THE
ILLEGITIMATE
TUDOR
James M. Stuart
Text Copyright © 2019 James M. Stuart
All Rights Reserved.
This novel is entirely work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it while at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
To my one and only love for her unwavering support!
CONTENTS
The British Isles in 1524
The House of Tudors
List of Characters
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
EPILOGUE
Historical Note
Bibliography
About the Author
The British Isles in 1524
The House of Tudors
List of Characters
Fictional Characters
Edward of York Bastard son of King Henry VII
Margot Sister of Edward
Jane Sister of Edward
Elizabeth Mother of Edward
Thomas Step-father of Edward
Father Edmund Tutor of Edward and family priest
Welthemore family Lords in York
Belfrigh Friend of Edward in Rome
Walter English overseas merchant
Eleanor English prostitute
Federico Olivieri Fellow warrior of Edward in Rome
Aeron Friend of Edward
Agnese Prostitute and friend of Eleanor
John Rogers Captain of Rome’s City Guard
Historical Characters
Henry VIII King of England
Catherine of Aragon Queen of England
Charles V Holy Roman Empire Emperor
The Pope Pope Clement VII
Anne Boleyn Second wife of Henry VIII
Thomas Boleyn Father of Anne
George Boleyn Brother of Anne
Mary Boleyn Sister of Anne
Jane Boleyn Wife of George Boleyn
Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk
Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolk
Thomas Wolsey Lord High Chancellor
Thomas More Lawyer, social philosopher
Thomas Cromwell Lawyer, Earl of Essex
Martin Luther Father of Protestant Reformation
Philibert of Chalon Prince of Orange
William Knight Secretary of State
Henry FitzRoy Bastard son of Henry VIII
Lorenzo Campeggio Cardinal
Eustace Chapuys Imperial ambassador
Sir Francis Bryan Gentleman of the Privy Chamber
Sir Henry Norris Groom of the Stool
Mark Smeaton Musician
Jane Seymour Third wife of Henry VIII
Margaret Shelton Lover of Henry VIII
Sir Thomas Wyatt Politician, poet
Richard Page Gentleman of the Privy Chamber
PROLOGUE
The Tower of London
19th May 1536
Regret is the greatest enemy of a man whose life is almost spent, for there is no time to make amends, and the sole thing that remains is guilt. Folk say that near the end of a man’s life, a man mostly regrets the deeds he did not do than the ones he did do. From my personal experience, it is exactly the opposite. How would a man feel regret or guilt for something he did not do? Maybe I cannot be objective, perhaps I can only speak for myself as I see the world from my perspective; and that world is ugly, cruel and most importantly unfair. Who is the one bearing responsibility, though? Is it God or ourselves?
Many would say it is impossible to evade your fate or destiny. There was some time that I would have agreed with this claim. However, my faith in God has been significantly shaken these past ten years or so, and I cannot tell for sure anymore what is true and what is not. Certainly, I would not dare to deny the existence of the Almighty God nor His power over us, his mortal subjects. However, it is hard to believe and accept what the Church teaches us, hard to believe that our Lord loves all His children and yet at the same time abandons them in the merciless chaos and pain of this world.
Maybe God does have a plan for each of us, and the moment we are born He slowly begins unravelling it. Thus, many believe that whatever a man's actions on this Earth, he is bound to meet and fulfil the destiny that God has planned for him. Maybe it is the utter truth and whatever our choices, whatever our actions, whatever our loyalties, we cannot escape our own fate.
On the other hand, and this is what I imagine the truth must be close to, God may have prepared several scenarios of how our life would be, depending on one’s choices. This is my own opinion on the matter, for it is hard to imagine that things would not have been unveiled differently in my life had I not chosen to come back to England and seek vengeance. I believe that had I chosen a different path in my life, things would have turned out differently, assumingly for the better, and I would not have ended up on this stinking old cell, in the Tower of London where the traitors are kept.
Yet, it does not matter anymore, as I am a doomed man, bound to meet my end soon. The only thing that delays the inevitable is the simple fact that my prosecutors are yet to decide on the manner of my execution. I am charged with High Treason, and that means a torturous end, which involves being hanged, disembowelled, castrated, watch my own entrails burned right before my eyes and eventually butchered into pieces for the whole world to see. However, my high station might deprive them of doing so, and I may be spared the humiliation and pain and merely be beheaded.
Whichever it would be, does not change the fact that I am damned… I am cursed. Then again, I have always been, for I am the bastard son of a king.
Twelve Years earlier
CHAPTER I
Outsider
The Kingdom of England, City of York
20th November 1524
It is becoming increasingly difficult to recall how simple life seemed before the war started. By saying war, what I really mean is my own personal war. Of course, there is always actual warfare in this world we live in; kings fight kings and lords fight lords, with only brief treaties of peace. Everything for the pursuit of power, wealth and most importantly control over land and the ordinary folk. Now, my war certainly entails fights and battles, both small and large, but it is mostly my struggle to seek justice.
My name is Edward, I was born on the fifteenth of November in the year of our Lord 1500, in York, the most significant city of the North, in the Kingdom of England. As long as I can remember myself living in York, I was wealthy, or at least I could be considered wealthy according to the city’s standards. Back then I did not know why, for me and my family were not royals, nor lords, but yet we were unmistakably rich. We had our own manor with its private gardens, which in comparison with the average civilian’s cottage in the city was like a palace. In addition, we owned many farms across the county, and we employed a lot of peasants. Yet all these comforts seemed to have come to us from nowhere. Despite not possessing any titles though, my parents, Elizabeth and Thomas did seem to have excellent connections with the city’s highest lords and wealthy merchants.
As the years passed, I was growing curious about my heritage, though. Many a time, I enquired to my mother and father about our ancestors, but they always managed to e
vade my questions and change the subject. Another peculiar thing, I did not understand back then, was the fact that I was rarely permitted to leave the grounds of our estate. I was educated at home, learned to write and read and also studied Latin and learned lots of prayers, which I was forced to recite three times a day. Furthermore, I was introduced to the art of war; trained from the age of seven to swordfight and archery from a master at arms. Now that was something that made my rather isolated life more bearable. Thrice a week I practised the sword and shield, while twice a week I learned how to string and shoot a bow; whilst the week’s end was always devoted to my spiritual studies.
I had everything a son of a lord could wish for, except a wife. Whilst both my younger sisters, Margot and Jane were soon to have two rather advantageous for the family marriages, I was left unmarried. Year after year, since I was of an appropriate age, I was expecting my parents to present me with my future wife, but they never did. Not that I was much complaining, for marriages are made purely for the benefit of the family, and the individuals are scarcely consulted on the matter; with some occasions, the couples do not even meet before the day of their wedding. Thus, I considered myself lucky, I would rather stay unmarried than be forced to wed some lord’s ugly daughter. Certainly, I was not left unsatisfied, many a time I had sneaked out of the estate at night to visit the city’s brothels, always disguised; and as for the maids in our house, only old, ugly Muriel the cook had been left out of my bed.
However, I could not help but feel neglected by my parents. Why would they leave me unwed after my twenties? I was young, strong, handsome and had a rich family, everything a beautiful lady and her father could seek for, yet they never showed the slightest desire to find me a match. When I was younger, I was afraid that they would send me to some monastery to become a monk, but that fear wavered off slowly as the years passed.
Overall, I had everything in my life, and I felt safe, yet again I felt empty inside me. What was my purpose in this God’s Earth, was there no destiny for me to fulfil? Countless times I asked my tutor and family priest, Father Edmund, who taught me how to write, read and understand Latin, ‘What plan could God have for me, Father?’ And he would always answer, ‘One day, He’ll show you the way, son.’
It was five days after I had turned twenty-four that I finally discovered the truth and some of my most vital questions were answered; though, now that I look back at the events of that day, I would have preferred not to have had these questions answered at all…
*
That morrow I woke up unusually early, the sun had not even come up. Something had disturbed my sleep… A dream. Nowadays, it is something that I experience almost every night; sometimes to such an extent that I am dreading to fall asleep the following night. Afraid of what the darkness will bring me. I relive past battles that I have fought, clearly see the faces of nameless soldiers that have fallen by my sword, I see their wives weeping for their losses and cursing me through eternity, I see the darkness of a world that descends into the chaos of war... I see myself being consumed by the great fires of hell…
Back then, though, I was rarely troubled by bad dreams. My mind, whilst not care-free entirely, was quite innocent, without guilt, regret or sorrow or whatever could cause disturbing visions to meddle with one’s night’s sleep.
I opened my eyes, sat up on my four-poster bed and leaned on the headboard, trying to remember what I had seen. My head was pounding, and my heart was racing. I rubbed my palms on my misty eyes. As I blinked and looked around on the darkness of my bedchamber, flashes of my dream emerged…
Me, being in full-body shiny armour, holding a longsword, which was dripping blood…
I shook off my head attempting to clear off the vision. Some people claim the dreams can prophesy the future, although, the church denies and condemns such claims, and even prosecutes those individuals for suspected witchcraft.
A headless body, resting on my feet… Bloody, freshly decapitated…
I stood up from the bed and walked towards the only source of light, the window, through which the half-crescent moon could still be seen. It must still have been hours until dawn.
I was only wearing my nightgown, and I shivered, as a cold breeze escaped through the window. I turned and gazed towards the other side of my chamber, opposite to my four-poster bed, where a big stoned-fireplace stood. I could only see ashes in its hearth, as the fire had burned itself out through the night. It might have been the cold that had woken me up, after all. I thought, trying to convince myself that it was not the dream that had caused me unease.
I approached the fireplace, kneeled and grabbed a wooden stick next to it to poke the ashes… Some sparks flashed through them…
There it was. A bodiless head of a woman, with black hair and striking black eyes staring at me from the muddy and bloody ground…
I walked away from the fireplace, almost afraid of it. What was that dream? What did it mean? I would not dare consult anyone on that matter, I would not want to raise any suspicions for oneiromancy, that would have been close to being a sorcerer. Superstition was and is too high in this land that we call England, even after the Renaissance that came from the south, even after King Henry’s Reformation. People are too frightened of matters that their mind cannot conceive. This was why they turn to religion; I also did that and still do. At that moment, though, I felt uneasy, as if something was coming… I needed some ale or wine, to clear my head off.
Next to the window, there was a large, delicate table with drawers where I kept all my scholar books, quills, ink bottles and parchments for my studies. There was also a secret drawer where I kept sneaking in ale and wine from our cellars. My mother always discouraged drinking, I suppose that was because my father had always had an affliction for it; but then again, all men do.
I took out a flask, grabbed the water-goblet which was on top of the table, emptied its old contents on the ashes of the fireplace, and poured myself some red wine. I drained the goblet immediately and felt the familiar, comforting sensation of the wine in my throat. Then I returned to my bed where I lay with my eyes open, staring the roof of my bed, trying to forget my nightmare, and waiting for sleep to come again…
I was back in my armour, holding my bloody sword, scrutinising the bodiless head. I did not recognise it, yet it looked oddly familiar. After a few seconds, I heard a woman’s voice whispering to me, ‘Edward what have you done?’
‘I’m only getting started,’ I answered. ‘’Tis his head I want most!’
‘You speak treason, my child,’ a man’s voice said now.
‘It is only treason in his eyes,’ I said stubbornly.
‘It is also in God’s eyes,’ the man’s voice insisted.
‘Do not try to stop me or my sword will taste your blood next!’ I exclaimed.
‘As you wish! Just remember that there will be consequences…’
*
‘Ed! Ed! Edward, wake up!’
I woke up suddenly facing my room again, but this time it was bathed in sunlight and my younger sister Jane was staring down at me.
I stood up and looked at her pretty crystal-blue eyes. ‘’Tis past bedtime, you sleepy,’ she said.
‘All right, all right. Didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘Come on, the preparations have started for hours now,’ said Jane enthusiastically. ‘Mother sent me to fetch you, she was getting worried about you, you missed your morrow training.’
Jane was talking fast and without much sense, or at least I could see no reason in her words, as my mind was still hovering in the mist of my dreams. ‘Preparations?’ I managed to say after a few seconds and stood up and walked towards my study table to drink some water, then I remembered that I had spilt it a few hours before to replace it with wine.
‘Preparations for the Welthemores arrival, of course,’ said Jane almost jumping up with excitement.
At that moment, it all came back to me. My sister Margot, eighteen years of age was to be
married that coming Saturday with the son of some wealthy local lord, that would undoubtedly prove a beneficial connection for the two families. Hence, his parents, two brothers and a sister were going to stay at our manor for a few nights until the wedding day. Whilst Jane, who was just sixteen, had been engaged a few months before and she was due to get married the following spring.
Jane was a stunning young girl, quickly turning into a woman. She was short, thin, with beautiful long blonde hair. She was the most beautiful of the whole family I would say, and she was my favourite.
‘It’s not even your wedding, Jane,’ I said to calm her down.
‘Oh, come on, Ed!’ she said; only she was calling me Ed. ‘You know how much I love this kind of circumstances!’
‘I know too well!’
‘I wonder when it’s going to be your time to marry…’ she started. ‘I mean, you’re older than both of us, me and Margot.’
I looked at her and frowned. ‘My wonder is greater than yours, little sister, believe me,’ I said as I started dressing.
‘You know, I did ask mother, the other day.’
‘Asked her about what?’ I enquired excitedly.
‘’Bout your possible marriage,’ she said scandalised.
‘Oh, come on, spit it out, little one,’ I said, unable to resist a grin. Jane always liked the love plotting.
‘Um, she just said that your time will come when it comes,’ Jane said clearly puzzled.
‘Sounds very specific,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Father Edmund fancies speaking like that.’
‘I like father Edmund. He’s always been kind and gentle with me,’ said Jane, apparently trying to change the subject.
‘That’s just because you’re a girl,’ I said slightly too loud. It was some sort of realisation. Indeed, Father Edmund had always been gentler with Jane and Margot than with me, both of whom he had taught them their letters. All men would favour women, I thought. But there is usually some other incentive…
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 1
