Henry IX (in progress)

My aunt Mary is the one person I can think of who defied my Father and got away with it. Oh, to be sure, she and Brandon had to pay fines, but soon they were welcome back at Court with open arms.

Like all of the Tudor women, she was fierce & fearless. I see it in my cousins Frances, Eleanor & Margaret, in my sisters and especially in my daughters. The Tudor roses can be a thorny bunch.

Mary took Renee under her wing shortly after our marriage. She had briefly been Renee’s step-mother, but she also well understood how Renee felt as a Princess in a strange land. Of course, Mary was in love with Charles and married to an old man while Renee was just a few months older than me. I’d like to think I compared favorably to man in his fifties, but it was Brandon, so who knows?

I always thought Renee seemed older than her years. She was worldy and sophisticated. I remember feeling so intimidated by her at first. What in the world was I supposed to do with this Princess?

We had been bethrothed for years and brought up to love each other, but the reality of each other was different. I loved the idea of Renee, Princess of France,  for years, but I don’t think I was prepared to love the person – I was too young and full of my own importance then.

Eventually, I think we came to love each other. I certainly admired her and her openness to life and new beliefs.

I’ve often wondered what my Mother wanted. She was a dutiful daughter and then a dutiful wife. She did everything that her parents, her husband, her children and God expected of her but I don’t know if she was ever happy.

I remember the spark in her eye when she spoke of Flodden Field. Maybe she was meant to be a mighty woman warrior or a ruler in her own right like her mother. I don’t think she wanted power. Perhaps she wanted to own her own destiny. I know she loved my father, but a part of her must have envied Margaret & Mary for daring to live as people instead of pawns.

I think about my Mother when I ponder the future for my daughters and my sister. Can one be both a good King and a father? Isn’t a Princess entitled to love and happiness?

When my father died, he left me alone as the ruler of all of England and Ireland. I was ready for the challenge. When Brandon died, he left me alone with my father. I was terrified.

For years my uncle kept the peace between us. I learned from Charles how to manage my father.  But Charles wasn’t just a counselor or an ally. He loved our family and all of the Tudors loved him, not just my aunt Mary. My father must have done something right to gain such a friend and inspire such loyalty.

I look at my own friends and counselors and there’s not one that measures up to Charles. That’s not an insult to them, but rather a compliment to Charles.

My father was a giant. When I was boy, I thought that word encompassed both the physical and the otherworldly. Now when I think of my father I realize that he was both a giant, and a small man.

The giant shaped reality to his vision. He was a great Prince and England was a great nation. The man couldn’t abide by anything or anyone that got in the way.

Maybe it was the musician in him. A great musician creates something magnificent out of nothing more than a hum and a flash of noise. You don’t tell a musician there are notes he can’t use.

I learned that lesson early. I learned to hide my thoughts behind bland pleasantries. My father didn’t love me. He didn’t know me. I blame both his arrogance and my cowardice.