Eh, whatever works best for you, Kate and Anne can be friends without Kate staying permanently in France. But if you go that route I’m sure we’d all be happy to help brainstorm
Thanks. I'll see what I can do!
A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Section XIX - April 1517
Rambouillet, April 1517
The bells are ringing out across the land, calling every loyal man, woman and child in France to celebrate with Their Graces, King Francis and Queen Marie.
They have a Dauphin! They have a Dauphin, Mademoiselle Marguerite has a brother and the Succession is secure at last.
Lying in a great bed of state, half-propped up by a mound of pillows, Marie laughs joyously at the sound of them.
“A son!” They seem to be saying, “A son! A bonny, lusty son!”
Still chuckling, she bends her head to croon to the hours-old baby that she holds in her arms.
“Do you hear those bells, my darling? They’re for you! They’re all for you, because you’ve made everyone so happy.”
The baby snuffles in his sleep at her words and, as if on cue, a cannon blast suddenly rattles her windows. She laughs again, even as her son starts awake and wails sleepily, “And that will be your father, shooting guns in the park to tell everyone how proud he is of you and how delighted he is that you have arrived safe and well.”
For Francis is delighted. Marie’s pains had begun just after Vespers, and their son, clearly a night owl, had arrived just as Matins began.
Francis had been told as soon as they’d been tidied and washed, and he hadn’t even waited for the priest to finish his final benediction, but sprung to his feet and dashed from the chapel, scattering rosary, missal and cloak heedlessly in his wake.
He had burst into her rooms and snatched the boy into his arms before the midwife could even finish swaddling him.
“François! Mon petit François! You are here at last!”
Showering the boy in kisses, he had looked up to catch Marie’s eye and the beam on his face had been so infectious that she had felt her own exhaustion melt away at the sight of it.
He had stayed an hour, long enough for them to decide upon godparents – Alençon and the Bishop of Rennes for godfathers and Katherine for godmother. Marie had begged for her brother to be godfather, but Francis had reminded her gently that it was traditional for the Dauphin to have a high-ranking churchman among his godparents, and who better than the Bishop of Rennes, given little François’s Breton future? Marie had had to be content with that – that and Francis’s promise that her brother could be both godfather and namesake to their second son, whenever he arrived.
The matter settled to everyone’s satisfaction, including that of his infant son, who was full to the brim, the skin over his tiny stomach taut as a drum with his wet nurse’s milk, Francis had kissed her thoroughly and hared off again, shouting for the bells to be rung and for his Master of Ceremonies to be woken so that they could begin to celebrate the Dauphin as he deserved.
Now, however, it seems that the abstracts of planning great feasts and jousts and balls aren’t enough for Francis. The sun is finally above the horizon and he has clearly decided to pour his joy into something rather more exuberant, no matter that the Dauphin himself is clearly not quite so sure about the noise.
Fortunately, little François seems more sleepy than angry. He settles back down easily enough as Marie hums into the whorls of his tiny ear.
She lays him into the cradle at her side and raises a hand to forestall Madame Landais as the Breton prepares to take her new charge to his nursery.
“Not yet. Francoise. Let Mademoiselle Renee see her future husband first.”
“Madame,” Francoise curtsies and withdraws slightly as the door to Marie’s chamber opens and Renee steps inside carefully, eyes wide and curious. Her closest friend, ten-year-old Anne Boleyn, steps in behind her, blinking the sleep out of her eyes and tying the beads of a rosary around her girdle. The girls have clearly come straight from Mass.
They are escorted by Renee’s governess, but Marie shakes her head at the woman and waves her away before she can speak. She wants Renee alone for this conversation, not restrained by the presence of a dour duenna.
“Come here, sweetheart,” she beckons, drawing Renee to the cradle and taking her hand. “Come and meet your future husband.”
Renee does as she’s told willingly enough, though she says nothing. Renee has always been a quiet child, observant rather than exuberant. Marie always senses a wariness in the little girl, as though, even at just six, she knows that many of those who fawn over her do so because of her Breton lands, rather than because of who she is, and is trying to sort the friends from the sycophants.
Renee’s wariness pulls at Marie’s heartstrings, all the more since she has had her own little Margot, but she doesn’t know quite what to do about it. Renee’s upbringing as Duchess of Brittany is necessarily very different to her own as the second daughter of England, and because of it, she doesn’t quite know how to reach out to the little girl. All she can do is be as gentle as possible with her whenever they interact.
As such, she doesn’t push Renee for anything at first, just lets her stand over François’s cradle, looking down at him.
Anne drifts over too, and glances down at the baby, before flashing Marie a smile.
“He’s got your colouring, Your Grace.”
Marie returns Anne’s smile gratefully as she sees Renee relax now that her older friend has broken the ice, “Indeed, Annie. The Plantagenets breed true, it seems. And you, Renee? What do you make of our little François? Do you think he’ll be able to help you rule Brittany?”
Renee wrinkles her nose, considering.
“He’s awfully small,” she says dubiously.
Marie doesn’t mean to laugh, honestly. But the earnestness in Renee’s high, piping voice is too much for her. She throws her head back, peals of merriment escaping her.
“He’ll grow, sweetheart. He’ll grow. And we’ll give him to Madame Landais to look after, so that she can turn him into a proper Breton. What do you say to that?”
Renee flashes a look at Madame Landais, little brow furrowed. She hesitates and Marie holds her breath. The Landais family might be one of the greatest in Brittany, but Francoise’s father was also one of the most unpopular men of his day. Has Renee already been told unflattering tales about him – and by extension, his family – by a well-meaning nursemaid? That would be a complication they could well do without.
But then Renee gives an uncertain nod, and Marie releases her breath on a stifled sigh of relief. She reaches out and cups Renee’s chin in her hand, tipping the little girl’s face up to meet hers.
“Now, Renee, I need you to listen to me. The King needs you to do something very important for him. He needs you to tell Their Lordships of Rheims and Rennes that you’ll be happy to be François’s bride when you’re older. Can you do that, do you think?”
Renee bites her lip and looks to Anne for reassurance that this is the right thing to do. When the older girl nods encouragingly, she turns back to Marie and nods.
“If brother Francis needs me to, then I will, sister,” she promises, and Marie pulls her into her arms and kisses her.”
“Thank you, darling. That’s very good of you. Francis will be very happy to hear you’ve said yes.”
There's still the Field of the Cloth of Gold to come, remember, and Katherine is still capabable of getting pregnant, at least at the moment... Things may change drastically in a few years...
Yeah, but I thought you said Catherine wasn't having a son? Plus at this stage it would be concerning whether Catherine has a son or not. Can't wait to see how the field of the cloth of gold goes in this timeline.
My plan is for Marie and Francis to lose two children in infancy/early childhood, and one as a preteen/young adult. I am not giving away any clues as to which of their children they are going to lose.
Félicitations au roi et à la reine!
Poor Henry - no sons, but a Scottish and a French nephew to each try and claim his throne. Can't wait to watch his head explode over that one.
Poor Henry - no sons, but a Scottish and a French nephew to each try and claim his throne. Can't wait to watch his head explode over that one.
I suspect, with Francis in a fertile, wanted marriage, it might just push Henry into his Great Matter a bit earlier than OTL...
Thank you! They're delighted!
Reading through this I have just one thing to say - I leave you alone for a few weeks and you're off killing people again! What am I going to do with you?
If there's a Battle of Pavia, and Francis wins, there might not be any need for a King's Great Matter. One of the things that made Henry's Great Matter such a perfect storm was the fact that the Pope was completely in thrall to Charles, with even Rome sacked by the Holy Roman Emperor.
If Charles loses at Pavia, the Pope is free to grant a Papal Annulment much earlier than otl, and Henry can marry whomever he pleases. No Break with Rome, no Act of Succession, no Pilgrimage of Grace, no execution for either Thomas More or Bishop John Fisher.
If Charles loses at Pavia, the Pope is free to grant a Papal Annulment much earlier than otl, and Henry can marry whomever he pleases. No Break with Rome, no Act of Succession, no Pilgrimage of Grace, no execution for either Thomas More or Bishop John Fisher.
Hey! At least we're being spared a Civil War this time around. This is positively cheery by my standards!
I can't really judge you. I've got a death, a poisoning and a rape coming in mine in the next few chapters!