: though the works of Luther and other reformers proved intriguing, works of more radical Protestant groups such as the Anabaptists were also published. The Catholic Church, now headed by an English Pope who supported the English cause in Ireland, helped turn the island into a fertile ground eager to embrace change. Chief among those was a man from Munster known as Hugh Ó Cuileanáin, who soon adopted the name Columbanus and would later become known as Prophet Ó Cuileanáin—and a headache among the English. “Ó Cuileanáin’s origins are murky—some said he was a rogue priest, some a charlatan, and others still that he was an Egyptian—a term used then as a catch-all for Romani and travelers,” one historian wrote. “In 1553 Ó Cuileanáin claimed to have been visited by angels who instructed him to that he was God’s new voice on earth—and that it was his mission to purify the Irish church.”
Ó Cuileanáin, who often claimed to have dreams and visions, soon began to build up a group of followers in southern Ireland, who were itinerant and moved from area to area. Ó Cuileanáin’s group proved highly popular, as he claimed to be a cunning man skilled in folk magic: he mesmerized groups with his stories and, in one situation, allegedly stunned an Irish chieftain when he helped locate a criminal who absconded with the chief’s prized possessions. His group offered their services to those who needed them, offering to find lost items, selling folk medicines, and even supplying potions to women that could make a man love her—or dispose of a husband who had overstayed his welcome. Ó Cuileanáin’s early preaching primarily consisted of stories from the Old Testament spoken in the vernacular; he claimed that the New Testament was fraudulent and attacked the English as devils, while he castigated the Catholic Church as a din of vice and inequity—bent on allowing England to subjugate Ireland. He proclaimed that he had been sent to purify Ireland. His group adopted unique beliefs: they celebrated Easter on the same day that Jewish Passover was celebrated (a form of Quatrodecimanism), continually moved about in the form of peregrinatio, or exile, and celebrated Saturday as their day or worship and rest, rather than Sunday. “From the early followers, certain dietary restrictions were adopted as well,” one historian wrote of Ó Cuileanáin’s life and journey. “They adopted a form of Mosaic Law—they would only eat meat from animals with split hooves, which were herbivores; birds without crop and without webbed feet; of fish, they would not eat shellfish but consumed fish that possessed scales—and all fruit, nuts, and berries were allowed.” The English government in Dublin did not know it, but this group would eventually grow beyond what it now was.
The Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel the Elder; c. 1563.
By 1553, Mary was consumed with marriage preparations for her second daughter, Catherine, who was betrothed to the heir of the Duke of Savoy. “I believe the prince is most impatient to receive his English bride,” Ramboldo Lascaris, the Savoyard ambassador, wrote to the Duke of Savoy. “I can say with relief that he shall be most pleased… she is both beautiful and, it seems, very accomplished as well.” Plans were set for the proxy wedding to be celebrated in June 1553. Plans also progressed for the Prince of Wales to wed Princess Anne of Scotland. “Queen Charlotte’s childbearing had necessarily improved in the years; in 1550, she gave birth to a prince named James, who lived for less than a day. In 1552, she gave birth to a daughter named Charlotte, who seemed to thrive… when the queen announced in the summer of 1553 that she was expecting again, all in Scotland hoped she would give birth to a boy…” With the court centered at the Palace of St. Sylvester, Mary arranged that Catherine should make a pilgrimage to Henry VII’s Chapel within Westminster Abbey to pray for blessings in her new marriage before where her father had been married.
Princess Catherine was stricken with fear regarding the idea: “If I take one step into that chapel,” she uttered to one of her ladies. “I fear I shall not return.” While Princess Catherine completed her pilgrimage without issue, she breathed a sigh of relief—but her words proved prophetic when, the next day, she fell ill. Princess Catherine’s health quickly deteriorated, and she showed symptoms of sweating sickness. By the time the sun set, Princess Catherine was dead. “Her Majesty sat by her daughter for every moment, personally nursing her despite concerns from the physicians who worried that she too would fall ill,” one courtier wrote. “When the surgeons and physicians announced that the princess was gone, the queen lost herself in grief…” Mary’s travails were not over, for within hours of Catherine’s death, the Prince of Wales fell ill as well. Like with the princess, his symptoms grew worse with each minute, and he died in the early hours of the next morning. Within a day, Mary had lost not just one child but two. “She grieved, and grieved…the tears did not stop,” the Countess of Surrey wrote in a letter to her husband. “In a short time, she had lost two children—when the wound of losing her husband remains so raw. I cannot help ache for her… fearing for her heart as well as her mind.”
[1]OTL Joan Champernowne, supposed sister of Kat Ashley
1549-1553; England.
“The king, my husband, is dead.
This is the first time he has truly upset me.
May God receive him in his glory.”
— Queen Mary of England
Musical Accompaniment: Reges Tharsis Et Insule
Queen Mary in Mourning: Painted in 1551, these dual portraits portrayed the queen in both black (and white) mourning; AI Generated.
The English court received the news of King John’s death with great shock. It was said that when Mary received the news from her father-in-law, she collapsed to the ground in a fit of emotion. “Her Majesty was not one for hysterics,” Anne Fitzalan wrote in her diaries. “I had not seen her weep since the death of the queen dowager nearly nine years before. But she truly gave herself to sorrow… she retired to her chambers at Greenwich and refused to see anyone—not even myself.” The queen’s chambers were draped in black crepe, and candles provided only some light, with the queen refusing to allow the sun in. Queen Mary, once known for her distinctive wardrobe of bright colors, fled into the comfort of black and white as her mourning colors. The business of state ground to a halt as she refused even to see members of her Privy Council—she had nothing to say to them until they had arranged for John’s body to be returned to England. This proved a tricky issue with the former king’s body in Norway: the Danish envoy intimated to the council that Christian II desired for his son to be buried in Denmark within the Chapel of the Magi in Roskilde Cathedral. When the news reached the queen, she was furious: “He was King of England first and foremost,” Mary argued. “He should be buried in England.”
It was with great difficulty that John’s body was secreted from Akershus by members of his household, who also desired that he should return to England. Admiral Throndson was vital in providing a convoy for the English ships that would take John back to England, much to Christian’s consternation. “When the King of Denmark’s troops had finally dealt with the rebels and offered relief to Akershus, they discovered that the English had given them the slip.” Though Christian would protest furiously to his daughter-in-law for the undignified sight of his son’s former household, Mary said nothing. “He is where he belongs,” she reportedly told those closest to her. John had been King of England. His travails to Denmark had only caused further issues and had led to his demise; Mary saw no reason why he should come to rest there. He had been brought to England to be its king and had sired a new line of princes and princesses—he deserved to be buried where his accolades would be celebrated. The return of the king’s body to England in the winter of 1548 was not without issues: England’s great flagship, the Mary Rose, which served as part of the convoy accompanying John’s body, ran around near Dover—sinking and killing some 300 sailors. “The sinking of the Mary Rose presented a true end to an era—the most prominent ship built by Henry VIII sinking in the return of John II.” When John’s body finally arrived home, the queen was visibly pregnant in her fifth month. “Her Majesty discovered that she was pregnant some weeks before the letter from Denmark arrived,” one lady-in-waiting wrote to a friend. “She was in such a terrible state that we all feared for a time that she would not carry the child within her to term. But she has championed onward and holds a steady face of resolve.” Despite her grief, Mary was determined that her husband should have a proper send-off.
John’s body had been taken care of in Norway. His surgeon had disemboweled the king and removed both his heart and lungs—with his heart being preserved in alcohol, along with parts of his entrails. Household officers stuffed his body with herbs and spices before the young king’s chandler, in charge of his candles and soaps, performed the embalming process. His body was then dressed in his favorite golden armor, which he had worn in so many victories and his last defeat. Finally, his household wrapped the body in cerecloth, a wax-coated cloth for burial shrouds. “Given the weeks that passed, the king’s body was in reasonable condition once it arrived in England,” one memorialist of the period wrote. “The queen ordered fresh scents to be plied over her husband’s body before ordering that his body be enclosed in sheets of lead that would be placed in his coffin. The king’s coffin was magnificent—a great dark oak, covered in purple velvet decorated with lace and gold gilt nails.” The king’s heart had accompanied him home, which would be placed in a silver casket before burial in the Chapel Royal of Greenwich. The king’s entrails did not accompany him to England—Mary agreed that they should be given to Christian II and buried in Roskilde.
The Flaying of the Marsyas, Titian; c. 1570.
For twenty days, Mary arranged for John’s body to lie in state within Richmond Palace. The highest respects were paid to John, mimicking those given following Henry VIII’s funeral. Members of John’s household stood vigil around the clock, praying for their former patron’s soul—while masses were celebrated for John’s soul. The formal funeral occurred in December 1548, and one of John’s servants wrote: “It was a cold and snowy day. The king’s coffin was placed on a magnificent hearse of gold and gilt silver, drawn by four white horses that carried him to his final resting place: Westminster Abbey. A wooden effigy of the king was placed atop the coffin, dressed in the last outfit he had worn before he had left for Norway. The effigy held a scepter, and atop its head was the crown of Henry VII…” The abbey was bedecked in black cloth, the altar trimmed with purple velvet, with a purple canopy erected over the dean’s place. A great platform was built for the king’s coffin, decorated with purple velvet, gold cloth, and gilt figures of Christ and his disciples, while others depicted saints, such as St. George. All the court turned out for the funeral, and the Archbishop Tunstall of Canterbury gave the great oratory. Before the burial, the officers of John’s household (but not the great officers of state) broke their staves before throwing them into the grave. Mary intended to construct a tomb for both her and her husband—until then, John would be interned in a vault. The whole affair cost Mary nearly £12,000—but she insisted upon it. John had been King of England and deserved to be buried as one. With John’s burial, his household was formally dissolved. However, Mary would employ many: William Paget, for instance, remained close to the queen, and his wife Jane Seymour was even made a gentlewoman of the bedchamber. The Bishop of Hereford remained another close companion—until his death towards the end of 1548.
In April 1549, Mary gave birth to her final child: a daughter whom she named Joan in honor of her father. “You are most precious to me,” Mary reportedly cooed to the newborn following her birth. “Because you are truly the last gift your father bestowed upon me.” Little Joan would become Mary’s favorite child and the most cossetted of her children. “Queen Mary was a hard taskmaster, especially with her children,” one historian would write. “She expected them to thrive and succeed, seeing them as extensions of her glory as England’s sovereign. Princess Joan, the youngest, was absolutely the apple of the queen’s eye… she could do no wrong, sometimes to the irritation of her older siblings.” John’s burial also meant the queen needed to return to governance—for a time, there were discussions amongst the council about what might happen next. Was the queen capable of governance in this time of sorrow? Might she seek to remarry at some point? Many questions remained unanswered until Mary addressed the council in the spring of 1549—shortly after the birth of Joan, in what would become known as her Dedication Speech.
“As you know, these last months have heavily burdened me,” Mary announced before her assembled council. “Know that I value your knowledge, support, and the good you have handled for the realm in my absence. I remain sorrowful… but I know that my husband would wish that I press forward for England’s good. For you see, my dear lord husband, beloved in memory—he was first and foremost an English patriot. Tho’ he was not born of this land, he served it just as my beloved mother had. He would wish for me to continue doing all I possibly can for my people and subjects; after all, before my wedding oath, I took a coronation oath—to be your monarch and queen until my last dying breath. Though my husband is gone, I wish you to remember well that I am still bound to England—her mother and guardian. Those are my duties and my lifeblood, and I swear to you that all that remains of me shall be dedicated to this kingdom until I, too, take my last dying breath. I also know there has been grave confusion; what shall we do now that the king is gone?” At this, Mary wasted no time in producing the late king’s will—which addressed and bade those within the council to obey Mary as they had before her marriage—and as they had when he was frequently abroad, that the powers vested within him should by proper return to the queen. “I shall strive to be England’s monarch until my dying days… I make this oath to you, my dear councilors, and my beloved lord husband. In this, I must ask that you hear me plainly: understand that I shall never again marry—England may lack a king, but they shall have always had a queen, more dedicated and more ardent than any king before her. To be dedicated to England, I must remain in my widowed estate, which suits me more than any other now that my lord husband is gone.”
In a master show, Mary played upon her feminine frailties to appease the council while holding onto sole authority. All was within her hands now, given to her by John within his will. Never again would Mary allow another man to dominate her or undermine her authority. “On that day,” Mary recorded in her diary. “I felt free, as I perhaps never had before. I mourned John—but in his death, he freed me from my gilded cage. He might have easily beseeched that I remarry, but he did not. He knew I was capable when perhaps I did not yet know myself if I was. I loved him even more for that.” John’s will included bequests for servants and asked that the queen attend to his debts—which stood at some £33,000—with the last payments due to his English troops in arrears. Several servants were nominated for pensions and honors—Paget was nominated to receive a pension of £500. Others, such as Antoine de Perrenot de Granvelle and Ascanio Arianiti, John asked that the queen continue to employ them—requesting that Perrenot receive a clerical benefice. At the same time, Ascanio was nominated for a knighthood. John’s bequests alone totaled some £10,000. England’s financial situation, once bright at the onset of Mary’s reign, now looked much gloomier: the crown’s debt toppled nearly £300,000 in 1549. Costs of the royal household also continued to increase, and in 1549, topped almost £65,000 annually. £5,000 alone was dedicated to Prince Henry’s household, while the costs of Queen Mary’s household numbered around £45,000—leaving £15,000 to care for the other royal princes and princesses. Though Parliament provided a subsidy of £29,000 to the Board of the Green Cloth to help cover the increasing costs of the royal household—it was not enough—and Mary was forced to cover the remainder from her own income: around £120,000 per annum.
Queen Mary & Parliament; c. 1550s.
Despite this, Mary intended to show her position as England’s sovereign and continued to host a sumptuous, if subdued, court. By the fall of 1549, Mary received the credentials of Spain’s new ambassador, Beltrán de la Cueva, the Duke of Albuquerque. “Her Majesty was overjoyed to receive an ambassador from her mother’s homeland…” one lady wrote in a letter home. “She thought the Duke of Albuquerque was debonaire, and they often spent time speaking in Spanish and of Spain.” Rumors swirled about the court—some even believed that the ambassador had arrived to bring the queen an offer of marriage from her nephew, the Prince of Asturias. While the duke did come seeking marriage, it was not for the queen—but rather for her eldest daughter. “The Prince of Asturias’s eldest son has lost both his wife and child,” one court gossip wrote. “The Duke of Alburquerque has come to ask for the hand of Princess Mary.” At fourteen, the queen’s namesake was still a young girl. Quiet and sedate, she took after her father—with brown hair and bright green eyes. “Princess Mary was the queen’s treasure—she was like a little mouse, always willing to do whatever the queen asked and striving to please her.” The princess sought to excel in her studies and was quite devout. “Did I have reservations about sending her away?” Mary would write later in her diary. “Of course! I could not imagine being parted from her. But even then, I ached for my mother and her stories of Spain. She often told me that had I not been born Queen of England… she would have been pleased to have made me Queen of Spain. I saw this as my daughter’s destiny—her role was to be Queen of Spain and sire Spain’s next kings and to make my mother’s wish come true.” Princess Mary and Prince Fernando were betrothed through the Treaty of Windsor signed in October 1549—it was agreed that the pair should be married in the next year.
Of the queen’s eldest children, there remained Princess Catherine. While Louis IV of Naples showed interest in the princess for his eldest son Renato, discussions broke down regarding her dowry. France proved equally recalcitrant in discussing any possible marriage treaty, desiring Catherine to bring Boulogne back to France as part of her dowry. Mary refused to release Boulogne back into France merely as her daughter’s dowry. Negotiations with the court of Savoy debated a match between Catherine and Filippo Giano Amedeo (b. 1533), heir to the Duke of Savoy. This culminated in the Treaty of Asti, which betrothed the pair—with the official marriage to occur in 1553, Catherine came of age. “If only I were concerned with the futures of my daughters,” Mary lamented with Jane Paget—wife of William Paget. “But I am not, and I cannot be. There are graver concerns that look upon my sons for succor.” Aside from her young daughters, Mary soon became gripped into a conflict with Christian II and Denmark through Denmark’s envoy. To the surprise of none, Christian II sought to press Mary into sending one of her younger sons—preferably Charles, the Duke of York—to Denmark to be educated and to serve as his grandfather’s future heir. Mary demurred and deferred as much as she could. In early 1550, Christian II sent a new ambassador to represent him in London, Otte Vinstarr, who had recently been named Bishop of Børglum. Mary received Bishop Vinstarr lavishly at Eltham and even allowed her to accompany her on a small progress to Woodstock. “Henry, the Prince of Wales, is hale and most resembles his late father,” Vinstarr wrote in a memorandum to Christian II. “The Duke of York and Somerset are young and handsome boys… one cannot be found without the other. The princesses are equally enchanting; the eldest, Mary, is nearly fifteen and will wed the Prince of Spain soon. Catherine is a year older than the Prince of Wales, betrothed to the son of the Duke of Savoy… she is a pretty little thing who entertained us by playing the virginals. Isabella, named in honor of the great Isabella of Castile and your late wife, is a crafty little girl… I have no doubt that she will grow up into a beautiful creature. Little Joan, a little over a year old, is growing steadily… a pretty babe.”
Fountain of Youth, Lucas Cranach; c. 1546
At Woodstock, Mary had a formal interview with Bishop Vinstarr—with some members of the council present. “I am sure that you know why I have been sent here, madam,” Vinstarr allegedly told the queen. “Indeed, I do—but I ask that you speak it plainly before me and my ladies. You are in a trusted space.” At this, Vinstarr was finally forced to admit his genuine reasons for coming. “His Majesty understands the delicate situation regarding the late king’s demise; he believes it truly the one thing that only you and he shall understand. You have lost a husband—and he, his only son and heir. He looks to you at this time of need and hopes that Denmark and England shall continue to enjoy a cordial relationship. In this, he asks only one thing of you: he desires that when his time comes, he should be succeeded as king by one of his grandsons—one of your sons. He wishes to name the Duke of York as Prince of Norway and formally acknowledge him as his successor. He asks that you accede to his wishes and allow me to take the Duke of York to Denmark—so that he should be educated as befits a future King of Denmark.” It proved a logical request—but the bishop was speaking with the queen, who just lost her husband two years previously. Queen Mary could not keep her calm—and exploded upon the ambassador in a show of Tudor rage. “You dare to come into my presence and ask for my son?!” Mary thundered angrily as she dressed down the Danish ambassador as her councilors looked askew—they had dealt with such rage but had never seen the queen attack an ambassador in such a way. “Remember who your master is and what he has done. It is his follies that have resulted in the death of my beloved husband and his heir. So long as I breathe, I shall surrender no child into his care, for he is no better than a murderer. He led my husband willingly to his death, and I shall never allow him to lead any son of mine—or any daughter—into the same fate! I know not how Denmark is governed, but the feet do not seek to direct the head in England. Silly little sir—a sniveling, mealy-mouthed rat who cowers in your bishop’s robes that you are not fit to wear. I say this plainly—neither the Duke of York nor any of my sons shall be the king’s heir. I renounce and reject your offer, sir. If the king needs a prince, then maybe he should remarry. Leave now, and never show yourself in my presence again!”
Mary refused to see the bishop again. Before taking his leave, he was invited to meet with the council—who provided him with a document that would become known as the Renunciation of Woodstock, where Mary renounced for her children all rights and claims that they inherited from their father, covering the Kingdoms of Denmark, Norway, Sweden—along with the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein and any other associated territories. The renunciation was signed by the queen and stamped with the privy seal—and included the signatures of the witnesses—including the Privy Council members. The legality of the renunciation had long been debated among royal genealogists and historians—did the queen truly have any right or authority to renounce claims for her underage children? Some argued that she could not, while others argued based on their blood: as children of John II, they were members of the House of Oldenburg, and in them ran the heritage of Denmark and her associated dominions. No paper could rid them of that which they had possessed since their first breath. Some others believed the queen, as guardian of her children, had the right to renounce any claims to their paternal inheritance. Another argument centered around Mary’s sovereignty—and that as Queen of England, she had a right to determine for her children to avoid dragging England into further conflicts. “England was weary following the king’s death—his governance had entangled England into commitments in Scandinavia, which had burdened and indebted the kingdom,” one historian wrote. “None looked upon the idea of the Prince of Wales, or even the Duke of York becoming King of Denmark with fondness. Signing the queen’s renunciation was the less odious option.”
Even among the council, there were different arguments surrounding the renunciation: “The queen intends to sign the final draft tomorrow,” Baron Paget wrote to Bishop Gardinier. “I know, as you know, that the queen is emotional over this matter—it is not a political tactic. We agree it is a mistake, but she is adamant that it must be done…” Regardless of the decision’s legality, Bishop Vinstarr was forced to return to Denmark empty-handed—a scrap of paper instead of the Duke of York. Without Queen Mary’s cooperation, the idea of proclaiming one of her sons as Denmark’s heir was floundered. Now nearly seventy, Christian II debated marrying again to secure the succession. “They say that King Christian has made an offer to the King of Poland regarding his two youngest sisters,” one courtier wrote. “Two are still unwed—Sophia and Catherine, who are twenty-five and twenty-six.” Discussions over either princess’s possible dower rights ultimately floundered the negotiations. Other discussions centered on Christian’s mistress, Ingeborg Jendatter, the daughter of a wealthy burgher—with some suggesting that the king should wed her if she fell pregnant—which she did not. “I am an old man weary of this world,” Christian II reportedly told his chancellor. “I do not wish to walk down the aisle again.” This left the matter of the Danish succession unsolved… a wound that would fester onward.
Despite these troubles, 1550 was not without its glories. In May 1550, Princess Mary was wed by proxy to Prince Fernando Alonso, with the Duke of Albuquerque serving as her proxy. “Queen Mary watched in tears as her eldest daughter was wed in the chapel royal of the Palace of St. Sylvester—the first royal marriage to be celebrated there. Afterward, the queen hosted a feast and ball,” one courtier wrote in a letter home. “Where previously the queen had danced and ate with gusto, she merely sat upon the dais in her somber gown—allowing Princess Mary the honor of the first dance. After an hour, she withdrew from the festivities, which continued late into the night…” Mary accompanied her daughter to Portsmouth, where a Spanish squadron awaited. The handing-over ceremony saw Princess Mary leave behind her English household before passing from the care of her mother into the care of the Bishop of Plasencia, Francisco de Trujillo. Princess Mary was only allowed to take a few of her English servants with her—this included her old nursemaid, Jane, Lady Browne[1], who had lost her husband Anthony Browne at Akershus, and a few younger maids of honor. “Her Majesty wept piteously as Princess Mary boarded the Spanish Galleon, the San Fernando sent to retrieve her,” the Dowager Countess of Essex wrote in a letter. “They had embraced until they could no longer… her majesty bade her retinue stay, and they watched until the Spanish ship faded into the horizon… several English ships, the Henry Grâce à Dieu, John and Mary, and Golden Lion, provided salutes as the San Fernando passed away… the fortress of Portsmouth thundering in applause as well.” The queen realized then how quickly her children were growing up—and how difficult parting with them could be.
Cardinal Reginald Pole, c. 1549.
News from Rome also proved prudent—in 1549, Pope Gelasius III died after a long illness shortly after formally opening the Council of Bologna. The papal conclave opened in December of 1549 but was dragged into the spring of 1550, marred because of conflicts between the French and Imperial parties over differing candidates. Among those considered papabile was Cardinal Reginald Pole—once Bishop of Salisbury, he had been named Bishop of Palestrina by Gelasius III in 1545. Aside from serving as Queen Mary’s informal ambassador, Cardinal Pole played a vital role within the Roman Curia. “The bounties of Rome that it deigned to bless England with were because of Cardinal Pole’s intercession,” one historian wrote. “His close connection with the queen gave him a vital avenue, and some envied him.” François II of France had several favorites—Louis of Vendôme, a prince du sang and Bishop of Laon; and George of Amboise. He knew both were likely unelectable and chose to support Ippolito d’Este—presently the Archbishop of Milan. On the other hand, Charles V saw Niccolò Ridolfi as a potential candidate alongside Georg of Austria, the Prince-Bishop of Liège, and an illegitimate son of Emperor Maximilian. Disputes between the squabbling factions saw some look upon Cardinal Pole as a possible compromise candidate, and by May 1550, he had attained all the votes he needed to become pope except for two. Though Gian Pietro Carafa attempted to attack Pole’s credentials to paint him as a heretic, Pole ultimately succeeded, with the support of the imperial faction. On May 27, 1550, Pole was elected. He took the name Adrian VI in honor of the last English Pope.
In Ireland, Mary continued to push for further crown control over an isle and a clampdown against the clans flouting her authority. William Brabazon served as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland until he died in 1551 while dealing with the so-called King of Leicester, Cahir Mac Art Kavanagh. Though Brabazon was killed, his troops succeeded in winning against Kavanagh’s forces—forcing him into submission. He was forced to renounce his title, The MacMurrough, but in exchange, he was granted a royal pardon, and the queen named him Baron of St. Molyns. In 1551, Mary ordered that Thomas Butler, son of the last Earl of Ormond, be restored to his title and a portion of his lands. Though the new Earl of Ormond, who was twenty, begged the queen for a permit to return to Ireland, she refused. “He is better under our nose,” Mary reportedly uttered. “I do not wish him to trouble us as his father did.” Though some within the council suggested the Earl of Surrey go to Ireland, Mary refused. “He is foolish and will cause too much mischief amongst the Irish—we must have a more moderate disposition.” She chose to nominate the Earl of Arundel for the position. Arundel accepted the position with hesitation—and though Mary loathed to be parted from her dearest friend, gave leave to the Countess of Arundel to accompany him. The Countess of Arundel would pass away in Ireland in 1552. Arundel would spend his tenure carrying out Mary’s orders as best he could—and frequently coming into conflict with Irish chieftains and Highland Scots from Kintyre who were invited to settle in Antrim by the O’Neills and caused further trouble. Mary’s prime policy in Ireland was the creation of plantations—where seized land was handed to those who might use it productively. Chief among the recipients were Catholic religious orders, such as the Jesuits, who received land in West Meath. This was the beginning of the Jesuit Plantations—missions in Ireland where the Jesuits would use the native Irish as forced labor while attempting to make them good Catholics. Other groups benefitted as well, with the Knights Hospitaller being granted lands near Granard to open a new priory.
From this time, the English crown was also forced to deal with subversive religious influences that would have significant repercussions in Ireland. The first printing press arrived in Ireland in 1550, set up in Wexford, almost a year before the English set up a printing press in Dublin. Wexford became a center for Irish opposition to the English cause in Ireland, and numerous tracts against the English were published. This also included religious works: though the works of Luther and other reformers proved intriguing, works of more radical Protestant groups such as the Anabaptists were also published. The Catholic Church, now headed by an English Pope who supported the English cause in Ireland, helped turn the island into a fertile ground eager to embrace change. Chief among those was a man from Munster known as Hugh Ó Cuileanáin, who soon adopted the name Columbanus and would later become known as Prophet Ó Cuileanáin—and a headache among the English. “Ó Cuileanáin’s origins are murky—some said he was a rogue priest, some a charlatan, and others still that he was an Egyptian—a term used then as a catch-all for Romani and travelers,” one historian wrote. “In 1553 Ó Cuileanáin claimed to have been visited by angels who instructed him to that he was God’s new voice on earth—and that it was his mission to purify the Irish church.”
Ó Cuileanáin, who often claimed to have dreams and visions, soon began to build up a group of followers in southern Ireland, who were itinerant and moved from area to area. Ó Cuileanáin’s group proved highly popular, as he claimed to be a cunning man skilled in folk magic: he mesmerized groups with his stories and, in one situation, allegedly stunned an Irish chieftain when he helped locate a criminal who absconded with the chief’s prized possessions. His group offered their services to those who needed them, offering to find lost items, selling folk medicines, and even supplying potions to women that could make a man love her—or dispose of a husband who had overstayed his welcome. Ó Cuileanáin’s early preaching primarily consisted of stories from the Old Testament spoken in the vernacular; he claimed that the New Testament was fraudulent and attacked the English as devils, while he castigated the Catholic Church as a din of vice and inequity—bent on allowing England to subjugate Ireland. He proclaimed that he had been sent to purify Ireland. His group adopted unique beliefs: they celebrated Easter on the same day that Jewish Passover was celebrated (a form of Quatrodecimanism), continually moved about in the form of peregrinatio, or exile, and celebrated Saturday as their day or worship and rest, rather than Sunday. “From the early followers, certain dietary restrictions were adopted as well,” one historian wrote of Ó Cuileanáin’s life and journey. “They adopted a form of Mosaic Law—they would only eat meat from animals with split hooves, which were herbivores; birds without crop and without webbed feet; of fish, they would not eat shellfish but consumed fish that possessed scales—and all fruit, nuts, and berries were allowed.” The English government in Dublin did not know it, but this group would eventually grow beyond what it now was.
The Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel the Elder; c. 1563.
By 1553, Mary was consumed with marriage preparations for her second daughter, Catherine, who was betrothed to the heir of the Duke of Savoy. “I believe the prince is most impatient to receive his English bride,” Ramboldo Lascaris, the Savoyard ambassador, wrote to the Duke of Savoy. “I can say with relief that he shall be most pleased… she is both beautiful and, it seems, very accomplished as well.” Plans were set for the proxy wedding to be celebrated in June 1553. Plans also progressed for the Prince of Wales to wed Princess Anne of Scotland. “Queen Charlotte’s childbearing had necessarily improved in the years; in 1550, she gave birth to a prince named James, who lived for less than a day. In 1552, she gave birth to a daughter named Charlotte, who seemed to thrive… when the queen announced in the summer of 1553 that she was expecting again, all in Scotland hoped she would give birth to a boy…” With the court centered at the Palace of St. Sylvester, Mary arranged that Catherine should make a pilgrimage to Henry VII’s Chapel within Westminster Abbey to pray for blessings in her new marriage before where her father had been married.
Princess Catherine was stricken with fear regarding the idea: “If I take one step into that chapel,” she uttered to one of her ladies. “I fear I shall not return.” While Princess Catherine completed her pilgrimage without issue, she breathed a sigh of relief—but her words proved prophetic when, the next day, she fell ill. Princess Catherine’s health quickly deteriorated, and she showed symptoms of sweating sickness. By the time the sun set, Princess Catherine was dead. “Her Majesty sat by her daughter for every moment, personally nursing her despite concerns from the physicians who worried that she too would fall ill,” one courtier wrote. “When the surgeons and physicians announced that the princess was gone, the queen lost herself in grief…” Mary’s travails were not over, for within hours of Catherine’s death, the Prince of Wales fell ill as well. Like with the princess, his symptoms grew worse with each minute, and he died in the early hours of the next morning. Within a day, Mary had lost not just one child but two. “She grieved, and grieved…the tears did not stop,” the Countess of Surrey wrote in a letter to her husband. “In a short time, she had lost two children—when the wound of losing her husband remains so raw. I cannot help ache for her… fearing for her heart as well as her mind.”
[1]OTL Joan Champernowne, supposed sister of Kat Ashley
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Poor Mary. Not only had she lost her husband earlier, but now she had lost two children.
I missed this in the last update, but you spell Akershus wrong in your updates
It’s Akershus not AkerhausA real Bridgerton moment <3 Hopefully she turns out like Hyacinth too
I wonder if this will be her Tilbury Speech, the speech she is known for
Poor Portuguese infanta… At least Mary and Fernando’s marriage will be slightly less inbred than his last
*sigh* I knew it would happen, but there went that dream… As someone who’s a bit calculating, this really seems like a blunder to me, Mary
Time for a War of the Danish Succession then
*Plays ABBA’s Slipping Through my Fingers* 🥹 At least our babygirl might become a grandmother soon
Called it!
Oh dear, the Irish plantations will be a thing ttl too it seems…
England: *Goes Protestant*
Ireland: “Screw you, we won’t change our faith for you”
England *Stays Catholic*
Ireland: “Screw you and the church, we’re gonna create our own church independent from you”
It seems that Ireland and England are bound to disagree. Tbf, I understand the Irish wanting to do the opposite of England given their treatment of them
Well, this seems… interesting? So Ireland falls under a kinda Christian Sharia Law system?
Yoooooo, poor Mary needs a hug. Now. Before her trauma turns her into an English Joanna of Castile. The chapel also needs an exorcism or something. Poor Mary and poor children. All of her joy is getting ripped away from her 😭
Holy shit, what a stellar chapter! So much happening here.
Your stupid problems sent your son into death, Christian. You don't get to bury him!
We really are going into a new era now, aren't we? The end of English grandiose warrior kings.
Jane! I'm so happy to see that Mary hopefully gains a friend! Please let them be good friends.
Being the baby of the bunch has its benefits sometimes.
Our stellar girl!
Yes! No more pesky husbands, let our Gloriana reign on her own. "I am not a stupid warrior king who gets himself killed on foreign shenanigans, you can trust me, folks!"
You killed of Beatiz of Portugal just like that?
Of course he wants that.
This will go over so well for him.
Holy shit, yes! My girl tell him! The danes can sort out their own problems.
I desperately wish to see how the rest of Europe and Denmark reacts to that. Pretty please?
English Pope! English Pope!
Oh noes. No, no, no, no.
NOOOOOOOOOO
I am glad our conversation lead to Irish alt-Mormons! The addition of Reginald Pole as Pope was inspired.
He most definitely was. I wouldn't call the Abbey cursed... but well, Mary has had her share of bad luck lately.
Perhaps one of them. Her widowhood is more lengthy than her actual marriage, so she may have any more inspired speeches.
It's supposed to be a blunder.
She's recently lost her husband and rightly or not lays that at the feet of her father-in-law. Even Paget notes in his letter that it's an emotional reaction, not a political one. Neither he nor Gardiner think it a good idea, but she's adamant. Even good or great sovereigns can make mistakes.
I think the big change here is Pope Adrian, and of course the religious settlements through the Plantations. With Mary's system receiving some official sanction from the Catholic Church, it's little surprise that the Emerald Isle will perhaps seek to move away from the Catholic Church.
I would not go that far. I'd say part of it is a reaction to turn back the clock towards Insular Christianity, with some of the prophet's ah, more... esoteric ideas. Certainly as he builds up a following, there will be more interesting changes. In previous discussions, there have been talk of Irish "Mormons" of sort, so that is my prime influence: essentially a native Protestant group that will diverge radically from anything else already existent upon the continent.
I did. 😭 She got the Maria Manuela treatment here, sans a living child. Which... may not be a bad thing, given the Prince Carlos of OTL.
At the very least, Mary can bring in a little bit of new blood through her mother and father: not only is she a great-granddaughter of Isabella of Castile, but she has the blood of the Tudors. Her father's side can also provide some refreshing blood.... Isabella of Austria is grandmother, but she also has the blood of the Oldenburgs. It should help replenish the Spanish Habsburg breeding stock, at the very least. Continual marriages into Portugal aren't the best idea.
Christian II is utterly incensed. He would love to have one of his English grandsons as his heir, but Mary's intransigence foils that problem... his lack of desire to remarry / lack of children with his mistress also prove an issue, since that would be the most straight forward way of replenishing the line if John's sons cannot succeed him.
Christian II is left with several options that are less than satisfactory: proclaiming one of his grandsons by either Dorothea or Christina as heir. This is troublesome as Dorothea's has adopted Protestantism, and her sons are likely Protestant... but she is the eldest daughter. Christina has her Bavarian boys, who have a bonus of being reared in Denmark and are Catholic. But cause issues re: Schleswig-Holstein... an imperial edict could allow for their succession, but it could end up a messy affair. Given how the twin duchies (Schleswig especially) is a vital part of Denmark, losing cannot be thought of. On that same end, Holstein is a Germanic duchy and the empire trends towards centralization... can the King of Denmark really owe fealty to the emperor without risking his own domains being submerged into the Holy Roman Empire as it evolves further? The duchies are supposed to be indivisible, but we may be heading towards a less than amicable divorce.
A third option would be Christian II perhaps adopting Frederick I's lone son left in Denmark, who has been marked for a clerical career. He could be wed to one of Christina or Dorothea's daughters, but I cannot see Christian adopting the son of the man who deposed him.
As for the other great powers.... some, like France, probably see the renunciation as Mary's folly: she's directly neutering the claims of her house and the possible expansion of her dynasty. Others might see it as a prudent move to allow her to focus on England, which by now is exhausted and overburdened with debt. The Renunciation has been accepted, though there is chattering about it's possible legality. For one, Mary's sons will some day reach manhood, which will be utterly complicated if any of them were to try and resume their claims. They certainly would be within their rights to do so, especially if they argue that they could / did not consent to this earlier renunciation.
I was very excited to explore them! I like how their story has begun, and I'm interested in seeing what happens as they take off, and perhaps find / are granted some territory somewhere in the wilds of Ireland to build up their own holy state / Garden of Eden. I always wanted to have Pole succeed in his attempt to become Pope... I figure his Englishness and ability to offer further sanction to English plans in Ireland will only alienate the Irish people further from the Catholic Church. It cannot be seen to be an institution that supports them in any way.
I like the idea of their founder / mythical figure being a total nobody who knows how to spin a good tale, sort of like Joseph Smith. Is he a former priest (he certainly has knowledge of scripture)? An Egyptian (his people presently have adopted an itinerant lifestyle, and know a good deal about folk magic)? Or is he just a charlatan trying to get ahead? All are equally good answers.
Yes... Mary has been fairly lucky in the child rearing sector. Given life expectancy, I thought it was fitting that two of her children did not make it to adulthood. I decided the sweat would carry them off. Mostly I detest TLs where every queen / princess becomes an incubator who has 8-9 (if not more!!) children and none of them die. Given medical advancements of the period, it was a rarity.
I would. It is her long dead father's ghost being vengeful for her reigning on her own without a man. As far as I'm concerned, Henry VIII's horrid wraith killed his grandson and granddaughter regardless of what actually happened.
A tragic couple of updates, but realistic for the time period. Even though Mary’s emphatic refusal to send one of her sons to Denmark wasn’t without its drawbacks, she would be even worse straits if she sent Charles overseas before his brother’s death. I’m intrigued by the foreshadowing of a war over the Danish succession, particularly with the seeds you planted in earlier chapters when Christina and her children returned from Bavaria.
Somewhere an English playwright will write this very same story.I would. It is her long dead father's ghost being vengeful for her reigning on her own without a man. As far as I'm concerned, Henry VIII's horrid wraith killed his grandson and granddaughter regardless of what actually happened.
Indeed, Mary may have saved herself a headache since Charles will now become the Prince of Wales. Kills any possibility of a Scottish marriage, but perhaps there is another way. At the very least, she still has a spare in Edward. Denmark will definitely have some interesting times, and Christina's children will indeed figure prominently into the troubles surrounding Denmark's succession.
Instead of The Merry Wives of Windsor we get The Wretched Wraith of Windsor
Will we get Shakespeare or Marlowe in this story?
Because between Henry VIII's death in battle at such a young age, Catherine's regency, Mary, Mother of England and the dramatic love and marriage with her doomed and warlike Danish prince and then the death of the two royal children associated with the chapel of their grandfather, their playwright materials are gonna be straight up 🔥🔥🔥
Honestly, that's a pretty good title...
They were both born in the 1560s, so some fifty years after the POD. So not them exactly, but I do have some plans for some analogous figures to make their appearance.
England's Golden Age of theater was in the 1580-1590s, but theater groups with noble patronage were known as early as the 1560s and 1570s, so we'll definitely see them. Queen Mary here is definitely a lover of dramas and masques, though these events have been subdued since John's death, there will certainly be a revival towards the end of the 1550s.
Certainly there will be some rich themes for playwrights to dig into. Shakespeare even wrote about Henry VIII, albeit in 1613... way after Elizabeth and Henry VIII had died. The tales of Queen Mary will provide plenty of creative fodder for 17th century playwrights.