“I Only Have One Head”: The 16-Year-Old Widow Who Rejected Henry VIII

If I had two heads, then one would be at his majesty’s service. Alas, I have only this one. She was 16 years old, a widow, standing before the most dangerous king in Europe, a man who had already beheaded two wives, and she just told him, “No.” This is the remarkable story of Christina of Milan, a girl who secured her own survival by standing up to Henry VIII when no one else dared. When Henry began hunting for his fourth wife, her portrait caught his eye. He became obsessed, just as he would later with the portrait of Anne of Cleves. However, Christina understood something that Anne of Cleves did not; she clearly saw how Henry treated the women who dared to love him.

So, when they came to her with their marriage proposals, their promises of queenship, and their threats veiled as compliments, she laughed. Christina of Milan was not merely another pretty face in a portrait; she was a survivor who learned to navigate the treacherous waters of power long before most girls learned to read. How did a 16-year-old girl become brave enough to say no to a tyrant king? And what makes her story darker than anyone expected? Welcome to a deeper look at this untold history.

Before she dared to say no to a king, she had to learn how to survive losing everything else. Christina was born in Denmark in late 1521 or early 1522, but she would spend almost none of her life there. Her father was Christian II, King of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, and her mother was Isabella of Austria, whose own mother was Joanna of Castile and Aragon. That detail is vital, as it made young Christina the great-niece of Catherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s first wife—a connection that would later prove significant. Christina also had a powerful uncle, Charles V, who ruled Spain and the Holy Roman Empire. She had kings and queens scattered across Europe like relatives at a family gathering, yet all that royal blood could not protect her from the tragedy that followed.

In 1523, when Christina was barely old enough to walk, her father was overthrown. Christian II was, by most accounts, a thoroughly unpleasant man. His own uncle, Frederick, seized the throne, and suddenly Christina’s entire family became fugitives. They fled Denmark with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever dignity they could carry. They sought refuge with Isabella’s family, the imperial relatives who lived in the Low Countries. For the next few years, they survived on charity while Christina’s father traveled across Europe, begging other kings for money and soldiers to help him win back his throne. It was exhausting, humiliating, and it was about to get much worse.

On January 19, 1526, Queen Isabella fell ill and died in Ghent at the age of 24. Christina was only four. One moment you have a mother, and the next, she is gone. There is no preparing a four-year-old for that kind of loss. After Isabella died, Christina’s father was in no position to care for his children; his debts were piling up like winter snow, and he had no kingdom to pay them with. Consequently, custody of Christina and her siblings passed to their great-aunt, Margaret of Austria.

Margaret was an exceptional woman who governed the Low Countries with skill and intelligence. She took these three refugee children into her palace at Mechelen and raised them as her own. But in those early years, Christina learned a hard lesson: nothing lasts, and no one stays. Margaret died on November 30, 1530, when Christina was about nine years old. Another mother figure was gone. Guardianship of Christina then passed to yet another aunt, Mary of Austria, also known as Mary of Hungary. Mary was the sister of Christina’s deceased mother, Isabella, and she was only in her mid-twenties when she suddenly found herself responsible for these orphaned royal children.

Meanwhile, Christina’s father remained out there somewhere, still fruitlessly trying to win back his throne. In 1531, he was captured by his uncle Frederick and thrown into prison, where he would remain for the rest of his life, dying in 1559. In 1532, Christina’s only brother, Prince John, died at the age of 14. That left only Christina and her older sister, Dorothea—two girls with claims to three kingdoms (Denmark, Sweden, and Norway), but no way to reach them. They were two girls with royal blood, but no real power. Except for one thing: they were valuable, young, educated, and well-connected through their mother’s imperial family. In the brutal marriage market of 16th-century Europe, that made them worth their weight in gold.

As early as 1527, there had been interest from England. Henry VIII wanted Christina for his illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, but her family immediately said no. Why would they waste a princess on a boy born out of wedlock with no claim to anything? Then came the proposal from Francesco Sforza. Christina was 11 years old when the contract was signed, stating she would share his bed immediately. Francesco was the Duke of Milan, or at least he had been until various wars and political disasters left him clinging to the title without much actual power. He was in constant financial trouble, his health was failing, and he was desperately looking for a wife.

In 1533, Christina’s uncle, Charles V, saw an opportunity. Milan was strategically important; if Christina married the Duke, it would give the imperial family better control over the Italian states. There was just one problem: Christina was 11 years old. The marriage treaty was signed on June 10, 1533, and it dictated that Christina would go to her husband immediately and start living with him as his wife. Let that sink in for a moment—11 years old. Mary of Hungary was furious. She wrote to her brother Charles in a letter dated August 25, and her anger bleeds through the formal language. She noted that Christina was good and obedient and would do whatever Charles wanted because she trusted him like a father. But then Mary added a scathing warning: the treaty clearly showed the marriage was to be consummated immediately. Christina was only 11 and a half. It would be contrary to the laws of God and reason to marry her at such a tender age. She was still a child. Mary warned that exposing her to the risk of dying in childbirth at that age would mean losing both her life and that of her baby.

Mary was right about everything. The Church stated that girls could marry and consummate at age 12, not before. Christina had not even reached that age. Furthermore, Mary understood what her brother apparently did not care about: pregnancy could easily kill a girl that young. Charles sent back a cold reply, dismissive of her concerns, claiming the Duke of Milan was so sick and decrepit anyway that he probably would not be able to consummate the marriage. But Charles was lying, or at least he was fooling himself, because the treaty specifically demanded that Christina share her husband’s bed immediately. You do not put that in a contract unless you plan to follow through.

Consequently, Mary did something clever: she stalled. When the Duke’s representative arrived to escort Christina to Milan, Mary claimed the girl was ill. Then she said she had important business in other towns and could not spare the time. She smiled, made excuses, and delayed everything she could. The representative did manage to see Christina and her sister, however. He reported back that Christina was better looking than Dorothea and very lively. Eventually, Mary agreed to a proxy wedding on September 20, but she absolutely refused to let Christina travel during the autumn and winter. The girl would not leave for Milan until February, she said—in other words, after her 12th birthday. Mary bought Christina those extra months, and perhaps they saved her life.

Christina signed herself as Duchess of Milan, and in November, she wrote a brief, formal letter to her new husband expressing her excitement at starting their lives together. Did she mean it? Did she have any choice? She finally left Mary’s custody on March 11, 1534, and arrived in Milan at the start of May. Her husband met her near the city, and on May 4, they were married in person. Francesco seems to have treated her well. He spoiled her with beautiful things and organized hunting parties to entertain her. She wrote letters back to him when they were apart, saying she was always happy to write in her own hand, even when he told her she did not need to bother, but she never got pregnant. Some historians whisper that maybe the marriage was never consummated—perhaps Charles V was right and Francesco really could not manage it. Or perhaps Christina was simply lucky. We will never know for certain.

What we do know is that Francesco’s health deteriorated. In late 1535, when Christina was just 13 years old, her husband died with her sitting at his bedside. She was a widow, a duchess, and 13 years old. And now, the vultures started circling again. Christina stayed in Milan at first, and other marriages were suggested for her by her powerful relatives, but nothing came to fruition. In December 1536, Charles V ordered her to move to Pavia. She stayed there for about a year, then traveled to Flanders in late 1537 at her uncle’s request. On the way, she visited her sister Dorothea, who had married the Count Palatine in 1535. By December 10, 1537, Christina was back in Brussels with her aunt, Mary of Hungary. She had no idea that across the sea in England, everything was about to change.

Hans Holbein had three hours to capture her face, and that painting almost killed her. On October 24, 1537, Jane Seymour died. She was Henry VIII’s third wife, and she had just given birth to his long-awaited son, Prince Edward. The delivery killed her. Within weeks, Henry was hunting for wife number four. He considered many women, sending ambassadors across Europe to scout candidates like horses at a market. One of his favorite prospects was the young Duchess of Milan. Henry’s interest might not have mattered much to Christina herself—he was just one of many suitors seeking her hand—but it resulted in some fascinating descriptions of her written by English ambassadors who saw her and reported back to the King and his chief minister, Thomas Cromwell.

John Hutton wrote to Cromwell the day after Christina arrived in Brussels. He said she was 16 years old—though she may have actually been just shy of 16—very tall, taller than her aunt Mary, of competent beauty, soft of speech, and gentle in countenance. She wore mourning clothes in the Italian style. And here is an interesting detail: Hutton said there were rumors about a possible match between Christina and Duke Wilhelm of Cleves, but the only thing holding it up was waiting to know the Emperor’s pleasure. Hutton wrote next, “She is said to be both a widow and a maid.” In other words, people whispered that Francesco Sforza had never actually consummated their marriage. Hutton wrote another letter to Thomas Wriothesley, who was Cromwell’s secretary. This time he became more poetic about Christina’s looks. He said there was no one in those parts whose beauty and birth could compare to the Duchess. She was not as pure white as Jane Seymour had been, but she had a singular good countenance, and when she smiled, two pits appeared in her cheeks and one in her chin, which became her right excellently well. In February 1538, someone else noted that Christina spoke with a lisp, but it did not misbecome her at all.

Henry was seriously interested. So interested that in March 1538, he sent Hans Holbein the Younger, his famous court painter, to Flanders to paint Christina’s portrait. Hutton reported that Holbein only had three hours to make his preparatory sketches, but the artist showed himself to be a master of his craft. The portrait was perfect. That painting still exists today. You can see Christina standing in black mourning clothes, her hands folded in front of her, her face young but serious. There is something knowing in her eyes, something weary, like she already understands the danger. Henry loved the portrait. He could not stop staring at it. He pushed forward with serious marriage negotiations. But there were problems—big problems. When the English diplomat praised Henry’s gentleness, she nearly laughed in his face. She knew what he did to wives.

Christina was Henry’s great-niece through Catherine of Aragon’s family. Marrying her would require a papal dispensation—official permission from the Pope in Rome. But Henry had broken with the Catholic Church; he had declared himself the Supreme Head of the Church of England. He could not ask the Pope for permission now without recognizing the Pope’s authority over him, and he absolutely would not do that. There was another issue, too. From the imperial family’s perspective, Henry was a wife-killer. They had seen what he did to Catherine of Aragon, Christina’s own great-aunt—married for over 20 years, then cast aside and humiliated because she could not give him a son. They knew about Anne Boleyn, executed on false charges of adultery and treason in May 1536. Did they really want to hand Christina over to this man?

The English diplomat Thomas Wriothesley visited Christina and tried to sell her on the match. He sang Henry’s praises, describing what a gentle man the King was, how kind and loving he was to his wives, and what a tender heart he had. Christina nearly laughed in his face. She did not quite; she was too well-trained in courtly manners for that. But the diplomatic reports hint that she found the whole performance amusing. And then there is the famous quote. It might be apocryphal; it might have been invented later in the 17th century, long after Christina died. But it is too perfect not to mention: “If I had two heads, one would be at the King of England’s disposal.” Whether she actually said those words or not, the sentiment was clear. Henry VIII murdered wives. Christina only had one head, and she wanted to keep it.

The marriage negotiations dragged on through 1538. They stalled. They foundered on the rocks of papal dispensations, political complications, and the growing awareness that maybe, just maybe, Christina’s family did not want to feed her to this particular beast. In late 1538, Henry was excommunicated by the Pope. He had been excommunicated before, back in 1535, but that had been suspended. Not anymore. The deal was dead. Instead, Henry moved on. In January 1540, he married Anne of Cleves, that same Duke Wilhelm’s sister. Six months later, he dumped Anne and married a teenager named Catherine Howard. The job of being Queen of England went to Catherine instead of Christina. Catherine Howard would be beheaded in February 1542, but Christina would never know that was coming when she made her next move. And that move would humiliate Henry VIII in a way he would never forget.

She married the one man Henry could not complain about—except he did anyway, and he looked like a fool. In July 1541, the 19-year-old Duchess of Milan married Francis, Duke of Bar and Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson. He was only about four years older than her, a huge change from Francesco Sforza. He was healthy, he was kind, and here is the delicious irony: Francis had once been pre-contracted to Anne of Cleves. That pre-contract was one of the main reasons Henry gave for annulling his marriage to Anne. He claimed Anne was already legally bound to Francis, so their marriage had been invalid from the start. Now Christina was marrying the same man. Henry must have felt like a complete fool.

He complained to the imperial ambassador. He said, “I hold that Anne of Cleves is the real and legitimate wife of the said Marquis. For I myself have never seen or heard of any deed or authentic document breaking their mutual marriage engagement. That was the chief reason and cause of my separation from her.” But everyone knew the truth. Henry had wanted to dump Anne for Catherine Howard. The pre-contract was just a convenient excuse. And now Christina, the girl who rejected him, was married to the man he had used in that excuse. The message was unmistakable. Christina won. Henry lost. She and Francis were genuinely happy together. Within a few months of their marriage, Christina wrote that her husband treated her so kindly and had such great affection for her that she was the happiest woman in the whole world. They had children. Charles was born in mid-February 1543. His little sister, Renée, followed in April 1544. Two months after Renée’s birth, Francis’s father died. Francis became Duke of Lorraine, and Christina became Duchess of Lorraine alongside all her other titles.

But happiness does not last forever—not in this story. On June 12, 1545, Francis died. He was only 27 years old. He had been suffering from frequent bouts of severe illness for some time. Christina was 23, a widow for the second time, and pregnant with her third child. But this time, something was different. Francis had left instructions in his will: Christina would be regent of Lorraine until their son, Charles, came of age. She had power now, real power—not just as a pretty pawn on the marriage board, but as a ruler in her own right. The trouble was, not everyone wanted her to have it.

While Francis lay dying, practically unconscious, members of the political elite supposedly made him agree that his brother Nicholas, Duke of Mercœur and Bishop of Metz, could have a hand in governing Lorraine and raising the children. Maybe Francis agreed; maybe he had no idea what he was saying. We will never know. In early August, Christina agreed to be joint regent with her brother-in-law, Nicholas, but she kept real control. She kept custody of her children. Her daughter Dorothea was born later that month. Of course, there were attempts to marry Christina off again. She was still young, still rich, still beautiful, and still politically valuable. But she was done with marriage. She chose a personal motto and device: a tower with doves flying around its barred windows. The words underneath read, “A ruined tower gives shelter to no birds.” Translation: “Leave me alone.”

For the next few years, Christina governed Lorraine with care and skill. She visited her family. She attended events like the funeral of Claude of Guise in 1550. She hosted relatives who came to stay, entertaining them with masques, hunts, and dances. She was popular with her people; they loved her. But France was watching, and France was hungry. The French kept pressing on Lorraine’s territory, testing Christina’s authority and threatening her son’s rights. In 1552, everything fell apart. Henry II of France declared war on Christina’s uncle, Charles V. Lorraine sat directly in the path of French aggression. Christina’s imperial relatives were too busy fighting their own battles to send her any help. She tried diplomacy. She went in person to the French King and begged for mercy. She played on his pity. Henry assured her that Lorraine would not be invaded. He lied.

That Easter, French troops poured into the duchy with Henry II at their head. Christina received her guests at the Palace of Nancy with all the hospitality expected of a Duchess. At first, she thought everything might be okay. Henry was courteous, respectful. Then the very next day, he told her the truth. He was taking immediate custody of her 9-year-old son, Charles. The boy would be removed from Lorraine and taken to the French court to finish his minority there. Christina was no longer regent. She fell to her knees. She begged. She pleaded with Henry to take everything—her money, her lands, her titles—but please, not her son. Henry refused.

The next day, Charles was marched out of Nancy under military guard. Christina and her nobles stood watching, sobbing as the child was taken away. She wrote to her aunt, Mary of Hungary, describing these events. You can feel her anguish in every word. She said Henry had carried off her son by force with a violence which could not have been greater if she had been a slave. He had also forced her council to swear to protect Lorraine against his enemies. He had garrisoned Nancy with French troops. He had made Christina feel like she was little better than a slave. She had been thinking of traveling to her dower house at Belmont with her daughters, but when Henry showed up there, too, she and the girls withdrew to her house at Denize.

Within months, Christina became desperately ill. People feared for her life. She recovered, but when Henry discovered she was plotting to have Nancy retaken by imperial forces, he ordered her out of Lorraine entirely. Christina and her daughters left for Alsace. Then they moved around several different places in quick succession. By early 1553, she was back in Brussels. She was in exile again, just like when she was a child. Except this time, she had lost something far more precious than a kingdom: she had lost her son. The exile would last six years. She could write to Charles, but she could not see him, could not hold him, could not protect him. Her husband had trusted her with their son and duchy. She had lost both.

But Christina was not finished yet. Because Christina was a survivor. She survived her mother’s death. She survived a child marriage. She even survived saying no to a tyrant king. And she would survive this, too. Because across the years of separation, something was changing. The political winds were shifting. And one day, one glorious day, she would hold her son again. Christina was still only in her early 30s. She was still beautiful, still desirable, still receiving marriage offers. She refused them all.

In 1555, she made a short visit to England. Mary I was on the throne now, Henry VIII’s daughter by Catherine of Aragon, which made her Christina’s distant cousin. Mary was married to Christina’s first cousin, Philip of Spain. Philip wanted Christina to marry the Duke of Savoy. Christina said no and returned to Brussels. We do not know much else about that visit, but it is fascinating to think about—Christina walking through English palaces, knowing she had almost been queen there once. On October 25, 1555, Christina attended one of her uncle Charles V’s abdications. He was tired, sick, and weary of ruling. He was gradually giving over his lands and titles to his son Philip and other relations.

War resumed between Spain and France the following year. Philip went back to England in 1557 to get Mary’s help in fighting it. Christina and Margaret of Austria, Duchess of Parma, were asked to visit England again. According to a letter in the Venetian archives, Christina said the cause of their ladyship’s going was that on their return they might bring with them Madama Elizabeth of England to give her for wife to the Duke of Savoy. Elizabeth Tudor, the future Virgin Queen. Christina was supposed to help convince Elizabeth to marry the Duke of Savoy, the same man Philip had wanted Christina herself to marry. It did not happen. Elizabeth was at Hatfield House at the time, and she never met Christina. But what a near miss—two of the most formidable women of the 16th century, ships passing in the diplomatic night.

In May 1558, Christina’s long-awaited reunion with her son finally happened. They met in the village of Marcoin in northern France. The meeting lasted only a few days, but they would never be forcibly separated for such a long period again. That autumn, Christina was given a prestigious job: presiding over the peace negotiations between Spain and France. Think about that for a moment. Both sides trusted her intelligence and diplomatic skills. Both sides saw her as neutral, not beholden to the King of France or the King of Spain. An English observer, Lord William Howard, specifically noted this. Christina was acceptable to both parties because she was not controlled by either.

But 1558 and 1559 brought death after death. Her aunt Eleanor of France died in February 1558. Her uncle Charles V died that September. Her other aunt, Mary of Hungary—her second mother—died less than a month later. Her cousin, Queen Mary I of England, died in November. In January 1559, her father, Christian II, died in his Danish prison. He had been locked away since 1531. Christina had not seen him since she was a small child. His claims on the thrones of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden descended to Christina’s childless sister, Dorothea. Christina attended funeral after funeral, requiem mass after requiem mass, but she also successfully concluded the peace negotiations that Easter. It was a triumph amid all that grief.

In January 1559, her son Charles married Claude of France in Notre-Dame Cathedral. The bride was 11 years old, the same age Christina had been when she was betrothed to Francesco. Christina was not at the wedding. She was still in mourning. She was still presiding over peace talks. When those talks finished, she might have expected a reward, recognition, perhaps even the regency of the Low Countries. Instead, her cousin, King Philip, appointed his illegitimate half-sister, the Duchess of Parma, to be regent of the Netherlands. The people were furious; they wanted Christina, whom they knew and loved. But Philip was wary of her now. Her son was married to a French princess. She was friendly with the Dutch House of Orange. He did not trust her.

So, Christina went home to Lorraine instead. Charles was still very young and not particularly skilled at managing the duchy’s affairs. He relied heavily on his mother’s advice and support. When he went back to the French court in 1560 to visit his wife’s brother, the young King Francis II, he left Christina as regent again. In December 1560, Francis II died suddenly. His widow was Mary, Queen of Scots. In May 1561, Mary came to stay with Christina and Charles at Nancy before eventually returning to Scotland.

Christina was a grandmother now. In 1563, Princess Claude had given birth to a son named Henri. That same year, Christina’s sister Dorothea, who had no children and could not have any, ceded all her claims on their father’s thrones to Christina and Charles. Christina now styled herself “Christina, by the grace of God, Queen of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, Sovereign of the Goths, Vandals, and Slovenians, Duchess of Schleswig, Ditmarsh, Lorraine, Bar, and Milan, Countess of Oldenburg and Delmenhorst, and Lady of Tortona.” She would never actually rule those Scandinavian kingdoms. The titles were empty, but they looked impressive on paper.

Christina settled into life at Nancy and Denize, helping Charles govern Lorraine. She survived near-fatal illnesses in 1564 and 1568, defying expectations each time by recovering. In 1568, her daughter Renée married the Duke of Bavaria. In 1575, Princess Claude died at age 28 after giving birth to twins—the same age Jane Seymour had been when she died in childbirth. That same year, Christina’s younger daughter, Dorothea, who had been born with a disability that left her unable to walk, married Eric, Duke of Brunswick. Even a disability that might have made her unmarriageable in that era did not stop Dorothea from finding a husband. Maybe her mother’s fierce protection helped.

By the late 1570s, Christina was thinking about retirement. She had survived another serious illness in 1578. She was in her late 50s now, which was old by 16th-century standards. She decided to move to Tortona, the city left to her by her first husband, Francesco Sforza, 45 years earlier. She arrived in June 1579 and settled there for the rest of her life. She managed the city with wisdom and prudence, earning the love and respect of its citizens. She received visits from friends and family. But her cousin, King Philip—once close to her, now distant and increasingly unpleasant in his later years—told her that Tortona was actually his property. She could live there for the remainder of her days, but it was not truly hers. Christina disputed this, but she had no power to fight him.

In December 1590, while traveling to visit her daughter Dorothea, Christina fell fatally ill. She died on the journey home at Alessandria. She was 68 or 69 years old. Her body was taken to Nancy in Lorraine, where she was buried.

Think about everything Christina survived. Exile as an infant, orphaned at four, child marriage at 11 or 12, widowed at 13, the predatory interest of Henry VIII at 16, widowed again at 23. Her son was kidnapped and held hostage for six years, multiple near-fatal illnesses, and watching most of her family die around her. Think about everything she achieved. She rejected the most powerful king in Europe and lived to tell the tale. She served as regent of Lorraine twice. She presided over international peace negotiations between Spain and France. She was a mother and grandmother to a dynasty. She managed Tortona with wisdom. She earned respect and love wherever she governed.

Hans Holbein’s portrait of Christina still hangs in museums today. If you look at it, you will see that determined teenage widow dressed in black mourning clothes—the girl who looked at Henry VIII and saw a murderer. The girl who understood that sometimes survival means refusal. “If I had two heads, one would be at your majesty’s disposal.” But she only had one head, and she kept it for 68 years. In a century of queens who bent and broke, Christina of Milan stood straight. That is why we still remember her name.

Now, here is my question for you. Was Christina brave for rejecting Henry VIII, or was she just lucky her powerful family protected her? After all, Anne of Cleves had no choice but to say yes. Catherine Howard had no choice. Even Catherine Parr could not refuse him. So, was Christina’s refusal an act of courage, or was it simply privilege? Let me know what you think in the comments below. If you enjoyed this story of the girl who said no to a king and lived to tell about it, please hit that like button and subscribe for more untold stories from history. And if you want to see another shocking story from history, check out this link. Thanks for watching, and I will see you in the next one.