Anno Obumbratio: A 16th Century Alternate History

[DrakeRlugia]

I can't even remember the last time I've posted here. To be honest, I lost interest in writing and alt. history for quite some time, but over the last year I've gotten back into it. I've slowly been starting to write again... I've had quite a few ideas, but nothing has really kept my interest up until now. I mess a lot with PODs that involve people living or dying, and sort of playing out the effects from here. This is one idea that I've had in my mind for some time and have even written out some chapters for. Hope you all enjoy, and looking forward to comments and any suggestions!

Anno Obumbratio
An Alternate History of the 16th Century​

“Nature wronged in making her a woman.
But for her sex, she could have
surpassed all the heroes of history.”
— Thomas Cromwell​

Chapter 1. Tragedy at Thérouanne
1513 – England & France.

At Thérouanne, England’s hopes and dreams were ruined.
— Anonymous
Music Accompaniment: Contentez-vous

King Henry VIII of England and Emperor Maximilian meet outside Thérouanne — 1513.​

Thirteen years into the new century had seen little changed from the years preceding it—France continued to pursue a policy of conquest in Italy, where Louis XII sought to lay claim to the dominions of Milan and Naples which he believed belonged to the Crown of France as his birthright. Opposition to French claims in Italy were spearheaded by Pope Julius II, the so-called Warrior Pope who wore his armor as confidently as he wore his clerical vestments. Having formed an alliance in 1508 called the League of Cambrai with Ferdinand of Aragon and Emperor Maximilian, this league in 1511 had grown into the Holy League—augmented by the participation of England, the Republic of Venice, and the Swiss Confederacy.

Henry VIII, the King of England, had succeeded his father, Henry VII in 1509. He was a king who was popularly acclaimed, beloved by his people, and adored by his wife—Catherine of Aragon, daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile. While his father had been cautious—plotting, scrimping, and saving, doing all that he could to leave England prosperous and secure, the son was made of more frivolous stuff. Henry VIII dreamed of nothing more than to be the hero-king, leading his armies to victory in the reconquest of France. He saw himself as Henry V reborn; eager to revenge the slights poured upon England since the end of the Hundred Years War. Such dreams were readily exploited by Henry’s father-in-law, Ferdinand of Aragon, who promised to aid Henry VIII in his conquest of the Duchy of Guyenne. In 1512, England’s first foray into France was launched, where 10,000 troops under the Earl of Dorset landed at Hondarribia, ferried by Admiral Edward Howard. This army, eventually quartered at Bayonne, mainly served to support Ferdinand’s conquest of the Kingdom of Navarre—though it continued to maintain possessions north of the Pyrenees, those in the south which formed the ancestral core of the kingdom were lost to the Spanish armies.

The English forces under Dorset, underfunded and undersupplied, had accomplished none of their goals, with many of the soldiers perishing from both hunger and disease. A mutinous mood amongst the troops forced Dorset to bring the invasion force back to England—a mere shadow of the troops that had left in the previous year. Dorset himself returned to England in his sickbed, close to death. He was heavily rebuked by Henry VIII for the failure of his troops—but he eventually received clemency following the intervention of Queen Catherine. Henry VIII reserved most of his anger for his father-in-law; Ferdinand was the one who had made promises and had failed to follow through. Dorset could not be held wholly responsible for what had occurred; was it not more appropriate for the king himself to lead his troops in a war of conquest? Whispers also spoke at court of a possible fracture in the relationship between the king and queen—not only owing to Ferdinand of Aragon’s duplicity, but also their continuing lack of children. Catherine had suffered a miscarriage in 1510, and though she had given birth to a son in 1511, the young boy had lived for only a little over a month. An heir—a male heir, was paramount for the continuance of the Tudor dynasty, lest England once more devolve into warring amongst rival claimants seeking to take the throne. For whatever the rumors might be, the king still seemed taken with his Spanish wife—and in the spring of 1513, it soon became common knowledge that the queen was once more expecting, with both she and the king making prayers that this pregnancy would come to fruition.

Henry VIII of England, circa 1509.​

Henry VIII continued his plans to prepare for an invasion of France from the north—from the sole remaining English outpost in France, the port city of Calais. Parliament gladly voted their king needed subsidies to continue the war against France, and fresh troops were dispatched to Calais to join those forces commanded there by the Earl of Shrewsbury. It was in May of 1513 that Henry VIII announced that he would be joining the invasion force in person and named Queen Catherine as Regent of England during his absence. Catherine would be assisted by her husband’s council and advisors, including Thomas Wolsey—a cleric whose influence within the royal government was slowly beginning to grow. Throughout June the English army at Calais continued to swell in size—Shrewsbury commanded the vanguard of 8,000, while Lord Herbert commanded the rearward with 6,000 troops. Henry VIII himself set sail from Dover with another 11,000 troops under his command—with provisions provided by Thomas Wolsey in his role of almoner. The English force included cavalry, artillery, infantry, and the famed longbowmen—equipped with arrows with hardened steel heads meant to penetrate heavy armor more effectively. At the end of June, the English forces set out for Thérouanne, though they made little progress in seizing the city. The siege stalled throughout July and August, and English forces were soon augmented by the arrival of Emperor Maximilian with a small entourage of 4,000 cavalrymen. Henry VIII hosted the emperor at the small hamlet of Aire-sur-la-Lys, in a tent made of cloth of gold—a splendid show despite the foul weather upon the day of their meeting. With the French attempting to resupply Thérouanne, Henry VIII soon moved his headquarters to Guinegate after displacing French cavalry holding the tower there—made possible by English engineers having built bridges overnight to cross the Lys.

Though Emperor Maximilian had a battle plan in mind before he had even arrived, Henry VIII had his own plans in mind, and sought to lead the cavalry charge, despite others who believed that the emperor should do so. What played out next would become part of what would be known as the Tragedy of Thérouanne. As English forces under the Earl of Essex harried French troops under the Sieur de La Palice and began to put them to rout, Henry VIII led the cavalry charge in tandem with the Imperial cavalry. Henry VIII’s cavalry encountered fierce resistance, and the king soon found himself unhorsed amid the charge. During the chaos, few are sure of who landed the mortal blow, but it was done: Henry VIII was struck down as the French cavalry attempted to press back the English forces before their line broke completely. The collapse of the king delivered a terrible blow upon the English morale—though the French troops were deflected and unable to resupply Thérouanne, the remaining English commanders were unable to move forth to take advantage of the shattering of the French forces—they could only watch glumly as they faded into the distance, with the English now forced to reckon with what had occurred. Only the Imperial cavalry had saved the English troops from a complete dissolution. Their young king—the light of the kingdom and their daring monarch, now lie dead—perhaps the Tudor dynasty with it. The king had no son—there remained only his sisters: Margaret, Queen of Scotland, and the Princess Mary, betrothed to Charles of Ghent, grandson of the Emperor Maximilian. There also remained Queen Catherine—Regent of England and pregnant. All hope rested upon the queen coming through this travail successfully: could England afford to elevate Margaret, wed to the Scottish king, or Princess Mary, a young girl, as their sovereign? Both seemed unthinkable. How would this news be sent home? As the English commanders quibbled amongst themselves, Maximilian volunteered to pen a letter to the queen personally.

Your Grace,
It is with great sadness that I must write to you regarding the events that have taken place here at Thérouanne. Though we have had what some might call a victory, it has come at a terrible, terrible cost. I am sure you will receive this letter with great curiosity, but I beseech you to read this letter most carefully. It with a heavy heart and deep regret that I must write to you of your husband—I am afraid he is no more. He perished leading the English cavalry. I know that this news will come to you as a great shock; I hope that your attendants and dearest friends may be of some comfort to you, as well as this—your lord husband’s death was not in vain. He died as a man ought to die, as so many men wish to die: in battle, as a hero. He will always be remembered as such—his golden youth shall last now forever, and Our Lord shall ensure he shall always be a comfort. Let this memory and this faith nurture you.

We pray most fervently for you and your child.

I remain your devoted friend and ally.
MAXIMILIAN.

The news of the king’s death could not be kept from the troops—and the news would slowly filter back to England via Calais, though messengers bearing the news for both the queen and the Privy Council were delayed for nearly a week because of bad weather preventing the crossing. The English armies, now in complete disarray, were forced to lift the siege of Thérouanne—they slowly filtered back across the frontier to Calais, where the English fleet laid in wait to ferry the troops back home. The king’s body was brought with them. Henry’s dreams of a reconquest of France had died with him—and one could only wonder what might happen next.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 2. The Interregnum
1513 – England & Scotland.

“Remember that English courage excels that of all other nations.”
— Catherine of Aragon, in speech to English troops.

Portraiture of Queen Catherine of Aragon, unknown date.​

News of Henry VIII’s death at Thérouanne spread like wildfire—within days, the news had reached Paris and the court of Louis XII, and within three weeks, dispatches were also brought to Ferdinand of Aragon. The monarchs of Europe were soon aware of the death of one of their brothers—with the question remaining: what might happen now in England? The king had left no heir—only an expectant wife and two sisters, one of whom was married to the King of Scotland—a king who had in 1512 renewed Scotland’s ancestral Auld Alliance with France. England’s invasion of France had alarmed the Scottish king, who began to muster his troops—along with dispatching a fleet of some twenty-two ships to join the French fleet at Brest. With the death of Henry VIII, this possible Scottish muster took on a more ominous tone.

Catherine of Aragon had spent the months following Henry VIII’s departure doing what she could to ensure that the English troops in France had adequate supplies—not only of needed funds, but of food, clothing, powder, and weaponry. Headquartered at Richmond Palace, the queen also devoted personal time to sewing badges, banners, and standards for the army. Catherine was still situated at Richmond when the darkly attired messengers arrived on August 24th to bring the terrible news that she had most dread—that her husband was dead. The news brought the queen a grievous shock—suffering from dizziness and a nosebleed, she soon fainted and had to be revived by her personal physician. Though urged to retire to her bed and rest, given her pregnancy, the queen refused—instead asking that the Privy Council be summoned to attend to her.

Though the Earl of Shrewsbury had written to the Privy Council to inform them of the king’s demise, the messenger had been delayed. It fell to Catherine of Aragon to inform the king’s councilors of the king’s death; the men within the council received the news with the great shock—their beloved king was now gone. To whom would they owe their obeisance to now? Not only was the succession in doubt; they had little clue to what the king would’ve desired. In the flush of youth, more focused on war than mortality, Henry VIII had left behind no will. Eyes in the council fell upon Catherine of Aragon—she had been named regent, and furthermore, she was pregnant with the king’s child—and her confinement and lying-in would be in several months. It was decided that the matter of the succession would be deferred until the queen gave birth; if all went well, the queen would deliver them the future king they needed. The machinery of government would remain in the hands of Queen Catherine as regent, her authority laid out in the patent granted to her by the late king. She would continue to be assisted by the Privy Council. If the queen did not deliver a living child, as she had before… it was an idea that the council did not wish to consider. So began the English interregnum.

James IV of Scotland & Margaret Tudor.​

The trouble brewing in England following the king’s death continued when James IV of Scotland crossed the border with an army of some 42,000 men—including several large pieces of artillery. He had little trouble in seizing several castles in Northumberland along the River Tweed. Despite this, the English were not caught completely off-guard; Henry VIII had organized a force of troop and artillery to defend northern England from Scottish excursions, and even included guns that had been returned to England by Margaret of Austria. This force was commanded by Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, and based at Pontefract castle. James IV had also made notice of his intent to invade the month prior—the king having kept with a medieval code of chivalry that was quickly dying out. Catherine of Aragon wasted little time when news of the Scottish invasion came to her—not only were warrants issued to seize the property of Scotsmen living within England, but she also ordered Thomas Lovell to raise an army in the midland counties, should the Scots dare press further south. She also dispatched £10,000 from the royal treasury to procure needed supplies of powder and shot for the English armies. Catherine also made a stunning choice to embark northwards—despite protests from the council who worried for her safety, the queen emptied the Tower of London’s armory and proclaimed her intentions to join the forces being raised by Lovell. It was at Buckingham that the queen delivered a splendid speech: “I beseech you all to know that our cause is worthy—the Lord smiles upon those who stand in the defense of their own against all others. Do not doubt your strength, for you are all worthy—remember that English courage excels that of all other nations on Earth!” The queen’s speech went down wonderfully with the English captains, and within a fortnight her speech was reported by the historian Peter Martyr d’Anghiera at Valladolid.

In the north, the Earl of Surrey prepared as best he could for the Scottish invaders. He was reluctant to put his troops into the field too soon—for a troop in the field would have to be fed and paid at his expense. He issued orders for troops from the northern counties to assemble at Newcastle-on-Tyne on September 1st. Along with 500 troops, Surrey was joined by 1000 experienced sailors, along with their guns, brought north by his son (also called Thomas Howard) who served as Lord High Admiral. Surrey also made the decision to stop at Durham Cathedral, where he was presented with the banner of Saint Cuthbert, a relic which the English had carried into battle against the Scots in 1138 and 1346—battles in which they were victorious. The muster helped bring Surrey’s troop up to some 26,000 men—and they soon met the Scottish troops at Flodden Edge, a hill located south of Branxton. This hill offered the Scottish a good defensive position—their flanks were protected by marshes and steep slopes, leaving only a direct approach. James IV sent forth his herald on September 7th to set terms and time for the coming battle—James IV refused to remove his army from their defensive position, and Surrey’s troops were badly in need of supplies. His options were limited; he could make a direct assault, facing the Scottish artillery and risking losing his army—or refusing the fight, and possibly provoking the ire of the council and the queen. Who was to say who might come to reign in England in these coming months? A victory was what was needed most, and the Earl of Surrey was intent to provide it.

Battle scene by Hans Holbien (c. 1524).
​

Surrey moved his troops from their camp—but rather than heading towards Flodden, he chose instead to turn east and cross the River Till. An old Roman road, known as the Devil’s Causeway was across the river, which allowed the English troops to move north towards Barmoor. Their destination lay at Branxton Hill, which lay two miles north of the Scottish camp. The English forces suffered from low rations and were forced to drink from the streams due a lack of beer, but they pushed onward. Though the Scottish had clear sign of the English movements and even spotted the vanguard, James IV remained cautious and refused to commit his troops to battle until he could see exactly what he faced in front of him—upon a plain field. The weather was wet and windy when the battle began in the afternoon, which began with an artillery duel. The large Scottish guns did not perform as well as James IV had hoped, and though the flank under the Earls of Home and Huntley made some progress against the English troops, it devolved into a stalemate with the intervention of Baron Dacre’s light cavalry. James IV ordered his troops to advance forward—while the English commanders commanded from the rear, the Scottish nobility and the king fought at the front with their troops. At the foot of Branxton Hill, the Scottish troops encountered marshy ground which rendered their movement difficult. The Scottish troops, equipped with French pikes, began to shed the cumbersome weapons—depriving the Scottish troops of a cohesive counter. The Highland troops under Argyll and Lennox held back and were eventually forced to flee when archers under the command of Monteagle launched volley after volley of arrows into the lightly armored Highlanders. Though James IV reached Surrey’s bodyguard, the close fighting continued—with the other English formations eventually converging to aid their commander—with orders given that no Scottish noble should be taken hostage. James IV was killed in the final stages of the battle—another king wiped off the map within months. The English suffered minimal losses, while the Scottish lost some 14,000 men—including the king and the flower of the Scottish nobility. Though England had suffered a grave loss in their king—at Flodden they had averted a certain disaster.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 3. A Queen is Born
1513-1514 – England.

Be it declared … that the Regal Power of this Realm is in the queen’s grace as fully …
and as absolutely … as it ever was in her most noble progenitors, kings of this realm.
This power shall be vested … into the hands of the queen’s most gracious mother …
as regent … until her grace attains her age of majority.
—Titulus Reginae (1514)

Music Accompaniment: Salve Regina

Birth of the Virgin, Jan de Beer (c. 1520).​

The English victory at Flodden Field brought relief to the suffering kingdom. Catherine had gone no further than Woburn Abbey, and it was there Thomas Hawley brought her news of the English victory, along with a token: the King of Scots bloodied surcoat, along with his golden crucifix. Aside from armor and horses taken from the remnants of the Scottish army, there was also the body of the deceased king. His excommunication prevented his burial, and so James IV came to rest at Sheen Priory—until such time that permission might be given for his burial in consecrated ground. Indeed, Catherine remarked in a letter to her father, “I should have liked to have had the King of the Scots’ head as my reward, given the trouble that he has caused us… but the Englishmen’s hearts would not suffer it. I enclose a piece of his surcoat with this letter and hope that it reaches you.” With the English having lost their own king, the victory at Flodden gave the English needed time to breathe and to find a path forward. For the moment—things must remain as they were, with Queen Catherine to serve as regent, assisted by the king’s council until she gave birth. Only then would things be able to be decided—would England have a child king, or might they have a queen?

Catherine of Aragon returned to capital to almost a hero’s welcome—the people saluted not only her bravery, but her determination to serve England despite the death of Henry VIII. Though she returned to the Palace of Greenwich in triumph, it was still an empty victory—a battle had been won, but her husband had still been lost. A chronicler in London at the time of the queen’s return remarked upon her dress, “The queen from her litter looked upon us as if an angel had come down to bless us… her dress was in the Spanish style, completely white, with silver trim. Pearls decorated her neckline. Upon her head she wore a white hood—covered by a translucent veil of fine silk that obscured her. She wore little jewelry—only a silver gilt crucifix that hung from about her neck, and her betrothal ring.” Rather than bedeck herself in black, the queen had dressed herself completely in white; a mourning color associated amongst the queens of Spain and France. Her entry to the capital was thus subdued, with the black crepe and bunting that decorated the streets denoting the deep mourning that the people felt within the capital for their fallen king. Upon her return, Catherine devoted herself to Henry’s funeral—when the king’s body was returned to England from Calais, he was soon interned at Westminster Abbey within the chapel of Henry VII in a temporary sepulcher. Catherine contributed £1500 for the construction of the king’s tomb—which would hold the king, and eventually herself when she passed from this world. The king’s funeral was one of great pageantry—orators celebrated his virtues and his great desire to bring glory forever. Though Henry VIII had died in battle—he would forever be a martyr king, to enhance the mythos of the Tudor Dynasty for the years to come. A young hero king, forever etched in stone in the full blush of youth.

The business of government continued to be handled efficiently by the king’s privy council. Overseen by Catherine, she placed her faith in her husband’s former advisors, which included the William Warham, the Archbishop of Canterbury as Lord Chancellor, Richard Foxe, the Bishop of Winchester as Lord Privy Seal, and Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey as Lord High Treasurer. Though Catherine found uses for the lowlier men that her husband has favored, such as Thomas Wolsey, and Charles Brandon, the Viscount Lisle who served as Master of the Horse, the council remained primarily dominated by the conservative aristocracy and clergy who had been favored by Henry VII—and who Henry VIII had inherited from his father. Though Catherine retained her position as regent, her powers remained circumscribed by the Letters Patent that had been issued by Henry VIII: she was allowed to make commissions of muster and array; to grant licenses to elect the chapters of conventual churches that were not cathedrals nor bishoprics. She could make gifts from vacant churches, but only in the value of twenty to forty marks, and to appoint sheriffs. She could also issue warrants, and her word was to be as good as the king’s. In the most uncertain days following the king’s death, Catherine was content to the take the advice of the council—more focused on the matter of her advancing pregnancy. Her one important act in 1513 was to authorize £2000 to be put towards the reconstruction of the privy portion of the Palace of Westminster which had been destroyed in a fire in 1512. In late November Catherine entered her lying-in at Greenwich—with the birth and confinement to occur in December.

The realm waited with bated breath throughout December—and on December 31st, the queen delivered the long-awaited heir of Henry VIII—a strapping and lusty young girl. Though not the boy desired by the late king, the queen was delirious with desire as the child was cleaned, and eager to have the child—her daughter, placed into her arms. When the great officers of state were admitted into the birthing chamber, given the extraordinary circumstances, they were greeted by a weary Catherine holding her daughter. With a bright smile, she announced: “Milords of England—it is with my greatest pleasure that I may introduce you to your sovereign—the daughter of Henry VIII, your queen.” It was a startling announcement but made for great propaganda: having succeeded in bearing a child, this child was the last link to Henry VIII—and in the absence of a male heir, it was reasoned that this young child was the most viable successor, babe or not. Without this young child, the choices were limited to Margaret, the now widowed Queen of Scots, who would surely pass the realm onto her son, James V and ensure that the Scots would hold dominion over England. The only remaining option was the king’s youngest sister, Mary—a young girl of seventeen presently engaged to Charles of Ghent, who would in time succeed his grandfather, the Emperor Maximilian. The young babe would have to do—at least there would be a steady hand to govern the realm until she came of age. A young babe could be molded into a proper monarch.

Thus, the interregnum had come to an end—and a successor to Henry VIII had been found. The young queen was christened several days later—on January 4th, where she was named Mary not only in honor of her aunt, the Princess Mary, but also the Virgin Mary. She was baptized at the Church of the Observant Friars; her godparents included Ferdinand of Aragon with the Bishop of Winchester serving as proxy; while her godmothers included Margaret of Austria, with the Countess of Surrey serving as her proxy, and Catherine of York, the Countess of Devon. Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury stood as sponsor at the infant queen’s confirmation—marking clear who Catherine of Aragon truly favored. Young Mary was strong—and with each passing day seemed to grow even stronger, doted upon by her royal mother, who was most pleased to have borne a child, even more so that said child had lived, and would be Queen of England.

Forty days following the birth, Catherine of Aragon was churched and was finally free to leave her confinement chambers. Her main concern was to protect the rights of her daughter: and that meant maintaining the regency. She saw no-one else who could serve in such a position except for herself. With the privy council, the main issues were hammered out: that Catherine should continue to serve as regent for the young queen, until her majority; that a new warrant should be issued setting out her powers as regent and removing any restrictions or disabilities that had been placed upon her by the late king’s warrant. There also remained the issue of the position of the young queen, for she would be England’s first queen regnant. Catherine herself only made minor requests—that she should alone have the decisions regarding the young queen’s household and education, and that she should be granted additional revenues alongside her jointure of £4100 to maintain her dignity as queen-regent and to offset additional costs she might incur in the governance of the realm. It was decided that the question of the warrant and the queen-regent’s income would be placed before Parliament.

Opening of Parliament from the Wriothesley Garter Book.​

The very first Parliament of Queen Mary’s reign opened in the summer of 1514 at Westminster. Catherine, with the young queen in tow attended mass at Westminster Abbey, before proceeding to the chambers of parliament, where Catherine sat upon the throne under the cloth of estate, crowned and arrayed with a crimson robe of state—with young Mary swaddled in her arms in a cloth of silver. The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Winchester sat beside Catherine, and favored peers bore the sword of state and the cap of maintenance. When Parliament was formally opened in Queen Mary’s name, the young sovereign was whisked away to avoid being wearied by the heavy business of government. Warham, the Archbishop of Canterbury served as Catherine’s speaker, seeking to outline the wishes of Queen Catherine. Major concerns lay before Parliament in the succession of the young queen—what would be her powers as sovereign when she came of age? Would such powers be limited upon her marriage? What of the English customs where a woman’s property became her husbands upon their marriage—would the English law pertain to the crown of England, as well?

It was the Archbishop of Canterbury that spoke for Catherine. “It is our greatest desire—nay, our most fervent desire, to provide prosperous and stable government during the minority of Her Grace. Queen Catherine takes her role as guardian and regent most seriously… and looks to you milords of Parliament, to provide her the necessary succor. Tho’ born a Princess of Spain, Her Grace is an Englishwoman through and through by virtue of her marriage to our late sovereign, Henry VIII. She desires nothing more than to provide the realm with good governance—and she asks you, milords of Parliament, to assist her—and grant her power without the previous penalties attached to it. Her Grace is prepared to sacrifice her happiness for England’s honor; as a woman she has no stomach for war, nor does she wish to entangle England in ruinous wars abroad—she knows the trouble we have suffered in France. The crown and this inheritance must be safeguarded until our young queen comes of age, and Her Grace beseeches you, the commons, to aid her in this.” The speech went down swimmingly—and in due course, Parliament would signal its approval to an act which would become known as the Titulus Reginae.

The act declared that the royal powers and prerogatives held by England’s kings would also be held by its reigning queen—with those powers to be specifically placed into the hands of Catherine of Aragon as queen-regent until Queen Mary attained her eighteenth birthday. In the question of funds, Parliament voted the young queen port duties as well as tonnage and poundage for life as was traditional and agreed to vote the crown a subsidy of £100,000 to raise fresh troops for the conflict against France. Regarding Catherine of Aragon’s jointure, it was agreed that additional manors and lands from the royal domain totaling £3000 should be given over to her use for the duration of her regency in expectation of increased expenses she might incur. One of Catherine’s first acts as queen-regent was to publish a letters patent rewarding the Earl of Surrey for his swift job in dealing with the Scots—he was named Duke of Norfolk, granting him the title that had been held by his father, with his eldest son to be awarded his former title of Earl of Surrey.

Catherine settled upon the empty throne—knowing that she would have many lonely years ahead of her, protecting the Kingdom of England and her daughter’s inheritance until she came of age. It was a heavy burden to bear, but it was one she was ready and willing to shoulder.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 4. The Old King
1514-1515 – France

“I would rather my people smiled at my parsimony, than wept over it. That big boy will spoil all.”
– Louis XII, remarking on his frugal nature versus the extravagance of his heir, François of Angoulême

Music Accompaniment: La Brosse, basse danse pour violes

Louis XII, King of France (c. 1514).​

The death of Henry VIII at Thérouanne had shattered English ambitions to conquer France—the English troops had retreated to Calais in tatters, leaving the small troop of imperial forces under Emperor Maximilian to hold the area. They too soon lifted the siege, and English attention became focused on Scotland following the invasion of James IV—which ended in tragedy at Flodden. Worse, the two deaths resulted in a stalemate: while the English had failed in seizing Thérouanne, the annihilation of the flower of Scotland’s nobility and their sovereign at Flodden prevented France and her allies from taking advantage of the confusion that had been wrought following the death of Henry VIII. Things only began to settle following the birth of England’s infant queen, Mary—and the assumption of the regency by her mother, Catherine of Aragon. England remained embroiled in the conflict against France, allied with both Spain and the Empire.

Not all within the English government were united in continuing the war against France—the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Winchester both urged the queen-regent to act with caution; they had opposed Henry VIII’s aggressive foreign policy and had little desire to see the queen emulate it—though they realized that the queen would be unlikely to make peace given the death of the king. Others, such as Thomas Wolsey, now the Bishop of Lincoln were eager to chart a more pro-French course. A foreign policy that favored the French was an anathema to Queen Catherine—a Spaniard by blood, she believed Spain to be England’s natural friend—united against France. Some within the council suggested a possible peace treaty to be brokered with France through the marriage of the Princess Mary to Louis XII. Catherine could not countenance the idea of sacrificing her sister-in-law to an old man: the Princess Mary remained betrothed to Charles of Ghent, Catherine’s nephew and a future emperor and King of Spain—surely, he was the best match for her?

Instead of looking towards France for peace, Catherine instead chose to dispatch the Baron Darcy to Mechlen to revive the stalled marriage negotiations and bring them to a satisfactory conclusion. Diego Fernandez, Catherine’s trusted confessor, was also entrusted with private dispatches to be carried to her father, Ferdinand of Spain. Few within the French council were surprised at this turn of events, with the former French ambassador to England remarking to the king: “So long as that viper Ferdinand lives, you can be assured that the Queen Dowager will allow herself to be led by him… regent or not. She will be like clay within his hands. It is a sad day for France, and England, too, when the Spaniard reigns in England.”

Despite this, news from England did not overly worry the King of France, Louis XII—the death of Henry VIII on French soil only showed that God favored France. Though an old man, Louis XII remained determined to follow his aspirations in conquering those dominions in Italy that he believed to be his—Milan and Naples. Still, the French king was not without his private troubles: in early 1514, the king lost his wife, Anne of Brittany—who left behind not only two daughters, but the Duchy of Brittany. Anne attempted to leave Brittany to her youngest daughter, Renée—in a feeble attempt to ensure Brittany’s independence from France. Louis XII instead ignored his late wife’s will, and confirmed his eldest daughter, Claude, as the new Duchess of Brittany. Princess Claude, sickly and demure, was betrothed to her father’s heir—François of Angoulême, which all but ensured that Brittany would remain closely tied to France. Still, there was a part of Louis XII nourished wishes of a male heir, a son of his own to succeed him to the throne of France.

Louis XII belonged to an older class of monarchs—coming of age alongside Ferdinand of Aragon and Emperor Maximilian, he was as wily and duplicitous as the two of them. Even while war was waged all around them, Louis XII dispatched a secret envoy to the Habsburg court at Mechlen—seeking a truce and the hand of the emperor’s granddaughter, Eleanor. Louis XII believed it a prudent match—not only could he potentially remove imperial troops from the field and keep them from assisting England, but even more important than that was Eleanor: belonging a fertile family, Louis XII had hopes that she might be able to succeed where his previous queen had failed… in providing him with a true male heir of his own line. If the English were not eager for peace, then so be it! The marriage offer was passed discreetly to the imperial side, with the French envoy meeting first with Maximilian’s daughter, Margaret—who served as regent for her nephew and governor of the Low Countries.

Princess Eleanor of Austria.
​

“Sieur du Bassac has recently arrived from the French court,” Margaret wrote to her father in a letter. “He is an older gentleman, a middling sort of man who hails from Angoumois. He is a definite flatterer and paid the most absurd compliments to both you and me. He bore secret letters from his master and bid that we might discuss them privately… the King of France proposes a truce between our two lands, to be bound by ties of blood. What came next—I shudder to even place it into words, for he truly and surely made an offer for the hand of the Princess Eleanor for the old king. A young woman to wed a man of fifty… it is too much to comprehend.”

Emperor Maximilian viewed the proposal differently, seeing it as another way of augmenting the glory of his family. A truce and a dowry were a small price to pay to see his granddaughter as Queen of France, and to keep his troops from the field—giving him the needed time to regroup his forces and raise fresh funds. There was no need for the truce to be maintained for long; Maximilian was also presently in negotiations with the Baron Darcy from England regarding bringing his grandson’s betrothal to the Princess Mary to a satisfactory conclusion—a match also worth pursuing, given her position as England’s potential heiress should something befall England’s little queen. More than that, there was a chance that Eleanor could succeed where the French king’s other wives had failed—in providing him with a son. Maximilian believed there was little chance of Louis begetting an heir at this late stage and surviving to the child’s majority. Would not a regent and a child-king with Habsburg blood be preferrable to that young braggart, François of Angoulême? The emperor believed so. It was a noble sacrifice for Eleanor to undertake—and Maximilian was prepared to ensure that she understood, too.

Despite reservations from Margaret and even a protestation from Charles regarding the marriage of his sister, the emperor was determined to follow the course, dispatching commissioners to France in great haste and secrecy to bring about a treaty with France. It was in August of 1514 that the Treaty of Blois was ratified, with Princess Eleanor formally engaged to Louis XII. Maximilian pledged a dowry of 200,000 ducats to be paid in four installments, and with a quarter of the dowry to be made up of jewels and plate that would accompany Eleanor to France. Both Maximilian and Louis XII agreed to a truce that would last for a year, to be renewed at the end of that timeframe should both sovereigns desire it. The French king also promised the emperor a yearly pension of 30,000₶ as a further inducement to maintain the peace. For the cash-strapped emperor, the crushing dowry was but a small price to pay for peace and a pension—he sought help from the Fugger banking family in raising the necessary funds to pay for the first installment as well as to prepare Eleanor’s bridal trousseau.

Eleanor’s bridal suite was headed by the Charles de Croÿ, the Prince of Chimay—the princess was also to be accompanied by a suite of ladies, including Elisabeth of Culemborg as her governess, and four younger maids of honor—one of her maids of honor included a young Englishwoman, Anne Boleyn, who had served for some time within the household of Eleanor’s aunt, Margaret. Eleanor and her suite crossed the border in October, where they met Louis XII and the French court at Amiens. The royal marriage was duly solemnized at the Cathedral of Amiens, with the royal couple spending their first night together at the Bishop of Amiens’ Palace. Orlando de Dorsan, an Italian memoirist attended the bedding ceremony and later wrote, “The king and queen were granted use of the bishop’s bedchamber on account of their visit. The king, though notorious for his frugality, had spared no expense in wooing his young bride… he commissioned a fine new featherbed, as well silk hangings to decorate the canopy. The queen was a tiny figure, dressed only in her night clothes… like a child still in her leading strings, she was guided entirely by her governess, Mme. Culemborg, who assisted in putting her to bed. The king required his own assistance, owing to his lameness, but seemed perfectly content once he had joined the queen in bed. The pair shared a cup of wine, and the Bishop of Amiens solemnized the bed… extorting the king and queen to be fruitful and multiply. All hopes rested upon this night, though not all were pleased—Mme. Louise, mother to François of Angoulême, was noticeably piqued and glowered throughout the entire ceremony.”

Despite the enmity between the royal houses of Habsburg and Valois, Louis XII was utterly taken with his new bride. Eleanor, demure and meek, was so unlike Anne of Brittany; her youth did her many favors, as well. The new queen made her joyous entry into Paris in October of 1514, was crowned queen a month later at Saint-Denis. Louis XII decided that the French court would remain in Paris through the autumn and winter. Utterly besotted with his new bride, he lavished her in gifts and jewels—he was quite lucky that his new bride was not capricious; Eleanor’s sole request of the king was that she might be granted a small sum from her personal funds to found a convent in Paris for the Sisters of the Annunciation, a religious order which had been founded by the king’s first wife—Joan of Valois. While Louis XII was utterly captivated, the queen’s feelings were more mixed, with Elisabeth of Culemborg writing back to Margaret: “We are staying now at the Hôtel des Tournelles. It is a drafty place, but they say we shall go to Blois in the spring. The queen is adjusting. The king lavishes his attention upon her, and they often have dinner together within her chamber. Afterwards they will simply sit together, hand in hand, while the old king lavishes compliments upon her. My heart, my darling! He goes on and on. It is only when he is gone that she will retreat into her private closet. There she simply sits at her prie-dieu and weeps. Such a fate for a young princess!”

Though the king was diligent in his duties as a husband, there seemed to be no sign of a child—and the frequent excursions into the bedchamber worsened the king’s already perilous health. In late December of 1514, the king suffered a severe attack of gout that forced him to take his bed. While the royal doctors did their best to minister to their royal patient, it became clear in the early morning of January 1st that the king was not long for this world—by the evening of the first day of 1515, Louis XII was dead, leaving Eleanor, who had been queen for eighty-two days, a widow. Taking up the white mourning that was so customary of the queens of France, Eleanor soon decamped for the Hôtel de Cluny, where she would reside in seclusion for forty days.

So began the reign of François the first.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 5. War of the League of Cambrai
1515-1516 – Italy.

J'ai vaincu ceux que César seul a vaincus.
— Medal struck in honor of the French victory at Marignano.

Music Accompaniment: La Départ du Roy pour la conquête du Milanois

King François of France, c. 1515.​

Despite the death of Henry VIII and James IV of Scotland, the War of the League of Cambrai continued unabated fueled primarily by French and Spanish ambitions centered on Italy and Milan. The last phase of the war would include all the major players—France, Spain, the Empire, and England, too. The war had entered a lull after 1513—Spanish and Imperial forces had secured a major victory at La Motta over the Venetians, and Maximilian Sforza had been restored to the Duchy of Milan, while Papal troops had succeeded in ousting the French from Tuscany—Pope Leo X, a member of the Medici family, had succeeded Julius II as Pope in 1513. After his seizure of Florence, he named his nephew Guiliano as ruler of Florence. England had pulled its forces back to Calais following the death of Henry VIII, while the defeat and death of James IV at Flodden Field had removed Scotland from the conflict wholly. The marriage of Eleanor of Austria to Louis XII came with a truce and hopes of a possible peace treaty, but the king’s death less than three months following his marriage dashed all hopes.

Louis XII was succeeded as king by François of Angoulême—his nearest male heir, who had also been married to Louis’ eldest daughter, Claude. François was everything that Louis was not, and with the throne firmly within his grasp, he was prepared to take what he believed was his. At his coronation at Reims on January 25th, François was not only crowned King of France, but also laid claim to the Duchy of Milan by virtue of descent from his great-grandmother, Valentina Visconti. “The new king belonged to the race of Gallic warriors,” Wrote an anonymous historian of the period. “Full of youth and vigor, he everything that the old king was not—and he was prepared take all that his predecessor failed to claim. It was his birthright.” The new king was heavily supported by his mother, the crafty Louise of Savoy—she had been told shortly following the birth of her son that he would one day be king. With his coronation, she was vindicated—and knew that his destiny would include going forth into Italy.

The increasingly bellicose behavior from the King of France aroused trepidation among those aligned against him. Emperor Maximilian was the first to learn of François' perfidy, when the young king withheld the first ever payment of Maximilian’s pension—claiming that it could not be paid out due to matters of economy. It was then that Maximilian realized that his luck with France had run dry. Though Maximilian felt himself cheated, he had not behaved honestly either—the emperor having only paid the first installment of Eleanor’s dowry. The remainder had been kept back for the emperor’s incessant financial needs. He now claimed the return of what had been paid and dispersed what remained of the funds he had retained towards equipping an army to face the French threat in Italy. Now was the time to stand strong against the French threat—and Maximilian knew that he would need the help of England.

Negotiations between the English and Habsburg courts for the marriage of Princess Mary to Prince Charles had continued throughout 1514, but the death of Louis XII meant the need for a swift conclusion. In February of 1515, Charles finally attained his majority as Duke of Burgundy and Count of Flanders and the various other entities that made up the Habsburg inheritance in the Lowlands. The Treaty of Greenwich was signed in March of 1515 to finalize the marriage agreement between Princess Mary and Charles—Catherine of Aragon pledged a dowry of £200,000, with £50,000 to be paid immediately. The marriage would take place in a year—all were happy, except for Princess Mary, who wept bitterly and raged against the news. When Catherine attempted to console her sister-in-law by speaking of her own experiences as a young princess marrying abroad, the princess could only retort: “Yes, madam—but you came to England. I am being asked to leave it.” Joan Vauxhall, Princess Mary’s former governess, wrote to a friend of hers: “The princess is in grave distress at the news of impending marriage—all the court knows of her love for Charles Brandon. Queen Catherine is adamant that the match go forward—she believes it her duty to ensure the princess is properly married, believing it is what King Henry would’ve desired. She invokes his name constantly, and Charles Brandon has been sent away from court…” Some said that the queen-regent induced Brandon’s departure with a bribe of £3000—but whatever the reason, he was gone. Brandon’s life at court was finished.

Charles of Austria & Mary Tudor. Their marriage negotiations
were completed through the Treaty of Greenwich.​

In Spain, news of Charles’ impending marriage to the Princess Mary caused more alarm to Ferdinand of Aragon than French saber rattling. After all, what interest did he have in Milan? His possessions in Naples were safe—at least for now. The King of Aragon had not enjoyed the best health, and by 1515 he was in a great decline. His second wife, Germaine of Foix, had provided him no further issue since the birth and death of their son John, born in 1509. Old Ferdinand, once renowned for his virility and love affairs, was now reduced to impotence and often took potions and elixirs to assist him. His focus lay less on France than the possible succession of his crown and that of Castile. A cleric attached to the court wrote that, “Our king, if he does not rid himself of his appetites, will soon give his soul to the Creator and his body to the earth; he is already in his 63rd year of his life and does not allow his wife to separate from him and she is not enough for him, at least in his desire.”

England wasted little time following the ratification of the Treaty of Greenwich. Catherine, emboldened now as regent for her daughter, the infant queen, was prepared to do whatever she could to defend her daughter’s inheritance and to preserve the legacy left behind by Henry VIII. More than that, Catherine sought revenge for the tragedy at Thérouanne. Parliament had readily granted Catherine a subsidy in the summer of 1514, which went towards refitting the English army for a third sortie into France. A generous portion of her funds were also expended on the English navy to refit existing ships and outfit new ones. Henry Grace à Dieu, a great ship which Henry VIII had commissioned in 1512 was launched in 1514 and was officially one of the largest warships that had ever been built. English ships patrolled the English Channel to protect English shipping, while a new army of about 25,000 men under the Duke of Norfolk landed in Calais. English troops, rather than march inwards towards Thérouanne, instead moved towards Boulogne, which was put under siege.

By July, François had assembled an army in Dauphiné. A combined force of Papal and Swiss troops under Cardinal Matthäus Schiner and Prospero Colonna was sent north of Milan to garrison the alpine passes against the French. This put the French in a difficult position, owing to the number of artillery pieces that were accompanying the army. Gian Giacomo Trivulzio, a condottiero attached to the service of France offered a novel idea—instead of using the alpine passes, he suggested the army passing through the Col d’Argentière, a mountain pass that connected Lyon with Cuneo and had been recently paved. This advantage allowed the French troops launch a surprise attack upon the Papal forces at Villafranca; Jacques de La Palice led a daring charge that allowed him to capture the Papal commander, Prospero Colonna, with a great deal of booty—including six hundred horses being seized as well. The arrival of France into the plains of Piedmont caused great consternation amongst the Pope—with Spanish troops still south of Rome, he was prepared to parlay with François and offer up control of Milan to prevent the French from pressing further south. Though some Swiss were of the mind to make peace with France, the main contingent of the Swiss confederates, led by Cardinal Schiner retreated towards Milan for one last final stand.

King François leads the charge against the Swiss at Marignano.​

The French took a leisurely pace following their victory at Villafranca. At the small village of Marignano, the French were unprepared for an attack by the Swiss—even François was taken unawares; he was in his tent trying on a new suit of armor when scouts announced the Swiss approach. The French army was quickly divided into three divisions; the vanguard was jointly commanded by the Duke of Bourbon and Trivulzio, while François led a force of cavalry and Landsknechts recruited from the Lowlands. The Duke of Alençon commanded the rearguard. The French army was a mix of pikemen, arquebuses, and cavalry—while the Swiss troops were mainly pikemen, with less than a dozen artillery pieces. At close to sunset, the Swiss approached the French with three divisions of their own comprised of their pikemen. A small contingent of Swiss troops broke from the vanguard rushed for the French artillery to seize it for their own use. The Swiss had some success as they pushed back the Landsknechts and captured a few artillery pieces. The slow pace of the Swiss advance as it pressed forward rendered the Swiss artillery fire ineffective. Cavalry commanded by the Duke of Bourbon from the right succeeded in pushing the small Swiss contingent back into the shelter of the Swiss vanguard. Bourbon’s cavalry surged forward but were soon forced to retreat almost a whole half mile after they suffered heavy losses, but the artillery was saved.

The battle continued throughout the night—cavalry charges, often led by the king with the Chevalier of Bayard at his side resulted in the French troops repulsing temporary Swiss gains on the field. Desperate fighting resulted in the death of several French commanders—Antoine, the Duke of Lorraine; his brother, Claude, the Count of Guise, and Charles, the Prince of Tallemont. French troops stood brave among the Swiss attempts to toss them aside, and by mid-morning Venetian troops under the command Bartolomeo d’Alviano arrived and allowed the French to put the Swiss to route. Bloodied, bruised, and broken—the Swiss had suffered some 10,000 casualties, while French losses amounted to some 5000. With his decisive victory, François was able to move onto Milan, which he captured on October 4th. Milan offered only a token resistance. Duke Maximilian Sforza was quickly imprisoned by French troops—and would be carried back to France as the king’s hostage, albeit in a comfortable state, with King François granting Sforza a pension of 30,000 ducats. France’s stunning victory at Marignano shocked Europe. François met with Pope Leo X at Bologna in December, where an agreement was reached. François claimed not only Milan, but also Parma and Piacenza, while the Duchy of Ferrara was rewarded with Modena. François also gave the Pope reassurances that he would not interfere in the Pope’s designs regarding the Duchy of Urbino. Further discussions involved the state of the church in France. France would also reach peace with the Swiss confederates in 1516, when the Treaty of Friborg was signed. Switzerland renounced their protectorate over the Duchy of Milan, with France agreeing to pay an indemnity of 2,100,000₶ in return. Both parties pledged to abstain from giving support to enemies of the other party, aside from pre-existing treaties, and that future disputes should be resolved through arbitration. The Swiss were also granted trading privileges at both Lyon and Milan.

Ferdinand of Aragon’s ill health continued to plague him throughout the winter of 1515. Spanish troops had made no further movements towards Milan after the news of Marignano broke, and soon took up their winter quarters, delaying any possible campaign until spring. Emperor Maximilian, with his own financial troubles, also saw himself limited in the months after Marignano—there would be no new campaigning until 1516, and the emperor had high hopes that he might be able to coordinate effectively with his allies in both England and Spain to check French ambition. The truth of the matter was different though—at this point, the war had been raging for nearly eight years, and there had been no real territorial changes—with François once more claiming Milan as his own, he had restored the borders that had existed at the beginning of the conflict in 1508. Any hopes of Spanish aid against France faded when Ferdinand of Aragon’s health took a drastic turn towards the end of January. Ferdinand realized that the end was near, but his mind remained clouded with the succession—and his desire to honor his grandson, Ferdinand, over his natural successor, Charles. Ferdinand had always intended to bequeath his namesake a crown in Italy, but the present situation prevented that. As such, he sought to give him honors in Spain. The first draft of his will promised the younger Ferdinand the regencies of Castile and Aragon, as well as control over the Orders of Alcántara, Calatrava, and Santiago—whose administration had been granted to Ferdinand of Aragon in 1499. The council strenuously objected to Ferdinand’s proposed will, arguing that it would turn the younger Ferdinand into a possible rival to the throne against Charles, and would risk plunging the two kingdoms into civil war—Ferdinand was thus forced to renounce his ambitions for his favorite grandson, with Cardinal Cisneros entrusted with the regency of Castile, while the Archbishop of Saragoza would serve as Regent of Aragon until Charles could assume authority over Spain. Ferdinand died shortly after his will was altered, at the hamlet of Madrigalejo on January 16th, 1516. As he lay dying, the King of Aragon’s final words were succinct: “Forgive me, Isabella… Because I wanted to break the promise that I made to you… but God in his great judgement has prevented me from doing so.”

Death of Ferdinand of Aragon, 1516.​

Ferdinand of Aragon was laid to rest in March of 1516, and Charles was proclaimed King of Castile and Aragon jointly with his mother, Joanna, who remained confined at Torsedillas. Charles made immediate plans to embark for Spain as soon as possible, which meant that any interest in continuing the war against France from the Spanish side immediately faded; Charles was much more concerned with ensuring his reign within his new kingdom. Plans were made for his embarkment to Spain as soon as possible… but first, Charles would travel to England by his aunt, where plans of his marriage to Princess Mary had been finalized. Charles arrived in England in the summer of 1516, where he was married to the Princess Mary in a splendid ceremony at Westminster Abbey on July 25th—the feast day of Saint James, the patron saint of Spain. English spirits were higher than ever, as news arrived shortly after the wedding that the city of Boulogne had fallen to the English troops.

Peace with France came through Charles—given the uncertain situation in Spain, he had little desire to war with France or expose the Low Countries to conflict before the crown was firmly upon his head. The fall of Boulogne also gave added impetus to France to make peace with both Spain and England to prevent a second front from opening in the north and the south. The Treaty of Noyon was signed in August of 1516—Spain recognized France’s claim to Milan, while France recognized Spanish control over Naples. England would be allowed to retain Boulogne, slightly expanding the Pale of Calais, with the option for France to redeem the town in ten years for a payment of £500,000. There only remained Emperor Maximilian—he attempted to lead another army in Lombardy, but failed to reach Milan and was forced to turn back. By autumn, he too turned to negotiations with the French, which led to the Treaty of Brussels in December—Maximilian not only recognized French control over Milan but was forced to recognize Venetian control over the remainder of Imperial possessions in Lombardy, except for Cremona, which was returned to the Duchy of Milan. England and Scotland reached their own agreement through the Treaty of Richmond which re-established the terms of the Perpetual Peace which had been signed in 1502, and agreed to a betrothal between the infant monarchs of England and Scotland. The War of the League of Cambrai had finally come to an end, almost eight years later—with neither side being victorious. It remained to see how long the fragile peace might hold.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 6. The Queen’s Matter – The Tumult of Scotland
1513-1517 – Scotland.

Music Accompaniment: The Broom of Cowdenknowes

Margaret Tudor, Queen of Scots. (Posthumous Portrait, c. 1600s)​

James IV’s death at Flodden Field had thrown Scotland into chaos. Aside from the death of the king, the flower of Scotland’s nobility had also been slaughtered in battle. James IV left behind an infant son who succeeded to the throne as James V. Both England and Scotland now had to contend with child monarchs and the long regencies that would ensue. This was not a unique situation for Scotland, as war and conflict over the last century had often deprived the House of Stewart of their kings—as such, child kings were no new surprise. Much like England, Scotland’s regency fell into the hands of Margaret Tudor, Queen Dowager of Scots, and wife of the late James IV. Despite her opposition to war with England, she was named as regent with a single stipulation: that she remain a widow. Months following the death of the king, Margaret soon realized that she was pregnant. In April 1514, she gave birth to a posthumous son who was named Alexander and given the title Duke of Ross.

The Scottish Parliament met at Stirling shortly after the death of James IV, where they confirmed Margaret in the office of regent. It was not uncommon for a mother to serve as regent to her son, but Margaret found herself in a difficult position, given her connection to England. All knew in what direction Margaret would want Scotland to look. It was not long before a pro-French party began to emerge, where some wished for the John Stewart, the Duke of Albany to assume the regency as the closest male relative of the king. In the early days of her regency, Margaret was eager to reassure the partisans of the Duke of Albany that she wished only what was best for Scotland—for a time, she managed to reconcile the two parties around the present war with England and the desire to make peace.

Though England and Scotland remained at war the next two years, the state of the Scottish army prevented any attempts at avenging Flodden Field. In May of 1515, the Duke of Albany arrived in Scotland—supported by a squadron of eight ships. He landed at Dumbarton, where he was greeted by Margaret and the Scottish court. Despite their distrust in one another, Margaret openly embraced the Duke of Albany and openly spoke to assembled courtiers: “Milords, here has returned to Scotland one of its finest princes—as he comes in peace, I bid him to accept my hand in friendship so that we can provide good governance to this fine realm. I could ask for no better counsellor.” While the pretty speech went down swimmingly, there were some assembled who believed that the queen might have other intentions: “The queen at this time was still a handsome woman in her first flush of youth. She flattered Albany with compliments, but the flutter of her eye told another story. She had been a widow now for nearly two years; few were surprised to see her amorous side reawaken in the presence the Duke of Albany, who was more French than Scottish.” Whatever the gossip was spoken, it was clear to many that there was a mutual attraction and magnetism between the duke and the queen dowager—perhaps fueled by their political rivalry. Albany was given a seat on the royal council, much to the chagrin of Margaret’s more fervent allies.

John Stewart, Duke of Albany. Margaret's rival for the Scottish regency.​

In the winter of 1515, tragedy struck the Scottish royal family when a sickness ran rampant through the royal nursery. Both James V and his brother, Alexander, were struck down with a virulent fever. On December 15th, 1515, James V breathed his last at the tender age of three—making him one of the shortest-lived Scottish monarchs in history. He was immediately succeeded by his infant brother, Alexander, who became Alexander IV. Margaret was said to have been inconsolable at the loss of her son, and she debated resigning the regency to Albany. The Archbishop of Glasgow, James Beaton, counselled the queen dowager against making a hasty decision. Aside from the Archbishop, Margaret saw the Duke of Albany regularly in the aftermath of James V’s death. Few are sure when the relationship was consummated, but by the spring of 1516—Margaret Tudor and John Stewart were lovers. Margaret allowed herself to be overruled by her passions, and she was now involved in an illicit affair not only with one of her Scottish kinsmen, but her greatest political rival.

What happened next when the affair became public knowledge would be one of the greatest scandals in sixteenth century Scotland, known primarily as the Queen’s Matter. A riveting story of political infighting and intrigue—but at the heart of it, a tale of he-said-she-said. Margaret claimed that her relationship with the Duke of Albany was not simply a carnal affair. She alleged that she and the duke often discussed marriage—and that the pair had underwent a private betrothal ceremony. She insisted that the Duke of Albany sought to divorce his French wife, Anne de la Tour d’Auvergne so that he could marry her. Margaret was interrogated by the royal council and submitted love sonnets and numerous letters to back up her defense. However, there was no proof of their betrothal ceremony. Albany, for his part, did not deny that he had entered an amorous relationship with the Queen Dowager—but he refuted her claims of marriage, and angrily denied that he had betrothed himself to Margaret. He tossed dirt upon Margaret, submitting his own letters that painted the young, widowed queen as obsessive and sex crazed, with Albany claiming that the queen had seduced him. Albany even bribed some of the queen’s servants to testify before the council regarding irregular behavior, in hopes of further tarnishing her cause. “I firmly believe that Albany did propose to the queen’s majesty,” An anonymous supporter of the queen wrote. “But all know that Albany depends on France for their largesse—he is married to one of their daughters. He allowed himself to be seduced by the queen, and now he seeks to extricate himself from this situation to preserve the support of his patrons. And his wife!” Others saw a more sinister motive—that the Duke of Albany had contrived to seduce the queen dowager to ruin her reputation to oust her from the regency.

Portrait of Alexander IV of Scotland, c. 1517.​

The royal council ultimately sided with the Duke of Albany. There was no love lost between them and Margaret, and the proof that Albany had supplied—manufactured or not—had swayed them. They ruled that no betrothal agreement had existed between the pair and laid the blame for the whole matter at the feet of Margaret. It was agreed that she was unfit to hold the regency, and that it must be passed to the Duke of Albany. Albany and the pro-French party were triumphant, and Margaret found her reputation in tatters; at first, she was confined to her chambers at Sterling Castle, with access to the young king limited. Later, the Duke of Albany arranged for Margaret to be held under close confinement at Dumbarton Castle, in a move to isolate her further. Negotiations with the English regarding the Treaty of Richmond saw some of the more stringent restrictions upon Margaret lifted, with it agreed that should be allowed to live on her dower property at Doune Castle—still under guard. It seemed quite clear that even the English, even if they were not sure of the truth of the matter, believed that Margaret had acted foolishly and irresponsibly in the matter where the Duke of Albany was concerned. The Treaty of Richmond brought peace between England and Scotland, with Queen Mary of England betrothed to King Alexander IV of Scotland. A perpetual peace was declared, albeit on uneasy terms—despite Albany signing the treaty, he was already looking back towards France.

With the regency safely in his grips, Albany prepared for a sojourn in France. There were his properties in France to look after, not to mention his wife. There was little reason for him to exercise the regency on the spot, when such difficult duties could be discharged to his loyal lieutenants—such as Antoine d’Arces, the Sieur de la Bastie who was named Warden of the Scottish Marches and made keeper of Dunbar Castle, as well as being given custody of the young king. Albany’s prime motive in returning to France was to ensure that Scotland’s relationship with France remained positive. His top concerns not only involved maintaining the Auld Alliance with France, but also to seek out the possibility of an alternate marriage for the young king. Like the fellow compatriots of his faction, he had little love for the English marriage, seeing what trouble the marriage of James IV to Margaret Tudor had wrought. On top of that, who was to say if the little queen of England might flourish or not? Such a marriage was not required to place the Stewarts into the line of succession—should little Mary perish; it was the Scottish king whom she was affianced too who would be her closest successor by blood. No, Scotland should to France, rather than to England, for its friends.

While Albany prepared to leave for France, those of the pro-English faction bided their time. When Albany was across the sea, they knew it would be their best chance to strike. They already had a ready figurehead—the disgraced queen dowager; her tragedy had become political—the pro-French Scots denounced her as a harlot, while the pro-English believed her cruelly maligned, her reputation tarnished in a poor attempt to turn her into Scotland’s Queen Joanna, that tortured woman who remained ensconced at Tordesillas. No, there was no reason for Margaret to suffer such a fate… and like her allies, she too would wait, biding her time at Doune until she was recalled to serve as regent for her son.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 7. Queen Mary’s Youth & the Buckingham Revolt
1516-1521 – England

“Conduct your own rule as if you were striving to ensure that no successor could be your equal, but all the time prepare your children for their future reign as if to ensure that a better man could indeed succeed you.”
— Erasmus, Education for a Christian Prince

Music Accompaniment: My Lady Careys Dompe

Queen Mary of England, c. 1516.​

The end of the conflict with Scotland and France finally gave England the necessary breathing room which it so desperately needed. Queen Mary, the infant daughter of Henry VIII was now three years old, and steadily growing—with the regency still firmly in the hands of her mother, Catherine of Aragon. Catherine, always popular amongst the English commons for her piety and charitable good works, had seen her reputation cemented among the English nobility and statemen for her steady hand in dealing with the crises left in the death of their beloved sovereign. Not only that, but she had also competently steered the ship of state, a difficult situation which any well-trained monarch might find difficult.

Agreements with Parliament gave the queen-regent sole say over the composition of the young queen’s household, as well as a free hand to arrange her education as she saw fit. In her earliest years, the young queen remained formally attached to Catherine’s household, albeit with her own servants who wore the royal livery, and her own nurses. Catherine always kept the young queen close to her, and her privy chambers were often attached, if not near to Catherine’s own. Though Catherine found herself handling the heavy duties of the state, she was an involved mother—an anomaly for the era. Still, it was little surprise that Catherine took such great interest in her daughter: Mary was the sole heir to Henry VIII, and Queen of England. How she was raised and educated would impact how she would reign and rule and was of the utmost importance.

Though the little queen was present at some court appearances from a young age, such as the wedding of Princess Mary to Charles of Burgundy, but her appearances were often limited and time sensitive, with Catherine not wishing to overburden so young a child with the minutiae of court. “The little queen made an appearance at the wedding of the Princess Mary, dressed in a little dress of black velvet. She is a pretty creature, with blue eyes and red-gold hair—the spitting image of her late father and her mother, the queen-regent. She sat calmly on the lap of one of her gentlewomen, in complete awe of the spectacle… she is a quiet child who does not cry often.”

At the age of four, Catherine appointed Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury as Mary’s governess, and a small formal court was organized for her. Several young children would eventually be attached to the court of the young queen, as friends rather than attendants, such as Anne Parr, the daughter of one of Catherine’s ladies in waiting and Elizabeth Darrell, daughter of Catherine’s vice chamberlain; later additions included Charles Blount, the son of Catherine’s chamberlain, and Catherine Willoughby, the daughter of the queen-regent’s most favored lady-in-waiting, Maria de Salinas. Mary made one of her first formal court debuts in 1518, when at the age of four she entertained the several foreign ambassadors with a musical performance. “Queen Mary is growing steadily,” Venetian ambassador Sebastian Giustiniani wrote in a report to the Venetian Signoria. “Despite her youth, she often has a solemn expression as if she is aware of the great weight of the crown that already sits upon her head. She is deftly charming, and able to put anyone at ease—from the lowliest chambermaid to the greatest noble.”

Painting of the Tudor Court, unknown date.​

Catherine paid great attention to Mary’s education. Given her position as Queen of England, the queen-regent understood her daughter would need an education much different than the education devised for most royal princesses. Deportment, dancing, music, and etiquette—all would be important for the young queen, but more importantly, she would need to know how to reign and govern. Catherine consulted heavily with Spanish humanist Juan Luis Vives, who assisted Catherine in devising an educational regime for the young queen, which he called Plan of Study for Girls. In it’s time, it was a revolutionary educational document, especially for woman. It emphasized not only a knowledge of Latin and Greek, but also suggested writings by other Humanist authors, such as Thomas More and Erasmus, as well as classical writers such as Plato. In other ways, it was still somewhat traditional, Mary had a slew of tutors for her various studies—John Colet served briefly before his death in 1519; she was taught Greek by William Latimer, and Polydore Virgil served as a tutor for both Latin, Italian, and English history. John Fisher, the Bishop of Winchester tutored the young queen in matters of government, and she received other instruction from Richard Hyrde, an associate of Thomas More. Though Queen Mary had an intense educational regime, it was not all work, for the queen-regent wished for her daughters to have recreational lessons as well—a dance master from Paris helped the young queen with both deportment and dance lessons, and she enjoyed musical lessons as well. When Catherine had time to spend personally with her daughter, she often instructed her in the art of sewing—much as her own mother, Queen Isabella, had with her. The young queen was also encouraged to get plenty of fresh air, and daily treks were suggested—first by foot, and later horseback as the little queen grew older.

In some ways, the queen’s education was still quite traditional. Though she was tutored in topics that were normally outside the purview of women and young girls, she was still taught the traditional feminine arts that might be expected out of woman of her age. Religion also played a vital role—given Catherine’s own piety and connection to the church, it was little surprise that she wanted her own daughter to be vested in those same teachings and to appreciate them as she did. Her education on a whole, was wholly Humanist, of the late Renaissance—and she was perhaps one of the first English monarchs to receive such an outstanding education, and certainly one of the first English women to do so.

By 1518, there were obvious frays in England’s relations with Scotland. Despite the Treaty of Richmond and a renewal of the perpetual peace, which stipulated a marriage between the two young monarchs of England and Scotland, it seemed clear to many in England that such a marriage might not be feasible. When Margaret Tudor’s regency was toppled and the Duke of Albany took control of the reigns of state, it was obvious to many in England that Scotland would once more turn to France—and when Albany embarked for France, it was then that many knew the Anglo-Scottish marriage was dead. Albany, in secret negotiations with King François, signed the Treaty of Rouen which arranged for the maintenance of the Auld Alliance. It was furthermore agreed that Alexander IV would marry a French princess—decided at that time to be either the Princess Louise or Princess Charlotte, with the final choice to be left to Alexander IV when he came of age. News of the Treaty of Rouen reached England in due course, and a Scottish delegation arrived in the winter of 1518 to end marriage negotiations between the crowns. For England, it was a bitter pill to swallow—the council had little desire to see their country ruled by the Scottish Stewarts, but there were grave concerns that peace could be maintained without the marriage.

Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham.​

For some, such as Edward Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham, the breaking of the little queen’s marriage meant opportunity. The Duke of Buckingham was one of England’s premier dukes and counted his descent from Edward III; Stafford’s mother had been Catherine Woodville, which gave him a connection to the Yorkists, while his grandmother had been Margaret Beaufort, daughter of the Duke of Somerset—connecting him in blood to the Tudors, as well. He had an indisputable royal lineage and saw himself as the most likely successor to the crown should something befall the Tudors—whose line was now limited to three women, two of whom had already married abroad, and one who was still a young girl. Buckingham’s connection with the Tudors had been tenuous—though he had always had a connection at court and had played an important role in Henry VIII’s coronation, he had always been outside the royal circle of favorites. In 1510, the duke became embroiled in a scandal when his sister, Anne, the Countess of Hastings was found entertaining one of Henry VIII’s favorites in her private chambers. Tongues wagged that perhaps the king had sought the countess as a mistress, and Anne was duly sent away from court by her husband to a convent. Despite Buckingham’s high status, he had never held any true influence in Henry’s reign, nor did he belong to his inner circle.

The death of Henry VIII had not changed this. Though Catherine was sympathetic to the cause of the nobility and certainly favored them over the so-called new men that Henry VIII had preferred, Catherine’s regency saw no great boons for the Duke of Buckingham nor for his family. He remained on the outlier of the Privy Council. His most substantial appointment was in 1514, when he—along with other marcher lords—where tasked with maintaining order in the Welsh March. It is said that Buckingham handled the task poorly, and Catherine sent a note to Buckingham in 1518: “We ask that you continue to work diligently at the task given to you—any aid that you should desire will be granted to you by Bishop Blythe and the Council of Wales.” Despite the light tone of the note, some said Buckingham was enraged that the queen would dare critique him; others said that Buckingham’s tenuous relations with the queen-regent began in 1519—following the end of the Scottish betrothal, it was said that Buckingham advocated for a match between the young queen and his eldest son, Henry Stafford, the Earl of Stafford. “A match betwixt our houses would be good for all of England—all claims and divisions could be united through such a union,” One such letter is believed to be written stated. “The queen shall need a worthy hand to manage this great realm, and none would be better than my own son.” Catherine was reportedly irritated at such a direct proposal, especially at the idea that Stafford’s son should govern in place of the queen. While it was not an uncommon thought—many believed that eventually the young queen would be married and the heavy duties of government would eventually pass to her husband, it was certainly not what Catherine intended for Mary; her daughter was being raised to reign as well as rule, just as her grandmother, the great Isabella had.

Catherine demurred from Buckingham’s proposal, citing the great age difference between the pair. Though she knew of Buckingham’s lineage, she had little desire to up-jump an English subject further—giving Buckingham this boon would only encourage issues among the nobility. Hoping to soothe Buckingham’s pride, she instead suggested that the Earl of Stafford should marry Ursula Pole, the Countess of Salisbury’s sole daughter. Catherine promised an additional £1000 to Ursula’s already substantial dowry of £4500. The queen also agreed that certain lands held by the crown would be returned to the Countess of Salisbury, allowing her to add an extra £1500 to her daughter’s dowry. The total dowry of £7000 was quite generous, though Buckingham still smarted at the rejection; the generous marriage did not make up for the possibility of his son being King of England and the House of Stafford coming to reign over England. With his peaceful means frustrated, Buckingham decided that he must look for another way. After all—why could Buckingham himself not be king now?

Buckingham began to openly plot against Catherine’s regency. Some say that he was urged toward this ruin by unscrupulous men who provided Buckingham with prophecies that involved the death of Queen Mary and his assumption of the crown. Others said that Buckingham plotted to murder the little queen. Whatever the reasoning, Buckingham seemed intent on following through with his new path. He began to illegally fortify his castle at Brecon, and associates aided him in procuring shot and gunpowder, which would be hidden away in parts of southern Wales, where Buckingham intended to begin his revolt. Though Buckingham attempted to enlist foreign support, both the French and Scots were decidedly cool to the prospect and adopted a wait and see approach—for France, François’ attitude was simple: let Buckingham cause all the trouble he desired; should his strike aim true and manage to disturb Catherine of Aragon’s regency and the reign of the little queen, he was prepared to throw in his support, not to Buckingham, but to a pretender whom France had already supported: the Earl of Suffolk, Richard de la Pole: one of the last undisputed Yorkist claimants to the English throne. France had previously offered the Earl of Suffolk aid during the War of the League of Cambrai; he had been provided with ships and a mercenary army with which to invade England with—but poor weather and sickness amongst the troops had scuttled the plan and dashed the earl’s hopes. With Buckingham’s foolishness, France saw an opportunity. Scotland, under the aegis of the Duke of Albany and struggling with its own internal issues, had little stomach to lend aid to Buckingham. Though Buckingham’s envoy was sent away coldly by the council, the Sieur de la Bastie, Albany’s lieutenant, gladly gave the envoy a small sum of £1000 and agreed to provide the rebels with several wagonloads of equipment from Dunbar Castle’s armory.

Chronicle of England, Buckingham's Rebellion.​

Buckingham's preparations for his rising against the crown were most significant in 1519. Using his official position in southern Wales, Buckingham used his influence not only to recruit men sympathetic to his cause, but also to ensure that those loyal to him would inhabit positions of authority—from sheriffs to constables of some of the royal fortifications that fell under his purview. He also neglected his duties purposely, allowing robbers and highwaymen to go free to foment unrest amongst the crown—taxing the criminals to further fund his rebellion. The first news of troubles in Wales came out in the spring of 1520, when some of Welsh gentry in southern Wales lodged complaints with Buckingham’s dereliction of his duties, and the absence of order within their territories. When the news of the complaints reached the duke, he knew that it was now or never. Buckingham’s Rebellion formally broke out in May of 1520, when Buckingham hoisted his standard over Brecon Castle and seized the hamlet of Brecon—declaring himself King of England. The Duke of Buckingham had managed to assemble a force of 4000 men, and though Buckingham had declared himself King of England, the revolt also took on a Welsh characteristic—most of Buckingham’s troops were Welsh, with banners of the Welsh dragon flying freely with Stafford’s royal banner. One of Buckingham’s first acts before the Welsh gentry was to declare the Statute of Brecon, where he promised a repeal of the penal laws against the Welsh, the return of sums that communities had paid for charters in the time of Henry VII, and most radically of all, to assemble a Welsh Parliament to readdress supposed grievances against the crown.

From Brecon, Buckingham marched forth to Ludlow—where news of Buckingham’s rebellion had already spread. Ludlow opened its gates to Buckingham with no resistance, but it was an empty victory: Bishop Blythe, already aware of Buckingham’s advance, had vacated Ludlow along with the Council of Wales and retreated to Shrewsbury—where news was sent to London of Buckingham’s perfidy. Ludlow’s armory had also been emptied, including guns and artillery that Buckingham had wished to seize. When word reached London, the queen-regent ordered the militia in the Welsh March to be mustered, while tasking the Duke of Norfolk to raise an army in the midlands. Despite Buckingham’s attempts to rally the Welsh to his side, he found support for his cause lukewarm, and his support remained centered around his lands in Brecon. Pembroke Castle and Cardiff Castle remained safely in the hands of royal constables, while George Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury assisted the queen-regent in raising a thousand men from his own estates. After the seizure of Ludlow, some amongst Buckingham’s entourage encouraged him to march towards Birmingham; others believed they should strike towards south to open the route towards London. Squabbling amongst Buckingham and his council denied the duke the momentum that he needed. When he finally decided to make a strike southward, it was too late.

Buckingham’s army meandered southwards Worcester, where the town refused Buckingham entry. Even amongst Buckingham’s most ardent supporters, discontent had begun to set in. The support that Buckingham wished for did not arise, and the mood to him was openly hostile. Royal troops and a small group of militias under the command of the Duke of Norfolk, set upon Buckingham’s troops near the small market town of Stratford-upon-Avon. The Battle of Stratford saw Buckingham’s rebellion snuffed out—the Duke of Norfolk, despite having around 5000 men at his disposal, also had several artillery pieces, which allowed him to make quick work of the rebel forces. The Duke of Buckingham was captured by royal troops while attempting to flee from the battlefield. Put into chains, the traitor was soon returned to London—where he was paraded through the streets before being locked into the Tower of London. The Council of Wales was soon able to return to Ludlow—though Catherine deprived Bishop Blythe of his office and named George Talbot as his replacement. Talbot was tasked with not only restoring order in Wales but ensuring that those sympathetic to Buckingham were dealt with. Talbot, in due course, would recommend that Wales be brought closer to England and it’s anomalous situation righted.

For Catherine, the choice was simple: Buckingham had rebelled against his rightful queen, and for that, he must die. Buckingham was first examined before a panel of his peers, who voted unanimously that the duke was guilty of high treason. A bill of attainder was introduced before parliament in the winter of 1520, which stripped Buckingham of his title, wealth, and lands—which would now revert to the crown, rather than pass to his heirs. An execution date was set for early December—on December 5th, 1520, Buckingham was taken to Tower Hill. The execution sentence was heavily severe: “You are to be laid upon a hurdle and so drawn to the place of execution, and there to be hanged and cut down alive. Your members are to be cut off and cast into the fire. Your bowels are to burn before you and your head smitten off, your body quartered and divided at the queen’s will, and God have mercy on your soul.” The former Duke of Buckingham approached the scaffold calmly—he made no great speech, stating: “I ask no pardon for my crime against the queen’s majesty; I have flown too close to the sun and must pay the price for it. I ask heavily for God’s grace and forgiveness, and that the queen show mercy unto my family. I am the one who erred, and I ask only that they suffer no punishment on my part.” Shortly after, the duke was executed. Catherine had weathered another major storm for her daughter’s realm—snuffing out a great traitor and a potential claimant to her crown.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Yikes! This got a little long. I wanted to add a little more to this chapter, but it was already approaching 4k words, so we're going to cap it off here.

I spent a lot of time listening to period music when writing chapters for this, so I've now decided to include a song with each chapter growing forward. Might go back and add them, too.

Chapter 8. The Imperial Jewel
1516-1519 – Spain

“Fortune hath somewhat the nature of a woman; if she be too much wooed, she is the farther off.”
— Charles I of Spain

Music Accompaniment: La Basse Danse du Roy d'Espagne

The Embarkation at Dover, c. 1520.​

The death of Ferdinand of Aragon had radically altered the European landscape, with the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon passing from the hands of the House of Trastámara and into the hands of the House of Habsburg. Charles, the Duke of Burgundy, was now the King of Spain—the first of his line to rule the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon together. Charles, even in his youth, was surrounded by counsellors who could assist him in making astute choices. To ensure the French would not interfere with his potential inheritance in Spain, he had made peace with them—while England was wedded ever more firmly to Spain’s cause through Charles’ marriage to the Princess Mary—Henry VIII’s youngest sister. Charles’ visit to England was feted, and his wedding to the princess at Westminster Abbey was a magnificent experience—and remains, even now, the only time that a foreign monarch has been wed there. Following the wedding, Princess Mary assumed the style of queen and was granted precedence alongside Queen Mary of England and Catherine of Aragon, the queen-regent.

Charles remained for time in England, while his Flemish suite—composed most notably of William of Croÿ, the Lord of Chièvres, Adrian of Utrecht, and Jean Sauvage—prepared for his return to Flanders, where ships were being assembled for the eventual voyage to Spain. All those among the young king’s court knew that he must go to Spain sooner rather than later—the situation remained unsettled, and the sooner Charles set foot into his newest kingdoms, the sooner his authority would be able to be established. His voyage to Spain was ever more prudent owing to the issue of the succession—while Charles had technically succeeded to the thrones of Castile and Aragon, they remained formally in the hands of his mother, Joanna—still confined at Torsedillas owing to her deteriorating mental health. Charles had been encouraged to claim the crowns of Castile and Aragon jure matris and been crowned at Coudenburg. But for Charles to assume true sovereignty over Spain, they would need Queen Joanna’s agreement to allow for her son to co-rule with her. During this respite in England, it was agreed that Charles and Mary would spend their honeymoon at Woodstock Palace. Catherine of Aragon happily sent the pair on their way, and there were hopes amongst all that the marriage would be fruitful.

“The king’s marriage did not begin on the easiest of grounds,” A chronicler of the English court of the time wrote. “Though the marriage was duly celebrated and consummated, both the king and queen knew that their marriage had been cemented for reasons of state rather than reasons of passion. Still, the young king was enchanted with his English bride—even if she was more reserved. Regardless, their time at Woodstock allowed them to get to know one another, and whence they returned to London, both were in much happier spirits. Some say that the king was able to finally pierce the queen’s reverie and they were able to get along easier after that.” Some also said that Charles decision to allow Mary to appoint one of her close associates, Charles Brandon, as her Master of the Horse also helped matters—but regardless of the reasoning, both returned from Woodstock in better spirits. Certainly, Charles Brandon’s spirits were also buoyed: with his position in England having grinded to a halt with the death of Henry VIII, he saw no reason why he should not attach his fortunes to Mary—now Duchess of Burgundy and Queen of Spain. If he could not make his fortune in England, he would make it abroad. Queen Catherine counselled her nephew against granting Brandon a position, stating, “He is an ambitious man and much prone to mischief.” Whether Charles gave any thought to his aunt’s opinion, he made no move to dismiss the Englishman, and his position was confirmed.

Charles Brandon—Caballerizo Mayor (Master of the Horse) to the Queen of Spain.​

Charles and Mary ended up staying in England throughout the autumn and winter of 1516—with preparations for their journey to Spain indefinitely halted. Charles and Mary were soon joined by Charles’ sister—Eleanor, the Queen Dowager of France. Eleanor had been held under light guard following the death of Louis XII and resumption of hostilities between France and the emperor but was finally freed following the signing of the Treaty Noyon, which confirmed Eleanor’s dower settlement and allowed her to keep whatever gifts and jewelry had been given to her personally by the king, with the right to reside either in France or in her brothers dominions. Charles refrained from attempting to reclaim Eleanor’s dowry—of the 200,000 ducats that had been promised, the emperor had only paid the first installment, and the portion required in jewels. Given that Eleanor would retain her jewels, 50,000 ducats was a small price to have his sister back with him. “The king embraced his sister, the queen dowager, with great fraternal love. Before all the court, he declared, ‘The marriage you pressed into was not of your desire; but you did it regardless for the fortunes of our family. That shall never be forgotten, and I will care for you and find a most suitable match for you in due time.’ All the court was in awe of the king and his manner…” Given the difficulties in preparing for the voyage, Charles made the ultimate decision that he would depart from England, rather than returning to his dominions in Flanders—the ships and provisions being loaded in Flanders would come directly to England, and thence to Spain. The newly married couple spent Christmas at Richmond Palace with the English court—the king and queen exchanging gifts with the queen-regent, as well as the little Queen of England, who was now nearing her third year. The presence of a young king and queen, even foreign, contributed to what was probably the happiest atmosphere at Richmond since the death of Henry VIII some three years earlier. All the court had their eyes upon Charles and Mary—with many, including Queen Catherine, watching for news that the young queen might be enceinte.

As 1517 began, plans for Charles’ voyage to Spain were entering their finishing stage—the Burgundian fleet was expected at Dover in late spring. From there, Charles and his followers would embark and make the journey to Spain. In March of 1517, the young King of Spain was also greeted by the news of his wife’s pregnancy—Mary, having fainted at a court entertainment, was told of her pregnancy by the court physicians, with the child expected in the fall. Despite the Queen of Spain’s new delicate condition, it was decided that she should still accompany the king to Spain—having her child born on Spanish soil would do much to reconcile the Spaniards to their new king, and should Mary succeed in bearing a son, the next King of Spain—that would be all the better. Charles and Mary finally bade farewell to the English court at Dover in April of 1517, and the pair landed in Spain in late May—landing at the small port of Gijón in northern Spain, owing to storms that had pushed the Burgundian fleet slightly off course. The royal party had been expected at Santander, and their disembarkment caused a flurry amongst the villagers, who did their best to provide refreshments for the king.

Cardinal Jimenez de Cisneros, head of the Castilian regency following the death of Ferdinand of Aragon, had done his very best to manage matters in the absence of Charles, but a sense of unease pervaded the Spanish kingdoms; few knew what to make of their foreign king, and though Cardinal Cisneros had done what he thought best, the turbulent mood of the country had placed him in a very difficult position. When the cardinal learned that the king had landed at Gijón, plans were made for him to meet the king at Valladolid. Charles was in little hurry to head straight to Valladolid, however—his first stop was at Torsedillas, where Charles was finally able to lay eyes upon his mother, whom he had not seen in nearly ten years. “Queen Joanna’s condition at Torsedillas was most miserable,” Vespasiana Agnesi, an Italian memoirist of the period wrote. “Though she resided in the royal palace, it was a dark and filthy place… the king was shocked at the conditions in which his mother had been kept, and Queen Mary of Spain wept openly after a brief interview with her mother-in-law, who had no idea who she—or the king was.” Charles immediately decreed that he would establish a small court for his mother, where she could live in dignity. His visit to Torsedillas was not out of maternal affection, however—Charles’ advisors believed it was important that Joanna agree that her son co-rule with her, for otherwise his situation in Spain would be more difficult. Joanna duly agreed that Charles would co-rule beside her and signed the necessary authorizations—though some believed she had done so under duress, or out of hopes that her confinement might be ended. Despite this, Joanna remained confined at Torsedillas, though her material condition improved slightly. The king also attempted to improve the condition of his youngest sister, Catherine, who resided with their mother at Torsedillas—for a short time she came to court and plans were made with her to reside with Eleanor, but Joanna’s reaction was so severe that Charles relented—for now, his youngest sister would stay with their mother.

Queen Joanna of Castile with her two youngest children.​

After his visit to Torsedillas, Charles met his brother, Ferdinand, at Mojados. The brothers had never met before—while Charles had been raised and reared in the Low Counties, his younger brother had been born in Spain, and raised as a Spaniard. Despite the gap between them, Charles embraced Ferdinand, and promised to love and care for him as a brother should—all while the Burgundian councilors began to consider what might be done with the king’s Spanish born brother, an obvious emblem of everything that the king was not. The royal entourage did not reach Valladolid until August of 1517—by this time, Queen Mary was in the eighth month of her pregnancy, and visibly fatigued by the travels she had endured. Anne of Croÿ, a Flemish noblewoman who had been appointed to Queen Mary’s household as her Camarera Mayor, or first lady of the bedchamber wrote: “The queen was as beautiful as an English rose—and fragile as one, too. When we finally reached Valladolid, the queen was as white as a ghost. She practically fainted out of sheer exhaustion, and she took to her rooms immediately upon our arrival at the royal palace. A physician was summoned—a Converso named Dr. Villalobos. For a time, there was grave fear that the queen might lose the child, or her own health might be irreparably harmed, but thanks be to God, for she has persevered and, on this day, delivered a fine Prince…” The first child of Charles and Mary was born on September 19th, 1517—a healthy prince that was named Philip, after his grandfather.

This great news was followed shortly by bad news: Cardinal Cisneros, in his eighties and already in ailing health, fell ill. Though he was adamant to meet with the new king to brief him on the perilous situation in Spain, he found himself unable to do so—poor health forced him to decide to stay at Monastery of Aguilera at Aranda. The king, after learning of Cisneros’ poor health, decided to give him formal leave to retire, but his letter thanking the cardinal for his numerous services did not reach Cisneros before his demise. The cardinal who had helped hold Spain together in the period following the death of the great Isabella expired on November 8th at Roa—depriving Charles not only of a valuable Spanish councilor but also allowed his Burgundian retinue to gain further influence upon the young king—a situation which did not bode well for Spain.

The Spanish royal court spent the winter at Valladolid—Mary began to recover from the ordeal of her travels and subsequent childbirth; though she spent some time dispensing charity and visiting local monasteries in the area, she preferred to congregate with the English and Flemish ladies that made up the majority of her suite—provoking the ire of the Spanish grandees who believed their own wives and daughters were being denied rightful positions within the queen’s household. “I have heard dozens of stories from my dearest sister, Catherine, in regard to the great glories of Spain,” Mary wrote in a private letter to her friend, the Marchioness of Dorset. “I have longed to see what she has… but alas, I have not. It is a dry and dusty place; the greenery is nothing like it is back in England. The people seem gripped by misery, and are quarrelsome and difficult, so unlike our lightly English… it is not a place which agrees with me, but God’s Grace, I will preservere…”

Madonna and Child, Botticelli.​

Charles, meanwhile, was in preparations for meeting with the Castilian Cortes—while the power of his Flemish advisors began to grow. William of Croÿ, the Lord of Chièvres was made Treasurer of Castile, giving him full control of appointments to Spain’s growing colonies in the West Indies. The Lord of Chièvres wasted little time in availing himself of the prerogatives of his new position—his friend, Jan de Witte was named as Bishop of Cuba, while Laurent de Gorrevot was promised fiefs in both Cuba and the Yucatan and given the right to import 4000 slaves to the Indies—a right which Gorrevot promptly sold to a trading syndicate for 25,000 ducats. The Lord of Chièvres also succeeded in having his nephew, also named William, named as Archbishop of Toledo, succeeding Cisneros. Jean le Sauvage was given the title of Chancellor of Castile, and financially prospered as well, being given the right to collect duties on the export of almonds and dried fruit, rights which had formally belonged to Boabdil, the final Muslim ruler of Granada. Le Sauvage wasted little time in leasing his right to Ferdinand of Córdoba for 168,000 ducats.

There were also familial obligations to consider. Charles looked to Spain’s neighbor, Portugal, and wished to ensure that relations to the two kingdoms remained friendly and peaceful—and most of all, that Portugal would accept the king’s succession and render no aid to those who might fight against him. Wishing to emphasize his position as King of Spain, Charles was prepared to enter a matrimonial alliance with the Portuguese royal house, to enforce his own roots as a successor to the House of Trastámara. To do so, he offered the hand of his sister, Eleanor—the newly widowed Queen of France, who agreed to follow with her brothers wishes. Negotiations initially favored a match between Eleanor and the Crown Prince of Portugal, John, but King Manuel also expressed an interest in marrying the king’s sister—and was insistent with his interest. Not wishing to doom his sister into a second marriage with an old man, Charles was adamant: John and Eleanor, or no marriage. The Portuguese duly agreed, and the Treaty of Ribeira was signed in the winter of 1517.

Charles had only been within his new realm for six months, and already discontent simmered amongst people of every class. Even monks became embroiled in the controversy against the new king, and sermons throughout the winter and early 1518 regularly denounced the opulence of the royal court, the king’s Flemish retinue, as well as the haughtiness of their new queen. One of the first protests was a placard nailed to the door of a church, which read: “You, land of Castile, very wretched and damned are you to suffer that as noble a kingdom as you are, you will be governed by those who have no love for you.” This was the atmosphere that existed when Charles finally met with the Castilian Cortes in early 1518, negotiations proved difficult. The Cortes agreed to accept Charles position as king alongside his mother with several stipulations—he would be required to learn Castilian; he would refrain from appointing foreigners to posts within the kingdom, nor would he offer any further grants of naturalization. He was also prohibited from taking precious metals from Castile, aside from the Quinto Real, and he was required to respect the rights of his mother, Queen Joanna. Seeing little choice in the matter, Charles begrudgingly agreed to the demands placed upon him—and the Castilian Cortes formally paid homage to him in February of 1518. He was not only crowned in their presence but was also granted a generous subsidy of 600,000 ducats.

William of Croÿ, the Lord of Chièvres.​

Following his meeting with the Cortes of Castile, Charles made plans to meet with the Aragonese Cortes as well. Some within Charles’ entourage suggested that his brother Ferdinand should be sent abroad with much haste. Grave rumored swirled that the Archbishop of Saragossa, Ferdinand of Aragon’s illegitimate son, was intent on making the younger Ferdinand King of Aragon—and perhaps all of Spain. The Spanish people were also unwilling to see young Ferdinand leave—though the queen had given birth to son, he seemed as foreign to the people as both the king and queen. Prince Ferdinand still maintained an important position. The choice alone fell to Charles—and for now, he decided that his brother would stay. Plots or not, it was better to have him closer; he wished for his brother to attend the Cortes of Aragon by his side, to see what they might do. If needed, he could send Ferdinand abroad later. Eleanor would not attend either; she would remain behind at Valladolid; her trousseau and suite being prepared for her marriage. Eleanor and John would be wed in July of 1518.

The Aragonese Cortes met with the king at Saragossa. The mood was far from congenial, and most deputies were gravely opposed to the king. It was only after the king was prepared to make concessions that the cortes could be induced to offer up their allegiance—most unwillingly. The appearance of Ferdinand at the Cortes helped matters only slightly. On the matter of a subsidy, the cortes offered the king 100,000 ducats—a sum which the cortes immediately appropriated to cover debts that had been incurred in the previous reign, leaving the king with nothing. Like Castile, Aragon was in terrible condition. The great lords were able to act with impunity, and some estates became fortresses for robbers and other villains. They had very little desire for a just government. While at Saragossa, the king made the decision to appoint his aunt Margaret as Governor the Low Countries once again realizing that while he was abroad, he would need her steady hand within his Burgundian dominions. “I am most glad to hear that the king has once more given you your rightful position,” The Emperor Maximilian wrote in a letter to his daughter—one of his last. “I pray that his issues in Spain are dealt with, and firmly—it must be. I am not well, as you know… and we must plan for what is to happen when that comes to pass. Charles must be elected to continue the great work of our house. I have already lain the groundwork and have promised immense sums to the Electors—Mainz, Cologne, Brandenburg, Bohemia, the Palatinate… they have agreed to support Charles for the right sum—sums that Charles can obtain in Spain. I implore you to keep me abreast of the happenings in Spain… and continue to impress upon the king the importance of the empire.”

From the difficulties of Saragossa, Charles soon moved onto Barcelona, the chief town of Catalonia—where he prepared to deal with the Catalan Corts. He encountered similar issues with the Catalonian deputies—compared to Castile, Aragon’s various estates still maintained a measure of autonomy and power and believed that their monarch was connected to them through a public contract; he could not simply demand what he desired from them like a god on high. The king was kept waiting for months in Barcelona; the city was paralyzed with a religious tumult, with a group of citizens alleging that a group of Conversos had murdered a young child, while an outbreak of sickness within the city caused matters to be further delayed—with several Flemish nobles falling ill, including Jean le Sauvage—who passed away in June of 1518. Though Charles had been asked by the Castilian estates to appoint natives to positions within the kingdom, Charles chose to replace Le Sauvage with Mercurino Arborio, the Marquis of Gattinara, a Savoyard who had previously served Margaret of Austria as a legal advisor. Gattinara was a man of great principals and talent, who knew Spain thoroughly—and on top of that, he was liked. Gattinara was to serve as the young king’s primary political advisor alongside the Lord of Chièvres and would serve in the capacity of Grand Chancellor of all the king’s realms.

Mercurino Arborio, Marquis of Gattinara.​

Charles was not acclaimed in Barcelona until the new year—and he received a modest grant. News from abroad was terrible, when tales of the death of Emperor Maximilian reached the King of Spain. Maximilian’s health had already been in the decline—and upon seeing an eclipse in 1518, Maximilian firmly believed that his death was near. He chose to return to Innsbruck, wanting to die in the city that was closest to his heart. The emperor had always lived, at least financially, on borrowed time. When the emperor and his suite arrived in Innsbruck, the merchants and purveyors refused to offer the emperor any further credit, and the burghers denied the emperor access to the city. Maximilian was forced to decamp for Wels but suffered a fit soon after his arrival that resulted in a stroke, rendering him bedbound by mid-December of 1518. Maximilian continued to work from his bed, and even saw foreign envoys up until the very end—on January 12th of 1519, the emperor died.

Maximilian’s death left the Holy Roman Empire in an interregnum. Though all knew of Maximilian’s wish for his grandson to succeed him as emperor, it was not guaranteed. Even before his death, Maximilian was focused on his grandson’s succession, expending ƒ6000 in bribes to the electors. King François of France soon declared his intention to stand in the imperial elections, and was tactically endorsed by Pope Leo X, as neither had little desire to see the King of Spain crowned as emperor—further expanding his dominions. When Charles received the news of his grandfather’s demise, he immediately hastened to prepare for his departure back to the Low Countries so that he could more adequately contest the imperial election. While Charles should’ve prepared to attend the Valencian Cortes, he instead chose to deploy two deputies in his stead—sending Adrian of Utrecht, the Bishop of Tortosa, as well as Prince Ferdinand. Though the estates were proud to set their eyes upon the prince, they were gravely upset that the king had not deigned to attend in person. Still, he was accepted as king and a nominal subsidy was granted—ending Charles’ disastrous tour of the Kingdom of Aragon. Navarre—with its own cortes demanding that Charles attend a coronation ceremony within the kingdom, was completely ignored, with Charles’ focus falling solely upon one thing: the imperial crown.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Our next chapter! It got a little long too, but things are heating up in Spain.

Chapter 9. The Imperial Election of 1519 – A Growing Crisis
1519-1521 — France, Germany, Italy & Spain

“We, who are each of us as good, and altogether more powerful than you, promise obedience to your government if you maintain our rights and liberties; but if not, not.”
— Traditional Aragonese Investiture Ceremony

Music Accompaniment: Triste España sin ventura

Charlemagne crowned Holy Roman Emperor by the Pope.​

Emperor Maximilian’s death set off a contest for the imperial crown—the first real contest to exist in many years, with the imperial crown of the Holy Roman Empire being a virtually assured monopoly of the House of Habsburg following the demise of Emperor Sigismund and the House of Luxembourg in 1438. Though Charles and his adherents desired to see him ascend to the throne that had been held by his grandfather and his forebears, there remained many obstacles in his way—the primary being his immense holdings outside of the empire and his culturally French upbringing. To the staid and solid German electors, they looked upon the King of Spain as a foreigner just as much as King François of France—Charles’ primary competitor for the imperial crown. The support that France enjoyed in certain quarters also did not help matters; it was believed that some of the electors might be swayed to lean in a direction that would be detrimental to Germany and Italy.

For Charles, the arguments were simple: given the alarm that the German princes had about the growing influence of the Ottomans—their Sultan, Selim, had most recently vanquished the Mameluk Sultanate in Egypt and added those dominions to his already vast empire—it was prudent that the princes should select one who was prepared to defend Europe from such an onslaught and one who had the vast financial resources to do so. François, however, argued that it was time for the Habsburgs to realize that the Imperial crown was not theirs by right and that, being an elective honor, any prince was worthy to aspire to it. The Empire required a prudent monarch, and François saw himself as the one to aspire to such glory—especially given the religious controversies that were beginning to develop due to Martin Luther’s theses that had been published in Wittenburg. What experience did the King of Spain have? François also encouraged his emissaries to pour whatever dirt possible upon the King of Spain’s cause—it was argued that given his possession of the Crown of Naples, he was forbidden from holding the imperial crown, to reignite arguments from the time of the Hohenstaufens; but François, knowing that his position was precarious compared to Charles, chose to answer the best way he could—with money. Funds liberally went outward to the imperial electors to sway them.

The Spanish king’s imperial cause was aided in his cause by the imperial financiers, the Fuggers—who made a loan of ƒ500,000 immediately available for bribes to the imperial electors. Charles also solicited a loan from his aunt Catherine of Aragon—who agreed to supply £100,000 in secrecy from her councilors, with her envoy, Sir Anthony Poyntz, delivering the funds to the English ambassador in the Low Countries, Sir Thomas Boleyn—to be passed onward to Margaret for disbursement. Margaret of Austria, the king’s aunt, had embraced the King of Spain’s cause—lending her own expertise in winning over the electors—along with helping to supply funds from the state treasury and her own privy purse to be used as bribes for the most intransigent. Pope Leo X, an astute politician, had his own concerns: he trembled at the idea of the King of Spain, with the wealth of the Indies at his back, becoming emperor. Nor was he enamored with the idea of the King of France becoming emperor, with his claims to Milan and position as Lord of Genoa. Either man would be fatal to the independence of the Holy See, the fragile peace in Italy, and possibly for Europe as a whole—yet outwardly, for a time, the Pope offered his support to King François, hoping to improve his situation to such an extent that Charles might offer up an alternate candidate to himself.

Jacob Fugger, "the Rich."
Imperial Banker to Maximilian I.​

Of the seven electors, Charles could be certain of the vote of the King of Bohemia—Louis Jagiellon, a mere youth who was affianced to Charles’ sister, Mary. Of the remaining electors, perhaps two were honest men—the Archbishop of Triers, who supported François out of personal conviction, and the Elector of Saxony, Frederick the Wise—who resolutely refused to meet with neither the envoys of Charles nor François. The remaining electors—the Margrave of Brandenburg, with his brother the Archbishop of Mainz, and the Elector of the Palatinate—were set on selling their votes to the highest bidder—an intrigue into which they drew the final elector, the Archbishop of Cologne. François had already paid out some ƒ500,000 to the electors and found himself forced to add to that sum, promising an additional ƒ250,000. Pope Leo also came to the King of France’s aid—he promised to raise two of the spiritual electors to the cardinalate, while the third would be given legatine authority in Germany. King François also attempted to appeal to the more patriotic electors by promising, if elected, that he would make war on the Turk, boasting: "I shall either be at Constantinople in three years or dead."

For a time, the situation for Charles seemed so dire that his aunt, Margaret, proposed that Charles withdraw his candidacy and allow his brother Ferdinand to stand for election in his stead. This suggestion was immediately decried by Charles’ closest advisors, and Margaret was forced to withdraw her proposal. Meanwhile, Pope Leo X tried his best to set their electors on a totally different course, proposing that the Elector of Saxony, Frederick the Wise, should be elected. This proposal was dead in the water, with the Elector of Saxony refusing outright. “In times of peace, an emperor who reigns within our empire and possesses a small estate should be worthy of such a crown." The elector wrote in a letter to his fellow electors: "But in times of difficulty, such as now—that is no longer prudent. Turkish armies, led by a gallant and powerful monarch, are assembling as we speak and would pour into Germany with a violence that has never been seen in our times. The Imperial scepter must be handed over to someone more powerful than I or any other German prince—we do not possess the dominions, revenue, or authority to fight against such a powerful enemy. We must look to either France or Spain—both monarchies that possess great armies that can defend us. But the King of Spain—he is of German extraction and a Prince of this Empire by virtue of the territories that come to him through his grandfather—lies on the frontier and would no doubt be the first subject to attack should the Turks come for us. His claim is preferable—and stronger—than the claim of a stranger who does not speak our language, have our blood, or understand our culture.” The elector’s letter served to inflame the electors in favor of Charles and the House of Austria, and when the imperial election opened in June of 1519, it was considered an open and shut case.

Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony.
His support for Charles would turn the tide.​

In the end, the electors voted unanimously—the next Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire would be the King of Spain, becoming known by the name that he would be most known by—Charles V. Though Charles would later attempt to reward the Elector of Saxony with a generous subsidy, the elector would refuse, asking only that his new sovereign repay Maximilian’s debt that was owed to Saxony, which dated back to 1497. While Charles had engaged the support of his council in his election as emperor, the news of his election was met dourly in Spain—not only would they lose their sovereign and be forced to endure the odious government of a viceroy, they also feared that they would be relegated to the status of a mere province and that Spanish men and Spanish monies would be spent on wasteful imperial ambitions and incessant troubles in both Germany and Italy. When the embassy of the Elector Frederick of the Palatinate arrived in Barcelona nine days following the election to offer up the imperial title to Charles, he had no hesitation when he accepted it, declaring that he would soon set off for Germany to take possession of his new crown.

The sullen mood had not improved with Charles’ election to the imperial crown and continued to deteriorate. Valencia was in grave upheaval following the visit of Adrian of Utrecht and Prince Ferdinand—both of whom returned to Charles empty-handed. Charles, piqued at the obstinacy of the Valencian Cortes, authorized the Valencian guilds to arm themselves—ostensibly for the protection of that province against Muslim raids from the sea. In Castile, a similar sense of unrest pervaded, and Charles’ farewell tour throughout Castile was noted for its icy reception. "They do not jeer at us," Queen Mary, soon to be empress, wrote privately. "But they stare, with large empty eyes—as if they cannot countenance the fact that we will soon leave. Though the cheers of ¡Viva la Rey! were sparse upon our arrival, they are virtually nonexistent now. I have no friends here, beyond those in my suite who followed me here; I am utterly alone, and I am hated and detested…"

The return of the royal party of Castile was not merely to conduct the emperor to Germany but to raise fresh funds to defray the heavy expenses that the emperor had incurred in securing his election—and to ensure he could depart for Germany in a style suitable to an emperor. As such, Charles issued fresh writs for the Cortes to gather at Compostella in Galicia, a distant province. While Charles and Mary were received without issue in Burgos, the mood in Valladolid was near mutinous when they discovered Charles’ intentions to leave for Germany and to call the Cortes outside of Valladolid, one of the cities where the Cortes were traditionally held. The royal cavalcade was pelted with stones, and an armed escort was required for the royal entourage to pass through the angry mobs unscathed. Deputies of the Cortes signaled their own disquiet to the king through various remonstrances and petitions—all which Charles avoided by refusing to allow the deputies into his presence. This only served to fuel grievances against the king’s regime in Castile, which began to spread throughout the various cities, many of which protested the king. While the royal council attempted to ensure that pliable representatives would be selected for the new Cortes, it was largely a failure, and Charles would soon be faced with a Cortes more intransigent than his last.

Opposition to the royal program was spearheaded by clerics from the city of Salamanca, who wrote their own manifesto in opposition to the imperial policies. The Salamanca Program [1], as it was named, called for the imprecise powers of the deputies of the Cortes to be replaced with more specific powers, namely the ability to force the king to accept petitions placed before him by the deputies before any votes would take place. The program also called for Cortes to always be summoned within central Castile (on flat land) and that money and horses could not be spent abroad. Other clauses concerned the House of Trade, or House of the Indies, which collected colonial taxes and duties, demanding that the House always be kept within Castile and not be transferred to Flanders. Other articles concerned the royal house—the Salamanca Program demanded that not only should the king’s young son, Philip, remain in Castile to be educated, but that Prince Ferdinand be named his guardian in the king’s absence. As Ferdinand had remained in Spain and had been educated in that country, the Salamanca clergy deplored what they termed imperial ambitions for their prince, asking that Ferdinand should remain in Spain during the king’s absence to serve as a representative of the royal house—and that he should marry a Portuguese princess to ensure the royal family’s continued connection within Iberia. Other articles touched upon the possible regency in the king’s absence, asking that the regent be invested with broad powers to avoid creating the situation that existed during Cisnero’s regency, where foreign influence had contributed to Castile’s political issues. Religiously, the Salamanca made one proposal: that the sale of indulgences be limited to prevent abuse by its sellers, and that money obtained from indulgences be used for their exact purpose and no other. Though the Salamanca program was adopted by Salamanca’s deputies, the manifesto spread and encouraged other cities to adopt it for the following Cortes.

Meeting of the Catalan Cort, c. 15th Century.​

At length, the new Cortes was opened at Compostella in the presence of the king, with the Bishop of Badajoz offering up a conciliatory speech, intent on mixing the glories of Spain’s history with its future: "Now the glory of Spain is returned to Spain, which in years past was asleep. Those who wrote in praise of her say that when other nations sent tribute to Rome, Spain sent Emperors; she sent Trajan, Hadrian, and Theodosius, who were succeeded by Arcadius and Honorius. Now the empire has once more come to seek its emperor from Spain and Our King of Spain is made… by the grace of God, King of the Romans, and Emperor of the world." The king’s demands were more easily addressed—he asked for the Castilian subsidy levied in 1518, for a term of three years, to be renewed—not only to prevent its lapse, but to ensure that it could be collected in the king’s absence to pay for the cost of his journey to Germany as well as the expenses incurred by his election. Charles’ address to the Cortes was far curter: "I reiterate that my wishes are those expressed by His Grace the Bishop of Badajoz."

Despite the honied words offered up by the king’s representative, the mood of the Cortes was volatile. Though a small portion of the deputies were prepared to accede to Charles’ request, the majority saw Charles’ request for another subsidy as unconstitutional and unrequired. The Salamanca deputies, carrying the petition from their clergy, were disbarred from attending the cortes as their program had not been written by the city aldermen. Wrangling continued for some time at Compostella, but without a satisfactory answer, Charles soon suspended the Cortes—ostensibly for Holy Week but more for the defeat of his policy. Having no answer and knowing he had tarried too long in Spain, Charles and the court soon moved from Compostella to La Coroña. With the Cortes dismissed, the royal court leaned upon the deputies in whatever forms they could—regular and irregular—and used threats, bribes, and various offers to induce the intransigent deputies to agree to the king’s request.

When the Cortes finally reopened at La Coroña, the king reiterated his agreement with some of the deputies—that he would allow no precious metals or horses to leave the kingdom without their permission. This did not mollify the deputies, who pressed that the other proposals be considered and possibly adopted. In time, the agreed that offices in Castile should be held by natives and not foreigners, and he agreed that the regent in his absence should have broad powers to deal with any possible disorder. The name of the king’s regent on this proposal was left blank, and at this time, many were continuing to agitate for Prince Ferdinand to remain within the kingdom as the king’s representative or possibly as regent; if he were named regent, some suitable grandee could assist him in the king’s absence. Despite the king offering some assurances, the Cortes remained deadest against voting for the king’s subsidy, with deputies from seven cities still asking that their petitions be accepted. The king offered further concessions to the Cortes, promising to ensure the coasts and Navarre were well defended and that the Royal Council would administer justice fairly. The king was also forced to give way to the position of his brother—while Charles did not agree to name Ferdinand as regent, he relented that as a native prince of this kingdom, he had a right to remain and would name Ferdinand as guardian of his young son, Philip. The king also announced that he would name Adiran of Utrecht, Bishop of Tortosa, and Cardinal as Regent of Spain—several deputies protested such an appointment as illegal, given Adrian’s connection to the Flemish coterie that surrounded Charles, but the king was adamant in his choice.

At length, the deputies agreed to renew the king’s subsidy for another three years and had great hope that the king would keep to the promises he had made, though given his previous promises, many were unsure he would do so. A growing crisis was now beginning to spread throughout Spain, and its flames would soon be ignited. Once the subsidy was granted, Charles—along with Mary—would set sail for Flanders so that Charles could claim the imperial crown.

[1] This is largely an OTL proposal. Some things are different, concerning Ferdinand—in OTL, they asked that Charles delay his departure until he married and had an heir.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

So, this chapter was kind of a headache, not gonna lie. Kinda glad to be done with Spain for a bit! I considered several, several different options for this chapter, but the ending may surprise some. Regardless, it is a different ending for Spain, even if it doesn't seem like it. It lays the groundwork for some serious political changes, which I find really, really interesting. I was definitely influenced by some comments from Blueflowwer, so I hope you enjoy. The future of Spain shall be... interesting.

Chapter 10. The Revolution of the Communities
1520-1522 – Spain & Portugal.

“We, oh desperate and sad Castilians, embrace this cause in hopes that the king might see the error of his ways.”
– Anonymous

Musical Accompaniment: Pabanea

Rebel Movement in Spain, c. 1520. Rebel cities in Purple, Royalist in Green. Split are half and half.​

The Cortes at La Coroña had not ended on satisfactory terms, but all the same, the King of Spain had received what he had desired—further funds to pay for his trip to Germany for his coronation, and to ensure the continuous collection of taxes in his absence. The royal coterie—comprised of the king, the queen, and several of the king’s most important advisors, such as the Lord of Chièvres and Chancellor Gattinara, departed shortly thereafter. Adrian of Utrecht, the Bishop of Tortosa and one of the king’s closest advisors—would remain behind, as Regent of Spain—who took up his residence at Valladolid. Prince Ferdinand, the king’s brother, also remained behind, a representative of the royal house, but in some ways a hostage—his domicile in Spain having been ardently demanded by the deputies of the Cortes if their sovereign was to truly leave. Ferdinand was granted guardianship of his nephew, the young Prince Philip; the pair of them retired soon after the king’s departure to the Royal Alcázar of Madrid—watched after by parts of the royal household that had remained in Spain.

Despite the king’s departure, the situation in Castile remained dangerously volatile. Sparks began to fly firstly in Toledo—a city that had already long been on edge, having decried the imperial ambitions of their sovereign. One of Adrian’s first acts as regent was to attempt to deal with the unstable situation in Toledo by recalling the city counsellor of that city to put more pliable replacements in their place. Rioters drove out the royal administrators, and a citizen’s committee was formed—headed by Juan López de Pedilla, the Captain General of Toledo and Pedro Laso de la Vega. They formed the first Comunidad within Castile—and within days they seized complete control of Toledo, with the remaining royal administrators being driven from the fortifications of the Alcázar of Toledo.

Revolt spread quickly throughout central Castile in the short period after the king’s departure, with riots breaking out in several cities—most especially in cities where their deputies had voted in agreement for an extension of the king’s subsidy. Cities such as Segovia, Burgos, and Guadalajara suffered extreme unrest—in Segovia, woolworkers murdered the city’s royal administrators and deputy to the Cortes. Other cities, such as Ávila, Léon, and Zamora saw more minor altercations, where property was ransacked, and the royal administrators pelted with stones and rotten vegetables. Adrian’s regency seemed almost powerless in the increasing unrest throughout the country, and momentum was soon given over to the growing revolt. In Madrid, the unrest spread relatively quickly, and the Comunidad which was formed was easily able to overpower the token garrison that was in defense of the Royal Alcázar of Madrid. In a short time, both Prince Ferdinand and Prince Philip fell into the clutches of the rebels, who nevertheless treated both princes well and with due deference. Despite this, it was an embarrassment to the increasingly impotent royal council.

In the growing power vacuum, Toledo’s council acted decisively in suggesting that those cities which held votes within the Cortes should be summoned to hold an emergency meeting—an unprecedented suggestion, given that the Cortes were typically summoned by the king and held in his presence. Toledo’s council offered a program of political reform, with five central goals in mind—to cancel the taxes that had been voted at La Coroña, a return to locally controlled taxation that was dictated per head, reserving official positions and church benefices for Castilians, a ban on money leaving the kingdom to fund foreign affairs, and finally to designate a Castilian to lead the kingdom in the king’s absence. Though the program on a whole was not a revolutionary one, word of the council’s plans began to spread like wildfire amongst the populace—and it was not long before those ideas began to turn to ideas that involved the replacement of the king. After all, their king was no true Spaniard—and had ambitions far outside the kingdom. Did the kingdom truly have to suffer under the imperial yoke, no better than a mere province?

Some rebels suggested that Castile''s cities ought to
adopt governments similar to the Italian Republics, such as Genoa.​

Toledo’s council floated the idea of turning Castile into a union of free cities, not unlike Genoa or the various other Italian republics. Other competing ideas favored retaining the monarchy, but dethroning Charles—replacing him with his mother, Queen Joanna—who after all, was still their queen, and had been wrongfully deprived of her powers. Others suggested that Charles should be replaced by young son, Prince Philip, with Ferdinand named as regent; others yet believed that Charles and his odious line should be deprived of all rights to the Crown of Castile, and Ferdinand named king in his stead. The discontent in Castile began to shift from a taxation protest and more into a revolution—seeking to desecrate the existing order and replace it with something new—and in the eyes of the rebels, something better.

The terrible situation began to move quickly towards an armed conflict in June of 1520, when the royal council dispatched Rodrigo Ronquillo to investigate the murder of Segovia’s deputy, but also to check the situation at Madrid, where Prince Ferdinand was being held. At Segovia, Ronquillo was refused entrance. Putting aside his orders to head whence to Madrid, Ronquillo set to place Segovia under blockade, having only a small force and being unable to besiege the city. Ronquillo’s actions only served to galvanize the people of Segovia, who rallied around their Comunidad. Segovia soon requested support from both Toledo and Madrid—and both cities dispatched their militias. The communal militias, under command of Juan López de Pedilla and Juan de Zapata soon made quick work of Ronquillo’s small detachment of troops, giving the rebels an early victory over the royalist forces.

The defeat of Ronquillo’s troops put Adrian of Utrecht’s regency in a seriously weakened position. Though the Bishop of Tortosa was widely trusted by the king, he was not a man of strong ardour or courage; nor did he have the convictions of the Cardinal de Cisneros, who had led the kingdom previously. “The situation in the kingdom since your departure has greatly deteriorated, your majesty,” The Bishop of Tortosa wrote to the king—in one of his final letters. “My health and nerves have been ruined by the terrible situation here, and I feel that I have greatly failed you, sire. You’ve asked me to uphold your crown, and I am allowing it to be shattered at the very altar upon which it was placed. I beg you to settle affairs abroad as soon as you possibly can; only your very person can offer a solution to these present troubles. I ask that you send whatever funds you can offer us from Flanders; pike, shot, and men are desperately needed, too. I remain, forever, your devoted servant.” By time the Bishop of Tortosa’s letter reached Charles V, the Bishop had already suffered a nervous collapse, resulting in a stroke—by July, he was dead—leaving the government of the crown rudderless.

Adrian of Utrecht, the Bishop of Tortosa.​

The death of Adrian of Utrecht effectively paralyzed the royal government, depriving it of its head. As the royal council devolved into petty squabbles, other cities began to follow in the lead of Toledo and Segovia, and they too deposed their governments. A new Cortes was called by the rebelling cities, called the Santa Junta de las Comuniades, or Holy Council of the Communities. The new Cortes held its first session in Ávila, where they declared themselves to be the legitimate authority of the crown—in effect suspending the regency and deposing the royal council. Padilla was named Captain-General, and an order was sent out to raise troops for the Cortes. Though only four cities initially attended the first Cortes meeting, its ranks began to grow. The royal government, effectively paralyzed, lost further momentum: when the council finally decided that force should be used against the rebels and ordered for a local commander to use the artillery stationed at Medina del Campo against Segovia, it was too late—the rebels had already seized the artillery and munitions stores and moved them into safer ground. Even somewhat loyalist cities, such as Valladolid began to establish their own communes. The royal council, effectively disbanded, was forced to retreat to Medina de Rioseco, under the protection of the Admiral of Castile, Fadrique Fernández. The royal army, its pay in arrears, also began to dissolve—many troops going over to the rebels.

The situation in Madrid was difficult for Prince Ferdinand—still in possession of his young nephew. Though the rebels gave Ferdinand the respect he deserved, given that he might be hoisted to the throne, he was kept under guard; the royal household was dismissed, and Ferdinand and his nephew were served by servants appointed by the commune of Madrid. Little Philip suffered from several maladies during their imprisonment—fevers, teething, and even a bout of malaria. “The prince does not fare well,” Ferdinand wrote in a letter that was smuggled to his sister, Eleanor, the Crown Princess of Portugal. “He is sick, wailing constantly; though he thrived in these first years, he is not well now. He cannot stomach more than a few sips of gruel—not that we have much else. I must leave this note brief, so I apologize—there is not much more to say. I will be going soon to see mother; and I hope the air will suit Philip better. Please send our brother my regards. Let him know that I remain always forever his devoted servant. All that I do is for his cause.” The letter bore obvious marks of nervous energy; one can see upon the parchment where Ferdinand etched out certain words, perhaps to hide them from prying censors—but not so marked that they could not be deciphered.

True to Ferdinand’s word, he was soon transferred from Madrid to Torsedillas—perhaps to ensure that those members of the royal family who remained in Spain would be close together. Prince Philip was not moved from Madrid, owing to his delicate health. By August, members of the Cortes met with both Queen Joanna and Prince Ferdinand—with the deputies of the Junta explaining the situation to which Castile had deteriorated. “The prior reign has done much harm to Castile, Majesty—” One of the deputies said in a florid speech to Queen Joanna. “What the kingdom needs is stability; and you are the only one who can provide it. The Cortes places itself at your mercy; we will follow your command.” Despite the queen’s mental state, she was lucid for this meeting with the deputies. “Milords, I understand the grave troubles that you bring me, and have placed at my meet. Of course, this is no fit state for our great kingdom—I ask that the Cortes be assembled here at Torsedillas and those cities that have not yet attended be invited to do so.” The Cortes at Ávila would soon shift towards Torsedillas, with over fourteen Castilian cities electing to send deputies. Only the heavily (still) royalist cities in the southern part of Castile: Seville, Granada, Cordóba, and Jaén, held out from sending deputies. Within a month, representatives from the Cortes pledged to use force of arms to hold up their position, if necessary—they proclaimed themselves the legitimate government of Castile, and denounced Charles’ royal council as illegitimate. The various cities, now united in revolt, took oaths of mutual protection.

Painting of the Trastámara Royal Family.​

Given Joanna’s mental state, many of the rebels thought that the safest option would be to place Ferdinand into a position of power beside her. Their initial draft did not include the idea of Ferdinand as co-king, as Charles had been, but rather possessing a more anomalous title, such as Governor. When the proposals were presented to the queen, she demurred from signing them. “Milords, as you have proclaimed my sovereignty, I do not feel it fair—or right, for it to be signed away,” Joanna stated wildly in a meeting with the deputies. “My son is young. Must he already grow to such heights?” At this, the deputies put subtle threats before the queen: she could either agree to the proposals, or the Cortes would depose her in favor of Ferdinand. Did she wish to live freely, or did she wish to live as she had in the prior reigns? Ferdinand looked on. There was a standoff—but eventually, Joanna signed the documents naming Ferdinand as Governor of the Kingdom—and as her heir. The Kingdom had effectively been stripped from Charles, right under his nose.

At the beginning, Charles did not grasp the seriousness of the situation in Castile; he continued to demand payments from Castile and Spain, even as the payments slowly dried up and lines of credit became impossible to obtain. When Adrian of Utrecht passed, Charles refrained from appointing a successor—merely giving a decree to give the royal council more authority and latitude to deal with the present issues. It was only as the revolt spiraled—and Charles learned that his brother was being hoisted above him, that Charles decided to act. It was brother against brother—even if one brother said he was unwilling. Charles appointed Fadrique Fernández, as well as the Constable of Castile, Íñigo Fernández as his new regents. Charles authorized them with three important jobs—to win the nobility back over to the crown of Castile, take control of the person of the king’s son, Prince Philip—and to contain the rebellion and crush it. The king was also prepared to make further concessions—he cancelled the taxes ratified at La Coroña, this removed two of the rebels most important complaints—and though the royal army remained in ruins, the great nobles still maintained their own private armies.

Through the end of 1520, the fires of the revolt began to spread beyond the moderate rebels, taking on an anti-aristocratic tone—this placed the Cortes in a difficult position; should they defend those rebelling against their rightful lords and destroying property? Or should they side with the very men who had made this revolt against the crown so successful? Anti-feudal revolts rocked Castile through the fall and winter, which served to alienate the large landowners and the merchant class. Yes, they were unhappy with their present king—but the present situation would not do, either. They longed for peace, prosperity, and plenty—not chaos and famine. Though the Admiral of Castile was open to negotiations with the rebels, both sides had armies, which precluded any useful discussions—both sides were intent on the destruction of the other. The moderate rebels began to lose power to more radical leaders, who were demanding more out of the revolt than the initial leaders.

Royalist forces struck a mighty blow in December when they managed to take back control of Tordesillas—depriving the rebels of Queen Joanna and Prince Ferdinand. The emperor, still in Germany, announced the Edict of Worms, naming certain rebel lords and other men as traitors. Secular rebels were condemned to death, while clergymen were to be turned over to church authorities. One curious name was at the very top of the list—Prince Ferdinand. “As my own brother has seen fit to seize the title of ‘Governor’ he is no better than the lowest traitor…” The edict spoke. “We condemn him as we would any other subject; he shall be held in strict confinement until a suitable judgement can be decided.” In reality—the condemnation was a farce, merely given to spook the rebels. Following Ferdinand’s liberation, he was allowed to join the royalist forces in the north of the kingdom—though his health was marred by his confinement at Torsedillas by the rebel forces. Madrid fell soon after—but young Prince Philip was nowhere to be found; and no firm answers could be given. His wetnurse stated that he had died of a sickness; other servants spoke that he had been smothered with a pillow. Others whispered that he had been whisked away. Regardless, there was no clear answer—but curiously enough, the expense accounts for the young Prince ceased a short time after Ferdinand was moved to Torsedillas—leading many to believe that the young prince had succumbed to natural causes, and the Comuniade was simply too embarrassed to announce the death of a royal prince under their care.

Meeting of the Royalists and Rebels, c. 1521.​

1521 began much as the year before—the country remained divided between the rebel and royalist camps, with the rebel camp divided between moderate and radical reformers. With the radical reformers beginning to gain the upper hand, many of the moderate rebels began to look more clearly towards the royalist forces; if a compromise could be found, perhaps the endless suffering could be dealt with. Both sides had armed forces; while the rebel army had some success raiding the north of Castile and were able to consolidate their forces in Toledo following the death of the foreign Archbishop there, William de Croÿ. Despite this, the royalist forces were beginning to grow in strength—in both the north and the south, putting pressure on the center of Castile, the heart of the rebellion. At Villalar, the royalist and rebel forces clashed in April of 1521—an indecisive battle that gave neither side the momentum they needed. With rumors of the King of Navarre preparing to invade Upper Navarre, there was an absolute need to conclude peace—either diplomatically or militarily.

Pedilla signaled his openness to reopen negotiations with the Admiral and Constable of Castile. Though his influence was dwindling compared to the radicals, he was open to aiding the royalists in putting down the more radical rebels—if his demands could be met. The moderate nobles that still sided with the communes had three simple demands at this point—they wished for the Cortes to be summoned on a regular basis—with the king or his appointed representative present; secondly, they wished for the Cortes to have the ability to submit their petitions to the king at any point—and the king could not deny them. In the question of taxation, the Cortes desired more say, and asked to be included in such deliberations for the king. This represented a large shift in Castile—away from a more authoritative regime, and towards a deliberative one.

With the kingdom in chaos, Charles gave approval for his regents to negotiate with the moderate nobles—now termed as the Comuneros against the more radical enemies of the crown. In the spring of 1522, the royalist and Comuniades signed the Treaty of Segovia, outlining the Cortes demands—while acknowledging than King Charles and his line… are the legitimate heirs of the crown.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Alright, so I have a more narrative chapter. Unsure if I'll do these regularly. I might, but I found it interesting in laying the ground for some things. I will say, there is a small thought in this chapter that might give modern readers pause...and 'ick' but I've pretty clearly explained the narrative reason why. Hope it makes sense.

Chapter 11. The Boullan Sisters

“The English mare, my hackney—a very great whore, the most infamous of them all.”
— King François of France, speaking of his affair with the eldest Boullan sister, Marie.

Music Accompaniment: Bransle de Bourgogne

Portrait of a Young Woman, later 16th century.​

“Oh, Simonette—not like that!” The voice of a young woman protested—her eyes starring back carefully into the Venetian looking glass as she carefully examined her appearance. “I will look like a little girl, and that is not at all what I desire!”

“Ma petite chérie—why are you in such a hurry to grow up?” Simonette’s voice was tinged with her French accent, adding a depth of elegance to the woman who was little more than a governess and childminder. “You are young yet, Anne—there is time enough in due course to look like a woman. Who could you possibly seek to impress?”

Anne Boleyn—or rather, Anne de Boullan, as she was known now in France, was thirteen years old[1]—and in a hurry to grow up. Even in her short time, her life had been exciting—she’d spent her youngest years at the court of Margaret of Austria, learning all the skills that were required of a suitable young woman. When Margaret’s niece, Eleanor of Austria, had been wed to the old King Louis XII, Anne had been included in the young queen’s suite as a maid of honor. Alas—the marriage had not lasted long, but Anne, charming Anne, had made the most of her time in the Court of France, and soon was offered a place in the household of Queen Claude. She had spent her last five years there, perfecting her French and her courtly mannerisms. It was a life of fun and gaiety—all the better when her sister, Mary—or Marie, as she was now known, had joined the French court as well. Marie had come from England a year ago—along with dearest Simonette, the Boleyn family governess.

“There are many to impress, Simonette,” Anne answered haughtily—with all the verve that might be expected of a thirteen-year-old. “The king does not like little girls, and so I must not be one.”

“Ah yes, the king—” Simonette repeated with a hearty chuckle. “My darling, I am not sure the king would feign to glance your way—little girl or not. They say he has taken a liking to your sœur.”

Anne let out a little harrumph, glancing about their chamber. Yes, it was true—Marie, vivacious and pleasurable Marie had charmed the king. Despite their age difference—Marie was several years older than Anne, Anne considered her sister a rival of sorts. Yes, she was her sister and she loved her and adored her—but why must the king pay attention to her? Not that she exactly cared; the king was twenty-six: practically an old man by Anne’s youthful estimations. A glance from the king might be nice, very nice—but there were others to consider too; there was Jean, the Duke of Lorraine—that handsome young man who succeeded as Duke of Lorraine following the deaths of his brother Antoine and Claude—a man who had been destined for the church until the fatalities of Marignano had intervened!

As Anne sat upon her gilded chair, Simonette continued her careful toilette to prepare Anne for the entertainments of the court this evening. Anne would be expected to be in attendance, in her pretty little gown—to wait attendance upon Queen Claude, who all the court considered a bore. She was not a woman fit to head the court of France in this pleasure-seeking era—though she was proficient at proving the king with children—three daughters and a son, with the youngest daughter buried scarcely a year before. It was a pity that the queen could not quicken with more sons—but at least she was fecund, and many believed that she was pregnant again, sickly as she was. The court was a viper’s nest, and Simonette could not help but fret over her young charge; she herself knew all too well the dangers posed by listening to a man’s honeyed words and the warmth of your chest—rather than more sensible thoughts within your head. It was too late to assist Anne’s sister—Marie, with that spark of pleasure and need to seek it out regardless of the consequences, would do as she pleased. But Anne was more sensible—at least Simonette hoped.

“Now, darling—take another glance in the looking glass. Does this suit you better?”

Anne peered carefully at the reflection looking back in the mirror. She was pretty—her teeth white as pearls, with enchanting brown eyes and even browner hair. She had a well-proportioned face—her nose slender yet still somewhat Romanesque, with white hands and a slender neck. Simonette had relented somewhat—and apportioned her hair as she had desired it, and it would look more catching with her newest French hood—a belated gift from her father, in velvet with silver trim.

“Oh yes—my dearest Simonette! How wrong I was to doubt you!”

“You always doubt me,” Simonette murmured—correcting her wayward charge. “But I promise, in matters such as these—I know what works best. What effects will best illuminate your charms and hide imperfections.”

At the mention of imperfections, Anne could not help but flit with her left hand; upon there she had a very small deformity—a second nail that existed on the side of one of her fingers. A little defect and nothing more—as dearest Simonette so often told her.

“You draw attention to your hands when you play with them,” The governess cautioned Anne. “Do not do that. Act as if nothing at all is wrong with it—and others will feel the same way. You must simply pretend that it is not there.”

“And how shall I ever possibly do that?” Anne asked with wide amusement, always so unsure of how her Simonette could be so wise and so stupid at the same time—what did a woman of Simonette’s reasoning have for being a governess?

“You will wear longer sleeves than the other ladies—flourishing sleeves! It will be good for you to set a new mode here at court. The Queen does not think of such things, unfortunately,” Simonette said with a haughty sniff. “But again, perhaps that is not what queens are for. They’re meant to be virtuous and quiet, and act with dignity and grace.”

Anne was now clearly intrigued. “Father says that Queen Catherine of England is a paragon; Queen Eleanor was much the same way—so perhaps you are right. But I’ve heard that the Queen of Spain is pretty and bold… and fashionable, too. All queens should be like her, and less like the rest.”

“Hush now,” Simonette muttered—her focus now on combing out Anne’s auburn locks. “Do you listen to all the gossips of court have to say? You must let me finish combing this out, or you will be late to tend to the queen.”

**

Marie de Boullan: The infamous Anne de Boullan's elder sister.​

Marie was meant to tend to the queen this evening, as well—but she had made a detour. Before the queen, she must tend to the needs of the king—and tending to the king was much more pleasurable business than tending to his wife. Marie was practically giddy as her bright eyes—prettier than the most expensive bauble, looked over to her royal lover—still tangled within the sheets. Ah, what joy it is to be the love of kings! Marie had always been a sensuous girl—she gave pleasure freely, and took it too—for what reason should she ever hold back? Clearly, she had been right in her thoughts, for cupids bow had lead her straight to the King of France.

Handsome, virulent François! Yes—he was not a faithful lover; Marie knew well that he had a maîtress-en-titre, the beautiful Françoise de Foix, Countess of Châteaubriant. Yet the king also had plenty of petit amours, little loves who flittered here and there—never quite for too long. Perhaps Marie might be one of those—or perhaps she might last longer. She gave a little shrug as she began to adjust her bodice—it mattered not to her, for she would enjoy it for as long as she could.

“My sweet jument anglais,” The king murmured with a sweet smile—offering up a pet name he had given this little sweetling—English mare—for he rode her often and rode her well. “Must you go already?”

“Sire—you know I cannot tarry,” Marie answered solemnly—before offering a little grin. “Besides, you have already played that line tonight, milord. You must give me leave to attend to your lady wife; she will be expecting me—and it will be noticed if I am gone, for my little sister will surely have something to say.”

François was languid as he offered a swish of a hand. “So be it,” He answered. Always a decorous lover, he nevertheless realized that it would be unwise to hold this pretty little thing back from her engagements. It was not so much concern for his wife—sad, tiny Claude—who bore her troubles with a quiet dignity, all while giving the king children each year. François could not help but sigh—now, if only she would give him another son. “It would clearly be most unwise to hold you away from what you must do, sweetling. Remind me again—which one is your sister?”

Sweetling. Jument. The king’s honeyed words were so often given to his petit amours simply because there were so many of them—and so often. The King of France, with his immense troubles and worries, in France, Italy—and even further abroad, that he could not be expected to know each lover’s name. If lovers came with baggage—husbands, children, siblings—that was another matter for grave concern. And yet no one faulted François for it, as it was his way—he could forget who someone was and be as courteous to them as he was to the greatest lord in his kingdom.

“The young one,” Marie answered crisply. “Anne—she is almost always at the queen’s side.”

“Ah—yes,” François answered. “Yes, I remember her well.” He did not remember her well—and it was clear upon his face.

“The little Englishwoman sire—the other one besides me,” Marie replied, offering up another scrap of information. “She came in the coterie of Queen Eleanor.”

François nodded sagely, thinking back to that heady day when he had became king. He remembered a bright little girl—she would’ve been no more than seven or eight; he vaguely remembered his wife saying something or another about taking the young girl into her service. Clearly—service well rendered, as her being at court had brought her lecherous sister into his bed. Yet still, the king pondered this so-called sister. “She must be practically a Frenchwoman now,” François answered happily. “Just as you are becoming one. Good—one can understand why. My ambassador says the English court is nest of Spanish vipers—monks and tutors; he says that the queen-regent intends to make her daughter a nun.”

“I couldn’t say milord—I never attended court,” Marie answered softly. “Not until I came here.”

“And?” François asked. “You prefer it?”

“Oh, sire—of course I prefer it!”

And yet as he gave his mare another pretty kiss—his thoughts could not help but turn towards her sister; would she kiss as well as his sweetling when she was her age?

**

Portrait of Queen Claude.​

Louise of Savoy—the king’s mother, and most heavy influence, stalked uneasily through the queen’s chambers. Dank and dark—not at all what the queen required! And certainly not when she was enceinte. Louise’s first act as she reached Claude’s bedchamber was to throw open the heavy curtains—reek with age and dust. Perhaps some old artefact that had belonged to the queen’s awful mother—that witch, Anne of Brittany. Even now, years later, Louise’s thoughts turned to her old rival—part out of giddiness that her son had truly achieved his destiny—and part out of sorrow. What was the point of influence and power if you had no one to spar with? Queen Claude might be Anne’s daughter—but she possessed none of her mother’s steel.

“Claude—it is much too hot in here. And too dark,” Louise murmured with a tsk—moving now to open the large windows of her chamber. A crisp midwinter breeze soon filled the room—setting the queen’s attendants to a careful shiver. Yet none dared disobey—for though Queen Claude was their mistress, it was queen’s mother, Louise of Savoy, who wielded much influence throughout the court. “Do you not recall what the physicians have told you? Plenty of fresh air—and you must steel yourself against these morose surroundings and thoughts.”

Claude was tiny—even when pregnant, she was possibly smaller than any normal woman who might be. With a slight hunched back, the Queen of France was far from beautiful—but she possessed the quiet dignity that made her a most suitable consort—and even more suitable to the boisterous man that had become her husband. While many wives might be driven to madness by their husband’s continuous infidelities, Claude bore it with a quiet reserve—she never spoke back, nor did she raise a word against the king’s lovers—even when they were plucked from amongst her own women. No—most of her energies were exerted against the king’s mother—who felt the right to be incessantly involved in all matters that concerned the king—even matters in concern of his wife, that François would not care about.

“Ma Mère—please. It is far too cold,” Claude murmured helplessly—pulling her light bed-robe loosely around her swelling figure. She knew it was hopeless to protest; Louise would have her reasons.

“It is only for a moment—dearest; a fresh breeze will do you good in your condition.” Louise answered firmly—as if Claude was still her charge.

“Yes, maman.” Claude knew it was hopeless to argue—and truth was, she didn’t truly have the energy to argue. Not that she ever had—but she had noticed a change in her last year, since the birth of her darling François—a pretty but fragile little boy. The answer to her dreams—and the future King of France and Duke of Brittany. Yet Claude had not been well since his birth—and the newest pregnancy did not help her. Her head swirled with every step—she was often assailed by migraines and forced to take to her bed for days at a time. Her bones ached with even the slightest chill—and her cough had grown worse. She had not yet confided to the doctors—but she often coughed up blood, in the late of night or early in the morning. It was only a little—but that told Claude everything that she needed to know.

[1] There’s some dispute about Anne’s birth year; either 1501 or 1507. There’s good evidence for both. I’ve decided to go with 1507 as I felt it added more to the scene.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 12. A Queen is Crowned – The Marriage Game
1522-1523 – England

Bella gerunt alii, tu felix Austria nube.
— Motto of Emperor Maximilian.

Musical Accompaniment: O Sacrum Convivum

Coronation of Henry VI, c. 15th Century.​

With the defeat of Buckingham’s rebellion, Queen Catherine had excised a major threat to her daughter’s crown—and had also rid the kingdom of the man who might have been most able to seize her daughter’s inheritance. With Buckingham’s attainder and execution, his family found their circumstances most reduced—especially his son and heir, Henry Stafford, who found himself plummeted into genteel poverty, supported only by the income generated from his wife’s dowry. There was now no threat to the position of England’s little queen; Richard de la Pole, the primary Yorkist pretender, remained fast across the English Channel, and though a friend of the French, it seemed that King François was more concerned with his ambitions in Italy rather than supporting the White Rose. Though there remained other Yorkist lines, especially within England—all was serene, and by 1522, none doubted that Mary was England’s rightful queen—and that when she was of age, she would be England’s monarch. Until then, her mother would continue to hold the reigns of government; Catherine’s quashing of Buckingham’s sedition had only empowered her further—though she worked well with the Privy Council and often took their sound advice, the queen regent had also become more sound in her position. “England had not been so well governed since the time of Henry VII,” An anonymous writer would say of the period. “A strange fancy that such a time of prosperity was given to the kingdom—not by a king, but by a Spanish princess—their once queen.”

With the realm secure, it was decided that the young Queen of England, having held that position of birth, should finally be crowned. A coronation would not only offer the kingdom a day of pageantry, feasting, and enjoyment—but it would also firmly legitimize Mary’s position as her father’s successor and the true Queen of England. Following her crowning and anointing, none would be able to speak against her—for she would truly then be queen. The young queen was eight—her ninth birthday would not be until December. She was of the same age as another young monarch who was crowned at her age—the unfortunate Henry VI. With the announcement of the coronation, Catherine turned to the services of an Italian astrologer, Luca Gaurico to decide the most auspicious day for the ceremony. “You must avoid the Whitsuntide for this momentous occasion,” A fragment of the letter left by Gaurico written to the queen stated. “I recommend instead that the coronation be held in the late summer. As the Queen bares the name of the Virgin herself, there is no better date than the Feast of her Naitivity. SEPTEMBER 8TH.” Queen Catherine proclaimed that all wishing to participate in the coronation should assemble in the White Hall of Westminster Palace on September 4th—with a Court of Claims headed by the Duke of Norfolk, in his position as Lord Treasurer, and the Earl of Oxford, as Lord Great Chamberlain, to investigate said applications. Appointments were also made for Commissioners of the Coronation; their job was to adapt the previous coronations to suit Mary’s position as England’s Queen Regnant—and to account for her youth.

As plans for the coronation continued apace, there was also the consideration of the queen’s eventual marriage. Though she had been betrothed to Alexander IV of Scotland in 1516, the engagement floundered in 1518. For a time, Catherine had pondered the idea of a match between her daughter and Prince Philip, the son of her nephew—Charles V; but the little boy’s mysterious death in precluded that. The Privy Council, in the matter of the queen’s marriage was divided firmly into two camps—the first, espoused by the queen regent herself, was that a foreign match was necessary, and with-it England could negotiate favorable relations with another kingdom. This camp was divided into different squabbling factions; one set, headed by Thomas Wolsey—now Bishop of Lincoln, advocated a reproachment with France; with numerous candidates suggested, from the Dauphin François—Wolsey spoke floridly of such a match, stating: “Should our queen marry the heir to France, all divisions between our realms would be healed; the queen’s future progeny would reign as Kings of England and France—and enjoy all that Henry V aspired too.” Other suggestions included Henry II of Navarre, François—the Count of Clermont, son of the Duke of Bourbon, and François of Lorraine, Count of Vaudémont and Lord of Lambesc. Another set, supported by the queen, favored a match oriented towards Spain—with two of the youngest sons of the late King Manuel suggested for the honor—either Prince Henry, or Prince Edward. A third, smaller group, believed that the queen’s future husband (and perhaps their king) should not come from either the camps of France or Spain—Prince John of Denmark was favorably named, as was Christian—eldest son of the Duke of Holstein.

The second camp within the council believed that the queen, rather than seeking a match abroad—ought to conduct a match at home instead. They were held in firm belief that once the queen did marry—she would surely cease to play such a large role in matters of state and perhaps even hand them over to her husband all together—government being no fit place for a woman. They feared the trouble of a foreign king in their midst—most especially one with lands of his own which might embroil England in ever more senseless conflict. There was also the matter of the rival claimants; those with Yorkist blood were still abound, and though the queen carried Yorkist blood through her grandmother Elizabeth of York, it would do no harm for the queen’s progeny to bear an extra dose of English royal blood. Of this group, two of the younger sons of Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury were favored—Reginald or Geoffrey, owing primarily to Margaret’s close relationship with Queen Catherine. Another suggestion was William Courtenay (b. 1521)—son of Henry Courtenay, the Earl of Devon and Elizabeth Grey, the Viscountess of Lisle. Despite the age difference of eight years, the young boy was the grandson of Catherine of York, one of Edward IV’s daughters. Some looked upon the age gap as auspicious; after all—hadn’t Queen Catherine been six years older than Henry VIII?

Fons Vitae, by Coljin de Coter, c. 1517.​

“All the court—and London, too, are involved in the matter concerning the queen’s marriage,” Isabella Vavasour, a courtier and wit of the period wrote in a letter to her mother. “It consumes everyone—news abroad cannot even touch it, such as the birth of the Empresses’ new daughter, Isabella—nor the emperor’s rumored affair with a carpenter’s bawd! All wonder instead which road England might travail down upon—France or Spain? Or perhaps none. They say that Queen Catherine is prepared only to consider all things—asking that those envoys who have been sent abroad should measure all manner of things very carefully.” It was little surprise that the queen regent had wishes to act cautiously in the matter of her daughter’s marriage—after all, this was a marriage of the future Queen of England; it was a matter of most paramount importance—not only politically, but personally as well: Catherine knew that her daughter would enter into a marriage of state, but that did not mean that it had to be distasteful for her.

She asked that all the most relevant facts be sent to her—and commissioned portraits to be made of some of the older candidates. “I wish to know exactly how the two princes look—their stature, their coloring, and the state of their teeth, as well as any blemishes.” Catherine wrote in a letter to her ambassador in Portugal; a note to the English Ambassador to France was more pointed: “All know the King of France would consort with Babylon the Great if she proffered herself. Given the court’s grave immorality I ask that you make delicate inquiries into the behaviors of Navarre & Lorraine—such as treatment for illnesses, or rumors of mistresses.” While a note to her envoy in Denmark was tinged with maternal concern: “When you are able to see Prince John, please send me a full account—of the state of the nursery, his health, and disposition.” Even envoys further afield often sent reports to the queen, knowing that the marriage game was on. “Louis, the Duke of Bavaria remains unattached…” Wrote one diplomat to the queen, whilst a trader stationed in Poland wrote another: “They say that one of King Sigismund’s sons, Prince Alexander is a strapping young lad—only a few years younger than the queen…”

Before the proceeding coronation, the court spent the summer at Richmond Palace—where a courtier wrote that “All was gaiety and joy—masques were put on, and the queen regent provided sumptuous entertainments that had not been seen since the prior reign.” Indeed, with the approaching coronation of their young queen, it was as if all sorrow from the land had evaporated—even if just for a little while. On the eve of the coronation, Catherine and Mary departed Richmond Palace for the Tower of London by barge. As the young queen passed down the River Thames, she was greeted by numerous decorated boats, from which the Lord Mayor and Aldermen watched the royal procession. The garrison of the tower fired a gun salute as their young sovereign approached. While Catherine was bedecked in a gown of black satin, in the Spanish style, it was Queen Mary who was the star of the show—the young queen wore her hair down and loose, with a gown of white satin in the Italian style—the bodice dressed in pearls, while her robe of state was made of gold and silver tissue, with ermine. Rather than a crown, the little queen wore a coronet—a simple band of gold adored with precious stones—rubies, pearls, and sapphires.

Westminster in the time of Henry VIII.​

On the eve of the coronation, the Earl of Shrewsbury, as Lord Steward, was deputized to create the Knights of the Bath in the young queen’s honor, owing to these knights being given the honor of their knighthoods while bathing nude within a tub—an act considered too scandalous for the young queen to take part in directly. The honor was granted to ten men—belonging to families of proven loyalty who had ardently supported Queen Catherine in her position of regent. Following this, the young queen made her formal royal entry into London—a grand procession that was headed by the newly created Knights of Bath. The city had been practically scrubbed clean, with the thoroughfares luxuriously decorated, while homes and shops were decorated with tapestries and cloth of gold. The crowds were larger than had been seen in the time of Henry VIII’s coronation, and railing was erected along the route of the procession to keep the boisterous crowds in check. Before the queen rode the Constable of England; while this honor had been given in the previous coronation to the Duke of Buckingham, the honor was given over on this occasion to the Earl of Essex. The queen rode in a litter supported by two white palfreys adorned with white cloth of gold, seated next to her mother. Once again, mother and daughter wore opposing outfits of black and white, with the little queen wearing a robe of crimson velvet. Four noblewomen rode horses alongside the royal litter—the Duchess of Norfolk, Countess of Salisbury, Countess of Shrewsbury, and the Countess of Essex, while a litter behind that of the queen contained six ladies-in-waiting accompanied by ten other ladies in crimson velvet on horseback. Above the queen’s litter was a golden canopy, supported by the Barons of the Cinque Ports. Noblemen and gentlewomen followed close behind, followed by the young queen’s maids of honor: Anne Parr, Frances de Vere, Catherine Blount, and Mary Howard—along with the Mother of the Maids, Margaret Bryan. Behind the maids followed the gentlewomen who served as chamberers—a total of nearly forty female riders, all together: an unprecedented event, meant to showcase the royal household and how it would look under a queen, rather than a king.

Pageants with music and speeches were celebrated in the street throughout the procession; on one street, Venetian merchants staged a welcoming salutation in which a young actors represented the Greek Muses, offering oratory on the brilliance and great creations in music and art that might be experienced in this new reign. The Hanseatic merchants held their pageant on the corner of another street, with a fountain filled with wine and acrobats performing stunts—whilst the Florentine merchants hosted a pageant which depicted Queen Mary as Queen Artemesia of Caria—surrounded by waves which would protect her island kingdom. Other processions were hosted by the London aldermen, and the crowds were riotous with joy. “Caps flew into the air with ‘nary a hope to recover them—all were too concerned with crying out those golden words—Long live Queen Mary!” On the night before the coronation, Mary slept in the Palace of Westminster within the Painted Chamber—just as her mother and father had in 1509. The young queen slept underneath the mural of Edward the Confessor’s 1042 coronation, in the Bed of Roses—a state bed that had been commissioned by the queen’s grandfather, Henry VII, for his marriage to Elizabeth of York, and the bed that Prince Arthur—and perhaps her father, Henry VIII, had been conceived in. In due course, she too might sleep in this bed with her future husband and sire England’s future heirs.

Coronation of the Virgin Mary, c. 1509.​

The next morning, Mary departed from the Palace of Westminster at eight in the morning, in a procession that would take her to Westminster Abbey—accompanied by a procession of thirty-eight Bishops and Abbots—as well as eight abbesses—one for each year of Mary’s life. Mary was seen off by her mother, Catherine, who embraced her young daughter—Catherine herself would not attend the coronation, as it was not customary for Queen Dowagers to attend coronations. Three naked swords were carried before the queen—with two of them representing justice in its various forms: temporal and spiritual. The final sword, the Curtana, was carried by the Marquess of Dorset, representing mercy. All eyes were upon the queen; as in previous days, she wore her hair down and loose; but for this occasion, she was dressed in a French style gown made of golden brocade—the bodice and sleeves decorated sumptuously with pearls. Cloth merchants had supplied 4000 yards of various cloth for the coronation; coronation robes cost some £1400, while total bill for silks and cloths had cost the crown some £5500—with £1100 alone was spent to pay for Queen Mary’s coronation robe. Pieces of the robes worn by Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon were reused for his daughter’s coronation robe. Behind the queen was the procession of nobility, with countesses and noblewomen in pairs, holding their coronets. The queen’s train was held by the Earl of Worcester, the Lord Chamberlain, alongside the Duchess of Norfolk as England’s premier peeress. The abbey was carefully decorated, hung with rich tapestries and cloth of gold and silver—with the floor prepared with fresh rushes that had been scented with lavender and rose.

When the queen finally entered the abbey, Archbishop Warham declared the queen’s pardon for prisoners—excluding those held within the Tower of London and some within the Marshalsea. Mary was soon led to King Edward’s Chair by two noblemen. After a short period, Mary was joined by Archbishop Warham upon the raised dais in the sight of the people. Edward’s Chair was upon the center of the dais—draped in rich fabrics, brocade and silk in both gold and silver. The little queen showed herself at the four corners of the dais—so that her subjects gathered within the abbey could see her. Archbishop Warham then introduced Mary as queen, as part of the ceremony known as the recognition. “Sirs, here is present Mary, King Henry VIII’s daughter, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the Laws of God and man to the Crown and Royal Dignity of this realm of England and Frace, whereupon you shall understand that this day is appointed by all peers of this land for the consecration, injunction and coronation of the said most excellent princess; will you serve at this time, and give your wills and assent to the same?” When the Archbishop asked for the people’s assent, the spectators cried out in one voice: “Yea, yea, yea! God save Queen Mary!” The young queen was then escorted back to Edward’s Chair where she would make her offerings. John Vesey, the Bishop of Exeter was given the honor of preaching the coronation sermon—which touched upon the theme of obedience and included a parable about the life of the Virgin Mary.

Mary was then asked to take her coronation oath before the Bishop of Exeter, which she duly did—in the same form that had been given by her father, Henry VIII: “With a good and devout soul… I promise… I shall keep the privilege of canon law and of holy church… and I shall… by God’s Grace… defend you and every each of you, bishops and abbots, through my realm and all these churches to you and them committed; all these things… I, Mary, Queen of England promise and confirm to keep and observe, so help me God and by these holy evangelists by me touched upon this holy altar.”

Following the queen’s oath, the choir rose in song—and the young queen was escorted into the traverse on the right-hand side of the dais—a curtained off area where Mary could be changed into a different attire by her ladies of the privy chamber. The young queen switched from the gown of golden brocade into the Colobium Sidonis, a tunic worn by English monarchs during their anointing. Mary’s tunic was made of silk taffeta—very similar to the one which her mother had worn in 1509. Following her change in costume, Mary proceeded to the high altar. From there, Mary was anointed by Archbishop Warham—holy oil being placed upon her palms, chest, back, shoulders, her elbows, as well as her head; each sign was done in the sign of the cross. This was the most mythical and sacred part of the coronation—with her anointing the young queen would cease to be a mere mortal; she would be bound then to God and her coronation oath, and so some believed—in direct contact with the divine. The archbishop spoke plainly during the anointment: “As kings, priests, and prophets were anointed, and as Solomon was anointed king by Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet, so be thou—anointed, blessed, and consecrated Queen over the peoples whom Lord thy God has given thee to rule and govern—from now until your death.”

Portrait of a Young Princess, c. 1520.
Queen Mary would wear a dress of similar style.​

Following the queen’s anointment, she was dressed by Mistress Fortescue, her long-time nurse, in a kirtle of cloth of silver, with Venice gold lace and black threading—the train furred with ermine, as well as a mantle of Tyrian purple. The queen’s shoes were sabatons of black cloth of gold, lined with satin and dressed in Venetian gold ribbon and golden passamyne lace. “The queen bore the ceremony with quiet grace,” Rudolf Truchseß von Lützel—an Imperial Knight and diplomat—wrote in a letter to his patrons. “Though the weariness was evident upon her face as day wore on… one cannot help but wonder what this young queen was possibly thinking of during this auspicious occasion.” Following the anointment, the Duke of Norfolk brought in three crowns—St. Edwards Crown, the Imperial Crown, and a crown that had been specifically made for Mary. Archbishop Warham crowned Mary three times, with each crown—with the archbishop holding St. Edwards Crown as well as the Imperial Crown upon Mary’s head—owing to the great weight of the crowns and the youthful queen’s small stature. Warham then offered the queen a golden ring—which was placed upon her marrying finger—while the Master of the Jewelhouse offered a pair of bracelets set with precious stones and pearls.

It was now the turn of the nobility to make their homage to their queen—starting with England’s most senior peer, the Duke of Norfolk. Norfolk knelt before his young sovereign as he pledged his loyalty and fealty: “I, Thomas Howard… become your liegeman of life and limb and of earthly worship and faith and truth and I shall bear unto you, to live and to die against all manner of folk, so God help me and his saints.” Following Norfolk came the earls and barons. Mass was celebrated while the young queen knelt—holding the royal scepter that had been held by the Earl of Shrewsbury—as well as the consort’s scepter which was topped with a dove. At the end of the mass, the queen once more entered the traverse. She suffered a brief fit after retreating to the traverse and fainted briefly—perhaps from the strain and exhaustion of the long ceremony. Her ladies were able to revive her with smelling salts, and she reappeared upon the dais restored, and in her coronation robes—trimmed with ermine and made with golden cloth of gold, with a brocade of Tudor Roses and Fleur-de-Lys etched in silver silk thread.

Following the ceremony, a banquet was held at Westminster Hall—with Mary seated in St. Edward’s chair, where an anonymous spectator wrote: “Two of her maids sat at her feet—Mistress Parr and Mistress Blount—with the queen’s smile as wide as can be. The two girls chatted with their sovereign as easily as they had before this momentous occasion, pleasing the queen with their impressions and jokes… they had little issue bringing a smile to the queen’s face.” Spectators who had watched the young queen leave Westminster Abbey were eager to tear up pieces of the scarlet fabric used as a runner in which the queen had walked on. The feast was sumptuous, with not only a variety of roasted meats and game, but fish, as well—from lamprey pie and fat sturgeons to pike, haddock, and salmon—smoked and broiled. There were soups and stews, and a variety of desserts—rich cakes, pastries, and wine, ale, and beer flowed freely—with the more genteel patrons allowed to watch the queen and nobility dine. During the feast, the Queen’s Champion—Sir Richard Dymoke rode into Westminster Hall in full armor, where he threw down a glove and offered to challenge any who might seek to question Mary’s right to be queen. When there was no response, the young queen offered Dymoke his fee—a gold cup which she passed to him, filled with wine, as well as the right to the horse and armor he had used. He was additionally granted fifteen yards of crimson satin, and the food allowance of a Baron. With the culmination of the feast, the coronation day soon came to an end—and the young Queen of England’s position was more secure than ever.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 13. Flames of Reform
1520-1521 – Germany

“Although indulgences are the very merits of Christ and of His saints and so should be treated with all reverence, they have in fact nonetheless become a shocking exercise of greed.”
— Martin Luther, Ninety-Five Theses.

Music Accompaniment: Spirit Come, Bourgeois

Diet of Worms, 1521.​

Following Charles’ departure from Spain, the imperial party landed safely at Ostend on May 26th, 1520—including Charles, his wife—Mary, several important members of Charles suite such as the Lord of Chièvres and Chancellor Gattinara, and members of Mary’s suite, as well—such as Charles Brandon and the head of the queen’s household, Anne of Croÿ. Germaine of Foix, the widow of Ferdinand of Aragon and the king’s step-grandmother had also followed the king abroad—whose marriage he had arranged to Johann of Brandenburg-Ansbach, to secure the support of the Elector of Brandenburg for his election. From Ostend, Charles and his retinue proceeded to Mechlen, where they were greeted by Charles’ aunt and governor of the Low Countries, Margaret of Austria. “The Archduchess Margaret was plainly pleased to see the king,” Anne of Croÿ wrote in her diary. “They embraced, and she bade her nephew sit and tell her of his travails in Spain. It was a most happy reunion—and the archduchess was pleased to finally lay eyes upon her nephew’s bride, as well. Even once the king and his suite retired, the queen remained with the archduchess for a long time after… discussing the troubles that she and the king had endured in Spain. The queen and the archduchess got on splendidly—from that day forward, the queen had acquired an important ally within her new famille.” Charles took the chance of his time at Mechlen to hold an interview with England’s longtime ambassador in the Low Countries, Thomas Boleyn—where Charles provided the ambassador with several letters—one to be passed on to his aunt, the queen-regent: and another to be given forward to Thomas Wolsey, the Bishop of Lincoln. Charles’ letter to his aunt outlined the mutual interests that lie between both kingdoms, and that with the ceaseless ambitions of the French King, they ought to band together in mutual alliance. The king’s letter to Wolsey was more coded—in it, Charles made plain that he knew of the Bishop’s great friendship with France. He played on the Bishop’s vanity, writing: “My very good friend—your abilities are too great to be wasted simply as a minister amongst many; there are greater roles that you could play within our Holy Church—as I am sure you are all too aware of. Accept my friendship, and spurn that of France—and I shall help you however I can.” The king also promised Wolsey a pension of 7000 ducats.

Charles and Mary remained in the Low Countries only a brief period; they soon resumed their journey to Aix-la-Chapelle, or Aachen—the traditional place where the prince chosen by the Electors of the Holy Roman Empire would be crowned as King of Germany—the first step to being recognized as emperor. This was typically followed by the Italienzug where the elected emperor was provided with troops by the Reichstag to travel to Rome to be crowned by the Pope. This had been dispensed with in the previous reign, as Maximilian had been prevented from journeying to Rome by the Venetians—he was instead proclaimed emperor in 1508, taking the title of elected emperor which was recognized by the Pope. There were high hopes amongst many that Charles might revive the practice of the Italienzug and be properly crowned. Charles and his retinue arrived in Aix-la-Chapelle in October of 1520—with the king and queen staying in the Stadtpalais of the Mayor of Aix-la-Chapelle, Everhard von Haren.

On the day of the coronation, Charles and Mary arrived at the Palatine Chapel of Aachen—part of the Cathedral of Aachen, the Palatine Chapel was one of the few remaining parts of the Palace of Aachen, which had been built by Charlemagne. The king was met at the entrance of the church by the three spiritual electors, the Archbishops of Cologne, Mainz, and Trier. The Archbishop of Cologne, as the local metropolitan and chief officiant provided a short prayer before the king and queen proceeded into the church, followed by the archbishops. The chapel was sumptuously arrayed, perhaps more than in any other era—and both the king and queen’s wardrobes matched that; with the queen arrayed in Spanish styled gown of pink floral silk—with the king was dressed in an overgown of purple cloth of gold, etched with golden brocade. His shirt was linen, with a doublet of cream—which were paired with Spanish style black velvet hose and stockings. The coronation was well attended by the German nobility—more numerous than splendid in any other time. Following mass, the Archbishop of Cologne put six questions to the emperor elect: “Will you defend the Holy Faith? Will you defend the Holy Church? Will you defend the kingdom? Will you maintain the laws of the empire? Will you maintain justice? Will you show due submission to His Holiness, the Pope?” Each question was met with the emperor elect stating in response: “I will.” Charles was then allowed to lay two fingers his on the high altar—swearing his oath and asking those assembled to accept him as their king.

Charlemagne by Albrecht Dürer, c. 1512​

This proceeded to the anointment—the oil used was a chrism of catechumens, typically used during baptism and widely believed to strengthen those baptized to turn away from evil, temptation, and sin. Charles was anointed upon his head, shoulders, and breast by the Archbishop of Cologne, with the archbishop stating: “Let these hands be anointed, as kings and prophets were anointed; and as Samuel anointed David to be king may you be blessed and established king in this kingdom over this people, whom the Lord, your God has given you you to rule and govern. He vouchsafes to grant, who with the Father and Holy Spirit, lives, and reigns…” Charles was then invested in the imperial robes, along with the imperial sword, scepter, and orb. It was only after this that the Archbishop of Cologne set the imperial crown upon his head, co-jointly with the other archbishops. At this point, Charles once more recited his coronation oath—in both Latin and German and was enthroned. Afterwards, a homily was given by the Archbishop of Mainz. Following Charles’ crowning came that of Mary's. This was a pivotal event, for Mary would be the first to be crowned Queen of Germany in over a century—the last crowning had occurred in 1414, when Barbara of Cilli had been crowned. Mary’s coronation was conducted co-jointly by the Archbishop of Mainz and the Archbishop of Trier. Following the singing of a Te Deum, the queen was anointed with the following of prayers, before being crowned herself—a much briefer ceremony compared to that of her husbands. After this, the emperor, now crowned, proceeded to dub several men as knights using the imperial sword. After a final mass was concluded, the emperor was named a canon of the Palatine Chapel.

Though Charles was now crowned and could assume the title of elected emperor as his grandfather had, his position was far from secure. In Spain, the Comunidad revolt was in full force—and would not be contained until almost two more years, ultimately requiring several concessions from the emperor. In Germany, it was not the specter of revolt, but that of reform that troubled the empire. Martin Luther, a monk from Saxony, had shocked the known world in 1517 when he had nailed his ninety-five theses to the door of the Wittenburg church—a document which attacked the abuses and corruption of the Roman Church. The theses spread widely—first in Latin, before being translated into German in 1518; Luther’s work spread rapidly, and by 1519 was available in France, England, and Italy. Luther’s theses had also been sent to the Archbishop of Mainz, Albert of Brandenburg—who promptly sent them to Rome to be examined for heresy. Pope Leo X moved slowly, employing a series of Papal theologians and envoys against the monk, which only turned Martin Luther further against the papacy. When a heresy case was opened against Luther, he was examined at Augsburg in 1518, where he defended himself against the Papal Legate, Cardinal Caejan—the main point of the examination being the Pope’s right to sell indulges; the examination soon disintegrated into a shouting match: “His Holiness abuses scripture!” Luther retorted. “I deny that he is above scripture.” His meeting with papal nuncio Karl von Miltitz was more constructive, with Luther agreeing to remain silent if his enemies should do so; but this was not to be. Johann Eck, a theologian, was determined to poke holes into Luther’s doctrine and do so publicly. He hosted a disputation in Leipzig in 1519 with one of Luther’s close allies, with Luther invited to speak as well. “Luther was bold in his assertions,” One spectator wrote. “He debated that Matthew 16:18 does not confer unto the Pope’s any exclusive right to interpret scripture. He went further—stating that this meant that neither the Pope nor any church council could be considered infallible…” Eck—scandalized by the monk’s bold assertions, was determined to bring about his defeat. “He is nothing more than the Jan Hus of our century,” One ally of Eck wrote. “He must be stamped out.”

Luther’s situation moved quickly to a climax in the summer of 1520, shortly before the emperor’s coronation. Pope Leo X issued a papal bull, Exsurge Domine, warning Luther that he risked excommunication unless he recanted forty-one sentences from his writings, including his theses. He was given sixty days to do so. In the autumn, Johann Eck proclaimed the bull in Meissen and other towns within Saxony. Though Karl von Milititz attempted to broker a solution, but Luther was unrepentant and defiant: “Whoever wrote this bull—he is the Antichrist. I protest before God, our Lord Jesus, his sacred angels, and whole world that with my whole heart I dissent from the damnation of this bull; that I curse and execrate it as sacrilege and blasphemy of Christ, God’s Son and our Lord. This be my recantation: O bull, thou daughter of bulls.” In December, Luther and Philip Melanchthon invited the local university faculty and students to assemble at the Elster Gate in Wittenburg—there, a bonfire was lit and Luther cosigned volumes of canon law, papal constitutions, and other theological works into the flames: including a copy of the papal bull. Luther’s explanation was simple: “Since they have burned my books; I burn theirs. Canon law was included because it makes the Pope a god on earth; so far I have merely fooled with this business of the Pope. All my articles condemned by the Antichrist are Christian. Seldom has the Pope overcome anyone with Scripture and with reason.” In response, Luther was formally excommunicated in January of 1521.

Martin Luther as an Augustinian Monk​

In response to the growing crisis, one of the first acts of Charles as emperor was to convene a diet to check the growth of the dangerous opinions espoused by Martin Luther. The Diet was assembled at the imperial city of Worms, and Martin Luther was summoned by the emperor to offer an answer—either to recant his views or reaffirm them. Though Luther agreed to attend, many of his supporters viewed the summons with trepidation, seeing it as nothing more than a death sentence. The Elector of Saxony sought to obtain reassurances from Charles V that if Luther showed before the diet, he would be promised safe conduct to and from the meeting, which the emperor readily agreed too. When Johann von Eck suggested that the emperor should use the diet to seize Luther, the emperor is said to have retorted: “I will not blush like my predecessor Sigismund.” Though the emperor was aware of the rot within his Holy Church and knew the need of some type of reform, he was no friend or ally to Luther; his refusal to aid Luther’s enemies was because of his own position: he was the elected emperor—the universal monarch; he was not the Pope’s lackey or lapdog, to do his bidding as he pleased. Charles was also forced to look at his own position—Luther’s ideas were rapidly growing in popularity with each passing day, and he had acquired a powerful benefactor in the person of the Elector of Saxony. If the emperor were to arrest the monk and condemn him to the flames—he would only make him a martyr. Martyrdom might also spur conflict in Germany… and the emperor was aware of his lack of funds owing to the present crisis in Spain, and he had no troops on which he could rely in the heart of Germany.

The Diet of Worms as it would later be called formally opened on January 28th 1521—and though Luther was a primary concern, the diet had also been convened to settle the questions of the governance of the emperor’s vast dominions—the Habsburg inheritance of Austria; the Burgundian inheritance of the Low Countries; the Spanish inheritance which included the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon in Spain—and the kingdoms of Naples and Sicily in Italy. In the spring of 1521, the emperor decided that he would name his wife, the Empress Mary, as regent of the Low Countries, alongside his aunt, Margaret, as governor. The patent for the empress’s position stated: “It is my wish that the pair of you—being amicable friends and most understanding of my wishes, will do all that is required to maintain the prosperity of these lands.” Regarding Spain, Charles reversed course from the Edict of Worms that in 1520 had named his brother a traitor. With Ferdinand liberated by royalist troops, Charles wrote to his lieutenants in Spain: “The Infante shall be given a full and total pardon; he has committed no crimes against us or our person.” Charles had never doubted his brother; his being named as a traitor had been merely to spook the rebel forces. “When the rebel communities have been dealt with and peace restored—I intend to name Ferdinand as my representative in Spain as regent and Viceroy of Castile and Aragon when I am abroad.”

In terms of the empire, the emperor was also dedicated to a continuance of the project of the reform of the imperial government that had been carried out in the time of Emperor Maximilian. The German princes were adamant that the emperor revive the Reichsregiment—an organ of government that had been devised in the time of Maximilian, comprised of twenty temporal and spiritual princes to deal with matters of finances, foreign affairs, and war. The organ had floundered due to Maximilian’s refusal to cooperate with it. Its re-establishment was demanded as part of the Wahlkapitulation that the electors had presented to Charles V in 1519. Charles V endorsed the recreation of the Reichsregiment, but stipulated that it was a consultive body, and should only have decision-making powers whenever he was absent from the empire. The diet also agreed on the establishment of an updated Imperial Register—a list of imperial estates which specified the precise amount of money and number of troops that each state had to supply to the Imperial Army, to provide provisions for the eventual army that would accompany Charles on his Italienzug. It was decided the imperial force should consist of some 20,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry. On taxation, there were pressing discussions regarding the need to fund the imperial government, and the less efficient forms that had been tried previously—primarily the Gemeiner Pfennig that had been introduced by Maximilian in 1495 and withdrawn less than a decade later. In deliberations with the diet, Charles V also made an important decision regarding several governmental organs founded by his grandfather that had combined the duties of the imperial crown with those of the Habsburgs hereditary dominions in Austria. These were primarily the Reichshofrat, or Aulic Council; the Gehimer Rat, or Privy Council; and the Reichhofkanzlei, or Imperial Chancery. Charles V decreed that these institutions would be transferred from Innsbruck to Brussels—the center of the emperor’s dominions in the Low Countries. While the Archbishop of Mainz was the nominal head of the Imperial Chancery as Archchancellor of Germany, in practice the chancery was governed by a vice-chancellor—with the emperor naming Gattinara, his Burgundian Chancellor to the position. It was also decided that the Imperial Chancery would absorb the Burgundian Chancery. Though the various other imperial organizations received no authority within the Low Countries, which maintained their own institutions, the emperor’s decree still represented an important move—putting all the organizations that represented the emperor’s dominions within the empire in one single place. Perhaps the emperor had some hope that his wife and aunt might be able to provide appropriate oversight to these organizations that had previously been left to their own devices in Tyrol.

Johann von Eck, one of Martin Luther's fiercest critics.​

Martin Luther arrived in Worms on April 16th, 1521; at this point, the diet had been in progress for nearly four months. Luther was accompanied by Jeromee Schurff, a professor of canon law, was to service as Luther’s lawyer before the diet. Luther was commanded to appear before the diet the next day. The imperial marshal, Urach von Pappenheim as well as the imperial herald, Caspar Sturm, arrived at Luther’s dwellings on the next day, April 17th, to bring him before the diet—with Luther reminded that he should only answer questions from the presiding officer of the diet, Luther’s avowed enemy: Johann von Eck. “Is this collection of books yours?” Eck was reported to have said. “Are you prepared to revoke the heresies within them?” At this, Professor Schruff was adroit, asking that the titles be read out. Some twenty-five total works were listed, from the Ninety-five Theses to more recent publications Luther had produced, such as Address to the Christian Nobility and On the Papacy in Rome. Luther asked if he might have more time to formulate a proper answer—and it was agreed; he was to return the next day at the same time.

On April 18th, the diet was once more assembled, and Luther was once again asked regarding his work. “I apologize, my lords, that I lack the etiquette of the court. These writings are all mine—but they are not all of one sort.” Luther went on to place his writings into three categories: The first works that were well received, even by his most fervent enemies. Those he would not reject. The second included writings that attacked the abuses, lies, and desolation of the Christian world and the Papacy in particular. “I cannot reject these—for to do so would allow these abuses to continue. Were I to retract them, then the door is only open to further oppression. If I recant these—then I am only strengthening tyranny.” The third category of writings primarily attacked individuals. “I apologize for the harsh tones contained within, but I do not reject the substance of what is within.” Luther concluded his defense simply: “If there is scripture that shows my writings in error—then show me. I would gladly reject them. Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the scriptures or by clear reason, for I do not trust in the Pope or church councils alone; is it well known that they have erred and often contradicted themselves. I am bound by scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive by the word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience. Here I stand—for I cannot do otherwise. May God help me. Amen.”

Johann von Eck was quick to move onto the attack: “Martin—there is no one of the heresies which have torn he bosom of the church, which has not derived its origin from the various interpretations of the Scripture. The Bible itself is the arsenal whence each innovator has drawn his deceptive arguments. It was with biblical texts that Pelagius and Arius maintained their doctrines; Arius, for instance, found the negation of the eternity of the Word—an eternity which you admit, in this verse of the New Testament—Joseph knew not his wife till she had brought forth her first-born son; and he said, in the same way that you say, that this passage enchained him. When the fathers of the Council of Constance condemned this proposition of John Hus—The church of Jesus Christ is only the community of the elect, they condemned an error; for the church, like a good mother, embraces within her arms all who bear the name of Christian, all who are called to enjoy the Celestial beatitude.”

The diet was soon forced to break into private conferences, while discussions were held to determine Luther’s fate—but he was not arrested at Worms, and was able to leave, owing to the letter of safe conduct that the Elector of Saxony had obtained from him. Fearing for Luther’s safety, the elector took the extraordinary step of sending men to fake a highway attack upon Luther—with orders that he should be abducted and brought to safety at Wartberg castle, where he would soon be hidden away. In May, Charles V promulgated the Edict of Worms with support from the diet. Luther was condemned as a notorious heretic, and citizens were forbidden from propagating his ideas.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

So sorry for the delay, guys! This chapter was a doozy. Wanted to cover more than the span of a year or two, and well... it ended up taking me over a week to write. I'm very proud of this, especially the twist at the end. Hope everyone enjoys, and can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts.

Chapter 14. An Emperor’s Folly – The Italian War of 1521-1526
1521-1526 – France, Germany, Italy & Spain.

“My cousin François and I are in perfect accord – he wants Milan, and so do I.”
— Emperor Charles V

Music Accompaniment: Contre Raison (Gaillarde)

The Battle of Lodi: The Ultimate Battle of the Italian War of 1521.​

Though Europe had enjoyed relative peace after the War of the League of Cambrai—it had not solved any of the issues that continued to fester. France still ruled over the Duchy of Milan, with King François eager to exert his influence further: very few could forget that French crown had also laid claim to the Kingdom of Naples in the reigns of Louis XII and Charles VIII, and that François might attempt the same. There was also the growing rivalry between France and Spain—in the persons of King François and Emperor Charles V. While the Imperial Election of 1519, which had resulted in the election of Charles V as emperor had contributed to tensions between France and Spain, there also remained the outstanding issue of Navarre—while Spain held Upper Navarre, south of the Pyrenees, the Kingdom of Navarre remained alive and well in Lower Navarre. While the Treaty of Noyon signed in 1516 between France and Spain had contained provisions to deal with the Navarrese issue, they had proved ineffectual—and the issue of Navarre remained a thorny wedge between the two issues.

With Charles’ coronation at Aachen in the fall of 1520, along with the provisions to raise an army for the emperor’s coronation in Rome, French fears were heightened. Did the emperor wish to be crowned as his grandfather had not? So be it; but let him come with a retinue—not an army at his back, which would no doubt threaten French interests in Milan—and perhaps provoke another uprising against French rule in Italy. François decided that he needed to make a preemptive blow—and with plausible deniability. François planned to strike at Charles from both the north and south—he employed Robert of La Marck, the Duke of Bouillion, to attack Luxembourg with Black Band, a group of Landsknechts who had long been in the service of France; in return, Robert of La Marck was be given a French pension. In the south, François provided liberal funding and troops to King Henri II of Navarre to reclaim the pieces of his kingdom that had been lost. “The king was determined to give the emperor a bloody nose,” The Sieur de Malaspine wrote in his celebrated memoirs. “And so, he prepared to push the emperor to war by using others to complete his dirty business.” While Henri II of Navarre was nominally at the head of the Franco-Navarrese army, it was effectively commanded by André de Foix. The French battle plans proved flawed; Henry of Nassau was able to effortlessly push back the French offensive aimed at Luxembourg. The Franco-Navarrese offensive proved more successful, with the French invasion into Upper Navarre provoking an uprising amongst the Navarrese who had long tired of Spanish domination. With the troops garrisoning Navarre being used in dealing with the revolt of the communities, the Franco-Navarrese army was able to easily seize Pamplona—the capital of Navarre fell after a short siege of three days, and within three weeks, the majority of Upper Navarre was once more under control of the Kingdom of Navarre. From Pamplona, André de Foix was able to make forays into Castile across the Ebro—raiding Logroño, where several vital pieces of artillery were seized. The invasion of the Franco-Navarrese forces served to help push the moderate comuneros to seek reconciliation with the royalist party.

While François watched with glee as his troops helped add fuel to the fire in Spain, Charles was busy making his own moves. The specter of Luther had served to help unite the emperor and the pope in a common cause; Leo X, knowing he would need imperial support, was willing to abandon any pretension of friendship with France, and was prepared to assist in expelling the French from Milan—with the promise that Parma and Piacenza should be given to the Papacy. Charles’ diplomatic overtures with his aunt in England bore fruit as well; the Treaty of Gravelines was signed in the fall of 1521, with England renewing its alliance with the emperor. Catherine once more agreed to provide her nephew with funds: this time, a loan of £55,000 with the proceeds to be raised through a benevolence or forced loan; the emperor in return agreed to repay the English loans with interest—and to make a gift of 250,000 ducats Queen Mary’s future dowry. Catherine also agreed to supply the emperor with a troop of 5000 men, which would be raised under the command of Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey—to serve the emperor where he pleased. Catherine also undertook that England prepare an army to invade France within the year. François in turn, was plotting his own diplomatic moves: he received reassurances from the Republic of Venice that were prepared to support the French position in Milan, while the Duke of Albany—enroute to return to Scotland after a sojourn of several years in both France and Italy, once more reaffirmed his support and alliance with the French—granting the regent a detachtment of men to take with him to Scotland, along with powder and shot. He also granted the Scottish regent a disbursement from the royal treasury of 40,000₶. Should England dare to meddle in this conflict between giants, François was fully prepared to fully unleash his Scottish dog upon them—whatever the cost.

Diplomatic options were exhausted in the fall of 1521—Charles demanded not only recompense for the raid on Luxembourg, but that French troops supporting the King of Navarre should be vacated from those occupied territories. François was intransigent—he stated through his envoys that he had no dealings with the renegade Duke of Bouillion and the raid on Luxembourg, nor could he control what the King of Navarre, a rash young man, wished to do with his own rag-tag group of Gascons. François suggested in turn that Upper Navarre should be returned to Navarrese sovereignty, as had been promised at Noyon. Catherine of Aragon in turn offered her services as a mediator—with the King of France snapping his fingers at such an offer. “This Spanish bitch! The so-called regent of England believes herself impartial enough to judge in this situation,” François is said to have remarked. “She is her father’s daughter—and cannot be trusted. A pitiful woman of no standard. I would rather entrust my fate to Lady Fortuna upon the battlefield, than to trust the Spanish harpy. She is the emperor’s lapdog; but she should beware, for France has its own cur in Scotland—try us, O Lady, and Scotland will scratch and bite harder than you could ever imagine! What help can you rend to your precious nephew then?” The die was soon cast—and Imperial troops under Henry of Nassau soon invaded northern France. They had little issue overrunning several border towns—but found resistance at Mézières, where the Lord of Bayard valiantly held the city—allowing King François time to raise fresh troops at Reims to counter Nassau’s invasion. Nassau unleashed a fury of artillery fire upon the city, reducing it to rubble; with French troops approaching, the weather turning colder, Nassau decided it more prudent to withdraw back towards the Low Countries for winter quarters. “Leave no stone unturned, no crop unburnt,” Was Nassau’s order to his troops as they retreated north—leaving towns and villages in waste as he pulled north. The Franco-Navarrese force continued unimpeded within Navarre—the citadel of Amaiur capitulated in October of 1521, while Louis of Lorraine assisted in taking the town of Fuenterrabia. It was during this time that cracks began to appear in the relationship between the King of France and one of his closest (and most powerful) kinsmen, the Duke of Bourbon, also known as the Constable of Bourbon—when François named his brother-in-law, the Duke of Alençon as commander of the vanguard of the French army raised at Reims—a position that by right belonged to the Duke of Bourbon.

Cardinal Pompeo Colonna was elected Pope in 1522 as Pope Pius IV.​

In Italy, the French governor of Milan, the Viscount of Lautrec, was ordered to defend his position as best he could against both imperial and papal forces; Charles V had not only ordered Spanish troops under Ferdinand d’Ávalos north from Naples but had sent forces from Germany to assist the Papal army under Prospero Colonna. Lautrec on his side had Swiss mercenaries, as well as troops from the Venetian Republic. Finding his position within Milan untenable, Lautrec soon abandoned the city to take up a more defensive position along the Adda River. With his superior artillery, Lautrec prepared for take up his winter quarters at Bruzzano—protecting his position and holding the joint troops of the pope and the emperor from pressing further towards Genoa. “I am in most dire need of funds,” Lautrec wrote to the king that winter. “The Swiss are near mutinous; they are demanding either to be paid, or that we attack…” The issue would have to be dealt with, come spring—or serious consequences would likely ensue. The winter of 1521 also saw the death of Pope Leo X—the resulting conclave held at the end of 1521 into January 1522 saw wrangling between both the imperial and French factions—with both France and Spain dispersing huge bribes to their favored candidates. In the end, Cardinal Pompeo Colonna was elected Pope, taking the name of Pius IV. Pope Pius IV favored a continued alliance with the emperor—but above all, to see the French fully ejected from Italy.

In the spring of 1522, fighting immediately resumed. Lautrec found himself forced to commit to a pitched fight at the Battle of Burzzano, the Swiss troops charged against the Spanish and German lines, giving the French artillery no chance to work their magic; the Swiss troops were utterly shredded and would soon decamp to their cantons, forcing Lautrec to retreat towards France. Lombardy was soon excised of its French tumor, and in the summer, Genoa fell after a brief siege. The emperor, still facing heavy pressure from the French in Navarre, was ultimately forced to make peace with the moderate rebels in Castile, resulting in the Treaty of Segovia. With both sides united in crushing the more radical revolutionaries, it also freed up Spanish troops to prepare for an offensive. It was in the summer of 1522 that the emperor learned the fate of his son and heir. “My darling,” A letter from the emperor to the empress begins, dated in late May of 1522. “Since our lord, who gave Philip to us, wished to have him back, we must bend to His will and thank Him and beg Him to protect what is left. With great affection, my lady—I beg you to do this and to forget and leave behind all pain and grief.” The emperor had no answers for what happened—only that it had. While the emperor bore the news stoically, putting his faith in God, the empress was beside herself at the loss—she was said to have wept bitterly, remarking to her ladies that: “Spain, dreadful Spain—it has killed my darling Philip; they can say he has sickened and that it is God’s will…but so long as I live, I shall never believe it. My own son, my first born—I did not know him during his short life, as I was forced to leave him behind… and now I never shall. I know the truth. My son was murdered by ambition; I shall curse Spain for the rest of my days; I swear revenge on those who have robbed me of my eldest son.” As the news of Prince Philip’s disappearance and death spread, some whispered of a Tudor Curse—had not Henry VII came to the throne of England by slewing the usurper, Richard III—who had climbed onto the blood-soaked throne through his pitiful nephews? Some murmured that perhaps Henry VII—had played a larger role in the matter, and as such, his descendants would be doomed to tragedy. A farce—but an interesting farce whose story spread. Some feared for Empress Mary’s health following the revelation of Prince Philip—she received the news when she was pregnant and was so swept up in grief that her servants truly feared for her demise. She persevered: her daughter Mary, to be known within the family as Marie was born without issue in 1522. In France, similar concerns pervaded the court regarding Queen Claude—pregnant for the eighth time, and in failing health. Claude died giving birth to a young prince—the queen asked that the young prince be named Louis with her dying breath—in honor of her late father, Louis XII.

Queen Claude, c. 1520; She died at her post, giving birth to her eighth and final child, Prince Louis.​

Negotiations between the royalists and moderate rebels allowed some semblance of authority to be restored to central Castile—and Iñigo Férnandez, the Constable of Castile, was able to cobble together an army of some 30,000 that would finally offer some concrete resistance against the French invasion in Navarre. With Spanish troops moving northward, André de Foix was forced to retreat beyond the Ebro—with the Spanish laying siege to the major fortifications at Fuenterrabia which would allow them to surround the French forces in Upper Navarre completely. André de Foix wrote pensively to the King of Navarre, stating: “Our position has faltered compared to last year; our advantages are rapidly depleting. Your subjects lose faith by the hour; make an appearance, and all shall be well.” Henri II remained safe and sound in France at the Château de Pau; he refused to render André de Foix any financial aid, fearing the expedition was turning sour. Spanish troops continued to move slowly against the French positions in Spain throughout 1523, taking back Fuenterrabia as well as seizing both Estella and Olite—placing Pamplona under direct threat. With the armies of Charles V beginning to gain ground, England fulfilled its end of the bargain with the emperor—in May of 1523, England declared war of France. It immediately committed some 15,000 troops into the field, under the command of the Earl of Oxford. With the French stretched thin by Imperial attack, the Earl of Oxford was able to act with impunity as his army marched out of Calais and into Picardy—with the French unable to mount an effective resistance as Oxford plundered and razed the fields around Abbeville, before crossing the Somme River. Though the English offensive came within distance of Amiens and likely could’ve pushed towards Paris, the lack of artillery and supplies—as well as reinforcements from the emperor meant that Oxford was soon forced to withdraw back towards Calais—arriving there in December of 1523.

In Scotland, England’s push into the conflict against France and Albany’s desire to aid his French allies prompted a tumult. Albany’s control over the regency of Scotland had slackened during his sojourn to France and Italy, where he had mainly relied upon his lieutenants to excise authority in his name. While Albany returned to Scotland imbued with confidence that French money and arms provided, he did not realize that his languid regency had caused great strife amongst the kingdom—people were hungry, there was no justice—and they did not believe that the Duke of Albany cared for their king. Alexander IV, now nine—had spent most of his time since Albany’s absence under the strict care of Albany’s appointees, who reigned over the royal household like little lordlings, with the king closely confined at Sterling Castle, ostensibly for his own protection. This unrest against the malaise of the regency empowered the anti-Albanist party, which received ready support in great secrecy from England. The enemies of the regent also had a secret weapon: the queen dowager, Margaret: still at Doune Castle—where she had languished for six years, protesting her innocence. The regency had offered to free the queen on the condition that she recant her story regarding Albany’s proposal of marriage and admit that she was a liar. The queen, haughty as any Tudor retorted to her goalers: “I cannot admit to a lie which is the truth. I shall always state it is the truth, until the day I die. I curse Albany—he shall never get from me those words which might heal his reputation. Nay, never. I shall never submit, and if I am kept here, then so be it. I shall only leave Doune by a coffin, never a horse, so long as Albany reigns.”

Soon after Margaret’s famous words, the anti-Albanist party led a raid on Doune Castle, freeing the queen from her confinement. “Who dares come into a lady’s house as such, with your armor and sword drawn?” Margaret was reputed to have said as she met with her liberators—or perhaps new jailers in the great hall. At this, the men kneeled before her, starting with the man who had led the daring attack—James Hamilton, the Earl of Arran. “We are your true friends, madam,” Hamilton is recorded as saying. “We come not only to free you—but to restore you to your rightful position as mother of the king. The uncle has failed; you—with our help, must steady the ship of state.” Though Margaret was pleased to be freed, and would happily go forth, she made one request from her new allies: that she would not leave Doune as a liar. This the anti-Albanists were happy to aid her in this, for it served their purposes. Along with news of Margaret’s liberation, enemies of the Duke of Albany also publicized what they claimed to be a genuine marriage contract between the Duke of Albany and Queen Margaret—dated March of 1516, at the height of their affair. Albany’s supporters denounced the document as a sham and forgery; his enemies saw it as a genuine document. In due course, the Earl of Arran’s troops had little difficulty in taking control of Sterling and taking control of the young king’s person—with Alexander IV being returned to the custody of his mother, who he had not seen since 1516. Arran and Albany’s forces clashed at the Battle of Whitecross in November of 1523—resulting in the scattering of Albany’s troops and his overthrow from the regency. By December, the Duke of Albany fled into exile in France, with the Earl of Arran restoring Queen Margaret to the regency—with Arran assuming the title of chancellor. Other allies of Arran, such as the Earls of Argyll, Eglinton, Lennox, and Montrose were favorably rewarded with choice positions upon the council and within the royal household. Queen Margaret—with her son, the young king, at her side, would return in triumph Edinburgh—with the royal court taking up residence at Linlithgow Palace.

Arms of the Earl of Arran: One of the Five Earls, and Queen Margaret's newest ally.​

The ouster of Albany deprived France of a vital ally in Scotland; most knew of Queen Margaret’s English sympathies, though her political positions were constrained by her new allies, the so-called Five Earls. They were not explicitly pro-French, nor were they pro-English—though they had accepted English aid, they had been unified primarily in their distaste of Albany and his disastrous governance—and had little desire to commit Scotland into a war which they could not hope to win. Even Margaret had softened somewhat towards France—her attitude towards England soured by the lack of support she had received from Catherine of Aragon and the English ambassador during her imprisonment. The new Scottish government made no move to repudiate the Treaty of Rouen, with Queen Margaret writing to King François that, “The situation remains much unsettled at present—I fear that even with your generous support, our troops are in no fit state to confront England—nor do my ministers wish to place our army into the position of enduring another Flodden. I remain your steadfast friend and ally—the king is all chatters about the little princesses, Louise and Charlotte, and asks that your majesty please send him a portrait of them as soon as can be arranged.”

King François soon found his kingdom in a difficult situation as 1524 dawned. The English had marauded over northern France, causing immense suffering and a poor harvest. The French had been ejected from Lombardy and Italy, and their position in Navarre was under siege. The Venetians, also facing troubles from the emperor and the pope, agreed to abandon their alliance with France in the Treaty of Worms. France now stood alone—and King François was faced with cobbling together the financial resources to raise a fresh army in Italy. Aside from levying a fresh Taille and ordering that the rates of the hated Gabelle, or salt tax, should be raised slightly to account for the extraordinary situation. Fresh taxes were also sought from the clergy, and François seized clerical revenues intended for the Pope in Rome owing to the state of war between them. François also leaned upon the princes of the blood to provide voluntary donations to the treasury. François greedily looked to his kinsman, the Duke of Bourbon to provide a large donation—promising that Bourbon’s faith in the royal cause would soon be rewarded. While it would remain to be seen, François was soon able to put together an army of some 40,000 troops which he was prepared to take personal control of for yet another campaign in Italy.

The emperor, too, was prepared to shore up the imperial position in Italy—and sought for provisions and funds, as well as 12,000 Landsknechts that the emperor would personally command to join the imperial and papal troops already stationed in Italy. The French army marched across the alps in June of 1524—the joint imperial-papal troops under Charles de Lannoy and the ailing Prospero Colonna, still awaiting the emperor’s reinforcements, were in no position to offer effective resistance; Asti fell to the French without issue, and Genoa, having been captured by Spanish troops nearly two years before, once more opened it’s gates to the French, rather than suffer the effects of a protracted siege. Milan was in chaos at the approach of French troops—an outbreak of plague in the city of dampened the effectiveness of the city’s garrison, and Lannoy only possessed some 13,000 troops to stall the French advance. Unprepared to submit his troops to a protracted siege that might cause his troops to become infected, he decided to abandon the city—with Lannoy retreating towards Lodi, his troops exiting from one gate in Milan as French troops entered in another. François decided that he needed to press on to his advantage—and after installing Louis II de Trémoille as Governor of Milan, he ordered his troops to press towards Lodi, which he placed under siege—pinning the imperial forces into an impossible situation.

Charles V and his fresh German reinforcements arrived in Italy in November of 1524—having negotiated an agreement with the Republic of Venice to allow his reinforcements to traverse through Brescia and Cremona to reinforce Lodi. Charles de Lannoy’s troops were in a poor position, suffering from an outbreak of sickness. The Papal commanders were also wavering in loyalty—unbeknownst to the emperor, Pope Pius IV had sent secret envoys to the King of France in order that an agreement might be reached between them. Though the emperor’s arrival helped heighten imperial morale, Charles de Lannoy wrote dejectedly within his journal: “We are trapped here, in Lodi. Our only hope is to attempt a breakout or die by the French sword.”

Engraving of Charles de Lannoy, Viceroy of Naples & Imperial General.​

Charles V took supreme command of the imperial troops within Lodi soon after his arrival. While some of his more cautious commanders recommended that they should stay in Lodi throughout the winter, with the campaign season soon coming towards an end, Charles V reasoned that their best bet to break out was now. To this, Charles de Lannoy agreed. To remain would only subject further troops to sickness and reduce their supplies and rations even further. If they could break through the French troops, they could seek safe shelter in Parma, and find relief until the season began anew. François, in turn subjected Lodi to daily barrages from the French artillery—as well as ordering his foragers to claim produce from the surrounding countryside. In what was considered an early coup of propaganda, François ordered that several brick bakeries be built in the French camp—hoping to torment the imperial forces the smell of fresh bread that the imperial troops would surely be deprived of.

In January of 1525, the imperial troops finally attempted a breakout—they succeeded in attacking French positions near the southern city gates. The Battle of Lodi, as it became known, occurred near the river Adda. The imperial troops, though succeeding in their attack near the gates, soon realized that it had been a feint to lure them forward. The battle raged throughout the morning and afternoon—with French artillery blazing against the imperial lines, while Swiss troops swarmed forward in quick motion, armed with their pikes. As the battle raged forward without a clear answer, the French soon had a coup when the Count of St. Pol succeeding in striking at the emperor’s horse—unhorsing him. Before the imperial lines could surge forward to protect their sovereign, the Count of St. Pol alongside the Baron of Montmorency were able to surround the emperor—taking him captive.

The capture of the emperor caused the morale of the imperial army to collapse, and Charles de Lannoy with his remaining forces was forced to retreat towards Lodi. While he attempted to offer up the city in exchange for the emperor’s safe return, François refused—why should he bargain such an important prisoner for such a minor concession? Lodi would fall sooner rather than later—which it did. The emperor was kept in close confinement—with François refusing to meet with him. It was eventually decided that he should be transferred out of Italy and into safer confinement in France, which would make an escape or liberation more difficult. As the imperial troops under Lannoy offered up Lodi, the emperor was transferred to Genoa—and transported to Marseille, where he was held briefly before being transferred to the Château de l’Empéri in Salon. He was ultimately moved to the Château de Saumur. In a letter to his wife, the Empress Mary, the emperor lamented: “All is lost, and even more lost in my present position. Our army in Italy has been defeated, and I am in the hands of the King of France. Despite my entreaties, he has thus far refused to meet with me… I fear of the terms he might offer, but that I fear even more, that I must accept. I pray that you keep me in your thoughts… I salute the bravery of your Grand Écuyer, Charles Brandon…he fought most valiantly at Lodi… more valiantly than most of my Germans. Give him my praise—and you may tell him that he shall be made a count when I am able to do so…”

Though the war was yet unfinished, the conclusion seemed clear: it only remained for François to name his terms to the vanquished emperor—now his prisoner, and for the emperor to accept them.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 15. The Hope of England – The Treaty of Ghent
1525-1528; England

… Whereas most instant suit hath been made to your most Excellent Majesty…
on the behalf of the most noble and most kind princess Mary, Empress of Rome…
and the most gracious prince Christian, rightful King of Denmark, Norway, &c…
… for marriage to be had between Your Highness and his only son and heir…
the noble prince John of Denmark…
— Portion of Queen Mary’s Marriage Act (1527)

Music Accompaniment: Robin

Allegory for Marriage, Titian; c. 1530.​

The capture of Emperor Charles V had Lodi had radically brought the Italian War of 1521 to a swift end. The imperial army in Italy had been vanquished—Burgundian knights, German Landsknecht, Spanish Tercios… all had labored under the imperial eagle and had saw themselves torn asunder by French arms with the loss of their sovereign. With Charles V imprisoned and transferred to France to await the terms that François would impose; it soon left the emperor’s allies to seek their own accommodations—most having little stomach in continuing war without further support from the emperor. Pope Pius, in the early months of 1525 made peace with France, dispensing with their imperial alliance in favor of a French one through the Treaty of Piacenza. England’s regent, Catherine of Aragon, found England in a dire situation—some 20,000 troops were abroad; 5000 under the Earl of Surrey were in imperial service, having served primarily in the Low Countries under Henry of Nassau, while the main contingent of the English army—15,000 men, under the Earl of Oxford, had taken up their winter quarters at Calais following their attack upon northern France in the autumn of 1523. The emperor’s defeat left England’s troops in a delicate position; if the King of France desired, he would be capable of bringing full force against them—quite possibly even marauding the Pale of Calais. In a letter to the Earl of Oxford, the queen regent wrote that: “If you believe there is little sense in holding a position which does us little good—then, even with my greatest regrets, I bow to your superior knowledge in this area. Do whatever possible to ensure our troops can return to England in good order; I shall pen a letter of my own, but I ask that you write most urgently to the king’s mother, Madame Louise…let it be known that we are willing to come to terms to end this odious war.”

There was great discomfit among the Earl of Oxford and other English commanders that their prowess and arms had been squandered in aiding the emperor’s ambitions in the folly of Italy. What interest did England have in such matters? What had England accomplished, beyond a ravaging of northern France? There were no spoils or treasures to calm the regular infantrymen. They had not even succeeded in seizing another city. It had been an empty campaign filled with empty promises. Though Oxford respected that the Catherine as regent had the right to determine the crown’s foreign policy, his letter to the queen regent bore a somewhat scathing tone: “Madam—the king’s mother is agreeable that terms of peace should be sought and is dispatching one of her servants—a Jean-Joachim de Passano to parlay with you. I warn you that Madam Louise is adamant that any such terms for peace cannot be agreed upon unless England is willing to stand by the terms agreed at Noyon in 1516 and allow France to redeem Boulogne. Make peace now, and you risk losing what little England has earned in service to the cause of your nephew, the emperor. Please remember that English blood has been soiled in the cause of Imperial ambitions… and that the Englishmen deserve their recompense.” Though Oxford was not formally reprimanded for his bold letter to the queen, it did mark an end to his career—for the remainder of the regency, Catherine did not employ Oxford, and he soon retired to his estates.

Peace between England and France would be reached in the autumn of 1525 through the Treaty of London, signed between Catherine of Aragon and Louise of Savoy on behalf of her son, King François—with François continuing to maintain interest in Italy, it was seen as prudent to break England away from the emperor. The terms of the treaty were not advantageous—England would be required to allow France to redeem Boulogne for £150,000, rather than the £500,000 stipulated in 1516. Though the sum would be of help to England, it was little compared to the expenses that England had endured since 1521. “Though the queen once more secured peace for England,” An anonymous writer of the period wrote. “There was discontent amongst the council—the war of 1521 was seen as another wasted folly; in the service of the emperor, rather than in service to England.” This left the imperial dominions to stand alone against France—with the emperor held in confinement at Saumur.

Portrait of a young Queen Mary, c. 19th Century. Recreation.​

Queen Mary was rapidly growing up. By 1526, she was thirteen—no longer a little girl, but still under the tutelage of her mother—and on the cusp of womanhood. There remained only five years left of Queen Catherine’s regency, and one main question remained unanswered: who might the young queen marry? Would Catherine look abroad, or seek a match from among England’s greatest families? Though the war had occupied the mind of the queen regent, she had remained on the look out for a favorable match for the young queen. Queen Mary’s household expanded as she grew older—though Margaret Pole remained her governess and would continue to have influence over the domestic parts of the queen’s household, there also new additions: Agnes Howard, the Duchess of Norfolk, was named Mistress of the Robes to attend to the queen’s growing collection of clothes and jewelry, while Eleanor Manners, the Countess of Rutland was named as Chief Gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber. Both were older and experienced women—appointees placed into their position by the queen-regent. The young queen’s real friendships were with those girls who had been within her household as companions since birth: Anne Parr and Catherine Blount, who served as maids of honor to the queen. The young queen was also close to Blount’s brother, Charles—who had been made one of her grooms. The queen’s education also continued to evolve in the intervening years; lessons in French were given primarily by Jacqueline Estienne, a French noblewoman, who also provided lessons in etiquette and deportment. More and more time was given over to the practical lessons of government—taught by the Bishop of Rochester and supplemented by lessons from Thomas More that focused on Parliament, given his place as a former MP.

It was as she grew older that the queen’s personality finally began to be shown—and some of the first descriptions of her behavior can be traced to this time, not all of them glowing: “The young queen possessed a fiery temper,” Jane Sackville, a courtier of the period wrote in her private journals. “Many saw it as merely a sparkling inheritance from her father, the late king, who was also known for his great temper. Some believed it was due to her Spanish blood—and others, a mixture of both. But regardless, the queen was quick to rise to fury if she felt slighted or misused—and many gentlewomen suffered the sting of her hand against their cheek for minor offenses, such as combing her hair too roughly or lacing her dresses too tight. She was warm to those she loved and who enjoyed her favor—she was generous to those servants who had been with her since her youth; but she was not easily trusting of newcomers, and she often claimed that ‘Those I do not know, I cannot trust.’ Charming, vivacious, and witty—she smiled and laughed easily amongst those she was comfortable with, and even at a young age, she possessed an Englishwoman’s sense of humor, and could be bawdy with the best of her ladies.” A picture was increasingly painted of a queen that could be warm and charming, but in turns quick to anger and imperious—but what could one expect of a girl who had been queen since the day of her birth and treated as such her whole life?

“I have done my best,” Catherine of Aragon lamented in a letter to the Empress Mary. “And perhaps that is enough; and perhaps it is not. I can be gladdened that the queen is well learned; she enjoys her studies and completes them without complaint. I can also say that I have given her an enriched look at our faith—and she cherishes it just as I do, and as her father had. But I deplore her tempers and increasing fits of fancy; she has not yet learned that being a queen is more than being obeyed—and that obeisance can be earned just as easily with honeyed words versus a fierce blow.” Little surprise that Catherine lamented such in a letter, for the young queen’s growth in years meant increased friction with a mother that was in some ways overbearing: “You shall do well to remember that I am the mistress here, madam,” Mary stated during one vicious argument that ensued with her mother over her wish to replace some of the older members of her household with women that were closer to her in age. “All that you hold is because of me, and me alone… were I to die tomorrow, all would be for naught.” Catherine, reduced to tears, could not help but retort: “Better my daughter goes to the angels and the Saints, than reign one day as Athalia.” Mary herself wept from her mother’s speech and soon apologized—but such arguments and fights were not uncommon as Mary began to grow into adulthood and sought more independence within her own household.

Though there had not yet been any resolution to Queen Mary’s possible marriage, there were machinations to bring such a resolution about—with such desire beginning not in England, at the English court, but abroad—in the Low Countries. Empress Mary had always taken a keen interest in her niece and had been a prime supporter of a possible marriage between Mary and Prince Philip, while he lived. Mary herself still had no son—she had only two daughters, Isabella (b. 1521) and Maria (b. 1522). Though the empress was now forced to contend with the aftermath of her husband’s capture at Lodi, she still maintained an interest in English affairs, and her greatest desire was to help seek out a suitable husband for her niece. Things began to move towards a head in 1526, when the emperor’s sister, Isabella of Austria passed away. Isabella had been married to Christian II of Denmark—an overarching reformer who had found himself deposed from his throne in 1523. Christian and Isabella—along with their children, John, Dorothea, and Christina had been forced into exile in the Low Countries, where they were sheltered by their Habsburg relatives. Relations between the Danish royal couple and their imperial patrons were not always harmonious—Christian and Isabella both had interests in the growing reformation movement and had corresponded with Martin Luther. Upon Isabella’s death, Empress Mary took the Danish royal children into her own household—ostensibly to oversee their education, but also to ensure that they were raised as Catholics. Christian II, knowing his precarious situation and accepting that any hope of regaining his throne would depend upon the emperor, he agreed that the empress taking over their education was the best option. The three royal children came to reside with the empress at Coudenburg Palace and would join the nursery with their cousins Isabella and Maria. Mary adored her Danish nieces—but she grew especially close to Prince John; he filled a void in her life that had been increasingly lacking since the death of Prince Philip, and in all aspects the young Danish prince became her surrogate son.

Portrait of Prince John of Denmark, c. 1526.​

It came as little surprise at the imperial court that the empress began to favor Prince John; it was even less of a surprise that the empress began calling upon the English ambassador to visit the nursery where the children were kept, lavishing great praise upon the young prince. “The empress says that young Prince John is most prudent in his studies and grows stronger with each passing day.” The ambassador wrote in a letter to Catherine. “The empress is preparing for a portrait to be painted of the young prince by Master Hans Holbein—she is hoping to send it to you and the queen in due course.” There was much to recommend the match to Queen Catherine—for one, the young Prince John was her great-nephew; though his father’s political situation remained precarious, his position in exile at least meant that the marriage would not drag England into a further alliance—while maintaining relations with Catherine’s family on the continent. After all, neither the emperor nor the empress showed much interest in aiding Christian II in his plots. Prince John’s father lacking a throne also meant that the young prince would be able to reside in England and live with the queen—he would have no commitments abroad, allowing him to stay in England. This was seen as beneficial to some: a young foreign prince, while not an Englishman, could certainly be groomed to be one—and might serve as a potent counterweight to the influence that Queen Catherine might have over her own daughter, even after the regency was terminated. After some time, Catherine signaled to her ambassador in the Low Countries that she would be willing to entertain ambassadors to bring about a formal betrothal between Queen Mary and Prince John.

The marriage treaty would be negotiated between Queen Catherine and the Empress Mary through intermediaries. Though Christian II was consulted, he was not viewed as an important player in the negotiations: given his delicate situation, he would be more than happy to see his son arranged into such an advantageous marriage by the empress. The first drafts of the marriage treaty were carried out in the Low Countries, in what would become known as the Treaty of Ghent. It provided for the practical terms of the marriage, with the empress agreeing to provide money to pay for John’s eventual suite. Given John’s youth (he was nine—four years younger than the queen) it was agreed that the marriage would be scheduled for 1534—sometime after the prince’s sixteenth birthday; the queen would by then be twenty, nearly twenty-one. In some quarters, this was not ideal—it would mean another eight years before England had any hope of an heir, and some wondered of the young queen and her personal rule—how could they expect her to be constrained by a husband if she was given a chance to reign unimpeded, even if only for a few years? Others saw the prince’s youth as a benefit: he could be melded into the king they desired. Other portions of the treaty would involve John being provided with English teachers and tutors, and with his education to be finalized in England. It was agreed that the prince should travel to England in 1530 and complete the last years of his education there, given the position he would hold in that country.

Parliament also became involved in the marriage negotiations and was summoned in 1527 to put together an act of laws that could regulate the queen’s future marriage. This act became known as the Act for the Marriage of Queen Mary to Prince John, or more commonly as Queen Mary’s Marriage Act, which represented the English ratification of the marriage treaty. Under the terms of the treaty, Prince John would enjoy Mary’s titles and honors as King of England for as long as the marriage was to last. All official documents would eventually be dated with the names of both sovereigns, and Parliament would be called jointly under the authority of both. The marriage act also provisioned that John could assist Mary in the governance of the realms, though most power would remain within the queen’s hands. This was not the ideal outcome for Catherine of Aragon—she had always sought that her daughter might be allowed to reign unimpeded, and that her future husband serve as a mere consort, but it was the reality of the situation: Catherine’s foreign policy had caused grave issues in England, and even her most ardent councilors had begun to tire of her petticoat government; yes—the queen would in due course come of age and reign too, but should she not be aided by her husband in this difficult task, lest England suffer under another generation of feminine tyranny? England would need a king, and it could not afford to wait another generation for one. Raising a king up alongside their queen seemed the best way to provide England with what it needed. Though Prince John was eventually to co-reign with the queen, the marriage act also placed stipulations upon him: it was agreed that only Englishmen should be appointed to political offices, nor would he have any claim to the crown should the queen predecease him. The marriage act also promised Prince John an annual income of some £3000, given his father’s impoverishment; to be composed of several manors and lands that resided within the royal estate: he would be granted a life interest, and such lands would return to the crown upon his death. Empress Mary sought to give whatever largesse she could for her nephew and leaned upon the Estates General to provide her nephew with an additional grant of £2000 per year—to be raised through a levy on several cities.

It is truly unknown what the young queen thought of her impending nuptials. When her ladies queried her over the possible marriage—as they often did, what with the possibilities throughout the years, she could only reply: “I am told that I must marry, and marry I suppose I shall. If it shall be—it will be. Nihil admirari.” For the queen, it was simple: what would happen, would happen—and it would still be years before such a plan would come to fruition.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 16. Years of Dust & Shadow
1525-1526; France, Germany, Italy & Spain.

“Truly, we are dust and shadow; truly, desire is blind and greedy; truly, hope deceives.”
— Plutarch, To Laura in Death

Music Accompaniment: Calata ala Spagnola

The Château de Saumur pictured in Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berri.​

Emperor Charles V’s capture at Lodi was a high point for French successes in the sixteenth century, everything that the previous kings—Charles VIII and Louis XII—had fought for. All the French blood that had been sacrificed for the ambitions of France’s monarchs in Italy was now completely vindicated; the capture of the emperor would give France the upper hand they needed to secure their position in Italy. Charles V was held only briefly in Italy—following a short stay in Genoa, he was soon transferred via ship to France, where he stayed for a time at the Château de l’Empéri before being ultimately transferred to the Château of Saumur—the former home of René d’Anjou located in the province of Maine, which kept the emperor nearly two hundred miles from the nearest port, and some distance from his dominions in both Spain and the Low Countries. Though the emperor’s confinement was overseen by one of king’s bosom companions, Anne, the Baron of Montmorency—with François ordering that the emperor be treated with all the honors due to his rank. A six-month long truce was also negotiated. Along with a suite of servants that composed of some of the noblemen that had been captured alongside the emperor, Charles was granted funds to allow him to keep a sumptuous table. None of this mattered, however, when the emperor’s chief request was denied: a meeting with the king of France himself. François, having remained in Italy, instead chose to dispatch an envoy to Saumur to lay his terms before the emperor.

François was not prepared to deal lightly with Charles; he had scored a major victory and was prepared to follow through with it to his advantage. The terms delivered by the king’s envoy were crushing. Not only was the emperor to accede to a marriage between his eldest daughter, Isabella, to the Dauphin, but he would endow her with certain territories as her dowry that would be ceded to France immediately: Artois, and the County of Burgundy, with the Princess Isabella to be reared in France as a fille de France. The emperor would also be required to renounce for himself and his heirs any claims to the ancestral Duchy of Burgundy—while also recognizing French claims in Italy—including not only the Duchy of Milan, but French pretensions to the Kingdom of Naples, and to abandon their occupation of Lower Navarre and restore it to the Kingdom of Navarre per the Treaty of Noyon. A final insult would be the king’s ransom that François would claim before he would authorize the emperor’s release—a sum of two and a half million crowns. François also demanded that the emperor should pay the costs of the French crown’s debts to the City of Paris—another 500,000 crowns. When the terms were delivered, the emperor was all fury—even pulling a dagger upon the envoy, snapping: “Does the King of France wish for me to cede my soul, as well?” It took the Baron of Montmorency to disarm the emperor, as well as soothing his temper before things calmed—even so, the emperor flatly rejected the terms offered, offering the envoy counter terms to take to the king: a betrothal between the Princess Isabella and the Dauphin, with Artois and 250,000 ducats to be offered as her dowry, his renunciation of Burgundy, recognition of French claims over Milan, and the payment of the demanded ransom. It could be of little surprise that François, holding the upper hand, flatly rejected the emperor’s offer. Discussions within the king’s council concerned the emperor’s potential freedom—one section of the king’s councilors believed that the emperor should not be freed until he signed the terms demanded by the king, while others wanted his freedom to be contingent on the terms as well as the required ransom. A third group advocated that the emperor should be held regardless, to ensure he could not cause further trouble to France—but the king demurred from this idea. Still, he made it clear: if the emperor wished to reject his offered terms, then he would remain where he was until he came around.

Delays in the negotiation meant that the truce expired with the emperor still held in close confinement—with no treaty in site. France, meanwhile, continued to maintain the upper hand—with the Pope defecting from the imperial alliance to align his interests with France, including plans for a campaign in Naples. Even England, long the emperor’s stalwart ally, chose to negotiate a separate peace with France that included the cession of Boulogne. Venice, too, once more reaffirmed it’s alliance with France, while Florence, under the rule of Cardinal Guilio di Medici was also eager to realign it’s interests towards that of France—the Treaty of Pisa not only affirmed an alliance between France and the Florentines, but also arranged for a betrothal for Florence’s future lord—Lorenzo III[1], the son and heir of Lorenzo II, to a daughter of the French nobility—Jacqueline de la Trémoille, daughter of the Viscount of Thouars. With negotiations having borne little fruit, the French king soon declared an assault upon the Naples—led by Jacques de La Palice. The French troops were supported by auxiliary troops from France’s Italian allies—a contingent of Papal troops were led by the Duke of Urbino, while Florence subsidized the so-called Black Bands under Ludovico di Medici, who now formally entered French service. Naval support was provided not only by the French navy, but by a squadron of Genoese ships under Filippo Doria, the famed nephew of Andrea Doria, while the Venetians furnished a small command under Vincenzo Capello—albeit suffering some disorder, and mainly limited to observational tasks. Gaeta fell after a short siege, and soon Naples fell under siege as well. With the Spanish army in Naples virtually vanquished in the aftermath of Lodi, the remaining contingent troops within the kingdom fell under the command of Alfonso d’Ávalos—who was intent that the emperor should suffer no further defeats from the fiendish French.

As the French campaign continued—it remained to the emperor’s other dominions to continue the struggle without their sovereign, who remained in custody. In the Low Countries, it was the Empress Mary who spearheaded the effort for her husband’s release—in the negotiations to arrange the marriage of her nephew to Queen Mary of England, she attempted, to no avail to ratify an alliance once more with England. Catherine of Aragon, her position shaken badly by England’s poor performance in the war of 1521, found herself unable to offer any support—but promised to do all she could to agitate for Charles’ release from custody. When Mary heard of the terms that François proposed—including the potential marriage of her eldest daughter that would require Isabella to be raised in France, the empress openly wept, telling her closest confidantes that: “My eldest son died at the altar of politics; I shall not sacrifice my eldest daughter to the same fate.” In Spain, effective command of the government fell to Prince Ferdinand. When François made his first demands to the Empress Mary, primarily concerning the emperor’s ransom, it fell to her to deliver that news to her brother-in-law. Such a massive sum being demanded could not be raised in the Low Countries alone—it would have to be sought throughout the whole of the emperor’s domains. The news stunned Ferdinand, but also produced a problem: though Spain was a wealthy country, it’s regular revenues and expenses meant that assisting with the emperor’s ransom would no doubt require a grant from the Cortes. The Cortes of Castile was now in an ascendant position following the revolt of the communities and had received greater powers following the Treaty of Segovia. These powers had not yet been tested—and if the Cortes was summoned, this would be their first meeting under the new terms. Another pressing issue sat before Ferdinand: the Cortes was summoned in the king’s name, but it’s sessions could not begin properly typically without the king’s presence; this was an issue that had caused issues previously and had helped spurn the Comunidads in the first place, when Ferdinand and the Cardinal of Tortosa had opened the Cortes of Valencia in the steed of the king. “You must do what is needed,” Empress Mary wrote in a letter to Ferdinand. “You are loved and respected in Spain in a way that the emperor and I could only hope to be—all you do is for the good of your brother. I ask only that you think upon it and do what you decide is best—whatever you decide, I shall offer my full support—the emperor shall as well.” 1525 also dawned with troubles abroad, in Hungary: Louis II, the emperor’s brother-in-law found himself under siege from the Ottomans. The fortress of Belgrade had fallen in 1522—and Hungary, long dominated by the magnates, was ill-equipped to deal with the Turkish scourge—with both Louis II and his wife, Mary, appealing abroad for assistance to turn back the Ottoman armies.

Siege of Belgrade, c. 1456. Turkish Painting (c. 1580).​

Empress Mary, in the meantime, spearheaded the effort to raise her husband’s ransom—summoning the States General in her husband’s name to appeal for the needed subsidies. “I summon you not just as empress and regent, but as both a wife and mother in the deference of your sovereign, who remains ensnared in French chains,” Mary began in a bold speech towards the deputies. “I beseech you, do your honor towards your sovereign lord so that he may be free and able to avenge these slights put upon him and his family.” Though the Empress was forthright and inspiring in his speech, the Estates were unwilling to shoulder the entire burden of the emperor’s ransom—they offered to raise some ƒ950,000 for the emperor, asking the empress to intercede with the Spaniards to raise the remainder of the ransom—which still stood at some two million crowns. “The burghers have proved most intransigent with my requests,” A letter from the empress to Ferdinand stated, mid-1526. “I am beseeched on all corners—your sister in Hungary writes to me for our aid; the German princes clamor to be of assistance against the Turks, and yet… our focus remains upon the troubles of my husband, your brother. The Estates are only willing to shoulder a portion of the ransom—and though a committee of burghers are resolved to raise an additional ƒ200,000—I possess nowhere what we need, and it shall take time for the funds to be raised. I am prepared to fleece what I can from my own privy purse—perhaps some ƒ50,000… but I am aware it is a paltry amount, and the sum we still require is much greater: some two million. I ask you, most humbly, as your suffering sister—do what you can to see if the Spanish shall assist us.”

Ferdinand knew that Spain would likely shoulder the heaviest burden of the emperor’s ransom; after all, riches galore had been found with the toppling of the Aztec Empire—and even more wealth was promised to soon flow from what was now called Nueva España. Now urged by the empress, Ferdinand decided that the plunge must be made—he ordered the summoning of the Cortes of Castile: ostensibly under the name of his brother and under his authority, by in truth under the command of Ferdinand. Though the Cortes assembled without complaint and without restriction before Ferdinand as Viceroy of Castile and all of Spain, it is little surprise that they submitted before their prince a document of demands that they wished to be accepted before they would consider any extraordinary grant to pay for the emperor’s ransom. The first demands were innocuous: they demanded that the Treaty of Segovia be enshrined into law as a statute. They also pressed for further concessions—that the Cortes be allowed assemble without the presence of his king, or even his representative, and that the Cortes should be summoned regularly. This became known as the Contract of Valladolid, named after the city, where the Cortes had assembled. Most radically, the Cortes put forth a question on the succession: they demanded that Ferdinand be recognized as Prince of Asturias and Girona as heir to Spain—demanding that their prince should be assigned the Spanish inheritance—whether the emperor had another son or not. They asked that Ferdinand should not only govern Spain the emperor’s absence, but that he should play a vital role in the government going forward. They also demanded an end to Ferdinand’s long-standing betrothal to Anna Jagiellon—beseeching that the prince seek out a marriage that would be more amiable to Spanish interests instead. It has long been a question of historians regarding the 1526 Cortes of Valladolid—was Ferdinand aware of the terms that would be put before him? One class of historians believe that the Cortes were aware of Ferdinand’s position in seeking assistance for his brother—and were determined to press it to the fullest: that included ensuring that he would be their eventual king, whether it be in five years or thirty. Other historians tend to a darker role: that Ferdinand, being in the position of calling forth the Cortes, was able to ensure that the representatives chosen were partisans of his cause. Some believe that by 1526, Ferdinand had tired of being his brother’s satrap, without a concrete position or authority of his own, and that he was prepared to use his brother’s weakness as an excuse to solidify his own influence in Spain to ensure that he would one day reign in Spain as king. Certainly, arguments could be made for this—Ferdinand held no position outside that of Viceroy and had been denied any say in the larger Habsburg inheritance, or even granted lands or revenues of his own.

The petition for Ferdinand to be named as heir to Spain was also supported by the royal council, with a joint deputation from the Councils of Aragon and Castile presenting Ferdinand with the offer—headed by Juan Pardo de Tavera, the Archbishop of Santiago. “We desire that you, and no other—should accept this offer from our hands; there is no prince worthier of the honor except for you,” The head of the deputation lavished praise upon Ferdinand and his virtues. Little surprise, that whatever his personal feelings, Ferdinand accepted the offer placed before him. In exchange, the Cortes was more than generous: they endowed Ferdinand with the rents and revenues from several towns and districts within Asturias, totaling some 450,000 maravedis per annum; they were also prepared to offer the prince a grant to pay for the emperor’s ransom. A portion would be granted out of the revenues of the quinto real, or tax on precious metals and treasures—while a portion would be made out as a subsidy—totaling together almost a million ducats. This was not even close to the full amount required, leading Ferdinand to resort to other methods to raise funds: he ordered the seizure of an entire shipment of silver that totaled some 250,000 ducats, with the owners to be given juros, or government bonds that could be repaid later. The remainder of the funds would be raised through loans—Ferdinand would contract asientos with both the Fugger and Wesler banking houses, while Empress Mary would seek out loans from Antwerp, Amsterdam, and Brussels. Though Ferdinand and Mary could surely raise the vast sum required, the primary issue remained: it would take time to raise the necessary funds. “The Cortes has agreed to fund part of the ransom.” Ferdinand wrote in a letter to the empress. “Though they do not do so lightly—I am attaching in a proscript the statutes which they have demanded in exchange. I am fully aware that I do not legally possess the authority to accept these demands, but it is what they have asked—and that I have gladly given. All I do is for our family, and for the emperor.” Empress Mary regarded the terms placed before Ferdinand as odious, but knew it was the price for ensuring the freedom of her husband. “You have been placed in a most difficult position, and have handled it with great aplomb,” Mary wrote soothingly to Ferdinand in the aftermath of his appointment as Prince of Asturias. “Charles would see that all you do is in service to his cause; you are his worthy successor in Spain…” Little surprise that the empress offered words of approval—given her own distaste of Spain; better Ferdinand to succeed his brother, rather than one of her darling daughters.

Etching of Anne de Boullan, c. 1525: King François' newest Maîtresse-en-titre.​

Meanwhile, the emperor’s confinement continued at Saumur—with little resolution in site. François returned from Italy towards the end of 1525 as a crowned victor and was able to return to his raucous bachelorhood which he had adopted following the death of his wife, Claude. Though the king’s mother was eager for him to remarry—she was incessant in her promotion of Isabella of Portugal, as well as several lesser princesses, such as Hedwig of Poland—the king seemed to have little desire to consider remarriage. The end of 1525 marked an end towards François’ relationship with his chief mistress, Françoise de Foix. At nearly thirty, the old mistresses influence had begun to wane—and the king’s wandering eye had been piqued by the interest of a young Englishwoman who had grown up within his court into a beautiful young woman—Anne Boleyn, better known now as Anne de Boullan. Anne had led a rather delightful life at the French court, and following the death of Queen Claude, she entered the household of the Duchess of Alençon, with the pair becoming fast friends. Though Anne’s father had long desired her recall to England, to arrange a marriage for her, his options were somewhat limited with the stagnation of his own career. Anne is said to have told her friends: ´Better to be merry and single in France—than married and miserable in England.” Michelle Contay, a diarist of the period who would eventually become one of Anne’s closest friends wrote in her story of Anne’s life that: “At nineteen, Anne was ravishingly beautiful—she possessed not only that sparkling wit and charm that the king so valued in his female companions, but she was also an expert tease. She was a flirt who enjoyed being chased—and at the French court there were many beaux to chase her; before her connection to the king, it is said she enjoyed a brief romance with the Duke of Lorraine, who entertained the idea of marriage before doing his duty and wedding Maria of Montferrat; she was also allegedly connected to the young King of Navarre and even the Duke of Alençon—but once the king’s eyes fell upon her, none else mattered. Unlike many who found themselves seduced and ravished by the king; Anne did not give into his desires immediately. She was a consummate actress, skilled at increasing the king’s ardor while increasing his interest—a skill which some say lay in her techniques which she had learned from the Duke of Lorraine—a known debauché who often boasted ‘It is easy to make love to a virgin when other tricks are involved…’ Whatever the reasoning, the king was enraptured—it took nearly a full six months before Anne dared to yield to the king’s desires. And when she did so? It is said that she drove a hard bargain for the courtesy which she was bestowing upon the king—bartering like a merchant’s wife and extracting a payment of some 15,000₶ from the king for the pleasure. Though many thought that the king laying with Boullan would be end of their affair, given his brief attachment to her sister, they were wrong: it was only the beginning of her reign as his maîtresse-en-titre.”

Anne was soon installed into sumptuous apartments near to the king’s own and given an establishment that rivaled that of his former queen, to the dismay of the late queen’s partisans. François was quick to lavish his new lover with material gifts of silks, dresses, and jewels—but she was also given an annual pension of some 30,000₶ per annum. The new mistress was unabashed in her promotion of her own family and relations in a way that shocked even the most vulgar French courtiers—for her eldest sister, Marie, Anne arranged for her marriage to a French nobleman—Jean du Tillet, the Sieur de La Bussiére. Her younger brother, George—who would become known in France as Georges de Boullan saw his fortunes raised by his sister’s new position; she gifted him with a captaincy in the Garde Écossaises—with her eye on the lookout for a plum heiress amongst the illustrious French nobility, with her hopes of raising the Boullan family to ever greater heights in France. This certainly complicated things for the Boullan family patriarch, Thomas Boleyn, an English diplomat who had served both Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon primarily in the Low Countries and in France. Though his diplomatic career had largely been curtailed by 1525, his daughter’s connection to the French king did him no favors—he would be entrusted with no further diplomatic missions following this date, though the King of France did deign to grant Père Boullan the Order of Saint Michael—and all knew why it was granted, with one anonymous quip stating: “The grateful king has named the father a knight for that most valiant service—raising up a whore into the royal bed.”

The lack of a resolution regarding the emperor’s freedom hinged primarily upon Charles V himself. He remained intransigent regarding the terms put forward by François—while François himself made it very clear that his freedom hinged not only on the payment of his ransom, but his signing of the treaty. “You must not lose hope,” Empress Mary wrote in a letter to her husband. “It remains very clear that no amount of gold will sway the King of France. I ask that you continue to keep faith and continue to beseech him. Please—Isabella cannot be parted from us.” Yet despite the empresses’ words, most of those around the emperor was encouraging him to come to terms with the reality of his situation: François held all the cards and would set the terms. This was odious to Charles’ honor—already badly damaged by his capture at Lodi, he was not prepared to give the King of France another inch and suffer yet another humiliation. Charles was so tortured by the terms that had been placed before him that he even considered abdication—he instructed two of his servants, George of Frundsburg and Cesare Hercolani to prepare instruments of abdication that would leave Ferdinand with the Habsburg lands in Austria as well as the Spanish inheritance, while his daughter Isabella would inherit the Low Countries as Duchess of Burgundy—with the proviso that Isabella should marry his brother’s son and heir, or whomever Ferdinand chose in lieu of his future son. Attached to the instruments were letters to the German princes and electors—abdicating his title as emperor and extorting them to elect Ferdinand as emperor in his steed. Perhaps it was Charles’ hope that once he had abdicated, his brother and wife would be free to continue to war against the French, while Charles—without titles or possessions, would be useless as a prisoner and unable to convey or agree to any of the French terms demanded. Regardless, the plan failed primarily because of Charles’ servants: they begged the emperor not to abdicate, and reasoned with the emperor that even if he did give up his dominions, it would likely not sway François to release him; it would also cause further disorder and disarray within the emperor’s realms when it was not needed. When the Baron of Montmorency heard of the emperor’s plot to abdicate, he wrote immediately to the king: “I beseech you, your majesty—though you have held off from meeting with the emperor in hopes of extracting the desired terms, I fear that it has not been to France’s benefit. The emperor’s mind suffers greatly; I ask that you consider meeting with him in person, to reason with him—sovereign to sovereign, that he must know what must be done.”

View of the Bay of Naples, 16th Century.​

It was not until December that François finally agreed to meet with Charles—ordering that the emperor be transferred from Saumur to the Château de Rambouillet—and issuing strict orders to Montmorency that the emperor be limited to the area around the perimeter of the Château; while the emperor would be free to take walks and even hunt with his armed guard, the king was determined that none should see the emperor; he also had an aversion to bringing the emperor into his capital, and thus left Charles on the outskirts of Paris. Though Charles was brought to Rambouillet, he spent December largely in seclusion—with the French court celebrating a raucous Christmas the Vincennes. The king gifted Anne Boullan with several strands of pearls—as well as a pendant bearing her initials, endowed with sapphires and diamonds, worth some 1500₶. “Yet only few spoke of the lavish gifts given to Mademoiselle Boullan,” Wrote one anonymous writer of the time. “Many more were eager to discuss her expanding waist and stomach, which she flaunted before all the court. There was no denying it… the king’s mistress was enceinte.” It was only after the Christmas celebrations that François deigned to pay a visit to Charles. When the emperor laid his eyes upon the king, he could not help but speak derisively: “So, you have come to gaze upon your prisoner, I take it?” François was quick to respond: “Not my prisoner—but my cousin and my friend. I have been desirous of your liberty when there are those amongst my council who would prefer to keep you exactly where you are.” The king then spent several hours in interview with the emperor—and though no formal terms were agreed upon, both sides felt they were inching closer to a resolution, despite the emperor’s continued reservations. When the king finally departed from the emperor, it was the emperor’s adherents who pressed the emperor to consider the king’s terms more carefully. “The king has placed before you the most odious restrictions and believes he can crush your power and authority from within your prison cell,” Hercolani counselled the emperor carefully. “Once you are free—you are the one who will hold all the power. All know how harsh these terms are—and no one, most especially your subjects, would balk at you breaking these terms as soon as you are able to do so.”

It was in January of 1526 that the final terms were finally reached on what would become the Treaty of Rambouillet. Not only did the emperor agree to the terms placed before him by François—with it agreed that alongside the Princess Isabella that twelve noblemen selected by François would be surrendered to the King of France as hostages to ensure the emperor’s good behavior. Charles also pledged to ratify the treaty once more upon reaching his own dominions, as well as ensuring it’s ratification by the Cortes of Castile as well as the Great Council of Mechlen. The harsh terms of the treaty, so evident, caused great dismay to France’s Chancellor, Antoine Duprat—that he believed that France would never be able to enforce these terms upon the emperor once he was freed. Duprat attempted to convince the king to moderate his terms—and when this failed, he refused to affix his seal to the treaty at all—forcing François to sign the treaty personally. Though the ink on the parchment would soon dry, it took until March for arrangements to be made for the emperor’s handover ceremony at Cambrai—where he would be exchanged for the Princess Isabella and the demanded noblemen—Henry of Nassau-Breda, Philibert of Châlon, and Antonio de Leyva—among others. The terms of the treaty required the emperor to make good upon his promises for the return of the hostages—many of them some of his best generals. Princess Isabella’s dowry was to be ceded within six weeks, while he was given four months to ratify the treaty and ensure its acceptance in both the Low Countries and Spain, as well as cede Naples and return Lower Navarre to Henri II.

With France’s star rapidly in ascendance, it was of little surprise that many of it’s most stalwart allies in Italy were now reconsidering what French domination over the peninsula might mean.

[1]Born in 1519: only son and heir of Lorenzo II di Medici and Madeleine de la Tour d’Auvergne.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Wowza, I am sorry guys! This chapter is huge: almost a whopping 6k words, but I really couldn't find a good cut off point until the very end. I tried editing what I could, but in some cases it just got longer. We're going to take a break from our scheduled show, Francis vs. Charles, and take a look at what is going on in Hungary instead....

Chapter 17. The Hungarian Conflagration
1525-1528; Germany & Hungary

“I came indeed in arms against him; but it was not my wish that he should be thus cut off before he scarcely tasted the sweets of life and royalty.”
— Suleiman the Magnificent

Music Accompaniment: Branle de la Siutte du Constraint Leiger

Battle of Nicopolis, unknown artist.​

While the King of France and the Holy Roman Emperor continued their struggles over Italy, Hungary was dealing with an enemy that they had now been dealing with for nearly two centuries—the Ottoman Turks. Having spread forth out of Anatolia, the Ottoman Empire was now one of the largest in Europe—comprising of not only its holdings in the Balkans but also its newest conquests in the Middle East: the Levant and Egypt, picked from the moldering corpse of the Mameluk Sultunate. The Ottoman Sultans—Padishah and Kayser-i Rum—were able to add yet another title to their growing list: that of Caliph, with the Ottoman Sultans being named defenders of the holiest cities in Islam—Mecca and Medina. Sultan Selim, the conqueror of Egypt, died in 1520 and was soon succeeded by his ambitious son, named Suleiman. Suleiman soon turned his focus towards Europe—the citadel of Belgrade fell into his hands after a token siege, while he used an army of 70,000 men to evict the Knights Hospitaller from Rhodes in 1522 at great loss. Now, three years later, his sights began to look further into Hungary—the road that would lead him into Europe.

Hungary, meanwhile, suffered from its own set of problems. Though Louis II had attained his majority, Hungary remained in a perilous position as the great magnates dominated the political life of the kingdom. The crown’s authority remained weakened, and royal finances were in a terrible state—the king was kept in poverty and was forced to borrow to pay for his household expenses, while his queen, Mary of Austria, despite being given a generous endowment of 40,000 ducats per annum, was forced to use her annual allowance to repay loans that had been taken out by Vladislaus II, with the queen only having access to her income onward from 1525. The state of the kingdom’s finances also extended beyond the royal household—fortresses were allowed to fall into disarray while the salaries of border troops went into arrears. All attempts to increase taxation to pay for the defense of the country were frustrated by the jealous magnates, eager to keep their hands on the wealth that had been readily poured into their hands by Vladislaus II. Politically, the kingdom remained divided between the lower gentry, who wished to see a national regeneration, and many of the great magnates, who were more favorable to a pro-Imperial foreign policy. The queen herself was the head of the pro-Imperial faction, and she had attained a great position of influence and authority for herself. She also had a base of power outside the kingdom, with the emperor having named Mary as Governor of Austria in 1523 to manage the Habsburg territories of Austria. Mary did not reside within Austria and governed these territories for her brother, largely from Hungary—Wilhelm, the Freiherr von Roggendorf, and Christoph Frankopan were appointed by the queen as her representatives in Austria.

Another fixture of the Hungarian court was Louis II’s sister—Anne. Anne had been raised alongside Mary and had been betrothed to Ferdinand of Austria at a young age. When Ferdinand was kept behind in Spain, their engagement entered a nebulous phase—when Mary was finally wed to Louis II, Anne accompanied her now sister-in-law to Hungary; the diet bestowed upon Anne a small annuity of 3000 ducats—with hope that her marriage to Ferdinand might come to fruition. When Ferdinand was named Prince of Asturias in 1526—and beseeched to seek out a marriage more amiable to Spanish interests, Ferdinand finally took the step of terminating his engagement. Louis II was incensed at what he viewed as a betrayal by his Habsburg relatives, writing to the Empress Mary: “This is an affront to the dignity of the Holy Crown of Hungary—as well as the honor of my sister. The betrothal was signed nearly a decade ago, and she has languished—waiting to be summoned by her husband. It is only now that we discover that Ferdinand is not prepared to follow through with the promises made by his grandfather. It is a great disappointment, and I do hope that the emperor is prepared to rectify the situation…” Despite additional pleas from Queen Mary of Hungary, the king’s plea fell on death ears—though the Empress Mary did deign to discharge a small sum of ƒ10,000 from her privy purse to assuage the King of Hungary’s hurt feelings. The broken betrothal left Princess Anne free to marry, though her brother’s concerns lay in other areas.

Louis II, King of Bohemia and Hungary, c. 1526.​

The King and Queen of Hungary had a tender relationship—it was a relationship built on mutual affection and love. Though the king had a mistress prior to his marriage named Angelitha Wass, he was faithful to the queen following their marriage. They spent a great deal of time together, with a Hungarian courtier of the period writing in his journal that, “The king has eyes only for the queen, and the queen only has eyes for the king. They are a pretty pair, like two little dolls—they go about each day, spending nearly every waking moment together. Even when the king meets with the council, she is often present—sitting to the side and sewing or reading. Once business is finished, they spend their days hunting, feasting, and riding. She is the king’s heart and dearest advisor—if only she were a man, the things she might accomplish!” Despite their mutual attraction, the early years of the marriage were plagued by childlessness—with the queen even visiting local shrines in hopes that she might conceive a son. The king and queen’s prayers were answered when the queen discovered she was pregnant; in November of 1525, the queen gave birth—not to a son, but to a daughter. Born on the feast day of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, the little princess was named Elizabeth. Mary doted upon her daughter and soon spent vast amounts of time in the royal nursery with one of her favored Dutch servants, Jutte Cosijins, named as the princesses’ nursemaid.

Despite this, the shadow of the Turkish scourge hung over Hungary. The conquest of Belgrade nearly four years earlier had exposed the disarray of the Hungarian troops and opened the kingdom for further invasions by the Ottomans. Though Mary was resolute in her campaign for Hungary, she was unable to find much assistance abroad: Charles V in early 1526 remained imprisoned, and the Empress Mary’s concern remained primarily focused on the threat of France—support from the empire remained limited, primarily from Bohemia (which shared a monarch with Hungary) and Bavaria—though the Queen of Hungary was given permission by the empress to recruit from within the Austrian dominions, and it was agreed that the queen should have access to some of the artillery kept stored at Vienna. Aid also came from Poland, with Louis’ uncle, Sigismund the Old, pledging military support. Though the Pope was unable to offer any military resources, he did pledge ƒ50,000 to the Hungarian treasury to assist in paying defense costs. Though Queen Mary was resolute in her attempt to defend Hungary, her reliance on her non-Hungarian advisors meant that few within the ranks of the nobility trusted her. Louis II’s attempts to rally support were positively anemic compared to the queen’s—a fact that was readily apparent to the nobility. “The king is a weak man—he has none of the determination that the queen possesses. If he had only a drop of her blood—then he might prove stronger than he presently is.”

Queen Mary of Hungary & Princess Anne of Hungary.
With the king's weakness, they became the heads
of the pro-Habsburg and pro-National factions, respectively.​

The kingdom was divided more than ever—and these divisions also spread into the royal household, with the king torn between his sister and his wife. Relations between the queen and Princess Anne had suffered ups and downs—the pair had ceased speaking for a time in 1519, when there were rumors that the regents of Louis II would repudiate his engagement to Mary and have the young king stand for election as Holy Roman Emperor himself. Though the pair eventually made up, the breaking of Anne’s engagement in 1526 added further tension to their relationship, to the point that Anne’s began to host a court separate from her brother and sister-in-law. Anne’s court began to be frequented by those opposed to the pro-Habsburg policy of the king. One of the prime attendees at Anne’s court was John Zápolya—a magnate and head of the national party. Though his influence had been weakened by his defeat outside Belgrade in 1515, he was still beloved by many of the gentry and lower nobility, and he had connections abroad through his sister, Barbara Zápolya, wife of Sigismund the Old and thus Queen of Poland. Rumors swirled of Zápolya’s interest in Princess Anne—his mother had sought a marriage between the two when Anne was only a child, and Zápolya had also expressed his interest to the late king, Vladislaus II, in 1510 as well. Balázs Szécsi, Princess Anne’s chamberlain, wrote in his diaries that: “The king was all fury when he discovered that Zápolya—a man he had never quite trusted and whose intentions he was never sure of—had paid visits to his sister. The princess was questioned before the whole of the court, with the king demanding to know what had transpired between the pair—and if they had ever met alone. The princess defended herself adroitly: ‘I have done no wrong, both before God and before you as my brother and my sovereign. You have your friends—I am fit to have my own.’ This was not an answer that soothed the king—declaring that as she was fit to have her own friends, she should be fit to have her own establishment away from him—in Olmütz, in Bohemia. The princess departed from her brother on terrible terms—the last time that she saw him. Though the order for her banishment was rescinded when her retinue reached Pozsony, she chose to remain there rather than return to the royal capital.”

The Ottomans began to muster their troops in the spring of 1526, setting out from Constantinople in April. Their army was composed of some 50,000 men, though some claimed upwards of 100,000. The Ottomans' advantage lay mainly in their artillery: they possessed some 300 guns, more than the Hungarians could ever hope to muster. The Ottoman troops also had plenty of arquebuses—made not just by Venetian gunsmiths but by Hungarian gunsmiths as well—an issue that had prompted the Hungarian diet to pass a law banning the export of further guns to the Ottomans in 1525. Given their trajectory north, all knew that their path would take them through Hungary—and that they would likely use the Danube River as their most important transportation source. The main issue lay in Hungary’s lack of fortifications some 250 miles alongside the banks of the river: aside from Pétervárad and Buda, Hungary had no fortifications, towns, or even villages that might serve to slow the Turkish advance—made easier by the Ottoman Grand Vizier, Ibrahim Pasha, constructing a bridge to allow the Turkish troops to cross into Hungarian territory even easier. The Ottoman army marched for nearly eighty days from Constantinople and took five days to cross the Danube into Hungarian lands—encountering no resistance as they did so.

The Turkish incursion into Hungary caused a great tumult and occurred mainly because of the jealousies of the magnates. When news of the Ottoman troops marching forward spread, Louis II was keen to deploy a vanguard of troops to defend the southern border. This plan was frustrated by the great nobility who refused to serve under the king’s chosen deputy, making it clear that they would serve only under the king. The nobility, more concerned with their petty feuds and jealousies, seriously underestimated the situation that they were in and were slow to react to the king’s call for troops. By the time the Ottoman troops were already crossing into Hungarian territory, the Hungarian army was composed of three distinct units: in Transylvania, John Zápolya commanded a force of some 10,000 men, mainly charged with guarding the Transylvanian Mountain passes. The main army, led by the king himself, was composed of 22,000 men—this included some 4,000 armored knights from the noble banderiums and the king’s bodyguard; 4,500 light cavalry, mainly Hussars of Serbian origin; 6,700 Hungarian troops; and 5,300 mercenary troops—composing mainly of German Landsknechte, as well as Italian and Spanish condottiero, financed by the Papal States; and 1,500 infantrymen from Poland—with a small number of artillerymen recruited mainly from the Habsburg domains in Austria. The royal army had perhaps ninety artillery pieces all together—a small amount compared to the Turks. The troops were also well equipped compared to armies in western Europe, and many of the troops were furnished with arquebuses, but they were still outmanned and outgunned by the Turkish forces.

When the Ottomans pressed into Hungary, this left the royal forces separated—Zápolya’s forces were along the Transylvanian border, while Christoph Frankopan had some 5000 troops in Croatia, both of which were too far away to offer any tangible assistance to the king. This meant that the bulk of Louis II’s forces, centered in Buda, were the only means of offering any resistance to the Ottoman invasion—badly outnumbered and outgunned as well. Though the king favored a defensive policy—in effect, ceding ground to the Ottomans rather than fighting them in open battle—the king found himself overruled and swayed by his war council, which desired a quick, immediate strike against the Turkish marauders without waiting for reinforcements from either Zápolya or Croatia. “We are planning for our last stand against this scourge,” Louis II wrote dimly to Charles V—in hopes of convincing the newly freed emperor into sending more aid. “Your help is desired—and needed—more than ever. Stand with us and let us make a grand strike against the Turk.” The emperor never responded to the letter—his focus was on France; he did not understand the urgency of the situation in Hungary and preferred to deal with what he thought were more emergent situations. Hungary could expect no further aid from the Habsburgs—their help remained limited to what Empress Mary had sent earlier in the year. With the royal army still situated around Buda, the Ottoman forces were able to press forward unopposed, moving into the village of Mohács and besieging Pétervárad, Újlak, and Eszék. Louis, along with his council, decided that they would make their defiant stand at the village of Bár—the plains would give plenty of room for the cavalry to maneuver, and the Hungarians hoped to deal with the Turks piece by piece. The Hungarian army was also in better shape—they were well-rested, while the Ottoman troops had just endured a hellish march in the heat of the summer.

Sultan Suleiman following the Victory at Bár.​

The Battle of Bar unfolded on September 1st, 1526, and played out over a matter of two hours. While Archbishop Pál Tomori struck a victorious blow against the irregular Rumelian troops and surged the Hungarian line forward, the Hungarians came within striking distance of the Sultan Suleiman, and Hungarian bullets struck the Sultan’s cuirass. As the Hungarians pressed forward, the irregular troops were reinforced with regular troops from the reserves; this, combined with a charge by the elite Janissary regiments, allowed the Ottomans to overwhelm the Hungarian offensive, and their left flank faltered completely. The Hungarians suffered heavy casualties from Turkish artillery fire and musket volleys. The Hungarian army was soon surrounded by the Ottoman cavalry as they outmaneuvered the Hungarian troops to entrap them in a pincer attack. The Hungarian center, composed of heavy knights and infantry, collapsed under the barrage of Turkish fire. The Hungarian royal army was vanquished, and those who refused to flee were killed or captured. During the chaotic retreat, Louis II was killed by a volley of arquebus shots that struck him across his back and his neck, shredding his armor and knocking the king from his horse. When the king was found after the battle in a nearby stream, the water was soaked crimson—his body a mess of bloody viscera. Louis II was the first monarch to be killed in battle by gunfire. The result at Bár was catastrophic for the Hungarians: aside from the king, some 1000 nobles and other military leaders lost their lives, and some 14,000 troops were killed. Sultan Suleiman was in awe at the Hungarian defeat, and believing that it must be a trick, he held back several days before daring to put his troops back on the march. Some 2000 prisoners were executed before the Sultan ordered the army to march onwards—Suleiman watched the massacre from atop a throne of gold.

The death of the king threw the kingdom into complete chaos—news of the defeat and the king’s death reached Queen Mary a day after the battle, which threw the queen into deep mourning. “She is a shadow of herself,” One anonymous courtier wrote. “Pale and shaken—but eyes as determined as ever. Despite the strain of this heavy news, her focus remained entirely upon Hungary—and her daughter, little Elizabeth.” For the rest of her life, the queen would wear a heart-shaped locket that had been worn by the king at Bár and found upon him after his death. In the aftermath of the king’s death, Mary attempted to gather support from across the factions of nobility to proclaim her daughter as Queen of Hungary, with herself as regent. But with the Turkish army marching forward, the idea received very little support. With the kingdom thrown into heavy turmoil, there were many—especially the petty nobility—who looked for a king and military leader to deliver Hungary from its present situation. This was no time for an infant monarch—most especially a girl. Mary was soon pressed by her supporters to take leave from the capital—with the collapse of the royal army, the capital was undefended, and few wished for the queen or for the king’s daughter to fall into Turkish hands. Mary wasted little time and departed from Buda to Viségrad—home to the Holy Crown of Hungary. Mary, like her predecessor Elizabeth of Luxembourg, conspired to smuggle the Holy Crown away from Viségrad—ostensibly to keep it from falling into the clutches of the Turks, but to ensure she would hold the insignia that might make her daughter queen. With the aid of one of the crown guards, Mary arranged for the crown, along with other pieces of the Hungarian crown jewels, to be packed into a trunk with a box of jewels and furs that she had brought along with her. Rather than staying overnight in Viségrad, Mary and her retinue immediately departed, moving at a furious pace until they reached Pozsony, where Mary set up her court—and where Anne had been residing for several months.

Soon after Mary’s escape from Buda, the Ottomans reached the royal capital. Undefended and left for the picking, the Ottomans were merciless as they sacked the capital of the Hungarian crown. They pillaged and seized whatever they could, carrying away treasures from both Buda Castle and the homes of the great magnates. Following their attack on Buda, Sultan Suleiman decided that his work was done. Hungary was now in chaos and would pose no threat to him. Rather than impose a victory or sovereign upon the kingdom, he decided that he would withdraw back to his own domains and allow the nobility to have their petty squabbles. The Ottoman retreat left a power vacuum in Hungary; while Mary ostensibly claimed to be regent as Queen Dowager, a secondary font of power began to develop around John Zápolya—one of the few magnates to come through the Ottoman invasion with his troops intact, as he had not been present at the disastrous Battle of Bár. “I must ask that you send support as soon as possible,” Mary wrote furiously to her brother, the emperor. “Louis is gone, and my situation is more precarious than ever… Elizabeth is the rightful successor, the rightful queen of this kingdom—yet I cannot demand their allegiance from my present position. Each day, the dreaded Zápolya grows stronger… I fear he will clasp the crown from my daughter’s head.” Mary’s fears were well founded—with each passing day, Zápolya’s influence grew stronger, supported by the late king’s sister, Anne.

Engraving of John Zápolya.​

Though Anne remained at Pozsony during and through the Battle of Bár, she did not remain long after Mary’s arrival. When Zápolya arrived in Buda, he wrote to the princess, stating, “The way is clear now for you to return to Buda, where you rightfully belong. There is no need for you to sulk in exile—that is the place of the late queen, not you. Her time has ended. Your time is now. Come to Buda. I await; I wish to be your husband—and I wish to be your king. And you shall be my queen.” Anne certainly found herself drawn to Zápolya’s wishes and desires—his ambition and his need for power were beyond attractive to a princess who had spent over a decade engaged to a man she had never met. It was little surprise that Anne decided that her fate belonged with John Zápolya—when her options were limited to a possible exile in Bohemia or Poland, with no say or control over her own fate. Princess Anne arrived in Buda in October of 1526—shortly after her arrival, she married John Zápolya secretly at Buda Castle. A month later, Zápolya summoned a diet at Székesfehérvár, which consisted primarily of the lower nobility. The diet voted not only to grant Princess Anna the revenues and lands previously held by Queen Mary, which were taken from her, but also to offer the Hungarian crown to John Zápolya. Zápolya duly accepted the offer of the diet and was proclaimed King of Hungary the next day—he was crowned, but without the Holy Crown, which was discovered to be missing.

While many of the lesser nobles had sided with Zápolya, there remained an important faction of magnates who remained attached to the pro-Habsburg cause of Queen Mary. A rump diet consisting of pro-Habsburg magnates was hosted at Pozsony in December of 1526—the diet not only declared that Princess Elizabeth was Louis II’s legitimate heiress but also named Mary as regent of the kingdom. The young Elizabeth was crowned using the Holy Crown, and the stage was soon set for a division of the kingdom into warring factions—but Zápolya, with his Transylvanian troops, remained one of the most potent forces in Hungary. “When the king discovered that the late queen had absconded with the Holy Crown, he was furious,” Wrote one of Zápolya’s supporters in his memoirs. “He wrote to the late queen, demanding that the crown be returned to him. In return, he promised to ensure that the queen would be granted a suitable establishment for her widowhood and that funds for Princess Elizabeth would be provided as well.” It was clear that Zápolya did not recognize the claims of Mary or her supporters about the late king’s daughter, rendering any sort of solution between the two squabbling factions impossible and ensuring that they could not collaborate against the future Ottoman threat. The envoys of King John soon fanned out across Europe, seeking support and recognition, with France offering positive support to Hungary’s new king.

Mary’s lack of support from her brother the emperor put her into a precarious situation—the only military forces at her disposal were the 5000 troops that had been raised in Croatia by Christoph Frankopan—who remained an adherent[1] to the queen and her cause, becoming one of her primary and most trusted advisors. The queen, in return, lavished rewards upon the Frankopan family—one of her first decrees was to mandate the return of lands and estates seized from the Frankopan family by King Matthias in 1469—lands they had tried to reclaim in vain in 1523. It was little surprise that the divisions in Hungary soon spilled over into Croatia: dueling diets were held at Samobor and Virovitica; while the Samobor Diet was prepared to recognize the rights of Elizabeth to her father’s inheritance, the Virovitica Diet, composed mostly of the lower Slavonian nobility, supported John Zápolya as their rightful king. Mary would name Christoph as Ban of Croatia—while Zápolya would support John Tahy for the role.

In this difficult period, Mary would draw much solace from religion—but not the Orthodox Catholicism of her family. Martin Luther sent the queen a booklet as well as four psalms, which he dedicated to her and Princess Elizabeth, providing much-needed relief to the queen in the difficult days of her widowhood. Mary began a correspondence with Luther, writing in one letter that, “Your words have been of much comfort to me in these most difficult times—when I am alone and must be a rock for not only my daughter, but so many others… It is hard to believe the years I spent with a veil over my eyes—a veil which you have lifted with your teachings…” Mary took into her household Matthias Dévai Biro as her court preacher—a Franciscan priest with Protestant sympathies. He would later study at Wittenburg under both Martin Luther and Philip Melanchthon. The disastrous defeat at Bár had practically neutered the Hungarian church; over half of its bishops perished in battle, and the grave unrest meant that neither John Zápolya nor Mary were willing to enforce the anti-Lutheran edicts that had been passed in 1523. The chaotic situation in Hungary helped make the kingdom fertile ground for the reformation and its ideas. Mary’s flirtation with Protestantism caused dismay among some of her supporters—most especially the heavily Catholic Croats—and caused issues with her brother, the emperor, as well, who urged Mary to dismiss Biro and cease any active contact with Luther.

Landscape with a large cannon, c. 1518.​

These squabbles gave Zápolya the upper hand, for divisions among Mary’s supporters weakened her own cause desperately. In 1528, Zápolya’s cause grew as he overcame the troops of Christoph Frankopan at the Battle of Varazdin, with Frankopan killed in battle. With Mary’s prime military force in Hungary now vanquished, Zápolya ordered his troops to move into western Hungary, where Mary’s adherents had set up their rival governments, with their first task being to seize Pozsony—and to take the queen dowager and little princess as captives. With the deteriorating situation, Mary was urged by her supporters to leave Hungary and seek refuge. Though Mary was reluctant to give up the fight, she knew that she could not remain. “The queen was valiant in those last hours,” Ursula Röhr, an attendant to the queen, wrote in her private diary. “Despite the worries of the servants, her courage put everyone to rest. Due to the haste with which the queen needed to depart, she knew that she would be forced to take only what was necessary, and her primary concern was the Holy Crown of Hungary. She ordered it packed into a trunk with a hidden compartment… with the trunk packed with the queen’s most mundane items: her chemises. The trunk was scented with valerian and garlic—giving it a most noxious odor to ward away curiosities…” When King John’s troops captured Pozsony after a brief siege, the queen and her daughter were long gone, having crossed the frontier into Bohemia. The king was infuriated to discover that she had escaped—but more than that, she had escaped with the Holy Crown. Some of Mary’s jewelry—those not pawned from her already dim collection—was abandoned by the queen in her haste to escape from Hungary. John Zápolya gleefully appropriated what remained left behind and bestowed the jewels upon his wife. Several trunks of silk and gowns were also discovered, which Anne happily divided among her suite of ladies.

Mary was safe—and she soon found refuge in the city of Brün, in Bohemia. The death of Louis II had left Bohemia in an interregnum—in 1497, it was agreed that Bohemia could elect its next king should their monarch die without heirs, but some argued that the king did have a potential heir: Princess Elizabeth. Princess Anne, the late king’s sister—now Queen of Hungary—was discounted because of her marriage to John Zápolya; it had been performed without the consent of the Bohemian Diet, and thus her succession rights were considered void[2]. John Zápolya also had no interest in pursuing the Bohemian Crown; his focus was on Hungary and ensuring his reign was undisputed there. Aside from Louis’ daughter, there were also potential successors from among the great Bohemian nobility; there were the two grandsons of George of Podiebrad: Charles, the Duke of Münsterberg-Oels, and Frederick II, the Duke of Legnica. Znedek of Rozmital, the Supreme Burgrave, and Vojtech of Pernstejn, a Moravian magnate. There were also possible foreign candidates: John, the Elector of Saxony; George, the Duke of Saxony—as a son of Sidonie Podiebrad; Joachim, the Elector of Brandenburg; Louis X, the Duke of Bavaria—and even King François of France. Support for the next monarch coalesced around three separate parties: those supporting the rights of Princess Elizabeth—this included those who wished to keep close relations to the House of Habsburgs; supporters of the Duke of Bavaria; and those who wished to continue a connection with the House of Jagiellon—supporting the candidacy of the King of Poland.

During the interregnum, the previous administration had continued to govern the kingdom according to its customs and laws while maintaining correspondence with Queen Mary and the Emperor, who had his own interest in the potential election for the Bohemian crown, not wishing for its electoral vote to slip too far from the Habsburgs grasps. Despite his unease with Mary’s contact with Luther, the emperor wrote a tender letter to his sister when news reached him of her safe arrival: “I am gladdened to hear that you have passed out of Hungary safely—though of course it is most unhappy news; I regret that more cannot be done in Hungary… but I am beyond pleased that you are safe.” The emperor’s concern was not merely fraternal; in 1527, Charles V’s wife, the Empress Mary, had safely delivered a son, who had been christened Maximilian, providing the emperor with a male heir nearly six years since the mysterious death of his eldest son, Philip. The emperor saw his sister’s daughter as a prime bride for his son, considering her potential inheritance: Bohemia—along with her rights to Hungary.

View of Prague, c. 16th Century.​

Mary stayed for a short time in Brünn before proceeding to Prague. The queen was given a lavish welcome. While her sympathies for Luther had perhaps alienated some of her supporters in Hungary, her views were not unwelcome among the Ultraquist nobility—even those who remained attached to the Catholic Church, such as the Duke of Münsterberg, had a keen interest in Luther’s writings. Queen Mary was allowed to take up residence in Prague Castle and was given access to her dower, giving her an income for the first time since 1526. Arrangements were made for the Bohemian Diet to be summoned in the summer of 1528 to decide Bohemia’s future course. Louis X emptied his coffers to provide bribes to the Bohemian nobility, which damaged his reputation among the nobility. Throughout the spring, the position of Mary was improved when the Diets of Moravia and Silesia—having been excluded from the planned meeting of the Bohemian Diet—recognized Princess Elizabeth’s hereditary rights within those provinces. The Diet of Bohemia was formally opened in July 1528 by Znedek of Rozmital as Supreme Burgrave of Bohemia; Queen Mary was in attendance, seated upon the dais, and she was invited to speak to the assembled men of the diet. “Milords—I thank you for your generosity at a time when it has been so heavily needed. I am but a poor widow, forced to endure the horror after horror that has unfolded since the death of my lord husband, your sovereign king. You have provided the necessary succor not only to his widow but also to his daughter; she is all that remains of him, and it is her, Elizabeth, that is his legitimate heiress.” While it was a radical suggestion that Elizabeth—a young girl of three—should succeed to the Bohemian throne, many within the diet knew that Elizabeth’s succession would come with the backing of support from the emperor—as well as his domains within Austria, of which Queen Mary remained Governor. Mary’s sympathies for Luther also eased the concerns of the Ultraquist nobility—they had little desire to elect someone such as the Duke of Bavaria, who had helped quash the reformation in his own domains.

Though the diet was open to the idea of recognizing Elizabeth’s hereditary rights and elevating her mother to the position of regent, the nobility had certain concerns and demands—laid out in the Capitulation of Prague, which Mary was expected to sign. This included recognition of the Vladislav Land Orders that had been passed in 1500, as well as pledges that no foreigners would be granted political office within the kingdom, nor would they be granted pensions or estates without express agreement from the Diet. It was also agreed that the diet should have a say in Elizabeth’s future marriage, and any future marriage treaty would be subject to the diet’s approval. Other articles of the capitulation concerned Elizabeth and her future position as Queen of Bohemia—it was agreed that her future husband should be crowned King of Bohemia and co-reign alongside her, making it clear that the Bohemian nobility mainly saw Elizabeth’s potential position as queen as an aberration—and one that could be fixed once a suitable husband was found for her. Rather than elevate a dynamic man who might become a strong king, the nobility had elected instead to elevate a young girl[3]—with her mother as regent. The hopes of the Bohemian nobility did not lie in finding a strong husband for their new little monarch—better a young queen, to be joined later by a weak king: to give the nobility all the say they desired over the crown and the kingdom.

[1] In OTL, Christoph Frankopan was attached to the Habsburg cause until he was swayed to Zápolya’s side. Given his increased influence here re: Queen Mary, he remains attached to the imperial cause.

[2] This happened in OTL as well; the Bohemian Estates did not give their consent to Anne’s marriage to Ferdinand, either: her inheritance rights were not recognized, and Ferdinand had to be elected king.

[3]I've found nothing to suggest that women were barred from the Bohemian throne. At best, Bohemia perhaps had a semi-salic law. Bohemian Princesses clearly had some rights of inheritance / succession, given that Anne of Bohemia's rights were debated IOTL, and some provinces (Moravia, Silesia) accepted said rights. In this situation, the election of a young female monarch is purely cynical; the great magnates and nobles hope to dominate the government during the regency, with the intention of finding a weak prince to serve as their future king.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Here are the family trees, as requested. I plan on doing more, there are some royal families I haven't touched, such as the Vasas, and perhaps the Rurikids. I also would like to do the major German dynasties at some point (Hohenzollern of Brandenburg, Wittelsbach, Wettin) as well as the major Italian dynasties, and the French Bourbons. I suppose there's a few spoilers in here, but nothing major that won't be covered in due time. This isn't totally complete or updated for the current period, but for the most part will show everyone what is going on.

Anno Obumbratio — Dynastic Trees
Dynastic Trees from the 16th Century​

Abbreviations Guide:

M. = Married; Multiple marriages equal m1, m2, m3 depending on number of marriages.
B. = Betrothed
Ann. = Annulled
Div. = Divorced
Ilg. = Illegitimate issue

Major Royal Houses—
House of Tudor (England):

• Henry VII, King of England (1457 – 1509) m. Elizabeth of York (1466 – 1503); Had Issue.
  • Arthur, Prince of Wales (1486 – 1502); m. Catherine of Aragon (1485 –); No Issue.
  • Margaret (1489 —); m. James IV, King of Scots (1473 – 1513)
  • Henry VIII, King of England (1491 – 1513) m. Catherine of Aragon(1485 –); Had Issue.
    • Mary, Queen of England (1513 —) b. John of Denmark (1518 –)
  • Mary (1496 –); m. Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor (1500 —); Had Issue.

House of Habsburg (Spain + Empire):

• Maximilian I, Holy Roman Emperor (1459 – 1519) m1. Mary of Burgundy, Duchess of Burgundy (1457 – 1482); Had Issue. m2. Anne of Brittany, Duchess of Brittany (1477 – 1514) ann. 1492; m3. Bianca Maria Sforza(1472 – 1510); No Issue.
  • Philip I, King of Castile & Duke of Burgundy (1478 – 1506) m. Joanna of Castile, Queen of Castile & Aragon (1479 –); Had Issue.
  • Eleanor (1498 —) m1. Louis XII, King of France (1462 – 1515); No Issue. m2. John of Portugal, Crown Prince of Portugal (1502 –)
  • Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor (1500 –) m. Mary of England(1496 – ); Had Issue.
    • Philip (1517 – 1521); Died Young.
    • Isabella (1521 –)
    • Maria (1522 –)
    • Elisabeth (1524); Stillborn.
    • Maximilian (1527 –)
    • [Ilg.] Joanna (1522 –) with Johanna Maria van der Gheynst.
  • Isabella (1501 –) m. Christian II, King of Denmark & Norway (1481 –)
  • Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias (1503 –) m. Isabella of Portugal (1503 –)
  • Mary (1505 –) m. Louis II of Hungary, King of Bohemia & Hungary (1506 –)
  • Catherine (1507 –) m. Charles III of Savoy, Duke of Savoy (1486 –)
• Margaret, Governor of the Low Countries (1480 —) m1. John of Aragon, Prince of Asturias & Girona (1478 – 1497); No Issue. m2. Philibert II, Duke of Savoy (1480 – 1504); No Issue.

House of Valois (France):

• Louis XII, King of France (1462 – 1515) m1. Joan of France (1464 – 1505); ann. 1498—No Issue; m2. Anne of Brittany, Duchess of Brittany (1477 – 1514); Had Issue. m3. Eleanor of Austria(1498 —); No Issue.
  • Claude, Duchess of Brittany (1499 – 1522); m. Francis, King of France (1494 —); Had Issue.
  • Renée (1510 —)
• Charles of Orléans, Count of Angoulême (1459 – 1496); m. Louise of Savoy(1476 —); Had Issue.
  • Marguerite (1492 —); m. Charles IV, Duke of Alençon (1489 –); No Issue.
  • François, King of France (1494 –) m1. Claude of France, Duchess of Brittany (1499 – 1522); Had Issue. m2. Beatrice of Portugal(1504 –)
    • Louise (1515 –)
    • Charlotte (1516 –)
    • Madeleine (1517 – 1518); Died Young.
    • Anne (1518 –)
    • François (1519 –)
    • Charles (1520 – 1529); Died Young.
    • Victoire (1521 –)
    • Louis (1522 –)
    • [Ilg.] Elisabeth (1527 –) with Anne de Boullan.

• René of Alençon, Duke of Alençon (1454 – 1492) m1. Marguerite of Harcourt (14?? – 14??); No Issue. m2. Marguerite of Lorraine (1463 – 1521); Had Issue.
  • M2. Charles IV, Duke of Alençon (1489 –) m. Marguerite of Angoulême (1492 –); No Issue.
  • M2. Françoise (1490 –) m1. François of Orléans, Duke of Longueville (1478 – 1512); m2. Charles of Bourbon, Count of Vendôme (1489 –)
  • M2. Anne (1492 –) m. William IX Palaeologus, Marquis of Montferrat (1486 – 1518)

House of Albret (Navarre):

• Catherine of Navarre, Queen of Navarre (1468 – 1517) m. Jean III, King of Navarre(1469 – 1516); Had Issue.
  • Anne (1492 –)
  • Magdalena (1494 – 1504); Died Young.
  • Catherine, Abbess of the Trinity at Caen (1495 –); Unmarried.
  • Joan (1496); Died Young.
  • Quiteria, Abbess of Montvilliers (1499 –); Unmarried.
  • Andrew Phoebus (1501 – 1503); Died Young.
  • Henri II, King of Navarre (1503 –)
  • Buenaventura (1505 – 1510); Died Young.
  • Martin (1506 – 1512); Died Young.
  • François (1508 – 1512); Died Young.
  • Charles (1510 –)
  • Isabella (1513 –)

House of Aviz (Portugal):

• Manuel, King of Portugal (1469 – 1521) m1. Isabella of Aragon, Princess of Asturias (1470 – 1498); Had Issue. m2. Maria of Aragon (1500 – 1517); Had Issue.
  • M1. Miguel, Prince of Asturias and Portugal (1498 – 1500); Died Young.
  • M2. João, King of Portugal (1502 –); m. Eleanor of Austria (1498 –)
    • Maria (1521 –)
    • Carlos (1522 –)
    • Afonso (1524 – 1526); Died Young.
    • Isabel (1526); Died Young.
    • Manuel (1527); Died Young.
    • Joanna (1528 – 1533); Died Young.
    • Beatriz (1530 –)
  • M2. Isabel (1503 –) m. Ferdinand of Spain, Prince of Asturias (1503 –)
  • M2. Beatriz (1504 –) m. François of France (1494 –)
  • M2. Luís, Duke of Beja (1506 –)
  • M2. Fernando, Duke of Guarda (1507 –)
  • M2. Afonso, Bishop of Guarda (1509 –)
  • M2. Enrique (1512 –)
  • M2. Maria (1513); Died Young.
  • M2. Duarte (1515 –)
  • M2. António (1516); Died Young.

House of Oldenburg (Denmark-Norway):

• Christian I, King of Denmark (1426 – 1481) m. Dorothea of Brandenburg (1430 – 1495); Had Issue.
  • John, King of Denmark(1455 – 1513)
    • Christian II, King of Denmark (1481 –) m. Isabella of Austria (1501 – 1526); Had Issue.
      • John (1518 –) b. Mary Tudor, Queen of England (1513 –)
      • Philip (1519); Died Young.
      • Maximilian (1519); Died Young.
      • Dorothea (1520 –)
      • Christina (1521 –)
  • Margaret (1456 – 1486) m. James III of Scotland, King of Scots (1452 – 1488)
  • Frederick I, King of Denmark (1471 – 1533) m1. Anna of Brandenburg (1487 – 1514); Had Issue. m2. Sophia of Pomerania (1498 –); Had Issue.
    • M1. Christian (1503 –)
    • M1. Dorothea (1504 –)
    • M2. Elizabeth (1520 –)
    • M2. John (1523 –)
    • M2. Adolf (1525 – 1527); Died Young.
    • M2. Anna (1527 –)

House of Jagiellon (Bohemia + Hungary to 1526; Bohemia: 1526-):

• Vladislaus II, King of Bohemia & Hungary (1456 – 1516) m1. Barbara of Brandenburg (1464 – 1515); div. 1490 ann. 1500; No Issue. m2. Beatrice of Naples (1457 – 1507); ann. 1500; No Issue. m3. Anne of Foix-Candale(1484 – 1506); Had Issue.
  • M3. Anne (1503 –) m. John Zápolya, King of Hungary (1487 –)
  • M3. Louis II, King of Bohemia & Hungary (1506 – 1526) m. Mary of Austria (1505 –); Had Issue.
    • Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia (1525 –)

House of Jagiellon (Poland):

• Sigismund, King of Poland & Grand Duke of Lithuania (1467 –) m. Barbara Zápolya (1495 –); Had Issue.
  • Hedwig (1513 –)
  • Sigismund (1515 –)
  • Alexander (1516 – )
  • Anna (1520 –)
  • Sophia (1523 –)
  • Casimir (1527); Died Young.

Major Noble Houses—
House of Lorraine (Lorraine):

• René II, Duke of Lorraine (1451 – 1508); m. Philippa of Guelders(1464 –); Had Issue.
  • Antoine, Duke of Lorraine (1489 – 1515) m. Renée of Bourbon (1494 –); No Issue.
  • Claude (1496 – 1515) m. Antoinette of Bourbon(1494 –); Had Issue.
    • Marie (1515 –)
  • Jean III, Duke of Lorraine (1498 –) m. Maria of Montferrat (1508 –); Had Issue.
    • François (1525 –)
    • Anne (1526); Died Young.
    • Philippe (1528 –)
  • Louis, Count of Guise (1500 –)
  • François, Count of Vaudémont (1506 –)

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Sorry for the delay, everyone. Had another doozy of a chapter.

This one is quite long as well, but hopefully everyone enjoys reading it. Things take some twists as we head into the 1530s, and we say hello to some new characters, and goodbye to some as well.

Chapter 18. Clash of the Leagues – The War of the League of Valenciennes
1526-1530; France, Germany, Hungary, Italy & Poland.

“Love! I who feel you don’t know you at all.
And so can only win the loser’s prize.”
— Ausiàs March, Voyage of Love or Death

Music Accompaniment: Danse Alta

Cambrai Madonna, c. 1350.​

The Treaty of Rambouillet which had ended the Italian War of 1521 to 1526 had imposed humiliating terms upon Emperor Charles V—the cession of territories in Italy, Navarre, and within the Low Countries—along with a crippling ransom. Though the emperor had endured the battering of his pride, he was able to end his imprisonment in France with his agreement to the terms—along with handing over his eldest daughter and several nobles as hostages. The holdover ceremony was held at Cambrai with great pomp—with the King of France and Holy Roman Emperor sharing a warm embrace, with François speaking first to the emperor: “Cousin, remember all that I have done for you—as my friend and ally. Let peace reign between our two realms. You have only to sign the terms once more.” Charles V was solemn in his response: “Indeed, my cousin—I shall never forget what you have done.” Empress Mary attended the holdover ceremony, with Princess Isabella in tow—the small, delicate princess dressed in a gown of white etched with golden fleur-de-lys—with a cloak of silver. “Do well and be good, always.” The empress said to her young daughter—attempting to hold back her tears. “Treat the King of France as you would your father; and be kind to the Dauphin. Never forget—you are the descendant of the greatest of kings, that of England and Spain—and of the Caesars, as well. The greatest of blood flows in your veins—be aware of your dignity and never forget it.” Embraced and blessed by the emperor, Princess Isabella was soon embraced by King François—before being handed off to the Governess of the Children of France, Madame de Brissac. This was followed by the handover of the selected nobles.

Charles arrived in Brussels the day after the holdover—where he was greeted by his aunt, Margaret of Austria—as well as his primary councilors: Chancellor Gattinara, Francisco de los Cobos, and Nicolas Perrenot de Grenvelle, among others. It was upon his return that Charles was acquainted with what had transpired in his absence—most importantly the fait accompli regarding Spain and Ferdinand being named as Prince of Asturias. The news shocked the emperor, who denounced the Cortes as a nest of vipers—yet the emperor knew that this was a decision that he would not be able to undo without significant trouble. France remained a vehement enemy—and Charles understood he would need the support of Spain, even if that kingdom seemed to be rapidly slipping from his grasp. One of the emperor’s first letters following his release was written to Ferdinand: “It is your heroic service which helped secure my release in those terrible hours of my French confinement—it is a deed that deserves to be recognized, and there is certainly no greater reward for you than to be named my heir in Spain. As the Cortes has already rendered this gift, I recognize it and confirm it without reservations… you shall continue to be my representative in Spain and govern the kingdom in my absence, which I expect to be for a long time yet.” Rather than fight against the tide in a losing battle, Charles preferred to recognize where things stood; better for the Spanish to rejoice in this choice and be more willing to fight against their common foe than for the emperor to fight against them and endure further issues. This helped to further solidify Ferdinand’s grip on the royal government in Spain—to the benefit of the prince’s political allies, such as the Archbishop of Santiago, Juan Pardo de Tavera.

Ferdinand essentially gained a free hand in dealing with the government of Spain following the emperor’s confirmation of his position as Prince of Asturias. As the emperor retreated from direct decision-making in Spain, the task largely fell to Ferdinand. One of the Prince’s first reforms concerned the Council of Castile—formed in the time of Queen Isabella as an administrative and judicial organ, it had become a hated symbol of the crown’s arbitrary policies during Charles’ earliest years. Ferdinand named the Archbishop of Santiago as president of the council—with the council to focus solely on administrative matters; Judicial issues would instead be handled by an expanded judiciary, centered around the audencias. Castile had two such courts, in Valladolid and Granada—with a new audencia created in Zaragosa to handle judicial cases in Aragon. Further reforms narrowed the purview of the Council of Castile—with the foundation of a Council of Finances to handle the business of the treasury, while the Council of the Indies was created to govern Spain’s burgeoning territories in the Americas and East Indies. It was also at this time that Ferdinand was able to begin to embark on his foreign policy—albeit one still rather tied to the whims and needs of his eldest brother, the emperor. Having heeded the demands of the Cortes to seek out a more beneficial marriage, Ferdinand had terminated his engagement to Anna Jagiellon and now looked towards the kingdom that might be more likely to provide Spain with its next consort: Portugal. “The king and I both look forward to seeing you at Olivença—it has been so long, and how things have changed!” Eleanor of Austria wrote in a letter to her brother ahead of a planned meeting of the Spanish and Portuguese courts at Olivença. “The king’s sisters shall be coming as well, of course—Isabella and Beatriz. They are beautiful—and I believe you will enjoy the company of both.” The courts met at Olivença in May of 1526—the Archbishop of Santiago meeting with his Portuguese counterparts to discuss differences between the two kingdoms—primarily their competing influence in East Asia, centered around the Moluccas Islands. Ferdinand got along well with both Portuguese princesses. “He is a true Spaniard—decorous and courteous, with a dignity that cannot be matched,” one Portuguese courtier wrote in his memoirs. “Last night, he danced with both princesses—yet his eyes always seemed entirely focused upon Princess Isabella—and her eyes upon him.” Was it love at first sight? Perhaps. But it was clear to all involved, most especially Queen Eleanor—that the Prince of Asturias was taken with Princess Isabella, and most assuredly would make her his wife.

The Infantas Isabella & Beatriz of Portugal.​

The meeting at Olivença brought about the Treaty of Olivença—in which Spain ceded their interests in the Moluccas to Portugal and recognized that the Spice Islands lay within Portugal’s zone of interest per the Treaty of Torsedillas. The terms of Ferdinand and Isabella’s marriage were also included within the treaty—it was agreed that Isabella’s dowry would be set at 900,000 Cruzados, which would help with Spain’s financial issues stemming from the payment of the emperor’s ransom. Ferdinand wasted little time in obtaining the necessary papal dispensation for the pair to marry—which Pope Pius IV readily provided. Arrangements for the marriage carried throughout 1526, and in January of 1527, Isabella crossed the border into Spain with her suite—comprising of several Portuguese noblemen, including a young man named Ruy Gomez de Silva, who would remain attached in her service for several years. Isabella would be greeted at the border by the Duke of Calabria, the Archbishop of Toledo, and the Duke of Béjar—where she would be escorted to Valladolid. Ferdinand and Isabella would be married on St. Valentine’s Day of 1527. The day was one of great celebration and revelry—celebrated by the Spaniards as the dawn of a new age—a new generation of Catholic Monarchs, a new Ferdinand and Isabella that would one day be their king and queen—and would in due time provide a new line of kings and princes who would bring Spain to the newest heights of glory. Spain’s wishes could be confirmed in 1528—when Isabella gave birth to a healthy son—named Fernando Alonso, in honor of his grandfather, Ferdinand of Aragon—as well as the ancient Kings of Castile, who typically bore the name Alfonso.

Charles dealt with his issues upon his release from France. The Treaty of Rambouillet hung over his head; not only was he required to cede the territory that comprised Isabella’s dowry within four weeks of his release. He was also required to ratify the treaty once more—all while obtaining the agreement of the Cortes of Castile and the Council of Mechelen. Charles had been counseled during his imprisonment that the treaty would hold no weight once he was free—and his council concurred. “This treaty is not worth the parchment it is written upon,” Chancellor Gattinara was recorded as saying in one tenuous council meeting—before setting the treaty ablaze in a nearby fireplace. “It is more kindling than a diplomatic agreement!” To the surprise of no one, Emperor Charles V repudiated the Treaty of Rambouillet in April 1526. Soon after, the treaty was roundly rejected by both the Castilian Cortes and the Council of Mechelen—neither body would countenance the dismemberment of their realms because of the whims of the French. “He is a bastard and a liar,” François exclaimed when he heard of the Holy Roman Emperor’s duplicity. “I have bested him once—and I shall best him again!” While Princess Isabella would remain cossetted in the care of the Governess of the Children of France, the noble hostages handed over by the emperor were transferred to the Bastille, placed into dank cells, and threatened daily with execution for their sovereign’s treachery.

As tensions grew between Charles V and François once more, trouble loomed in Italy, where French troops under Sieur de La Palice had succeeded in capturing great portions of the Kingdom of Naples—including not only the capital of Naples, but Salerno, Potenza, and even Bari—where the Duchess of Bari, Bona Sforza, proved a helpful ally to the French. Bona Sforza’s fortunes were further attached to France when she wed Philippe of Savoy in 1526, brother to Louise of Savoy and a suitor from the Duchess of Bari’s youth. The Duchess of Bari was active in providing aid to the French army in Naples; Sieur de La Palice was granted a loan of 150,000 ducats at ten percent interest—with the loan to be guaranteed by custom duties from the ports of Otranto and Brindisi. The Duchess also readily provided recruits and supplies from her domains—while encouraging neighboring lords and landowners to do the same. Spanish resistance in the Kingdom of Naples was headed by Alfonso d’Ávalos was centered in the southern leg of the kingdom around Reggio, where d’Ávalos received support from the Viceroy of Sicily, the Duke of Monteleone. It was little surprise that the French success in Naples had aroused the unease of the Italian princes who in the aftermath of Lodi sought accommodations with France. Pope Pius IV—hailing from the Colonna family who had a storied association with the Ghibellines, had begun to tire of his alliance with King François and sent secret envoys to treat with the emperor. The Pope made clear his intimations: he was prepared to break away from the French and support a restoration of the Sforza in Milan, in exchange for the concession of Parma and Piacenza. Further support came from other Italian princes, such as the Duke of Modena and Ferrara, and the Marquis of Mantua. Envoys from these states negotiated with the emperor at Valenciennes in May of 1526, bringing about the League of Valenciennes—an offensive alliance aimed at curbing French ambitions in Europe.

François was not idle as the emperor allied against him. He maintained his allies in Italy—primarily the Republic of Florence and Venice, and sought out his alliances abroad, with French envoys being sent to Krakow to treat with the King of Poland. Poland had long wearied of Habsburg ambitions in Central Europe, and the Queen of Poland, Barbara Zápolya—sister to John Zápolya—was known for her open disdain for the Habsburgs. The Treaty of Wawel signed in the autumn of 1526 created not only a Franco-Polish alliance aimed against Emperor Charles V but also arranged for François’ second son, the Duke of Orléans to be betrothed to Princess Anna of Poland. Sigismund also promised to undertake a military expedition against the Holy Roman Emperor in Germany. It was during this period that France attempted to forge its friendly relations with Portugal, perhaps in the hope of weening King João III away from his pro-Habsburg policy. While King João had little interest in arranging an alliance with the French, the Treaty of São Jorge was negotiated in December of 1526—providing for a marriage between François and João’s younger sister, Princess Beatriz—with Beatriz to bring a dowry of some 600,000 Cruzados to France. “Though there was some unease in some quarters regarding Infanta Beatriz’s proposed marriage to King François,” an anonymous courtier wrote in his memoirs. “The Infanta herself was overjoyed—a brilliant and ambitious young woman, she saw great glories in her future position as Queen of France.”

François’ new bride would arrive in France in the summer of 1527—with Beatriz and her trousseau arriving at the port of La Rochelle. She was met at Poitiers by her future Chamberlain, François de la Rouchefoucald, along with members of her French household. The official meeting between Beatriz and King François was at Châtellerault, with one courtier writing: “The Infanta Béatrice was la belle—beautiful! Her eyes were shaped like almonds, with plump lips and a Romanesque nose… every inch a princess, with dignity natural only to the royalty of Iberia. His Majesty was more than joyous when he set eyes upon her. She was certainly prettier than the late queen; more well-read, and well-spoken as well—the king’s equal, rather than his subordinate.” François and Beatriz were married shortly thereafter at Châtellerault; though some believed the new marriage might break the hold in which the king’s maîtresse-en-titre held over him, it was not to be. In September of 1526, Anne had given the king an illegitimate daughter, named Elisabeth, after her mother. Anne’s position became solidified—she was even named one of Beatriz’s ladies-in-waiting. When Beatriz made her official entrance into Paris in 1528, François was seen watching the ceremony with Anne de Boullan by his side—showing himself and his mistress to the Parisian public for several hours, to their acclaim and applause. Afterward, it was said that the queen fumed with rage—she not only quarreled with King François but became so sick from her anger that she was forced to take to her bed, suffering a miscarriage. A Venetian diplomat wrote in the aftermath that: “The Queen shortly before Michaelmas delivered a still-born child of about five months, a daughter. The queen grieves the loss and blames the king; the king in turn blames the queen for her theatrics and has chided her to obey him in all things in the future. His Majesty has not spoken to the queen since—nor has he deigned to visit her bed. His time is spent with his belle anglaise.”

The War of the League of Valenciennes, as it became known, broke out in July of 1526 when imperial troops under Georg von Frundsburg invaded Lombardy. With the majority of the Armée d’Italie campaigning in Naples, imperial troops were able to capture Pavia and establish themselves in Lombardy with ease. At the Battle of Rogoredo, the French garrison of Milan under Teodoro Trivulzi clashed with the imperial army, suffering a grave loss that forced Trivulzi to abandon Milan—heading eastward into Venetian territory. In Spain, troops under the Duke of Najéra battled against the remnants of the Franco-Navarrese expedition which had seen its holdings dwindle; any goodwill that the French had earned in the years previously had quickly evaporated due to the heavy-handed policies of André de Foix—who found his star in rapid descent following the replacement of his sister as the king’s mistress. The absence of Henri II, who remained comfortably in France also did not inspire confidence. Pamplona was subjected to heavy artillery fire under siege, with the fight coming to a head at the Battle of Villava, where Spanish troops proved victorious under Najéra’s command—with André de Foix killed in battle. Despite these first victories, the war was far from over—the German Princes remained constrained from rendering much aid to the emperor, as they dealt with the aftermath of the peasant revolts which had rocked the empire throughout 1524 and 1525.

Throughout the winter of 1526, King Sigismund of Poland convened the Polish Sejm to obtain financing for the royal army. Taxes were introduced in the royal lands to pay for the coming campaign season, and the Sejm also authorized the king to mobilize the szlatcha into providing forces for the Polish army through the pospolite ruszenie. Sigismund also called upon his newest vassal, Albert—the former Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, now Duke of Prussia—who agreed to provide military support to the King of Poland. The Polish army crossed the frontiers of the empire in the spring of 1527—the city of Küstrin was occupied, and the Neumark and parts of Pomerania were ravaged harshly by Polish troops. The Duke of Prussia was especially noted for his fierceness, with a local burgher writing: “The Preußen were vicious, their zeal focused on the Romanish churches and monasteries… the charterhouse at Frankfurt an der Oder was brutally set ablaze by Duke Albert, the House of God reduced to cinders and ash as the Polish soldiers looked away…” Joachim, the Elector of Brandenburg was shocked by the Polish intrusion into his domains—he called up his levies to prevent the Poles from pressing further into domains—writing helplessly to the emperor in search of his aid. The Diet of Wetzlar was held in 1527—which Charles V attended, in conjunction with the Papal Nuncio, Lorenzo Campeggio. The continued growth of the reform movement—along with the failures of the Edict of Worms meant that new faith continued to spread, and some princes, such as Philip of Hesse and Elector John of Saxony confirmed their faith for the first time. The Diet pressed not only for the authorization of the Imperial Army to deal with the Polish invasion but also addressed the growing religious crisis: while prominent Protestant princes attempted to bring about a suspension of the Edict of Worms, a majority vote of the princes instead reconfirmed the edict: “Heresy and rebellion shall be put down,” the chancellor read aloud to the assembled diet. “And the Edict of Worms shall be enforced under the penalty of the imperial ban. All decisions and discussions regarding the religious question and future settlement shall be postponed until a General Council can be called.” Though the Diet of Wetzlar closed without issues, it created a bridge between the Catholics and Protestants that would not be easily resolved—Protestant opposition to the emperor’s policies would continue to grow.

Charles III, Duke of Bourbon and Constable of France.​

Aside from the imperial campaign in Italy, the winter of 1526 had seen the emperor also put together an army in the Low Countries, which was placed under the command of Heinrich V of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg. François was not restless throughout the winter either—he spent the early months of 1527 drawing together an army in Paris under the command of his brother-in-law, the Duke of Alençon—a major snub to the Duke of Bourbon, who had requested command of the army as Constable of France. Even the Duke of Alençon dying from a burst belly shortly after taking command of the army did not see the army go to Bourbon. The growing tension between François and the Duke of Bourbon represented a final breach in their relationship. Bourbon retired to his estates near Moulins—where he wrote a scathing letter to one of his close associates: “I can bear no further attacks from His Majesty; his esteem for me has slackened, and he no longer favors me as he had on the onset of his reign. He is dominated by that bitch he calls a mother—his favor is now saved for those who are most in awe of him—not by those who can do the job best. So long as they both live, I shall never know any rest.” Little surprise that this unfortunate memorandum fell directly into the hands of the king—who ordered that Bourbon be arrested for plotting the king’s death and be kept closely confined at Moulins. Rather than submit to such indignities, the Duke of Bourbon instead chose to flee. Aided by a close circle of sympathizers, the Duke of Bourbon arrived untouched in Besançon in Franch-Comté, where he penned a letter to the emperor: “I look to you, and only you as a solution to my current issues. I offer my sword in your service.” Such news was favorably received by Charles V—who granted him an army of some 10,000—comprised of Burgundian infantry and knights, and some 5000 German landsknechts. While the French army fought back imperial forces under the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg at the Battle of Crépy, the Duke of Bourbon was ordered to march into Italy to support the imperial forces under Georg von Frundsburg—now in full control of Milan and pressing south towards the Republic of Florence.

1528 saw a further shift in alliances. Charles V attempted—to little avail—to persuade his aunt, Catherine of Aragon, to reaffirm her alliance with Spain and the Empire. Though the Queen Regent of England remained sympathetic to the cause of her nephew, she was constrained by political issues—not her conscience. Archbishop William Warham, Lord Chancellor for over two decades had been replaced by Bishop John Fisher, renowned for his attacks against Luther. Under Fisher, Parliament was pressed to pass the Heresy Act of 1527, which strengthened existing heresy laws passed by Richard II and Henry V by allowing sentences to be passed against Lutherans—including burnings. Fisher was vehement against an offensive alliance aimed at France—counseling that England’s treasury remained in a poor state—while reminding the queen firmly that her nephew had yet to repay a single farthing from the various loans that he had taken out from England previously. Though Catherine greatly desired to aid her nephew, she was forced to temporize—and maintained England’s neutrality in the growing conflict. In Italy, the imperial army, now supported by the Duke of Bourbon, made the march upon Florence, which agitated the anti-Medicean factions. They revolted against Cardinal Giulio de Medici, forcing both the cardinal and young Lorenzo de Medici to seek refuge in Romagna. The Medici ouster did not radically alter the politics of Florence; the newly declared Republic was hostile against the approaching imperial army, and the gates were locked as they approached. If Florence was to be dealt with, the city would need to be taken.

In Naples, the remaining troops under Alfonso d’Ávalos surrendered following a fierce fight at the Battle of Luzzi, where despite their loss, the Spanish succeeded in inflicting significant losses among the Armée d’Italie. The former Viceroy of Naples would be confined at Castel Nuovo, held under strict guard. “The once grand viceroy was treated as a vanquished dog—he was paraded into Naples in chains,” wrote an anonymous French officer in a letter to his wife. “The Neapolitan miserabili jeered at the Spaniard—pelting him with stones and rotten eggs. Louis, the Count of Guise sat at the head of procession, even ahead of the Sieur de La Palice… almost like a conqueror… cheered on as a young hero…” While the defeat of the remnants of the Spanish army in Naples gave Sieur de La Palice needed breath, the French troops remained in a dire situation, trapped in Naples following Pope Pius IV’s realignment with the empire. Leaving a garrison of troops in Naples under the Viscount of Lautrec, the French army was prepared to go north—not only to deal with the Papacy but to provide relief to their Florentine allies. Charles V gained further allies when Charles III, the Duke of Savoy signed onto the League of Valenciennes through the Treaty of Chieri. Aside from an alignment with the emperor, Charles V also promised territorial concessions—offering the duke the Lordship of Asti, as a dowry for the duke’s wife, who happened to be the emperor’s sister, Catherine of Austria. Savoyard troops as well as mercenary troops under Fabrizio Maramaldo began the Siege of Asti, pounding the French holding in Piedmont with excessive artillery fire. In Rome, Pope Pius IV was struck down in May of 1527 with an attack of the flux. Forced to take to his bed, the papal administration fell into confusion, with intrigues breaking out between the rival factions. On May 30th of 1527—Pope Pius IV died, leaving the Papacy vacant and throwing the situation into the Papal States into further turmoil.

Calling of the Apostles, Domenico Ghirlandaio, c. 1483.​

The Papal Conclave of 1527 was one of the most contentious in papal history—held amid open conflict between the King of France and the Holy Roman Emperor, both of whom hoped to influence the outcome of the election. Divisions among the College of Cardinals had also increased during Pius IV’s tenure, resulting in the creation of three disparate factions: the pro-French, the pro-Imperial, and the pro-Italians. The Conclave opened towards the end of June; neither the pro-French nor the pro-Imperial factions possessed the necessary numbers for a candidate of their liking to prevail. Little surprise that two compromise candidates appeared among the papabile—Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, the last cardinal named by Alexander VI, and Cardinal Giovanni Piccolomini, nephew of Pope Pius III. On July 10th, 1527, Cardinal Giovanni Piccolomini commanded the votes needed to become Pope—taking the name Pius V in honor of his uncle. Pope Pius V did not drastically step away from the foreign policy favored by his predecessor—and in the meantime, maintained his alliance with the emperor through the League of Valenciennes.

Bourbon’s defection to the imperial side led to François naming the Duke of Bourbon as a traitor, and his lands and holdings were confiscated. The duke’s son—François, the Count of Clermont was allowed to maintain the bulk of the Bourbon holdings, which he had inherited from his mother. Clermont was placed into the care of Louise of Savoy as a royal ward. As the situation continued to unfold in Italy, with the Duke of Savoy leading the siege of Asti, François prepared for a fresh campaign in Italy in 1529—wanting to send further troops into the peninsula to aid his ailing armies in southern Italy. The situation in Navarre continued to be advantageous to the Spanish troops under the Duke of Najéra; with the end of the Siege of Pamplona in 1527, the French had lost control of Upper Navarre—with the remnants of the expedition fleeing beyond the Pyrenees to Pau. Ferdinand ordered the summoning of the Cortes of Navarre at Olite, where their obeisance to Charles V as King of Navarre was reconfirmed. Ferdinand was prepared to deal with an even hand with the Navarrese—while some of the worst offenders who had supported the French invasion were sentenced to death, many more were able to escape relatively unscathed—with punishments ranging from the seizure of lands and estates to heavy fines. Ferdinand also confirmed Navarre’s traditional fueros—in a simplified law set known as the Fuero Reducido. Despite this, François was still eager to expand his alliances abroad; in 1528, he concluded the Treaty of Fontainebleau with King John Zápolya in Hungary. The new Hungarian king was promised financial and other material support in dealing with the Ottomans; in return, Zápolya was to undertake an invasion of Austria and provide Hungarian troops for the French in Italy.

The war rapidly began to heat up outside the environs of Italy. Hungary, flush with French money soon began to raid across the border into Austria in 1529—while King John Zápolya sent his main army into Moravia in Bohemia—he attempted to spook the Bohemian nobility who had in the year previously elected the Princess Elizabeth—daughter and heir of Louis II of Hungary—as Queen of Bohemia, with her mother, the Queen Dowager of Hungary as her regent. Jan Pernstejn commanded the Bohemian army to victory at the Battle of Eibenschütz against Zápolya’s army—ensuring that Elizabeth would remain Queen of Bohemia. Charles V provided his sister not only with troops from the Imperial Army—but urged her to counterattack as soon as possible. Within the empire, growing unease among the Protestant princes led to the formation of the League of Zwickau—a defensive league spearheaded by the Landgrave of Hesse and the Elector of Saxony. Though the league would falter within the year due to a lack of religious and military influence, it would help contribute provisions and funds to both Bohemia as well as to Pomerania—helping contribute to the defense at the Siege of Stettin. “The Poles had pressed through the Neumark like butter,” a German writer of the period wrote. “But squabbles between the Duke of Prussia and the Szlachta commanders meant that there could be no agreement. The Duke of Prussia chose to raid Brandenburg from the Neumark, while the Polish army attempted to take Stettin—a complete failure, as the port remained well provisioned from the sea. The Polish army melted away like dust—its numbers reduced by disease and sickness.” Following the failure at Stettin, the disintegrated Polish army would abandon its positions and return to Polish territory. The Duke of Prussia remained encamped within the Neumark for several more months—the Battle of Lebus proved indecisive for both Brandenburg and Prussia—the Duke of Prussia agreed to vacate the Neumark after extracting a payment of some 15,000 ducats from the Elector; the city of Schwiebus was also forced to offer up some 5000 ducats to avoid being sacked by the Prussian troops as well—a sum that was raised by the burghers of the city.

Siege of Florence, 1529.​

France now had raised two armies alongside the Armée d’Italie—an army stationed in northern France, which had dealt with the incursions of the emperor’s Burgundian troops, where they clashed along the border, where the French laid siege to Arras in their invasion of Artois. The imperial troops in the Netherlands had not only to contend with the French but also with Charles II, the Duke of Guelders, who was invited into Utrecht by the Bishop, Henry of the Palatinate. The citizens of Overjissel requested imperial support against the Duke of Guelders, which the emperor granted—on the provision that they should recognize him as their lord, which was agreed upon. A detachment of troops under Georg Schenck von Toutenburg easily chased the Guelders troops out of Utrecht, where they had overstayed their welcome; while the order was restored, the emperor demanded that the whole of the Bishopric of Utrecht’s temporal territories—Utrecht as well as Overjissel should be handed over to him. The Bishop of Utrecht swore fealty to Charles V, and Pius V would sanction the transfer of territory, which ended Utrecht’s position as a temporal bishopric. The troops of the Duchy of Guelders were led by Maarten van Rossum, who in the aftermath of the fall of Utrecht led a daring raid upon The Hague, which ended in it being sacked. Toutenburg in return ravaged the southern portions of Guelders, laying waste to Tiel and Wageningen. Charles II of Guelders was forced to accept peace through the Treaty of Dorecht—the emperor acknowledged Charles II’s control over Guelders, Groningen, and Drente, but as imperial fiefdoms. Duke Charles II, having no legitimate heir of his own, was also forced to accept Charles V as his heir.

The southern French army was built up around Lyons and was soon ordered to invade the Duchy of Savoy—under the command of François of Bourbon, Count of Saint-Pol. Georges Boullan, brother to the king’s mistress led the cavalry in a stunning charge at the Battle of Fossano, ensuring victory over the minuscule Savoyard army. France soon received reinforcements in Savoy from the Marquis of Saluzzo as well as the Marquis of Montferrat—both French allies who provided much-needed munitions and supplies. France soon occupied the whole Duchy of Savoy—lifting the siege at Asti and forcing Charles III to flee into exile—where he and his wife would find refuge in Brussels. Imperial troops fared better at Florence, where the Siege of Florence ended with imperial troops occupying the city. Bourbon ordered the hanging of Francesco Ferruccio, commander of the republican troops—while the imperial army indulged in an orgy of violence, theft, and murder—perhaps urged on by financial issues that plagued the army. Charles V was pleased with the news coming from Florence—and wrote to Cardinal Giulio de Medici: “Florence has fallen, and so have the republican partisans. They have been dealt with; I know that which you desire for your grandnephew; should you desire to cease clinging to French skirts, I would be willing to return Florence into the hands of the Medici family—for a suitable ransom.”

Pius V was also forced to face the first difficult situation in his pontificate. While he had maintained his alliance with the emperor, he had not been active in aiding the League of Valenciennes. With the French Armee d’Italie converging on Rome in 1529, Pius V knew that he stood alone. Imperial forces occupying Florence were still too far away—and would likely be forced into open battle against the French army that had smashed into Savoy. Pius V had inherited a pitiful treasury, and his predecessor had even resorted to the creation of four cardinals to come up with funds to pay for Rome’s defense. As the French army approached from the south, it numbered some 22,000 men. As the French army approached, Pius V decided that his safest bet was to send envoys to meet with the French commander. Sieur de La Palice met with the papal envoys outside the city walls—with French artillery already set up for a possible barrage should negotiations fare poorly. La Palice was willing to negotiate openly with the new pontiff, knowing that his political views were starkly different from the pro-Ghibelline Pius IV. France’s main terms for Pius V were simple: a separate peace between the Pope and France, with the French army allowed open access through the Papal States—as well as rights for French vessels at the Papal port of Civitavecchia. The Pope would also agree to pay some 400,000 ducats to the French army. A bolder demand came from a retinue of Neapolitan nobles, headed by Giovanni Caracciolo, the Prince of Melfi, and Andrea Acquavita, the Duke of Atri: they demanded that Pius V grant the throne of Naples—not to François of France, but to Louis, the Count of Guise—brother to the Duke of Lorraine, who family had inherited the Angevin claim to Naples. When Pius V received the terms offered, he was nearly bowed over: “Our Eternal City has been given another reprieve.” Rather than subject Rome to artillery fire and a fight it could not possibly win, he decided that the best possible situation was for the Papacy to accept the terms offered by the French.

The French entrance into Rome was arranged for April 15th of 1529—and much like the French entry into Rome in 1494, it did not occur without incident, and emotions ran high among the Roman populace. “The French entered the city through the Porta Latina, proceeding onto the Via Appia.” an anonymous writer of the period wrote. “The Roman populace watched from their rooftops and balconies, their faces sullen and withdrawn. The great artillery wagons were lumbered slowly through the street—eventually being set up in the Capitoline Hill, as well as in the Vatican—turned against the city in an ominous threat. A deputation of senators and princes met the French commanders—less as equals, and more as slaves. Pro-Imperial cardinals and nobles were targeted—their palazzo looted, and treasures loaded into the French baggage train.” Discontent among the Roman militia simmered and was harshly put down by the French troops. It was then that Pius V had invited a nest of vipers into his capital—though the French were passing through, they would pass through as conquerors, not as friends. Both the Sieur de La Palice and the Count of Guise were received lavishly at the Apostolic Palace, where they received an audience with Pius V. Both men were allowed to kiss the papal ring, and Louis, the Count of Guise was especially honored—given all the trappings and reception due a king—even a king who might not have been crowned yet. Discussions were held regarding the terms discussed by both parties—culminating in the signing of the Treaty of Frascati. This marked an end to Papal participation in the League of Valenciennes and ensured that the Armée d’Italie would have free passage through the Papal States. It was after the signing of the treaty that Pius V met with the Neapolitan deputation in person—they once more reiterated their request directly to the Pope. “We ask to be freed from Spanish bondage, and from the dominion of King Charles,” said the elderly Duke of Atri. “I have labored since the time of King Ferrante to be free from Aragonese tyranny; we who beseech you are devoted Guelphs and partisans of the House of Anjou. The crown by rights belongs to Louis, the Count of Guise—he is an heir to the heritage of King René, and rightful king of Naples and Sicily.” Pius V had his reservations—and asked to meet briefly with his curia before rendering a decision the next morning. The Curia had their reservations—but agreed that given that French troops had effectively occupied Rome, it would be better to accede to the request of the Neapolitan baronage, which seemed to have official backing from the Sieur de La Palice. Should the French continue to hold in Italy, Pius V would gain a powerful friend; if the French faltered and the emperor became the dominant force in Italy, it would be easy enough to reverse course—it was agreed that the Pope should swear secretly before signing any treaty concerning Naples that he had been forced to act under duress.

Coat of Arms used by Jean, Duke of Lorraine.
They would be adopted by Louis IV of Naples, as well.​

The next morning, Pius V agreed that the crown of Naples and Sicily should pass from Emperor Charles V into the hands of Louis of Lorraine. The Treaty of Benevento, as it would called, was signed between Louis, the Count of Guise—who became known as Louis IV of Naples[2], the Pope, and the Sieur de La Palice on behalf of France. Louis IV was recognized as the King of Naples and Sicily—with France promising to aid in the eventual conquest of Sicily, which remained in Spanish hands. It also laid out what would be due to the Pope through the Chinèa—the annual tribute paid by the Kings of Naples to the Pope, with Louis IV agreeing that the tribute would be paid yearly on June 29th—including not only the traditional white horse but 10,000 ducats. The Treaty also laid out terms for Naples's relationship with France—Louis IV agreed that French troops would be garrisoned in several places within the kingdom, such as Aquila, Bari, Gaeta, Naples, Taranto, and Reggio, among others—with costs to be borne by Naples. French vessels would also be granted access to Neapolitan ports and a perpetual alliance between France and Naples would also be signed. Louis IV would be crowned King of Naples by Pius V in St. Peters Basilica—a sumptuous ceremony attended by the crème of the Roman nobility, as well as the Neapolitan deputation. When news reached François of Louis’ coronation, he was the first to pen him a letter of support: “I salute you—no longer as a cousin, but as a brother. Remember all that France has done for you—and will continue to do for the glory of Naples and your crown.”

Now, the War of the League of Valenciennes entered its last stages. Though Emperor Charles V was outraged by the betrayal of Pius V and the handover of Naples, his main army in Italy remained constrained facing down the French army that had invaded Savoy. The emperor was also facing severe financial issues—the payment of his ransom had weighed heavily upon his finances, and the imperial troops in Italy had not been paid in several months—leading to simmering discontent. Spain, too, suffered from financial problems—with Ferdinand being forced to earmark significant sums to pay for his armies. His primary focus had been on Navarre—and he spent significant sums maintaining the Duke of Nájera’s army, as well as subsidizing the Viceroy of Sicily. Ferdinand’s focus remained on Spain’s primary fronts—and not upon the other areas where the emperor needed assistance. The lack of battles after Florence had sapped the imperial army of discipline, and payment for the mercenary troops had fallen into significant arrears. While Georg von Frundsburg attempted to restore order in the Italian army, his inability to do so struck the old commander so terribly that he suffered a stroke—he sickened and died soon after. The Imperial camp was made at Carpiano, where the final battle of the war would occur—the Battle of Carpiano, named not as a skirmish between the French and the Emperor, but because of an internal breakdown of the Imperial Army, with the mercenary troops turning against their captains. With the death of Frundsburg, command fell to the Duke of Bourbon, who was felled in battle by his men—allegedly shot at point-blank range. With the revolt of the mercenaries and common troops, the imperial army melted away, and when the news reached the emperor, it was said that he wept, for he knew that the war was then lost.

Charles soon reached out to François to offer terms of peace, and it was arranged for the peace conference to be held in Longwy in the Duchy of Lorraine. Though François and Charles were both in attendance, negotiations were primarily conducted through the two most important women in both men’s lives—Louise of Savoy for François, and Empress Mary for Charles V—both men refusing to be in a room with one another. Though the Imperial army had suffered grave losses in Italy, the Burgundian troops had held their own against the French—denying François a victory in an area that was sorely needed. The Treaty of Longwy became known as the Paix des Madames or Madam’s Peace. It was agreed that the Dauphin’s betrothal to Princess Isabella would remain—though François was forced to agree that the emperor should be allowed to maintain Artois and Franche-Comté until the date of their marriage—to be agreed upon during later discussions. It was also agreed that Princess Isabella would remain in French custody, while the emperor be allowed to redeem the nobles who had been taken as French hostages for a sum of one million écus. More crushing were the terms in Italy: not only was France to retain Milan, where authority had all but collapsed following the army revolt at Carpiano, but Charles V was forced to accept the loss of Naples—with Louis IV recognized as king. In turn, the Spanish holdings in Sicily were confirmed, with Louis IV waiving all rights to the Sicilian throne: once more dividing the two territories into separate kingdoms. Separate articles concerned Florence—which was to be returned to Cardinal Giulio de Medici as regent for Lorenzo III. Aside from accepting a French garrison in Florence, it was agreed that the Republic of Florence should be abolished; in its place, Pope Pius V agreed that young Lorenzo should be the first Duke of Florence—effectively transforming the republic into a hereditary monarchy. This represented the high point of French influence in Italy since the time of Charles VIII—for the first time since the earliest days of the Italian Wars, France now held influence throughout the peninsula, from Milan down to Naples—now headed by a monarch from a French leaning dynasty who had, in essence, chained his new kingdom to France’s whims. While it would remain to be seen how things would hold, François had come through victorious, and the emperor further battered.

Death of the Virgin, Caravaggio.​

The Treaty of Longwy was finalized in August. At a final banquet that celebrated the peace treaty, Empress Mary reported feeling ill—and begged leave from her husband to retire, who readily granted it. “Her Majesty was not herself that last night,” Anne de Croÿ, Empress Mary’s primary lady-in-waiting wrote in a private letter. “She had always been quite delicate, exhausted by the trials she had endured… she collapsed in her suite, and the imperial doctors were summoned to her bedside, where she was feverish and nearly incoherent. The doctors gave her a pill called archanum with opium, pearls, and musk, as well as a draught of nightshade and hebane to calm her nerves and allow her to rest. Yet for all the medicine the doctor provided, it did not help. The empress suffered a terrible fit, coughing up blood and unable to speak. It was agreed that the emperor should be called, as well as the priests…” Torn away from the banquet, Charles V was summoned to his wife’s bedside—where the household almoner was already performing last rites for the empress. Charles took Mary’s hand—its thread of life becoming rapidly weaker. “I know that I have not been the most perfect husband,” the emperor was recorded as saying. “But know that you have always been a perfect wife—and one could ask for none better than you. I ask that you forgive my transgressions.” Though some said the empress was already unconscious when the emperor arrived, others said that she heard every word, and spoke her own. “For your transgressions, you are forgiven—and have always been forgiven,” Mary was recorded as saying. “I thank Your Majesty for his kindness, but I know I have given you troubles and piques that I know well. It pains me to leave you and our children—but I am weary, and it is my time to go. Ensure that Isabella reaches her destiny as Queen of France; be kind to Marie—she is quiet and dutiful and will need your attention… ensure that she has a brilliant match. And Maximilian—my little prince; he is your heir, and he must live! Take the greatest care of him and educate him well—he must be as great an emperor as his father and forefathers. And be kind to your nephew, John—I have done better for him than I could any son of mine… he will be the next King of England. I ask that you keep peace with my homeland and ensure this marriage comes to pass. Do not grieve my lord, for I am okay—I can rest easy, knowing that I will see our dearest Philip once again. For my sake, remember—you are still young, and need further issue. I beseech you—remarry as soon as you can.”

On August 11th, 1529—Empress Mary passed from this world. Her last words rang hollow to the emperor—though their marriage had not been passionate, he had been fond of her: she had proved herself a diligent consort and had served during his troubles where no one else might have. How could he dare to think of remarriage when her corpse was not yet cold? Yet when news reached the French camp, the cogs of King François were already beginning to turn. How else could he bind the emperor closer to his person and ensure that peace might endure? “It is simple: Madame Renée,” an anonymous French courtier wrote. “The king’s mother suggested that the emperor might be bound closer to France through a marriage to Princess Renée, the sole remaining daughter of Louis XII; with the betrothal to be contingent upon the signing of the Treaty of Longwy—with an adequate time before the marriage.”

When Empress Mary’s body was cut open to remove her heart, a large black lump was discovered deep within the tissue of her breast. When the surgeons pierced it, a dark liquid spewed forth—noxious and vile. Her heart was in terrible condition, blackened in several spots, as was her liver. While some whispered of poison, others saw a weary woman, run down by a decade of misery and sickness who had simply collapsed. Empress Mary’s funeral cortege was magnificent—and the empress herself would be laid to rest in the Cathedral of Saint Michael and Saint Gudula; her will, aside from releasing the funds to assist in paying for her tomb and effigy, also allocated funds to pay for a cenotaph dedicated to Prince Philip. Her will left most of her estate to her husband, Charles V. Bequests were made not only to her daughters and her son but to Prince John of Denmark, who was to receive 15,000 ducats, while Queen Mary of England was granted several pieces of jewelry which Mary had brought with her from England. A small sum of 5000 ducats was also granted to Charles Brandon, who had been made the Viscount of Strêye, to discharge debts he had incurred in service to the Empress. Mary’s will also decreed that her heart should be buried separately from her body in the Church of the Lady, where both Charles the Bold and Mary the Rich had been laid to rest.

[1] Clement VII granted Naples and Sicily to Louis IOTL, during the League of Cognac. Due to the situation here, I don’t find such an offer from the baronage to be farfetched.

[2] Louis III was the brother of René d’Anjou—he was never effectively king, but recognized as such for a brief period in 1419; given the Angevin heritage, I figure Louis will take IV as his numeral.

 

[DrakeRlugia]

Chapter 19. Scotland’s Interlude
1530-1534; France & Scotland

“My tender friends are all put to the flight;
For policy is fled again in France
My sister, Justice, almost has lost her sight
That joy cannot hold evenly the balance
Plain wrong is plain captain of ordinance
That which unsolid loyal and reason;
And small remedy is found for open treason.”
— Sir David Lindsay, The Dreme [1]

Music Accompaniment: Orchésographie: Pavane

[1] The original poem is in Scots. Translated to the best of my ability into English.

Alexander IV, King of Scots; Painted c. 1533 during the king's French sojourn.​

As Europe found peace through the Treaty of Longwy, Scotland had dealt with its issues. In 1523, the Duke of Albany had been ousted from the regency over King Alexander IV. Margaret Tudor, the king’s mother was able to resume the regency—with the aid of the Five Earls—the Earls of Arran, Argyll, Eglinton, Lennox, and Montrose, who assumed an important role in the government. Though Margaret Tudor had assumed the helm of the regency as Queen Dowager, her power was much constrained compared to her previous regency, with Arran effectively serving as the regent, albeit without the title or rank. The first acts of the regency concerned the person of the king, Alexander IV—liberated from Sterling, he was reunited with his mother, with the pair of them taking up residence at the Palace of Holyrood. “The young king had the dignity of any Scottish prince,” Richard Balfour, a chamberer within the king’s household wrote in a private letter. “But his eyes were sad and filled with loneliness. He had been held for nearly seven years at Sterling in close confinement—with no friends of his age. Deprived by his mother and surrounded by Albany’s French associates, he now clung closely to his mother.” One of Margaret’s first acts, once she and Alexander IV settled into Holyrood, was to ensure her son would have associates of his age—potential friends that could serve him as he grew older. “He must be around boys his age,” Margaret wrote in a letter to Earl Arran. “I wish him to be as his father—he must be bold and active and enjoy the hunt as much as he enjoys his literature.”

Though Margaret worried and fretted over her son, she did not need to worry. As the years passed, Alexander IV grew into a tall and handsome young man. One courtier wrote that “His Grace is a picture of beauty and health—the son of Venus and Mars.” Alexander IV had his mother’s Tudor coloring—reddish-gold hair, with piercing green eyes. Any fears that the queen mother had that her son might end up bookish or weak were unfounded; the king became devoted to hunting and became immersed in military matters—he enjoyed watching the drills of the royal guard with great interest. More concerning was his attachment to his friends—in particular, George Seton, the sixth Lord of Seton—who had joined Alexander IV’s household in 1524 as a companion. “His Grace rides and hunts with Lord Seton daily,” Robert Balfour wrote in another private letter—perhaps intended for a member of his family. “They are rarely apart; Lord Seton’s rooms are close to the kings, and they often spend hours closeted together… bound by their mutual love of literature and poetry, most especially French. The king is always familiar with Lord Seton; he is addressed always as mon coeur chéri or mon beau Seton… the king lavishes the greatest care upon his greatest friend, and Lord Seton often shares the king’s bed…” Lord Seton seemed to be as attached to the king as the king was to him—and Lord Seton quickly became known within the Scottish court as George the Fair—the debonair young man having become a quick favorite of Alexander IV.

The regency for Alexander IV was terminated in 1530, shortly after his sixteenth birthday. Though for a time Alexander IV maintained cordial relations with the Earl of Arran, his hopes of remaining an influential member of the king’s circle were unlikely. “I do not trust him—and I do not care for him. He may have pleased my mother, but he does not please me.” Alexander IV was recorded as saying to James Beaton, the Archbishop of Glasgow. “If Your Grace is not pleased—then he must go,” was Beaton’s retort. Arran’s time in the sun was quickly over, and Alexander IV soon named the Archbishop of Glasgow as his new Lord Chancellor—restoring Beaton to a position he had held during the Duke of Albany’s regency. Arran died shortly thereafter—with his young son succeeding him as earl. Alexander IV’s court was bright and riotous—like his father, he enjoyed hosting courtly celebrations, and a younger clique of courtiers began to form around the young king. “The court is young and bright—they must enjoy themselves, for life is a little bit sweeter now,” one older courtier recorded in his journal. Even the king’s mother agreed with the sentiment; with the termination of her regency, she soon retired to her dower property at Methven Castle. Though she made frequent appearances at Alexander IV’s court, and they maintained a warm relationship, she was finally free to live her own life. At Methven, she took great interest in the nearby village, and she also founded a priory for nuns attached to Methven Castle.

George, Lord Seton, known as George the Fair. Painted c. 1533.​

One of the prime concerns for the king’s council during the earliest days of his personal reign was the question of succession. Alexander IV was the sole living son of James IV following the death of his brother, James V. Though the House of Stewart had an heir in the person of the Duke of Albany, now in exile in France, Albany had only a daughter named Catherine (b. 1522) by his wife Anne de la Tour de Auvergne, the Countess of Boulogne, who had passed in 1524—with Auvergne and Lauraguais passing to Albany’s infant daughter. Few relished the idea of Albany, or his French-born daughter coming to the Scottish throne—this meant that Alexander IV needed to marry, and quickly. Luckily there remained a solution—the Treaty of Rouen, signed in 1517 had not only reaffirmed the Auld Alliance but agreed that Alexander IV would marry a French Princess—one of the daughters of François of France. While some of the king’s councilors considered possible alternative matches, such as one of the daughters of the exiled Christian II of Denmark, or even Maria of Portugal, a daughter of João III and Eleanor of Austria, the fact remained that François’ eldest daughters, Louise (b. 1515) and Charlotte (b. 1516) were the closest in age to Alexander IV, and would be available for marriage much sooner than any other princess.

The earliest years of Alexander IV’s personal rule were spent increasing the power of the crown—which had been depleted over the period of the sixteen-year regency. The Scottish royal house had suffered in the previous century from successive child kings and lengthy regencies, a wrong that Alexander IV sought to right. In 1531 and 1532, Alexander IV, with George Seton at his side campaigned in the Scottish borderlands, where he dispensed justice and cracked down on rebellious lairds, while control over the chieftains of the western isles was tightened as well. Alexander IV also effected a reproachment with the Duke of Albany—employing his kinsman to look after his interests in France and Rome. The young king aggressively followed a policy to increase the royal income: not only did he tighten control over the royal estates within the royal demesne but leaned upon Parliament to annul certain grants that had been made during his regency. Additional profits were raised from custom duties, feudal dues, and the payments of fines. Additional revenue was brought in through taxation upon the church—Pius V gave the king the right to tax monastic incomes while giving him more say in the appointment of Scottish benefices.

Though Alexander IV seemed to be in no hurry to consider his possible marriage, towards the end of 1532 he gave his approval to the Duke of Albany to open negotiations with King François for his marriage. Negotiations primarily concerned financial matters; it was agreed François would endow his daughter with a dowry of 200,000₶, along with an annual pension of 30,000₶. Deliberations also concerned the jointure that the future queen would receive, valued at some £13,000—not only would she be given Falkland Palace, Sterling Castle (which Margaret Tudor agreed to surrender to her son in exchange for a lump sum) Dingwall Castle, and Threave Castle, but she would enjoy the rentals from the earldoms of Fife, Strathearn, Ross, and Orkney, as well as the lordships of Galloway, Ardmannoch, and the Isles, along with whatever other properties might be required to reach the requisite sum. The jointure was worth four times what had been granted to Margaret Tudor and meant that the future Queen of Scots would enjoy an opulent lifestyle that was almost unheard of among the Scottish consorts—a boon for a daughter of the King of France. As negotiations carried on, Alexander IV declared that he would travel to France in person to bring home his bride—delaying the signing of any final contract so that he could see both princesses in person before making his final choice.

“The final plans are being laid for our departure,” Alexander IV wrote in a letter to King François, dated in April of 1533. “There have been some delays with our provisions, but we hope to see you quite soon—I have heard of all the glories and beauties of France and her court, all thanks to you—and I look forward to seeing them in person.” Alexander IV’s retinue was composed of the Earl of Argyll and Rothes, as well as Lord Fleming and David Beaton—as well as the king’s favorite, George Seton. Some 500 troops would accompany the king, and his flagship was the Scottish warship Margaret—which had been built in 1505 and named after the king’s mother. Alexander IV appointed six vice-regents to govern the kingdom in his absence, with his mother noticeably absent from the list. “He has grown into his kingly abilities,” Margaret Tudor lamented privately in a note to one of her friends. “And I fear he has no need for me in such matters—all the better, for I am long wearied of the business of government.” Alexander IV would become the first king since David II, nearly two hundred years earlier to voluntarily depart from Scotland. His trip to France, which would become known as the séjour français would play a large part in the future annals of Alexander IV’s reign.

Detail of a Medieval Carrack, c. 1558.​

Alexander IV and his Scottish retinue arrived at the port of Honfleur on April 17th 1533. Alexander IV was hosted by the French governor at Rouen, before traveling south to meet François and the French court at the Palace of Fontainebleau. “All the court was arrayed and attired in their very best for the arrival of the King of Scots,” one courtier wrote in his diary. “His Majesty was sumptuously dressed, with Queen Béatrice beside him, thick in waist and pregnant again, hoping that she might give the king a living child… all the king’s family was present: the Dauphin and his betrothed, the Princesse Isabelle; the Duc d’Orléans, as well as the princesses—Louise and Charlotte, both who were possible brides to the Scotch king, Anne, and little Victoire, who clung close to her sisters. Anne, the king’s maîtresse—newly minted as the Marquise de Sarzane was in attendance as well… pregnant with her third child and flaunting it before the whole of the court as always…” Alexander IV was presented to the king, who immediately clasped his hands around the Scottish monarch before he bestowed two kisses upon his cheeks. “Soon, you shall be my son.” François was recorded as saying—with the French court charmed by the Scottish monarch, as well as Beau Seton—both who were praised for their courtly manners, fine dress, and attention to detail.

The arrival of the Scottish retinue threw the French court into a whirl of feasts and celebrations, with François hosting masques as well as dances so that Alexander IV could get to know his two eldest daughters in a more carefree environment—with additional entertainments hosted by the Marquise de Sarzane. Despite this, Alexander IV maintained a careful neutrality between the queen and the king’s mistress, and courtiers were astonished that Alexander IV made it a point to attend mass daily with Queen Beatriz—even if he would often spend the evening at an event hosted by Anne de Boullan. “Both of the princesses are beautiful,” Alexander IV wrote in a letter home to his mother—its contents methodological, rather than emotional. “Louise is shy, whilst Charlotte is full of gaiety; both possess impeccable manners, and their charms are numerous. Either would make a fine wife—and a finer queen.” Alexander IV knew where his duty lay—but his true interests lay more in the young Lord Seton, as well as another man who had piqued the Scottish sovereign’s interest—Georges de Boullan, brother of Anne de Boullan.

Marriage of Alexander the Great and Roxana; Italian Frescoe.​

Homosexuality was not an unknown vice within the libertine French court of the time—there existed a small subculture of young noblemen who cavorted together—aside from hosting feasts and dances within their private apartments where sexual activity occurred, they also hosted activities known as bal des dames—where attendees dressed in women’s clothing, perfuming themselves and painting themselves as their favorite ladies of the court—one infamous bal des dames included two gentlemen who had dressed as Queen Beatrice and the Marquise de Sarzane, where they acted in theatrical scenes and arguments they envisioned the pair having. These young men, derided by some at court as lucioles (fireflies) were perhaps influenced by homosexual subcultures in Italy, where many men had served within the king’s army—and perhaps some of them had been inducted into the vice by Italian paramours or lovers. “All knew that the lucioles had a queen—and that was none other than the Marquise de Sarzane’s brother,” one member of the clique wrote in a gossipy letter to a friend of his. “Georges de Boullan was a cad—that endeared him to His Majesty, who enjoyed having a friend who was as lascivious as he was. Boullan was indiscriminate in his affairs and tastes—he loved men and women equally. All knew that the King of Scots was one of our brethren when we set eyes upon him—and all of us would’ve vied for the pleasure of inducting him into our vice. But the honor fell to Boullan instead, that damnable rogue!” Did Georges de Boullan truly bed the young King of Scots? It is a matter that had been debated among historians—some believed that his relationship with Seton was wholly innocent until their sojourn to France; others believed it unlikely—and that Alexander IV likely came into France as an active practitioner of what sixteenth-century Frenchmen called the vice—not as a novice. Other rumors concerned Alexander IV’s participation in the activities of the lucioles—including a bal des dames, where he allegedly dressed as a Princess of France on the eve of her wedding—an illusion of his own impending nuptials.

Whatever truly occurred—the first rifts between Alexander IV and George Seton occurred when Alexander IV, having been granted the Order of Saint Michael by François, was embarrassed that the crown of Scotland had no honor to confer in return. Alexander IV was determined to create his own royal order and founded the Order of the Thistle during his sojourn in France. The first knighthood was granted to François, but Alexander IV granted the second honor to Georges de Boullan—with George Seton receiving his knighthood third. “His Grace has quarreled violently with Lord Seton this evening,” David Beaton wrote in a letter to Margaret Tudor. “Lord Seton is piqued that an Englishman should be so honored before himself—he who has been the king’s greatest friend for so many years.” Little surprise that the pair reconciled—much to the dismay of those among Alexander IV’s suite who felt his favorite held far too much influence over him. More important was the king’s need to choose a wife—and quickly. The Scottish retinue spent the spring with the French court at Fontainebleau, but as summer dawned, François made plans for the French court to decamp to Amboise—all the while Alexander IV had not yet made up his mind regarding which French princess he might choose. “The King of Scots demurs when pressed by François,” François’ sister, Marguerite d’Angoulême wrote in a letter to her husband, Henri II of Navarre. “Instead, the Scot pleads for my time, claiming that he cannot possibly distinguish between their charms. François’ patience has run thin… he asked that Sieur Beaton attend a meeting of the Counseil, asking that his master's plans be laid clear—that he must choose a bride and allow a date to be set, or else…” This news was relayed nervously to Alexander IV, who then convened a meeting of notables amongst his retinue to render a final decision. “His Grace has been told that the choice lies with him….” Beaton wrote in a nervous missive to Margaret Tudor. “That he merely needs to utter a name, and all shall be done. He prevaricates; he asks again and again—asking that we compile their charms versus their faults; asking that we once more go over the drafts of the marriage treaty as if it is a treaty of peace or war. He is incapable of coming to a decision, madam—and a decision needs to be made.” It was in this difficult moment that David Beaton stooped lower than he had ever imagined he might—he asked Lord Seton for his guidance, asking that he make the decision that would please the king best—and plant that choice within his ear.

Seton did as Beaton asked him—and debated the pair of French princesses. Though both were pretty, Seton decided that Charlotte was prettier, as well as much more outgoing, ensuring that she would likely bond much easier with the king who could sometimes be withdrawn. To Seton, the choice mattered not—one French princess was not much different from the other. On June 27th of 1533, the final drafts of the marriage treaty were signed, and Charlotte and Alexander IV were formally betrothed—with the marriage date set for December 8th on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. While Charlotte looked every inch a future princess as she stood beside her new betrothed, Louise reportedly wept when she discovered—despite being the eldest daughter of her father—that she would not marry the King of Scots. When Anne de Boullan attempted to console the young princess, she retorted: “Madame—these are not tears of sadness. They are tears of joy!” With the issue of which princess Alexander IV might choose now out of the way, all conditions were lifted for the marriage to be held as soon as possible.

Princess Charlotte of France, c. 1532.​

Fall passed through the court like a whirlwind. In September—Queen Beatriz and Anne de Boullan both went into labor mere days apart. François was not idle with his love and bestowed it openly upon his mistress and queen in equal measure—it surprised none at court that both the maîtresse and queen should fall pregnant at the same time. Indeed, with Anne de Boullan having last delivered the king a daughter named Jacqueline in 1530, some thought that she had become pregnant again on purpose when relations between François and Beatriz were harmonious, and there was hope of issue—since Beatriz’s miscarriage in 1528, she suffered another in 1531—and had not yet borne the king a living child. While Beatriz was ensconced within her chambre in hopes of bearing the king a son, Anne labored within her own chamber. “The king’s attentions were lavished upon the Marquise,” a lady-in-waiting to Anne de Boullan wrote. “He spent hours at her bedside, petting her hand and urging onward—in hopes that she might give him a son. Sadly—he did not deign to visit the queen and sent the Dauphin in his stead.” Beatriz gave birth first—a delicate daughter that she named Marie in honor of her mother. It was Anne de Boullan who triumphed that day—giving the king a strapping son, whom Anne named Octave—declaring before the king and the whole court that: “I have given our César a son.” Following the queen’s birth, Beatriz sent a note to François—“Has the Marquise endured her travail without issue? It is difficult to be gored by the royal boar again and again and to escape unscathed. My best wishes to her—whoring is so difficult, after all. I ask, milord husband, that you might come to my chambers at your nearest convenience, for your newest legitimate child desires to see you, and wishes for your blessing as her father and as the King of France, Most Christian King.” The king did not deign to respond—nor did he show. Hours after little Marie’s birth, the tiny princess perished—breathing her last. Beatriz openly wept at this latest loss—now the whore Boullan had given the king a son, while she had given him nothing. “Why does she quicken without issue!” Beatriz exclaimed to her ladies—on the verge of madness according to one of her maids of honor. “And why must I suffer so? An unfaithful husband, bewitched by an English harlot—must I endure a sickly womb, as well?”

Despite the discord between François and his queen, the anticipated wedding between Alexander IV and Princess Charlotte was held several months later, on December 8th at Notre Dame in Paris. “A sumptuous affair—King François spared no expense, and the cathedral was decorated with banners of the finest silk—the streets were carpeted and perfumed. The bride’s dress was especially beautiful—with a low-cut bodice that was encrusted with pearls and made from fine Alençon lace; the gown had fleur-de-lys in a brocade made of cloth of gold, with the gown a stunning blue. The King of Scots was likewise attired gloriously in a silken jerkin with puffed sleeves—decorated with a brocade of black—with vines etched in cloth of gold.” The couple’s marriage was blessed by Cardinal Jean Le Veneur, the Bishop of Lisieux and Grand Almoner of France. Grand entertainments were held throughout the capital following the wedding—the common people tore up the gilded carpets laid through the streets, while the bourgeoisie of Paris offered up entertainment and food. François himself provided the city with fountains of wine and several tons of meat from the royal kitchens to feed in celebration of the marriage of the king’s first daughter. Royal entertainments were held that evening at the Louvre Palace—Anne de Boullan herself, though in attendance at the Louvre, also had a fête given at her Parisian residence, the Hôtel des Tournelles. Feasting and fame carried through the night—until it was time for the bedding ceremony.

Madonna & Child, Giulio Romano.​

Alexander IV and Charlotte—now Queen of Scots were bedded in one of the great chambers within the Louvre Palace. The grand state bed had been ordered specially for the occasion—its curtains were made of silk and cloth of gold, etched with the fleur-de-lys and as well as the Scottish lion. Motifs were carved into both the headboard and other pieces of the bed. The court was assembled, with François assisting Alexander IV in undressing—while the honor of undressing Charlotte was given to Anne de Boullan: a major snub, with Queen Beatriz glowering amongst the courtiers as the king’s maîtresse usurped yet another of her rightful privileges. “His Grace was nervous as the cardinal blessed the bed,” George Seton himself wrote in his private journal. “He was only put at ease by the King of France—who boldly slapped him upon the back before declaring ‘Now your work begins!’ The Queen of Scots seemed stoic in comparison, though the Marquise de Sarzane provided comforting words to the young princess, whom she viewed almost like a daughter. When the king and queen were finally deposited within the bed, it was the King of France who boldly closed the curtains, extorting his daughter and now son-in-law to be fruitful. It was only then we were ushered from the chambre… I did not visit His Grace this night, as he was occupied; I attended a feast given by the Marquise de Sarzane’s brother…” The young King of Scots and his even younger queen were now left alone behind the heavy gilded curtains—few can say what exactly happened that night. Charlotte would write in a letter to Anne de Boullan shortly after the wedding, “His Grace is most tender and caring; before we slept, he caressed my hand, before kissing it, and then kissing me upon the lips. He bade that he would cherish me as his wife—and after that, we slept most reasonably and peaceably…”

Alexander and Charlotte remained in France throughout the winter and early spring—the Scots departed from Paris in late February, with the new Queen of Scotland touring through Normandy, where she was treated to entertainment at Rouen. The Scottish left France through the port of Dieppe—and arrived in Scotland at Leith on March 22nd, 1534. Charlotte was immediately hailed by the populace, as a beautiful young queen to join their handsome young king. There was just one issue: their beautiful queen was still a virgin.

“His Grace knows what must be done,” George Seton wrote again within his private journal. “But it is a different situation, and his timidity overwhelms the courage that is natural to his royal stock. He cannot rise to the occasion… luckily, the queen remains blissfully unaware, believing that what has transpired has happened exactly as it should…”