Festina Lente

Chapter Seventy-One: Letters

1st of February 1535 - Milan, Italy

Staring down the letter in his hand, Henry could not help the frown that formed on his lips as he pondered the news that Anne had failed him. 

Instead of the Duke of York that he had hoped for especially considering England's involvement in the war, it would have secured the succession in the event that something happened to him. 

The sounds from outside of his tent did little to ease Henry's mind, the city of Milan was now firmly in the hands of Francis and their thoughts were slowly turning to the next. 

Florence would be their next stop, where Henry was determined to install Ippolito as the Duke instead of his cousin; securing Mary's own place instead of leaving her in England where she could be used against him. 

It would not be long before Mary was a mother again and Henry had no doubts his eldest daughter would seek to give her husband the hier that would secure his own rule. 

The flaps of the tent parted allowing Francis to enter the tent, he gave a nod to his English counterpart before moving to pour himself some of the fine Italian wine that they had taken from the former Duke of Milan's home. 

"I hear congratulations are in order," Francis noted pouring the crimson liquid into the golden goblet and doing the same again so that they might share a toast. 

The birth of a healthy child was nothing to be sniffed at and Francis knew that Henry had long held desires for more sons, something that would sully the news from England for him. 

He moved to hand Henry the other goblet before taking a seat by the fire across from him, the two men were silent for a moment and Francis watched Henry trying to work out how best to play this. 

Henry was a fickle man and the last thing that they needed was for him to do something that could put their alliance in danger. 

"A healthy daughter, a third child in four years of marriage. The Pope must be kicking himself especially considering the Infanta only gave you one surviving child," Francis stated with a smirk as he sipped from his goblet.

Henry's divorce from Katherine was not something that would be forgotten and the Pope's refusal to allow it now showed the man to be a fool, it could even be said that God favoured Henry's marriage to Anne because he blessed them with healthy children. 

In twenty-one years of marriage, Katherine had only given Henry a son that barely lived fifty-two days and a daughter who was more Spanish in nature than she was English. 

"What is her name to be?" Francis enquired leaning back in his seat, he had no doubts the girl had a fine name considering how fitting her elder siblings had been named. 

Alexander and Elizabeth were healthy children, they held strong names and no one would be forgetting either of them anytime soon. 

"Beatrice," Henry announced, the smile on his lips broadening and he had no doubts why Anne had picked such a name. 

A nod to her motto from when she had been courting him and Henry did take note that there was a slight French origin to the name, considering Anne's own past and her time at the French court he was not surprised. 

"Perhaps when the time is right, we could strengthen our own alliance. Your daughter to one of my sons, she'd be a French Duchess," Francis mused, he could see no reason why not especially considering his own plans to remarry when the right offer was presented to him. 

He needed to secure the Valois line, he was no fool to realise that if Henri continued to refuse to bed his wife, then there would likely be trouble.