The Great Queen

Chapter Four

Henry Tudor knew he was not a good man. He was paranoid, foolhardy, lustful, and gluttonous. His brother was always supposed to be king, kind, and Duitiful Arthur. For a time, Henry was happy to be king. He was happy to be noticed by the court. Until he realised that people only wished to curry favour with him for the power he could give them.

Often, he wondered if he  had  done the right thing in marrying Catherine. Many warned against it, but the gain of Spain was a great aid that, at the time, he could not afford to lose. He wondered if he had lobed her at some point, like his father loved his mother, but he fears not.

He knew his father would not have treated his mother this way. But every miscarriage, every stillbirth, drew Catherine and Henry apart and he had no idea how to mend it. His advisors would tell him it was a woman's business to be alone in the grief of a miscarriage and so he thought best to leave Catherine be. This was a mistake. He saw the slight hatred in her eyes after each and every failed pregnancy and Henry knew his own eyes reflected it.

It was not Catherine's fault. Logically, he knew this. Perhaps it was his own. Perhaps he was not a godly man, and marrying his brothers widow was the final straw. And perhaps God just didn't exist.

Henry caught the train of thought and quickly threw it out of his head. This was not the time to question his faith.

But how could he not?

His advisors and his "friends" told him he was a godly man, chosen by the almighty himself to rule over them and regale his graces divinity onto the world. And yet Henry has never felt more unholy. How can God have chosen him to lead the English people when he won't even give him a living heir?

Henry wondered if he had ever been in love.

No.

He hadn't.

He could imagine that maybe he could love Anne. But he also knew that he could break her as easily as he was Catherine. Did he call off this cruisade for a divorce? Would Anne hate him as Catherine did if they married? Yes. He imagined she would.

His thoughts drifted to Katerina. Her display in the forest had opened his eyes to women in a way that had been closed since his mother passed. Since he was surrounded by men who wanted his favour and would throw their daughters to the wolves to have it.

He could fuck anyone in the Palace and would receive a pat on the back, if Katerina did so she would be called a Whore. Just like Anne was.

He held his head in his hands, grateful to be in his private study blessedly alone. How was he so blind? Men, himself included, viewed women weak but how could they be when they do the one most important thing that no man ever could? Birth a child? Give the men the heir they believe God blessed them with, and so many give their lives to the cause. His own mother!

Was she looking down at him with love or Anger? Could he blame her?

God how he treated his own daughter too. He loved her more than anything but treated her less than because of her gender.

He was too far gone, he needed his divorce from Catherine. To stop now would show weakness on him as a king but perhaps he could better himself. Treat Catherine better. Treat Mary better. And maybe, just maybe he will be worthy of falling in love.