Chapter 20. Dawn of the Marian Age
  • Chapter 20. Dawn of the Marian Age
    1527-1532; England

    “Flora extending the sensible odors
    Of every flower the famous property
    Regard the rose with ruby colors
    With the pomegranate of pure progeny
    Behold the fruit most like the deity
    Of noble daughter in dignity.”
    — William Newman, the Redolent Pryncesse.


    Music Accompaniment: Queine of Ingland's Pavan & Gallyard

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    Catherine of Aragon, Queen Dowager & Regent of England, c. 1525.

    The completion of negotiations for Queen Mary’s eventual marriage to Prince John of Denmark represented the last stages of Catherine’s regency. Mary, having inherited the English throne as a mere infant, was now rapidly growing into a young woman. Her mother’s regency would terminate upon her eighteenth birthday—December 31st, 1531—leaving only a few more years before Mary’s reign would begin. By 1528, Catherine of Aragon had served as Regent of England for over fifteen years—longer than her husband had ever reigned himself. Though Catherine’s government had suffered from her involvement in continental affairs, her focus in 1526 had returned to England. She desired not only to lay the groundwork for Mary to have a successful reign but hoped to ensure that she would have a successful marriage—and successful progeny, in due course.

    Catherine had maintained the same Privy Council throughout her regency—having inherited her councilors from Henry VIII—some of them having even served the king’s late father, Henry VII. By the mid-1520s, many of these men were growing older and several even begged the queen for leave to retire. “The queen had been cautious in for the majority of her regency,” wrote one historian of the period. “The queen had been young, and the queen-regent needed guidance. When the alliance with the emperor proved fruitless, and the aged men of the council began to retire or die… Queen Catherine now had the means to shape the council in her image. The last years of her regency would be her most fruitful—she came into her own as regent and governor of the English realm and pursued the policies she thought most prudent.” One of the first to go was William Warham as Lord Chancellor in 1527—he was replaced with Bishop John Fisher, a noted opponent of the reform moment. Richard Foxe, as Lord Privy Seal, died in 1528—and was replaced by Sir Thomas More, while Henry Courtenay, the Marquess of Exeter succeeded Thomas Lovell as Chancellor of the Exchequer.

    Under Fisher’s chancellorship, Catherine focused more on administrative and religious affairs. The growth of Luther’s reform movement in Germany had caused Catherine great unease—though she was an avowed Humanist and an admirer of Erasmus, she considered Luther someone else entirely. “A dangerous monk—with even more dangerous ideas,” Catherine wrote in a private letter to Margaret Pole. Luther’s ideas became known within England by the early 1520s and in 1526, an English translation of the New Testament was published by William Tyndale in Germany, where it was printed abroad and then smuggled into England—leading to a proliferation of Protestant ideas amongst the growing commercial classes. Both the queen regent and Bishop Fisher were gravely concerned by what they believed to be the spread of heretical ideas. Parliament was summoned in 1527—known as the Blessed Parliament by the supporters of the queen-regent, it gained an alternate name among supporters of the reformation: the Parliament of Flames. The session of the 1527 Parliament primarily dealt with passing the Heresy Act of 1527 which served to modernize the Heresy Acts of 1382, 1401, and 1414 by compiling them into a single act—as well as allowing punishments and sentences to be meted out to Lutherans, including burnings. The act also provided for the establishment of what would become known as the Central Heresy Court in London, which would become responsible for trying all cases of heresy within England and Wales and passing sentences upon those found guilty. The court would be headed by a tribunal of bishops. The court was empowered to do its job through court commissioners, who would be allowed into all English and Welsh parishes; their duties would be to collect information and interrogate suspected heretics—in effect building up a bureaucracy whose job would be to hunt down heretics. This represented a union of secular and ecclesiastical powers—working together.

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    Bishop John Fisher; as Lord Chancellor, he prioritized the fight against heresy.

    Other acts sought to reinvigorate the state of the Catholic Church in England. The Religious Houses Reorganization Act allowed for the dissolution of monasteries that were indebted and small (having less than twelve members) to fund educational and social foundations—Frideswide College at Oxford was founded through the Reorganization Act, as well as the St. Magdalene Hospital in London—one of England’s first hospitals dedicated to the treatment of venereal diseases. Catherine also sought to invite other religious orders into England, in hopes that monastic life—which had declined, might be regenerated. A group of Hieronymite nuns from the Order of Saint Jerome from Catherine’s native Spain were invited to create a priory near the village of Speldhurst in Kent, while the Servite Order was given land in Greatham in Durham. The Organization Act also laid out stipulations for new religious houses that might be founded by requiring that they have a mission within the community where they would be based: by dispensing charity or through good works, such as providing education or medical care. By requiring new religious endowments, even of contemplative orders to engage in practical and worthy causes, Catherine hoped that such religious houses might be integrated into the communities where they would settle—not only attracting donations that would allow them to become self-sufficient but also proving their worth and reducing the idleness of the monks and nuns by aiding the communities where they would reside. Catherine also sought Papal approval to change the crown’s rights to clerical revenues—hereto limited to extraordinary levies and subsidies. Pius IV, much like his successor Pius V made certain concessions to England which resulted in the Convocation Act. The Convocation Act would allow the crown to raise new revenue from new clerical sources by allowing taxation upon clerical tithes as well as clerical rents and income—with the caveat that all such taxes would be grants—and that they would need to be need approved by the Convocation of Canterbury or the Convocation of York by the clergy themselves.

    Administrative reforms concerned Wales. Buckingham’s Rebellion in 1520 had spooked Queen Catherine as well as her council—and it was in 1526 that George Talbot and the Council of Wales recommended a program for Wales that would bind it closer to England. The resulting program would become the Laws in Wales Act which proclaimed that Wales was incorporated and united with the crown of England. This ended the Principality of Wales’s unique status within England; the English language and English law were imposed for the first time across the whole of Wales—with Wales being granted representation in Parliament. The Marcher Lordships were abolished as political units, with counties being created in Welsh territory—Monmouthshire, Brenockshire, Radnorshire, Montgomeryshire, and Denbighshire. Other lordships were annexed into already existing counties. Ireland had its issues—feuding had flared up between the Earls of Butler and Ormond in the 1520s, and Catherine attempted to bring peace between the feuding factions by appointing Henry Bouchier, the Earl of Essex as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.

    Meanwhile, Queen Mary continued to grow—and her role as queen became even more visible as she entered her later teenage years, even as she remained under the effective tutelage of her mother. Her education entered its final stages—with lessons of government transformed from erudite practices under Thomas More and her other tutors into more practical lessons. By the age of fifteen, Mary’s signature could be found on government papers and documents as a countersignature alongside her mother’s signature as regent. The young queen also began to attend meetings of the council—first incognito, and then in person. “Her Grace, despite her youth, took to the business of government easily,” one councilor wrote anonymously. “She is less indolent than the late king and prefers to manage things then and there. When things are brought before her, she reads each thing carefully—she does not sign blindly and asks the correct questions.” Nor was the young queen afraid to speak her mind—she was not afraid of offering her own opinion within these council meetings, even if she did not yet possess the necessary authority to sway anyone. All began to look less towards the mother—and more towards the daughter, who would quite soon be their sovereign in all aspects.

    In 1529, Catherine and Mary departed on royal progress—the first Tudor progress since 1498, when Prince Arthur had toured Coventry. The tour lasted throughout the summer—Mary and her mother were hosted at Rockingham Castle in Northamptonshire. One courtier wrote, “The queen hunted daily with her ladies, stalking deer throughout the woods of Rockingham.” From Rockingham, the court visited Coventry, as well as Coughton Court in Warwickshire, where Sir George Throckmorton hosted the queen and her mother. “Sir Throckmorton spared no expense in the young queen’s visit,” Charles Blount wrote in his youthful journal. “The welcoming feast was held in the great halls—bedecked with the royal standard; there were piles and piles of food, from which we all ate heartily—capons with lemon, roasted beef with Lombard mustard; sturgeon and lamprey pies. Dessert was just as sumptuous—marchpane, doucet, and tarts of sundry flavors…” The royal progress ended as the summer of 1529 died down—with Catherine and Mary hosted at Dorney Court before the progress ended at Eltham Palace.

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    Landscape with Roman Ruins, 16th Century.

    As 1530 dawned, plans were put into motion to bring Mary’s future marriage to Prince John closer to fruition—with arrangements now set in motion for Prince John to come over to England to complete his education. While the marriage had lost its prime proponent following the death of Empress Mary in 1529, Charles V remained determined to honor his late wife’s wishes by finalizing the match. Prince John had a final interview with his uncle at Ghent, where the emperor offered his blessings as well as advice. “Always remember that you are a prince of our royal house—I send you to England as your aunt desired so that you will be a worthy husband to our cousin, Queen Mary—and so that you may be a king to aid her in the burdens of government.” Prince John soon left Ghent with a retinue that would accompany him to England—Johan von Weze, an imperial diplomat and his father’s former secretary would serve as his secretary, while a few young men were to accompany Prince John as companions—this included René of Nassau-Breda[1], Antoine de Perrenot de Granvelle, and Ascanio Arianiti—son of an Italian nobleman who had become attached to the Imperial cause—Prince Arianitto Cominato Arianiti. John and his suite soon departed for Antwerp, where they were met by Adolf of Burgundy, the Admiral of Burgundy. John’s flagship would be a warship, the Duke of Burgundy. Prince John then soon departed the Low Countries—to head towards England, his future home and kingdom.

    The English court was expecting the arrival of Prince John and had decamped to Dover, where they took up residence in Dover Castle. “The queen was most agitated in those days before the prince’s arrival,” One of her ladies, Anne Parr wrote in her private arrival. “She had a most foul temper—made worse by a malaise which she was suffering from. On our first day at Dover, she complained of pain in her head and neck, as well as chills, and was forced to take to her bed. Within a few hours, she was delirious and burning hot. It was not the pox or any dreaded plague—it was the sweat.” Queen Mary, then sixteen was laid down with the Sweating Sickness—an English sickness known for its virulence and the fact that it carried off people quickly. An outbreak had occurred in 1526, but now it seemed that the disease had returned—striking at the heart of the court. The young queen, hale and hearty, was now struck down with a serious illness—the first of her reign. “I pray for her deliverance,” Catherine of Aragon wrote in a hurried letter to her foremost friend and confidante, Maria de Salinas. “I have been barred from her chambers on account of how quickly the sickness spreads… my confessor encourages me to put my faith in God, while the doctors do the best they can.” The queen’s malady put the queen-regent into despair—with one courtier writing “She could not eat or drink, nor did she sleep—she worried only about the queen; some believe that the sickness conjured up terrible memories of the queen’s first marriage—when she and Prince Arthur were both laid down with a terrible malady…” Though Mary’s care was at first managed by the doctors and apothecaries of the royal household, Catherine soon turned to a foreign doctor who offered his advice: João Rodrigues, a Portuguese surgeon practicing in London who was rumored in some circles to be a Marrano. With the queen regent’s consent, Rodrigues took over the young queen’s care, to the chagrin of the royal physicians. “He has forbidden us from bleeding her—and has rudely proclaimed that our physics and tonics are useless,” One royal apothecary wrote haughtily within his journals. “He has instead instructed the queen’s servants to keep the fire burning within her chambers at all hours and give her a remedy of his concoction. That the Queen of England should be served by such a man, we ought to say our prayers.” Mary lingered before life and death—her last rights were administered by her almoner, and she even drafted her last will—leaving precious jewels to her favorited ladies, while asking the council to bestow £10,000 upon her mother in reward for her services as regent. One final item concerned her successor: “As I am the sole heir of my father and lone Tudor in England,” Mary wrote wearily upon the parchment, her normally precise handwriting a wearied scratch. “There remains only one Tudor after me—and she shall be my successor and your queen—my aunt, Margaret. The crown shall pass to her—and in due course, my cousin the King of Scotland.”

    The court waited with bated breath—awaiting the proclamation that their queen was gone. Mary lingered in a perilous condition for several days, but the sweat began to cease, and her fatigue began to fade. The queen had nearly died—but she had survived, to the jubilation of the court and as well as her mother. “She lives,” Catherine wrote tearfully to Maria de Salinas. “She lives and will continue to live.” João Rodrigues was rewarded for his role in the queen’s survival with a pension of £100. It was in this happiest of situations that news was brought to Dover of Prince John’s arrival—his ship had endured terrible weather while crossing the channel, and the ship had been blown off course. Instead of landing at Dover, John and his suite had instead landed at Margate and were expected at Dover by nightfall. In a hurry, the servants did their best to sweeten the castle and prepare for the arrival of their sovereign’s future husband—and their future king. The first meeting between Queen Mary and Prince John took place within the queen’s chamber because she was still recovering from her illness. “The queen received the prince within her privy chapter—with the queen-regent present as a chaperone,” one anonymous courtier wrote in a letter to their family about the meeting. “Despite the queen having just recently recovered, she looked every inch the sovereign—she wore a French hood trimmed with pearls, while her gown was made of silver cloth—with the bodice decorated with a brocade of flowers. The queen’s jewelry was simple—a pearl necklace and pearl earrings—with a girdle belt decorated with Tudor Roses that extended from around her waist down to the middle of her gown. Prince John was polite and quiet as he bowed before Mary to offer his obeisance. At twelve, he looked more like a younger brother paying honor to his older sister, rather than a bridegroom… but the queen accepted his speech with a polite smile before she bid him to rise…”

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    Portrait of a Young Woman, believed to be Queen Mary, c. 1530.

    Queen Mary was less impressed in private, lamenting to Anne Parr that: “They have sent me a boy to be my husband.” Still, many were impressed with the young prince—and Catherine of Aragon reminded her daughter that there would still be four years before the pair would marry: plenty of time for Prince John to grow into the man that he was meant to be. It was decided that given John’s relative youth and need to complete his education he would reside away from court—and was given Oldhall House[2] over to his use. Catherine of Aragon granted the wardship of Prince John to the Duke of Norfolk, who arranged for William Latimer, a priest and scholar in ancient Greek to tutor John in languages—primarily Greek, English, and Italian, while Stephen Gardinier, an archdeacon, was appointed to tutor John in English history and government. Prince John took to his studies—though Norfolk lamented in a letter to Catherine of Aragon that, “Though the prince takes to his lessons, I fear he is not as dutiful as we might have hoped—and Master Latimer has been forced to apply the birch more than I would have liked.” It was reported that John was often homesick; matters were made worse when news arrived in late 1531 that the prince’s father had been captured in Norway while trying to reclaim his throne. Promised safe conduct by King Frederick, Christian II soon found himself betrayed—and imprisoned at Sønderborg Castle in Denmark.

    On December 31st, 1531, Queen Mary celebrated her eighteenth birthday. Her brush with death the previous year had been put behind her, and many remarked that she seemed as healthy as she had been previously. On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, a ceremony was held to commemorate the queen having attained the majority. In the great hall of Richmond Palace, a great dais had been erected upon which two thrones sat—one for the queen-regent, and one for the queen. Catherine of Aragon was dressed in a gown of black velvet, along with her robes of state and the crown she had worn to her coronation—while Mary was in a gown of white taffeta, with her hair loose. Before the assembled court, the ladies of Catherine’s chamber assisted the queen-regent in removing the symbols of her authority—her robes of state and her crown. Dressed now in her widow’s colors, her ladies replaced her crown with a widow’s cap of black velvet—along with a veil of translucent black silk. “Milords—it has been some eighteen years since I have carried the burdens of state; and eighteen years since the birth of my daughter, your queen.” Catherine began her farewell speech. “You see before you now a grown woman—I have raised her to the best of my ability, not just to be a good wife and good Catholic—but a great queen. Since her birth, she has belonged to this realm of England, and now she has attained her majority. She shall be your sovereign in name as well as deed. I am but an old woman now, and a widow of my husband—your dearly departed king. The burdens of government and this realm must be taken up by his daughter; you require a sovereign who possesses youth and vitalty, and the blood of this nation. Though it has been my greatest honor to serve you, I beg your leave to retire—whatever years God sees fit to grant me beyond this, I wish to spend in peace.” Many tears were shed following the queen regent’s speech—with cries of “God Save Queen Catherine!” ringing out throughout the hall. Though her popularity had suffered due to her close association with the emperor, her popularity had rebounded in the final years of her regency; and though the people were happy to see Queen Mary take her rightful place, they knew that good government had been provided in her youth—and the years of Catherine’s regency had been relatively prosperous.

    With Catherine’s symbols of authority removed, Queen Mary’s were soon placed upon her—with the roles being reversed. Catherine of Aragon, formally Regent of England, and the authority within the realm was now merely the Queen Dowager—all authority now rested in the hands of Queen Mary as Queen of England—England’s first. Mary soon gave her speech: “I know that I have come to this throne young—younger than most, and now I attain my majority at eighteen when most princes are content to sit at their father’s feet. This is not a luxury that I possess; and though the title of king is a glorious one that people might yearn for, I promise you, good people of England, that I shall strive to ensure that the title of queen is as glorious as well. As your sovereign I promise to serve you honestly and justly and provide what this kingdom and its people should desire for as long as I am called to reign over it—just as Mary was the Mother of God, so I shall always be the Mother of England.”

    [1]As Prince Philibert of Châlon is still alive, René bare his original name here.

    [2]OTL Hunsdon House
     
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    Chapter 21. Scourge of Mars
  • Chapter 21. Scourge of Mars
    1531-1533; France, Germany, Hungary, Italy & Ottoman Empire.

    “God the Almighty has made our rulers mad; they actually think they can do—and order their subjects to do—whatever they please.”
    — Martin Luther, To Temporal Authority: What Extent Should It Be Obeyed


    Music Accompaniment: Muhayyer Pesrev

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    The Story of Virginia, Botticelli.

    Though the Treaty of Longwy had brought peace to Europe, issues remained between the Houses of Habsburg and Valois. France was now the preeminent power in Italy—controlling the Duchy of Milan, while Naples was held by Louis IV, a member of the House of Lorraine who maintained close relations with France. Florence maintained its alliance with France, as did Montferrat and Saluzzo—with the Pope having friendly relations with the French crown more out of need than want. Despite this, the issue of the growth of Protestantism remained an issue in Germany and throughout Europe—no longer was it limited to a few rowdy preachers; it was a movement that threatened the unity of both Christendom and the Church. There were calls from the German Princes—as well as Emperor Charles V that a general council should be summoned to deal with the outward growth of the Protestant faith. Though Martin Luther and other reformers were open to the idea of a council, they were adamantly against the idea of a Papal Council, demanding that the council should be held in Germany and should exclude the Pope. King François had also been wary of such a council—he was friendly with the German Protestants and saw them as a useful ally against the emperor. With Pius IV having been concerned with the political rivalry between the King of France and the Emperor, he made no move to summon a council—allowing Protestantism to grow further during his pontificate, with more radical sects, such as the Anabaptists, while Ulrich Zwingli preached his theology in Switzerland.

    Pius V recognized the need to deal with the reformers—and he looked to King François as an ally to deal with it. Though François remained tolerant of the Protestant movements, his holdings in Italy now meant that he must pay more heed to the Italian princes and allies. If he wished to maintain France’s position in Italy, that meant an alliance with the Pope and Catholic Church—not with the Protestants. Charles V had lost his main foothold in Italy, the crown of Naples. Though he still maintained Sicily by the Spanish crown, his influence in the peninsula was now at its lowest ebb; if the emperor could not curb the religious controversies that were riven through Europe, most especially in his dominions within the Holy Roman Empire, then it to François it was obvious. The King of France, as Most Christian King must safeguard the church. François offered his support to Pius V, who issued a decree for a council to be held in Bologna beginning in the spring of 1531. So began the Council of Bologna. The summoning of the council marked a period of closer cooperation between François and the Pope—even as the Protestant began to grow further within France, with both the king’s sister, the Queen of Navarre, and his mistress, Anne de Boullan, recently named the Duchess of Plaisance were both known for their Protestant sympathies. François also did not alter his foreign policies—while pressing the Pope to summon a council, he remained friendly towards the German Protestants and hoped for their inclusion in such a council.

    Emperor Charles V was meanwhile dealing with his concerns—though grateful to hear that Pius V was finally to embark on a much-needed course, he was suspicious of François’ involvement—especially given his previous opposition to the calling of a council. The emperor also suffered from personal issues in the aftermath of his death, Empress Mary. “The emperor was gravely depressed at the death of the empress—for several days, he refused to eat, and we feared that he might expire as well,” Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle wrote in a private letter to his wife. “He has recovered, but with great difficulty. The Treaty of Longwy is a humiliation to him—even more so is his betrothal to the Princess Renée.” Charles suffered further losses in 1530—his beloved chancellor, Mercurio Gattinara died, and he was succeeded by Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle—who pressed Charles to lean away from the universalist policies pursued by Gattinara, to follow a foreign policy that would benefit most of his domains in the Low Countries and within the empire. It was in 1530 that the Spanish contingent within the emperor’s court began to disappear completely—with more Spanish courtiers and ministers giving their allegiance to the Prince of Asturias—their future king. 1530 marks the definite division between Charles V as a ‘universal monarch’ and beyond 1530—where the emperor increasingly emphasized his role as Duke of Burgundy as sovereign of the Low Countries and Holy Roman Emperor.

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    Portrait of a Lady by Girolamo di Carpi.
    Believed to be of Renée of France following her marriage to Charles V.

    Charles V was married to Princess Renée of France in April 1530—scarcely eight months following the death of Mary. “It is not a marriage that I wish to embark upon,” Charles wrote in a private letter to his brother Ferdinand. “It is not of passion—but of politics, and in honor of the late empress—who beseeched that I must remarry.” The marriage was one of state—made in hopes of preserving the peace made at Longwy and giving the emperor time to plan his next move. There was also the matter of children—at thirty-one and with just one surviving son, Charles knew that he must remarry. Must he do it so soon? Perhaps not—but it was a match that he must pursue. The handover of the Princess Renée occurred at Cateau-Cambrésis. Before she departed from France, François had pressed upon Renée, as the sole remaining daughter of Anne of Brittany to renounce any claims to the Duchy of Brittany—in return, she was given the Duchy of Chartres—with the king promising that the appanage could be inherited by any future children she might have. Renée’s suite had a large Breton contingent, this included her governess and confidant, Michelle de Saubonne, who had been put in charge of her household. There was also Jacqueline de Rohan as a maid of honor, while Jean de Brosse, son of the Count of Penthièvre was to be her secretary. Renée was met at the border by Charles Brandon, the Viscount of Strêye—who introduced her to the high members of her household, which included many former women and men who had served the Empress Mary. “The Princess of France is very pretty…” Anne de Croÿ wrote in a letter to her husband. “She gave the viscount a pretty speech and received his allegiance as if she had been a queen or empress for years. She will manage well—but she is not Empress Mary.” Renée formally met the emperor at Mechelen—when she bowed low to him, he raised her, before planting two kisses upon her cheek. They were wed within the chapel of Mechelen by the Bishop of Cambrai—so began the emperor’s second marriage.

    Charles V also had to contend with issues within the empire—the Protestant faith had continued to grow, and his attempts to impede it throughout the 1520s had proved a complete failure. It was in 1530 that Charles issued letters for the Diet of Regensburg, for the Diet to deal with three issues: defense of the frontiers, issues relating to the currency and public wellbeing, and third being religious disagreements within Christianity. The emperor hoped to find some solution and ensure that Germany did not devolve into chaos. The calling for the Diet of Regensburg overlapped with the Pope’s decree for the opening of the Council of Bologna. This caused great unease amongst the Protestants—they flatly refused to attend any such council headed by the Pope and pressed for a general council to be held in Germany—without the Pope’s presence. Even amongst the Catholics, this idea was not viewed with total distaste—the idea of Conciliarism remained popular in some segments, where it was believed that general councils had supreme authority—even over the Pope. One German writer, writing under the pseudonym of Titus Honorius published a treatise named Sanctae Germaniae Ecclesiae in 1528 which covered the history of the church in Germany, while arguing that the Holy Roman Emperor by right held the power of Jura Regalia that had been reduced in the preceding centuries—and that the emperor could summon a General Council without the authority of the Pope. This treatise combined the thought of contemporary conciliarism with those on imperial reform—resulting in a movement that would become known as Honorianism, which sought to maintain the future of the Catholic Church in Germany while limiting papal power in favor of the emperor. Many others viewed the Council of Bologna with suspicions as well—especially with the King of France’s ardent backing and the idea that many French prelates would attend when previously the French had opposed any such council. The emperor asked that the Protestants prepare a document outlining their beliefs—in the hope that a compromise could be reached between both parties. The Diet of Regensburg was opened in July of 1530—and a few days after the opening, the Regensburg Confession was presented to the emperor. This outlined the beliefs of the Lutheran party—and had been created at the behest of the Elector of Saxony by Philip Melanchthon and Johannes Brenz, as well as Martin Luther—though Luther was not present at the diet, owing to his status as an outlaw.

    It was during this time that there was a growing crisis among the marches of the empire. Though the Treaty of Longwy had secured peace between France and the empire, it did not include Bohemia or Hungary as signatories. Though John Zápolya had been forced from Bohemia, he continued to cause trouble along the borders, sending raiders into both Moravia and Austria. “So long as Zápolya does as he pleases, he causes chaos—both in my daughter’s realm and your own,” Mary of Austria wrote in a terse letter to her brother. “If Hungary acts against us, and not with us—it is no better than having the Turks upon our doorstep.” Zápolya’s reign had seen him use his vast private wealth and the support of the lower nobility to increase the power of the crown—to the chagrin of the great magnates, who feared the resurgence of a powerful crown. The Treaty of Longwy had seen French support dwindle; François no longer paid the Hungarian king’s pension and had recalled the artillerymen he had dispatched, too. Poland too, could not offer Zápolya much support, with the King of Poland licking his wounds in the aftermath of his loss in Germany, and the Sejm in little mood to condone yet another foreign adventure. The Ottoman scourge remained a threat—and in 1530 Suleiman demanded tribute from the King of Hungary. The Ottoman emissary, Malkoç Bey demanded a sum of 200,000 florins—with another 30,000 years to be paid yearly, with Zápolya to recognize Suleiman as his father and suzerain. “The choice is yours,” Malkoç stated boldly to Zápolya in a private audience. “You and your kingdom may live under the largesse of Sultan Suleiman, Sultan of Sultans, and Khan of Khans—or you may die by his sword and be trampled underneath his boot.” Malkoç Bey’s demands were odious—but not without advantages. The Bey promised that the Ottoman Sultan would provide the King of Hungary as his loyal ally with whatever troops, supplies, and munitions he might need to deal with the Habsburgs.

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    Duel before the Battle of Bár.

    “The Franks have failed you,” Malkoç supposedly whispered to Zápolya in another meeting—pouring poisons into his ear like the sweetest honey. “You must look to us for your salvation and victory—or else your demise and defeat.” John Zápolya was utterly anguished over the decision—200,000 florins was money he did not have; despite his troubles with the Queen Dowager of Hungary, his sincerest wish had been an alliance with the Habsburgs to deal with the Ottomans and their threat to Europe. If the emperor and his sister should be too blind to work with him because of their shortsightedness, then they must forever be his enemies—and the Turks must be his new friends. Zápolya agreed to Malkoç Bey’s demands after several days of consideration, in grave secrecy. “The king made a show before all the court of dismissing Malkoç in great anger,” Pavle Bakic wrote in his private diaries. “But in truth, it was a farce—Malkoç’s baggage train was loaded down with wealth as he left—with the promise of more.” Zápolya then summoned the Hungarian diet to raise funds for the tribute—but under the guise of raising funds for the army. With the support of the lower gentry, Zápolya levied a fresh round of taxes primarily upon the magnates. This new program of taxation caused alarm among the magnates—most especially the small circle that remained who championed the claims of Elizabeth Jagiellonica, Queen of Bohemia and daughter and heir of Louis II. A group of magnates met at Sopron, where a rival diet called the Diet of Sopron was held. They signed a deed declaring their support for Elizabeth as Queen of Hungary—and naming John Zápolya as a usurper. Once more Hungary was threatened with the possibility of chaos.

    The Diet of Regensburg ultimately adjourned without finding a solution. The Protestants remained adamant that there were certain issues that they could not compromise upon—and their faith continued to grow and spread throughout the empire. Though the Council of Bologna opened in 1531, its attendance was primarily limited to Italian and French prelates. Pius V endured opposition from the Cardinals and the Curia for summoning the council—and the antipathy of the emperor to the council was well known, resulting in low attendance from the German prelates. Spanish prelates boycotted the assembly with the support of Prince Ferdinand, who believed any council within Italy would remain under the thumb of the French—especially he learned that French troops from the Armée d’Italie would serve as protection for the council while it was in Bologna. English clergy showed little interest in attending as well. “We have grave concerns of the outcome of this council—and fear that the French may press you into a course that will undermine our Holy Church,” Prince Ferdinand wrote in a private letter to Pius V. “We ask only that you consider holding the next sessions of the council outside the confines of Italy…” The Doge of Venice offered up Verona as an alternative location, while the burghers of Lucerne offered to host the council in Switzerland. Pius V answered that he would consider all possibilities carefully—but that the Council of Bologna would remain open and begin its work regardless—and that all were welcome to attend.

    350px-Lucas_Cranach_the_Younger_-_Martin_Luther_and_the_Wittenberg_Reformers_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg

    Martin Luther and the Wittenberg Reformers.

    Troubles in Germany amongst the Protestant princes continued; Philip of Hesse and John, the Elector of Saxony met at Mühlhausen in Thuringia. Both had been disappointed with the collapse of the League of Zwickau, and the two princes negotiated the creation of a new religious league, the League of Mühlhausen. Compared to Zwickau, the League of Mühlhausen was organized as a defensive religious alliance, with its members pledging to defend each other if their territories were attacked by Emperor Charles V. The Elector of Saxony was intent to mold the new alliance into a religious alliance—it was stipulated that any potential member states had to adhere to either the Lutheran Regensburg Confession or the Pentapolitan Confession, better known as the Swabian Confession, which had been presented to the emperor at Regensburg by the southern German cities of Konstanz, Lindau, Memmingen, Strasbourg, and Tübingen. The formation of yet another Protestant league within the confines of the empire-especially one aimed at the emperor himself caused Charles V great unease. “With each moment, the Protestants grow bolder—and they slip further away from our church.” A Papal diplomat in Germany wrote back to Pope Pius V. “How can our differences be resolved when what divides us grows deeper by the day?” Pius V attempted in aim to induce both German prelates to attend the Council of Bologna—as well as Protestants, with Pius V even sending a Papal Nuncio, Pier Paolo Vergerio to Wittenburg to negotiate with Martin Luther personally—an idea that would have been an anathema to the Popes nearly a decade before. “I do not quarrel with Vergerio,” Luther wrote to his wife, Katharina von Bora. “But in this, we cannot be swayed. A council in Italy, headed by the Pope and his lackeys would only do damage to our cause. If a council must be held, let it be held here in Germany—let the Catholics decide as they must, but us Protestants must have our due—official recognition of our creed.”

    The first sessions of the Council of Bologna in the spring of 1531 accomplished little—despite the King of France’s newfound strength in Italy, there remained great division within the Papal curia regarding holding such a council; reformists thought it a useless course to consider without Protestant attendance, while conservatives believed it to be mere pandering. The issue of French influence over the council hung heavy as well, with squabbles between the Italian and French prelates taking precedence over religious, doctrinal, or theological discussions. The Papal treasury also remained in a desperate situation—the payment of indemnities to the French had placed papal finances into such a dire strait that the Pope was in little position to fund such an endeavor. “His Holiness is reduced to beggaring himself for this council,” Cardinal Pucci, a member of the curia wrote scathingly. “He begs for scraps from the tables of the King of France while holding his hand out for alms for the King of Naples…neither which show little interest in aiding him. King François has no true desire for this council… he merely wishes to be in control of it.” Financial difficulties ultimately forced the closure of the council at Bologna in October of 1531. Pius V reached an agreement with the Republic of Venice for the council to be moved to Verona—but participation plummeted even further and would remain poor. In 1533, the council would be shuttered completely—without completing its task.

    Meanwhile, the chaos in Hungary continued. The magnates at the Diet of Sopron were encouraged in their rebellion by Mary of Austria—she provided aid to the rebels surreptitiously—through both her Bohemian privy purse and from Austrian revenues allocated to her by her position as Governor of Austria. Hungary’s army remained in a precarious condition, with John Zápolya’s private troops providing the backbone of the new royal force, with his own private wealth going to fund it. He relied heavily upon irregular troops, who carried out the raids across the borders into Bohemia and Austria. The magnate’s army clashed with royal troops near Györ and succeeded in occupying the city—burnishing the cause of the rebels. When news reached Zápolya in Buda, he ordered the raising of further levies from his private estates to fortify the areas to the capital. Petrus de Monte Libano, a Maronite friar who had served Louis II as a diplomat in Persia was dispatched to Constantinople. Petrus was ordered not only to remit the remaining tribute that was owed—but was given a sealed letter to be directed into the hands of the Sultan. In it, Zápolya requested the sultan’s aid in dealing with the Habsburgs.

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    Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, c. 1538.

    Suleiman the Magnificent received the Hungarian envoy with pleasantries at Topkapi Palace. Aside from the Sultan, his Grand Vizier, Pargali Ibrahim Pasha was present, as was the Greek Patriarch, Jeremiah. From behind a screen, the Sultan’s premier concubine watched—a maiden from Ruthenia known as Hürrem, while Venetian diplomats called her Roxelana—maiden from Ruthenia. “Petrus was received in the second courtyard—with the Sultan seated upon his gilded throne,” an anonymous participant of the Hungarian mission wrote. “The palace dwarfed anything that could be found in Hungary… peacocks roamed about the courtyard along with gazelle… and the meanest courtier was dressed more extravagantly than the richest magnate… this great palace, built upon the grounds of the vanquished corpse of Rome—it was here that Hungary’s destiny seemed to lie.” When the Sultan received the request of John Zápolya of Hungary, his declaration before his court was bolder than anything they had ever heard in the past: “I am the shadow of Allah on this Earth—Sultan of Sultans, Khan of Khans… I am the Lord of the Universe; kingdoms have crumbled to dust before my ancestors—and I shall do the same. Let Europe tremble before my blade: Vienna shall molder; Prague shall rot. The crescent will hang over Aachen, and I shall dine in the hall of false kings and prophets, and our son in Hungary shall reign supreme.” All the court was in awe—including the Hungarian diplomats, who soon realized what they had been asked to do. They had not merely come bearing money—they had given the Ottomans an open invitation to ravage further into Europe, with their king’s full approval.

    By the spring of 1532, Suleiman mustered an army in Bulgaria of 120,000 men. Aside from the elite Siphai and Janissaries, the army incorporated troops from Moldavia and Wallachia. Sultan Suleiman himself took supreme command of the forces with the Grand Vizier, Pargali Pasha named Serasker—a position that gave the Grand Vizier the power to give orders in the sultan’s name. The weather was fair and allowed the Ottoman army to arrive in Hungarian territory in the summer—one of the hottest, which caused issues amongst horses in the baggage train—though not the camels. John Zápolya met Suleiman near the village of Bár where Louis II had been slain almost six years before, to the day. Zápolya and Suleiman toured the battlefield—and Zápolya soon added his forces to the Ottoman army, which included some 12,000 cavalrymen. The Sultan was given a magnificent entry into Buda—with his army camped outside the city walls. “Overnight, a city sprung up outside of Buda,” one unnerved burgher wrote to a friend. “Foreign smells, foreign people—a slice of Arabia in the middle of Hungary.” John Zápolya hosted Suleiman at Buda Castle, where he was treated to grand entertainments—they were entertainments that Zápolya could seldom afford, but he knew that they must be given. Sultan Suleiman was also introduced to Queen Anne—one of the first recorded meetings between an Ottoman Sultan and a foreign consort. “Gracious queen—all that you and your husband desire shall soon be yours,” Suleiman was reported to have said upon their meeting.

    The march into Hungary had thrown Europe into chaos—and mayhem reigned along the border that Hungary shared with the Holy Roman Empire. When news spread of Suleiman’s reception at Buda, Mary was one of the first to write to Charles V. “The Turks are preparing for another campaign—they do not seek to vanquish Hungary… it is already theirs. What they seek is what is rightfully ours.” Charles V ordered Landsknechts dispatched to the Austrian frontier—while Prince Ferdinand sent a contingent of 1000 harquebusiers. Mary too did her part—bargaining with the Bohemian Diet for funding to reinforce fortresses along the Bohemian border—while dispatching 800 men under Ulrich of Hardegg, the hereditary Cupbearer of Austria who held the County of Glatz in Bohemia. The Imperial Diet was held in September of 1532—as Turkish troops bore down on holdings held by the Sopronist rebels within Hungary. The Diet was held at Trier—where the possible Turkish invasion was the primary subject—yet religious troubles also dominated the discussion, as the Mühlhausen League’s influence continued to grow. The Diet of Trier was also the first diet that Empress Renée attended—and the first showing of her possible religious tendencies. She met with Philipp Melanchthon and Justus Jonas, as well as Martin Bucer and Wolfgang Capito. The Protestants of the Diet were firm in their demands—they still had no interest in attending the council headed by the Papacy and pointed to the hypocrisy of the Catholic party—they resisted a general council held in Germany while refusing resolutely to attend the Council of Bologna—or Council of Verona, as it now was known. The proceeding years had seen significant growth of the Honorian party among the Catholics, who firmly believed that the emperor held the right to call such a proceeding. “The emperor was held in a vice between the vying the parties—the Honorians wished for the emperor to call a general council; the Protestants remained open to attending such a council, without papal interference…” one attendee to the Diet of Trier wrote in a letter. “…which a council summoned by the emperor would ensure. There remained a large segment of Catholics who believed such an idea tantamount to blasphemy… but the emperor was in desperate straits; the Turks would maraud Germany in due course… he knew that he would need to work with the Protestants, and not against them. The emperor had always been devout—and though he certainly had not been swayed by the ideas of Honorian, he was not averse to any idea that promised him more authority. More than that, he truly wished to bridge the divide between the Protestants and Catholics… if it took him summoning a council, was that not a worthy cause?” Charles V was finally pressed into agreeing to the demands put before him—in exchange for the support of the imperial army and the princes, he agreed that a council—which he termed a synod—should be summoned to discuss the religious issues plaguing the empire. While the Council of Verona devolved into further bickering, Charles V announced that the Synod of Trier would open in April of 1533; those who supported the reformation were given religious liberty[1] until the meeting of the synod, while all matters of religion placed before the imperial court were paused as well. A final article lifted Martin Luther’s outlaw status and granted him free passage to the synod should he wish to attend.

    [1] In effect, like the Nuremburg Religious Peace of 1532.
     
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    Chapter XXII. In the Queen's Realm
  • I was working on my Scandinavian chapter, but parts felt disunified without covering this event first. Mary's wedding! This is also a pretty monumentous chapter: I've hit a hundred pages of text in word, and almost 80k words. I wanted to thank everyone who's read, commented, or even just liked posts. It means a lot, and I never even thought that this story would get one or reader, let alone the amount we've got now, or the fact the thread has grown to 24 pages! Thank you everyone, and I hope you enjoy. :)

    Chapter 22. In the Queen’s Realm
    1532-1534; England

    “Her Grace, having reached her majority is now in full possession
    of her imperial crown and the state which pertains to it.”
    — Proclamation issued upon Queen Mary’s Majority


    Music Accompaniment: La My

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    Queen Mary of England, Flemish School; c. 1532.

    As 1532 dawned in England, the long regency of Queen Mary had finally ended. Her mother, Catherine of Aragon, had now been divested of the regency and was merely queen dowager, the widow of Henry VIII. Despite Mary’s often difficult relationship with Catherine as a teenager, one of Mary’s first acts as queen in her own right was to the benefit of Catherine—she assigned her mother lands and revenues from the royal domain for a life worth some £2900 per annum—while also allowing her to keep the additional lands and revenues worth £3000 that she had been granted in 1513 at the onset of her regency. This meant that Catherine’s annual revenues reached over £10,000, making her the wealthiest landowner within the kingdom—aside from the queen herself. Though Catherine had relinquished the heavy office that she had occupied for so many years, she did not stray far from court and decided that she would make her home at Hanworth Manor, one of Henry VIII’s former hunting retreats. Catherine immediately embarked on a building program, and while she maintained a small coterie of ladies about her as a court, two women were her dearest friends: Maria de Salinas and Margaret Pole.

    In January, Mary and her court came to reside for a period at the Palace of Westminster—the first time the court had come to reside there since fire had ravaged the royal apartments in 1512. The residential section had been rebuilt and refurbished under Catherine’s aegis—but it never became a favored residence of the young queen. “I remember the first night I spent as queen in my own right,” Mary would write in her private diary. “Not the first night, but the one I still remember—at Westminster, that vile cacophony of stone. Though my mother had refurbished it brilliantly, and my chambers had every creature comfort that I might desire… I spent one of the most miserable nights of my reign there. Cold, dank, and drafty—I awoke the next morning with a terrible chill; though my ladies attempted to care for me, I was in the foulest of moods for the remainder of the day. Never again would I spend a night under the roof at Westminster. A queen must have her castle or palace—she must not share the same roof with little lawyers and the sundry other administrators of the crown.” Mary’s more favored residences were more well-known. “The Queen adored Greenwich, where she had been born,” one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting wrote. “And she enjoyed hosting Christmas celebrations at Eltham as well as Richmond—where the queen hunted with great passion. Windsor was her escape—and she would spend very many happy times there.”

    While Mary settled into her majority, Prince John of Denmark remained ensconced at Oldhall. “The prince improves daily, madam,” the Duke of Norfolk wrote in a letter to Catherine of Aragon. “I do not believe he shall ever be a scholar—but he is every inch a prince, and so will be every inch a king.” John certainly was not as academically minded as Queen Mary—but he was a skilled athlete, and he enjoyed hunting in the forests near Oldhall, along with roughhousing with his boyish companions. At fourteen he was already beginning to grow into the man he would soon become—and his time at Oldhall was punctuated with visits to the court, where he participated in court entertainments and was allowed to meet with his betrothed, albeit in a heavily controlled environment. “The little prince comes again, this month,” Queen Mary was said to have reported dryly and with annoyance when she learned that John was due to visit her—yet with a small smile upon her face as she spoke. “The queen was not fond of the Prince of Denmark at first, that is true,” one courtier wrote anonymously in a letter home. “But as he grew—and so did she, she did become fond of him—especially when she learned that he was just as avid hunter as she was.” It perhaps was not a relationship born of romance or passion—but one of mutual interest, and that was better than nothing at all. “Her Majesty had little interest in the young prince when he first arrived. He was a boy of twelve, and she—nearly a grown woman. Some whispered that her disinterest in Prince John was because of her interest elsewhere—in young Charles Blount, a member of her household and friend since her youth…” Certainly, Charles Blount—son of the Baron Mountjoy and one of Catherine of Aragon’s Spanish attendances, Inés de Venegas was considered one of the dandies of Queen Mary’s court—he was handsome and debonair and had a reputation of being flirt—most especially with the queen. “He could be overly familiar with the queen—who enjoyed bawdy jokes. But she never forgot her dignity or who she was. Yes, she did love Charles Blount—but as a brother. The queen knew where her duty lay—and that was with Prince John.” Charles Blount would benefit from his friendship with Mary—and early in her reign was named as her Master of the Horse.

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    Portrait of a Young Man, c. 1533. Believed to be Prince John of Denmark.

    Politically, Mary sought to mold her policies. She appointed a member of her household, Walter Devereaux, Baron Ferrers to the Council of Wales. She also sought to innovate the government by reestablishing the Council of the North which had lapsed following the death of Henry VII. The Council was charged was administering justice in the northern counties of England, with Mary naming Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland as head of the Council. Compared with her mother who preferred clergymen and Bishops to staff her councils, Mary preferred the aristocracy—little surprise, given that she had grown up in her household surrounded by the sons and daughters of them. “The queen trusts the nobility, but not blindly,” one councilor wrote in a letter to another. “She seeks an even, prosperous administration—and believes that those who have a stake in the kingdom will do better than those who do not.” Mary was dutiful in her duties as sovereign—she awoke every morning before the sun rose, and after breakfast, she attended mass and would meet with the council, before spending her morning answering letters and dealing with administrative tasks. After lunch, she would spend the afternoons in audiences and further meetings. While the evenings were often capped off with feasts, masques, and other entertainments, Mary would often continue to work for several hours even after she retired to her chamber for the evening.

    Mary, like her mother, was dedicated to her faith. “Her Majesty was dutiful in her religious observances—her faith served as her anchor. Her religion had been instilled by her mother—though, unlike Catherine, her faith did not consume her. Her Majesty believed that her faith was something which completed her—it did not dominate her.” one lady-in-waiting wrote in a private letter. “Her faith is tempered by an English practicality.” Mary’s government continued the policies pursued by Catherine that sought to reorganize the church in England—most especially in terms of monastic life, with hopes that the practical benefits would offer the most striking refutation to arguments made by the Protestant reformers. Despite this, Mary, like her cousin Charles V, showed little support for the Council of Bologna summoned by Pope Pius V, mainly because of the overwhelming French influence upon it. Despite this, Mary had a cordial relationship with Pius V—the first pontiff of her majority. “I am most glad of the friendship of England in these trying times,” Pope Pius V wrote in a letter to Queen Mary. “And happier that England has been blessed with a queen who is and remains a pious daughter to the Pope and the Holy See. Continue to follow in the footsteps of your blessed father of memory and your mother—and you shall have the brightest reign—and one most deserving, for England’s first queen.” Pius V was certainly more indulgent with the Queen of England than he was with the emperor—in 1533, the Pope rewarded both Queen Mary and her mother Catherine with the Golden Rose—while Mary was honored with the title of Most Pious Majesty, like the styles enjoyed by the Kings of Spain and France. This marked a new position for the sovereigns of England—and their position in Europe.

    Prince John of Denmark celebrated his sixteenth birthday in February of 1534—to the relief of the queen’s councilors, who were eager to see the marriage of their sovereign come to fruition. “Of course, we are not displeased with the queen,” one councilor wrote in a letter to another. “But the fact remains that she is a woman, and the business of government is too heavy for her alone. England has suffered without a king for nearly twenty years now, under the tyranny of a petticoat government. The Prince of Denmark is our salvation and our aid—he shall be the son that our late king always desired.” Mary herself seemed more subdued when John’s birthday was celebrated with great pomp at Windsor Castle—with a great feast and celebrations that carried late into the night. “They see him as a man when he is still a boy,” Mary lamented privately to Anne Parr. “While I am a woman who is seen as a girl. He is the rising star now—their future king.” It was perhaps Mary’s greatest fear—that her marriage would see her position forever altered, and the position which her mother had raised her for would disappear completely. Would she still be Queen of England, and be obeyed, once there was a man who was king? The Privy Council met several days later, pressing the queen to name a date for the marriage. Unsurprisingly, the queen exploded before the council in a characteristic flash of her Tudor anger: “Sniveling, insignificant little men—sirs, do you truly think to command me as you do your wives? I am your prince, your sovereign—I may be a woman, and I may be young, but am not weak nor am I feeble, and I challenge any man to discharge my duties as well as I have. It is monstrous that you would think to direct me—you do as I say, I do not do as you say.” Mary dismissed the council in a fit of anger—stating that she alone would decide the date of her wedding.

    350px-Andrea_del_Sarto_-_Triumph_of_Caesar_-_WGA00382.jpg

    Triumph of Caesar, Andrea del Sarto.

    The queen’s reaction to the marriage date caused great unease among the council—they found themselves forced to seek out the advice of the queen dowager, who advised calm. “The queen knows what must be done,” Catherine advised the councilors. “But she has not yet acclimated herself completely to the idea. Knowing it was once years away, but now merely weeks or months—it has frightened her. Give her the evening to cool—even tempers will prevail in the morning.” Catherine asked that John’s secretary, Johan von Weze visit Mary—along with growing closer to John, Mary had become quite fond of his secretary where he fulfilled the role of a paternal father figure for the queen. Johan von Weze was more than pleased to pay a visit to the young queen—and he spent the evening closeted with her within her privy chamber. “She trusted von Weze without reservations,” Anne Parr would later write. “He became just as much the queen’s advisor as the prince’s. She relied upon him—not only to give her sound advice—but to be honest with her. He spoke plainly when necessary and wasn’t afraid to tell the queen the truth—even when it displeased her.” There are no records of what von Weze and Mary discussed that evening following her explosion—but whatever they discussed, it had the desired effect. The next morning when she met with her Privy Council, she apologized for her outburst. “You must understand that I am merely a woman,” Mary said in a pretty little speech—playing up her feminine frailty—just as the day before, she had dismissed such frailty as nonsense within the councilor’s heads. “To embark upon marriage is a frightening prospect for me, a mere maid and virgin. Yet I know that this marriage has been arranged for the good of the realm; it must go onward. You may announce then, milords—to the court and the kingdom the date of my wedding: the twenty-third of April—the feast day of Saint George, in two months hence.” Whatever Mary’s true thoughts—she was doing what was being asked of her, for the good of the realm.

    The last royal wedding held in England was that of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon at a chapel near the Palace of Greenwich. Given the extraordinary position of Mary as England’s first queen regnant, it was decided that the wedding should be held at Westminster Abbey—much like the marriage of Mary’s grandparents, which had also been held there. Preparations were handled by the surveyor of royal works, who carried out minor repairs within the abbey—while Mary’s chief usher, a gentleman called James Fanshawe—was ordered to construct a dais and to decorate the abbey with tapestries and hangings from the royal treasury. Three days before the wedding, Prince John made his ceremonial entrance into the city of London. “The prince’s procession was bedecked in finery,” one participant wrote. “Riding upon a white horse, he wore a cloak of crimson etched with cloth of gold thread; his doublet was of pale blue silk, with a black jerkin and crimson hose. A sword hung in his scabbard, and his boots were made of fine leather.” The streets had been swept, and several foreign ambassadors hosted entertainments for the common. After a procession through the city, Prince John took a royal barge to Greenwich Palace—where he was received by Queen Mary and the English court. Prince John bowed low to the queen to offer his obeisance—with Mary raising him and planting two kisses upon his cheeks. Before the court, Mary announced: “My lords and ladies—this is the future King of England.” Entertainment was held at Greenwich for the days leading up to the wedding—with Prince John staying during that time at Greenwich Castle, a hunting lodge located at the foot of the hill where Greenwich Palace was located. “The queen was in good spirits, though we could not pierce her reverie or inner thoughts,” Catherine Willoughby wrote in her juvenile journal. “She sent Prince John numerous gifts—including several cloaks for his wedding attire.”

    600px-Paolo_Veronese_008.jpg

    Wedding of Cana, Paolo Veronese.

    The day of the wedding fell upon a Monday. Prince John was the first to enter Westminster Abbey—and Queen Mary followed an hour later. The queen’s outfit was especially ornate—a gown in the French style, it was a rich purple velvet, etched with golden cloth of gold thread—with a striking white brocade about the edges. The queen wore an ermine cloak decorated with roses and pomegranates, bedecked with pearls and diamonds and she wore some of her finest jewels, including a necklace of the cross which her mother had brought from Spain, and a girdle belt of gold. Prince John’s outfit was equally opulent, to emphasize his union with the Queen of England—the same white brocade which had been used upon Mary’s gown decorated his doublet. His robe was cloth of gold, etched with crimson thread and lined with soft crimson satin. Over his doublet, he wore a jerkin of dark blue silk, with golden thread and golden pearl buttons. About his neck, John wore the jeweled collar of the Order of the Garter which had been granted to him by the queen several days previously—having been commissioned by Mary for some £8000. The Abbey was sumptuously decorated with standards, streamers, and tapestries—including several that were emblazoned with the Danish regalia. A raised wooden platform stretched from the door of the abbey to the choir, where Fanshawe had erected the dais for the wedding ceremony. Both John’s suite and the queen’s ladies were sumptuously attired, as well.

    The wedding was celebrated by Cuthbert Tunstall, the Archbishop of Canterbury—having succeeded Archbishop Warham in 1532. Archbishop Tunstall gave a speech that the wedding had been blessed and approved by Parliament—and was being carried out by the wishes of the realm. “If there be any man that knoweth any lawful impediment between these two parties, that they should not go together according to the contract concluded between both realms,” the archbishop announced before the whole abbey. “That they should come forth, and they should be heard.” When none answered, Tunstall then spoke in English and Latin—asking who would give the queen away. The honor was done by the Duke of Norfolk, the Countess of Salisbury, and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Derby in the name of the whole realm with Queen Catherine looking on proudly. Mary’s wedding ring had been chosen by the queen herself—a golden band with a large stone of lapis lazuli—inlaid with diamonds and opals. Following the marriage ceremony, both Mary and John proceeded to the high altar. After the marriage service, the Garter King of Arms, Thomas Wriothesley proclaimed Mary and John joint rulers—before proclaiming their titles in Latin, French, and English: Rex et Regina Angliae et Franciae, Dominus et Domina Hiberniae, Rex et Regina Pius.”
     
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    Chapter 23. Star of the North
  • Chapter 23. Star of the North
    1533-1536; Denmark, England, Germany & Sweden.

    “Mild measures are of no use; the remedies that give the whole body a good shaking are the best and surest.”
    — Christian II of Denmark


    Music Accompaniment: O Rosa Bella

    600px-Carta_Marina.jpeg

    Carte Marina, c. 1539.

    Scandinavia had not been untouched by the changes that had rocked Europe in the past twenty years. Though Christian II of Denmark had succeeded for a period in imposing his rule over Sweden and restoring the Kalmar Union, his harsh policies soon resulted in his deposition. Sweden elected a new king—Gustav Vasa, who soon made a sharp break with Rome. Despite the loss of Sweden, Christian undertook progressive reforms in Denmark to reduce the power of the nobility and the bishops—an act that cost Christian II the throne of Denmark as well, with his uncle Frederik being named king. Christian had languished in exile—he converted to Lutheranism for a time, and his children were handed over into the care of Empress Mary—with his eldest son, John, being betrothed to Queen Mary of England. Though Christian II had reaccepted the Catholic faith in 1531, he received little assistance from Charles V, and his attempt to reclaim the Danish throne in 1532 ended with his capture and imprisonment. Christian II’s attempt to reclaim the Danish throne had been foiled by support Frederik had received from the fleet of the Hanseatic City of Lübeck. In return for their aid, Frederik granted Lübeck extensive trading privileges and rights within Denmark. Following Empress Mary’s death, care of the Danish Princesses, Christina, and Dorothea as well as Prince John passed for a time to their great-aunt, Margaret of Austria—before passing to the care of the emperor’s new wife, Renée of France.

    The reign of Frederik in Denmark had been one of passivity. Frederik was proclaimed the protector of Catholicism in his coronation charter, but also played a role in the spread of the reformation, supporting a known reformist preacher, Hans Tausen, and encouraging the translation of the Bible into Danish. Protestants and Catholics were forced to share the same churches, and Frederik closed monasteries throughout the kingdom. Though he kept tensions to a minimum throughout his reign between the bickering religious factions, trouble was on the horizon as Frederik’s health began to fail—in April of 1533, Frederik died at Gottorp in Holstein—and would be buried in Schleswig Cathedral. Frederik desired to be succeeded by his son—Duke Christian of Schleswig-Holstein. Compared to his more cautious father, Duke Christian was a known Lutheran and made little secret of his views. This immediately brought him into conflict with the Danish Privy Council, or Rigsråd, which remained dominated by the Catholic nobility and prelates—to which the idea of a Protestant king remained odious. Though Christian was proclaimed Christian III of Denmark at an assembly in Jutland by a minority of Protestant councilors, the Rigsråd refused to accept him as king—declaring that they would make their decision in a year. The council was split—while some wished for Christian III to become king, they did not possess a majority; some of the Catholics on the council preferred the idea of crowning Christian’s younger brother, Hans as king. Protestant lords left the council in protest, leaving the conservatives in control of the Rigsråd —and effectively in control of the kingdom, as well. The bishops once more had control over the nominations of priests, halted Lutheran teachings, and declared Protestant supporters as heretics. During the interregnum, the Burgomaster of Lübeck, Jürgen Wullenwever offered his support to Christian III. Wullenwever had become a burgomaster in the aftermath of religious and political revolts in Lübeck in 1531 which had ousted the pro-Imperial and pro-Catholic aristocratic faction. Lübeck objected to the idea of a Roman Catholic becoming King of Denmark and attempted to offer their support to Christian III. The new king, however, had little desire to renew the trading privileges that had been granted to Lübeck in his father’s reign—and instead firmly rebuffed their offer of support.

    “The new men of Lübeck felt blindsided by the King of Denmark’s refusal to work with them,” a Hanseatic historian of the period wrote. “Both parties were united in both politics and religion—and the Lübeck navy had helped King Frederik in fending off Christian II’s invasion two years previously. By showing his ingratitude, Christian III alienated a potential ally—and laid the seeds for his demise.” While Wullenwever plotted the downfall of the King of Denmark, the pro-Imperial faction within Lübeck had been scattered, including the previous Burgomaster—Nikolaus Brömse, who had sought refuge in the Low Countries, where he was knighted by Emperor Charles V and named an Imperial Councilor. Brömse found a helpful ally in Charles V, as Wullenwever represented not just a threat to Lübeck, but to Charles’ ancestral dominions as well, with Wullenwever attempting to limit Dutch merchants’ access through the Danish Sound—both through the treaty he had negotiated with Frederik, which Christian III was refusing to enforce—and through privateers. Brömse’s negotiations with the emperor also brought him into contact with Christopher, the Count of Oldenburg who often served as a mercenary to supplement his income—and despite his Lutheran faith, was willing to support the highest bidder. Christopher remained a supporter of his cousin, Christian II—and it was through him that plans were hatched to bring about not only the destruction of Wullwever and the restoration of Lübeck’s rightful government—but to topple King Christian III and restore Christian II to his rightful place. Further support came from the Counts of East Frisia—Enno II, married to Anna of Oldenburg offered support to Christopher’s plans, while Enno’s brother, Johan, a soldier in imperial service, offered his services as a commander.

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    Enno II of East Frisia, one of the many allies seeking to aid Christian II.

    While Christoph and Brömse plotted, a delegation of nobility opposed to Christian III traveled to England in great secrecy in 1534. The delegation was headed by Kristoffer Throndsen, a Norwegian admiral related to the Archbishop of Nidaros, and included Claus Bille, a member of the Rigsråd and a member of one of Skåne’s greatest Catholic families. Throndsen and Bille arrived in May of 1534—a month following the wedding between John—now King of England, and Queen Mary. “King John and Queen Mary received us warmly at Eltham Palace quite early in the morning on a Friday; the queen is very pretty and dresses well; the king, despite his youth, is every inch a king. We were invited to breakfast with the king and queen within their privy chamber, where we enjoyed a fish day breakfast of various offerings…” Both Throndsen and Bille impressed upon John and Mary the facts: Denmark and Norway had suffered long enough under the tyranny of the usurper, and they desired to see the return of their rightful king. King Frederik’s son, Christian III, was a notorious Protestant—if he succeeded to the throne, it would mean an end to the Catholic Church in both realms—and in Scandinavia as a whole. “You must understand that you are our only hope,” Claus Bille spoke to both the king and queen—with his words aimed squarely at John. “Your father is our rightful king, but that is not enough—people have long memories and remember the disasters of his earlier reign. You are his heir, and the people accept you as such. You are the one to temper the king and bring those wavering onto his side.”

    Both Throndsen and Bille were thanked for their time—with John granting the pair lodgings within Eltham for the duration of their visit and granting both £300 for their travel expenses. The crisis in Denmark represented the first great foreign policy test of John and Mary’s reign—and the first which divided them. “His Majesty is greatly troubled,” Ascanio Arianiti wrote in a letter to his father, Prince Cominato—or Comnène, as he became known at the imperial court. “He believes that there is a real chance to restore his father and his family to their ancestral throne—but that it shall rely upon him and whatever aid he can render from his present dominions. The queen, although sympathetic, has counseled the king to act with caution.” Anne Parr, Mary’s favored companion, had her thoughts on the matter: “Most certainly, the queen was sympathetic to the king’s desire to be of aid to his family… but what she feared was the cost to England, in money, ships, and men… nor had she forgotten the troubles her mother had endured in the wars abroad for her cousin the emperor. She feared that any aid rendered for the king’s aspirations would cost England dearly—and offer little benefit in return…” This represented the troubles of Mary’s new position—no longer was she sole sovereign. Only two days after her wedding, the Privy Council had met with both the King and Queen and had adopted measures that gave John a real measure of power within England—matters of state henceforth required both sovereign’s signature and a new state seal had been ordered—bearing the names of both John and Mary. Sir Thomas More, as Lord Privy Seal also began to meet with John daily to discuss matters of government—and John soon began to attend council meetings and hold audiences of his own—as well as receiving dispatches. He was not simply a figurehead that the queen could ignore.

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    The Coat of Arms of Denmark and England, c. 1533.
    Following John's marriage, the arms of England would be impaled with those of Denmark and Norway.

    As John wrangled with what he might be able to do to help his father, the situation in Denmark deteriorated further. In Lübeck, Wullenwever was incensed over Christian III’s refusal to abide by the treaties signed by King Frederik and dispatched privateers to harass Danish shipping—while mercenaries hired by the Hanseatic City were sent into Holstein to ravage Plön, Neumünster, as well as Eutin, home of the Prince-Bishop of Lübeck, who remained an ardent Catholic. Skipper Clement, a Danish privateer who remained a loyalist to Christian II also caused issues, raiding Vendsyssel and northern Jutland. Troops from Christoph of Oldenburg’s alliance instigated an uprising in favor of Christian II—with troops landing in Zealand and Skåne. Both Copenhagen and Malmø readily rallied to the side of Christopher of Oldenburg. In August of 1534, Christopher of Oldenburg accepted the government of Skåne for Christian II. The rapid deterioration of the situation in Denmark caused great unease among both Throndsen and Bille—who feared that John would be overshadowed by those who were already acting in the name of his father. “You are needed in Denmark, sire,” Throndsen was reported as saying to King John in a meeting when news finally reached England regarding the troubles in Denmark and the success that Christopher of Oldenburg had enjoyed in Skåne. “The longer you are away—the more the influence of the others grows. They cannot all have your father’s best interest in mind; some may even hope to climb the throne themselves.” John decided that he could wait no longer—with Mary continuing to encourage patience, the King of England decided that he would take the question before the Privy Council himself.

    “Trouble brews in Denmark as we speak,” John began before the assembled council. “I come before you, not just as King of England—but as a Prince of Denmark. We believe that there is a real possibility here to restore my father to his rightful place as king—but also to banish the Protestants and heresy from Denmark for the rest of time. I know that I come before you as your sovereign with a heavy request—but is it not our duty to do what is right? A king cannot and should not be tossed from his throne on mere whim; nor can I sit idly while our Holy Church is torn asunder in the kingdom of my birth. As King of England, Most Pious King, it is my duty—and the duty of this realm, to stamp out troubles wherever we might.” Though John’s plea was impassioned, the Privy Council was gravely concerned by his proposals: John had been King of England for scarcely five months—and already he sought to entangle England in troubles abroad. “He was chosen because he was a princeling of no stature—and his father had no throne,” one councilor grumbled in a letter to another. “Should his father once more become King of Denmark, then he too will one day become king of that country…and England shall be forever entangled in their affairs. Who is to say this will be the last time English blood and gold shall be requested for the king’s Danish ambitions?”

    The Privy Council could not help but look to the queen, who had remained in silence throughout the meeting. “Milords, the king speaks true. Denmark requires succor—and it is our duty to provide.” Mary, troubled as she was by the issues in Denmark—had offered her support to John in this endeavor. There remain many questions as to why—when there is so much evidence that suggests her opposition. Some believe that perhaps she was swayed by Johan von Weze—who following the wedding of John to Mary had become a key advisor to both sovereigns, seeking to meld both of their outlooks into a singular vision. Others take a more pragmatic approach: the queen’s powers had been gravely restricted in the aftermath of her marriage, something which rankled her. Were John to leave to the kingdom to deal with the issues in Denmark, it would leave her as supreme authority within what was her kingdom by birth, for however long he might be gone. There also remained a chance of success: should Christian II be restored, then certainly, John would one day succeed him as King of Denmark. As the heir to Denmark and its future king, then he might be expected to spend even more time abroad, further weakening his position as Mary’s co-ruler—it would allow the present situation to be fixed into one more amiable to Mary’s rights as sovereign.

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    Peter Pomegranate, one of the English warships which would fight in the Danish War of Succession.

    To provide immediate aid, Mary ordered that £12,000 be granted directly to John from the royal treasury and that 6000 infantrymen and 2000 cavalrymen would be raised to serve under John—along with ships from the English navy, including two of the largest warships available: the Mary Rose and Peter Pomegranate. It was agreed that John, as well as Throndsen and Bille, should depart as soon as possible—but with the late time of year, it was agreed that their voyage should be deferred until April 1535. John did not spend this time idly; he wrote to his uncle, Charles V, beseeching further aid—who was amiable to offer John what support he could, given that there were rumors of Christian III and his allies attempting to stir up trouble in East Frisia and Guelders through their support of Balthasar von Esens. The emperor agreed to provide John with some ƒ20,000; agreements between England and the emperor stipulated that the money loaned to John would be deducted from the total debt that Charles V owed England—which stood at nearly £150,000—not including interest, nor the 250,000 ducats which the emperor had promised to add to Mary’s dowry when she wed—which had yet to be paid.

    Mary and John would spend Christmas at Richmond in great style—while the new year was spent with the king and queen bonding over building plans—Mary, having little desire to stay at the Palace of Westminster, still desired a palace within London alongside the Thames. Royal surveyors began to scout out lands north of Westminster, while Mary and John pondered what the future might hold. John departed from England in late March of 1535—with Mary seeing John off at Greenwich. “I shall pray for you and your father—and the success of your endeavors,” Mary reportedly said to her husband in their final interview—her land clasped over her abdomen as she spoke. “And I hope you too, shall pray for us in our endeavors here at home.” It was a veiled announcement from the queen to the king—that was finally pregnant and expecting, after nearly a year of marriage. “All were pleased with the queen’s news,” Anne Parr wrote in a letter to her mother. “Except perhaps the queen herself—she had not expected to fall pregnant as soon as this; and while she was not completely displeased with the news, she knew that her life would be forever changed when she finally gave birth—it was then that she would be in truth a woman.” In a final meeting with the Privy Council, John instructed the councilors to obey the queen solely as they had before their marriage, and that in his absence documents would require solely the signature of the queen.

    By the time the campaign season began in 1535, Denmark was in chaos—Christopher of Oldenburg continued to hold Skåne and Zealand, while Christian III held Jutland—under attack from raids from Skipper Clement, while Holstein was ravaged by mercenaries hired by Lübeck. Christian III’s troops were commanded by Johan Rantzau, who was ordered to deal first with Wullenwever and Lübeck. Danish troops under Rantzau clashed with Wullenwever’s men at the Battle of Lütjenburg, where Wullenwever’s troops were defeated. The tide also began to turn against Wullenwever’s party in Lübeck when the Imperial Chamber Court at Speyer decreed the restoration of Lübeck’s previous constitution and supported the restoration of Nikolaus Brömse as Burgomaster. Meanwhile, John and his fleet—augmented by ships and supplies provided by Charles V—landed in Oslo to popular acclaim. John was met by Olav Engelbrektsson, the Archbishop of Nidaros and Regent of Norway—as well as the President of the Norwegian Privy Council—known as the Riksråd. “The Prince of Norway has returned—the heir to our rightful king,” Archbishop Engelbrektsson declared before the Riksgråd at Akerhaus Castle, which like Oslo, welcomed John with welcome arms. Archbishop Engelbrektsson was prepared to offer up Norway to John—but both he and the Riksråd had wished for John to agree to certain capitulations before they would agree. In what became known as the Håndfæstning of Oslo, John pledged that Norway would continue to be governed by the Riksråd in the absence of the king; he agreed that taxes within Norway should not be levied without the consent of the council and that the status of the Catholic Church in Norway should be respected and protected. The final article concerned Norway’s administration—John pledged in his father’s name that the king would only govern Norway through Norwegians—either those born within the kingdom or those who had married into the country. John was soon recognized formally as Prince of Norway. John’s first act in Norway was the seizure of Nonneseter Abbey, which had been secularized in 1528 and handed over to Vincens Lunge as a private residence. John restored the abbey into the hands of the church and asked that Archbishop Engelbrektsson restore the nunnery there that had been closed in 1497.

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    English and Imperial Ships, Copenhagen.

    John’s landing in Norway had allowed him to claim that kingdom for his father. He dispatched troops—as well as several ships from his fleet, including the Mary Rose to subdue the northern fortresses, while those in southern Norway, such as Bergenhus, were seized with little issue. John took his time in Norway to recruit further troops for his father’s cause—some 3000 infantrymen, while he dispatched some ƒ10,000 of the funds he had received from Charles V to hire mercenary troops in Germany. John decided that his best bet was to take the fight to Christian III—while portions of Zealand and Skåne had rallied to his father’s cause, Christian III still retained the majority of Jutland—where his support and influence remained the strongest. “We must wipe out the heretic pretender root and stem from his domains in Holstein and Jutland,” John wrote in a letter to Count Christopher of Oldenburg. “He has done us a favor in dealing with Wullenwever; let us return the favor to him.” After a short stay in Norway, John soon departed—with plans to land his troops in Lübeck. The conflict in Denmark had spilled outside of Scandinavia as well, as open warfare broke out in the Low Countries. The Duke of Guelders hired Meindert van Ham, who threatened Holland, and further skirmishes occurred between troops from Guelders and the Frisians. Guelders would be forced out of the fight in 1536—forced to cede Groningen and Drenthe to the emperor. Christian III was soon forced to look for support from his northern neighbor—and Gustav Vasa aided by sending troops into Skåne. Swedish troops fought against forces under Christopher of Oldenburg at the Battle of Søbo—where Christopher was killed in battle, leading to the ravaging of Skåne by Swedish troops. Swedish troops would occupy Skåne until their ejection in 1537—and it was Christian III’s alliance with Gustav Vasa that Sweden’s interest in Skåne can be traced. John’s army arrived in Lübeck in the summer of 1535—where they assisted in restoring order. Nikolaus Brömse was not only restored as Burgomaster but a Catholic Mass was celebrated at the Lübeck Marienkirche with Prince John in attendance.

    As Prince John’s army pressed into Holstein, a segment of John’s fleet, under the command of Sir Thomas Spert succeeded in landing on the island of Als, where the town of Sønderborg was seized—including Sønderborg Castle, where Christian II had been held since his capture in 1531. “The king was not held in a miserable condition, as some have alleged,” Thomas Spert wrote in a letter home. “He had been allowed to keep a great estate at Sønderborg—though in close confinement. Still, the king felt relief to see allies and not enemies: he fell unto his knees, declaring to all that his deliverance had finally come.” The freed king was soon escorted to Copenhagen—where he was allowed to take up residence at Copenhagen Castle for the first time since his exile in 1523. A meeting of the Rigsråd—comprising primarily of the Catholic prelates and nobility who had rejected the election of Christian III nearly two years earlier were more than happy to offer the crown to Christian II in what became known as the Danish Readeption, while envoys from Norway proclaimed their allegiance to Christian II as well—contingent on his acceptance of the capitulations from Oslo. From Lübeck, John’s army pressed into the Duchy of Holstein, where he clashed against the army of Rantzau at the Battle of Oldenbüttel—where John received his true baptism of fire. “Rantzau had sought refuge near Oldenbüttel, hoping that he could set upon our forces and prevent us from pressing into Jutland…” wrote Francis Cosby, an English officer serving with King John home. “He expected that we would pass near Oldenbüttel at first light, giving him the advantage—he did not expect King John to offer up a feint, marching us through the night so that we might occupy more advantageous ground by morning.” The Battle of Oldenbüttel lasted only three hours, with King John leading the cavalry charge that shattered Rantzau’s army—and any hope for Christian III, who soon sought refuge at Gottorp Castle.

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    Baptism of Christ, Pietro Perugino.

    News of King John’s victory reached England in September to the jubilation of the court—an added happiness as Mary approached the end of her pregnancy. She had chosen to undertake her confinement at Greenwich, where she had been born. On October 7th, 1535, Mary gave birth—though not to the long-awaited prince that so many sought. “The queen has delivered a bonny princess,” Anne Parr wrote ecstatically in a letter home. “She is well, and so, thank God, is the babe—the little princess is to be named Mary… in honor of the queen as well as the late empress, who did not live to see this auspicious day. She is very pretty—with little brown eyes.” Though some within the council were concerned at the failure of the queen to deliver a son, others counseled patience—the queen was still young—and unlike her mother, seemed to have a knack for the childbed. Queen Mary had made it through her travail—and immediately after her birth began to resume the business of government, signing documents from her childbed. “You are the first Princess of England to be born in nearly forty years…” Mary reportedly cooed to her little daughter. “You are not a son—but just as well desired, for you shall always be mine. I shall be your dearest friend—and you mine.” Catherine of Aragon was in tears when she was finally allowed to hold her granddaughter—the hope of England and the royal house. “All that I have long labored for has come to fruition,” Catherine wrote in a letter to the emperor. “The queen has given birth—and the royal line is secure for the next generation if it is in God’s Grace.” Three days following the young princess’s birth, she was baptized at the Church of the Observant Friars—just as her mother had been, and just as Henry VIII had been. The young princesses’ godparents included Charles V, who was represented by the Earl of Essex and the Duke of Norfolk, as well as Catherine of Aragon and the Countess of Salisbury. The queen had commissioned a baptismal font, especially for the birth of her first child, in what became known as the Marian Font—made of solid gold and standing at nearly three feet tall, it depicted various elements from the Virgin Mary’s life, from the immaculate conception to her assumption.

    While Mary labored in England, John labored in Denmark—having now placed Christian III under siege at Gottorp Castle. After leaving the siege in the hands of his German mercenaries under the command of Johan of East Frisia, John marched the bulk of his army further into Jutland to deal with the last holdouts of noble resistance who still supported Christian III—spearheaded by two of Christian III’s most vehement supporters, Niels Brock, and Holger Rosenkrantz. Near Varde, John promulgated the Ordinance of Varde in the name of his father, Christian II: “John—by the Grace of God, King of England, and Prince of Norway—do hereby declare in the name of our father, Christian II, King of Denmark and Norway—that we seek to end the disorder that has gripped the realm since our father’s exclusion. We declare that Denmark is a Catholic kingdom—and will continue to maintain its allegiance to the One, True, Roman Faith—and all such measures enacted since the reign of the usurper Frederik is null and void; attacks upon churches and monasteries must cease—and lands seized for secular purposes shall be returned to their original owners…” The ordinance outlined John’s attempts to restore the order of the former Catholic Church within Denmark—even as confusion still reigned throughout the kingdom. Christian III and Jutish nobility held out until May of 1536—not only did John succeed in dealing with troops raised by the nobles near Støvring, but Gottorp Castle fell after a siege, with Christian III, now styled merely as Duke Christian of Holstein taken hostage by Johan of East Frisia. Aside from the duke, his wife—Dorothea of Saxe-Lauenberg was also taken into custody—heavily pregnant, she suffered a miscarriage shortly after the castle was seized—depriving her husband of a possible child and heir[1], with the pair remaining childless. Duke Christian was soon moved to Nyborg Castle, where he would be held in close confinement. Further salt was poured upon the wound when Charles V declared that Duke Christian was subject to an Imperial Ban, rewarding his territories in Holstein to Christian II—restoring the whole of Holstein and Schleswig into the Danish Royal demesne since the time of Christian I.

    [1]Compared to OTL, they’ve not managed to have a living child.
     
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    Addendum: Map of Europe, 1536
  • Thought this might be of interest to people, so here is a map of Europe c. ~1536, following Christian II's restoration. Doesn't follow any traditional color scheme, just used colors from schemes I liked for certain countries. Darker shades (such as French Milan, or Danish Norway, Lithuania, ect) use 'dominion' coloring to present territories held outside the main crown / personal unions. Lighter shades (such as Genoa, Asti) use 'protectorate' coloring to represent territories where influence of a certain nation is paramount.

    Used a 1500 map as a base, so boundaries / borders are to the best of my knowledge, and especially in France with Navarrese fiefs and Ireland with the various chiefdoms are likely not super accurate, but give a general idea. In France, aside from the Navarrese fiefs, the holdings of the House of Bourbon are shown as well, now held by François, the son of the Duke of Bourbon.

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    Chapter 24. Discord Along the Danube
  • Chapter 24. Discord Along the Danube
    1533-1535; Germany, Hungary & the Ottoman Empire.

    “I am wholly resolved to help my brother—both because his need is so great and because the perils which threaten him place the whole of the Christendom at risk. I cannot and must not abandon him, not because of the position I occupy, or due to fraternal love—I must go to him because he is a good brother to me.”
    — Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias; written to his wife, Isabella before his departure to Germany.


    Music Accompaniment: Kirim'dan Gelirim

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    The Quaternion Eagle, Jost de Negler; c. 1510.

    The Diet of Trier which closed in 1532 had ended with the summoning of a general council under the authority of the Holy Roman Empire. Termed a synod by Charles V, the Synod of Trier was set to open in April of 1533. While the action was widely applauded by the squabbling factions within the empire—the news of the synod provoked a strong reaction when it reached Rome. “Word has reached His Holiness of the planned council which you plan to host in Germany,” Cardinal Alessandro Piccolomini, cardinal-nephew to Pope Pius V wrote in a letter to the emperor. “Authority for such matters rests in the hands of the Pope—and the Pope alone; the bull Execrabalis declares that the Pope as Vicar of Christ is the final authority within our church.” The letter was worded strongly—but without teeth. Though Pius V opposed the idea of a council in Germany without his participation, he was not prepared to make an enemy out of the emperor by acting out of rashness. Better to wait and see—while urging those who sought a council to pay heed to the Council of Verona, which remained primarily attended by French and Italian prelates. The Council of Verona would be closed in the spring of 1533—and postponed indefinitely, without having accomplished a single thing. Europe’s Catholic monarchs—outside of King François, who fumed at Charles's rejection of his council—watched the events unfolding in Germany with great interest.

    Meanwhile, the Ottoman army in Hungary, under the command of Sultan Suleiman himself spent the winter of 1532 into 1533 at Szentendre. To ensure there were no issues, King John had the population of the town expelled—even the local church was requisitioned, and its priests expelled—with Szentendre Church converted into a mosque during the duration of the Turkish stay. The army, which numbered some 100,000 men, required many supplies—with food being the most important. While the centralized structure of the Ottoman Empire meant that a great portion of the needed supplies could be procured within the empire and transported to Hungary, not everything could be provided on time throughout the winter—which meant that the burden then fell upon Hungary. “We have received another receipt from the Turks seeking supplies for the army garrisoned at Szetendre—our third this month,” István Werboczy wrote in a letter to John Zápolya. “They require flour and salt most especially—and are prepared to pay us a further inducement if we assist in providing them these provisions. The Grand Vizier has also written seeking our assistance in gathering supplies for the coming campaign season… including some 50,000 sheep to be slaughtered for meat; oxen and horses to replace those that have perished; and fodder and grains to feed the animals.” While the need for the Turkish army allowed the Hungarian crown to profit, the burden fell most heavily upon the Hungarian peasantry, with the crown ordering forced requisitions of needed supplies.

    The Synod of Trier opened in April of 1533 in the presence of Charles V. Empress Renée also attended—heavily pregnant—she would give birth to her first child, a daughter named Anne in honor of her mother at Trier in June of 1533. The Catholic Party was represented by the Electors of Cologne, Mainz, and Trier as well as numerous Prince-Bishops and Prince-Archbishops. The Protestant Party were represented by their primary theologians—Martin Luther, and Philipp Melanchthon who represented the Lutheran school, while Martin Bucer and Wolfgang Capito attended as representatives of the Swabian Confession, prevalent in Alsace and portions of southern Germany. Mary of Austria sent representatives from Bohemia—this included not only Catholic theologians, such as Jan Dubravius but supporters of the Protestant movement and Ultraquists as well. Major Protestant princes also attended—with John Frederick, the Elector of Saxony, and Philip of Hesse also in attendance. Both groups were given equal time at the start of the synod to outline their beliefs and ideas—yet a tense atmosphere hung over the proceedings. Several Catholic prelates dramatically marched out of the Synod when Martin Luther in his opening speech attacked the abuses and corruption of the Papacy. “The Pope is and remains the anti-Christ,” Luther thundered from his pulpit. “He and his predecessors are liars—their domains were gained through both fraud and deception. Now, today, they continue to deceive, lying to all the Christendom; the Pope is above no one, from the greatest king to the meanest serf; Anyone armed with scripture can find salvation. there is no role for him here in Germany—it is us alone who can and should decide the future.” Protestant attendees proved just as disruptive; they heckled and jeered at the Prince-Bishop of Eichstätt when he attempted to give an impassioned defense of the Pope’s authority over the Catholic Church.“It was at Trier that Charles V realized that the Protestant faith was no mere passing fancy or minor heresy,” Francesco Guicciardini, a historian of the period wrote in one of his seminal works, Diario di Viaggio in Germania. “Grave divides separated the Catholic and Protestant faiths—it was not just theological disputes, but the disputes of their worldviews, too. How could the Catholics compromise with those who saw the head of their church as the anti-Christ? How could Protestants compromise with those who saw them as mischief-making heretics?”

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    Woodcut of the Synod of Trier.


    The Synod’s opening weeks were spent in discussion on theological issues, such as sacraments, clerical marriage, and communion for the laity. Very little progress was made, and most discussions devolved into fierce arguments—with neither side prepared to give ground in their beliefs. It was only in discussions regarding communion that some common ground was found, with Catholic prelates conceding that there was no real doctrinal reason to deny communion of both kinds to the laity. “The emperor was gravely disturbed at the arguments that prevailed in those early weeks of the Synod,” one attendee wrote in his private memoirs. “He had sincerely hoped that there might be some grounds for collaboration—but he found himself gravely disappointed.” With arguments and infighting continuing to paralyze the synod, Charles eventually ordered a separation of the Catholic and Protestant prelates. Catholics were given over the Abbey of St. Matthias to conduct their work, while the Protestants were given the Liebfrauenkirke—with the right to hold services there during their stay. The emperor provided both parties with imperial receipts; the receipts to the Catholics were primarily political questions such as: Does the emperor have the right to nominate appointments to benefices within the whole of the empire? Questions put towards the Protestant party included a mix of theological questions regarding their confessions which had been published at Regensburg, as well as political questions. Both sides were ordered to consider what had been put before them and to render answers before the emperor in a year. This marked a failure in the Synod of Trier as a vehicle for reconciliation between the Catholics and Protestants, but it transformed into one of imperial reform, which sought to reshape the emperor’s authority over the Catholic church within the whole of the empire.

    It was while at Trier that Charles received news from Hungary, that the Turkish army under the command of the sultan was preparing to attack the remaining rebel strongholds within Hungary—Vasvár, Óvár, and Sopron—all of which would open the pathway into the empire through Austria. While the border had been reinforced in the year previously, it would matter little against the full might of the Ottoman Empire. With the Synod devolving into open dysfunction, Charles focused on the troubles that might soon visit the border. An agreement with the diet held the year previously allowed Charles to order a muster of the Reichsarmee, with the troops to be deployed into Austria. The diet had also agreed to a levying of the Türkenhilfe to provide the emperor with funds needed to defend the empire. They extended to Charles twenty-four Roman months’ worth of revenue—a sum totaling nearly ƒ2,000,000. Charles also endeavored to gain support from the Electors—both Louis V, Count Palatine of the Rhine, and Joachim II Hektor, the Elector of Brandenburg pledged support for the emperor’s defensive plans, while the Elector of Saxony remained aloof. Further support came from princes in the southern frontier, such as the Duke of Bavaria. By May 1533, the Turks had annihilated the rebel troops in Hungary and had seized the Hungarian fortifications that lay along the border. “Messengers have brought us news of your victory,” Queen Anna of Hungary wrote in a love note to John Zápolya. “We are gladdened that you are safe—but even more gladdened that those who oppose you have been crushed underfoot. The princesses, your daughters[1] are beyond thrilled—Anna and Mary both beg of stories of your travels—and Mary begs that you might consider her request for an Arabian horse… it is all she can think of since she saw the sultan’s mount. Little Catherine has been unwell, but little Elizabeth is well; I am in good spirits too, for I am enceinte once again. I hope and pray that I might give you the son that you so desperately desire… be sure that your kingdom is in the safest hands whilst you go abroad—and I shall protect it with my life.” Anna would give birth to her fifth child in November of 1533—another daughter, named Helena.

    Suleiman, having crushed the Hungarian rebels, was now prepared fully to march on Germany—with Vienna, which served as a gateway upon the Danube River, as his goal. His army still numbered some 105,000 men—and included some 12,000 cavalrymen under the personal command of John Zápolya. The army remained remarkably well-provisioned thanks to Hungarian support, though rumors swirled of food shortages even in Hungary’s most prosperous region. In the southern counties, Slavonic peasants were stirred up by Marko Ševic, a Serbian military officer, who led a group of peasant rabble in a campaign of ravishment and plunder along the Ottoman-Hungarian border, targeting the lords and aghas upon both sides of the border. The summer of 1533 proved hotter and drier than in the year before, impacting the growing season. “The growing season of 1533 was particularly trying for our peasantry,” one magnate wrote in a letter to his grandson many years later, detailing the issues on their estate. “Many of our peasants lost livestock to the royal officials… the most prosperous lost both their oxen and many of their sheep. Some were unable to till their personal plots; others, having lost their sheep, lost valuable income from wool and milk. The heat of the summer proved even more deadly…withering and killing crops that had already struggled to grow in our pitiful spring… even we, ensconced within the manor house could not weather this storm without issue; our debts grew, and we were even forced to seek out a loan from the neighboring estate… your grandmother was even forced to pawn several of her most valuable jewels to a Jewish pawnbroker in Világos… she would never see the jewels again…”

    400px-Janissary_Recruitment_in_the_Balkans-Suleymanname.jpg

    Ottoman painting of Janissary Recruitment.

    Turkish troops arrived in Pozsony in June—putting them some eighty miles from Vienna. It was at Pozsony that John Zápolya named his wife, Anna, as Regent of Hungary in his absence. His council was instructed to obey her as if her commands were spoken by him. Mary of Austria’s Hofmeister, Wilhelm von Roggendorf was placed in charge of the defense of Vienna by the emperor. Charles left Trier at the beginning of June—leaving Renée in Trier as she was due to give birth at any time. Charles traveled with a sizable retinue from Trier to Regensburg, which would become his base during the Turkish incursion into the empire. By the end of June, Turkish troops had reached the walls of Vienna, and the Siege of Vienna began. The great Turkish camp was pitched up outside of the walls of the city, with Suleiman ordering that his foragers despoil the surrounding countryside—both to provide his army with supplies and to deprive supplies to the Viennese. Suleiman soon discovered that the Austrians had acted before him—he found no grain or vegetables, but instead fallow fields where crops had been cut and trampled down—under the orders of Roggendorf, to deprive Suleiman of needed supplies. Though the dry summer weather had allowed Suleiman to bring forth the heavy siege guns that he would need to blast at Vienna’s walls, his army still suffered from several issues—the hot weather meant that water was in short supply, and the heat meant that there was a lack of grazing land for Turkish army’s numerous animals: many horses, oxen, and even camels had perished throughout the hot summer, and the heat had also spoiled supplies. “Despite the tribulations, spirits remain high among the troops,” Ajas Bey—an Ottoman military officer—wrote in a letter to his favored concubine. “We shall persevere because we are righteous—Inshallah, our sultan and Caliph shall lead us onward into paradise!” Within days, Suleiman was able to commence the shelling of the city—with the Turkish bombards firing stone and iron projectiles at Vienna’s city walls.

    Aside from von Roggendorf, operational command of troops within the city went to Friedrich von Löwenstein—who led the mercenaries hired to reinforce the city. Löwenstein concerned himself with the fortification of the oldest walls of the city, near St. Stephen’s Cathedral. He also blocked off Vienna’s four city gates, and erected earthen bastions as well as a rampart within the city, in hopes of lengthening the siege on the Turkish side. The army of the Holy Roman Empire, the Reichsarmee had been deployed away from Vienna—at Passau, upon the Danube. Given the numerical superiority of the Turkish forces, the Reichsarmee was ordered to serve as a last defense, with some troops being dispatched to serve as raiders along the Danube—to attack Turkish supply flotillas carrying needed food, munitions, and other supplies that would be needed in a protracted siege. “Things are going well enough,” Charles wrote in a letter to his brother, Ferdinand. “Roggendorf continues to hold the city—he has banded together the citizens, and the reinforcements you sent last year have proven beyond helpful—the Spanish harquebusiers are an excellent shot. I only hope and pray that things continue to hold, and we shall be able to repulse the Turks from our lands.” The Turks having made landfall in Germany helped galvanize the princes in support of the emperor’s endeavor—even the Protestants looked to see the emperor succeed. Martin Luther in this period published On War Against the Turk. In it, Luther shifted his views from those in 1518, which saw the Turks as a scourge sent by God to deal with sinning Christians—a view shared by others, such as Erasmus. In his new treatise, Luther encouraged Germans and Charles V to resist the Turk and fight against them—though his attacks upon them were still mild, with the treatise referring to the Pope once more as the anti-Christ, while Jews were described as the Devil’s Incarnate. He strongly argued that the war should be seen as a secular one, fought in self-defense, rather than a religious war to gain territory.

    The siege carried into the autumn. With the surrounding farmland having been spoiled by the Austrians, the Turks were ever more reliant upon forage from further afield—as well as regular supply barges being sent up the Danube from Ottoman territory. Such barges were regularly raided by imperial troops—with some even daring to make surreptitious treks into Vienna to deliver the city's needed supplies. “His Imperial Majesty requires further supplies,” Ibrahim Pasha, Suleiman’s Grand Vizier wrote in a letter to István Werboczy in August of 1533. “The city proves a harder nut to crack than anticipated…but the Padishah shall prevail, as Allah wills it!” Werboczy could only forward the letter nervously to Queen Anna, with his postscript added: “How much more can we be expected to give?” This placed Anna into a difficult situation which would prove to be her political baptism. She sent letters to the Sultan—offering up feminine flatteries while promising supplies as they could be requisitioned. Hungary’s harvest proved to be poor—and many peasants suffered under the weight of previous requisitions. Anna sought aid from her uncle in Poland—dispensing funds from the royal treasury to pay for grain imports—which were distributed to state granaries to aid the suffering peasants, rather than to supply the Turkish army. It was the Queen of Hungary’s quick thinking that kept Hungary from spiraling into further chaos—though the previous requisitions would cause economic issues and food insecurity for several years to come. Though aid was not forthcoming from Hungary, the Turks remained encamped outside Vienna—attacking the city daily with a series of bombardments, with sappers working on constructing tunnels and mines to breach the city walls. Löwenstein sent some of his men on daring raids—this included one raid where his men attempted to destroy several Ottoman mines underneath the city, which failed.

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    Fall of Vienna, c. 1533.

    Vienna finally fell before the Ottoman troops on October 9, 1533—with Löwenstein perishing in the final assault. Wilhelm von Roggendorf was able to withdraw from the city before its collapse—along with some 3000 of the troops that had been sent in the previous year to reinforce the city. This included 250 Spanish harquebusiers under the command of Luis de Ávalos—the sole survivors of the Spanish contingent. As Roggendorf and his troops retreated towards Passau, they exacted a final revenge upon the Turkish troops—igniting a gunpowder magazine in their retreat. The explosion killed some thirty people—all civilians—and damaged the Hofburg. “The Turks and the Hungarians indulged in an orgy after the fall of the city,” Eva Farissol—a Viennese Jewess—wrote in a private journal many years later. “Women were torn from their homes and despoiled; the prettiest were left untouched. They were paraded before the sultan, who held court in the carnage of the Hofburg atop his golden throne. He gifted these women to his most valiant officers—who took them as slaves and concubines. The eagle atop the Stephansdom, a symbol of the emperor and his house was shorn from the cathedral and replaced with a crescent… transformed into a mosque. A muezzin was appointed into the south tower to lead the call to prayer, who sounded out across Vienna, a mournful dirge in the days following the sack…” Euphoric in his victory, Suleiman began to draw up plans for the unfinished northern tower of St. Stephen’s Cathedral to be transformed into a minaret. “This city shall be the gem of our empire in the heart of Europe—Constantinople upon the Danube,” Suleiman declared proudly.

    “The city of our forefathers has fallen,” Charles wrote in a letter to Ferdinand—undated, but probably written several days following the collapse of Vienna. “The Reichsarmee remains in strong shape, and some 15,000 men have joined us here in Regensburg. I am resolved to march and meet this threat—this scourge of man and the Christendom can go no further.” Charles’ main concerns were for his family: he wrote firstly to Renée, ensconced at Trier with their newborn daughter, Anne. He requested that she return to the Low Countries—and invested her as regent of the Low Countries as he had the Empress Mary. To his sister, Mary, his tone was more urgent: “I gravely fear the Turks' next move. I doubt they will attempt to breach the mountains of Moravia or Bohemia—but you can never be sure. Be safe and remember that I am and will always remain your loving brother.” Mary herself was resolved that neither she nor her daughter would flee from Bohemia: “We were chased from Hungary—but we shall never be chased from Bohemia. Elisabeth is the queen, and the queen must stay. And I? I shall only leave this country in a coffin, and nothing else.” Still, seeking a more defensive position, Mary and Elisabeth departed Prague for Teplitz, where they took up residence in the fortified keep that had been built by Johanna Rozmitál, George Podiebrad’s wife and queen. It was at Teplitz where Mary—as well as Elisabeth, publicly took communion in the Protestant form for the first time. Mary was also reunited with her former chaplain—Matthias Dévai Biro—who in 1527 had left her service to study under Luther at Wittenburg. Now a Protestant minister, Mary gladly accepted him back into her service, naming him as her chaplain and banishing the Catholic remnants of her religious household. The little queen’s household was not spared either, with Mary replacing her daughter’s tutor with a German theologian from Breslau, Ambrosius Moibanus.

    Charles’ letters soon reached Ferdinand in Spain—where the years since his installation as Prince of Asturias and the effective Viceroy of Spain had proceeded with peace and prosperity for plenty. Spanish explorers and conquistadors continued to explore the lands beyond the Ocean Sea—one conquistador, Francisco Pizarro had led an expedition into what became known as Peru, leading his Spanish troops—as well as his Indian allies to victory against the Incan Empire at the Battle of Huancabamba. The Incan Emperor, or Sapa Inca Huásar who had recently triumphed[2] over his brother was captured by Spanish troops—along with his treasure train—which measured one room full of gold, and two full of silver. Despite this, Huásar and his honor guard were tortured, and Huásar was executed with a garrotte. The capital of the Incan Empire, Cuzco, fell soon after—and another native empire and its treasures fell into Spanish hands. A younger brother of Huásar, Manco, was installed as Sapa Inca—his court an empty vanity, with effective control passing into the hands of the Spanish. Huásar’s wife, Chiqui was taken as a concubine by Francisco Pizarro—and many other Incan princesses, priestesses, and noblewomen found themselves likewise abducted and despoiled by their Spanish conquerors. Ferdinand continued to work closely with his councils and the Cortes, establishing beneficial relationships with both. Many of Charles’ former Spanish advisors, such as Francisco de los Cobos had left the service of the emperor to serve the Prince of Asturias instead—as the 1530s progressed, Ferdinand’s authority became more solidified. In his martial life, the Prince of Asturias was blessed—he was devoted to his wife, the Portuguese Infanta Isabella of Portugal, and she had born him a child nearly every year. By 1533, they had five children: Fernando Alonso (b. 1528), Maria (b. 1529), Isabella (b. 1530; d. 1531), Manuel (b. 1531), and Juan (b. 1533). Ferdinand’s marriage had been fruitful—and the Spanish line of the Habsburgs was secure.

    400px-Brooklyn_Museum_-_Huascar%2C_Thirteenth_Inca%2C_1_of_14_Portraits_of_Inca_Kings_-_overall.jpg

    Portrait of Huascar, c. 17th Century

    Ferdinand was determined to render his brother whatever aid he could offer in his present situation—was it not the right thing to do? Though Ferdinand had reached his present position because of his hard work and ambition, it would have all been for naught had Charles not recognized that he was the correct person to govern Spain in his absence. How easy it might have been for Charles to send him elsewhere or refuse to name him as his heir—but he had. And for now, at least, Charles remained King of Spain and needed succor. Ferdinand summoned a meeting of the Cortes at Aranjuez, with the deputies meeting at one of the local churches—with Ferdinand requesting funds from the Cortes to fund an expedition into Germany—which he planned to lead personally. Compared to Charles’ often antagonistic relationship with the Cortes of Castile, Ferdinand’s relationship proved more fruitful and productive. Aside from furnishing Ferdinand with a subsidy of 200,000 ducats, they agreed to levy the Cruzada—an extraordinary tax that was raised in times of war. Ferdinand was prepared to furnish a troop of some 12,000 men which included not only harquebusiers but some of the first tercio units within the Spanish army, armed with pikes and guns. “His Majesty, the emperor, but more importantly, the King of Spain requires dire assistance to turn the tide against the Turkish hordes,” Ferdinand thundered in a speech before his troops in Barcelona in December of 1533. “In us runs the blood of conquerors, of valiant Christian heroes—it is we who repulsed the Moslems from Granada, the Jewel of Spain. It is our fathers and grandfathers who expulsed Boabdil from Granada, sending him weeping as he crossed the seas into Africa. So too, shall we send Suleiman weeping… away from Vienna and away from Europe!”

    Aside from direct military support, Ferdinand directed the Spanish navy to harass Turkish shipping and to clamp down on the Ottoman corsairs, such as Heyreddin Barbarossa who acted with impunity in the Mediterranean. The Spanish navy collaborated in this matter with the Knights of St. John—who had been granted the Ionian Islands as a new base by the Republic of Venice, in exchange for an annual tribute. The Knights of St. John would in due time become colloquially known as the Knights of Corfu—named after the largest island as well as the largest city, which would become their new capital. Ferdinand and Spanish reinforcements would land in Trieste in April of 1534—by that time, the Turkish troops were once more on the move, having spent a harsh winter in Vienna—where sickness and deprivation had sapped and weakened the Turkish army. Aside from the troops, the animals suffered as well: “Our supply trains have been in disarray throughout the winter,” Qarajaoglu Beg, an Ottoman officer wrote in a desperate letter to his father. “The freezing weather has caused the Danube to freeze over in various places… everything must be carried overland. Supplies either arrive late or not at all, for the Germans continue to plunder what they can. Many animals have been slaughtered for their meat, while others have sickened from a lack of fodder. Even among the Siphais, many of them have been forced to cull their mounts due to the need…” As the winter ended and the campaign season of 1534 began, the Turkish army remained in Vienna as it awaited further supplies—detachments were sent out to forage, and raiders attacked Korneuburg and Laxenburg.

    Charles in March of 1534 left his position at Regensburg for Passau, where his troops were grouped with the Reichsarmee as well as Roggendorf’s troops—numbering some 34,000 men all. “We are preparing to make our stand near Krems, along the Danube,” Charles wrote to Ferdinand in the spring of 1534. “We shall await your arrival… Godspeed that your journey is without issue, and you and your men will arrive safely.” As Charles set out for Krems, Ferdinand and his troops set sail from Barcelona—they would arrive at Trieste in early May—detained for a period at Messina due to an outbreak of scurvy. “We had little time to rest upon our arrival in Trieste,” Baltasar de Mondrágon, a Spanish soldier wrote in his memoirs. “Our march through Carinola and Styria was arduous—I prayed daily to the Virgin Mary for deliverance, that our mission might not be in vain…” It was only in May, when rumors reached Vienna that the emperor had raised a relief force to recapture Vienna that Suleiman ordered the army mustered. The great Turkish army that had invaded Europe two years previously was in poor shape: many of the cavalrymen were lacking horses and were a desperate need of draft animals. Even Zápolya’s cavalrymen had not escaped unscathed—he’d lost nearly 5000 men—and 3000 of those to disease alone. Though Suleiman had plundered the Hofburg’s treasury, with many items sent south during the previous winter, the lack of draft animals and the need to march meant that much more of the Turks’ intended plunder was abandoned.

    Among the abandoned plunder was an item of particular importance that John Zápolya managed to send back to his wife in Hungary—the Reliquary Cross that had been made for Louis I of Hungary in the 1370s—said to include pieces of the True Cross. “I send this back to you,” Zápolya wrote in a letter to Queen Anna. “Not because it is an object of religious devotion (you know I care not for such trifles) but because it is an important piece of our heritage. Your heritage—it belongs in Buda, not in Vienna.” Anna had the relic displayed before the court during a court sermon, which was given by János Sylvester, a recent graduate from Wittenburg. “See the false idol before you,” Sylvester thundered from his pulpit, where he pointed dramatically at the relic. “Catholics truly believe that such trinkets will offer them a way into the afterlife—that they must languish in purgatory until they are worthy! Faith and faith alone are what matters—Christ, our God and Lord died for our sins, and was risen again for our justification.” Before the whole of the court, Sylvester smashed the reliquary—pointing to the pieces of wood scattered amongst the broken crystal and gilt. “These are no pieces from the cross of Our Lord—merely cuttings from a branch—and more proof of the lies of the false church and their false prophets!” Sylvester's speech was highly appreciated—and marked the beginning of Hungary’s shift towards the Protestant faith.

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    Suleiman in Austria, c. 1534.

    By early May, Ferdinand and his relief force reached Krems, where they were able to rendezvous with Charles’ troops. The combined forces at Krems numbered nearly 46,000 men—along with some 120 artillery pieces. Charles ordered the army encamped outside of Krems, and scouts sent out by an imperial commander, Johann Katzianer soon reported that the Turks were encamped near Tulln, some forty miles from Krems. In a war council before Charles and Ferdinand, two different viewpoints were argued: some, such as Katzianer, argued that their position should be improved at Krems and they pursued a defensive war against the Turks. Others, such as Roggendorf, argued that the Turkish army had suffered grave losses since their capture of Vienna—and each mile took them further away from Turkish territory, making the resupply of the army ever more difficult. Roggendorf argued that their best bet was a surprise offensive against the Turks—if they were successful, they would be able to give the Turks not only the black eye that they deserved but earn a vital victory for the emperor and the empire, too. Ferdinand deferred to Charles, telling the emperor that: “You are in command here—and it is your word that is law. If you believe the defense shall lead us to victory, then let us defend Krems with every drop of blood. However, if you firmly believe our path is through the offensive, then let us march.” It was an easy choice for the emperor: the Turks had already marched a mile too far into his dominions. He would take the war to them, and he would succeed.

    The imperial army came upon the Turkish troops near the hamlet of Grafenwörth on May 27th, 1534. The Battle of Grafenwörth, as it became known, broke out in the early morning hours when the imperial army set upon the Turks as they were breaking down their camp, taking them by complete surprise. The Turkish cavalry was demoralized and many of them without mounts, were unable to effectively counter the imperial cavalry charge, which opened the battle. “The imperial cavalry charge cut through the Moslems like butter—their sabers creating a sea of red upon the early morning soil,” an imperial soldier wrote in his journals. “The Turks were disorganized… while the Hungarian cavalry attempted to counter against our attack, they soon met the volley of the imperial artillery, which added skin, bone, and viscera to the growing pools of blood…” Grafenwörth lasted only two hours, with Sultan Suleiman, with his army in poor shape, chose to withdraw his troops from the field. The imperial army suffered only 2000 casualties—with Sultan Suleiman losing some 6000 men, with another 3000 taken hostage. John Zápolya’s troops suffered most heavily—over half of his cavalrymen were lost in battle, and a further 1500 were captured in battle. While Grafenwörth was no huge turning point in Ottoman ambitions in Europe—their losses in battle had been minimal—it represented an important propaganda victory for Christian Europe: the Turks were not unstoppable, and their offense into Europe could be contained.

    Following the defeat at Grafenwörth, the Turkish army retreated through Vienna into Hungary—the Turkish army in tatters as it did so. “When the Padishah retreated to Buda following the retreat from Grafenwörth, his mood was dark and foul… he was curt with King of Hungary—and short. He demanded ƒ60,000 from the Hungarian treasury in exchange—the annual tribute which was owed for the past two previous years,” a historian of the period wrote. “The Hungarian treasury, impoverished by its previous support of the Sultan was in little position to pay what was owed, with King John offering ƒ15,000 immediately with the promises of more. This did not please the Sultan, who reportedly told the king ‘If I cannot be given what I am owed, then it must be taken.’ The Padishah left Buda soon after—but only with the 15,000 which King John could pay.” Suleiman soon made good upon his promise to Zápolya—he introduced Turkish troops into Hungary, who occupied Osijek, Pétérvárad, and Temesvár, as well as several other Hungarian fortifications along the border. Aside from this, Suleiman ordered a janissary regiment garrisoned in Buda Castle—ostensibly this was a gift from the Sultan for the protection of an esteemed ally and friend—but in reality, all knew it was meant to keep Hungary and its king in line.

    [1] Made some changes to the names I proposed previously.

    [2] IOTL, Huásar was killed by Atahualpa.
     
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    Chapter 25. The Artois War
  • Chapter 25. The Artois War
    1536-1539; Germany, France & Italy.

    “I have resided in France since my youngest years, and now the Dauphin, François, has taken me as his wife. I am and shall always remain loyal to him—and to France. His cause is mine; now and forever.”
    — Princess Isabella of Austria


    Music Accompaniment: Missa Fortuna Desperata: Kyrie

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    Portrait of Isabelle d'Autriche, Dauphine of France.

    The seeds for the next conflict between King François and Emperor Charles V were laid in the Treaty of Longwy which had ended the War of the League of Valenciennes. The treaty affirmed the betrothal between François’ son, the Dauphin François with Charles’ eldest daughter, Isabelle. It stipulated that Isabelle was to receive the provinces of Artois and Franche-Comté as her dowry, which would be handed over to France following the marriage, effectively passing the issue down the road. The years in Europe had seen peace reign between France and the emperor, but by the end of 1535 matters would soon come to a head, when the French court announced that the Dauphin and the Princess Isabelle would be married in August of 1536.

    Isabella, or Isabelle as she became known in France was the eldest surviving daughter of Charles and his first wife, Mary. Born at the Palace of Mechelen, in her veins ran the blood of Europe’s greatest heritages: the Archdukes of Austria, Dukes of Burgundy, and the Kings of England and Spain. Yet only a short period of her life would be spent in the Low Countries; at the age of five, Isabelle was handed over into the care of France, where she was raised as a French Princess and a fille de France. Isabelle would never see her mother again, who passed away in 1529. Isabelle’s care was managed by the Governess of the Children of France with Isabelle sharing a household with François’ youngest daughters, Anne and Victoire. “Madame Victoire was passionately attached to Madame Isabelle—they were friends from the very day that they met, given that they were the same age,” Madame Brissac, Governess of the Children of France wrote in a letter to her daughter. “Madame Isabelle also adored the Dauphin… who adored her in return. From the beginning, they got on as if they had known each other their whole lives.” Though Isabelle adjusted to her place in the French court, she often suffered bouts of ill health—insomnia, migraines, and mysterious stomach pains—that some doctors attributed to homesickness and loneliness.

    “The Princesse of Bourgogne is very pretty,” one visitor to the French court wrote in 1535—observing Isabelle, then fourteen. “She has inherited her father’s coloring, with blonde hair and green eyes, shaped like almonds. She greatly resembles her mother, the late empress; her lips are plump, and her nose petite. She possesses the Habsburg jaw of her father, though it adds—rather than detracts to her beauty and dignity.” From a very young age, Isabelle was the second lady of the French court behind the Queen of France—though her ill health meant that she was often absent from certain court entertainments and representational duties, which caused conflict between the queen and the princess—with Beatriz accusing Isabelle of faking her illnesses to avoid her duties. “It seems mademoiselle has been ill yet again? Your presence was missed yesterday at a feast held in honor of your father’s ambassador,” Queen Beatriz remarked pointedly to Isabelle in one meeting—heard before all the court. “I am pleased to have been missed, madame,” Isabelle retorted in return. “It is a pity that none would miss you were you ill.” Little surprise that Isabelle, much like King François’ children from his first marriage—did not get along with the queen—while her relationship with the king’s mistress, the Duchess of Plaisance, was much warmer. Isabelle also got along well with King François, whom she called Papa Roi—the king in turn, treated Isabelle as his daughter, and often spoiled her with various gifts and trinkets. Isabelle’s relationship with her father, the emperor was much more distant and sustained primarily through letters. “I hope that this letter finds you well and in good health… I was much grieved to hear that have been ill recently,” Charles V wrote in a letter to his daughter. “I shall be sending an envoy, the Ritter von Borié in the next few months… he has a few gifts that I hope you shall enjoy, including a sapphire necklace that was a favorite of your maman. I think of you daily and wish that you were here with us… Marie and Maximilian miss you terribly and await your letters with great interest. The empress is doing well, and I can write to you with great joy that you are once again a big sister—the empress has delivered a healthy son, whom we have named Charles…”

    Isabelle was educated closely alongside François’ younger daughters, Anne and Victoire. She was taught etiquette and deportment by Louise de La Rocque, while Henri de Gorla served as Isabelle’s dancing master. Isabelle also had a variety of music teachers—Francesco Flaminia taught her how to play the virginals, which she played “splendidly… like an angel,” while Jean Desmares gave the princess lute lessons. “The education of King François’ daughters—and his future daughter-in-law—were not grounded in ‘heavy’ learning,” one courtier wrote decades later—in a treatise that advocated for female education. “Their lessons in history, mathematics, and ancient languages were cursory—more time was given over to practical lessons such as deportment and etiquette, while cultural lessons in music, dancing, and poetry formed most of their learning… François sought for his daughters to be cultured and well-read, not well-educated harridans. While some would argue that François neglected his daughter-in-law’s education, others believed that she was merely being prepared for her role as the future first woman of the French Court, and François wished her to be armed with all the knowledge that she would need to be an arbiter of taste and fashion. In that, her education well perfectly executed.

    500px-Ve%C3%BCe_de_la_principale_entr%C3%A9e_de_l%27Eglise_Nostre_Dame_de_Paris._Paris_Mus%C3%A9es_20230619193518.jpg

    Notre Dame de Paris, c. 1537.

    Envoys from François and Charles met at Amiens at the beginning of 1536 to ratify the marriage treaty between the Dauphin François and Princess Isabelle. The terms at Longwy signed six years prior still held, with Charles V pledging that both Artois and Franche-Comté would serve as his daughter’s dowry—with the emperor also agreeing to pay a cash sum of 250,000 ducats. Already on the French side, preparations were being made for the Dauphin’s marriage—the first marriage of a Dauphin of France in over a century. The formal betrothal of the Dauphin and Isabelle was held at the Louvre Palace—as Isabelle signed the papers that inched her closer to her marriage, plots were unfolding in the Low Countries. “The emperor’s position had improved since 1530,” one historian of the period wrote. “And he was riding high following his victory over the Turks at Grafenwörth. His chancellor, Nicolas de Perrenot, encouraged him to stand strong: pay the dowry, but to not cede an inch of land to the fiendish French.” Already the seeds of the next conflict were being lain—with Charles seeking out support abroad for his cause. A primary piece of support came from his brother in Spain—Ferdinand was eager to ratify an offensive alliance aimed against France—still smarting the troubles that the French had caused in Navarre. Ferdinand had other reasons to seek revenge: Ferdinand had suggested a marriage between his eldest son, Fernando Alonso, with Henri II of Navarre’s daughter and heiress, Françoise Fébé[1] in hopes of settling the matter of Navarre, but the match was angrily refused by Henri II.

    Charles V also sought a rapprochement with Pope Pius V. The Synod of Trier had rendered its answers before the emperor in 1535; there were no hopes of reconciliation between the Catholics and Protestants, but the emperor did receive favorable answers from the Catholic prelates regarding the political questions he had posed. The failure of the Council of Bologna—as well as Charles’ victory over the Turks, gave both the pope and the emperor new grounds to reconcile and negotiate, especially as Pius V began to tire over the profound influence that King François continued to hold over Italy. Pius V dispatched a papal legate, Alessandro Cesarini not only to negotiate terms for a possible alliance between the emperor and the pope—but to negotiate a new concordat to govern relations between the church and the Holy Roman Empire, as requested by Charles V. The terms of the Concordat of Aix-la-Chapelle, as it became known, represented a triumph for the Honorians and limited Papal control over the Church in Germany. While the Pope was affirmed in his right to collect all revenues that the Catholic Church generated within the empire, the emperor was given explicit rights for the first time to collect tithes from the clergy and to restrict their right to appeal to Rome. The emperor also achieved a victory in the appointment of benefices: previously limited to select bishoprics within the empire, this right was extended throughout the empire—though not within the electorates, where the Prince’s Concordat of 1447 remained in force. The Concordat was not a total loss for the Catholic Church: installation of church officers remained in the hands of the Pope, and the Concordat reaffirmed the Pope’s right to veto any choice the emperor might make for clerical office who was truly unqualified. Other terms of the concordat gave the Apostolic Camera the right to collect the first year of revenue from each benefice. Pius V also his signaled his openness to crowning Charles as emperor—assuming the issue with the French in Italy could be dealt with. Charles was also able to resume friendly relations with Poland, following the death of Barbara Zápolya, the Queen of Poland following complications with the gout in her feet that had long troubled her. Charles and Sigismund negotiated the Treaty of Lublin, which arranged for the betrothal of Charles’ second daughter, Marie, with Sigismund’s eldest son and heir, also named Sigismund (b. 1515).

    400px-Anonymous_-_Portrait_of_a_boy%2C_possibly_Sigismund_Augustus_%281520-1572%29.jpg

    Prince Sigismund of Poland, c. 1527.

    The Dauphin François and Isabelle were wed on the feast of St. Louis at Notre Dame in August 1536. The wedding procession began at the palace of the Bishop of Paris and traveled to Notre Dame through a newly built gallery that connected the palace to Notre Dame. “The princess was dressed splendidly,” the ambassador of Venice wrote in his dispatch. “Her dress was made of Persian velvet in a dazzling azure blue, in the French style. Her bodice was etched with golden thread and pearls. Her mantle was purple and trimmed with ermine. About her neck, she wore a necklace of diamonds and sapphires—a personal gift from the king—worth some 500,000 écus.” The religious service was conducted by the Cardinal de Bourbon, while the mass was celebrated by the Bishop of Paris. Entertainment and dances were held at the Louvre in celebration of the wedding—where the Dauphin François and Isabelle would spend their first wedding night. Their honeymoon would be spent on a tour of Brittany, where they would stay at the Château des Ducs de Bretagne. The Dauphin and Dauphine presided over a meeting of the Estates of Brittany, called by King François as administrator of the Duchy of Brittany. The Estates promulgated what would become known as the Edict of Vannes, providing for a perpetual union between France and Brittany while allowing Brittany to maintain all privileges, liberties, and exemptions given by the previous Dukes of Brittany. The Dauphin and Dauphine were crowned soon after at Rennes as Duke and Duchess of Brittany—the last to be crowned as such. Dauphin François was given no effective control over the government of the duchy—to the chagrin of some of the Breton notables—which remained in the hands of his father.

    Soon after the wedding, French envoys arrived in Brussels seeking ratification for the marriage articles that would provide for the cessation of Artois and Franche-Comté. Though the emperor met with them, he prevaricated—offering up excuses and raising quibbles with every minor issue within the treaty. “The emperor prevaricates,” the French envoy wrote in his private journal. “When he meets with us, it is only to complain and push off signing the final articles. First, he has desired to wrangle over the cash dowry that he agreed to pay for the princess; then he states that any cessation of territory will require approval from his eldest son who is too young to give it… then it is said that the cessation will require ratification from the provincial states… lately, he has changed his tact further, arguing that such a cessation will be prejudicial to his second son borne of his marriage to the Empress Renée, while registering his complaints with the Edict of Vannes, proclaiming that his wife’s rights (and by extension the rights of their children) have been jeopardized…” It was all an act: as Charles put off and prevaricated, he was arming troops in Flanders and Luxembourg under the command of the Prince of Orange and the Viscount of Strêye. In Besançon, local troops were augmented, while command of an imperial army in the region was placed under the command of Jean de Precipiano—to serve as an invasion force into Italy. Compared with Charles’ previous failures in the military field, he ensured that his troops had ample pay. These troubles carried throughout the winter of 1536—François dispatched envoys to December of 1536 in hopes of agreeing, but little of substance was achieved. Margaret of Austria, the emperor’s aunt and long a temporizing influence upon him fell severely ill towards the end of December. She designated Charles as her sole heir and encouraged Charles to maintain peace with France for the prosperity of the Low Countries. Her death on December 30th, 1536, marked an end to the era in the Low Countries: with her demise, Empress Renée would come to play a more prominent role in the affairs of the Low Countries.

    By early 1537, all diplomatic attempts to solve the issue of Princess Isabelle’s dowry had collapsed. In January, Charles relented and intimated to François that he was prepared to hand over the provinces of Artois and Franche-Comté. This proved to be a ruse: in March of 1537, Charles broke off relations with François and recalled his ambassador from Paris. Imperial troops under the Prince of Orange invaded Picardy, while the Viscount of Strêye marched into northern France—attacking both Guise and Vervins. Jean de Precipiano led his troops from Dôle into the Duchy of Savoy, where Duke Charles of Savoy reaffirmed his alliance with the emperor and provided additional troops. By April, imperial troops had taken the city of Asti and pressed into Lombardy. From the south, Spanish troops under the command of Fernando de Toledo, the Duke of Alba. Alba began the Siege of Perpignan, subjecting the French border city to assaults of artillery fire. The quick attacks upon French territory shocked King François, who swore before his council: “Until the end of my days, I shall curse the emperor as the most perfidious man in all the Christendom—no better than the Turk; you cannot trust a word that he says, for he is a liar.” Even more shocking to the King of France was the position of his eldest son’s wife: “The daughter of the richest man in the world—and yet she has come to me as a beggar!” For her part, Isabelle was nonplussed, and showed unwavering loyalty towards her husband and his family—their cause was now hers. So began the War of Artois, or the Italian War of 1537, as it is known in some quarters.

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    Supper at Emmaus, c. 1530.

    François was quick to react to the emperor’s move—he ordered Paris and Reims fortified, and commanded his governor in Lombardy, Claude d’Annebault to defend the province to the last drop of blood. The first pitched battle between the rival armies occurred on April 23rd, 1537, when the Viscount of Strêye succeeded in scattering French troops at the Battle of La Hérie. “Vicomte Charles Brandon de Strêye proved his worth to the imperial cause at La Hérie… the French troops were scattered like dust, while the troops under Strêye suffered minimal losses. Strêye would write to his wife, Anna van Egmont, afterward: ‘We have avenged the humiliations at Longwy today.’ Strêye would find himself well rewarded—the emperor would grant him a pension of ƒ1500… and the domain of Erbisœul.” François found that in his new conflict against the emperor, he largely stood alone: Venice proclaimed neutrality in the conflict—while the Pope claimed poverty as his reason for staying away. The young Duke of Florence, having recently attained his majority happily signed into an alliance with the King of France—but used the outbreak of conflict as a reason to make war on the Republic of Siena, where a coterie of Ghibelline-aligned, oligarchs had recently come to power. Louis IV of Naples, who had wed François’ eldest daughter Louise in 1535 readily reaffirmed his alliance with France, and once more asserted his rights to the Kingdom of Sicily. By May of 1537, troops under the command of Jean de Precipiano began their march into Lombardy, where they met the troops under Annebault at the Battle of Monza, where imperial troops triumphed. Annebault’s forces suffered heavy causalities and were forced to abandon Milan. “The French abandoned their baggage train,” Precipiano would write in a letter to the emperor, bringing him the good news. “They have fled south like the cowards they are… and I intend to deal them a final blow.”

    The collapse of French authority in the Duchy of Milan brought it back under Imperial authority for the first time in nearly twenty years. “The Milanese, though they were not enamored with their French overlords, had perhaps accepted the state of things,” one historian wrote. “There was no cheering as Precipiano’s troops occupied Milan—nor did the nobility clamor for the return of the Sforza.” The House of Sforza had been reduced in numbers—Massimiliano, who had been deposed in 1515, had died in 1528 in exile in France. There remained only his two brothers: Francesco, who had pursued a clerical career and had recently been made the Prince-Bishop of Liège. His youngest brother, Giovanni Paolo, remained attached to the imperial court but was unmarried and considered a non-entity. Both brothers agreed to cede their rights to Milan back to the emperor—in exchange they would receive pensions, while Giovanni would be enfeoffed as the Marquis of Chiavenna. François was facing an invasion from the Habsburgs on all sides—in the north, from Spain, and in Italy. He ordered his commanders in the south of France to abandon Perpignan, while fresh troops were raised at Orléans to deal with the Imperial incursion into northern France; François also ordered reinforcements to be raised at Lyon, to render aid to the Armée d’Italie.

    In southern Italy, conflict brewed between Naples and Spain in Sicily. The Marquis of Geraci as Viceroy of Sicily sought to sow discord in Naples among the nobles who had not yet forgotten their allegiance to the House of Spain. Louis IV, in turn, sought to augment his growing naval forces by licensing pirates and corsairs to plunder Spanish shipping with Letters of Marque. The Neapolitan Marinaio, as they became known, were given rights to cargo and ships that they seized, with a royal tenth levied upon their captures which would go into the royal treasury. The Marinaio developed bases in Policastro, Gallipoli, and Cotrone—and would become an effective arm of Naples’ naval campaigns for years to come. Marinaio—damnable rogues, the lot of them…” a Catalan merchant from Barcelona wrote in his journal. “They have grown worse than the Moslems… I have lost three galleys this season, and cargo worth ƒ3000. This cannot continue—it must not. So many of my associates have been forced to declare bankruptcy, and I fear I will soon join them…” Throughout 1537, Louis IV began to put together plans for an invasion of Sicily—intent to claim the crown that had been denied to him almost seven years earlier.

    400px-Saint_Barbara_%28National_Gallery_of_Slovenia%2C_copy_of_church_fresco_from_1453%29.jpg

    Frescoe of Antonia of Savoy, painted as St. Barbara in Meran.

    By the autumn of 1537, the French were on the counter-offensive—French troops invaded Savoy, and by October of 1537 had taken the city of Turin. Charles III was forced to seek refuge in Lombardy, while he sent his wife, Catherine—along with their four children to further safety in Venetian territory, in Verona—where they stayed for only a few months before enduring a journey through the winter into imperial territory in Meran. “We have reached Meran, by God’s Grace,” Catherine wrote in a pitiful letter to her brother. “We have nothing but the clothes upon our backs… both Catarina and Anna Gennara are well, as is Filippo Amadeo. Yet little Antonia is not… she has been wearied all through our journey and has cough has worsened. We shall stay here until she improves, as that is all I can do… I have not even the funds to consult a doctor…” Catherine’s youngest daughter, Antonia of Savoy did not improve—she perished on February 12th, 1538—and would be buried in St. Barbara’s Chapel behind the Church of Saint Nicholas in Meran. In France, Alba’s troops were lured into a trap—the French had abandoned Perpignan to them, leaving the route open to Narbonne. “Rather than scorch the fruit farms and vineyards that lined the path north to Narbonne, Georges de Boullan ordered that the fruit be left and allowed to overripe… the Spanish greedily ate the fruit left to them, but it was a poisoned gift—dysentery soon ravaged the Spanish troops, and Alba was obliged to retreat in ignominy—he and his troops once more fleeing south across the Pyrenees. Boullan found himself fabulously rewarded; he was granted the Duchy of Valentinois—a gift made even sweeter by his marriage in 1534 to Louise, the Dame of Châlus, better known as Louise de Borgia…”

    Though the French had proven successful in the south of France, these successes did not hold in northern France. As the campaign season opened in the spring of 1538, command of the French troops in northern France fell to Jean III, the Duke of Lorraine. Among his junior officers was Louis—the Duke of Orléans and youngest son of King François, and François of Bourbon, Duke of Bourbon, and son of the deceased (and disgraced) Constable of Bourbon. The Duke of Lorraine led French troops in an attack against Imperial troops under the Prince of Orange at the Battle of Fresnoy. Though the Duke of Lorraine succeeded in holding the field, it came at a heavy cost—the young Duke of Orléans was killed in battle, cut down by a German Landsknecht—seen firsthand by the young Duke of Bourbon. “My youth and folly died that day upon the fields of Fresnoy,” Bourbon would write in his memoirs many decades later. “My years before Fresnoy had been without purpose; I lost my father at a young age and was raised in the household of Madame de Louise. I hated how unjustly my father had been treated, and truly lamented his death. I sought to regain the favor of the king, in hopes that my family’s name might be restored. All that I did was in honor of King François. When the emperor sent troops into France, I was the first to volunteer… I served alongside my cousin Monsieur d’Orléans at Fresnoy. He was valiant—valiant but stupid. I watched as charged at the German cavalryman…and watched just as quickly as he was gutted and left for dead. It was then that I realized how worthless battle was—and how little our lives meant, whether we were princes or peasants. That night, I truly believed that God spoke to me: He beseeched me to honor him and him above all others—the path to redemption was not through battle and war, but through our Holy Church.The Duke of Bourbon’s religious epiphany at Fresnoy would lead to him embarking upon an ecclesiastical career—becoming one of the founding fathers of the Isèrians, a religious order founded by him on the banks of the Isère River.

    Louis IV’s planned invasion of Sicily was dealt a blow from two sides. Andrés de Mendoza, son of the Marquis of Cañete led a squadron of ships in a daring raid upon the docks of Naples, where he used small ships filled to the brim with gunpowder as explosives. Mendoza’s quick thinking caused grave damage to the Neapolitan docks—and sunk many warships as well as transport ships that Louis IV wished to use in his Sicilian campaign. Other troubles came from the Turks—with Heyreddin Barbarossa raiding Otranto and several other Neapolitan ports within the Adriatic Sea. “The corsairs from barbary appeared straight from the mist,” an anonymous writer wrote following the raid on Otranto. “They came as quickly as they left, plundering the docks as well the church, which they set ablaze. The whole town shakes with the cries and wails of men and women—sobbing over the men, women, and children who have been carried away, likely to be sold in the slave markets in Tripoli and Alexandria…” François’ Italian reinforcements succeeded in liberating the city of Asti, though they were unable to take back Milan—likewise, the troops under the Duke of Lorraine remained constrained by the forces commanded by the Prince of Orange and the Viscount of Strêye—though the Duke of Lorraine succeeded in taking back Vervins, the French army effectively remained barred from Artois and Low Countries.

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    The Truce of Lucca, 1539.

    By 1539, all sides had begun to weary of the conflict: though the emperor had seized Milan, the French still maintained a sizable presence in Italy and had even occupied Savoy. Likewise, François’ goals remained unrealized: he had not taken either Artois or Franche-Comté and the jewel of his Italian territories, Milan, was now in the hands of his most hated enemy. Pope Pius V intimated that he was willing to help negotiate a new settlement between the King of France and the Holy Roman Empire, inviting the pair to Lucca in hopes of negotiating a new peace treaty. Begrudgingly, both François and Charles V agreed to attend—with Prince Ferdinand, Louis IV, and the Duke of Florence agreeing to send envoys. Charles, François, and Pius V all met at the Palazzo Publicco in Lucca, the mood stony and cold. “Relations between the King of France and the Holy Roman Emperor had deteriorated completely by the time they met in Lucca for peace negotiations,” Prince Arianitto Comène wrote in his private journal. “They entered the Palazzo at different times—and through different entrances. They refused to even sit in the same room together, and Pope Pius V was forced to travel from room to room in hopes of negotiating the peace…” Neither party had prevailed spectacularly, and yet both the king and the empire wished to have their cake and eat it too: François nourished hopes of getting what had been originally demanded as Isabelle’s dowry, while Charles envisioned Italy once more returning under his influence by retaining Milan as well as reclaiming Naples.

    The Truce of Lucca, negotiated in May of 1539 effected no real change in the territorial makeup of Italy: Charles agreed to return the Duchy of Milan to François, but extracted a heavy price: François was forced to waive his rights to both Artois and Franche-Comté for Princess Isabelle’s dowry: he would instead be given 500,000 ducats. The Truce of Lucca also marked the detachment of Flanders from France and its integration into the Holy Roman Empire. Neither Charles nor his successors would be forced to pay homage to Flanders, which was added to the Burgundian Circle. Despite these victories, Charles did not gain any true territories: while he did not have to cede territory to France, he was forced to recognize Louis IV’s possession of the crown of Naples—with Louis IV in turn once again renouncing his rights to the Kingdom of Sicily. Lorenzo III, the young Duke of Florence seemed to triumph the best in the peace negotiations: though he was forced to make peace with the Republic of Siena and return the territories he had seized from the Republic, the emperor agreed to grant Lorenzo III the hand of his illegitimate daughter, Jeanne—a great victory for the Medici dynasty. The matter of Charles’ crowning was also decided—Pius V agreed to crown Charles as Holy Roman Emperor in Rome in 1540—it was agreed that the emperor’s Italienzug would pass through Venetian territory rather than the Duchy of Milan.

    [1] Better known as Phébé or Phœbé; given that both Gaston Fébus and François Fébus used this epithet spelled as such in the language d’oc, Henri II’s daughter and heiress uses the similar spelling, named in honor of François Fébus, as well as her uncle.
     
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    Addendum: Map of Europe, 1539
  • Alright, attaching a new map: c. 1539, after the Congress of Lucca.

    Europe Anno1.png


    I'd also like to know: is there any areas / places you'd like to see any chapters? I've started on the next chapter focusing on England after John's return, but it's not set in stone. Is there anything you'd like to see before that? We can even go further afield than where we have, if you'd like, such as East Asia or the Americas.

    We're also getting into the point where we're moving beyond OTL: is there anyone who like be /involved/ in the TL as a character or personage, such as a courtier or historian? By that, I mean being a person included in a quotation or in some form of the story? I'd love to involve some of you who have been around, either since the beginning or even since just yesterday! If so, just give me a name or title and I'll slip you into a quote coming up. ;)

    As for my plans for the next chapter, I'll leave you with a quote from Her Majesty, Queen Mary: “Alas, how I fear lest it be objected to us, as was to Tiberius by Bato: you, you it is that are in fault, who have committed your flocks not to shepherds but to wolves!"
     
    Chapter 26. Passions of Scotland
  • Whew! Sorry for the delay, all. This one stumped me a bit, but I'm happy how it played out. I'm dedicating this chapter to @Prince of Permsia as he gave me some really good ideas for this chapter / Scotland in general that I've implemented here. Enjoy!

    Chapter 26. Passions of Scotland
    1537-1541; Scotland

    Music Accompaniment: Galliarda la Royne d'Escosse

    “I must be frank: I know (as you know well) that the King of Scots has strong and perfectly satisfactory erections… when he is amorously involved with a man. In the marriage bed, timidity reigns… the queen does not inspire his passions in that way; he must ready himself away from her presence, but even then, he often has issues maintaining his ardor with her. On the few occasions that the king has been able to stay afloat, he merely introduces his member, remaining there for several minutes without movement. After that, he withdraws, without ejaculating, and bids the queen farewell with a kiss upon her cheek. It is incredible because he can perform in my presence or that of Beau Seton. The king’s doctors do not believe he has impotence, as he has suffered nocturnal pollutions while in his sleep. It is only with the queen that he cannot rise to the act… the queen remains blissfully unaware and believes that their blundering might, at some point, produce a child… I am sorry to say, but we are like to see another immaculate conception with the Virgin Mary herself before the Queen of Scots produces a child if things continue as they are! If only I could attend it—I would see to it myself! I must be frank, sister: it is incomprehensible… the queen does not have the temperament for this, and together they are inept. We must remedy the matter, or the king and queen shall remain childless for the rest of their days.”
    — Georges de Boullan, in a letter to his sister, Anne de Boullan

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    James IV at Prayer, Hours of James IV.

    Alexander IV’s return to Scotland with his new French bride heralded a new era in Scotland. The people praised the queen and cheered as they passed through Scotland—though, at this point, only a select few were aware that the king had not consummated his marriage. From the port of Leith, Alexander IV and his bride came to reside at the Palace of Holyrood, which would become their primary residence with time divided between the other Scottish royal palaces. Alexander and Charlotte’s first trips was an expedition to Linlithgow Palace—one of the dower properties of Queen Margaret, where the queen dowager was formally introduced to her new daughter-in-law properly. “Though Queen Charlotte aspired to gain the favor of the queen dowager, it was not to be…” Marie Pieris, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, wrote in a private letter home. “On the day of their arranged meeting, the king and his men went hunting, giving the queen and the dowager time to spend together. The queen dowager left the queen waiting for nearly three full hours; when she did deign to descend from her private chambre, she had only a few curt words to say to the queen before she swept away. Queen Charlotte was left alone with only a few of her ladies… a flood of tears when the king returned from his expedition.”

    Queen Margaret had not taken a liking to her new daughter-in-law—and had little desire to do so. Despite Margaret’s difficulties with her home country during the years of her first regency and the tumult with Albany, she remained an English woman at heart. She saw Scotland’s future as better aligned with England and England’s interests—rather than pursuing an alliance with the French, which offered nothing to Scotland and everything to France. Queen Charlotte, representing France and the Auld Alliance, was everything Margaret had wished for Scotland to avoid. “If only the king had wed the Queen of England,” Margaret reportedly lamented to one of her ladies. “Then all would be well. But he has not and did not, so we must deal with this hand.” In this situation, Alexander IV took his wife's side—and ordered that his mother apologize. Margaret was defiant—and chose to return to her primary residence, Methven Castle. “He may be the king, but my son shall not chide me.” Margaret reportedly declared in a pique. She would not figure into the new court that was growing up around Alexander and Charlotte and would instead dedicate herself more and more to the village surrounding Methven and the priory she had founded several years before.

    From the beginning, Charlotte took a great interest in the Scottish palaces and their lack of amenities compared to the French Châteaux where she was born and reared. Her focus was on Holyrood and Falklands Palace, which would become Charlotte’s favored residence out of her dower properties. “The queen’s pension which she receives from her father rarely arrives here in its full amount—if it arrives at all,” James Kirkcaldy, Queen Charlotte’s treasurer, wrote in a letter to the Treasurer of Scotland. “As the queen has embarked on a grand refurbishment programme, much of the funds have been earmarked for purchases in France, such as furniture, cloth, and wood—with purchases tending as far afield as Venice, where the queen has purchased glassware. It is sad, but the Scots craftsmen cannot compete with their foreign counterparts…” Though Charlotte gained a reputation as a Frenchwoman who sought to create a petit France in Scotland, she also offered her patronage to Scottish artisans: the first Scottish glassworks owed its birth to Queen Charlotte, with the queen going so far as to entice Venetian glassmakers to settle in Scotland with lavish subsidies and tax exemptions. Other ideas proved less successful, such as Charlotte’s attempt to build up a Scottish silk industry centered around Kilmarnock by importing mulberry cuttings from Italy. Many of the trees failed to thrive owing to Scotland’s climate—those that did were the black mulberries.

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    Scottish Glassblowers, c. 1540s.

    Not everyone looked upon Charlotte’s innovations fondly. “The court has become the domain of French harlots and perfumed and painted boys,” James Ogilvy, Chief of Clan Ogilvy, wrote scathingly in a letter to his son. “In the days of James IV, men, real men attended the court, and they could hunt, sport and whore… that is all gone with poetry, dances, and soft men who paint their faces and wear silken hose. I fear for any father who would dare send their son into what is now Sodom and Gomorrah. So long as I breathe and this effeminate king reigns, you shall never attend this cesspit that they call court. I would rather our fortunes suffer, and we remain far from this king’s favor than sacrifice one of my sons upon his pulpit of sensuality.” Alexander IV’s court, once known for the riotous entertainments of Scotland’s brightest young nobles, increasingly became seen as the domain of a feminine king: rumors abounded that Alexander IV enjoyed seeing to his wife’s toilette, seeing to her dress, hair, and jewels as if she were his little doll. Alexander IV aggressively promoted cosmetics, perfumes, and French fashions to a court that had seen no genuine innovations since the previous reign. “The king saw himself as the harbinger of culture and refinement to a court and country that previously had lacked it,” a royal archivist would write decades later in his memoirs. “Though the old guard—increasingly affiliated with the king’s mother—grumbled and despaired, complaining of the moral turpitude of the court, not unlike Socrates who despaired of the younger Greeks being overly fond of luxury.” Such complaints centered around the king and his coterie—primarily his dearest companion and friend, George Seton. With the love that the King of Scots showered upon his friends, there remained very little for his queen. “A man such as he cannot sleep soundly in his wife’s bed,” one courtier wrote in a gossipy letter to his mother. “All know that the king prefers a much rougher companion than that.” What need did Alexander have of the Queen of Scots when he had another to warm his bed and to plight his troth?

    By 1538, Alexander IV and Charlotte were married for nearly three full years—and their marriage remained on the same ground upon which it had in 1535—unconsummated. Charlotte filled her life with petty vanities; Alexander IV devoted much of his time to George Seton, leaving Charlotte cocooned within a small world primarily occupied by her French ladies-in-waiting. “The queen is devoted to her French ladies—we Scotch ladies are little better than rubbish,” one Scottish lady-in-waiting complained in a letter to her mother. “The queen often rises late in the morning—ensconced with her favorite ladies—young Marie Pieris, Louise de Brézé, and Geneviève de Lascaris… there they chatter away in their pretty little French, oblivious to the world. Only in the early afternoon does the queen dress, and her toilette is laborious… including her ladies, hairdresser, perfumer, jewelers, dressmakers, and the queen’s seamstress. Though the queen does deign to meet with petitioners during this time, her life is devoted wholly to pleasure: a whirl of balls, concerts, masques hosted by the king, as well as private entertainments held within the queen’s chambre privée where she hosts card games and other amusements late into the night... often I am unable to retire until after the sun has risen, and we do it all again…” Lonely and ignored in an entirely foreign court, Charlotte found pleasure in the privileges of her position rather than with her husband.

    The goings-on within the Scottish court attracted much attention abroad, and foreign ambassadors posted in Edinburgh sent notes home that often-included tidbits of gossip. “They say that the King of Scots prefers his horse master to his wife,” Queen Mary declared, chittering before all her ladies after receiving a note from Scotland. News sent to France through the French ambassador gave the King of France a headache. “What exactly is going on between those two children?” François reportedly asked, having little clue what he might do to remedy the situation of his daughter’s life in Scotland. As rumors continued to swirl of the continuing childlessness between the Scottish royal couple, François asked that his mistress investigate the situation, hoping Anne de Boullan could get to the bottom of the situation. Luckily for the Duchess of Plaisance, she had an exceedingly warm relationship with the children from the king’s first marriage. While the youngest princesses, Anne and Victoire, looked upon Anne as a surrogate mother figure, Anne’s relationship with Charlotte and Louise was sisterly. Anne had long enjoyed a warm relationship with Charlotte—sustained through letters—that were regularly carried from France to Scotland through an express postal route. “My darling,” Anne wrote in a letter to Charlotte in 1538. “I have heard the news of your troubles in Scotland, and they cause grave concern—both with your father and myself—you must remedy these matters… a queen that remains a virgin remains in dangerous territory, as a marriage is no true marriage unless you consummate it… You know well all that hinges upon your marriage to the King of Scots…”

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    Marriage of the Virgin, Romanino.

    When Anne’s first letters reached Charlotte, the young Queen of Scots was utterly frank in her letters—pouring forth her troubles to the Duchess of Plaisance. “His Grace is kind to me, but kindness matters little when you see his passion for others…” Anne’s first suggestions were practical—she suggested that Charlotte should widen her circle beyond her French ladies and encouraged the queen to host entertainments that the king would be interested in attending—with Seton in tow. She also urged Charlotte to befriend Seton, viewing him as the key to Alexander. “Where friendship begins, love often follows,” Anne’s advice was kind and helped set things in the right direction. The king began to be present at entertainments held by the queen, and the royal pair discovered that they had similar passions and interests. Though Alexander IV continued to devote most of his time to George Seton, at the very least, Charlotte began to spend time with Alexander—and she got along well enough with the royal favorite. One happy accident of Anne’s advice was a blossoming relationship between the king’s favorite and the queen’s most favored lady, Marie Pieris. In the winter of 1538, George Seton and Marie Pieris married before the court at the royal chapel within the Palace of Holyrood. Alexander IV and Charlotte were generous to their favorites—the queen bestowed a dowry worth £2000 upon Pieris while arranging for the newlyweds to receive a pension of £400 per annum from the king. Alexander IV offered a more fabulous gift, naming his favorite Earl of Winton—named after the ancestral Seton castle, which was the family's seat. Rumors swirled that the new Earl of Winton, well pleased with his elevation into the higher echelons of the Scottish nobility, had deigned to arrange for Alexander IV to deflower his queen after nearly three years of waiting. “As of last night, all that we have hoped for has finally come to fruition…” Charlotte gushed in a letter back home addressed to the duchess. “I am now fully a woman as well as a wife… I pray that we shall be successful, and that Papa shall be a grandpapa before the year is out.”

    Throughout the years, Seton’s influence over the king had transformed from personal to political influence. Seton had been admitted to the Privy Council in 1535 and would soon be named Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal. “Seton’s influence became persuasive following the king’s return from France,” one council member wrote in his private letters. “He was no mere companion—Seton soon began grasping for whatever influence he might have, greedy for wealth and lands and whatever he might gain from the king. Though Seton often piqued the king, behaving like he was sovereign lord and knew best, the king remained devoted to his best friend…” Aside from the earldom, Alexander IV had lavished wealth upon his favorite, granting him leases upon royal lands and the customs duties on wine imported into Scotland, worth some £2000 per annum. Seton’s influence solidified in 1539 following the death of James Beaton, Archbishop of St. Andrews. The newly minted Earl of Winton supported Patrick Hepburn, a political ally not only for the office of the Archbishopric over Beaton’s nephew, David Beaton, but also for the office of Lord Chancellor. Hepburn’s episcopate would prove detrimental to the Archbishopric of St. Andrews, but Hepburn leased out large portions of his diocese (with various grants to Winton himself) to fund his wasteful and extravagant lifestyle. In terms of policies, Hepburn proved to be no innovator: though he helped usher through parliamentary legislation that protected the authority of the Pope in Scotland, Alexander IV had little taste for bloodletting. “Matters such as these are mere trifles,” Alexander IV reportedly told the archbishop. Patrick Hamilton, Abbot of Fearn Abbey and a reformer who had studied abroad with Martin Luther was tried for heresy and executed in 1528. Still, there were no large-scale persecutions throughout the 1530s and 1540s—most cases were limited to friars, minor priests, and others who belonged to lowly occupations.

    Despite the changes that Charlotte had implemented within her life, little had changed: though the Earl of Winton now arranged and encouraged Alexander to bed his queen on an irregular basis, the royal couple remained childless. “The king visits me each evening,” Charlotte wrote dejectedly in a letter to Anne. “He kisses me on the cheek, bids me goodnight, and then withdraws. When the king does stay with me, it is only every few weeks, and for a matter of minutes… and he only visits me when my courses are due.” Anne was greatly disappointed that her advice had not improved matters, but she saw clearly that one obstacle prevented the royal couple from having a child. “That dreaded earl is the cause of all of this dysfunction,” Anne wrote to King François—the script of the letter bold and furious. “If we wish for the King and Queen of Scots to have an heir ere long, then the king’s interest must be directed elsewhere. Everything hinges upon this: the Auld Alliance and the future of the House of Stewart. No marriage between the Houses of Stewart and Valois has ever produced progeny… this marriage cannot end the same way.” For Anne, only one man could help in this delicate situation: her brother, Georges de Boullan, the Duke of Valentinois.

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    Sketch of Georges de Boullan, Duke of Valentinois; c. 1536.

    Just as Anne’s star had risen at court, so had Georges. Bold and saucy, Georges was a consummate courtier who knew how to keep King François happy and make him laugh. Georges enjoyed a close relationship with King François—François enjoyed having a friend whose sexual appetites were as large as his own. Georges was pampered and coddled by François—with the King of France happy to give his favorite’s brother gifts of cash, land, and jewelry—even as he scolded him for his love of luxury and constant debts. Georges’ marriage to Louise Borgia in 1534—followed by his attainment of the Duchy of Valentinois in 1539- showed his climbed heights. “Matters have not progressed to the matter in which I have hoped,” Anne wrote in a letter to her brother. “I know that the King of Scots is fond of you—and so I wish you to go to Scotland and get to the bottom of these troubles between the king and queen. Remedy these issues, dearest brother—as you are the only one able.” The Duke of Valentinois set out for Scotland in the spring of 1540 in grand state—his suite numbered some thirty people, and courtiers rumored that the cost of the furnishings and cloths which he intended to take to Scotland was worth some £5000—including a copy of Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa as a gift to the Scottish royal family from King François himself. The Duke of Valentinois made a brief stopover in England, where Queen Mary received the strutting duke at the English court. “More French than English—and overly bold,” one courtier wrote of Valentinois’ visit, where the duke passed on good tidings to Queen Mary from King François following the recent birth of her eldest son, Henry. Georges was also able to visit Hever Castle—which was now his following the death of both of his parents in 1539. Georges arranged for some of the Boullan family valuables to be shipped to France, while much would be sold primarily to cover Georges’ debts incurred during his short stay in England. He would sell Hever Castle for some £1200 to the Throckmorton family in 1542.

    The Duke of Valentinois finally arrived in Scotland through the port of Leith in July of 1540. “We treated the duke's arrival as a courtly celebration…” one courtier wrote in his journal. “We were all present as he disembarked, followed by his servants, retinue, and the wealth of furnishings and gifts he had brought. He met almost immediately with the king, who embraced him as an old friend, and the queen, who looked to the duke to serve as a balm in her troubled marriage. Only the Earl of Winton seemed out of sorts by Valentinois’ arrival. Oh yes, he bowed and offered courtesies to his old friend, if we can believe rumors of their coupling on the night of the king’s marriage to the queen… but in private, the earl railed and rowed against the king, and they quarreled violently on the night of the duke’s arrival.” The Earl of Winton had not forgotten the rumors that had swirled around Alexander IV and the Duke of Valentinois during their vacation in France and was unhappy to see a reminder of that time. Winton had little clue that Valentinois had come at the instigation of the French court—and feared that Alexander IV himself had invited him.

    Though the Scottish court celebrated the arrival of Valentinois with revels and feasts, the duke spent his earliest days following his arrival in Scotland meeting privately with Queen Charlotte. They took brisk walks around the privy garden. They also spent hours closeted within the queen’s privy chambers, where Charlotte poured forth the troubles of the state of her marriage—with the Duke of Valentinois learning what happened precisely during the royal couplings. “Things are more troubled than we thought,” Georges wrote to Anne. “But do not worry—for I intend to fix it.” Valentinois would meet with Charlotte on several different occasions throughout his stay in Scotland and privately with the king. He served as a counselor and tutor for the royal couple and sought to bridge the gap between the pair, as well as to remedy the issue of their sexual incompatibility. “The root of the issue is that the king has no interest in women…” Valentinois noted in another letter sent back to his sister in France.

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    Portrait of the Earl of Winton, c. 1540.

    Valentinois stayed in Scotland throughout 1540—with his return to France planned in the spring of 1541. Little surprise that his sojourn in Scotland had sent tongues wagging and set the rumor mill of Scotland aflame. Some whispered that Valentinois had been invited to Scotland by Alexander IV himself to give the Earl of Winton a bloody nose—with many believing that the relationship between the king and his favorite was entering its last stages. Others saw French shadows in Valentinois—with murmurs that the king was planning to set Charlotte aside due to her sterility and that the annulment decree would arrive from Rome in months. In continued meetings with Queen Charlotte, the Duke of Valentinois clarified that such rumors were dangerous to her position. “The king is fond of you, as you have said, but he does not love you… and therein lies the problem.” Valentinois counseled the queen in one of their meetings. “The king will never love you as passionately as he does the earl—he will love you in another way when you have children together.” Charlotte could only despair: “Then he shall never love me—for he shall never be parted from Winton.” Valentinois thought otherwise—to him, the path forward was apparent. The Earl of Winton must be dealt with—and replaced with someone more interested in upholding Charlotte’s interests. She needed someone who would be her ally and her servant—and that was not the Earl of Winton. Winton had selected Charlotte and would always feel the queen should be indebted to him, not vice versa. Valentinois promised to intercede with the king during his stay—the Duke of Valentinois rekindled his relationship with Alexander IV during his stay in Scotland—but cautioned that a genuine replacement would need to be found.

    “Matters have been successful,” Valentinois wrote in a note to his sister shortly after the new year in 1541—with Charlotte discovered that she was pregnant. When the pregnancy became public news, it only fueled further rumors: some suggested Valentinois had instructed the royal couple in matters in the bedroom and had gone so far as to be present in the royal bedchambers during their assignations. Others believed that perhaps Valentinois had been recruited by Alexander IV to create the heir that he so desperately needed. This vile rumor was especially bandied about—and helped contribute to further issues between Alexander IV and his mother, with Margaret repeating the rumor far and wide. “The King of Scots wears cuckold's horns,” Margaret announced to all who would listen. “The queen’s bastard will be colored like the Boullans, I am sure.” Alexander retaliated against his mother by withdrawing further lands from her dower, banning her from the court, and halving her pension until she apologized.

    In the matter of finding a new lover for the king, Valentinois and Charlotte found a potential match right under their nose: Angelo Acciaioli, a young Florentine nobleman who had come in the suite of Charlotte to Scotland and served as one of her numerous valets de chambre. “Acciaioli was in his nineteen or twenty, having arrived in Scotland as a young man as part of the queen’s suite,” one courtier recorded in their memoirs. “Sweet and quiet, he was nothing like the Earl of Winton—with jet black hair and piercing green eyes.” Valentinois encouraged the queen to toss Acciaioli before the king as a new potential mate—an idea also supported by those who felt piqued by the rise of Winton and his domineering behavior over the king and court. The discord between Charlotte and the king’s favorite had grown—it was no longer a matter of personal differences. Still, it was rapidly turning into a political affair as well: those who felt that Winton’s political power had grown too much turned to the queen as a counter anchor and hoped that she might succeed in supplanting George Seton and replacing those who supported him.

    Valentinois returned to France without issue in April 1541. Charlotte would give birth in June of 1541: she gave birth not to the long-awaited son but to a daughter named Anne, after Charlotte’s grandmother. Though the birth was disappointing in some quarters, Alexander IV seemed especially pleased and ordered the princess christened in the royal chapel with all the pomp expected as if she had been born a prince. “The Earl of Winton grinned ear to ear when he heard that the queen had given birth to a daughter,” one courtier wrote in a letter to his wife. “But Winton's smile faded when he learned that the king had patted the queen’s hand and declared before all the court that there would be no need to fret because a son would soon follow.” When Charlotte learned of the favorite’s dreaded behavior following the birth of her daughter, she knew that she must act, and soon, Winton needed to go—and Acciaioli needed to replace him.
     
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    Chapter 27. The Ormond Rebellion
  • Chapter 27. The Ormond Rebellion
    1537-1541; England & Ireland.

    “Alas, how I fear lest it be objected to us, as was to Tiberius by Bato: you, you it is that are in fault, who have committed your flocks not to shepherds but to wolves!”
    — Queen Mary of England


    Music Accompaniment: Haec Dies

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    King John's Landing at Dover, 1537.

    King John returned to England in the summer of 1537. At nineteen, he had spent nearly two years abroad campaigning in Denmark and Norway to restore his father, Christian II, to his rightful place on the throne. However, John succeeded on the battlefield and remained in Denmark for a time. “The Danes welcomed King John with a bevy of cheers as he entered Copenhagen, able to return to the ancestral castle where he had spent so many of his early years,” one historian wrote of the period. “While John’s reunion with his father was not warm—it was cordial enough.” During John’s stay in Denmark, Christian II recognized his son as heir to the Danish throne, naming him his co-ruler within the Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. John’s position within the duchies was critical, as Christian II granted his son mortgages over Heligoland, Itzehoe, Gottorp, and Femern. “The King of Denmark saw the settlement of his son’s financial situation in the utmost importance—even more given his position as King of England,” one Danish courtier would write in their private annals. “King John's revenue was primarily from his English lands, worth some £3000, which he held only for life. He also had a pension from the Estates General of the Low Countries, granted to him upon the Empress Mary’s urging—worth £2000. King John’s income, some £5000, was pathetically small compared to the wealth held by his wife. Christian II believed that his son was being purposely kept in poverty to reduce his influence and wished to provide John with an independent income…” John’s new income would be a complex topic within England. While some English councilors were pleased that their young king had proved his worth and would reduce burdens upon the royal treasury, others were wary of the young sovereign gaining more considerable sums of money, which would be outside their control.

    When John returned to England, he landed in Dover—saluted as the hero he had now become. “People cheered for their handsome king—returned from his grand adventure,” a bourgeois gentleman who lived in Dover wrote in his journal. “His Majesty resided that night at Dover Castle and dined in a right royal state—his lords and officers attended him beneath the royal canopy, which bore the arms of England with those of Denmark and Norway. King John had left England a boy—and returned a man.” Before embarking to London, John stopped briefly at the Priory of St. Mary the Virgin, where he would deposit his bloodied battle standard: a magnificent flag which included the cross of St. George, colored in Argent and Azure. The flag was decorated with Tudor Roses, Fleur-de-Lys, and Danish Hearts, crowned with the Danish Lion with Dieu et Mon Droit etched in gold. From Dover, John traveled up Watling Street, the old Roman road which connected Dover to London. From there, he took a barge down the Thames to Eltham Palace, where Queen Mary and Princess Mary spent the summer. “Queen Mary was pleased to see the king again,” Anne Parr—now Countess of Arundel following her marriage to Henry Fitzalan—wrote in her memoirs. “I cannot say that it was a tender reunion, but the queen was pleased to see John hale and healthy—and most of all, looking more like a man than he had on his departure.” Matters eased slightly in the royal marriage upon John’s return—perhaps made easier by the mutual attraction the king and queen shared. Even if they did not love much—quite yet, they had a little issue in the royal bed chambers.

    During John’s time abroad, matters of government had been managed solely by Mary, who had handled herself superbly. Aside from ensuring that John’s troops were well-funded and well-supplied, the queen had devoted herself to sundry administrative matters. She ordered the Duke of Norfolk, Lord High Treasurer, to begin work on a list of imports into England and the tariffs and duties levied upon them. Parliament assembled during John’s absence in 1536, which was concerned primarily with minor matters—the Vagabond Act of 1536 sought to deal with the growth of beggars and vagabonds: the so-called impotent beggars, who were unable to work due to illness, disability, or age were for the first time licensed to beg for alms, with such licenses to be granted by the Justices of the Peace. The idle poor—those who could work—were banned from begging and were to be whipped as a punishment if caught doing so. The Calais Act also passed—which provided extra privileges to Merchants of the Staple by allowing them to levy a fee upon goods that passed through the port of Calais into England. “Queen Mary sought to reign in an even-handed manner during the period of the king’s sojourn,” one historian would write. “She sought to prove herself worthy—even if others forced her to share her powers when the king was in England; she hoped all would look upon her a queen who looked fondly after the interests of the people.”

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    Tournai Beggars, 1353.

    As part of the queen coming into her own, she arranged for a shake-up of her Privy Council: Thomas More succeeded Bishop Fisher as Lord Chancellor in 1535, and Thomas Audley gained the office of Lord Privy Seal. Mary also divided the office of King’s Clerk into two roles—a clerk to serve herself and one to serve John. Stephen Gardinier, Bishop of Winchester (who had succeeded Thomas Wolsey following his death in 1534) was named Queen’s Clerk, while one of Gardinier’s associates, William Paget, was named King’s Clerk. An Act of Parliament in 1536 also created the role of Lord President of the Council. Queen Mary granted this new title to Thomas More and deputized him as head of the Privy Council in the absence of the sovereigns. “By the time King John returned to England, there had been a great change,” one councilor wrote in his private memoirs. “Not only had the king grown up during his time abroad, so had the queen, who had begun to realize her acumen for government.” John, pleased with the arrangements made during his absence, approved of Mary’s choices. He readily accepted William Paget as his clerk, and the pair would soon establish a harmonious working relationship—just as Mary would develop a good relationship with the Bishop of Winchester.

    In matters of the royal family, young Princess Mary grew up quickly. “The little princess is as pretty as her mother,” Catherine Willoughby wrote in a letter to her mother, Maria de Salinas. “And just as bold. Her nurses cannot tame her, and she enjoys romping about the nursery and causing all sorts of trouble. Her first word indicates her station as she cries out, ‘Queen! Queen!’ to all that would listen to her…” Queen Mary doted upon her daughter; Princess Mary’s governess was Elizabeth Grey, the Countess of Devon and Viscountess of Lisle, with the queen often writing to the countess to ensure that the countess followed her orders to the letter. The young princess was also doted upon by her grandmother, with Queen Catherine often writing to the Countess of Devon seeking updates.

    Though Catherine still made occasional treks to court, especially for major holidays such as Christmas, she began to spend more time at Hanworth Manor as her health declined. The queen dowager complained of headaches, dizziness, and shortness of breath—to which her physicians were unable to offer any absolute comfort, prescribing bleedings, purges, and enemas that did little but worsen her condition. In 1537, Catherine arranged to make up her final will—before announcing that she would be retiring to Syon Abbey as a boarder to live out her last days. “I know that this news may be shocking to you, my darling,” Catherine wrote in a letter to Mary that defended her decision. “But you know, as do I… that I am not well. I do not know how long I will be in this world—if I shall be here another week, month, or year. But as the doctors are unable to cure me, I feel that I must seek my cure with God instead. I shall always be close and write to you often, but you are a queen, a wife, and a mother… I must allow you to live your life, and I shall live mine. Remember who you are, and that you shall always be my daughter, the granddaughter of the Great Isabella and Ferdinand… and the daughter of the Great Henry, your father.” As part of Catherine’s retirement, she returned most of her dower lands to the royal domain. Those she retained—worth some £2000 per annum—were pledged to Syon Abbey to care for her needs during her stay. Mary bore the news of her mother’s retirement stoically, but some of the queen’s closest ladies reported that the queen wept in her chambers the day her mother moved into Syon.

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    Seal of the Abbess of Syon.

    The Anglo-Norman nobility, such as the Earls of Kildare and Ormond, largely dominated Ireland. The Earl of Essex’s tenure as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland had been brief, and he had been mainly ineffective in maintaining peace between the feuding noble houses. Mary needed a new tack within Ireland and named Sir John Rawson Lord-Lieutenant in 1535. Rawson was the Prior of Kilmainham, the Irish House of the Knights Hospitaller, but had served previously as Ireland’s Lord Treasurer and had occupied a vital role within the Irish Privy Council since the 1520s. Mary charged Rawson with maintaining peace within Ireland and increasing English control within the Pale. Rawson hosted Ireland's first Parliament during Mary’s reign at Drogheda in 1538, where the Parliament voted funds for the upkeep of Dublin’s fortifications. At Drogheda, Rawson sought to unify the Irish lords within the Pale by having them sign a pledge that would become known as the Eternal Peace. The Eternal Peace outlined that the lords should obey the queen’s majesty and refrain from feuding and fighting against each other. The peace stipulated that those who signed agreed to band together against those who might seek to broach it. Despite good intentions, Rawson could not gain proper support for his peace pledge, and the great Anglo-Irish magnates who maintained actual influence within Ireland ridiculed the agreement as useless. Rawson, in his late sixties and increasingly ill health, did not prove to be a robust choice for the office of Lord-Lieutenant; he retired in 1537—soon replaced by James Butler, the Earl of Ormond, who had recently succeeded his father. Mary and John charged the Earl of Ormond with maintaining peace within the Pale, extending English control further into Ireland, and reeling in the Gaelic raiders.

    Queen Mary proved incredibly fecund following the return of John from Denmark and fell pregnant shortly after his return. In April 1538, Mary gave birth to her second child—a princess named Catherine in honor of her grandmother. “The queen is well pleased with her daughter, who is a bonny lass,” Catherine Blount wrote in a letter to her husband, Richard Devereaux. “Though, of course, there are those who may grumble because she is not a son, the queen has more than proved herself in this battlefield and has handled herself gloriously…” John and Mary’s relationship had improved immensely since his return from Denmark. While Mary remained jealous of her prerogatives, she was more willing to work with her husband than ever before, with the queen discovering that they worked very well together. While the queen was especially apt in administrative and financial matters, John proved his worth in minutiae and military concerns. “After breakfast, the king and queen typically retire to their privy chamber where they work, their desks on opposite ends of the chamber.” Stephen Gardinier, the Queen’s Clerk, would write in his memoirs. “While the queen might busy herself with reports of the royal household’s finances, the king would busy himself on other matters, such as refortification efforts in Dover or Berwick, or seeking progress on the paving a road from London to Dover…” Ireland remained a prime concern for both John and Mary in all these matters. However, although the Earl of Ormond proved to be a good administrator, he remained constrained by his conflicts with the Geraldines—other problems concerned the Earl of Desmond, with the title disputed between two rival claimants. The Gaelic chieftains on the outskirts of English authority continued to act with impunity—they continued to raid the Pale, with English authorities largely constrained from curtailing them.

    Taking experience from his campaigns in Scandinavia, John recommended that Dublin host a garrison, like the troops that guarded Berwick, Portsmouth, and Dover—consisting of men from the Pale and England, too. The Dublin garrison would consist of some 2000 men, funded by the Irish Parliament. John recommended William Brabazon to head the Dublin garrison and appointed constable of Dublin Castle. This appointment was not looked upon fondly by the Earl of Ormond. “The great earls like Kildare and Ormond governed as they pleased within the island that was their home,” a historian would write in a treatise about Tudor control over Ireland. “Queen Catherine had been content to govern through these men if they caused no trouble. The earls began to increasingly conflict with King John and Queen Mary—both who wished to increase England’s authority over the Lordship of Ireland.” The introduction of a garrison into Dublin gave the government within the Pale another effective instrument for increasing its influence. However, Brabazon quickly came into conflict with the Earl of Ormond, who felt that Brabazon had been put in place to hinder his role as Lord Lieutenant. Ormond also sought to use Brabazon’s men to deal with his feuds with the Geraldines in Kildare; when Brabazon refused, Ormond retaliated by withholding funds from the garrison. “I cannot serve under these conditions,” Brabazon wrote in a fiery letter addressed to both of his sovereigns. “I must have the freedom to act according to your dictates—not those applied by the Earl of Ormond.” The king and queen formally reprimanded the Earl of Ormond, who reminded him sternly that the Dublin Garrison had been placed there for the protection of the Pale and not his private feuds.

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    James Butler, Earl of Ormond & Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, c. 1536.

    Issues in Ireland continued throughout 1538 into 1539. The Earl of Ormond was now contending with William Brabazon and continuing friction with the Geraldines in Kildare. The issue of Desmond also remained paramount, as the Earl of Ormond had married Joan FitzGerald, the daughter and heiress of James FitzGerald, the late Earl of Desmond whose death had seen the title divided between two rival claimants. Having attained the office of Lord-Lieutenant, he now hoped to use his wife’s status to extend the influence of the Butler lands into Munster. Ormond's policies ran counter to the hopes of Mary and John in Ireland; rather than keeping the peace, the Earl of Ormond was stirring up more trouble. “A most naughty subject undeserving of our fondness,” Mary reportedly snapped when she received reports of Ormond’s continued bad behavior. The Earl of Kildare readily exploited Ormond's issues, Thomas FitzGerald, who agitated the king and queen to remove Butler from office and to return the Lord-Lieutenancy into the hands of the Geraldines. The Earl of Kildare promised to faithfully carry out the royal program for Ireland—even as he crossed his fingers and plotted for Butler’s destruction. William Brabazon readily threw his support behind Kildare—not only to bloody Ormond’s nose but to secure an ally and build up his influence in Dublin. Mary and John soon retaliated by stripping Ormond of his office of Lord Lieutenant and rewarding it to the Earl of Kildare. Despite being twenty-six, Kildare's young Earl had experience governing under his father, the previous Earl.

    The queen stripped Ormond of his office; he reportedly uttered: “So, the little queen and her little king think they shall reign here as they do in England?” Retreating to his lands in Ormond, the earl made common cause with the Clanricardes in Western Ireland, recruiting them along with other Gaelic clans in the south and the west to raid Kildare. While Ormond hoped to build a common cause with the Earl of Desmond, Thomas FitzGerald refused to cooperate unless Ormond dropped his claims to Desmond territory. At the same time, the king and queen, along with the Earl of Kildare, championed the claims of James FitzGerald as Earl of Desmond. Kildare arrived in Dublin in the Summer of 1539, where Brabazon and the Irish Privy Council welcomed him. “We welcome you, sir,” Brabazon said to Kildare with great flourish. “For you are the only one who can banish Ireland’s misgovernment and restore it to glory.” Kildare had brought some 500 foot soldiers with him, including Scottish redshirts from the Hebrides—which he would augment into the Dublin garrison. Throughout the summer of 1539, Ormond’s raiders attacked Kildare and succeeded in seizing Wexford. In a fiery speech to his soldiers, the Earl of Ormond declared, “I renounce now, for all time, my allegiance to England—we ought to have no master here except for ourselves. Those who maintain their allegiance to the English forfeit their goods; I shall exile or put to the sword any Englishman that attempts to remain in our land.” Ormond intimated to the Earl of Kildare that he was willing to divide Ireland between them; when this failed, Ormond sought support from Pope Pius V, sending letters directly to Rome to appeal for his cause. Ormond received no answer for his letters, but his revolt caused ripples throughout Ireland that worried the Dublin administration.

    The Ormond Rebellion, as it became known, was the first natural inflammation of Tudor Ireland since Henry VII's reign. Mary and John saw the benefits of increased control over Ireland and were prepared to deal harshly with those who did not support them. Brabazon, with the blessing of the Earl of Kildare, proceeded to evict the Gaelic chieftains around Uí Failghe and Leix who supported Ormond near Dublin, with the lands granted to soldiers from the Dublin Garrison with the proviso that they should settle the lands given and adhere to English laws and customs. Brabazon's eviction represented the first attempted displacement of the old Gaelic power structures in favor of the English and Anglicized Irish who lived within the Pale—Brabanzon gave out land to his English and Irish soldiers equally, and these settlements would lead to the founding of Maryborough and Johnstown within Queen’s County and King’s County. Mary and John reiterated their vision for Ireland through the Articles of Grace, which would be published in Dublin by the Earl of Kildare: this called for an end of division and disorder throughout the whole of Ireland, a restructuring of the Irish legal code, to deal with the division of Brehon Law in Gaelic territories and Irish March Law which prevailed in English controlled areas; settlement of land and tenancies; and the creation of fortifications in vital areas to maintain Ireland’s security. Old English landowners championed the articles, seeing them as a way to end Ireland's disorder. Still, such grand proclamations wearied the Gaelic chiefs, who feared further encroachment into their lands and territories but also an end to their way of life as they knew it.

    Thomas_FitzGerald%2C_10th_Earl_of_Kildare.jpg

    Thomas FitzGerald, the 10th Earl of Kildare and Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.
    He would become an important pillar of Tudor power in Ireland.

    While Kildare dealt with troubles in Ireland, Queen Mary soon discovered she was pregnant for a third time. “It seems that this is my lot in this life,” Mary reportedly grumbled to the Countess of Arundel. “Queen and broodmare—paired together into one package.” Still, even if Mary was not wholly pleased with her condition, she knew that she must endure it—while all the court hoped and prayed that she might finally give England its long-awaited heir. Mary gave birth to her third child and eldest son in May 1539—the young boy was large and healthy and was christened Henry in honor of the queen’s late father. Henry immediately became Duke of Cornwall from the moment of his birth. “All the court was well pleased when the king announced that the queen had finally given birth to a son,” one courtier would write anonymously. “His Majesty was greatly overjoyed and had the young prince sumptuously baptized at the Priory of Sheen—a grand event that even the queen dowager attended, who had traveled in a litter from Syon to Sheen.” Prince Henry’s baptism would be Queen Catherine’s last public event: she would pass away in February 1540 after suffering from a kidney ailment in her previous months. Queen Mary attended her mother’s deathbed and stayed for several days at Syon while her mother’s condition deteriorated. Catherine’s will allotted most of her jewelry and prized possessions to her daughter—the jewel of Catherine’s life. Minor bequests were made to Charles V’s daughters by his late wife, Empress Mary, and Prince Ferdinand of Asturias's wife, Isabella of Portugal. Catherine’s funeral was a grand affair hosted at Westminster, with the Archbishop of Canterbury giving the eulogy. “A great woman…and an even greater queen, whose life shall always be remembered for her dedication to the faith, to England—and her husband, Henry VIII.” Catherine would be interned jointly with Henry VIII at Westminster Abbey—joining him in the tomb she had commissioned for them twenty-seven years after his death. Work on the tomb would be continued by Queen Mary, who would add effigies of both Henry VIII and Catherine to the tomb, along with an inscription in Latin: “Coniuncti in vita et morte, hic dormimus, Henricus et Catharina, vir et uxor in spe resurrectionis.”[1]

    Ormond’s rebellion remained mainly centered around his hereditary lands and, by the summer of 1540, was beginning to run out of steam. Hopes of foreign support evaporated as Pope Pius V condemned Ormond’s rebellion, reaffirming through a Papal Bull that Mary and John continued to hold the Lordship of Ireland. Kildare had augmented Brabazon’s troops with his own and ordered siege guns from Dublin to pummel Ormond Castle in the Siege of Ormond. Brabazon would clash with the Earl of Ormond at the Battle of Carrick near his hereditary castle, where his well-trained troops succeeded in pummeling Ormond’s poorly trained Gaelic bands. Brabazon captured Ormond while attempting to flee the battlefield, gleefully placing the overly proud earl into chains. “All of Dublin shall see what a traitor looks like—and how a traitor is treated,” Brabazon reportedly sneered to his new prisoner. The Earl of Ormond was paraded through Dublin in July of 1540, with Mary and John passing an attainder upon Ormond for treason. His title was declared forfeit, and the crown seized his lands. Held in the gaol of Dublin Castle, Ormond’s wife, Joan FitzGerald, and his children were ordered closely confined at Dublin Castle until Kildare could send them to England, where the children could be reared and raised as Englishmen. Only in one matter did Mary herself relent—allowing the Countess of Ormond to maintain the lands she had brought to the Butlers as her dowry. The Ormond Rebellion was snuffed out by 1540, though Brabazon’s troops would continue to be active throughout 1540 and 1541 as they fought to secure control over the Earldom of Desmond for James FitzGerald.

    [1] Roughly: United in Life and Death, here we sleep, Henry and Catherine in hope of Resurrection. Like Mary and Elizabeth’s tomb of OTL.
     
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    Chapter 28. Sons of Sigismund
  • Chapter 28. Sons of Sigismund
    1538-1543; Poland & Lithuania

    “With no money, one is likely to win no war.”
    — Sigismund I of Poland


    Music Accompaniment: Taniec Polski No. 1

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    King Sigismund I "the Old" of Poland, c. 1518.

    By the 1530s, King Sigismund of Poland was secure upon his throne and within his position. Though he remained constrained by the Polish Sejm, he benefitted from the local nobility's advice and built up a competent bureaucracy of royal judges and treasurers in Kraków. Sigismund had always desired to claim more power for the Polish crown but worked well enough within the system that previous monarchs had established. His reign was not without blunders—his invasion of Germany in support of his French allies had earned him nothing. It had cost him significant support, which doomed his efforts to establish permanent taxation for a standing royal army. In economic matters, Sigismund proved a more successful king—he succeeded in paying down the royal debt, separated the public and royal treasuries, and regularized coin production from the Kraków mint. Other reforms benefitted the Polish salt mines and the agricultural economy—and legal codes that formalized serfdom originated in Sigismund’s reign.

    Sigismund had a large and healthy family. He had enjoyed a harmonious marriage with Barbara Zápolya, sister of John Zápolya, the King of Hungary. Her death in 1532 deprived Sigismund of a vital partner and consort, but she had succeeded in her duties, giving the king a large family of six children. The royal family included two sons, Sigismund (b. 1515) and Alexander (b. 1516), and four daughters, Hedwig (b. 1513), Anna (b. 1520), Sophia (b. 1523) and Catherine (b. 1524). Queen Barbara had been vocal in her anti-Habsburg politics; it was only following her death that Sigismund was able to affect a reproachment with Emperor Charles V that included the betrothal of the emperor’s daughter Marie to Sigismund’s eldest son, also named Sigismund. “After decades of trouble with the Habsburgs and the bloody nose which he had received in Brandenburg, King Sigismund was more than willing to seek a more positive relationship with the emperor,” Jerzy Radziwill wrote in his private journals. “There was no better to secure peace between both realms than through a marriage—a Habsburg queen would do more wonders than any piece of paper.” The marriage treaty, negotiated in 1535, agreed that the pair would marry in 1538. The young princess was beautiful and took much after her mother, having inherited her eyes and coloring. When the emperor broke the news of Marie’s impending nuptials, she reportedly wept, stating: “I shall be crossing to the ends of the earth—further from you and everyone than I have ever been before in my life.” Even as Empress Renée attempted to console her, the princess saw her impending marriage as a prison sentence. King Sigismund encouraged his son to write to his betrothed—and young Sigismund and Marie would exchange letters in polite French. King Sigismund dispatched Illia Ostrogski and his wife, Beata Laska (reportedly an illegitimate daughter of King Sigismund), to teach the young princess Polish and instruct her in the matters of the Polish court.

    Marie’s suite departed from Brussels in February 1538, with the emperor and empress following the bridal procession as far as Nuremberg. “The emperor was emotional when he embraced his daughter one final time—with Isabelle in France, Marie was the last tangible connection that he had to the Empress Mary,” a lady-in-waiting to Marie wrote in a private letter. “The emperor urged Marie never to forget him… while the empress wept and begged Marie to do all the good, she might do in the Polish court. From Nuremberg, we departed towards Pilsen…” Marie spent a short stay in Prague with her aunt, Mary, before she eventually arrived at the Polish border in May 1538, where she met King Sigismund and the Polish court at Balin. King Sigismund quickly embraced his new daughter-in-law—promising to love her like his daughters. Sigismund’s daughters were courteous enough to this new addition to their family—her intended husband, the young Prince Sigismund, was aloof as he greeted her. “She is not at all what she seems, nor what I pictured,” Prince Sigismund reportedly murmured to one of his companions in French—which Marie understood perfectly. Prince Sigismund’s younger brother, Prince Alexander, made up for his brother’s boorishness—kissing his sister-in-law’s hand with all the flourish of a French courtier. “Prince Sigismund is rude, and he is not as handsome as his portraits,” Marie muttered later that evening to her ladies-in-waiting. “Prince Alexander is kind and much more handsome… why is he not the eldest son?” A lament of a princess who would soon do her duty. Prince Sigismund and Marie would be married at Wawel Cathedral—this would be followed shortly after Marie’s coronation as Queen of Poland—her husband was co-crowned Vivente Rege in 1531 as King of Poland. From the beginning of her marriage, Marie would be the first lady of the Polish court.

    400px-Bacchiacca_-_Portrait_of_a_Woman_with_a_Book_of_Music.jpg

    Supposed Portrait of Marie of Austria, c. 1537.

    Sigismund and Marie’s marriage was fraught with issues from the very beginning. Both possessed solid and outgoing personalities. Sigismund was loud and boisterous: he enjoyed feasts and hunting and spent much of his time with his young companions, such as the Radziwill cousins, both named Mikolaj. Sigismund, at twenty-three, also had a large sexual appetite—he had several mistresses and continued to indulge in affairs even after his marriage. Marie was bright and vibrant—of her mother’s children, she had a temperament that most matched the Tudor princess who had become Holy Roman Empress. She enjoyed courtly dances and, coming from a sophisticated court, also enjoyed games of love. At the same time, her husband had numerous affairs, and Marie conducted flirtations of her own—often provoking the ire of her husband. “The prince and princess quarreled from dawn until dusk,” Anna of Masovia wrote to her sister. “Prince Sigismund would find a flaw and exaggerate it; in turn, Princess Marie would find her issues and magnify them. Bitter tirades would devolve into fierce arguments of screaming and shouting… on more than one occasion, the prince struck the princess for her flippancy…” One terrible situation occurred shortly before King Sigismund’s birthday in 1539 when the young couple quarreled so terribly that Prince Sigismund violently drug Marie by her hair from her bedchamber, pulling out several strands of her hair. When Marie appeared before the court with two blackened eyes, King Sigismund intervened by separating the couple for several weeks. Sigismund brokered reconciliation several weeks later, and for a time, it seemed successful—Marie soon became pregnant, but she suffered a miscarriage in July 1539. Prince Sigismund accused his wife of purposely losing the child, which scuttled whatever progress they had made. Prince Sigismund soon took up with Teodosia Movila, the daughter of a Moldavian Boyar who had sought refuge in Poland. Teodosia quickly became one of Prince Sigismund’s most favored lovers and was soon his official mistress.

    Despite her issues with her husband, Marie got along well with the rest of her new family. King Sigismund the Old doted upon Marie—calling her his Flemish Flower. She established good relationships with her sisters-in-law, too. But her closest relationship was with Alexander—her brother-in-law and Prince Sigismund’s younger brother. “Sigismund and Alexander were like night and day…” one Polish courtier would write anonymously decades later. “While Prince Sigismund was devoted to pleasure and cared little about his position and the future of the crown he would someday wear upon his own, Prince Alexander was conscientious of his duties. He got along well with Princess Marie from the day that they met; many at court lamented that what a pity it was that Alexander was not the elder son and even more a pity that he was unable to marry the princess he loved.” No one can be quite sure of Alexander and Marie’s actual relationship. Though they were devoted to each other, some believed it was merely a courtly romance or flirtation, something Marie cherished in her heart without acting upon it. Others wondered if there was perhaps more to it, with an anonymous love letter subscribed to Marie stating: “When you are away from me, my heart aches and it is unbearable… pray that this letter reaches you safely; when you read it, remember that my lips have kissed this parchment, and I scented your favorite perfume upon the leaves.”

    Regardless of whatever passed between Alexander and Marie, it was concerning enough to King Sigismund that he knew his younger son must marry sooner rather than later—and quickly. Sigismund sought his younger son’s bride from Germany and found a perfect match in the eldest daughter of Heinrich V of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, Margarete. Alexander married Margarete in September 1540 at Corpus Christi Basilica in Kraków, a sumptuous ceremony befitting the King of Poland’s second son. Alexander’s marriage ceremony culminated with King Sigismund naming Alexander as Grand Duke of Lithuania—and co-ruler of the Grand Duchy alongside his older brother, to provide him with his own station. Despite these new heights, Alexander’s marriage was no more successful than his brothers: Margarete, raised in a provincial German court, could not even compare to her glittering sister-in-law, the daughter of an emperor and an English princess. “Prince Alexander is kind and ensures that I want for nothing,” Margarete would write in a letter home to her father. “But when all you wish is for his attention or for him to glance your way, all the baubles and trinkets in the world matter little…”

    400px-Jan_van_Calcar_-_Portrait_of_Sigismund_Augustus.jpg

    Portrait of Prince Alexander of Poland, c. 1540s.

    Shortly after Alexander’s marriage, King Sigismund dispatched his younger son and his new wife to Vilnius, where they occupied the Grand Ducal Palace. Alexander threw himself into renovation efforts—he lured Italian architects to Poland with generous wages and sought to give the entire palace structure a Renaissance makeover. Alexander also became head of the Lithuanian Council of Lords. As one of the Grand Dukes within the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Alexander pursued a policy of protecting Lithuania’s borders—aside from fortifying critical settlements along the frontier, Alexander sought to defuse tensions with the Grand Duchy of Muscovy by negotiating with Grand Duchess Elena Glinskaya, regent for her young son, the Grand Duke Vasili IV[1]. Alexander also sought organization in the wild fields north of the Pontic Steppe. Though Alexander would have little success in this area, he would help lay the seeds for the organization of the Ruthenian Cossacks in the next reign. Compared to Prince Sigismund, who was in some ways a bigoted Catholic, Alexander represented the multicultural traditions of the Jagiellonian dynasty—during his time in Lithuania, he would endow not only Catholic Churches but would also provide significant funding for several Orthodox Churches and monasteries. Though Alexander primarily lived apart from Margarete, their marriage bed proved more fertile than Marie and Prince Sigismund’s: in the early months of 1541, Margarete would give birth to a daughter named Barbara in honor of Alexander’s mother. While Alexander was in Vilnius, King Sigismund sought to send Prince Sigismund on a tour of several Polish provinces—which he essentially used as an excuse for hunting and whoring. “Must we continue to be separated by these leagues of land and dirt?” Another letter began—supposedly written by Marie to Alexander, though unverified. “You cannot imagine how it feels—to be wed to a man who is cruel to your very person, but at the same time to discover the man who is everything that you have ever wished for in a prince—only for him to be snatched for your grasp and wed to another. Remember that I would do anything to be by your side—even if it meant parting the seas.”

    While Prince Sigismund toured Poland and Alexander assisted in governing Lithuania, this left Marie in Kraków as the Polish Court's first lady—a position she had occupied since her marriage. Despite her foreign birth and Habsburg blood, Marie had little issue charming the Polish nobles. “The little queen was a bright light—sorely needed in Poland following the death of Queen Barbara.” one Polish noble wrote in their private journal. “There had existed no queen, ever, in the history of Poland that performed her duties as well as Marie did. The Szlachta adored her because of her tragic story; her upbeat attitude, esprit, and wit allowed her to put all at ease—even the most ardent critic became her supporter simply by conversing with her.” Marie threw herself into the social whirl of the Polish court—aside from meeting with ambassadors and petitioners, she instituted days where she met any that desired to put a petition before her—this included even the meanest and poorest of her subjects who would otherwise not be allowed in her presence. Aside from such functions, she also hosted drawing rooms, dances, feasts, and other entertainments—establishing herself as the locus of the Polish court as Sigismund the Old, entering his seventies, began to withdraw from active participation from the court. “Our daughter is a wise and witty girl,” Sigismund wrote to one critic who attacked Marie’s social events. “In our absence, she is the glittering jewel of our crown—she shall do as she pleases, and we shall support her in that.”

    [1] Elena lives longer here. Vasili IV is the eldest surviving son. Her eldest son, Ivan, is stillborn. Vasili, unlike Yuri Vasilievich, is not deaf.
     
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    Chapter 29. Sands of the Orient
  • Chapter 29. Sands of the Orient
    1535-1540; Ottoman Empire & Persia

    “What men call sovereignty is a worldly strife and constant war;
    Worship of God is the highest throne, the happiest of all estates.”
    — Poem written by Sultan Suleiman


    Music Accompaniment: Üsküdar

    1522-Sultan_Suleiman_during_the_Siege_of_Rhodes-Suleymanname-DetailBottomRight.jpg

    Sultan Suleiman at the Siege of Rhodes, 1522.

    Following the defeat of the Turkish troops at Grafenwörth in 1534, they retreated into Turkish territory through the kingdom of Hungary—where Suleiman was in a foul mood. He extracted a heavy levy upon John Zápolya, which the Hungarian king could not pay. As part of his revenge, the Suleiman soon introduced troops into the border regions of Hungary: this included a janissary regiment that would be garrisoned at Buda—ostensibly for the protection of the Hungarian royal family, but in reality to make them a hostage to the Turkish Sultan. “Remember to whom you owe your crown,” one letter penned from Suleiman to John Zápolya stated clearly. “All that you have is because of me—and remember how swiftly I can remove it should I decide to do so.” The Hungarian-Turkish alliance now sat upon fragile footing, with King John having few others to turn to. His embrace of the Turks had alienated him from Catholic Europe; though his wife championed the Protestant Reformation, few of the Protestant Princes were unwilling to offer support to the king who had opened Pandora’s Box into Europe. Despite the Turkish losses, Suleiman returned to Constantinople with all the celebration due to him as Padishah. “The whole capitol turned out for their sultan,” a Venetian consul would write in his diary. “One would have thought that the Sultan had returned from his greatest victory if you had seen the sights, the streamers, the parading troops… or perhaps wondered of the celebrations if the Sultan had held Vienna.” Suleiman soon returned to Topkapi Palace, where he was greeted warmly by his wife Roxelana, who in 1532[1] had been given the title of Hakesi Sultan and formally recognized as Suleiman’s queen consort.

    Suleiman had held Roxelana dear for many years. By the 1520s, Roxelana had usurped the position held previously by Suleiman’s chief concubine, Gülbahar—also the mother of Suleiman’s eldest son, Mustafa. In a break with Ottoman tradition, Suleiman had freed Roxelana from slavery and married her. She occupied an unprecedented position: not only was she Suleiman’s wife, but she allowed to bear Suleiman multiple sons, in defiance of harem protocol. Gülbahar’s position was degraded by Roxelana’s growing influence—in 1532 when Mustafa came of age and was appointed governor of Manisa, Gülbahar departed with him. Despite Mustafa’s position as Suleiman’s eldest son, his position with his father was complicated. “All knew of the love that the sultan bore for the sultana…” a Genoese merchant wrote in a letter back home. “None could compare to her beauty or her splendor; she was the jewel of the sultan’s treasures… the choicest rose within his garden. All paled before her—and all always would.” Suleiman honored Mustafa as his eldest son—but the children of Roxelana received his love and affection. It was Suleiman’s second son, named Mehmed, that the Sultan doted upon—and that some believed that he might name his heir when the time came. “It did not matter what was thought, or what tradition was up until that point,” Feridun Agha, a eunuch within Topkapi Palace wrote in his private journals. “For our master was intent on doing as he pleased… and as he thought best.”

    Suleiman’s empire was one of the largest in the known world. It stretched from the Balkans—the land of blood and honey through Anatolia and the Levant into the sands of Mesopotamia and Egypt. From Egypt, the empire spread into North Africa, where the corsairs held Tripolitania and Cyrenaica by the sultan’s grace. Suleiman’s greatest corsair, Heyreddin Barbarossa served as Beylerbey of Algiers, where he plundered the ships of the infidel and placed pressure upon the Hafsid Sultans of Tunisia to bow to the might of the Turks—all while warring against Allah’s greatest enemy in the Mediterranean: Spain. The Ottoman power spawned three continents, with the Ottoman flag sailing on ships from the Mediterranean into the lands of India, where they fought against Portuguese traders and adventurers. The Ottoman’s issues were not only in Europe: the Franks[1] were pitiful insects when compared to the Ottoman's greatest enemy—the Persians, led by the Safavid dynasty—who were adoptees of Twelver Shi’ism, and presently under the reign of Shah Tahmasp. For as long as Suleiman had warred against the Franks, he had faced issues from Persia, who coveted the return of their territories in Mesopotamia. “Everything which the sultan possessed, the shah desired tenfold,” the Chevalier de Balbi, Knight of St. John and briefly an ambassador to Persia for Charles V wrote in his private memoirs. “And he would continue to desire until he held it in his very palm—until Persia reached the edges of the world which the Turk had snatched from them.” As soon as Suleiman had returned to Constantinople, he began to set his eyes eastwards—troubled by reports that Tahmasp had killed the governor of Baghdad who had been loyal to him, as well as receiving the suzerainty of from the governor of Bitlis in Anatolia—a troubling prospect for the sultan to consider.

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    Roxelana, also known as Hürrem Sultan; c. 16th century.

    Suleiman was known as the Magnificent. Europe viewed him with awe for his military prowess. Within his empire, he had attained the sobriquet of the Lawgiver because of his attention to the Ottoman law code, or Kanun, which covered distinct areas of the law such as criminal conduct, taxation, and land ownership. Suleiman was one of the wealthiest sovereigns in the known world. The Ottoman Empire's annual income reached 6,000,000 ducats by 1530, dwarfing even the income of Emperor Charles V as King of Spain. Under the sultan’s aegis, the Ottoman Empire had entered a cultural golden age, where artistic societies enjoyed close coordination and protection from the sultan himself. Suleiman lavished attention on artists from across his empire; while previous sultans had adored Persian culture and art, Suleiman sought to build his own legacy that resulted in a blend of Arabic, European, and Turkish artistic traditions. Constantinople received special attention: “The beauty of all cities—the sigh of all sighs,” a Greek trader wrote in his journals. “Adored as the choicest diamond of all the world—the sultan, O sultan—only could have adorned our city so well.” Suleiman sponsored numerous works through his sprawling empire, using funds to restore the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem and the Kaaba in Mecca. “The sultan spent each coin that fell in his coffer freely,” an Ottoman treasurer, Abbas Corso wrote. “… for each trickle of gold that fell through his hands was but merely a small piece of the giant waves of prosperity in which he could have his in grasp!”

    By 1535, Ottoman troops had not only taken control of Bitlis but had also succeeded in occupying Baghdad as well as Tabriz. “The Turks believe they have won, but let them see that we cannot be bested,” Hussan Qaramanlu, a Turkoman bannerman within Shah Tahmasp’s army wrote during the Persian retreat from Mesopotamia in 1535. “We shall ride into the darkness, through the mountains—and burn everything within our wake as we do so.” Qaramanlu’s words proved prophetic—though Suleiman had succeeded in taking territory, he had failed to vanquish the Persian army. Shah Tahmasp, with his army almost completely intact, retreated into Persia, ordering his troops to scorch the lands they left behind. Pargali Pasha, Suleiman’s Grand Vizier laid the seeds for his demise when he took the initiative to broker a truce with the Persians. Suleiman would retain Mesopotamia, but Pargali fell from grace less than a year later—with Suleiman urged to put away his favored councilor through the machinations of Roxelana, as Pargali, a former lover of Suleiman favored the sultan's eldest son as a possible successor. Pargali would be strangled in his sleep by assassins hired by the sultan, Hadim Suleiman Pasha, the Beylerbey of Egypt, succeeded Pargali as Grand Vizier. Hadim as Grand Vizier would pursue a naval-oriented policy that included the buildup of naval forces in both the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf. Hadim lavished revenues upon the old port of Yanbu, wishing to turn it into an entrepot of Arabian trade—while Ottoman interest in Basra would be dated from this period, with Hadim building up a positive relationship with the Al-Mughamis, the local Bedouins that ruled over Basra and gladly accepted the protection of the Ottoman Empire. This buildup encroached upon Portuguese settlements in the Persian Gulf, such as Kuwait and Ormuz—where the Portuguese had constructed a fortress. Hadim Pasha played a role in moving Suleiman’s focus beyond Europe and Persia—if only for a short period. Suleiman dispatched Ottoman troops and ships as far afield as India, where Hadim Pasha sought to bolster the Gujarat Sultanate against the increasing influence of the Portuguese in India—who were slowly expanding their trade and colonial empire throughout the subcontinent. Not all would go according to plan—Ottoman forces would fail to evict the Portuguese from Diu in 1538. A Turkish officer, Adbülaziz Bey would lament in a poem written to his lover of the loss: “Diu, O great Diu—must we lament and wail upon this loss? Greatest treasures—spice and silk, burnt and lost. Infidels; our greatest enemy.”

    While Suleiman’s oldest son remained in Minisa as a provincial governor, his younger sons by Roxelana received more public facing roles. “It is clear to all who can see that the infidel desires to hoist her Sehzades above all the others…” wrote an anonymous critic of Roxelana in the period. Roxelana’s eldest sons—Mehmed, Selim, and Abdullah would all begin to play public roles as they grew older. Most of Suleiman’s love and largesse was saved for Mehmed, the most brilliant of Suleiman’s sons who outshone all the others. Indeed, Suleiman could not help but lament the likely outcome that would come to pass when he eventually left this world: “Mehmed is the sultan that the empire shall need—and Mustafa is the sultan that the empire shall want. They shall fight for this throne and this crown into the depths of hell; all my other sons shall follow and shall perish, for only one can live while the rest must die…” Even as Suleiman lamented the fratricide that would someday await his sons, he continued to heap honors upon his sons borne to him by Roxelana—while his eldest son withered away in Minisia with his mother, someday awaiting his fateful summons to Constantinople. Sehzade Mehmed’s importance to Suleiman grew in 1537, when the sultan attacked the Knights Hospitaller on Corfu—who received support from Venice, France, and Spain. “The Sultan gave his favored son command at the Siege of Corfu,” Bertrand d’Ornesan, Baron of Saint-Blancard and commander of the Flotte du Levant wrote in his private journals. “The young prince fought valiantly but did not bloody himself. When the Turkish fleet failed to weaken Corfu and the Ottoman army was forced to withdraw, Prince Mehmed proved his worth in withdrawing his troops with minimal losses. He more than proved his fidelity and timidity—virtues that the great sultan would do well to learn himself.”

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    Ottoman ships from the Battle of Zonchio, 1499.

    The Mediterranean remained far from secure for the Turks—though their navy was vast and great, they contended with the numerous Christian navies, from the French, Spanish, and Venetians to the ships of the Knights Hospitaller and the Neapolitan Marinaio. Though the French had increased their activity in the southern Mediterranean and the Adriatic owing to their relationship with the Kingdom of Naples, the biggest threat to Turkish expansion through the Mediterranean was Spain. By 1535 Ferdinand was firmly in control of the Spanish crown. A king-in-waiting, he commanded the government and controlled the awesome revenues of Spain, which included not only the riches of Castile and Aragon but the gold that was now pouring into Europe from Mexico and Peru. Though Ferdinand still worked closely with Charles V, the first fruits of Ferdinand’s independent foreign policy date from this period. “My brother the emperor is Burgundian, and so he is more concerned with the French and the Protestants than the Turk—especially since Grafenwörth…” Ferdinand would write in a letter to the Duke of Alba. “But I am a Spaniard, and so must think about Spain. France is trouble, but they are no threat to our crown. The Protestants—they are base heretics, but no threat to our people, who know of the true faith and the true church. No, there is another who is a threat—a threat to our people and our crown… and that is the Turk.” Ferdinand took a greater interest in foreign policy outside of his brother’s whims in the aftermath of Grafenwörth—with Ferdinand believing it was Spain’s duty to provide a check against Turkish power in the Mediterranean—just as Portugal provided a check in the Orient.

    In 1535, Ferdinand provided funding to the adventurer Martin Angulo, who had built up an expeditionary force in Oran to install a Zayyanid prince upon the Tlemcen throne who would be more amiable to Spanish interests. Angulo, in alliance with the Banu Rashid[3] succeeded in siezing Tlemcen in 1536. “Angulo rode into Tlemcen with his Zayyanid princeling—Abu Zayyan—at his side, like a cowed victor…” one Spanish soldier wrote in his memoirs regarding the Tlemcen expedition. “… the town smelled of blood and viscera. We took the princeling directly to the citadel of Mexuar, where the remnants of the royal guard had turned against the former sultan, Abu Muhammad. Angulo showed no mercy, and Abu Muhammad was cut down—with Abu Zayyan declared his successor. Zayyan accepted Spain as his suzerain, and his first edict was to petition our expedition to garrison Tlemcen, and for Spanish artillery to be installed in the citadel…” Ferdinand’s support was not limited to Algiers, and he also provided lavish aid to the Hafsid Sultanate in Tunis, allowing them to resist Ottoman domination. Despite Ferdinand’s ardent Catholicism, he saw no hypocrisy in his policy of supporting Muslim princes against the Turk: “The Moslems of North Africa fear the Turk more than they fear us,” Ferdinand wrote in another letter to the Baron of Longi in Sicily. “A Moslem under our dominion is one less under the dominion of the Turk. Let them serve as the stepping stones of a new Reconquista.” Ferdinand’s desire to fight against the Turks was increasingly cloaked in religious terms. Ferdinand saw the conflict against the Turks as a new stage of the Reconquista. Just as Isabella and Ferdinand had fought against the Muslims in Granada, Ferdinand saw a role in North Africa. In its most grandioise form, Ferdinand spoke of the repulsion of the Turk from North Africa and the restoration of the cross where the crescent had long held sway. As part of this new development, the Inquisition in Spain developed new penances for those convicted and abjured for their blasphemy: service in the African garrisons or wholesale resettlement into the North African Presidios.

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    Shah Tahmasp of Persia; c. 16th Century.

    In Persia, Shah Tahmasp had his interests outside his conflict with the Ottomans over the fertile lands of Mesopotamia. Persia also sought to increase its influence throughout the Caucasus—ostensibly to reduce the influence of Ostajlu tribes who held lands in southern Georgia and Armenia, but also as an excuse to extract booty and wealth from the region. Tahmasp covered his campaigns in religious language—a Jihad against the Georgians who retained their Christian faith. Tahmasp would lead several campaigns into Georgia over the years, but his most successful in 1540 would lead to the sacking of Tbilisi—with the looting of its numerous churches, the wives and children of the nobility carted away into slavery in Persia. Much like Suleiman, Tahmasp was a sovereign who sought to leave his mark upon Persia. He broke the backs of the Turkoman tribes and empowered the Persian bureaucracy. The appointment of Jahan Qazvini as vizier also saw Persia expand their diplomacy outside of the Orient—relations with the Portuguese, Venetians, along with the Mughals and Shiite Deccan Sultanates were established. The first extant Persian letters sent to Europe date from 1540, when Shah Tahmasp wrote to the Doge of Venice. Venice authorized an embassy to go to Persia under Michel Membré. Membré would leave some of the first descriptions of the Safavid court, then located at Tabriz. Like Suleiman, Tahmasp pursued reforms to transform his dominions into a powerful state.

    Unlike Suleiman, Tahmasp had a large harem. Though his chief wife, Sultanum Begum was a Turkoman who belonged to the Mawsillu tribe, Tahmasp broke with Safavid tradition in procuring his other consorts from Georgia and Circassia. Sultanum Begum bore Tahmasp two sons, Mohammad, and Ismail. There existed no fracture in the Persian harem—Tahmasp had no favored consort, and he was attentive to all his children. Tahmasp ordered that his daughters be instructed in administration, art, and scholarship, so that they might be cultivated brides. While most of his sons were in their infancy in the early 1530s, he paid keen attention to their education, ensuring that all his sons received the education that was due to them as Mizras, or royal princes. Even a son who might be born to one of his slave consorts would be raised accordingly—with Tahmasp wishing that he might someday be able to involve his sons in administering his empire.

    Tahmasp also oversaw a religious revitalization of Persia. The Qizilbash tribes had worshipped Tahmasp’s father, Ismail, as Mahdi, a figure in Islamic theology believed to play a role in the end times, to rid the world of evil. The Qizilbash urged Tahmasp to follow in his father's footsteps. The young shah underwent a religious awakening in 1533 that saw him perform an act of penance and outlaw irreligious behavior, all while denying that his father had been a madhi. Despite his new orthodoxy, Tahmasp was interested in the occult and claimed a connection with various Ali and Sufi saints, who supposedly foretold the future to the shah in prophetic dreams. Tahmasp’s religious beliefs empowered the mullahs and sayyids, who would become a bedrock of the Safavid dynasty and would play increasingly important roles at the Safavid court. This intersection with Islamic authorities proved beneficial: Islamic scholars declared that Tahmasp and the Safavid dynasty had sayyid connections as a branch of the Husaynids. Tahmasp expended funds to renovate Qazvin as a center of Shiite faith, both as a center of learning and piety, with funds provided to expand the Shrine of Husayn. Tahmasp also paid particular attention to the ancestral Sufi order led by the Safavids in Ardabil; he built a mosque attached to the Shrine of Sufi-ad-Din, built in an Illkhanid fashion to bring in pilgrims and visitors. Tahmasp ensured that Sufi rituals were widely practiced and invited both Sufis and mullahs to the royal palace to perform public acts of piety and zikr, during Eid al-Fitr, with such performances also serving to reinforce allegiance that existed between the Safavid dynasty and Islamic networks. These events helped define Twelver Shi’ism as the bond that held Persia together—transcending tribal and social orders. Despite Tahmasp’s patronage of Islam, he was in no way bigoted; unlike his father, he did not attempt to coerce other religious groups to convert and offered patronage to the Christian Armenians within his domain.

    [1] Happens a year earlier here, as Suleiman spent 1533 campaigning.
    [2]A general term here, like Latins. Aimed at Europeans in general, not the French.
    [3]IOTL, the Banu Rashid worked against the Spanish, but they did often ally with the Spanish too: typically against the threat of Ottoman expansion.
     
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    Chapter 30. The Lady of Paris
  • Chapter 30. The Lady of Paris
    1540-1542; France, Italy & Navarre.

    “Stronger faith than was ever sworn,
    Prince again, oh my only princess,
    That my love, which will be to you ceaselessly
    Against time & assured death.”
    — Vers à Isabelle, written by the Dauphin François for his wife.


    Music Accompaniment: Pavane de la Guerre

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    King François of France, c. 1530; French School.

    The Truce of Lucca signed in 1539 restored peace between the Houses of Valois and Habsburg but effected no real change in the makeup of Italy. King François continued to hold the Duchy of Milan, just as his ally Louis IV held the crown of Naples. Though peace now reigned between France and the empire, François kept his troops in Savoy. He refused to return it to Charles III—a known partisan of Emperor Charles V who had married the emperor’s sister, Catherine of Austria. “So long as I live and breathe, Savoy shall remain under my dominion,” François declared before his marshals—making his point clear. Charles III, his wife, and numerous children now languished in exile in Brussels hoping they might one day be allowed to return to their domains. François appointed the Marquis of Saluzzo as governor of Savoy, and introduced garrison troops into Turin to ensure the duchy remained sedate. Though François had not been victorious in the previous conflict, his position in Italy had vastly improved in some ways.

    Through the 1530s, François continued to reign as a humanist—the ideal Renaissance prince. He formally declared French as the official language of the kingdom and provided funding for the creation of the Collège Royal where students could study French alongside Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, and even Arabic. François pursued a policy within France to eradicate Latin as the language of administration—an ordinance published in 1539 at Villers-Cotterêts established French as the administrative language of the kingdom. It also mandated that priests record births, marriages, and deaths, and ordered the formation of registry offices in each parish. The ordinance did not apply to the Duchy of Milan, where François ordered the Governor of Milan to carry out a similar reform through the Ordinance of Lecco that formally established Italian as the official language of the duchy and sought to simplify the administration there as well. France’s economy continued to grow throughout the period—François offered subsidies and tax exemptions to lure Milanese weavers to Tours and Lyons to bolster France’s silk industry. François paid attention to military industries especially—he encouraged the growth of foundries in northern France to produce muskets and artillery for his growing army, and he ordered extra funds expended to renovate and expand the harbors of Rouen, Toulon, and La Rochelle.

    Religious issues continued to remain complicated within France. The Council of Bologna closed in Italy without accomplishing any real work, and Pius V expressed little interest in moving forward with another council until other sovereigns agreed. “While we value your opinion—and that of France as the eldest daughter of our church,” Pius V wrote in a candid letter to François. “A council will require support from all of Catholic Europe… until the emperor and the Queen of England, among others, support our cause, I believe it is futile…” The divide between Protestants and Catholics continued to grow—and in France, the ideas of the Protestants continued to intrigue the commercial classes in the large cities, and members of the high nobility, too. François’ sister, Marguerite, the Queen of Navarre, was an ardent reformist and was friendly with Marie Dentière, a Protestant reformer who encouraged Marguerite to turn her brother away from the Catholic church. Anne de Boullan, the Duchess of Plaisance and mistress to the King of France was also a believer in the religious reformation, with Anne sharing a close connection with Marguerite. The position of the king’s sister and mistress supporting religious reform was juxtaposed with the ardent Catholicism of his wife, Beatriz. Though François had always remained lenient towards the Protestant cause and never begrudged the beliefs of those whom he adored, his beliefs hardened against the Protestants in the late 1530s following the Affair des Placards, when anonymous French reformists plastered placards denouncing the mass across Paris and other provincial cities, as well as upon the doors of the king's bedchamber.

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    Prosecution of Protestants in the reign of François I; Late 1530s.

    “There is no doubt that Madame Gouttières is behind these foul posters,” Queen Beatriz wrote in an impassioned letter to her sister—a veiled reference to Anne de Boullan contained within it. “She has stolen the king from me, and I do not doubt that she shall not rest until she has converted him to her faith. He is utterly bewitched… I know not what to do.” Many believed that Anne—and perhaps Marguerite—had some connection with the placards. Others pointed fingers at French reformers, such as Antoine de Marcourt were the true suspects given the placard's Zwinglian wordings. François countered the placards by ordering processions through each of Paris’ parishes. The king himself attended, with one onlooker writing, “The king and the queen stood under a canopy dyed a most magnificent azure blue—fleur-de-lys etched in golden silk thread. Their majesties stood solemn and silent as the Most Holy Eucharist was carried before them, making clear where the king stood.” The king’s affirmation of his Catholic faith provoked the first clamp down on the Protestant religion in France; some of France’s most prominent Protestants would go abroad, such as Jean Calvin who settled in Geneva, and Clément Marot, who entered the service of Empress Renée. Though François made no break from Anne de Boullan—he made clear that his conscience remained where it had first sprung, and no polemics from her or from his sister would sway his opinion.

    In truth, the relationship between the Duchess of Plaisance and François began to cool down. Following the triumphant birth of her son, Octave, Anne rode upon a wave of infamy. In 1535, Queen Beatriz finally gave birth to the son she had desired for so many years: Philippe Emmanuel. The young prince would become Duke of Orléans and second in line for the throne following the death of his older brother, Louis, in 1538. Though Anne became pregnant in 1536, this pregnancy did not progress as smoothly as the others. “Daily the duchess complains of aches and pains… she is in great agony, and suffers from a terrible malaise,” one of Anne’s ladies, Yolande de Sèvre wrote in a furtive letter to her aunt. “She is recently enceinte again… but I swear I have never seen my lady so unwell. The chamber femmes gossip as always; they claim that the queen’s Portuguese valet, Fernão de Castro has no doubt slipped something into one of her drinks…” These rumors did not fade. Though Anne would recover, she suffered a miscarriage when she fell down a flight of stairs at Amboise during her seventh month of pregnancy. Anne gave birth to a stillborn daughter whom she named Marguerite. Anne’s final pregnancy would be in 1540—and she gave birth to a stillborn son that she called Charles-Hercule. “… I must write with heavy regret, sire, that we have lost the child—though the duchess fares well, and we believe she shall survive,” one of François’ royal physicians wrote to him in the aftermath of Anne’s final pregnancy. “… but I must be frank, majesty: the lady has suffered gravely in your service and has been wounded… this final travail has caused much damage. Though the duchess shall be fit for service soon, I must make clear that further pregnancies would be at risk to her life…” Thus began the transformation of Anne de Boullan from the king’s mistress into his greatest friend. The bond of physical love was shattered in 1540, but Anne’s influence would only grow.

    Despite Anne now being heralded as the king’s friend, it did not lead to an improvement in the relationship between François and Beatriz. François led a separate life from his consort. While he saw her on formal occasions and occasionally slept with her out of duty, François had long tired of her dramatics and hysterics—no longer did they fight and soon makeup soon after in the bedchamber. Beatriz gave birth to her final child in 1542—a daughter named Marie in honor of her mother, Maria of Aragon. Beatriz doted upon both of the children, with the Governess of the Children of France lamenting in a letter to the king that: “… though, of course, I welcome the queen to visit the nursery and see to the children, I lament that she feels the need to criticize about how the nursery is arranged… surely, the queen should not deign to bother with such matters?” The birth of her children provided a needed balm for Beatriz—she did not get along well with her stepchildren, and her own children gave her a much-needed outlet for her maternal feelings. “Though the queen would rage as that was her way,” one courtier wrote in their memoirs. “The queen calmed considerably following the birth of Madame Marie.” The division of the court between the king’s mistress and his wife leaked into the royal family—François’ children from his first marriage adored Anne de Boullan and despised Queen Beatriz. In turn, Beatriz’s children would soon grow up to adore their mother and to despise the mistress who had stolen their father. Even as Anne left behind her physical relationship with the King of France, she ensured that the king’s was satisfied by supplying him with a retinue of women who could take care of his needs—and leaving soon after. These women were kept at homes near the French court that the Duchess of Plaisance called her petit jardins. “Pure filth, she has stooped to her lowest levels, no better than a common harlot,” one critic of Anne announced in a letter to a friend. “How can one be expected to pay allegiance to such a frightful creature?”

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    King François as Saint John the Baptist; 1520.

    François also spent the latter part of the decade seeking martial alliances for his eldest daughters. Charlotte—previously discussed—married Alexander, the King of Scots, while Louise, the sister spurned by Scotland married Louis IV of Naples. For the youngest of the older princesses, Anne, marriage was not something she had ever had in mind. Compared to her more robust sisters, Anne had always suffered from ill health. “Our little princess has been diagnosed with the pox,” a member of the royal nursery wrote in a letter to their family. “… the royal doctors despair her survival.” The young princess was struck with smallpox in 1527; though she recovered, she was left blind in one eye and with scarring across her hands and cheeks. Anne, rather than despair over her fate, found solace in religion and declared her wish to enter religious life. François was reluctant to grant his little nun her wish, as part of him nursed hopes that he still might find a suitable marriage for her. “His Majesty, of course, had no desire to see his daughter enter a convent,” Claude d’Urfé wrote in his private journals. “…though he was a good and sincere Catholic, he did not wish to see one of his daughters waste away in a religious vocation when there was so much more he could offer them…” Only after Anne’s twentieth birthday in 1538—when the king felt that he would be unable to find Anne a suitable husband did he finally relent and agreed that she could take on a religious vocation. “Madame Anne’s adoption of her new vocation was carried out in the utmost secrecy…” a lady of Princess Anne’s suite wrote in a letter home. “… the king's approval came late one evening—and none knew except Anne herself. She departed from Fontainebleau accompanied by one of her ladies and a small guard. When dawn rose over the court the next morning, the princess was gone… a week later, we received news that she had been allowed to embrace her religious calling… she took up residence at the Abbey of Saint-Pierre-les-Dames, in Reims…” The entrance of a royal princess into the abbey gave it access to much needed funds through Anne's royal dowry; a royal princess residing in the convent also attracted numerous outside donations. In 1542, Anne would become abbess of the abbey. The youngest of François’ daughters with Claude, Victoire would marry relatively late at the age of nineteen in 1540 to Wilhelm, the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg—as part of François seeking alliances with likeminded German princes.

    In Italy, François pursued a conciliary policy among the Italian princes. With the emperor’s failure to triumph even after his finances and domains recovered, many of Italy began to wonder how long French domination over the peninsula might continue. Pope Pius V passed away in 1541—among those in attendance at the 1541 Papal Conclave included Cardinal Reginald Pole, who served as Bishop of Salisbury and was a close associate of Queen Mary. The supposed Papabili included Alessandro Farnese—the last surviving cardinal created by Alexander VI but seen unfavorably because of his advanced age. Others were Niccolò Ridolfi, nephew of Leo X. The ultimate victor was Cardinal Girolamo Ghinucci, who took up the mantle of Pope as Gelasius III. Compared to Pius V, Gelasius less favorable to the French than his predecessor—a fact hailed positively among the Papal camarilla. Other princes in Italy saw the need to maintain friendly—or at the very least, cordial—relations with France, lest they end up deprived of their lands like the Duke of Savoy. Lorenzo III, the Duke of Florence, though married (somewhat unhappily) to Joanna of Austria, the emperor’s illegitimate daughter, continued to maintain friendly relations with France—alongside the Duke of Ferrara and Modena. The Duke of Mantua (rewarded his title in 1530 by Charles V as part of his assistance during the War of the League of Valenciennes) remained wary of French power—while the Marquises of Montferrat and Saluzzo remained loyal French satraps in northern Italy.

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    Pope Gelasius III, c. 1543.

    The French court of François remained debauched as ever—this did not change as France entered the 1540s. “The king did as he pleased, and dallied where the Duchess of Plaisance wished him to dally,” one critic attacking the immortality of the king’s court wrote in 1541. “Fontainebleau, Amboise—they are all domains of harlots and atheists; ladies of the most sophisticated blood paint themselves as whores, while even the holiest cardinals and servants of God can find pleasure in the French court—either with courtesans or pretty young men. King François is a whoremonger of the highest order—he stands for lewdness, immorality, and vice. He is no true Christian, or true Catholic—a vain Luciferian after only his pleasure.” Georges de Boullan, as Duke of Valentinois continued to be a close associate and friend of François—even after his sister had ceased to sleep with the king. “Have you truly left the king’s bed, sister?” George reportedly japed to Anne when he discovered the news. “Perhaps this old horse can finally have a break—and you shall finally be able to get off of your back!” Despite this, Boullan fortunes remained high into the 1540s—François continued to lavish gifts upon his favored ‘friend’—and she continued to wield influence. Though some circles hoped to foist one of François’ petit amours from one of Anne’s gardens into the seat of influence as his official mistress, François had little desire for it: the king, in his mid-forties and approaching his fifties still maintained a large sexual appetite, but the companionship which Anne de Boullan provided him could not be purchased—no little waif from her garden could compare to her on that front.

    While the king reigned supreme, his eldest son, the Dauphin formally was right behind him. As the Dauphin entered his adulthood, he became a lightning rod for those opposed to the policies of the king. The Dauphin François was a loyal son—though he despaired of his father’s debaucheries and perhaps feared for his life. The Dauphin had a cordial relationship with Anne de Boullan—and a less cordial relationship with Queen Beatriz. “The Dauphin had never cared for the queen—and the queen had not cared for him, either,” Sebastiano de Montecuccoli, secretary to the Dauphin wrote in a letter to his wife. “Relations between them became more difficult following the birth of the queen’s son, Philippe—she saw a brighter future for her son outside of being Duc d’Orléans.” Though the Dauphin and Dauphine often resided at court, they also had their residences: King François had given the pair the Hôtel de Bourgogne as their Parisian residence. Dauphine Isabelle soon convinced her husband to raze the entire residence to build a new Renaissance townhouse where it once stood—the Hôtel du Dauphin. They also possessed the Château of Blois and were given use of the Château des Ducs de Bretagne in Nantes. Compared to his father, the Dauphin François adored his wife, Isabelle. “He loved her from the very first day he had set eyes upon her,” one courtier wrote in their memoirs regarding the court. “… and she felt the same about him.” A keen romantic, the Dauphin often left his wife various poems and trinkets as part of their romantic games of chivalry. “They were more in love than anyone could ever imagine at our court…” another courtier noted in their letters back home to their parents. “If one could not find the Dauphin, they had only to seek out the Dauphine… for he was often in her chambers. They were seldom apart and were happiest in each other’s company…” Little surprise that the marriage was fruitful; in 1539, Isabelle would give birth to her first child—a son named François in honor of his father and grandfather. This would be followed by a stillborn daughter in 1541, with a second son, Louis born in 1542.

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    Dauphin François in armor; c. 1540.

    Marriage was also paramount in Anne de Boullan’s mind and in Queen Beatriz's. Queen Beatriz harbored high hopes for her son, Philippe Emmanuel—who she called her florzinha, or little flower. Philippe had become Duke of Orléans following the death of his oldest brother in 1538, but Beatriz sought great fortune for her son. “Some saw great malice in the queen’s machinations…” François of Bourbon, the Duke of Estouteville would write in his memoirs. “…for it was clear that Queen Beatriz desired for her son to have a crown just as well as his elder brother would have one. Many believed the queen would do away with the Dauphin—or do anything to see her son become King of France. But that is false, though she is no friend of mine; she abhorred France and wished her son to be sovereign elsewhere.” One of Beatriz’s first plans concerned her homeland. “I have heard that the Infante Carlos is unwell…” Beatriz wrote in a letter to her brother in 1538. “Your nephew Philippe Emmanuel grows stronger each year… and looks more and more like our dearly departed father. I desire nothing more than for my son to have a proper wife, and hope you might consider a marriage between him and the Infanta Beatriz…” Yet when young Carlos recovered, Beatriz soon set her sights upon Navarre—desiring that her son should wed Françoise Fébe, heiress to that small kingdom. “Owing to the warm relations between our two lands,” Beatriz began in a letter addressed to Henri II and Marguerite of Angoulême. “It is my greatest wish that you might consider the offer of my son’s hand for your daughter… they are close in age, and nothing would ensure Navarre’s protection more than to have a son of the House of Valois serve as its king.” Though Henri II was interested in the offer, Marguerite angrily rebuked it—complaining to her brother, who reminded Beatriz sternly that he would decide his son’s future marriage.

    While the queen was restrained, the mistress had freedom to negotiate the marriages of the king’s bâtardes. In 1540, François formally legitimized his children with Anne de Boullan—granting them formal recognition and the surname of d’Angoulême. Élisabeth d’Angoulême, Anne’s eldest daughter was betrothed in 1540 to François of Bourbon, Count of Enghien and younger son of the Duke of Vendôme. Anne’s second daughter, Jacqueline d’Angoulême would be engaged to Gaspard II of Coligny—the Seigneur of Châtillion and son of late Marshal of Châtillion. Young Octave d’Angoulême, Anne’s lone son—would eventually inherit the bulk of her fortune and her ducal title. “I shall find him a wife in due time,” Anne reportedly told the king with a sly smile. “But he is yet a boy. Let him play with his blocks and soldiers—the marriage bed can come later.” A possible marriage was rumored between the king's illegitimate son and his niece: Princess Françoise of Navarre; this was soundly denied. Some believed that Marguerite had long desired for her daughter to marry François of Bourbon, son of the disgraced Constable of Bourbon—until his religious life had ruined such possibilities.
     
    Chapter 31. The Imperial Italienzug
  • Chapter 31. The Imperial Italienzug
    1540-1542; Germany & Italy.

    “Rome is the city of echoes, the city of illusions, and the city of yearning.”
    — Giotto


    Music Accompaniment: La Notte

    400px-Pintoricchio_002a.jpg

    Aeneas Piccolomini Introduces Eleonora of Portugal to Frederick III, Pinturicchino.

    Part of the peace negotiations between François and Charles included an agreement to allow Charles to be crowned Holy Roman Emperor by the Pope. The agreement included that the imperial Italienzug, instead of passing through the Duchy of Milan would be given access to Italy through the Republic of Venice. Sensitive negotiations continued throughout 1539 concerning the Iron Crown of Lombardy. Typically held at Pavia, this crown played a vital role in imperial coronations, as emperors would often stop in Lombardy to be crowned King of Italy. “… it came to little surprise that King François opposed the emperor being crowned as King of Italy in Pavia, for it would imply that he held dominion over French territories in Lombardy,” Girolamo Orsini, a Roman nobleman wrote in a letter to his brother. “I’ve heard that delicate negotiations have proceeded throughout the autumn between the Governor of Milan and the emperor’s envoy, alongside the Pope’s representative… and they have finally agreed that the emperor shall be given use of the crown… with the Count of Lodron to serve as the crown’s custodian and representative of the King of France.” As part of the agreement, it was agreed that Lodron would deliver the crown to Rome, to allow for its usage in the coronation; afterward, it would be returned to Pavia to rest where belonged.

    Plans for Charles’ Italian procession for his coronation dated back to 1520—nearly twenty years, with plans for his Italienzug to include an army of some 20,000 infantrymen and 4,000 cavalrymen. Given that peace had only recently been arranged, there were different arguments within the imperial council. Chancellor Perrenot was adamant that the emperor should raise the full troops to show the full imperial glory of his situation. Others, such as Antoine of Lalaing and members of the Council of Finance urged the emperor to tread lightly and to consider halving the Italienzug army to 12,000 men—both to spare imperial finances and those of the German princes who would contribute. “I must go to Rome in glory,” Charles reportedly told his councilors. “I cannot go as a beggar.” He agreed to reduce the troops by a quarter, to 18,000 men: 15,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalrymen. Though some German princes would furnish troops for the expedition, others would provide the emperor with financial support instead. “The army of the emperor’s expedition to Rome was a crowning glory of his vast domains—Burgundian knights would march alongside German landsknechts—supported by musketeers from Holland and Flanders.” The emperor’s retinue would be vast: including not only the emperor but Empress Renée and her suite. Archduke Maximilian, the emperor’s eldest son, would also attend, with the emperor’s younger children to remain behind in the Low Countries.

    Given the extraordinary celebrations that were planned in Rome for the imperial coronation, Pope Pius V also decreed that an extraordinary jubilee would be held in Rome, celebrating the recent peace in Europe. “Though many of the faithful were pleased to hear that remissions of sins and debts would be celebrated in honor of peace and the imperial coronation…” one Roman historian of the period wrote. “… the concerns of the Pope and the College of Cardinals were primarily financial. They foresaw the great expense and burden that the emperor’s coronation would put upon Rome; given the fragile state of papal finances throughout the 1530s, many saw a jubilee as the best way for the papal treasury to recoup its losses and fill the empty coffers.” Pius V ordered the Vice-Chamberlain of Apostolic Camera and Governor of Rome, Bishop Filippo Archinto to prepare Rome for the coming festivities—repairs were carried out on the four major basilicas, and roads and thoroughfares throughout Rome were to be cleaned and enlarged to accommodate the enormous number of pilgrims and tourists that would no doubt flood the city. Other orders were aimed at some of Rome’s ancient glories—Pius V ordered the church and side chapels attached to the old Temple of Antonius and Faustina razed, so that the temple could be renovated. Other artifacts of Rome, such as the old forum, did not fare as well: Pius V ordered previous excavation licenses around the forum suspended, bringing the site under the control of the committee in control of rebuilding St. Peter’s Basilica. Other ancient sites that were in ruins, such as the Temple of Castor and Pollux and the Regia were plundered for marble and stone to go towards the construction of churches and palaces throughout the city, to the consternation of the Roman magistrates who deplored the destruction of Rome’s history to fund its future.

    500px-Detail_Cenador_Carlos_V_real_alcazares_Seville_Spain.jpg

    Mudéjar Tile used for the Palace of Tevuren; Tevuren would be a testament to Charles V's world spanning empire.

    It was eventually decided that Charles V’s coronation as emperor would echo the legacy of Charlemagne and would occur on Christmas of 1540—which would also serve as the opening date for the Jubilee, which would run until November 1541. “The period before the emperor’s coronation opened with great celebrations throughout the Low Countries,” Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle, son of the emperor’s chancellor wrote in a letter to Rome. “The emperor and empress made a joyous entry into Mechelen, and also stayed briefly at Tevuren, where the emperor had begun reconstruction efforts on the old castle there…” Indeed, the beginnings of the Palace of Tevuren can be traced back to Charles V, who sought to transform the castle into a true Renaissance pleasure palace—melding Italian and French influences with the Spanish Plateresque movement, which incorporated Mudéjar designs. Charles and his retinue soon left the Low Countries in November of 1539, visiting Aachen and Cologne. “The Archbishop of Cologne presented the emperor and empress with a great barge…” Bartolomäus Welser wrote in a letter to his brother, Franz Welser. “Named Johann der Täufer in honor of Saint John the Baptist; the barge is a wonderous gilded creation, the front decorated with an emblem of the imperial eagle, with a golden figurehead of the Virgin Mary alongside small figures of angels…” The great barge included an imperial apartment to accommodate the emperor and empress, decorated sumptuously with paneled walls, tapestries, and even a state bed. “Of course, the archbishop required some 30,000 ducats to provide this ‘gift’ to the emperor,” Welser continued in his letter. “—a loan which we were very happy to provide him against some of his clerical revenues for the next five years. A tidy profit for everyone all around—except perhaps the archbishop.” The imperial barge would ferry Charles, Renée, Maximilian, and some of their most favored retainers from Cologne to Mainz—with the remainder of the imperial retinue traveling behind them overland.

    From Mainz, Charles and the imperial retinue traveled through parts of Germany, where celebrations were held in the emperor’s honor. “His Majesty was treated to entertainments on his travail through Germany…” one member of the imperial retinue wrote in his private journals. “…patricians in Frankfurt hosted a ball in his honor, while those of Nuremberg, not to be outdone, staged a masque that reportedly cost the city ƒ10,000 and included wine fountains and a full feast for the city’s poorest residents…” At Augsburg, Charles reviewed the troops provided by the German princes who would accompany him to Rome. “They were dressed in their very best vestments,” one officer wrote in a letter home. “And they carried their weapons as if they were prepared for war… the only thing missing was the smell of smoke and fire…” Many German princes also joined the emperor at Augsburg: this included Prince Severin of Saxony[1], son and heir of Duke Heinrich of Saxony, and Joachim II Hektor, Elector of Brandenburg. From Augsburg, the imperial group would travel to Munich—where the emperor and empress would be fêted by Duke Wilhelm IV of Bavaria, who joined the imperial retinue along with his son, Theodor. By the spring of 1540, Charles would make his first peacetime visit through his Austrian domains—staying briefly at the Hofburg in Innsbruck, the former residence of his grandfather, Emperor Maximilian. “It is a dank and depressing place,” Empress Renée complained in a letter to her friend, Anne de Parthenay. “… it is in a horrible state of disrepair, and several apartments are practically uninhabitable. I have been lodged in the chambres of the late empress, Bianca Maria, a very sad life; her portrait still hangs upon the wall here, and I look upon it as I write to you with a shudder… her spirit is still here and roams these halls.” Charles himself had little good to say about the Innsbruck Hofburg—calling it a mausoleum of sadness.

    By late spring, the imperial procession reached Italy—with Charles and Renée being welcomed into Venice. Charles was the first Holy Roman Emperor to visit Venice in nearly a century—since Frederick III. They attended a sermon at St. Mark’s Basilica given by the Patriarch of Venice. Most extraordinarily, the emperor’s visit coincided with Sposalizo del Mare—the Marriage of the Sea—traditionally held on Ascension Day, where the Doge of Venice threw a golden ring into the sea. Doge Sebastiano Giustiniani, seeing the chance for a great diplomatic coup, invited the emperor to partake in the ceremony. Francesco Cornaro, a Venetian nobleman wrote of the ceremony in his diary: “… the bucentaur docked at the Doge’s Palace as was custom—but the emperor exited the palace first, donned in full regalia; his robe was crimson and etched with cloth of gold thread, with an ermine trim—wearing his crown. Behind him followed the doge in his full regalia—a mantle of gold and silver brocade, with the corno ducale upon his head and the command rod in his hand. Both boarded the bucentaur together and were seated beside each other at the stern… at the emperor’s side was the papal legate, while the French ambassador sat beside the doge. The great barge traveled down the lagoon into Adriatic, surrounded by boats and gondolas—and the imperial eagle flew freely aside our great lion…” Both the emperor and empress were celebrated at feasts and fairs held after the Sposalizo, with the emperor even being invited to inscribe his name in the Libro d’Oro—the traditional golden book of Venetian nobility. It was estimated some 60,000 ducats were spent on entertainment during the imperial visit. Only a fraction of this was paid for by the Republic’s funds: the majority was furnished by the doge himself. “Prayers are needed, dear wife,” Doge Sebastiano wrote in a letter to his wife—lamenting their economic woes. “… should our cargo from the Levant and Egypt fetch a good price, then we shall weather this storm; if they do not, then we shall be forced to consider other matters…” Yet Charles’ visit was not entirely for pleasure—he met privately with the Venetian Signoria as well as Doge Guistiniani, outlining his hopes for warmer relations between them both—especially where their common enemies, such as the Turks were concerned.

    500px-Accademia_-_Miracle_of_the_Holy_Cross_at_Rialto_by_Vittore_Carpaccio.jpg

    Miracle of the Cross, c. 1494.

    From Venice, the imperial coterie passed through central Italy—spending time at both Ferrara and Florence. “Duke Ercole is a spiteful dullard,” Renée wrote in a letter to another of her associates, the Sieur de Soubise. “… a typical Italian, spoiled and bigoted. Oh, how I feel for his wife! Duchess Maria is a kinswoman of mine… the daughter of Claude of Lorraine, slain at Marignano. What a sad life she has lived; reared in a convent—then married away at thirteen, weighted down in gold to make the duke happy and content him with his French alliance…” One happy outcome of their visit to Ferrara was the Elector of Brandenburg’s marriage to Duke Ercole’s youngest sister—Isabella Maria[2]. This was less a match of love and one of expediency. At twenty-one, Isabella Maria was long past the age when a princess usually married. Her elder sister, Leonora, had entered a convent rather than marry, and some at the Este court believed that Duke Ercole was pressing his younger sister to consider the same vocation. “I do not desire to be a nun—I have received no calling for the religious life,” Isabella Maria reportedly told one of her favorite ladies. “…but I cannot say that I have received a call to be a wife, either. The elector is fat, and though he is not ugly, he is far from my liking… but if marriage to him shall free me from Ferrara and my brother’s tutelage, then I shall happily wed.” Duke Ercole loaded his sister down with a dowry of 40,000 ducats—with half of that to be in plate and jewels.

    At Florence, the imperial party was hosted by Lorenzo III, the Duke of Florence, and the newly minted Duchess of Florence, Jeanne of Austria—the emperor’s illegitimate daughter. Jeanne had arrived in Florence nearly a year before, and already discord reigned in her marriage. “… they were mismatched the very day that they set eyes upon each other,” Maria von Pallandt, a lady-in-waiting to Jeanne wrote in a letter to a friend. “… when they speak, it devolves into arguments; the duke can never pay her a compliment but criticizes every detail of what she does, down to the minutiae, while she is lonely and isolated in the cold edifice of the Palazzo Fiorentino[3].” Lorenzo was cordial to his father-in-law—great balls and feasts were hosted at Fiorentino in his honor—even as the Duke of Florence grumbled privately to his councilors about the expense. “… I was offered the hand of the emperor’s bastard, and I took it, in the name of peace…” Lorenzo reportedly uttered to Angelo Nicolini, one of his councilors. “… and now I entertain the emperor on the eve of his coronation—spending the dowry which he paid to me to do so.” The tension in Florence was thick, and Charles did not deign to remain a moment longer than needed. Empress Renée recorded her own thoughts in another letter addressed to Jean Calvin, the French Protestant reformer now residing in Geneva: “… as we have traveled further into Italy, more and more I realize the odious lies of the Catholic Church. They use their splendor as a veneer for their foulest natures, wishing to keep their flocks fat, happy, and stupid. All the Italians I have met are utterly bigoted; the men are stubborn and cruel, the women stupid and placid. I firmly believe that no Frenchwoman could ever be happy in Italy, and I shall be glad to return to Brussels. My stomach twists and turns as we approach Rome…”

    Charles made his entrance into Rome in October 1540. “All gathered for the entry of the emperor into the city through the Porta Tiburtina, of all classes and ages,” Tullia d’Aragona, a renowned Roman courtesan wrote in a letter to one of her lovers. “.. as the emperor passed through the city, he paid visits to the churches of his numerous dominions: Santa Maria della Pietà, Santa Maria dell’Anima, and Signora del Sacro Cuore… there he made bequests, before making his grand entrance into the Vatican…” Charles and Renée were received warmly by Pius V at the Apostolic Palace, where they were granted a private audience—with the Pope granting the emperor use of the Lateran Palace for the duration of his stay for his court, as well as the use of Castel Sant’Angelo to house officers of the Italienzug, with common soldiers garrisoned outside of the city walls. Rome surrendered to a whirl of entertainments and processions that consumed the city as the leadup to the imperial coronation. A reflection by Empress Renée in her journals recorded the following: “… entered Rome today, a horrible feeling… despite so much history here, the odious stink of the church clings around here, most especially in the Vatican. Was presented to the pope alongside the emperor… Pope Pius V is an older man, past sixty…wizened with a white beard, in his white and red papal garb. A foul, mealy mouthed man… he knows how to say everything while at the same time saying nothing at all. Am to be presented with the Golden Rose tomorrow… I shall have to ask Mme. de Soubise to pack it tightly into my traveling chest with my chemises; I dare not refuse the honor, but I shall have to rid myself of it when we return to Brussels…” Charles himself also hosted entertainments in honor of his coronation, such as an investment ceremony for members of Roman society, where men such as the painter Titian received the honors of Count Palatine of the Lateran Palace and Knight of the Golden Spur—honors given for services rendered, and for life—not hereditary.

    400px-Portrait_of_Charles_V%2C_Holy_Roman_Emperor_%281500%E2%80%931558%29%2C_by_Titian_%28National_Museum_of_Capodimonte%2C_Naples%29.jpg

    Charles V by Titian, c. 1540.

    Two days before his coronation, Charles received the Iron Crown of Lombardy as King of Italy in the chapel of the Lateran Palace. “His Majesty arose from his chair to greet Our Lord; he kissed his foot, and in turn the sword, scepter, and crown were carried before His Holiness…” one attendant to the ceremony wrote in his journals. “… His Majesty remained on his knees at the feet of His Holiness, while he recited several prayers; first, he took the sword and blessed it, and put it into the hands of the emperor who returned it into its sheath…” On December 25, 1540, the emperor, and empress attended mass at the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. “Silly superstitious snuff,” Renée would declare in her private journal afterward. The mass was long and solemn. When all was said and done, Charles and Renée kneeled before the pope, kissing his feet. Renée would later lament at this ritual—marking it as the moment within her heart that she became a Protestant. Charles offered up the ritual formulas—promising to protect the Roman Church and swearing fealty for himself and his future successors to the pope. Before the assembled crowd, including Italian and German aristocrats and representatives of the various Italian states, Pope Pius V invested Charles with the artifacts of his office. He was formally invested with the insignia of the emperors, followed by a golden scepter, a naked sword, and a golden apple. Pius V then placed the golden crown upon Charles’ head, with Renée being crowned afterwards. For the first time, Charles was hailed as the Roman Emperor, while Renée was hailed as the Roman Empress. Both were invited to sit in chairs of golden brocade d’or alongside the Pope. Outside the Basilica, the coronation was announced with the populace shouting: “Viva Carlo V Imperatore! Viva Renata Imperatrice!” The great bombards fired in celebration—the smoke and sound ringing throughout the eternal city.

    Following the coronation, the imperial procession proceeded throughout the city. The imperial procession included not only the emperor and empress but the pope as well. The sovereigns protected under a canopy; behind them followed the Roman magistrates, four chaplains of the pope, ambassadors from various countries—followed by various princes, dukes, and counts, the college of cardinals, as well as different prelates, with Flemish and German soldiers led by their officers. The pope soon broke away from the procession to return to the Vatican, while Charles and Renée would eventually retire to the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trevestere. Charles took his place at the high altar on the faldstool—with Renée invited to sit beside him. Both sovereigns removed their crowns, and they joined in prayer—with certain high officials and magnates invited up to the altar to receive a kiss of peace from both the emperor and the empress. Coins and money were distributed by the imperial officers outside of the basilica, and Charles also invested in several other Roman nobles with the title of knight. The imperial retinue would retire soon after to the Lateran, where celebrations would be carried throughout the evening and night—celebrating the crowning of a new emperor.

    [1] Like his OTL counterpart, he has been reared at the imperial court and given a Catholic education.
    [2] Lucrezia Borgia’s youngest daughter. Died after birth IOTL; she has survived here.
    [3] The OTL Palazzo della Signoria / Palazzo Vecchio which the Medici resided in from 1540 until the construction of the Pitti Palace. It’s received a different name here, roughly the “Florentine Palace.”
     
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    Chapter 32. The Lands of Spain
  • And after a bit of a small hiatus, I finally have a new chapter for you all! I want to note that a few of the pictures used in this chapter is AI Generated. I have to admit that AI Art in general makes me a little iffy, since the ethics of it haven't been fully explored yet, but I have to admit that it's a great tool to create pictures of things and people that do not exist in our world. Pictures that are AI generated are noted.

    Chapter 32. The Lands of Spain
    1539-1543; Spain.

    “Those who knowingly allow the King to err deserve the same punishment as traitors.”
    — Alfonso X of Castile


    Musical Accompaniment: La Tricotea

    450px-FerdinandIemperor.JPG

    Prince Ferdinand of Asturias in Armor. Date Unknown.

    The Treaty of Lucca signed in 1539 ended the perennial conflict between the Habsburgs and Valois—and once more brought peace astride the Pyrenees. Spain had gained little through their most recent conflict with France, though they continued to hold the Kingdom of Navarre south of the Pyrenees. Spain continued to be governed by the Prince of Asturias—Emperor Charles’ brother, Ferdinand. Ferdinand stepped further into his role as the guardian of Spain—even without the title of king. The 1530s had seen Ferdinand use Spanish influence and power to his benefit and aim—aside from aiding his brother against both the French and the Turk, Ferdinand had begun his campaigns in the Mediterranean to counter the growing naval power of the Turkish barbary pirates in North Africa, and to provide a check on French naval influence out of Naples. Despite his independent moves, Ferdinand—and Spain—remained beholden to the imperial whims and needs of Charles V outside of the Iberian Peninsula.

    Gold and precious metals continued to enter Spain through the New World, where administrations were beginning to coalesce around the former native empires in both Mexico and Peru. Shiploads of precious metals entered Spain through the port of Seville, where the Casa de Contratación, known as the House of Trade, allowed the crown to levy its tax of twenty percent—known as the Quinto Reale upon all precious metals entering Spain, alongside other taxes, such as taxes for naval protection. Though the emperor received a portion of these revenues, the 1530s saw more portions of the vast wealth pouring into Spain appropriated by the Prince of Asturias for his own financial needs. “Spanish gold should aid Spanish interests,” one member of the Cortes wrote to a member of the Council of Finances, outlining his support for an edict debated by the council that would allow Charles V to continue to receive subsidies from Spain, but also remand a larger portion remain behind in Spain. “—our gifts and talents cannot continue to be wasted in fruitless escapades within the empire.” Such moves were supported privately by Prince Ferdinand, who lightly chided his brother in a private letter: “You must understand that your loyal subjects shall continue to support you… but they must be supported as well.” The Prince of Asturias used part of the wealth that came his way in support of his foreign policies, such as building up the Spanish navy and constructing fortifications in North Africa. He also expended great sums building up his splendor as heir to the crown of Spain by constructing new churches, monasteries, and even palaces.

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    The Palace of Antigua, circa 1600; AI Generated.

    The zenith of Ferdinand’s building program concerned Valladolid, which was one of the Prince of Asturias's favored cities and residences. The Spanish monarchy of the period was still highly mobile; the court centered around wherever the king (or in this case, the crown prince) resided. Ferdinand favored Valladolid—with his disfavor reserved for Toledo and the nearby hamlet of Madrid—two areas that conjured up ghosts from the 1520s that were better left buried, and where Ferdinand seldom stayed following his ascendance as Spain’s heir. Though Valladolid was an important city within the Kingdom of Castile, it did not have an official royal residence—a fact that Ferdinand sought to remedy. The plans for the Palacio de Antigua began with Ferdinand’s appropriation of Valladolid’s old parish church of Santa Maria de Antigua and the lands around it. The parish church was in poor condition, and Ferdinand arranged for the lands to return to the crown in return for Ferdinand agreeing to incorporate the church into his planned palace complex. Ferdinand’s chief architect in his building plans was Hernan Ruiz, an architect from Cordoba known for his Renaissance styles. “Ruiz knows exactly what I desire, and how it should be built,” Ferdinand wrote in a letter to his councilors. “Ensure that he has what he requires and cause him no trouble—cost is not an issue.” Aside from the Palacio of Antigua, Ferdinand also paid attention to Valladolid as a whole: the 1530s saw great wealth poured into the city as Ferdinand ordered streets and roads paved with stone, as well as providing funds for what would become known as the Hospital of the Holy Innocents—dedicated to the care of those suffering from lunacy and insanity.

    In his family life, Ferdinand had a blessed marriage with Isabella of Portugal. He was wholly devoted to his wife, and their marriage proved incredibly fecund. The royal nursery, filled with four children in 1533 was soon joined by further additions: Carlos (b. 1536), Catalina (b. 1537; d. young), Enrique (b. 1538), Leonor (b. 1540), and Maximiliano (b. 1541). The Spanish royal line, once on the brink of extinction now overflew—with six Infantes and two living Infantas. Ferdinand and Isabella were attentive parents for their rank—but the grand ceremony of the Spanish court dominated the lives of the Spanish royal children from a young age, where the ancient ceremonies still dominated. Though Charles V had made some additions to the Spanish court ceremonial (influenced by the court rituals of Burgundy) during his time in Spain in the 1520s, such ceremonials were Hispanicized in the 1530s as Ferdinand came into further control. The royal household comprised two sections: the Mayordomia (Stewardship) and the Camareria (Ladyship). The Mayordomo Mayor headed the Mayordomia, who served as chief steward of the royal household. Beneath the Mayordomo Mayor was the Sumillier de Corps, introduced by Charles V in 1517 and served as grand chamberlain of the king’s bedchamber. Following the death of Paule de Amersdorf in 1521, this position remained empty, having been dominated by Charles V's Flemish courtiers. Only in 1530 did Ferdinand deign to appoint a replacement—using the Spanish title of Camarero Mayor instead of the former Burgundian title.

    The royal household was riotous, and each prince was more different than the one who preceded him. Fernando Alonso, the eldest, was staid and studious—with one courtier noting: “The young prince was born knowing the weight of the crown that would one day be upon his shoulders.” Manuel, the second son was a favorite of his mother and attached to his elder brother—a practical shadow followed Fernando wherever he went. The Infante Juan, born 1533 was perhaps the most outgoing of Ferdinand and Isabella’s children—he was fond of pulling pranks and jokes upon his nurses. Carlos, named after his uncle, was a taciturn child—he rarely smiled and preferred books to people. The youngest infantes, Enrique and Maximiliano joined an already crowded nursery: though Maximiliano was as gentle as a lamb as some nurses said, Enrique was anything but. Even as a baby, he wailed almost continuously and suffered from colic and teething issues regularly. Royal doctors prescribed a variety of concoctions, but few seemed to work.

    450px-Auto_de_f%C3%A9.jpg

    Saint Dominic presiding over an Auto-de-Fe; c. 1493.

    The Spanish court under Ferdinand’s tutelage was increasingly grandiose, fueled by the treasures of the new world. The veneer of Burgundian pastiche introduced briefly by Charles V was washed away and purified by Ferdinand, who sought to blend ceremonials imported by his brother by making them native to Spain. Old Castilian court ceremonials were made increasingly grand—with Ferdinand taking his role as Prince of Asturias and viceroy to his brother, very seriously. “The court of Spain evolved greatly under Prince Ferdinand’s regency,” one etiquette historian would write nearly a century later. “Infused with new wealth and importance, Ferdinand emphasized the importance of a new Hispanic monarchy—Castile and Aragon now united into a singular Spain, whose sovereigns would stand toe to toe alongside the Kings of France and Emperors of the Holy Roman Emperor. Under Ferdinand, the true Spanish court ceremonial would be born—shed of French influence, it would instead be full of Spanish grandezza, reverence, and religious devotion.” Indeed, ties to religion and faith played a heavy role—Ferdinand revived the practice of exorcisms practiced by the Kings of Castile in the Middle Ages, believed to aid those possessed by demons by making the sign of the cross and invoking God. Ferdinand also founded new ceremonials where he bestowed royal kisses upon those who stuttered—with the House of Habsburg believed to possess the power to cure stutterers.

    Compared to the court of France, where secular gaiety reigned, the Spanish court ceremonies were seeped in religious observances—the period before and around Easter became the height of Spanish court celebrations. The so-called Lenten Balls date from this period, first hosted by Isabella in 1538. “The idea was devised by the princess herself,” the Duchess of Gandia, Camarera Mayor to Isabella wrote in her private journals. “The celebration was held on Ash Wednesday, with a strict dresscode enforced—of either white, black, or grey. The ceremonies began in the royal chapel, and mass was celebrated. Afterward, the lords and ladies were invited to watch as the Prince and Princess of Asturias received ashen crosses from the archbishop.” Following the service was a majestic Lenten feast where various offerings of fish were put before them—from sole and flounder to oysters and frog’s legs, alongside sundry dishes of various vegetables, fruits, and pastries. The ball ended not with dancing, but with a religious play that depicted the Passion of Jesus. Ferdinand also played his new role as head of Spanish court ceremonies by creating a new chivalric order, the Order of the Black Eagle. Dedicated to Saint John the Evangelist, this new order highlighted the glories of Spain. It provided Spain with a chivalric order not unlike the Order of the Golden Fleece—a Burgundian Order within the hands of the emperor would cease to be part of the Spanish patrimony after his death.

    Designer.png

    Depiction of a Lenten Ball, c. Late 16th Century; AI Generated.

    Still, all was not without troubles in Spain during Ferdinand’s regency. In 1540, repairs began on the Royal Alcazar in Madrid. When workers knocked out a part of a wall within the interior of the Alcazar, they discovered the corpse of a young boy—young Prince Philip who had gone missing nearly twenty years before. “The corpse of the young prince was discovered during repair work,” one chronicler of the period wrote. “Concealed within the wall of one of the interior chambers, still in good condition. There were signs that the young prince had died violently—with marks about his neck that indicated strangulation…” Ferdinand ordered the young prince interned at the Monastery of Saint Maria of Guadeloupe, with all the pomp and ceremony due to him as a Prince of Asturias. Ferdinand spent great sums on constructing a magnificent sarcophagus for the deceased prince. He also gave funds to the monastery for the monks within to say mass and pray for the soul of the deceased prince in perpetuity. It was a bittersweet memory for the prince who had lived for only a short time—and had died in mysterious circumstances. There remained no answer to what had happened to Philip, or who had disposed of him. The emperor made only one request of his brother—that a part of his son’s bones should be repatriated to the Low Countries so that they could be interned with his mother, the late Empress Mary at the Cathedral of Saint Michael and Saint Gudula.

    Ferdinand’s government remained firmly rooted in the polysynodial system. To the already existing councils, Ferdinand ordered the establishment of a Council of State in 1535 to handle foreign affairs. Unlike the other councils which had presidents, Ferdinand formally took the role of head of the council—with the expectation that the sovereign would serve as head of the council. Ferdinand staffed the council with members of the high nobility and clergy, such as the Duke of Alba and the Archbishop of Santiago. Though Ferdinand remained a staunch supporter of his brother, his foreign policy focused on the Mediterranean—providing an anchor of containment against the Ottomans as well as fighting back against French influence in southern Italy. “All we do must be for the Christendom and the Catholic faith,” Ferdinand wrote in a letter to one member of the Council of State—marking clear his foreign policy ideas and expectations. Ferdinand also had his growing brood of children—Infantes and Infantas who would be able to guide his policies further through the marriage matches his eldest children might make. Isabella took a keen interest in the potential marital matches of her children, as well. “It is no secret that the Princess of Asturias desires nothing but the best for her eldest son and eldest daughter,” one courtier wrote anonymously in a letter to a friend. “She knows that the wait for the Crown of Spain might be many years indeed… she sees her children as the future of Spain and wishes that they are wed in a most suitable state.”

    It was little surprise that Isabella, as a Portuguese princess, supported the idea of marriage matches with her native country. She promoted assiduously the idea of a dual marriage—that her eldest son, the Infante Fernando Alonso would wed her brother’s youngest daughter—and her niece—the Infanta Beatriz, while her eldest daughter, the Infanta Maria would be married to the Crown Prince of Portugal—the Infante Carlos Manuel. Intermarriage between the Iberian dynasties had long been the custom, and Isabella wished for it to continue. For Ferdinand, aside from potential marriage matches for his children, one thing weighed heavily upon his mind: his finances. Ferdinand had been given a generous settlement as Prince of Asturias—an annual sum of some 450,000 maravedis, but this was quickly outpaced and outstripped by the growth of his family. Additional grants totaling some 400,000 maravedis would be made throughout the 1530s by the Castilian Cortes, but it never seemed to be enough. Ferdinand also faced a greater issue: by 1542 he possessed six sons, all hale and hearty—all of whom would require some suitable establishment as well as titles when they came of age. It was not just Ferdinand himself that might face financial ruin through this prospect, but Spain as a whole—the royal demesne, recovered and reunited by his grandparents needed to pass unscathed into the hands of the next Kings of Spain. It could not be splintered just because Ferdinand had been fortunate enough to receive a wife capable of giving him so many heirs. It was a delicate issue—even keeping his sons at court in their youth would be an expensive undertaking.

    450px-Cardenal_Tavera.jpg

    Posthumous Portrait of Juan Pardo de Tavera, El Grieco.

    A solution to this problem came to Ferdinand through one of his greatest allies—Juan Pardo de Tavera, Archbishop of Toledo since 1534. “The prince despaired of the future of the royal children as any dutiful father might—wanting only the best for them and fearing the possibilities of the future,” the archbishop wrote in his private memoirs. “It was only fitting that the council should aid our most gracious prince in this most difficult issue,” Tavera suggested that the youngest infantes, from Juan to Maximiliano, should be raised away from court. For Juan, he suggested that the young prince should be fostered within a noble household—and that they should pay for the privilege of hosting the young prince. For the younger princes, Tavera suggested that they should be reared at the Monastery of Saint Maria of Guadeloupe: not only to minimize expenses but to prepare the youngest princes for a possible religious vocation. Tavera reportedly uttered a famous phrase at this suggestion: “As God as has seen fit to give your highness so many sons—it is only fit that you should give some of them up for the glories and grace of God.” Aside from religious motives, it was practical. Sons entering religious life would be entitled to benefices; they could be kept in suitable stations through the wealth of the church in Spain, rather than beggaring the royal household. In the summer of 1542, Tavera’s plan was put into motion: the parting of the princes was bittersweet. It had been decided that the Infante Juan would be fostered in the household of the Duke of Medina Sidonia. Juan raged at the idea of being sent away, and the ten-year-old prince refused to speak to either of his parents as he boarded his carriage. The younger princes, ranging from six down to a year old took their exits more gracefully—though Isabella still reportedly wept afterward, telling the Duchess of Gandia: “It is as if a piece of my heart has been ripped away, and I do not know if it shall ever return.”

    Isabella suffered greatly from parting with her children. Her health had begun to falter through her repeated pregnancies, and during her later pregnancies she suffered from dark moods and was often shaken by her nerves that she could not leave her chambers for days at a time—what would today be diagnosed as prenatal depression. She also suffered from physical issues: dizzy spells, pain in her hips and chest, and mysterious rashes that came and went without explanation. Following the birth of Maximiliano, the royal doctors counseled Ferdinand and Isabella both that her body would need time to recover—a further pregnancy was not recommended. “The princess bore the news with stoic grace,” one of her ladies wrote in a letter home. “But she did not fear the news. She truly loved the prince and loved her family. Her greatest joy was to bring life into the world, and such joy covered any fears that she might have.” By the fall of 1542, Isabella was pregnant once again—for the eleventh time. Her pregnancy was relatively calm, though all about the court noticed how great her belly had become: larger than any of her previous pregnancies. “Many wondered if something foul was afoot,” one courtier wrote in his journal. “But others wondered if perhaps the princess carried not one prince—but two.” Such rumors proved correct when Isabella went into labor in May of 1543. Her labor proved arduous—for two days and two nights Isabella was ensconced within her bedchamber, attempting to bring forth her next child. Late on the final evening, Isabella delivered a healthy boy—who would be named Pedro. But her travail was not yet over, and the young prince was soon followed by a strapping princess, who would be named Margarita. Neither child had been well positioned at birth, but both seemed well.

    450px-%27The_Birth_of_the_Virgin%27%2C_fresco_by_Juan_de_Borgo%C3%B1a%2C_Cathedral_of_Toledo%2C_c._1495.jpg

    Birth of the Virgin; Fresco by Juan de Borgoña, c. 1495.

    All was well following the birth, and Ferdinand visited his wife soon afterward—bestowing upon her two beautiful diamond rings as a gift for the children she had borne. Several days following the birth, Ferdinand arranged for the newly born children to be christened in the royal chapel of the Alcazar of Segovia, where the court was presently staying. Though Isabella seemed to be in high spirits following the birth, within several days she began a drastic decline—she continued to hemorrhage blood and suffered from a high fever and abdominal pain. When the royal doctors were finally admitted into the chamber, Isabella was already fading in and out of consciousness. Ferdinand attended to his wife—her hand clasped firmly within his own. “The prince was beyond grief when he saw the condition of his wife,” one of the ladies who attended Isabella’s birth wrote in her private journals. “The midwives were at a loss, nor could the royal doctors deal with the sudden symptoms; they prescribed purgatives and enemas that helped little. The prince was so desperate for relief that he sought the intervention of Saint Didacus… the saint’s body was brought in great haste from Alcala, whereupon it was brought to the bedchamber of the princess. She was at this point unconscious, but the monks took her delicate hand and placed it upon the chest of the saint in the hope of renewal…” Even the hope of faith did not aid Isabella—and five days following the birth of her last two children, she perished without ever regaining consciousness, a few months shy of her fortieth birthday.

    “It has brought me the greatest sorrow you can imagine,” Ferdinand would write in a letter to his brother shortly after the death of Isabella. “She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever met. None shall ever compare to her, and I cannot help but wonder how I am supposed to continue. I feel her death more fiercely than even the deaths of our young daughters, Isabella, and Catarina… we were wed for sixteen years, and I knew her better than I knew myself… just as she knew me. We must accept the will of God. May God forgive me, but I wish he had taken me instead of my wife.” Ferdinand ordered his wife interned in the Royal Chapel of Granada, where the Catholic Monarchs had been buried. Ferdinand accompanied his wife’s funeral cortege to Granada, alongside his eldest sons, Fernando Alonso and Manuel, and his daughter Maria. Ferdinand was so stricken with grief that he decided to retire to the monastery of Santa Cruz la Real, in Segovia. Ferdinand would remain cloistered there for three months—and would wear the black of a widower for the remainder of his life.
     
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    Chapter 33. Sovereign of Spice
  • I was going to take us up north first, but @King of Danes mention of Portugal gave me a little itch that I just had to write out first.

    Chapter 33. Sovereign of Spice
    1535-1544; Portugal.

    “Arms and the heroes, who from Lisbon's shore,
    Through seas where sail was never spread before,
    Beyond where Ceylon lifts her spicy breast,
    And waves her woods above the watery waste,
    With prowess more than human forced their way
    To the fair kingdoms of the rising day:
    What wars they waged, what seas, what dangers past,
    What glorious empire crowned their toils at last.”
    — Os Lusídas, Luis de Camões.


    Musical Accompaniment: Perdi a Esperança

    450px-D._Jo%C3%A3o_III_-_Crist%C3%B3v%C3%A3o_Lopes_%28attrib%29.png

    João III of Portugal, painted by Cristóvão Lopes, c. 1552.

    Spain’s neighbor, Portugal, had passed through the first thirty years of the sixteenth century relatively unscathed. While Habsburg and Valois warred over the spoils of Italy, the grocer kings of Portugal instead focused on building their burgeoning mercantile empire. Under King Manuel, Portuguese explorers sailed across the ocean seas—Vasco de Gama had discovered a route to India in 1498. By the time Manuel had passed in 1521, Portuguese forts and factories dotted the coast of Africa, and Portuguese merchants had seized important ports throughout the east—Socotra, Goa, Malacca, and Hormuz. Under João III, Portuguese explorers, and navigators would continue to spread their influence even further into the Orient—seeking both rewards and riches for their success. Great wealth poured from the East Indies into Portugal through the Casa de India. The Portuguese crown received one million cruzados through the East Indies trade in 1510, and by 1518, the Casa de India provided the crown with almost forty percent of its revenues. The crown received spices imported through the Casa de India and routinely sent them to the Portuguese Feitoria in Antwerp, where they would mark up and upsell the spices for massive profit throughout the Low Countries and Northern Europe. Portuguese trade would continue to play a vital role throughout the reign of João III—and his close connections with the Habsburgs in both Burgundy and Spain would continue to aid the Portuguese in their commercial endeavors.

    In 1518, João III married Eleanor, the sister of Charles V. Eleanor had previously been the Queen of France and had been married to Louis XII for a short period before his death. Eleanor was content in her second marriage, and João III proved to be a devoted husband. "From the day he laid eyes upon her, the king showed utter devotion to the queen," one Portuguese noblewoman wrote in her private diaries. "They spent the earliest years of their marriage enjoying pleasurable pastimes such as hunting, feasting, and attending balls at Alcáçova...” The wealth of the Portuguese crown from its overseas pursuits allowed João III to reign as he pleased. He summoned the Cortes only rarely—in 1525, it was agreed that the Cortes would meet every ten years. In 1535, their sole function was to recognize the Infante Carlos Manuel as Crown Prince and future successor to the throne. João III dedicated the earliest years of his reign to reforming the administration and justice system within the kingdom. In terms of foreign policy, João was closely connected to the House of Habsburg by marriage: his wife was the sister of Emperor Charles V and Ferdinand, the Prince of Asturias, and recognized the heir to Spain. João’s younger sister, Isabella, had been wed to Ferdinand as well—further binding ties between the Houses of Aviz and Habsburg. Despite João’s close ties to the Habsburgs, foreign policy was not overtly in favor of them. He strove to maintain neutrality in the conflicts between the great kingdoms of Europe. His youngest sister, Beatriz, had been wed to King François of France—giving Portugal a vital connection to France. Portugal also continued to maintain warm relations with England through trade and their ancestral alliance, which had been ratified in 1386.

    The great wealth from the Orient allowed João to continue the magnificent building campaigns that had been started by his father. Aside from ordering an expansion of Ribeira Palace, he also ordered renovations carried out on the old royal residence at Alcáçova following an earthquake in 1531 that had caused great damage to the structure. Portuguese court life had greatly improved in the sixteenth century thanks to the increased revenues available to the monarchy—and this included an expansion of the royal household, from the higher offices down to the minor chamberlains. João’s reign saw the evolution of the court into a true cultural institution, and positions at court began to confer both social and cultural cachet that they did not in previous periods. “The King of Portugal hosts the most sumptuous table in Europe,” Antonio Battista delle Piane, a Genoese diplomat stationed in Lisbon wrote in a letter home to his brother. “The feasts have upwards to twenty dishes, flavored with the tastes of the Orient: cod in a sauce of black pepper and cloves, stewed vegetables, and marzipan rich with sugar, honey, and cinnamon…when we do not feast, we play; dances, masques, and hunting, each day a whirl.” In these jubilant ceremonies, João showed off the majesty and prestige of his crown—as magnificent as the court of Spain, and a genuine rival to English and French gaiety.

    450px-Stamaty_after_van_Cleve_-_Eleanor_of_Austria_-_Versailles.jpg

    Eleanor of Austria, Queen of Portugal.

    As a parent, João III was present, but not necessarily the most attentive. He lavished attention upon his eldest daughter, Maria—whom he dubbed his querida rosa, a term he would use for her even long after she grew into adulthood. The king’s relationship with his eldest son, Carlos Manuel, proved more fraught. “Crown Prince Carlos viewed his father in awe,” one Portuguese courtier would write decades later in his journal. “He was never at ease about the king and was often taciturn. This piqued the king. To put it simply: the Infante Carlos simply never measured up to his older sister. He failed in all measures when compared to the Infanta Maria…” Despite this, Carlos’ relationship with his mother was much warmer—she provided him with the emotional support that he never received from his father and was favored in her eyes the same way that Maria was favored in her father’s eyes. Both João and Eleanor desired what was best for favored children: and did what they could to make those goals come to fruition. For Eleanor, this meant promoting the match supported by her sister-in-law, Isabella—a marriage between Carlos Manuel and Infanta Maria of Spain. For João however, it meant keeping his Maria as close as possible. “Of course, the Infanta Maria of Portugal was born in a difficult time,” one Portuguese historian would write nearly a century later. “Born in 1521, there was a dearth of princesses of her age and rank but a lack of princes. Ridiculed in some circles as the sempre noiva or always engaged, she was considered a potential consort for Prince Philip of Spain, Prince Maximilian of Austria, Louis IV of Naples, and even Christian II of Denmark following his restoration—but all offers were refused by João with the utmost courtesy.” In a household where the eldest children were each favored by one parent, this left the youngest child, Infanta Beatriz, to her own devices—primarily raised by her nannies, nurses, and later governesses.

    In cultural issues, João III was steeped in the humanist traditions of the Renaissance. He sponsored poets, playwrights, and authors, such as Garcia de Resende and Fernão Mendes Pinto. Many writers supported by the king were granted pensions and often attained positions within the royal household. João’s support also extended into the sciences, and he provided scholarships that allowed Portuguese students and scholars to study abroad, such as at the University of Paris, where the Collège de Sainte-Barbe was headed by a Portuguese theologian, Diogo de Gouveia. In Portugal, João arranged for the University of Coimbra to move from Lisbon to Coimbra. A college of arts would be founded in 1542, which allowed João to entice Portuguese and European teachers from the Collège de Guienne in Bordeaux. In religious affairs, Portugal’s expansion abroad was governed through the doctrine of Padroado negotiated with the Holy See. Padroado gave the crown control over the appointment of sees and benefices in the areas discovered by Portugal—along with a portion of these ecclesiastical revenues. In return, the crown promised to send missionaries abroad to evangelize amongst the natives and to provide the necessary funds to endow new dioceses, parishes, and religious establishments in these new territories. João would be one of the first monarchs to patronize the Society of Jesus, better known as the Jesuits after Pope Pius V sanctioned the crown’s request for Jesuit missionaries to help propagate the Catholic faith in the East Indies. Francis Xavier, the founder of the Jesuits, would be appointed Apostolic Nuncio to the East, tasked with restoring Christianity amongst the Portuguese settlers.

    Religious issues were of paramount concern to João III, who was incredibly devout. “Both the king and queen were intently religious—and their faith in God provided another bridge for their relationship. They attended mass daily, and both were renowned for their piety.” Both the king and queen had their confessors—João was served by the Dominican friar, Diogo da Silva, while Eleanor was served by a Spaniard who had accompanied her to Portugal—Tomás Betanzos. Silva played a vital role in encouraging João to continue the work of his father in bringing the Inquisition to Portugal, supported in this by the queen and Betanzos. Though attempts to bring the Inquisition into Portugal dated from 1515, none had succeeded. Though João enlisted the support of Charles V in getting the papacy to agree with his requests, the 1520s proved fraught with increased French influence in Italy. Only in 1531 did the Papacy agree to the installation of the Inquisition—but on terms considered odious by João. By 1532, João had sent his representative to Rome, Duarte da Paz—a Marrano who had fought for the crown in Morocco and had been distinguished in his service, even receiving the Order of Christ. When Da Paz arrived in Rome to treat with Pius V, he immediately turned cloak—advocating in favor of the Marranos. The colorful and eloquent Da Paz succeeded in winning over many Cardinals to his cause, as well as the Pope. Pius V issued a bull suspending the introduction of the Inquisition into Portugal, and soon issued a general pardon for those guilty of Judaism and the release of prisoners and convicts[1]. “While we believe that all must bask in Christ’s love,” a report that justified Pius V’s began. “The Inquisition is not the true doctrine of the conversion of infidels. The workings of the Inquisitorial courts are most terrible, and its officers are no ministers of Christ, but rather Satan—no better than thieves and mercenaries.”

    Water_cure.jpg

    Woodcut of the "Water Cure," one of the punishments used by the Inquisition.

    The bull of pardon caused great turmoil, as the Portuguese Marranos were now immune to proceedings against them. “That man is a slippery snake,” João reportedly uttered regarding da Paz when he heard of his betrayals. Though Da Paz’s star had risen high—it was soon quick to fall when he was attacked in Rome by assassins. Stabbed fourteen times, he survived because of the armor he wore under his clothes and would be nursed back to health under the supervision of the pope’s doctors. Da Paz attempted to claim that the assassination had been ordered by Portugal, but João demurred from his charge—Da Paz’s position as protector of the Marrano’s soon crumbled when they accused him of embezzling 4000 ducats meant for the Pope. Leaving Rome, Da Paz was now covered in ignominy—when he reached Venice, he turned cloak once again, denouncing the Marranos to João III and writing to the Pope that he should confiscate their property for the church. He viciously slandered the new representative of the Marranos in Rome and would travel from Venice to Ferrara, where he would be imprisoned for a short time. Da Paz’s story ended shortly after his release from prison. He returned to Judaism and emigrated to Constantinople—where he allegedly embraced the Islamic faith. João would continue to press for a Portuguese Inquisition, which would finally be granted in 1542 by Pius V’s successor, Gelasius III—who would annul the bull of pardon issued by Pius V.

    MariaofSpain.jpg
    BeatrizofPortugal.jpg

    Infanta Maria of Spain and Infanta Beatriz of Portugal, circa 1543; AI Generated.

    João and Eleanor’s children continued to grow. Of paramount concern was potential marriages—though João had little inclination to give up his eldest daughter, he was less concerned regarding his son and youngest daughter. João’s sister, Isabella, spearheaded a match between the Portuguese and Spanish Royal Houses—she suggested that Carlos Manuel should marry her eldest daughter, Maria—while João’s youngest daughter, Beatriz, should be wed to Fernando Alonso; Isabella’s eldest son and the future King of Spain. This match was highly championed by Eleanor, though proceedings were informal until Isabella died in 1543. Shortly thereafter, Ferdinand agreed that the marriages proposed by his late wife should be honored. The Treaty of Santa Cruz would be ratified four months following Isabella’s death—with it agreed that the marriages should proceed as soon as possible. At the time, Carlos Manuel’s intended bride was fourteen, while the Infanta Beatriz, intended for Fernando Alonso, was thirteen. The so-called Exchange of the Infantas occurred on the border between Portugal and Spain, near the hamlet of Fuentes de Oñoro. “Both the courts converged on the little hamlet for the changing over ceremony… a wooden building was built upon the border for both the infantas…” one courtier would write in their private journal regarding the ceremony. “They entered at the same time and emerged on the other side—leaving behind the former households and being embraced by their new one. Infanta Beatriz was small, her eyes filled with fear as she departed—despite her magnificent gown of black silk, her pearls, and jewels, she looked every inch a scared little girl… not the woman she now was. When she left us, we were soon joined by the Infanta Maria of Spain… the future crown princess. At fourteen she was pretty… slim figured and petite, her hair covered by a veil of black and white. She approached the king, and the queen offered up her obeisance with a low curtsey. Her first words to their majesties were in heavily accented Portuguese: “I come to you as a humble daughter and ask for your blessing.” Both gave their blessing readily—with Queen Eleanor ecstatic to have her niece so close.” As the Portuguese court now possessed two Infantas who went by the name of Maria, Maria of Spain would soon become known as Maria Isabel—incorporating her middle name and as reverence to her newly deceased mother.

    Carlos Manuel would marry his Spanish bride in January 1544 at the Cathedral of Lisbon. The marriage was solemnized by the Archbishop of Lisbon—with a blessing offered by Carlos Manuel’s uncle, the Infante Henrique, Archbishop of Evora. Even at the wedding ceremony, Carlos Manuel found himself outshined by his formidable sister. “It was as if the Infanta was preparing for her wedding,” one of Maria’s ladies would write in a letter to her mother. “She dressed in a gown made of magnificent red silk and bedecked herself in her finest jewels—a necklace of silver with a large sapphire in the middle—attached to a miniature portrait of the king which hung about her bosom. Another chain of gold hung about her neck, combined with a pearl choker that had a clasp of great rubies and diamonds… all gifts from her father, the king. Rings adorned each of her fingers, and she wore a veil and translucent silk. When she deigned to enter the cathedral, minutes before the ceremony was to start, all the eyes were upon her… she behaved as if she was the bride, and everyone saw her as such. The Spanish Infanta could only watch her future sister-in-law with sad eyes—knowing she could never compare.” The wedding ceremony and festivities would pass onward without incident. Despite Maria’s drastic entrance, Carlos Manuel was able to settle into marriage with his young bride—not exactly a love match. Nevertheless, Maria Isabel, still in her youth, looked up to her much older husband, who was nearly twenty-two. The Crown Prince of Portugal, deprived of attention from his father and used to receiving it from his mother, looked fondly upon his little bride, who worshipped him as a hero.

    With Carlos and Beatriz now wed, this left only the Infanta Maria. The years had not changed João’s mind—he had no desire to see his eldest daughter wed and taken away from him—and more than that, there remained no suitable suitor of the appropriate rank for her. “She is my comfort and my joy,” João reportedly told his confessor. “I could never bear to be parted from her, nor her from me. Let her wed when I am cold and in the ground—but not before.” In celebration of Maria’s twenty-third birthday in the summer of 1544, João invested Maria with the ancestral Duchy of Viseu, naming her Duchess of Viseu. For the first time, Maria now possessed an independent income and household. To this, João added additional revenues that totaled some 300,000 réis—along with giving his daughter the right to send one ship to India annually, exempting it from duties owed to the Casa da India. Despite this newfound financial independence, Maria remained tightly tethered to Lisbon and her father’s court—with respite only given when she was rarely allowed to travel to Viseu for short stays.

    450px-Codice_Casanatense_Portuguese_Nobleman.jpg

    Códice Casanatense, depicting the retinue of a Portuguese Nobleman in India, c. 1540.

    The 1540s brought great changes to the Portuguese colonial empire—both positive and negative. Portuguese traders continued to expand and explore throughout the East Indies, and in 1543 made landfall in Japan—the mythological land of Zipangu described by Marco Polo. Despite such fabulous discoveries, the Portuguese empire entered the 1540s burdened by large external debts and trade deficits. Ottoman influence continued to threaten Portuguese settlements in both India and North Africa, which necessitated greater amounts spent on troops and fortifications. In Africa, João continued to maintain the feitorias at Arguim, Mina, Mombasa, Sofala, and Mozambique, amongst others. Under João’s aegis, Portuguese explorers, merchants, and missionaries continued to map out the African coast while pressing further into the interior. The College of Arts, founded by the king, subsidized religious missions to Christianize the native people and develop peaceful relations with the natives. This mission was often in conflict with the reality on the ground—which included merchants trading in slaves. The flash point of strain within the Portuguese Empire was in Morocco, where Portugal possessed dozens of fortresses along the coast. Financial problems meant that Portugal was forced to consider the benefits of each settlement by its strategic and economic values. This meant that some were abandoned, such as Safim and Azamor, while others—Ceuta, Tangiers, and Mazagan were strengthened to face the changes in military tactics, where artillery reigned supreme.

    In India, the Portuguese dominions were governed as the Estado de Índia under a designated viceroy. Portugal’s possessions in India were not contiguous, but rather cities, settlements, and ports scattered along the coasts of India, with the center of Portuguese rule being the city of Goa. From the coasts of India, Portuguese influence spread out across the Indian Ocean into the Persian Gulf as well as the Red Sea. This had brought Portuguese traders, explorers, and even missionaries into contact with the Ethiopian Empire and had seen Portuguese naval expeditions harass Turkish settlements in the Red Sea, such as Suakin—though they failed to seize Jeddah in 1541 and a small raiding force would be repelled from the Suez, as well. Although the Portuguese had failed in their intended aims, they had managed to paralyze Muslim trade within the Red Sea for a time, and the expedition soon landed at Massawa, where the self-proclaimed Patriarch of Ethiopia, João Bermudes convinced the Viceroy of India, Estêvão de Gama to provide aid to the beleaguered Emperor of Ethiopia, Gelawdewos, who had been attacked by the Adal Sultanate, led by the Imam Ahmed ibh Ibrahim al-Ghazi, better known as Ahmed Gragn by the Ethiopians. Viceroy Estêvão agreed to the demands of Bermudes and left a small coterie of troops at Massawa under the command of his brother, Cristóvão de Gama. The Portuguese musketeers would fight valiantly for the Ethiopian cause throughout 1542. They scored several victories in the early campaign, but the force would suffer a defeat at the Battle of Wolfa in August 1542. Cristóvão was taken prisoner by Ahmed Gragn at Wolfa, and Gragn proceeded to execute the Portuguese commander. A small part of the Portuguese force would take refuge with the Ethiopian Queen-Mother—they would be incorporated into Emperor Gelawdewos’ army, where they would provide vital firepower at the Battle of Wayna Daga against the Muslim musketeers—with a Portuguese shot supposedly killing Ahmed Gragn in battle, avenging the death of their commander.

    [1]This actually happened IOTL.
     
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    Chapter 34. The Danish Restoration
  • This one is a lengthy one, ya'll! But we finally get a chance to return back north to see what's going on up there. I dedicate this chapter to @King of Danes as he provided some interesting ideas and critiques as I was brainstorming this chapter. As always, I appreciate everyone's support for Anno! Turtledove voting is still open until tomorrow afternoon, and Anno is candidate in the Early Modern category—I appreciate all the love it's gotten so far!

    Chapter 34. The Danish Restoration
    1537-1545; Denmark & Sweden.

    “All power is from God.”
    — Gustav Vasa


    Musical Accompaniment: Wer wolt ihr in Ehren nicht sein hold

    450px-Lucas_Cranach_%28I%29_-_Bildnis_Christians_II.%2C_K%C3%B6nig_von_D%C3%A4nemark_%28MbK%2C_Leipzig%29.jpg

    Christian II of Denmark; Painted by Lucas Cranach, c. 1530.

    The success of the Count’s Feud saw 1537 open with Christian II once more firmly upon his ancestral throne in Denmark, with his rival, the former Duke of Holstein, held captive at Nyborg Castle alongside his wife. Christian’s son, John, remained in Denmark only for a short time, and in 1537 took leave of his father to return to England. His two daughters, Dorothea, and Christina, from their exile in the Low Countries, soon joined Christian II. “The king was beyond pleased to have his daughters with him once again,” Ingeborg Ulfstand, a Danish courtier, would record in her private journals. “After their mother’s death, the emperor took care of raising the princesses into his household, and the king himself had not seen either of them in almost a decade. King Christian met his daughters as they disembarked, the trio embracing each other as they shed tears of joy. The king stated: ‘You are home now, my daughters—and you shall have everything that you shall ever need.’ He then escorted both princesses back to Copenhagen Castle… and took great joy in showing them to their rooms, the chambers they had inhabited as children.”

    Christian was beyond pleased to once more have his family reunited. Despite this joyous reunion, Christian knew it a temporary reunification. His mind turned naturally towards the marriages of his daughters—and the alliances and security that they could provide to his throne. “Christian II returned to his throne a changed man,” a Danish historian would write in a treatise concerning his restoration nearly a century later. Not jaded, but vindicated, he returned to Denmark. After enduring the bitter taste of exile and imprisonment, he eventually regained his rightful place. He felt that God alone had brought this miracle to pass, and that his destiny was to be sovereign of his realm until his last dying days. Christian II was not a man who investigated the past to see his mistakes; instead, he saw only that he had always been right in his choices and policies.” Christian II saws his daughters as pillars for his reign—to expand his influence and to build alliances that would further secure his position.

    In Sweden, Gustav Vasa dealt with his troubles. Gustav’s break with Rome had given him unprecedented power over the Swedish church but had also caused grave unrest in some areas of the kingdom. Dalarna had risen against Gustav’s rule three times in the first ten years of his reign—each revolt put down more harshly than the revolt that preceded it. The royal house also faced troubles, as Gustav’s marriage to Queen Catherine of Saxe-Lauenburg was very unhappy. They had been married for almost six years, and besides a daughter who died shortly after birth in 1533, the queen seemed unable to give Gustav an heir. “Tongues wagged throughout the king’s marriage,” one anonymous Swedish writer wrote. “Those who held fast to the old faith whispered that the king’s marriage was barren precisely because of heresy… and so long as he continued to defy the Pope and Rome, his marriage would be barren.” Catholic propaganda in Sweden attacked the king for exactly that, and one pamphlet, proclaiming to be a prophecy, thundered forth: “Gustav Vasa, the pretended King of the Swedes wallows in filth, blinded by a false prophet. So long as he errs in the heresy of Luther, his seed shall rot and the womb of his wife shall stay barren—he shall have no living issue until he returns to the one, holy, catholic, apostolic church.” Catherine of Saxe-Lauenburg would suffer a second miscarriage in 1537, dying shortly thereafter from childbed fever.

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    So-called Bysta Portrait of Gustav Vasa, c. 1600, reproduced from a 1550 portrait now lost.

    The members of the Rigsraad in Denmark greeted the news of the death of the Swedish queen with happiness, though for different reasons. Some saw it as a vindication of their own sovereign, while others looked towards it as a chance for peace and reconciliation. Christian II completely reconstituted the Rigsraad under his leadership, selecting his allies such as Claus Bille, and members of the Bølle and Mikkelsen families. Aside from members of the nobility, Christian had also elevated members of the wealthy bourgeoisie into his council. The pro-peace party, headed by Henrik Rosenvinge, was the first to put forth their suggestion: an end to enmity between Denmark and Sweden through the marriage of the Princess Dorothea to King Gustav Vasa. It was no surprise that Christian’s reaction was thunderous: “So long as I breathe, I shall never consent to the marriage of either of my daughters to a traitor. God has rewarded my faith through these tumultuous times, and I shall not err now… the death of the Swedish pretender’s concubine is all the proof I need… we are the righteous and they are the wicked. I am the rightful King of Sweden and shall be until my dying day. I have no need for peace or amity when I am God’s righteous.” It was then and there that Christian II laid forth his testament regarding Sweden: no reconciliation, no recognition.

    Christian instead sought to shore up Danish influence in Germany—particularly among those states that still clung to the reformation. For his eldest daughter, Dorothea, Christian entered negotiations with the Duke of Pomerania, Kasimir VI[1] for a marriage between Dorothea and the duke’s eldest son, Otto. Though the Lutheran faith had steadily gained influence within Pomerania, Kasimir VI remained dedicated to the Catholic faith, and was more than happy to renew connections with the Danish royal house—even more prudent as Kasimir’s sister, Sophie, had been married to Frederick of Denmark and had recently come into conflict with Christian II over her dower properties in Holstein, which he had seized during the Counts Feud. The Treaty of Stettin, signed in the spring of 1538 arranged not only for the marriage between Otto and Dorothea, but sought to settle Queen Dowager Sophie’s dower—Christian II agreed to return part of her dower to her, primarily her estates in Lolland and Folster, as well as Kiel and Plön Castle, which she would hold for life. In return, Christian II asked that the former queen vacate Gottorp Castle, but gave her the right to live at Kiel for her lifetime. Christian II also agreed to allow Sophie to maintain custody of her daughters. The Duke of Prussia continued to have custody of her eldest son, Hans, while Philip of Hesse fostered her second son, Adolf, at his court. The court of Christian II would foster Frederik, the queen’s youngest son. Christian II promised to provide for Frederik by preparing him for a clerical career—a Catholic clerical career. This promoted raucous protests from Queen Dowager Sophie, but to no avail. Christian soon would place Prince Frederik in the care of the Abbot of Æbelholt, who would take charge of the young prince’s religious education. Dorothea and Otto would marry shortly afterwards, towards the end of 1538—their marriage celebrated on All Souls Day.

    While Christian sought a suitable husband for his youngest daughter, Gustav Vasa was prepared to embark on his own journey to find another suitable wife. One faction within the Swedish Riksråd argued the king should seek his second wife from among the Swedish nobility. The second faction argued for a foreign marriage, which prevailed. Gustav understood plainly the need to seek foreign allies and support—even more important in the wake of Christian II’s restoration, and the close connections he maintained with both England and the Empire. “If the Danes are to be cozy with England and the emperor both,” Gustav reportedly uttered to his councilors. “Then we shall become friends with their most mortal enemies—France.” Gustav named his favorite, Erik Fleming, as his envoy, and dispatched him to the court of France in 1538 with two goals in mind: to seek France’s friendship and a new queen. Gustav’s idea was not necessarily radical; France had long been one of Sweden’s trading partners, and a trade treaty signed in 1499 had long provided Sweden with wheat, wine, canvas, sheets, and even silk for skins, furs, butter, whales, timber, tar, and iron and copper. Fleming would arrive in France in the summer of 1538 through the port of Dieppe and would write in his journal that: “And this, no doubt—is the land of plenty.” Fleming’s introduction to the French court took place at the Château of Saint-Germain, where he met King François and Queen Beatriz.

    Fleming’s popularity soared in France, and he became known as le Suédois. This northern man with his long beard and fur coats shocked the refined French courtiers, but he quickly became a boon companion of King François, and they included him in court entertainments, whether they were feasts, balls, or hunting excursions. It did not take long before Fleming could divulge his true intentions to the French King: Sweden sought not only France’s friendship, but a new bride for their king. François was receptive to the pleas of the Swedes, to a point—though his youngest daughter Victoire remained unwed (and would not marry the Duke of Cleves until 1540) he could not in good faith consider marrying his own daughter to a Lutheran. Despite this, a solution arose: the Queen of Navarre suggested that the King of Sweden should marry her sister-in-law, the Viscountess of Rohan, who had recently become a widow. From there, matters proceeded swiftly—Gustav gave his approval to Fleming to open formal marriage negotiations with the French. François formally signed the Treaty of Vincennes in 1538, agreeing to provide Isabella with a dowry of 150,000₶ as though she were born a Princess of France. Isabella herself received the news of her new marriage stoically. In a letter to a friend, the princess wrote: “I shall never see this land again, nor my children—I am resigned to live and die in the coldest reaches of the world.” Isabella and Gustav were married by proxy in March 1539 at the Château of Pau. Isabella departed France in May 1539—her retinue included not only members of her household, but masons and painters, as well as a medical doctor—Nicholas Cop, a friend of Marguerite d’Angoulême known for his Calvinist sympathies. Her chaplain, Andreas Hyperius, came highly recommended by Jean Calvin—with many of the reformers within the queen’s coterie hoping to see how the reformation had changed Sweden. Isabella, who would become known as Elisabet, arrived in Sweden in the summer of 1539. Elisabet and Gustav married in a wholly Protestant ceremony at the Cathedral of Uppsala, with her coronation following the next day. Though not a love match, the royal couple proved that the so-called curse upon the new Swedish Royal House was just silly snuff—with Elisabet providing the Vasas with a succession of little princes and princesses: Carl (b. 1540), Johann (b. 1541), Elisabet (b. 1542) and Margareta (b. 1543, d. 1549).

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    Portrait of Elisabet (Isabella) of Navarre as Queen of Sweden; AI Generated.

    For Christina, Christian opened negotiations with the emperor, hoping to find a suitable match for his youngest daughter. He aimed to arrange a match between Christina and Severin of Saxony, the Catholic heir to the Duchy of Saxony, but Charles V kindly declined the offer—Severin was engaged to his niece, Anna Gennara of Savoy, and he perceived no reason to break the match. Wishing to offer an alternative, Charles suggested Christina should wed one of his closest associates, the Prince of Orange. Christian kindly refused the offer and retorted to his councilors: “My daughter can do better than a prince whose patrimony is more piteous than even the most desperate of beggars.” As Christian scoured Europe for the perfect bridegroom for his youngest daughter, he could not help but weigh their virtues and their vices: François of Lorraine—too young. Friedrich of the Palatinate—too old. Andreas of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel—too eager. Heinrich of Würrtemberg—too poor; not eager enough. After a Bavarian envoy, Wiguläus von Eysen, arrived at court, people soon forgot about the excessive demands of the king. Eysen arrived in Denmark on behalf of Ludwig X, the Duke of Bavaria, dispensing his charm and gifts to both the king and his court. Decades later, one memoirist would write that, “Eysen arrived in Denmark weighed down in gold and precious jewels—and left stark naked.” Eysen was a man with a mission—his baggage train was immense with jewels, wines, silks, and exotic spices that he dispensed readily. Alongside his treasures were great burlap sacks, each one filled to the brim with thalers and florins, his bags worth some ƒ50,000 altogether. Eysen was a determined man… where gifts did not work, he simply dispensed bribes. Within three days, he secured an audience with the king and made clear his demands: the offer of his hand in marriage to Princess Christina.

    The Bavarian marriage offer was not unwelcome to Christian. Though Bavaria was not exactly in the closest proximity to Denmark, they had remained steadfast in their Catholic faith. Ludwig also possessed an appropriate rank: as Duke of Bavaria, he co-reigned alongside his elder brother, Wilhelm IV. Despite positive benefits, Christian also had his concerns: primarily, he took issue with Bavaria’s succession law, which in 1506 had decreed that the Duchy of Bavaria should pass unbroken to the eldest son. Though Ludwig X had forced his brother into accepting him as co-ruler, Christian feared that Christina and Ludwig’s children would have no right to the territories Ludwig presently ruled. Eysen soothed the king’s feelings in the only way he could—through flattery. Christian accepted everything that Eysen said to him in his dulcet tones, the little Bavarian envoy speaking to the Danish king with due deference and respect that Christian believed himself entitled too—and that he had not received for many years. It was little surprise that he found a fast friend in Eysen—and that the normally suspicious king readily believed all that he was told. “Eysen poured whatever honey he could into the king’s ear,” one courtier would write decades later in their memoirs. “The problem was that plenty of it was poison—and patently false. He was prepared to say and do whatever he could to secure the king’s support for his master’s marriage—when the succession came up, Eysen quickly proclaimed that Duke Ludwig had recently summoned the Landtag which would soon dispense with the everlasting succession and restore the old laws. When the king fretted over the princesses’ dower, Eysen quickly proclaimed that her dower would consist of Kelheim, Außernzell, Reisbach, and Zwiese—along with life rights to live either in the Landshut Residenz or Trausnitz Castle. To this he also promised her a pension of 15,000 thalers—to be guaranteed and paid out by Wilhelm IV… promises that both dukes were unaware of.” By 1540, negotiations between Christian and von Eysen entered their final stages. Christian promised Duke Ludwig a dowry of 40,000 crowns—a large sum that the Danish state was in no true state to pay. Despite this, Christian was prepared to use revenue from the Sound Due to finance part of the dowry—with another portion appropriated from the revenues of Prince John’s estates. “I find myself in a very lamentable situation—I cannot pay what is owed to you for yet another year.” Christian would write to his son. “You will learn in due time exactly how expensive a princess is. My only prayer is that next year should be more prosperous for my kingdom, and that I should be able to pay for the arrears that are so desperately owed to you…”

    They formalized the signing of the Treaty of Copenhagen in the fall of 1540, and Princess Christina entered a formal betrothal with Duke Ludwig X of Bavaria. They celebrated the proxy marriage ceremony with great pomp at the Church of St. Mary in Copenhagen. “His majesty beggared himself in pursuit of the princesses’ marriages,” one historian would write critically almost a century later. “Though he tried his best to adorn the Church of Our Lady in Papist splendor, there were still signs of the iconoclastic riots that had purified the church nearly a decade before—the choir remained in disarray, while only a few of the statues that had been plundered had been replaced. They had replaced the gilt altars in the church with gaudy imitations, decorating them with glass jewels and making them from gilt copper instead of the more expensive gold. It was pageantry devoid of any true pomp—there were no more reliquaries; even the vestments of the Bishop of Roskilde paled compared to what he might have worn ten years before…” Christina took leave of Denmark shortly after her proxy marriage, accompanied by Wiguläus von Eysen who prepared for a leisurely journey to Landshut. Eysen, having won over the father, attempted to ingratiate himself with the daughter and now Duchess of Bavaria. This proved to be a failure, and Christina retorted to her secretary, Johan Kjær: “He is charming, and too charming by an inch; he may crave my friendship, but that I shall never give him.” In the dying months of 1540, Christina’s cavalcade made a leisurely journey throughout northern Germany, with celebrations held for her at Coburg on New Year’s Eve. She arrived in Landshut during the second week of January, in 1541.

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    Ludwig X, Duke of Bavaria; Painted c. 1531.

    At the Landshut Residenz, a gilded pleasure palace modeled after the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, Christina’s husband, Ludwig X, formally introduced himself to her. Ludwig X, Christina’s husband, was a hefty man in his mid-forties—with a great brown beard. Anna von Leonsberg, Ludwig’s illegitimate daughter, would later record in her diaries that: “When he first met the princess, Duke Ludwig dressed in his greatest finery. He wore a greatcoat trimmed with white sable. He hung a golden cross around his neck, and he wore a doublet made of black silk etched with gold and silver trim. A jerkin of red silk covered it. He cut a fine figure as he greeted the princess… he announced to her before all the court in booming German: ‘Welcome home, my wife.’ Princess Christina was most solicitous, offering the duke a very low curtesy before she returned his felicitations in equal measure: ‘I am most glad to be home, husband.’ All the court applauded, awed by our new duchess…” Christina and Ludwig were formally married on January 14, 1541, at St. Martin’s Church at Landshut. Ludwig and Christina would spend their honeymoon in Dachau, graciously provided by Wilhelm to his brother in celebration of his nuptials. Though Ludwig found himself enchanted with his beautiful new bride, the feelings were not mutual. “… the new Duchess of Bavaria’s life turned into a whirlwind; she had never led a settled life. From the imperial court in Brussels, she returned to a homeland that she couldn’t even remember. Her father wasted no time in putting her on the marriage market and quickly married her off to the highest (or perhaps most eager?) suitor. bidder. Her marriage had brought her to Bavaria—in Landshut, not Munich. Taken from one of the most glittering courts in all of Europe, she had endured the sterility of her father’s court and now inhabited a court that was provincial.” Christina’s unhappiness and perhaps her loneliness was difficult to miss on that honeymoon in Dachau—ducal servants gossiped about her crying spells and placed bets on when the duke and duchess might argue next. By the end of January, Ludwig and Christina departed Dachau to take up residence in Trausnitz Castle while the building program upon the Landshut Residenz continued.

    In Sweden, Gustav had settled easily enough into his marriage with Elisabet. The Navarrese Infanta proved to be a potent accouterment to the Swedish court, and she took her position seriously. While the queen dedicated herself to matters of the royal household and the court, Gustav continued his drive to develop Sweden into a self-reliant kingdom. Gustav nursed hopes that Sweden might someday eclipse Denmark in both Scandinavia and the Baltic, but before that, self-preservation must come first. By 1541, Gustav was heavily indebted to the merchants of Lübeck. Lübeck had suffered its own tumults throughout the 1530s, which had culminated in the restoration of Catholicism and Nikolaus Brömse as Burgomaster. Though Brömse initially supported the cause of the Vasas in the 1520s, Prince John’s help in his restoration firmly tied him to the Danish cause. Brömse did what he could to steady Lübeck’s ship of state—the city dealt with economic issues and continued to press Sweden for the repayment of its debts: the principal stood at nearly 61,000 marks with another 20,000 accumulated in interest. Brömse sent Moritz von Rönnefeld to Sweden with a simple request: pay the king’s debts or offer further privileges. Denmark’s renewed alliance with Lübeck only complicated issues in Sweden, where the Hanseatic city held extensive trading privileges and almost an absolute control over Sweden’s foreign trade. There also continued to be unrest in the provinces, fueled by the heavy burden of taxation that the peasantry bore, alongside innovations in religion—though Gustav had succeeded in his break from Rome and had instituted Lutheran reforms, but many continued to cling to the old faith.

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    Swedish Army marching out to meet the Dacke Rebels; c. 1540s.

    Things came to a head in June 1542, when peasantry led by Nils Dacke rose in Södra Möre in Småland. They assassinated sheriffs and tax collectors, starting what would become known as the Dacke War. Gustav mustered German landsknechts led by Arvid Trolle, but the German troops were unequipped to fight in the rugged forests and suffered heavy losses. Dacke proved to be a potent tactician, and he used defensive tactics, using the peasant’s crossbows to devastating effect. The situation became so serious that Gustav had to sign a truce with Dacke. Dacke reigned freely over most of southern Sweden; he reopened trade with Danish Skåne and re-instituted Catholic ceremonies in the area under his control. Support for Dacke’s cause included Denmark—Christian II remarked that, “Dacke is a staunch believer, and deserves our friendship. His cause is just. He rebels against no true king.” Trade through Skåne allowed the Danish crown to provide provisions and supplies. Further offers of aid came from Germany—with Duke Albrecht VII of Mecklenburg also providing aid. Despite Dacke’s success, the Swedish crown was not prepared to treat Dacke lightly. Sweden intensified their plans against the rebels: they blockaded the roads leading into Småland and areas under Dacke’s control and stopped the trade of all provisions and supplies. The crown also used propaganda to a deadly effect, painting Dacke as a traitor and heretic. Dacke’s base of support also continued to be an issue: while he had the support of the peasantry, the aristocracy and bourgeoisie distrusted his motives. One Småland aristocrat, Måns Johansson, supported the king despite their differences in opinion. He received the responsibility of leading the next military phases.

    In January 1543, the Swedish crown broke the truce that had only been in effect for a few months, as the king ordered an even larger army into Småland to put down the rebel forces at any cost. The royal troops moved firstly into Östergötland and Västergötland as they secured the provinces to box in the rebels. By the spring of 1543, Danish support to Dacke became more limited, as Denmark dealt with their own troubles—the outbreak of revolt in Schleswig and Holstein as a reaction to recent edicts passed by Christian II to chip away at the Lutheran Ordinances that still held sway in the twin duchies. Despite these changes, Dacke remained quite confident, and dared to meet the Swedish troops in a pitched battle in March. The hardened Swedish soldiers, fighting on plain ground, shattered the peasant army, and Dacke himself suffered severe injuries in the battle. The Swedish troops all but crushed the rebellion, and they named Dacke an outlaw. Though Dacke escaped, Swedish troops later injured him in the summer of 1543. In August, Swedish troops finally caught up with him and cut him down at a farm near the parish of Gullabo. They posthumously executed Dacke by quartering him and then paraded his limbs around the communities that had supported him in a grisly public display. Gustav mercilessly executed Dacke’s family, including his wife, brother-in-law, and several other relatives.

    In Denmark, the so-called German Revolt differed drastically from the Dacke Rebellion. Compared to Denmark, which had long been in a state of religious flux, Schleswig and Holstein had embraced the Reformation as early as the 1520s. Duke Christian, the son of King Frederik, had introduced a Lutheran Church system in 1528. This remained in place even after Christian II’s restoration, though he attacked it from the onset of his return to the throne—replacing Protestant bishops with Catholic ones, and ordering certain properties restored to the church. In late 1542, Christian decreed that the Roman Mass was to be restored across the duchies, provoking a sharp reaction from the German burghers in the region. Urban citizens in Holstein and Schleswig attacked properties and churches that had been restored to the Catholic faith, causing riots to spread throughout the urban areas. They smashed altars, religious relics, and attacked Catholic priests. Christian II immediately reacted and summoned together an army of some 12,000 men to deal with the rebels. John, Christian’s son, had recently arrived in Denmark at his father’s behest and soon took command of the royal forces and put down the rebellion fiercely. By the end of 1543, John had pacified both Schleswig and Holstein. He not only implemented his father’s decrees but ordered a suspension of the 1528 Church Ordinance—in effect dissolving the Lutheran State Church in the twin duchies. John would return in triumph to Denmark, where the people popularly acclaimed him. He presented himself at court as often as he could, but tongues also wagged regarding his growing friendship with a certain Danish noblewoman named Clara Andersdatter, who belonged to the prominent Bille family. “King John often made himself scarce, most especially in the evening,” a member of John’s Yeomen wrote in his private diaries. “When this occurred, we knew well that he did not wish to be found. Everyone knew he frequented the manse of Mistress Bille, his fondest companion.”

    Christina’s marriage continued onwards—she acclimated to Landshut, and while she did not love Ludwig, she was in a way fond of him in her own way, enjoying how he often fretted over her. Her marriage endured two years of childlessness, but in 1543 became pregnant for the first time. In her private diaries, one of Christina’s ladies recorded. “The discovery of Duchess Christina’s pregnancy brought happiness to her and the duke. Their young duchess brought joy to all of Landshut, but Duke Wilhelm eagerly awaited in Munich to see if his sister-in-law might deliver a son or a daughter.” Christina’s first son was born in the fall of 1543, at the newly renovated Landshut Residenz, named Albrecht in honor of his grandfather. Following her first pregnancy, Christina proved much more fecund: in 1544, she gave birth to a daughter named Magdalene. Motherhood provided Christina with a vital role in her life, and by early 1545, she discovered she was pregnant for the third time. Ludwig’s declining health overshadowed the happiness that this should have provided Christina. By April 1545, he confined himself to his chambers; and by the end of April, he was dead and within a casket. Christina was no longer a wife, but a widow. Christina soon discovered after Ludwig’s death the worth of her marriage treaty: she sought to have her son Albrecht proclaimed as Duke of Bavaria alongside his uncle—and sought reassurances from Wilhelm IV that Albrecht could inherit the lands formally held by his father.

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    Christina of Denmark, Dowager Duchess of Bavaria; Painted in 1547.

    Some weeks after Ludwig’s death, messengers from Munich arrived and coldly announced that they would not proclaim Albrecht as the Duke of Bavaria. “You cannot deprive my son of his rightful inheritance!” Christina allegedly thundered to the cold Bavarian courtiers that now oversaw her fate. When she attempted to produce her marriage treaty, she encountered only the reality of the situation. “We regret to inform you that nothing written here is the truth,” one of the Bavarian courtiers retorted. “Eysen was desperate to bring about this marriage at any cost—even if it meant through deceit. The Landtag has never altered the succession law. There was no discussion regarding your dower, and even Duke Wilhelm is unawares of these promises to provide you with a pension.” Though Wilhelm was gracious enough to deal with Eysen, who was executed for his duplicity, he showed less generosity regarding Christina’s dower and was intent on taking over Landshut and Straubing. That she technically had no dower put her in desperate straits and gave Wilhelm the entire advantage. The formidable Leonhard von Eck, Wilhelm’s chancellor, proposed an offer of the 15,000 thaler pension per year promised in her wedding contract, with an additional 35,000 thaler per year if Christina agreed to renounce her son’s rights to both Landshut and Straubing. “A most odious offer,” one lady within Christina’s household remarked, but the widowed duchess had little choice: with no support, no allies, and the possibility of no income, she knew must accept the demands put before her. Christina made a formal renunciation at Landshut in June 1545—the day following her renunciation, she received her first pension payment of 50,000 thalers. Wilhelm also put forth a suggestion: Christina could either continue to live in the Landshut Residenz for her lifetime, but he also offered her an open invitation to move into the Munich Residenz, to live closer to her Bavarian family. Christina kindly refused the offer: “Your kindness is paramount,” she wrote in a letter to the duke. “But my heart is here in Landshut… and where it must stay.”

    Draped now in her widow weeds, Christina endured the remainder of her third pregnancy in quiet contemplation. Even though Christina had received the pension payment, she knew the reality of such payments: if they paid her next year, it would either be late or not in the amount promised. She did what she could to economize; she shuttered the unused areas of the Residenz and reduced the number of staff she kept down to the bare minimum needed to keep things running. In November 1545, Christina went into labor for the third and final time and successfully delivered a healthy baby boy. She named him Ludwig as a tribute to his deceased father. Christina now faced a very uncertain future; a Danish princess in a foreign country, she had little resources and now three children to care for. In desperation, she penned a letter to her father, where she beseeched his protection and favor now that her husband was gone and buried. Christian’s response returned to Christina swiftly, filled with florid words and vows of protection, but it was the line at the very end that meant the most: return to us—and return to us with your children, who shall enjoy our protection.

    [1] He survives here, rather than Georg.
     
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    Chapter 35. St. Wenceslas & St. Stephen
  • Chapter 35. St. Wenceslas & St. Stephen
    1535-1543; Bohemia, Germany, & Hungary.

    “How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown of thorns? And bears it for me!”
    — St. Elizabeth of Hungary


    Musical Accompaniment: Townfolk's Dance

    450px-Prague_Castle_%28early_17th_century%29.JPG
    Prague Castle; c. 17th century.

    The success of the Battle of Grafenwörth, which had seen imperial troops triumph over the Ottoman Turks, profoundly affected the Kingdoms of Bohemia and Hungary. In Bohemia, Queen Regent Mary of Austria would return from Teplitz to Prague in 1535 with the young Queen Elisabeth in tow. “Upon their return, Queen Mary and Elisabeth received popular acclaim from the capital.” Wenceslaus Hajek, a Bohemian chronicler, would write in a letter to a friend. “All the city turned out—from the highest aristocrat to the lowest laborer to cheer them upon their rightful return.” This proved to be the epoch of Mary’s popularity in Bohemia; while she had always been genuinely beloved, people now saw a different side to her. She could have easily turned tail and fled when the Turks had besieged Vienna. Instead, she remained in Bohemia. This shift in support gave Mary unprecedented political influence—not only over the royal council but also in the Bohemian Diet, where, for the first time, she gained genuine political allies. With her popularity soaring, Mary seized the opportunity to consolidate her political influence. By reshuffling the royal council, she strategically placed her trusted allies, many of whom shared her Protestant faith, in critical positions of power. This bold move solidified her control over the decision-making process and signaled her intent to bring about a religious reformation in Bohemia.

    Bohemia’s religious reformation began in the fifteenth century, with the Hussites pioneering ideas that Martin Luther would later explore. By the 1530s, Bohemia’s religious makeup was quite diverse: while the Utraquists remained dominant in the urban areas and there were adherents to the Catholic faith, Lutheranism also spread quickly. Though enticed by Luther’s teachings, Mary desired to meld his teachings—and those taught by other reformers—with Hussite teachings. “There is no need to break the wheel.” Mary wrote in a letter to her chaplain, Matthias Dévai Biro. “We broke the wheel here long ago—we must fix it so it can never break again.” Rather than begin from nothing, Mary wished to use the Utraquists as a vehicle to create a Protestant Church in Bohemia that embraced its genuinely unique heritage and history. After Mary returned to Prague, theologians spread out to Wittenburg, Zürich, Geneva, and Alsace. They met with Protestant theologians and gathered information on their specific outlooks and teachings, both the good and the bad.

    Despite Mary’s lofty ideals for a change in the kingdom, her primary concern rested upon her daughter—little Queen Elisabeth. By 1535, she was ten years old, and the queen regent took a great interest in her education. Joining Ambrosius Moibanus, Bohuslav Bílejovský, a Utraquist priest, became a tutor in history and Czech for Elisabeth’s household. The impending marriage of Elisabeth burdened Mary’s mind, as she was growing up fast and would soon require a husband. The Capitulations of Prague made the issue more complex by giving the Bohemian Diet the ultimate authority over any potential marriage agreement. Mary knew very well that Charles wanted Elisabeth to marry his oldest son, Maximilian—but Charles remained devoted to his Catholic beliefs. Mary wondered: could she sacrifice her daughter’s future and potential salvation for the mere opportunity to become empress? As Mary shifted her focus away from the potential of an imperial match, she contemplated the possibility of a marriage that would align more favorably with her plans: a union with the Wettins of Saxony. In 1537, Mary dispatched an envoy to Saxony with her proposals.

    elisabethjagiellon2.jpg

    Elisabeth Jagiellonica, c. 1535; AI Generated.

    Mary’s triumphant return to Prague directly countered John Zápolya’s failures in the aftermath of Grafenwörth. With his army vanquished, Zápolya returned home to a kingdom that had exhausted much of its worth and was on the verge of financial ruin. Zápolya, under the control of the Turks, had to endure the full force of Sultan Suleiman’s anger as he withdrew through Hungary. This included extracting a heavy toll of ƒ15,000 from the already impoverished Hungarian treasury, with Turkish troops stationed in various fortresses of southern Hungary. To add insult to injury, the Turks stationed the janissaries in Buda Castle to safeguard the King of Hungary. However, it was clear to all that their true agenda was further subjugating Zápolya to the Ottoman Empire. “The campaign’s conclusion in Germany marked a turning point for King John,” one Hungarian historian would write a century later. “He returned home with a demeanor that no longer reflected his status as a heroic king.” Anna of Hungary, Zápolya’s wife, did what she could to raise his spirits, but to little avail. “He frets daily,” Anna wrote in a letter to her favored lady-in-waiting, Sofia Cékei. “All the world’s concerns weigh heavily upon him, and there is naught I can do for him. His greatest worry is that of the succession… I pray and pray, asking that God grant me a son.” Anna had given Zápolya five daughters—but not a son. Like Mary, Anna had found solace in the teachings of the reformation and sought to break Hungary away from the Catholic Church. John Sylvester, appointed court preacher, extorted daily in his sermons that Hungary must break away from the slavish superstitions of the Catholic faith. Anna led the charge in this fight—she added further relics from the royal treasury into the bonfires hosted by Sylvester, and the queen’s private chapel was stripped of its Marian devotionals.

    Anna felt redeemed in her newfound faith—and rewarded, too, when, in 1536, she discovered she was pregnant. In the fall of 1536, she gave birth to the long-awaited heir—John Louis. “The little prince was pink and sickly looking,” one courtier remarked in a letter to his father. “King John had the young prince baptized soon after his birth at Matthias Church—a wholly Protestant ceremony headed by John Sylvester.” Despite the jubilation surrounding the birth of Hungary’s heir, the little princeling named after his father and deceased uncle did not thrive and suffered regularly from colds and fits that worried Anna. Despite this, Zápolya pushed forward, and in 1537, he summoned the Hungarian Diet to assemble at Besztercebánya. The diet had not gathered since 1532, and though Zápolya kept the loyalty of many of the lower gentry and the commons, many were wavering because of the fiasco of Grafenwörth. Though Zápolya saw himself as no religious martyr, he saw the effectiveness of John Sylvester’s sermons—and how mesmerized his wife was. Zápolya knew it was plain: to keep his crown, he needed to appease his people and offer a scapegoat. The Catholic Church was the perfect target. Hungary’s 1537 Diet became known as the Reformation Diet—primarily because of its focus on religious issues. The first laws abolished papal authority within the kingdom while suspending the clergy’s liberties to appeal to Rome. As a further innovation, the Hungarian crown confiscated the clerical revenues from vacant sees.

    Bohemia, too, was on the cusp of significant changes. Nikolaus von Prittwitz, Mary’s envoy, arrived secretly in Torgau. When he finally met with the elector, people whispered anxiously about what had occurred during their secret meeting. “…von Prittwitz possessed two letters upon him, stamped with the queen regent’s royal seal,” one courtier recalled decades later in his memoirs—written from recollections. “One allegedly contained an offer of marriage between the Queen of Bohemia and the elector’s eldest son and heir—Johann Friedrich. … some have said the second offer was the same, but exchanging the elector’s son for his younger brother, Johann Ernst. Of course, more scandalous stories developed; the queen regent herself had proposed marriage to the elector, provided he would divorce his wife, the Electress Sybille…which he would not.” Negotiations continued for two months, culminating in the secret Treaty of Torgau. Mary agreed to a betrothal between her daughter and the elector’s eldest son—promising a dowry of ƒ60,000. The elector consented to have the treaty sealed in Torgau until Mary could bring the issue before the diet. Until then, more significant matters awaited the regent—there would still be much time before Elisabeth was old enough to wed, and Mary had no intention of her daughter going to the altar until she was ready. Throughout 1538 to 1541, Mary received information from across Europe from the theologians she had sent abroad—along with chiding letters from her relatives. Emperor Charles wrote to his sister, kindly but sternly: “You must tread lightly in the things that you meddle in… I have heard of your little priests, from Saxony to Switzerland, even in Alsace. What madness do you seek? I abhor to see my sister swallowed by lies, and know that I pray for you every day…” While a letter from Empress Renée proved more supportive: “I applaud what you do—and only wish that I could be bolder in my own beliefs. Alas, I still live in secrecy and must endure the terrors of the Roman Mass. I have written to Monsieur Calvin et al. They shall furnish what you need. I have instructed my fellow believers in my household to send you whatever you desire.”

    450px-Lucas_Cranach_d.J._-_Hirschjagd_des_Kurf%C3%BCrsten_Johann_Friedrich_%28KHM_Wien%29.jpg

    Stag Hunt of the Saxon Elector; c. 1544.


    Of course, Charles was not without cunning. The emperor had planted someone close to Mary—Wilhelm von Roggendorf, who served as Mary’s Hofmeister and the emperor’s spy, his eyes, and ears in the court of Prague. While Roggendorf closed his eyes to some issues concerning the empress, those that concerned the marriage of the Queen of Bohemia were of greater importance. “This marriage cannot and must not come to fruition,” Charles wrote in a letter coded to Roggendorf. “It shall be our doom and the triumph of the Protestants if it does. You must orient my sister back towards our family; the marriage of Maximilian and Elisabeth must happen—if it does not, I cannot imagine the calamity.” Roggendorf urged the emperor towards calm—he reminded the emperor not only of his loyalty but his political ability, too. “I shall work towards this match until my dying day,” Roggendorf wrote in a letter to Charles. “I will not rest until your son is the next King of Bohemia.” Roggendorf encouraged Charles to ingratiate himself carefully and quietly with the Bohemian nobility—through funds, favors, and promises—whatever was available to win them over to his cause. While Mary planned her grand changes, her brother lurked in the shadows, seeking to push forward his agenda and marriage plans.

    If Teplitz had proved an awakening for Mary—it was Jean Calvin who truly helped open her eyes. They corresponded frequently; he pressed Mary that now was the time to bring about the change Bohemia needed. The so-called Majestic Diet was summoned in 1539, summoned to gather at Prague Castle. Aside from Mary as queen regent, Queen Elisabeth was also in attendance. “At fourteen, the young queen was exquisite. She had inherited her mother’s coloring but resembled her august father,” one diet member would write in his private journal. “She dressed in the German fashion; a dress of green and white silk; upon her head sat the Crown of Saint Wenceslas… yet beside her sat the Holy Crown of Hungary—a testament to her heritage and rights.” Before all the diet, Mary took her stand, knowing it was her chance to bear her heart to all who would listen: “Milords, I must thank you, for I shall always be in your debt. I came into this kingdom over ten years ago, penniless and with a babe. It is you who provided us succor and shelter—you who allowed us to fight for what is rightfully my daughters. I wish not to be known as a spendthrift or poor in the care I have provided to my daughter’s throne; when she comes of age, by God’s Grace, I wish to leave her a kingdom that is better than it was before she was born…” Mary’s speech would last over two hours to the enraptured delegates as she spoke of the kingdom’s place in history, comparing the Hussites and what they shared with the reformers now changing Europe’s religious landscape. “Over a century ago,” Mary thundered from her pulpit. “They condemned and burned Jan Hus for what Luther and Calvin have now suggested. Other princes have made changes within their dominions—there is no reason we cannot as well. But rather than reformation, I suggest renewal… let us finish what has already begun.”

    When Mary finished, she presented the so-called Patent of Majesty to the diet. The patent outlined Bohemia’s religious future, the creation of a national church, the Hussite Reformed Church. The Bohemian Creed outlined in the patent was neo-Hussite in outlook, blending the teachings of Jan Hus with those of Luther and Calvin—incorporating the conception of justification by faith alone, the priesthood of all believers, and the sovereignty of God. In terms of organization, they would abolish the episcopate and replace it with the so-called Consistory of Bohemia, which would provide oversight. Below the Consistory of Bohemia would be the so-called Lower Consistories, such as Prague, with additional ones created for Olomouc in Moravia, Breslau in Silesia, Görlitz in Upper Lusatia, and Lübben for Lower Lusatia. The lower consistories would be functionally autonomous and in control of the administration of the churches within their respective regions.

    450px-Martin_Luther_in_the_Circle_of_Reformers%2C_German_School%2C_1625-1650.jpg

    Martin Luther and the Circle of Reformers; c. 17th Century.

    Regarding monasteries, the Patent of Majesty called for the seizure of the wealthiest monasteries still within the kingdom while banning new novices in smaller communities. For monasteries ruined in the previous century, such as Sazava and Sedlec, the patent outlined their restoration to become churches, schools, or seminaries for new pastors. The Patent of Majesty clearly outlined Mary’s views—seeking to unite the Utraquists with the burgeoning reformation movement. Catholics within the diet shouted down the patent with cries of heresy. The Supreme Burgrave restored order—who ordered the diet to put the patent to the vote. Mary’s appeal heightened emotions, but the diet duly adopted the Patent of Majesty. Mary’s primary support came from the Utraquist nobility, who valued their traditions and autonomy, and the Protestant burghers and commons, who sought a complete break from Rome.

    In Hungary, Queen Anna could rejoice in 1539 when she was once more pregnant. Tragedy soon overshadowed her joy when young John Louis suffered from a fit and died. While his health had never been the best, Anna suffered terribly—and for a time, her ladies fretted after her health and even her sanity. “The queen wailed and wailed—it was impossible to console her when she learned of the death of her son,” one lady wrote in a private letter home. “She has lost her sanity. When she is not crying, she is screaming, cursing her fate and her womb.” Despite the dark clouds that hung over the queen, she gave birth in the spring of 1539 to another boy—named John Vladislaus in honor of his father and grandfather. Compared with his elder brother, who had passed away, John Vladislaus seemed increasingly robust—a fact that pleased his father. “He shall be a warrior,” Zápolya uttered after his second son’s birth. “He shall be Hungary’s true savior.” Like John Louis, John Vladislaus underwent baptism shortly after his birth.

    Once again, Anna had secured the Hungarian succession. Zápolya could rest easy—and courtiers wondered if he should do so—with several noting that the king seemed unlike his usual self. As 1539 faded into 1540, John Zápolya remained in a decent state. In May 1540, Anna could announce to the court that she was once more pregnant—the specter of little John Louis finally exorcised. This changed in July 1540, when John Zápolya expired from a burst belly. Little John Vladislaus succeeded his father as John II Vladislaus, but Anna could not help but worry about what might come next. Anna had no issue securing the regency for her son; she made no overt changes to her husband’s former council, and by November, she retired to her chambers, giving birth to her last child: a son that she named Stephen.

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    Queen Regent Anna Jagiellon holding her son, King John II Vladislaus; AI Generated.

    While Anna sought to secure control over Hungary’s regency, the death of Zápolya spread across Hungary’s borders—soon reaching Prague and the ear of Mary. “God is gracious,” Mary exclaimed when she received the news. “The usurper has died… and a painful death, at that. He leaves behind a young babe and a wife unfit to reign over a nursery, let alone the kingdom of Hungary. This is the chance for Elisabeth to claim what is rightly hers.” Despite the upheavals of the 1530s, some in Hungary still supported Queen Elisabeth’s rights, even if many of the great magnates had perished. However, The Bohemian Diet proved recalcitrant in funding another foreign adventure in Hungary. Instead, Mary looked towards the Welser banking house—seeking to arrange a loan of ƒ400,000 using the Holy Crown of Hungary as collateral. Mary also sought support abroad from her brothers and the Protestant princes in Germany, seeking to paint her daughter’s claims through a religious lens despite Hungary undergoing their own religious shift. Mary’s support from her brothers was tepid at best—Charles dealt with deteriorating relations with France, while Ferdinand focused on the Mediterranean. Even within Germany, Mary did not find the support she needed—even the Elector of Saxony did little, despite the Treaty of Torgau—he offered Mary a small loan of some ƒ12,000. He also agreed that she could recruit soldiers from within the electorate.

    In her quest for support, Anna faced a challenge—the Turkish troops in Hungary were not under her command, while Suleiman campaigned in the east, seeking to avenge the Persian sack of Tbilisi. Although Anna knew she could not fully trust the Turks, she had faith in their crucial role in containing any potential invasion. In addition, Anna sent envoys to France and Poland—despite France’s lack of previous help, Anna was optimistic that they might seek to oppose Habsburg ambitions. She hoped that familial ties to Poland would provide further support. Anna soon signed the Treaty of Krakow with her uncle, Sigismund II, and he agreed to provide secret aid to her cause. Of greater significance, they arranged a marriage between John II Vladislaus and Princess Barbara of Poland, who was the granddaughter of Sigismund through his second son, Alexander, and his wife, Margarete of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel. The French proved more supportive than they had previously—and agreed to provide a unit of artillery to support the remnants of Zápolya’s army. Despite Anna’s diplomatic plays, she was in a much weaker position; Mary took advantage of that to strike first, tossing a match onto what would become known as the Little War in Hungary.

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    Siege of Buda, 1541; AI Generated.

    Heinrich II, Duke of Münsterberg-Oels, commanded the Bohemian army, while Francis Ernuszt, a Hungarian noble still serving Mary, received command of the German Landsknechts. The Bohemian troops numbered some 38,000 men with around 60 cannons. Mary’s troops rushed through Hungary, occupying Pozsony. By the summer of 1541, Mary’s troops began the Siege of Buda, placing the former royal capital under siege. Anna and her children had retreated before the Bohemian armies—taking up residence at Szeged alongside the janissary garrison. Heinrich and Francis did not work well together, resulting in poor management of the siege. Anna’s appeals to Sultan Suleiman did not go unnoticed; once he had settled matters in the east, Suleiman took personal command of a relief force to prop up his Hungarian vassal—the troop numbered some 50,000 men, including 7000 janissaries. By September 1541, Suleiman engaged the Bohemian army in a catastrophic loss for the Bohemians, with 20,000 men slaughtered or drowned in the river. Heinrich himself suffered a terrible injury in the retreat that would render him lame for the rest of his life. The Ottoman troops soon occupied Buda with a trick: They invited Anna, the infant John II Vladislaus, and a retinue of Hungarian noblemen to the sultan’s tent. While Suleiman conferred with Anna, Turkish troops slowly entered Buda Castle and other fortifications, acting as simple tourists merely interested in the architecture. When the Hungarians were at ease, the Turkish forces turned their weapons against the Hungarians—disarming the guards and garrison of the city as they took full command of Buda Castle. As this occurred, the Hungarian nobility meeting within Suleiman’s tent sought to leave. Out of nowhere, the sultan cried: “The black soup is yet to come!” A signal for the Turkish troops within the tent to disarm the Hungarian noblemen.

    The cards had turned, and Anna now saw the dangerous situation for what it was. Though Suleiman had seized control of Buda, he was prepared to be magnanimous. “The devil has sparred us today,” Anna would write in a shaky hand to Sofia Cékei. “Though he occupies our city and intends to hold it, he agreed to allow me, the king, the royal court, the nobles, and even the citizens of Buda—from the greatest to the meanest to leave the city unharmed.” The circumstances forced Anna and her court to seek refuge behind the Carpathian Mountains in Gyulafehérvár, where she would appropriate the episcopal palace for her court. Bohemian troops would attempt to besiege Buda again in 1542—but the Turks would firmly repulse them again.

    The cinders of war would once more begin to spread throughout Europe as Mary sought to assert her daughter’s birthright, with conflict rising between France and the Empire again. At the same time, religious troubles continued to spread and bleed across Germany.
     
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    Vignettes de l'Obscurité, Part 1: Vignettes 1-4
  • I've worked long and hard the last few days to provide the first Vignettes de l'Obscurité for you. I hope you all enjoy, for I definitely enjoyed writing them and I feel like these snippets fit much better as an extra frame to the story rather than trying to introduce a narrative into our proper chapters. I'm unsure how many vignettes I'll feature per each Obscurité, but four does seem like a decent amount, each of varying length. I had some that I wanted to do, and of course one that I plunked from the suggestions.

    I will definitely be down to continue these if the readership is interested. Some didn't make the cut this time, but they've been added to my list (like Nostradamus: we will check in on him in the 1550s/1560s; amongst others) to explore at some point. Obviously as we push forward into ATL, OTL will be farer and fewer between, but in that situation perhaps we can visit their possible descendants. The goal of the vignettes to make you think of who they may be: in this series, they're all pretty well figured out (either at the very start, by the middle, or by the end), but I hope as we go further they'll be more mystery about who we're seeing and what they're seeing. Certainly I hope these little snapshots give you another look into this world and how things are developing.

    As always, open to suggestions for future vignettes and who we might see. There's no limitation in who we might visit, though Anno is primarily a European TL. Still, I don't mind to check in on European traders / explorers as they go further east, or those in the Spanish Americas. Ottomans and Persians are welcome too. 😄

    Vignettes de l'Obscurité, Part 1.
    “We understand why children are afraid of darkness ... but why are men afraid of light?”
    – Plato


    Musical Accompaniment: La Spagna

    bessieblount3.jpg

    Elizabeth, wife of a merchant. Painted c. 1540; AI Generated.

    Vignette 1 – Somewhere near Althorp, England… 1540.
    As the carriage rattled down the dirt road of the English countryside, a woman sat comfortably upon her cushioned seat—a feather fan held in her delicately gloved hand, waving gently to dispel the vapors of the summer heat. Though now forty, the woman was still quite handsome—her blonde hair was delicately coifed, with nary a strand in sight, and was complimented by sapphire drop earrings. Her outfit was perfectly put together, an ivory and blue gown etched with silver thread. A pearl necklace clung to her throat—its finishing touch being the crown jewels: two sapphire gems encased in gold that hung above her bosom.

    “Well, Bess—what do you think?”

    Bess was shaken from her reverie by the sound of her husband, Lawrence. His hair was already beginning to gray in his fifties, but he retained a rugged handsomeness—his face etched with laugh lines, the sign of a delighted life. Like his wife, he wore a black jerkin covering his linen shirt, paired with matching Venetian breeches and white hose. Bess focused on the view outside her window—the acres and acres of nature and land—with nary a soul in sight.

    “It’s beautiful, Lawrence…” Bess mused. “But when you mentioned Althorp, I suppose I imagined something else. I imagined a town or even a village.”

    “It once was a village, my dear,” Lawrence explained with a twinkle in his eye. “There haven’t been any tenants here in nearly forty years. The land fell into the hands of the Spencers in 1508—well-to-do woolen merchants like me. They’ve fallen into some hard times recently. Young John Spencer, who owned it previously, was still but a boy when he passed three years ago, and there have been some… financial issues, from what I understand. They own plenty but are willing to let this land go for only £2000—all of it—some 400 acres and then some. Aside from the grassland we can enclose for sheep, there is woodland and water. And, of course, the manor house.”

    The mention of the manor caused Bess to practically beam. “Oh, but truly?”

    She was already imagining what this fantastic home might look like, imagining her childhood home of Kinlet Manor, where she had so many happy memories. She thought of her time at court as a maid of honor to the late Queen Catherine, and how sumptuous yet dignified the queen’s chambers had been—how she might decorate her own now. She thought sadly how the late queen had died only a few months past. Her marriage had not been a prestigious match—she found no lordling at court. Lawrence was a wealthy wool merchant who hailed from Northampton. But he was a kindly man—who had made her laugh, smile, and blush from the first day they’d met. When he proposed marriage in 1521, she was happy to leave behind court life and begin her married life. She could’ve done worse than wed a self-made man—and Lawrence could’ve done much worse than a daughter of the gentry. Their five children—three strapping sons and two beautiful daughters—were now nearly all grown, but they would have all the advantages their birth could afford them. Even now, she touched her stomach: who was to say God might not bless her with one last child? Her courses had not yet ceased, and she felt more robust and more able in her second flush of youth than in her first.

    Even now, Bess recalled how kindly and generous the late queen had been—Bess had never been outstanding in Queen Catherine’s service, but she had been dutiful in her tasks. Despite this, the queen had seen fit to provide a gracious sum to augment her dowry when she left court to wed Lawrence—perhaps a token of thanks for the help her father had provided in 1513 in bringing the late king’s body home from France, uncorrupted and untouched. Bess still remembered using the sum to purchase a set of Venetian glass—bowls, glasses, and plates that Bess used only for the most special occasions. They would surely see more use when she had a manor to hold feasts and banquets. She would invite her closest friends, her husband’s business associates, and their neighbors from neighboring estates. They would have sumptuous meals… and the evening would close with a toast in honor of Catherine of Aragon, followed by a toast in honor of their queen.

    “Truly. I’ll admit that the manor is not much to look at—but we can rebuild it as we please. I promised you the day that I married you that you would be the mistress of your own home… and now you will be.”

    Bess smiled. “I have been mistress of my home since we wed. I have never lacked for anything.” But Bess would be lying if this opportunity sounded better than anything they had possessed. She had indeed married an ambitious man, and she and their family would be all the better.

    ‘Elizabeth Blount, Mistress Washington[1] of Althorp[2]… or perhaps we shall tear it down and build something new.’

    Bess thought it over in her head—her smile growing wider. That would do just fine.

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    Washington Manor, located in Althorp. 19th Century recreation of how the house may have looked in 1550; AI Generated.
    [1]Yes, those Washingtons. Lawrence Washington (bd. unknown) moved to Northamptonshire, where he became a very wealthy wool merchant. IOTL, he would purchase land during the dissolution of the monasteries to build Sulgrave Manor, so he was quite well off. Lawrence was the ancestor of that Washington we know quite well... (something like his great-great-great(-great) grandfather). The family wealth is decent now, but still a bit new: if they can enclose the estate as happened IOTL, they will be quite well off.

    [2]And yes, that Althorp, childhood home of Princess Diana of Wales. It was a parish at one point, though it had no tenants by 1505. The Spencers purchased it in 1508 for about £800. At the time, the Spencers were not glorious knights or barons, but wealthy sheep farmers and wool merchants not unlike Lawrence. They've been a bit unlucky in the 1530s... hence the need to sell the land and manor house, which they've done little with up to this point. At least they made a profit on the initial purchase.

    Vignette 2 – Heidelburg, Germany… 1545.
    Anna’s brow was furrowed with sweat as she labored in her chamber. The pain stretched throughout her body—radiating from below throughout every muscle and bone within her body. The last ten hours had rendered her on the verge of unconsciousness, her screams and howls blanketing the concerned murmurs of the midwives. She rocked and turned within the linen sheet of her bed—sticky with sweat and blood. In her wild eyes, she could see one of the concerned midwives hovering over her—crucifix in hand. Anna wasted no time as she slapped the woman’s hand roughly away from her, pure fury in her eyes and fire burning within her ears.

    “No—and I mean no crucifixes. I will not give the elector the son he desires surrounded by Romish superstitions!”

    Anna practically bellowed as she screamed. Even amid her labor, her voice carried some semblance of authority as the women within the birthing chamber escorted the misguided women from her presence. For just a moment, Anna allowed herself to breathe—wincing as the pain tore throughout her for yet another time. Each pang of labor followed even more quickly than the one that proceeded it. Her hazy vision now focused on the head midwife—an elderly woman who smiled upon her kindly like a mother.

    “Durchlaucht,” The midwife spoke, her voice wizened and tinted with kindness. “Your travails are nearly at an end now. Breathe, inhale sharply… and give us another push when I tell you to do so. Not a second before!”

    The haze covering Anna’s vision was still cloudy, but she focused on the midwife’s voice. She nodded her head, complying with her request as she inhaled sharply. The room's smell was almost overwhelming: her musk mingled with the scents of herbs and tinctures: an oddly comforting scent that reminded her of home. There was a slight pang in her chest—though she had been married now for nearly five years and would now soon have a family of her own, it did not mean that she did not miss her own family: her mother, Maria—her sisters: Sybille, who left when she was just a girl to wed the heir to Saxony, was Electress of Saxony these past ten years. And Amalia, her darling sister and favorite… still unwed, but whom Anna had many fond memories of. Even now, she thought of her curmudgeonly brother Wilhelm, and the thought brought a smile to her face. He was a married man now, too—having wed a daughter of that rake, François of France—his beautiful daughter Victoire. She wondered how her brother and his beautiful wife got on.

    “Now, madam!” The midwife's voice pierced into Anna’s reminiscences, and she knew now was the time to finish the task she had begun so many hours before. Anna focused only on the midwife’s kindly face—and when commanded to push, she pushed as hard as she possibly could—her thoughts and her desire to succeed in this moment, overcoming the exhaustion and weakness of her body. As she felt babe come forth, she let out another guttural groan. The chamber was ensconced in silence for a moment, and Anna almost wailed—wondering if she had failed. After a moment, the lusty cries of the babe soon filled the chamber. She had succeeded.

    “Madam… you have given birth to a healthy baby boy.”

    annavonkleve.jpg

    Anna von Kleve, Electoress Palatinate of the Rhine, holding her infant son, Friedrich Wilhelm (b. 1545); AI Generated.

    Anna could let out a sigh of relief. Her—Anna von Kleve, Electress of the Palatinate of the Rhine, had given her husband, Friedrich, the son, and heir he so desperately desired.

    “Clean him, and then you must take him straight to the elector,” Anna commanded. “Tell the elector that is God’s gift for the righteousness of our cause. He will know what I mean.”

    Five years she had been barren—and she had succeeded. She knew of Friedrich’s wavering between the false Romish faith and the Protestant cause, which she championed so heartily. Friedrich had agreed that should their child be a son, he would be baptized as a Protestant. She expected he would uphold his end of the bargain—and perhaps soon, Friedrich himself might take Protestant communion and break finally with the Catholic cause—and that of the emperor.

    Vignette 3 – Corfu, Ionian Islands… 1530.
    As the flagship, the Santa Anna, disembarked in the port of Corfu, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller, Philippe Villiers de L’Isle-Adam, finally felt as if he could breathe a sigh of relief. The loss of Rhodes nearly eight years before had been catastrophic for his order. They had spent most of the 1520s without a proper home—they had spent time in Crete, Messina, Viterbo, and even Nice—but no adequate domain for their worthy cause. It seemed for a time that they would languish in exile and would never regain their former prominence. Philippe knew better than to have doubts—for God always provided, and he had once again. The Venetians had proved kind enough to grant the knights usage of the Ionian Islands as a fief—perhaps they had been pressured a little by King François of France to make over the islands to them, but it mattered not. The Knights would be able to resume their mission against the infidel—and to help patrol the Adriatic and Eastern Mediterranean. It was a fitting substitute for Rhodes, and he would ensure that he and his order made it truly impregnatable.

    OlmR0NP.jpeg

    Posthumous Portrait of Grand Master Philippe Villers de l'Isle-Adam
    of the Knights Hospitaller, better known as the Knights of Corfu; AI Generated.

    Corfu was a charming town, a mixture of Greek and Venetian architecture. Philippe had decided to center his administration in the Venetian Citadel, the Fortezza Vecchia. It would allow him to oversee the defenses of Corfu and ensure that the town and islands never fell to the Turk in the way that Rhodes had. Of course, it would not be a permanent home—he had already dispatched a group of knights as surveyors to find a suitable area to build an actual palace. He had already received positive reports concerning territory north of Corfu, near a spring called Karkadi that provided water to the city. It might be a spot to consider—but for now, the fort on the marina would do.

    The day and evening of Philippe’s arrival had numerous ceremonies. He met with the Venetian administrators, and in a grand ceremony it was them who presented him with the silver keys to the city. There was feasting and celebration; the knights and Venetians joined in a communal celebration that did not end until late into the evening. The natives seemed less enthusiastic; Philippe had noted the sullen looks upon their faces as his baggage train wound through the old city towards the Venetian Citadel bearing his goods. They would adjust in time—surely a group of Franks would not be too different from a group of Venetians? He would prove to the Corfiots that he could be a generous ruler.

    Philippe’s next morning he started early. He rose before the sun and attended mass at the chapel dedicated to Saint Arsenius. Work had begun nearly a century ago on a faithful church to adjoin the fortress, dedicated to Saint James and Saint Christopher—but it was still unfinished. Philippe made a mental note to write to the Roman curia to seek funds for its completion. After mass, the Grand Master had a morning meal with his highest knights and officers—and soon retired to his private chamber to begin work with his secretary.

    Old_Fortress_in_Corfu_16th_century.jpg

    The Old Fortress, aka Fortezza Vecchia. Work rendered by the Knights of Corfu
    to the Fortezza would render Corfu almost impregnable from Ottoman attack.
    As early as 1537, Ottoman troops would be repulsed from Corfu.

    “We have much work to do,” Philippe told his secretary. “First, we shall dictate letters to our Langues—in Auvergne, France, Provence, and Italy. It may not hurt even to write to our brothers in England, too—the Queen Mother is pious, and I’ve heard that the young queen is too. We must request their support because there is much for us to do. We must expand our fortifications and ports and construct new ships to rebuild our naval forces. As always, we are the bulwark of the true faith against the Turkish horde. We fell once—we cannot fall again.”

    Even as he dictated to the young man who had served him, Philippe felt the need to push on—even as a nagging pain attacked his head and chest—a familiar pain he had dealt with for so many years.

    ‘Lord, I know that I am an old man, and soon my time comes… but I beg of you, give me just two, three, or even four years more. I must do all I can to ensure we flourish here; when that is all complete, I shall be ready to come when you believe it time.’

    Vignette 4 – London, England… 1538.

    Many in London knew that William Paget’s table was one of the best in all of London—but it was not through his work, but rather that of the work of his wife Jane—a former maid-of-honor to Queen Mary, whom he had wed in the year past, not long after he had risen to the position of King’s Clerk. With Paget’s position quickly rising through his work to the crown, Jane did whatever she could to ensure his success: hosting dinners for council and court members and glorious feasts that might rival the royal table. Tonight, she had worked hard with her cooks and maids to serve a magnificent dinner of four courses inspired by a medieval feast given to the Count of Anjou in 1455. The first course included a quarter of a stag, which had spent the night in salt and chicken stuffed with herbs and cooked in a sauce of spices—cloves, nutmeg, and ginger. The second course soon followed: a sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and a stuffed fat capon. The third course included jellies and wafers decorated with the crests of their most exalted guests, to be followed by the final course: a cream with fennel seeds preserved in sugar, along with slices of cheese, strawberries, and plums stewed in rose water. The feast ended with prepared wines and preserves—fruits and various sweet pastries, with the arms of Anjou decorated upon them.

    “I swear, Paget—the honor goes to you tonight.” Stephen Gardinier, the Bishop of Winchester, wiped his greasy fingers upon his linen cloth as he sipped his wine—a vintage that was his favorite.

    William offered up a smile but shook his head. He knew he had made the right choice when he proposed to Jane Seymour. “The honor doesn’t belong to me, Your Excellency. The honor falls entirely to my wife—it was all her idea.”

    9AL2klT.jpeg

    Jane Seymour, Mistress Paget. Painted c. 1537-38; AI Generated.

    “Ah, well then…” Gardinier murmured, trailing off slightly as he rose his glass. “Let us offer a toast then to Mistress Paget!”

    Jane sat at the other end of the table from William. To her left sat Edward Layton, the Archdeacon of Sarum and recently appointed Clerk of the Closet. To her right sat John Williams, Master of the Jewel House (rumored to be a great-grandson of Jasper Tudor, the Duke of Bedford). Jane smiled at her husband’s compliment, inclining her head towards the Bishop of Winchester—one of the personages most often frequented their table. As the men around the table raised their glasses in a toast towards her work, Jane responded with a soft smile, raising her glass in turn. Her face became a slight shade of rose at the effusive compliments, but part of her enjoyed basking in the limelight.

    “Thank you for the compliments, your eminence—and all our honored guests. I take great pride in my duties as mistress of the house. As do you all, William toils so hard for the crown and kingdom. Certainly, a good meal doesn’t go remiss after a long day!”

    “Indeed not, Mistress Paget.” Edward Layton exclaimed, followed by murmurs of approval.

    As the feast died down, the servants began to clear off the table, leaving only the decanters that remained filled with various fine vintages of wine that would be downed late into the night. Jane knew well how these events tended to go—and they would be empty by morning. If she were lucky, all the decanters would survive… but more often or not, two, if not three, ended up smashed and broken. Jane would likely spend her morning tomorrow seeking out replacements down at Cheapside. If she found no luck there, she would seek out the foreign wealthy merchants on Lombard Street, known for their exotic wares that Jane could not find elsewhere. As Jane rose from the table, she smoothed down her gown of black silk in the Spanish style—a favored gift she’d received from William on their wedding day.

    “Excellency, sirs,” Jane began in an even tone. “I thank you for gracing our table for this bounteous evening. If all is well, I shall retire for the night—I am sure you are eager to talk business without a woman around.”

    Jane knew that part of her charm was her overt femininity—she did her duties in her house and home, and men did not see her as a threat. What she might have overheard during these feasts was discounted because the men assumed Jane's mind dealt only with feminine fripperies. She was docile and quiet—a nonentity.

    “Must you leave us so soon, Mistress Paget?” John Williams asked first. “I’ve been told its most unlikely you will take leave of us soon—that you often sit in a corner and work upon your sewing.”

    “Indeed,” Gardinier added. “She will often sit with us for some hours yet—arising only when young Mistress Paget is fussy.”

    Jane looked towards William—a twinkle in his eye. “Please sit, my heart. You have lately lamented that you’ve had no time to work on the kirtles for our serving girls. Christmastide will soon be upon us, and I cannot let the servants think I am a miserly master.”

    X5sKcwr.jpeg

    An 18th Century recreation of the Paget Manse and how it may have looked in 1540; AI Generated.
    Sold by the Paget heirs in 1634 to the City of London, it was tore down to
    make way for tenement flats for London's rapidly expanding population.

    Jane understood completely. Her sewing materials often sat at a small table beside a chair some distance from the table. She would sit and sew for a few hours—listening to every spoken word. When she and William retired for the night, they would recount what was spoken and discussed—and how it might benefit them. To the men, she was a woman merely doing what society asked of her. Jane took up the sewing in her hands—the clean, crisp scraps of linen bearing little resemblance to the kirtles they would soon become.

    Her hands were nimble as she sewed; she thought of her serving girls, Thomasine, and Joan—poor little things who knew nothing but rough spun skirts and kirtles. She wished them to know what linen felt like and that they deserved better. Aside from these, Jane knew William would be generous—both girls who lived with them were paid 5s per quarter—and would receive 1s each as a Christmas bonus.

    The sound of Gardinier’s voice punctuated Jane’s thoughts. “Both the young princesses fare well—Mary and Catherine both. The queen is truly prolific. I believe that this time next year, or perhaps next, she shall finally give us the Prince of Wales that the kingdom desired. The royal house has not had a son in nearly forty years.”

    “Indeed,” Paget answered. “But at least the succession is secured. God bless Her Pious Majesty for many years—but should something ever befall her, we have a sovereign in King John.”

    “That we do,” John Williams answered cheerfully. “He’s a bonny lad—handsome and brave. He cuts a good figure alongside the queen. When I see them, I feel that I have gone back in time—that I am seeing the late king and Queen Catherine in her youth. I attended the coronation as a lad… ah, but how handsome Great Harry was! And how beautiful Queen Catherine was!”

    A toast was given in honor of the king and queen—followed by a toast in honor of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. Even nearly twenty years later, Jane could see the queen’s father’s hold upon the English. Killed in the flush of his youth, fighting their mortal enemy in France—England would forever remember him. Even now, tall tales spun: Jane recalled Thomasine telling her a story she’d heard from a grocer boy—that Henry VIII was not dead but merely slumbered in his crypt in Westminster. Should England ever face a mortal foe or threat, the boy proclaimed that Great Harry would return to conquer them before returning to sleep. A king, saint, and a legend—intermingled into one. Jane could not help but think of a portrait of Henry that hung in Queen Mary’s chambers and how often she would look at it.

    ‘How might he have reigned? What sort of glorious kings and queens might he have sired? What foes would he have vanquished…?’ As Jane’s hands were nimble as she thought of this, her gaze focused on the fine scraps of cloth—taking the sewing scissors from her basket as she began to cut away the scraps that she would not need for this task.

    “Let us talk of present matters…” Gardinier murmured, seeking to turn the table from its reveries. “The Queen is much troubled by these matters in Ireland. Rawson was too addled during his time; though Parliament gave him funds at Drogheda, the Irish chiefs and lords laughed at his peace proposal. They have been allowed to do as they please for too long now. Queen Mary has long desired more decisive action and for the crown to have true control over the Lordship of Ireland. I do not believe the Earl of Ormond works in our interests.”

    “King John agrees with the queen on this matter. He has suggested that Dublin ought to host a garrison.” Paget interjected. “Men are used to garrison Berwick, Portsmouth, Dover, and even Calais during peacetime. I believe it is a firm and good idea. His Majesty has learned much from his time in Denmark. Is Dublin not as important as Berwick? It, too, lies upon the periphery of our realm. He believes he has a good man to lead it, too… William Brabazon. A goodly jouster, he fought with the king in Denmark and has been knighted. He’s a good Englishman—he will serve our interests, especially with troops at his back and command over Dublin Castle.”

    “Ormond will certainly not like it,” Leyton added. “But if what you say is true, Bishop Gardinier, he is already our foe. And our foes must be dealt with.”

    ‘And so, they must…’ Jane thought quietly. ‘God assists the righteous; that is us. He shall strike down our enemies, who must be the wicked.’
     
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    Chapter 36. The Italian War of 1542-44
  • This is a long one! Whew. Almost 10k words here. I've editted it and trimmed where I can, but I'm just ready to post it. Whew! There may be some mistakes. Hope you all enjoy!

    Chapter 36. The Italian War of 1542-1544
    1540-1546; England, France, Germany, Italy, Scotland & Spain.

    “War is just when it is necessary; arms are permissible when there is no hope except in arms.”
    — Titius Livius, quoted by Machivelli


    Musical Accompaniment: Pavane & Galliarde de la Guerre

    450px-Battles_in_northern_France_during_the_Italian_War_of_1542-46.jpg

    Sieges in Northern France during the 1542-44 Italian War.

    Conflict between the Habsburg and Valois had raged for nearly twenty years, with Emperor Charles V and King François fighting for influence and control over the Italian peninsula. The peace of Lucca laid the seeds of the Italian War of 1542. The treaty of 1539 had made no changes to Italy’s makeup, and the emperor and the king had left the negotiation tables more embittered than ever. For François, he had despised waiving his rights to Artois and Franche-Comté in exchange for the Duchy of Milan. Though the King of France had received 500,000 crowns as the Dauphine Isabelle’s dowry, he could not help but glower to his council: “That devil has swindled me once again.” For Charles, his anger lay in Italy: not only was French rule cemented in Milan with each passing year, but the rule of the House of Lorraine over Naples was also cemented. If things continued the way they did, there would be no improvement.

    Charles had carried out his Italienzug successfully in 1540 and was formally crowned Holy Roman Emperor by Pius V—one of his last acts as Pope before his death. Pius V’s successor, Gelasius III, was no friend of the French. Upon Charles’ departure from Rome, he and his wife, the Empress Renée, were invited to travel back to the Low Countries through France. They were received by the French court at Fontainebleau, where François spared no expense to show France’s glory and power. “The emperor and empress entered the Château in a golden carriage, pulled by six white horses,” an imperial observer wrote in his private journals. “Days were spent in revelry—King François hosted feasts, masques, and several jousting tournaments, one of which carried a prize of 2000 ducats. The emperor spent much time with his daughter, the Dauphine, who had recently given birth to a daughter named Jeanne, who lived less than a day. He fretted over her; when he was not with his daughter, he met privately with King François, hoping to solve their issues…” It was at Fontainebleau that Charles sought a solution to the Duchy of Milan and the Duchy of Savoy. Charles proposed that if François was willing to return Savoy to the Duke of Savoy, then he would enfeoff François’ second son, the Duke of Orléans, as Duke of Milan and Lord of Genoa—with the promise of the hand of one of his daughters, or the hand of one of his Spanish nieces. The offer did not tempt François; Milan remained firmly in his grasp, as did Savoy—why should he make sacrifices? François intimated that such an offer would be acceptable only if the Dauphin received the rightful territories promised to him—Artois and Franche-Comté. Too many differences separated them; Charles made no progress with his host on political or religious matters. By June 1541, the talks had completely collapsed. Charles left France empty-handed, and he and Renée soon returned to the Low Countries.

    The talks at Fontainebleau proved to be a farce. One historian later wrote, “Emperor Charles and King François met at Fontainebleau with their fingers crossed behind their backs. Neither had any true desire to reconcile.” François had already begun to seek out allies who might counter the emperor—in 1540, François wed his daughter Victoire to Duke Wilhelm of Jülich-Cleves-Burg, seeking to use the duke’s claims to Guelders as a wedge against the emperor. Despite François’ overt policies at home against the Protestants, he still saw the German Protestants as useful allies against imperial authority. He sought to reach an accommodation with the League of Mülhausen, a defensive league of Protestant princes, but they demurred from offering France open support. Though France received little support in northern Germany, he succeeded in renewing relations with the Kingdom of Hungary, where French artillery served alongside the royal troops. In Poland, French attempts were firmly rebuffed—with Sigismund perhaps influenced by his daughter-in-law, Marie of Austria, who had become his quick favorite. “When we last fought for the French,” Sigismund railed when he dressed down the French envoy. “We received a bloody nose—and nothing that we were promised.” Hungary remained in chaos—and Suleiman and the Ottomans hoped to use it to their advantage, with grave hopes that the Franks might bleed each other dry.

    A second part of François’ diplomatic axis looked towards France’s ancestral ally in Scotland. In 1541, shortly after the birth of Princess Anne of Scotland, Charlotte encouraged her husband to reaffirm his ties once again with France. The Treaty of Edinburgh in 1541 reaffirmed the Auld Alliance and arranged for a betrothal between King François’ grandchildren—with Princess Anne betrothed to the Dauphin’s eldest son, François (b. 1539). One minor point of the renewal treaty concerned the rights of Catherine Stuart, the Countess of Boulogne and heiress of the Duke of Albany. Alexander IV agreed to a marriage proposed by King François between Catherine and Louis de La Trémoille, Viscount of Thouars. He agreed to release certain funds owed to Catherine that had been sequestered in Scotland and provide her an annual pension of £2500. In return, Catherine waived any rights to the lands associated with the Duchy of Albany. One final clause saw Alexander IV formally recognize Catherine as a Princess of Scotland—with recognized rights to the throne of Scotland behind himself and any issue he might have.

    Charles was not inactive in the diplomatic game, either. The death of Pope Pius V brought about the succession of Gelasius III—who was considered much less cautious than his predecessor and no real friend to the French. Papal finances remained ruinous, with much of the wealth from the 1540 jubilee used to pay off arrears and the cost of the imperial coronation. “The Church is in no position to render active aid,” Gelasius wrote in a secret letter to the emperor. “But we support your cause whole-heartedly… if you can liberate Milan from the French, then we shall also do our part.” Ferdinand, the emperor’s brother in Spain, was also prepared to offer his part, seeing it as a chance to regain the Aragonese patrimony in Naples. “We shall conquer Naples,” Ferdinand wrote in his journal. “The Lorrainers hold what is ours by right, put in their place by the French… even still, the French finance the Neapolitan pirates who plague the Mediterranean. They raid and plunder who they please, Christians and Moslems alike. Should my dreams of a Reconquista ever hope to pass, they must be dealt with.” Charles and Ferdinand secretly signed the Pact of Ostend, ratifying a mutual protection alliance aimed at France. Charles pledged to support Spanish efforts in southern Italy as part of the pact. Charles also pledged that should Naples be reclaimed, he would abdicate the crowns of Naples and Sicily in favor of Ferdinand. Ferdinand, in turn, pledged support against France—pledging to open a front in southern France and to render aid to imperial efforts in northern Italy—both with men and money.

    Charles could not help but look to England, his most natural ally as Duke of Burgundy. With Scotland still connected to France, it seemed expedient that the emperor should resume warm relations with his family in England—his nephew and his cousin, the King and Queen of England. The end of Catherine of Aragon’s regency had seen England enter a relative period of peace. Mary had supported her husband’s efforts in Denmark to restore his father, but England had remained aloof from continental feuds. Charles wasted little time, and in 1541, he dispatched a new ambassador to England—François van der Delft. Delft first met with the English sovereigns at Eltham Palace. “The imperial ambassador arrived before noon,” Charles Blount, Baron Mountjoy, wrote in a letter to his sister, Catherine Blount, who was absent from court. “His name is François van der Delft, a Fleming. He is a little taller than the queen but much shorter than the king… with all the courteous manners of a Frenchman. He offered the king his obeisance to his audience before kissing the queen’s ring. He could not help but lament the lapse in relations between the houses of England and Austria. He is certainly a witty man—both the king and queen laughed at his japes, and soon, he became a treasured queen’s pet, as you know some of these envoys often become. She has taken to calling him her petit frog!”

    marytudor.jpg

    Mary Tudor, circa 1542; AI Generated.


    If any troubles existed between England and the emperor, his envoy proved apt at smoothing them over. By late 1541, King John was summoned to Denmark at the behest of his father—to deal with troubles brewing there. As before, John bade the council obey and command Mary as they had before her marriage and said that all her decisions were to be treated as his own. The imperial envoy was present at Dover as Mary (then unaware that she was pregnant) bade farewell to John in March 1542. “When I am gone, your little frog will no doubt take his chance,” John reportedly told Mary at their final meeting. “There is little doubt that he shall seek to renew our alliance. I say only this: the emperor is our true friend, but I remind you that his promised gifts are often promises.” It was something that John understood well—his pension from the Low Countries was worth some £2000 per annum and had been paid out erratically since his arrival in England in 1530. The arrears alone now stood at some £10,000. England had not been untouched by Charles’ empty promises. The emperor’s debts to England totaled some £150,000—this total was what was publicly known. Some within the council spoke of possible loans that Catherine had made to the emperor secretly worth another £50,000, if not more; some alleged that the queen dowager had deposited the receipts to these loans within the treasury and her household accounts. She had ordered them burnt either at the termination of her regency or upon her deathbed, proving their existence a murky mystery. There also remained the question of the emperor’s so-called golden promise, which he had used as a carrot to obtain further loans from the English crown on favorable terms: a promise of 250,000 ducats to be added to Mary’s dowry when she married.

    For Mary, there was no use worrying over such sums. Mary wrote in her private journal: “It is not that they are minuscule amounts (they are not); or that they are not important (they are). It is the fact that it will do no good for us to haggle over them like washerwomen. The emperor knows well what he owes—and perhaps even more if rumors are to be believed. Better to use these sums as a cudgel for favorable terms of an alliance—not a reason to pull us apart.” Despite John’s counsel before his departure, Mary ratified the Treaty of Westminster shortly after his departure in March 1542. Within the terms, Mary agreed to enter an alliance against France. Mary agreed to declare war upon France within two years, promising to assist the imperial army in northern France. In return, Charles promised to support English claims to Boulogne. The most important clause concerned Charles’ debts to England—Charles agreed to mortgage Gravelines and Dunkirk to England. In return, Charles would be allowed to redeem both towns for a payment of £300,000—the total of his debts and part of his promised addition to the queen’s dowry. “It has proven a brilliant stroke of diplomacy,” Thomas Goodrich, Bishop of Ely and Lord Chancellor since 1540, wrote in his journals. “We have received compensation, and in due time, we shall receive what is owed. The emperor will be honor-bound to repay us… he cannot look to be seen as the man who mortgages his dominions and cannot purchase them back.” Parliament was also assembled under Mary’s aegis, opening in 1542—providing eager subsidies to the crown for the queen’s planned adventures abroad.

    The last of the emperor’s diplomatic plays concerned his son, Maximilian. Charles granted his son, Maximilian—then fifteen—his first command of 10,000 troops. “I am entrusting you with a mission of great importance,” Charles allegedly explained to his son. “More important than the battles on our borders—it concerns our crown and your future. Your mother, the late empress, God rest her soul—her only wish was that you should succeed me in Burgundy and Austria as emperor. I fear that her dream may not come to pass unless we ask quickly… and that is why you must go to Prague.” Queen Elisabeth of Bohemia—Maximilian’s future consort and true betrothed was now sixteen—nearly seventeen. Charles did not doubt that his sister Mary would seek to hold the regency until the last possible moment… she would not seek to wed off Elisabeth until after the termination of her regency. Charles had no interest in seizing Bohemia by force; seizing it by marriage would be a different situation. “Just as his great-grandfather had embarked on a journey to wed Marie of Burgundy,” one historian noted. “Prince Maximilian rode forth to wed his bride.” Maximilian was quite handsome at fifteen—he possessed his mother’s coloring with his father’s eyes. He had a strong and prominent nose—and his Habsburg jaw was less prominent than his father’s. Maximilian was boisterous much like his late mother—and possessed an athletic figure honed through hunting and hawking parties. “Empress Mary perished—but not before bestowing upon me Adonis in the flesh,” Charles would allegedly write in a letter to his brother Ferdinand. “Maximilian is a handsome and happy boy—I do not doubt that Queen Elisabeth shall be quite charmed by her cousin.” To cover his subterfuge, Charles wrote to Mary—announcing that Maximilian would be coming to Bohemia with reinforcements to bolster her troops and the much belated financial aid he had promised. Maximilian’s wagon train was loaded with ƒ70,000, to be dispersed amongst the Bohemian nobility as an inducement. “Do everything you can to uphold the Roman faith,” Charles lectured his son—perhaps the only lesson Maximilian allowed to fall onto deaf ears.

    Maximilian had arrived with 10,000 troops in Bohemia in the summer of 1542. “Prince Maximilian was welcomed warmly by his aunt upon his arrival,” a member of Maximilian’s cortege wrote in a letter home. “His troops proved a welcome boon to the queen regent’s cause, and she readily accepted the aid her brother had rendered her.” Maximilian was first received by his aunt at Prague Castle—where he was introduced to his cousin, Queen Elisabeth. “Though fifteen,” one Bohemian courtier wrote. “Prince Maximilian looked older than his age and stood taller than the queen, who her mother had long cosseted. The queen regent was certainly blind at that first meeting between the young pair—a look in the young queen’s eyes told us everything we needed to know.” Maximilian remained in Bohemia for over a year, where he served Roggendorf and Wilhelm von Fels. The young received his baptism of fire at the Battle of Nyitra, where Maximilian led a daring charge against Hungarian troops. Maximilian’s reinforcements proved vital following the Turkish occupation of Buda. What became known as Royal Hungary comprised the areas of northern Upper Hungary, and the region of Sopron bordering Austria for the first time fell under the control of Mary and Bohemia. A diet was summoned at Sopron that recognized Elisabeth for the first time as Queen of Hungary, with her mother holding the regency. The Hungarian administration was centered in Pozsony and divided into two distinct captaincies: the captaincy of Upper Hungary and the captaincy of Sopron, with day-to-day administration to be handled by a royal governor. Mary appointed Tamás Nádasdy as her governor—a renowned Hungarian landowner who gladly deserted to her cause. Much like Bohemia, the rump of Hungary under Mary’s aegis was governed by its laws and regulations.

    450px-V%C3%ADzkelety_B%C3%A9la_Eger_v%C3%A1r_ostroma_1552-ben.jpg

    Siege of Eger, painted c. 1552.

    By the spring of 1542, relations between François and Charles reached a new low. François’ ambassador to Cleves, Lazare de Baïf, was killed near Jülich in mysterious circumstances—allegedly by imperial troops. François wasted no time in registering his protests. Charles denied all guilt in the matter but proclaimed that upon his honor, he would hold an inquiry to investigate the matter. This did little to appease François. “How can I trust a man who has broken my trust ten times over?” François reportedly exclaimed before the whole court. “He speaks of honor, but he is perhaps the most dishonorable man in all the Christendom!” By the summer of 1542, war was swirling in the air. François aired his grievances to all who would hear it—the Dauphin and Dauphine, the Duchess of Plaisance, and even the queen. When François formally declared war in July of 1542, his most odious remarks for the imperial envoy were pointed towards the unsolved murder of Baïf: “It is an injury so great, so detestable, and so strange to those that bear the title and quality of prince that it cannot in any way be forgiven, suffered, or endured.

    Following the declaration of war, France launched a two-pronged offensive aimed at the Low Countries and Spain. In the north, command of the army was given over to the Dauphin—who attacked Luxembourg in the Siege of Luxembourg. France’s southern forces were led by Claude d’Annebault, who began the Siege of Perpignan with some 40,000 men. Annebault hoped to take Perpignan with little issue, but he soon discovered Ferdinand of Asturias had reinforced the city. Spanish troops in Perpignan, led by Captain Bõlano, took the French besiegers by surprise in an early morning raid, where Bõlano’s troops set ablaze Annebault’s stocks of gunpowder, rendering the French heavy artillery useless. Though Annebault would continue to maintain the siege for several months, the French troops endured numerous hardships—lack of food, clothing, and pestilence that carried throughout the camp. When the Duke of Alba arrived in September 1542 to relieve Perpignan, Annebault withdrew—his troops having suffered heavy losses.

    War meant that France focused entirely on victory—and that meant the proper supply of its soldiers, from food and clothing to the proper weaponry. François had long sought further funds for his treasury and, in 1541, published the Decree of Angoulême, which had extended the Gabelle, or salt tax, into Angoumois and Saintonge, which made the purchase of salt compulsory from the state granaries. The Gabelle had long been a hated tax amongst the French lower classes, and there was great resentment over possible reforms. The discontent soon spiraled into a full-blown revolt known as the Revolt of Pitauds—centered around France’s salt-producing regions along the coast. The first revolts against François’ financial reforms began in La Rochelle, where the king himself introduced 8000 troops to restore order, primarily through the brutal repression of salt smugglers and illegal salt traders. “We watched as the king’s troops hung twenty men,” one member of the La Rochelle bourgeois wrote in a letter to his mother. “One after another. Their heads were settled upon pikes to hang over the city gates and before the court. All the city is quiet—on the roads, crimson mingles with dirt and muck. No one is allowed in—and no one is allowed out. Each day, we hear of the royal troop’s exploits—butchering smugglers and seizing illegal saltworks.” François extracted a heavy payment from La Rochelle for their audacity and left a small garrison within the town to continue the work his troops had started.

    As France focused on smashing through the Habsburgs in the Low Countries and Spain, they looked to their newfound ally in the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Burg to cause trouble, centered squarely upon the Duchy of Guelders. Duke Charles II of Guelders had accepted Charles V as his heir on several occasions—in 1528 and again in 1536. Even in death, Charles of Guelders cursed the Habsburgs, choosing to will the Duchy of Guelders to a distant kinsman—Wilhelm, the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg. Wilhelm saw his French marriage as a chance to increase his dominions further, and in 1542, he asked his father-in-law for support. François offered what he could—guns and artillery. Wilhelm also augmented his army with the support of Maarten van Rossum, the primary general of the Duchy of Guelders, who had pledged his support to Wilhelm. Rossum was well rewarded; he was given 15,000 men and ordered to raid Brabant. His initial plans involved crossing the Meuse into Maastricht—but the Habsburgs discovered these plans. Rossum elected to instead cross the Meuse near Njimegen, where he plundered De Peel, Rode, and Vught. Though his raids were successful, Rossum could not lay siege to Lier and Leuven. He soon set his sights upon Antwerp, hoping to take one of the jewels of the Burgundian Low Countries. Charles was quick to augment the defenses of Antwerp, and he took command of a force of 18,000 men to take up positions south of Antwerp in hopes of caging Rossum in. Prince Philibert of Orange commanded the left flank, while Charles Brandon, the Viscount of Strêye, held the right flank.

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    Engraving of Wilhelm, the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg.

    The Battle of Antwerp occurred when Rossum’s forces sought to besiege Antwerp. Caught from behind by Charles’ army, the imperial cavalry led by Strêye carried out a vicious charge against Rossum’s men, primarily targeting his so-called black riders. Rossum lost nearly 6000 men in the carnage, while the imperial forces lost only 2500 men. Rossum was forced to withdraw from Antwerp in disgrace—the surroundings of Antwerp and Leuven were saved from possible destruction. The emperor would finish the Guelders campaign—Charles would lead some 10,000 men and would succeed in occupying both Guelders and Jülich in September 1543. The Viscount of Strêye would play a vital role in the negotiations surrounding the Treaty of Maastricht, where the emperor entrusted him with handling the negotiations. Duke Wilhelm renounced his rights to Guelders and Zutphen in exchange for the return of Jülich. Maastricht proved to be the crowning glory of the Viscount of Strêye’s long and storied career in imperial service—he retired soon after to his estates and died in 1545. He would be near the Chapel of Saint Brigid near Fosses-la-Ville with an epitaph that reads simply in English—A Loyal Knight to His Empress.

    “Charles Brandon was an enigma,”
    one historian would write in their biography about the viscount. “An English lord once in high favor, his hopes and dreams were dashed by the death of his benefactor, Henry VIII. His career prospects dimmed until he attached himself to the cause of Princess Mary Tudor, later Empress Mary. There were many rumors concerning Brandon’s relationship with the empress throughout their lives and even in the decades and centuries beyond… perhaps the most well-known historical tale, did they, or didn’t they? Modern research lends credence to a strictly platonic relationship steeped in courtly love and chivalry—popular in England, France, and Burgundy in the period. Romantic historical fiction, such as the classical work of Princess, Empress, written by Violet Bagshot, explored their relationship through the lens of an unrequited—and unconsummated love affair, carried throughout Mary’s life against the backdrop of her marriage to Charles V. In truth, Brandon’s career grew even further after Mary’s death. Brandon was held in high esteem by Charles V for his friendship with Mary, who often granted Brandon commands and high service—alongside a noble title. Brandon was transformed utterly from an Englishman into a Burgundian; he wed Anna van Egmont (the Elder), who gave him two sons and a daughter—while the daughters of his first wife would be wed to noblemen in the Low Countries. Following the Guelders campaign, Brandon retired to his estate near Erbisœul due to poor health. Following his death in 1545, his eldest son Henri, perhaps named after Brandon’s storied friend, succeeded to the viscounty. Brandon’s second son (and perhaps favorite) Charles received the domaine of Erbisœul and would be known as the Sieur de Erbisœul.

    As men battled throughout Europe, Queen Mary of England was prepared to determine England’s path forward as a renewed ally to the emperor. Mary had ordered in 1542 that all should be prepared for a campaign in 1543—sometime in the summer or fall. Musters were ordered in both the home counties and the north to ensure the readiness of the troops, while supplies were stored in Dover and Portsmouth, along with Durham and York in the north. “By October, the queen verged upon exhaustion, heavily pregnant and ensconced within her chamber for her lying-in. She prayed each morning, while the afternoon and evening were dedicated to her work,” Mary Howard, Dowager Countess of Essex, wrote in a letter to her sister-in-law, the Countess of Surrey. “From her bed, she signed paperwork and would even meet with her council… they would meet in the room directly behind the queen’s chamber, where a screen had been installed hidden by a damask curtain on each side. This allowed the queen to speak with her councilors without seeing or meeting with them, which was forbidden during her lying-in. It was not until All Souls Day that the queen went into labor, shortly before breakfast… things moved quickly. Before lunch, the queen had given birth to a bonny princess, whom she named Isabella in honor of grandmother Isabella of Castile. Her Majesty recovered quickly; within an hour of the birth, she indulged in a sallet before returning to her paperwork. By evening, she allowed herself to retire, and we played primo for several hours, and only for token sums... by the night’s end, I owed the queen £15.” Mary could focus more robustly on the war preparations following the end of her pregnancy. In December 1542, Mary named the Marquess of Exeter Lord High Admiral—whose tenure would prove quite innovative. Other focuses of the queen included the readiness of the royal wharves and ports alongside the Royal Navy’s ships. “I must place our trust in God,” Mary allegedly wrote in her private diary. “I have done all I can, and we must be the victors.” Mary issued an ultimatum to François in May 1543—she demanded that François must surrender Boulogne or pay £350,000—plus interest—that Mary claimed England was owed per the Treaty of Noyon. “Is the daughter now seeking to avenge her mother—as the mother did for her husband?” François reportedly laughed upon hearing of England’s demands. “Return to your mistress—and remind her that France’s finest knights defeated her father. France owes England nothing, and France shall give her nothing.”

    6000 English troops arrived in Calais in June 1543 under the command of Sir Edward Aston, joined by Baron Mountjoy. “I am assigning you in the defense of the Low Countries—including our Pale,” Mary wrote in a letter addressed to Aston and Mountjoy. “We pray for your victory and that of England.” In truth, the situation did not look well: while François dithered near Reims, his son had proved more active. Though the Dauphin had failed to seize Luxembourg, he had oriented his troops towards Artois, where he had taken Béthune and Lesquin. The Dauphin, flushed from his victories, set his sights upon Lille. The good fortune that favored France did not carry into the fall when Wilhelm of Cleves was forced to surrender to imperial forces and give up his claims to Guelders and Zutphen. Fearing for his ally and son-in-law, François ordered the Dauphin to drop his siege at Lille and to return towards Luxembourg, where François had ordered the Duke of Vendôme to provide the Dauphin with all the support he needed. Luxembourg would fall to the French in September 1543—days after Wilhelm’s surrender. His focus now undivided, Charles V was prepared to march southward into France. The Anglo-Imperial force occupied Martigny, with Charles seeking to fight François’ troops head-on. François refused to be baited by the emperor—and in November, his troops retired towards Reims. Charles soon abandoned the hunt for François; his troops moved north to seize Cambrai with the help of the English, where they would encamp through the winter.

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    Engraving of Battle in the Strait of Messina.

    In the Mediterranean, the Spanish fleet commanded by Álvaro de Bazán was struck by the French fleet at the Battle of Villefranche. Under the command of the Count of Enghien, the French fleet had several Genoese contingents under the command of Filippino Doria. While the French outnumbered the Spanish, the tides turned against them when Bazán’s galleys fired against the Genoese line, shattering the defenses of the brigantines that made up their front line. As Bazán surged forward, Doria’s flagship threw up its white flag and guided the Genoese ships away from Villefranche. “They are nothing but snakes!” Enghien reportedly exclaimed as he saw the Genoese ships slink into the horizon—back towards Genoa. Though Villefranche ended effectively as a stalemate, Spain had successfully boxed the French fleet in, which prevented them from supporting French squadrons in southern Italy. Bazán and his main squadron took sail from Villefranche towards Sicily, where Viceroy Ferrante Gonzaga, Prince of Molfetta, had raised an army of 20,000 men at Messina to fight for the reconquest of Naples, commanded by Don Ferdinando d’Aragona—Duke of Calabria and Viceroy of Valencia, who was also the son of King Federigo of Naples. The Duke of Calabria augmented the army with 5000 men, primarily Catalans from Aragon and Valencia. “Sicily has and always shall be free,” the Prince of Molfetta exclaimed in a speech before his men. “We are the ones who rose against the pernicious French two centuries ago, tossing them from our shores. Those in Naples are our kinsmen—and they deserve our aid and assistance!”

    To throw off the Angevins, the Prince of Molfetta had spread lies that his troops would embark at Messina. He ordered that a false squadron should be anchored outside of Messina—decoy galleys and barges that were filled with various chemicals: quicklime, sulfur, gunpowder, and pine resin, along with several barges that would be used as fire ships. “Molfetta’s quick thinking paid off,” a Sicilian historian would write about the Italian Wars. “Louis IV fell for the false information and hoped to profit by striking Sicily first. He ordered a portion of the royal fleet, led by Admiral Carafa and several Marinaio units, to strike at Messina… hoping to open the way for an invasion of Sicily through Reggio, where Louis IV had stationed 22,000 men under the command of Charles of Navarre…” When Admiral Carafa’s fleet chanced upon the false squadron, he ordered his flagship, the Regina Luisa, to fire the first shot. Carafa’s shot hit directly near the middle of the false ships, which resulted in an intense explosion of hellfire. “Carafa’s grapeshot caused a massive explosion as the false ships ignited one after another—the normally calm waves riotous as they buckled back against the Neapolitan fleet, causing grave confusion. Some even exclaimed that the sea had begun to boil, and the flames continued to burn atop it, perhaps because of the chemicals used. Flaming debris scattered in all directions towards the Neapolitan fleet, flames spreading quicker through the fleet than they could be dealt with. From the fog of the flames came the fire ships—aimed directly at Carafa’s flagship as he attempted to signal a retreat—leading to his death.” The event of Molfetta’s genius would go down in history as the Ruse of Messina—resulting in the death of Admiral Carafa and some 5000 men. Twelve ships amongst the Neapolitan navy and the Marinaio were destroyed, with another forty-five scuttled soon after due to the damage they endured. These losses not only crippled the Neapolitan navy but ruined many Marinaio squadrons that were deprived of able captains and sailors.

    The ruse’s success meant that Bazán could provide Ferdinando with much-needed naval support that would allow his troops to make landfall in Calabria—somewhere near Cosenza. Ferdinando’s army landed in Calabria in August 1543—the first troops sent by Spain to Naples in nearly fifteen years. Even fifteen years later, Naples’ provinces had checkered loyalties. Some were more loyal to the House of Lorraine than others, and there remained a strong segment within the Neapolitan aristocracy and commons that saw the so-called Angevins as upstarts and usurpers and desired a return to Spanish rule. Calabria had long been the most pro-Spanish of Naples’ provinces—perhaps due to its proximity to Sicily. Throughout the 1530s and early 1540s, great amounts of money, troops, and effort had been expended by Naples (with French support) to curb banditry and pro-Spanish elements within Calabria, with little success. Ferdinando’s army had little issue taking Cosenza—the city opened its gates without a fuss. Shouts of “Vive Re Carlo!” and “Vive Principe Ferdinando!” rang out alongside those of “Vive Duca di Calabria!” The Duke of Calabria’s army was now perfectly positioned to deal with the Neapolitan army in Reggio.

    News of the damage wrought at Messina reached Reggio swiftly. Charles of Navarre had not dared bestir from Reggio—expecting that the Sicilians might seek to land nearby. The Navarrese commander was shocked when word arrived of the capture of Cosenza and that the Spaniards marched south towards his forces as he read the letter. “I must be frank—the mood here is mutinous,” Charles of Navarre wrote in a letter to Louis IV. “We have reinforced the Castello Aragonese with extra cannons, but I fear the reliability of my men. The good Frenchmen, Lorrainers, and Gascons amongst me shall fight for your cause until the end—but I cannot say the same for some Italians. I shall be taking leave of Reggio to make camp near Squillace in the hope of better ground.” Charles departed from Reggio, leaving behind a token garrison of 2000 men he considered the most unreliable. At Squillace, Charles seized the Castle of Squillace as his headquarters, property of Francesco Borgia—Prince of Squillace who remained in exile in Spain, having never rendered his allegiance to Louis IV. The Spaniards used their position from Cosenza to press further south into Calabria, hoping to seize total control of the province, especially the city of Reggio, which would enable supplies to be received more easily from Sicily. By early September, the Duke of Calabria’s forces had control of Castiglione and Catrone—destroying the pirate base that resided there. With Charles of Navarre’s forces boxed into the southern tip of Bari, the Duke of Calabria decided that now was his chance to strike. The Battle of Squillace saw the Spanish troops boldly triumph over the demoralized troops of Charles of Navarre—who was killed in battle by a cavalry charge. By the end of November, Spanish troops had been welcomed boldly into Reggio and held most of Calabria in their hands.

    It was little surprise that England’s aggressive response prompted a response from Scotland. Scotland declared war upon England in September 1543—late in the campaigning season. Having gained political ascendency since the birth of her second child, Alexander, Queen Charlotte had become the head of Scotland’s pro-French party—advocating a warlike policy that sought revenge against England for Flodden. To the surprise of no one, George Seton, the Earl of Winton, was the queen’s counter as head of the pro-English—advocating that the king should seek a diplomatic answer. Though Alexander IV prevaricated and remained utterly besotted with Winton—for the first time, he supported his wife and declared war. The winter was spent in preparation, with Alexander IV resolved to lead the army in person—supported by the Earl of Winton, who was named second in command to the chagrin of many more senior earls. By the spring of 1544, Alexander IV had organized an army of 30,000 men and prepared to march into Scotland. “Alexander’s army represented a stark difference compared to his father’s army at Flodden,” one military historian would write. “The earls and military officers, rather than serving at the front as they had in James IV’s time, now commanded from the rear as any other Renaissance army. The cavalry remained outfitted with armor, albeit lighter—while their sabers were augmented with pistols and harquebuses. The infantry, too, had been modernized: musketeers had joined the swordsman and pikemen.” Alexander led his army into England, subjecting the fort at Berwick to a shellacking by his artillery. England’s troops in the north numbered some 26,000 men under the Earl of Shrewsbury. Despite England having fewer men, they possessed more cannons than the Scots. Shrewsbury ordered the way towards Newcastle blockaded and encouraged the city leaders to fire upon the Scots if they drew close. Shrewsbury’s had an ultimate plan—to force the Scots to cross south over River Tyne to advance further into England.

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    Engraving of Glasgow, 1544.

    Shrewsbury battled against the Scots at the Battle of Alston Moor, where Shrewsbury was able to use the height of the moor to his advantage and pummeled the Scots with artillery fire. The battle lasted until the foggy evening—when Alexander IV was forced to withdraw his forces. Despite the Scottish loss at Alston Moor, their troops retreated in relatively good order, with their losses totaling only 3000 men—with the king and his officers unscathed. The loss soured moods amongst the Scottish nobility—but not towards the king. “All believed that the king listened too often to Winton—and not enough to his other lairds,” a Scottish noble would write several decades later in a private journal. “It was he who had opposed the war yet had greedily pushed the king to invade. Even as we retreated, the mood was dark and sour… all of us knew now was time to enact what we had agreed upon.” The writer spoke of what would become known as the Bond of Threave in which several Scottish nobles—primarily the Earls of Atholl, Rothes, and Huntly and the Lords Saltoun, Oliphant, and Ruthven agreed to murder the Earl of Winton. The bond was named after Threave Castle, allegedly because it had been signed there in Queen Charlotte’s presence; others alleged that Queen Charlotte herself signed the bond, though no copy exists. When the Scottish troops made camp near Hadrian’s Wall several nights following their defeat, it was then that they decided to carry out the bond.

    The Earl of Winton was kidnapped from his tent upon his return from a visit to the royal tent—and highly intoxicated. Gagged and blindfolded, Winton was carried by his captors some distance from the campsite, where he was tied to a tree. The captors announced a list of charges before murdering him. Winton died from massive blood loss, being stabbed over sixty times, with each member of the bond extracting their revenge upon the upstart nobleman. Once the earl was dead, the conspirators cut off his head along with his genitals. His body was then split into five separate pieces before being set aflame. When morning arrived, the conspirators forced their way into the royal tent. “We announced to His Majesty that the Earl of Winton had died.” the Scottish noble continued. “We presented him with our prizes—his head and manhood, which had been placed in a wooden box. We proudly announced that Winton was a traitor and that we had murdered him for his crimes—that he was no true friend of the king but an enemy who had consorted with the English and wished for his death. We received no congratulations… the stone-faced king thanked us for our service and begged us to take our leave. He fell to the floor as we left…weeping and sobbing. By late morning, the king ordered the camp packed up as we continued towards Scotland. We passed by Winton’s corpse in solemn silence near the ruins of Hadrian’s Wall… the king’s lips pursed as we did so…” Upon Alexander’s return to Scotland, he ordered Parliament called—where Alexader IV passed a bill of attainder posthumously against the Earl of Winton—depriving his young son of both his wealth and titles. “Indeed, the king wept fiercely for some time,” one courtier wrote in a jape against the king. “But within weeks, his bed was soon warmed once again by the handsome Acciaioli. The king soon embraced a new summer of love in the spring of death.” Though it seemed that Alexander had moved forward, he had not forgotten Winton nor his ignominious death; he laid the death of his companion at the feet of the Lords Oliphant and Ruthven—knowing he could not dare alienate the earls involved. Oliphant and Ruthven were imprisoned and executed in November 1544. Alexander continued to pay the pension of £400 that Winton had received on the eve of his marriage, doubling the sum to £800 to ensure that Winton’s widow, Marie Pieris, would not be destitute.

    While war raged across Western Europe, northern Italy in 1543 was strained under French domination. In Genoa, Filippino Doria returned to the city enraged against French actions at Villefranche. Doria turned to his aged uncle, Andrea Doria. Andrea had been named Prince of Uscio by King François in 1540, and Andrea, now seventy-seven, had recently retired from Genoa to his new fief. Filippino could not help but see the injustice in Genoa’s position—and railed against his uncle, still an important figure within Genoa, to do something. The wizened Andrea could only shrug and allegedly uttered to his nephew: “You are inspired and passionate… such a cause must be led by the young, not the old. There was once a time when I felt as you did, but perhaps I was overtly swayed by the awards offered before me. Genoa has rotted under the French, but we have done well. With every step, my bones ache. I have not been to sea in nearly three years. In you—you there is the blood of the Dorias. You must take the stead if you believe your cause is just.” Filippino retired from Uscio rejected—but also emboldened.

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    View of Genoa, c. 1590.

    The Revolt of Genoa in late 1543 saw Filippino head the tides of discontented Genoese—primarily from the sons of the aristocrats to young merchants, sailors, and craftsmen against their failures to thrive in French-occupied Genoa. They agitated against the French occupation and railed against the so-called Lordship of Genoa. The protesters, who became known as frondeurs in French, were known for their slings, which they used to pelt the homes of French supporters with stones. The French Governor of Milan, François, the Count of Vaudémont, ordered the garrison in Genoa to be augmented with additional troops and ordered the city walls around Genoa to be reinforced with artillery. The Count of Vaudémont also dispersed funds for constructing a new fort within the city—the Forte Belvedere, which would become known as the Forte Lorena. Vaudémont was ruthless in dealing with the Genoese—his soldiers swept street by street to deal with the poorly equipped rioters. While many were dispersed and ordered sternly to return home, Filippino Doria was captured and executed, with pieces of his body placed across different parts of Genoa in a gruesome display.

    In the remainder of French Italy, the French held firm. Charles had built up a force of some 21,000 men under René, the Baron of Breda[1], to invade Italy. However, François still retained a significant force in Italy—the Armée d’Italie probably numbered some 36,000 men—with 24,000 garrisoned in and around Lombardy under the Count of Vaudémont, while the remaining 12,000 were used as garrison troops throughout Italy—from Savoy to Florence, parts of the Papal States down to the Kingdom of Naples. Charles hoped to use the scattering of French troops across the Italian peninsula to his advantage. Charles’ visit to Venice in 1541 had not been without positive developments, as the emperor had signed a secret agreement with the Venetians, the Treaty of Treviso, which allowed imperial troops to pass through Venetian territory and represented an about-face in Venetian diplomacy for the first time in nearly thirty years, Venice had declared neutrality and not sided with the French troops. Imperial forces would clash with a portion of Vaudémont’s forces at the Battle of Ostiano in the summer of 1544—ending in a French victory. Despite this, René’s forces remained in good order—while Vaudémont was still forced to pull backward as news reached him of a planned invasion of France by Anglo-Imperial forces. “Retain what is needed to maintain our presence in Lombardy, but return what men you can from Lombardy and Savoy to France proper,” one letter from King François wrote.

    Part of the Treaty of Westminster had bound Mary to support an invasion of France with her cousin, with both sides pledging 35,000 infantry and 7,000 cavalry for the venture. France, in turn, had around 90,000[2] from their various armies to resist the joint invasion—with almost 40,000 of those men committed to service in Italy. Both England and the emperor had other concerns—England with Scotland and the emperor with Germany. Queen Mary sent William Paget, recently ennobled as Baron Paget, to seek an accommodation with the Scots. Alexander IV had little stomach to forge a second campaign into England and readily agreed to a three-year truce with England—with arrangements to be made for a permanent peace treaty between the two sovereigns. “Paget proved his diplomatic worth at the court of Scotland,” one member of the Privy Council would write later on. “Not only did he disarm a potential enemy in the north, but he played a very important role in shaping Anglo-Scottish relations for the better.” It was agreed that Alexander and Mary would meet at York in 1547 to sign new peace accords.

    Charles V also proved more successful in his endeavors in Germany, where a new diet was called. The Imperial Diet had met several times since Trier in 1532—in 1533, they met at Wetzlar to approve a new legal code, the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina, which sought to unify and standardize the legal code throughout the empire. While a meeting at Worms in 1542 primarily concerned financing. At the Diet of Nuremberg in 1544, Charles sought financing and aid for his invasion of France. In return, the emperor agreed to suspend anti-Protestant edicts and trials and agreed to use church property that had already been secularized in parts of the empire. This represented a turning point in Charles’ political views—perhaps, for the first time, some official recognition of the Protestants occurred outside of their position as base heretics. Charles also agreed that another attempt at a national council should be held soon to deal with religious matters. Brandenburg and several other princes signed into the emperor’s anti-French coalition and agreed to furnish troops. Representatives of Christian II were also present at Nuremberg—reaching an agreement with the emperor regarding Dutch merchants in the Baltic, who had increasingly begun to take a growing interest in the Baltic trade over Lübeck. The Treaty of Nuremberg between Denmark and the Emperor granted Dutch merchants access to the Baltic Sea—whose merchants were increasingly entering into rivalries with the merchants of Lübeck. It was agreed that the Dutch would be granted a favored status regarding the tolls; in return, Denmark received the right to purchase Dutch cargo as it passed through the sound and the emperor’s support in modernizing tolls: under Christian II, a copper duty would be introduced alongside a duty rate of one percent for non-privileged goods.

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    Siege of Asola, c. 1545.

    Throughout 1543, Maximilian did his best to ingratiate himself in Bohemia, dispensing bribes from his wagon train liberally among the Catholic and Protestant nobility. He agitated for their approval of the marriage, which many were willing to give, provided there would be an end to Mary’s regency, and the kingdom’s religious reforms and traditional laws would be respected. “Maximilian’s return to Bohemia from the battlefield of Royal Hungary saw him return to the Bohemian court a year older and wiser—and more handsome, too.” one member of Maximilian’s entourage would write in a letter back home. “Queen Elisabeth, having celebrated her eighteenth birthday, looked kindly upon her cousin—perhaps with more than mere familial concern.” Maximilian had spent his time in Hungary wisely and sustained his relationship with Elisabeth primarily through letters. One such letter saw the young queen confide her true feelings to him: “What joy it has been to have you with us in Prague—and what fear it is to know you presently fight so eagerly for our cause in Hungary. Each day brings a new unknown; I tremble with each letter, wondering if perhaps the next shall hold news of your death. Such loss would be most difficult for me to endure… indeed, knowing I am betrothed and not to you only increases my agonies, knowing that in another year, I shall perhaps be wed, and our contact must cease.” Soon, upon Maximilian’s return to Prague, he embarked on perhaps one of the most romantic adventures of his life: his future marriage to the Queen of Bohemia. Late one night in June 1543, the plan was set into motion: Roggendorf aided Maximilian in secreting the young queen into his chambers—where Maximilian awaited alongside Elisabeth’s tutor, Bohuslav Bílejovsky. Bílejovský, a Utraquist priest, married the young couple shortly before three am—and the marriage consummated shortly after that. Queen Elisabeth would return to her chambers shortly before daybreak—now a married woman.

    The Bohemian Diet assembled the next morning for routine business. Queen Elisabeth, unusually, attended and asked permission to address the diet in what would become known as her Golden Speech. “Milords,” the young queen began. “I come before you concerning the Capitulations of Prague, signed upon my ascension. I am well aware of the delicate negotiations between our crown and that of Saxony concerning my potential marriage. Still, I ask instead that you consider another marriage—that which I have made of my own choice and selected by my hand—the choice of my cousin and dearest friend, Prince Maximilian. I ask that, per the Capitulations, you confirm my choice—both as my husband and as King of Bohemia.” The diet was divided between jeers and cheers; everyone could note the stony countenance on the queen regent’s face. Underneath her nose, her daughter had been wooed and wed by the one she had not wished him to marry in any circumstance. In a narrow vote, the diet agreed to confirm the queen’s choice and to terminate her mother’s regency. That evening, the pair were once again wed—officially, this time, in the royal chapel of the Castle of Prague. Maximilian saw to it that the pair were married by his Catholic confessor in secrecy that same night so that the marriage would be indisputably legitimate. Maximilian was crowned King of Bohemia the next day, and his first act was to confirm the present council and to name Roggendorf as Hofmeister to serve as his deputy in Bohemia during his absence. Maximilian also signed an oath, pledging to respect the established church order in Bohemia and to promise that Elisabeth would continue to have freedom to worship in the Bohemian church—and that all religious decisions would remain in the hands of the queen for her lifetime. After losing the regency, Mary did not remain in Prague—she chose to retire near Teplitz, where she had stayed almost a decade before. Her dower lands were confirmed by Maximilian, along with her present income.

    It was little surprise that Maximilian’s adventures in Bohemia provoked a protest from Saxony—with the Saxon Elector withdrawing his support for Charles’ planned invasion of France. Still, Charles could count upon Brandenburg and the Palatinate alongside other minor German princes. By May of 1544, Charles had gathered around 44,000 men to support his invasion of France—divided into two armies. The first army, under the command of the Prince of Orange, was to be situated in the Low Countries near Limburg, while the second force was under the personal command of Charles based in the Palatinate. Orange had little problem seizing Luxembourg back from the French and soon moved towards Commercy. Imperial forces soon converged in Lorraine, where much of the Duchy was put under imperial occupation. As they pushed into Champagne, the imperial troops began the Siege of Saint-Dizier, the royal fortress that guarded France’s eastern approaches. “The fortress at Saint-Dizier was the crown jewel of France’s defenses in champagne,” one French historian would write nearly a century later. “It was built to withstand anything that could be tossed towards it.”

    500px-Carlos_V_en_M%C3%BChlberg%2C_by_Titian%2C_from_Prado_in_Google_Earth.jpg
    Equestrian Portrait of Charles V, c. 1548


    In the meantime, Mary had sent 38,000 men to Calais under the joint command of the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Arundel. The forces included 30,000 infantry (of which 8,000 were Landsknecht paid for by imperial funds) and 6,000 cavalry—2,000 of which were mercenaries. The English army had learned from John’s fights in Denmark and comprised an adequate amount of cuirassiers, arquebusiers, and artillery. In many ways, the English army sent to France in 1544 represented the death of England’s old martial traditions: those armed with longbows comprised less than one percent of the total forces. Upon landing, the army was decided to be split into two equal forces. Norfolk used his forces to besiege Ardes quickly before focusing on Boulogne. Arundel was ordered to use his forces to support the imperial movement in the east—though the emperor insisted they should move towards Paris. Despite the movement into France, Saint-Dizier held against the Imperial siege and did not fall until nearly forty days later—valiantly supported by the Count of Sancerre and supplies provided by the Dauphin’s armies. The French garrison was allowed to leave Saint-Dizier in good order. Though the fall of Saint-Dizier had opened the road into France, the delay of over a month meant that the time for an offensive had been lost. Some within the emperor’s war party recommended he withdraw back to Germany, but Charles was intent on moving forward. “The bastard will be vanquished,” Charles reportedly uttered. “This is the closest we have come to cracking this egg, and we shall do it.” Matters in Italy fared not much better: Louis IV had squashed the troops under the Duke of Calabria in Calabria, but the Baron of Breda had managed to occupy a portion of Lombardy. Charles ordered his troops to press towards Châlons, though forces under the Dauphin prevented Charles from attempting to cross the Meuse. An offensive in Champagne resulted in the rapid fall of several cities: Soissons, Épernay, and Châtillion-sur-Marne—where Emperor Charles V sustained an injury to his leg.

    In September, Boulogne fell soon after—allowing England to seize the city that had been redeemed for a pittance nearly two decades previously. A stalemate developed in northern France, and while a panic developed in Paris, François insisted that the populace had nothing to fear—an army of some 40,000 was stationed near the capital to prevent its fall. Still, it was clear to all involved that France had been dealt a bloodied nose. Charles saw it more prudent to withdraw on a high note—his finances were still in disarray, and simmering religious issues meant the need to come to a quick peace. Queen Mary of England, too, was receptive to the need to make peace—assuming her demands regarding Boulogne were met. Representatives of England, France, and the emperor met at Compiègne in Picardie. The Treaty of Compiègne in 1544 agreed that the status quo in 1538 should be recognized. Charles would drop his claims to the Duchy of Burgundy. At the same time, François would renounce his rights to Artois and Franche-Comté as a dowry for his son—accepting that the sum paid for Isabelle’s dowry and closing all discussions upon the matter. In the matter of Italy, it agreed that some arrangement should be reached: Charles agreed to enfeoff the Duke of Orléans as Duke of Milan—and in return, he would wed either his daughter Adéläide or his niece Leonor. A secret clause concerned the region of Parma in the Duchy of Milan—with Charles agreeing that Parma would be raised to a duchy and granted to François’ illegitimate son, Octave. François also agreed to return Savoy to the Duke of Savoy—and to enter into an alliance with the emperor aimed against the Ottomans. A second secret clause concerned the matter of the church—with François agreeing to support Charles in creating a Church Council. For England, it was agreed that the city of Boulogne would return into English hands, to be redeemed in 1554 for two million écus. “At such a price, the town shall remain English forever onward,” one imperial representative uttered. The conflict of 1542-44 proved exorbitantly expensive to both Charles and François, forcing the French king to seek new taxation and financial reforms. Though the war proved expensive for England, it would also lay the ground for further financial innovations later in Mary’s reign.

    [1]OTL René of Châlon. Philibert still lives, so he bears his paternal surname.

    [2]A bit more than IOTL, to account for improved French luck in ATL.
     
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