The Other Henry VIII

An Imperial Visit

8 March 1524
The sky was slate-grey and weeping when King Charles V of Spain, Holy Roman Emperor, and his court arrived at Greenwich Palace. He and his favourite noblemen were welcomed into the grandest apartments that the King of England could offer, and guests soon filled every nook and cranny of the palace. There were twice the number of servants crammed below stairs, twice the number of lords and ladies giving them orders, and twice the number of man-servants and ladies-in-waiting darting about doing their bidding.

Amongst the bustle, Princess Clara could scarcely catch a glimpse of her future husband. Lady Bryan kept a constant, firm grip of her shoulder, as if to anchor her, and Lizzie clung to her skirts like a limpet. She wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers, but even so, she dutifully followed her teachings and maintained an agreeable expression for of the Spanish nobles. There may not be a precious prince for them to wield, she thought grimly, but at least she could put on a show of grace and make her father proud. Some of the ladies cooed at Lizzie and she beamed back, swelling with praise.

It was a couple of days before the Spanish were rested enough for a ball. Nevertheless, the King was eager to prove his hospitality with full force: there were at least two dozen types of meat, including swan, venison, lamb and sucking pig; gallons of the finest Burgundian wine; stacks of brimming pies and pastries, and bowls laden with fruit that gleamed like jewels. It must have been one of his finest, most sumptuous feasts, reflected Henry proudly, though it would hopefully be nothing compared to the banquet at the birth of his son.
At the thought of this, his spirits fell. He remembered the birth of his first son—a bright-eyed, tawny-haired little boy—and how light and delicate he had felt in Henry's arms. God had stolen him from the kingdom before the celebrations could even begin. The King would not let that happen this time.

And so there he sat, at the head of the table. The dancing commenced almost immediately and he could barely hear the sound of his own voice above the music and chattering of the court. Fortunately, Charles was in good spirits, and nothing seemed to have gone awry yet.

"My hatred for Francis is like a disease," exclaimed the Emperor, downing his second goblet of wine in one go. Each word he uttered was laced with a thick Spanish accent. "One I hope you share."

"Of course," spat Henry. The very thought of that pompous French pig made his skin crawl and his face tighten with contempt. To think that he had, at one point considered signing his beloved daughter away to an ignorant fool like that. "They say he burdens his wife with a child a year and keeps her locked away in confinement so that he can visit brothels and keep dozens of mistresses. Preening bastard." He turned to his left, where his own wife sat silently. Her drink and food was untouched, as it often was these days. "You were at the French court when he ascended to the throne, were you not, my darling?"

Leia flinched. "I am your darling now, am I?" Her husband most likely assumed that she was ignoring him, but in actual fact, looking at the Emperor himself was deeply unsettling. There was an unsettling glint in his eyes that gave them the appearance of beetles. "Yes, I was a maid-in-waiting to Queen Claude for a time. What of it?"

"You must have seen or heard something. You know how the frogs live, surely?" asked Henry, his tone teetering on the line between banter and slander. Frustrated at her lack of response, he snatched a pie from the platter in front of him and attacked it viciously with his teeth. The Emperor chuckled at this.

"I was present for the births of her first two daughters," remarked Leia softly, keeping her gaze trained on her plate. "Louise and Charlotte. They are both dead and buried now, the poor things."