This is likely to be the last chapter for a while: I go away next week for a couple of weeks, so while I'll do some writing on holiday, don't expect any updates from now until early October, unless I'm really productive this weekend! However, it is nice and long, so it should tide you over for a while.... Oh, and thanks go to @King of Danes for making sure I didn't make a complete fool of myself where the Scandinavian arc is concerned...
Oviedo, June 1533
“So, Francis and Henry have finally broken ties,” Charles muses, stroking his protruding chin with a forefinger as he considers the recent developments in France, “I wondered what it would take, although I must admit, I didn’t expect it to be Catherine de Medici, of all things. She’s hardly anything special.”
“Spoken like the richest man in Christendom,” Marguerite chuckles, “She’s one of the greatest heiresses of her generation!”
She shifts the sleeping Juan in her arms, caressing the 23-month old’s cheek as she does so. He should be in the nursery with his brother and sisters, really, but he fell asleep in her arms about half an hour ago and she hadn’t had the heart to give him to the nursemaid when the other children left, hence why she is still holding him.
“Besides,” she continues, “You know how prickly King Henry can be about the honour of the women he loves. He’s always fancied himself as a knight in shining armour.”
“Not least his sister’s,” Charles hums, then repeats the action, more thoughtfully, “We can use this, you know.”
“We can?”
Sometimes, Marguerite curses the fact that her political education was so centred on France and French interests. She needs a much more international sense of geopolitics as Holy Roman Empress, and while she does her best, even twelve years in the role isn’t always enough, particularly given how the alliances between the various German Princedoms and provinces appear to be built on constantly shifting sands.
She
ought to know what Charles is implying, she knows, but she’s not entirely sure she does.
For his part, Charles is usually impatient when her wavelength doesn’t match his, but for once, he is too lost in his own thoughts to do more than nod at the sleeping Juan.
“Lady Cecily is only eighteen months older than him. If King Henry is fighting your brother, then the Empire is his natural ally. You know that. If we betrothed Juan to Cecily, then we’d be well within our rights to demand that Ostend and Bruges were her dowry. We could reclaim almost all my lost ancestral homeland without so much as firing a shot.”
Marguerite turns the plan over in her head, automatically poking at it for holes. There aren’t many, she has to admit. Charles’s reasoning is flawless. Except…
“I thought you said you’d never betroth our sons to the English girls, given who their mother was. You said they’d never be good enough to be Imperial Princesses.”
“That was when King Henry was allied with Francis, and when we were talking about Philip, not Juan,” Charles waves away her question carelessly, flapping a freckled hand, “Cecily marrying Juan is a very different kettle of fish, particularly if the child can bring us Ostend and Bruges.”
Marguerite sounds off lightly in agreement, then ducks her head, nuzzling Juan’s fine dark hair for a moment as she mulls things over.
“Christina for Phillip to please your sister. Catalina promised to Karoly of Hungary. Isa to go to Portugal to wed little Afonso. And now an English bride for Juan. We really are building an international web of alliances for our heir, aren’t we?”
Charles glances at Marguerite, surprised at the wistful note in her voice. He’d thought she understood geopolitics well enough not to be pricked by the idea that their children would need to be betrothed long before they left the nursery.
“As we should,” he says forcefully, aiming to recall her to her duty, “We are the Imperial Family, after all.”
“I know, I know,” Marguerite subsides far more quickly than she would have done a few years earlier in their marriage, though her dark eyes still, just for a moment, betray the fact that part of her would like their children to have the chance to be children before they are wed.
Charles hesitates, then places a hand between her shoulder blades, just for a moment.
“Take Juan back to the nursery and I’ll go and give Chapuys his instructions,” he says, voice low to keep from waking their sleeping son.
Marguerite nods her salt-and-pepper head and Charles crosses to the door with a swift smile.
At the door, he pauses, as a thought strikes him, “Oh, and by the way? I’m only stringing Bella along for the moment. I’m not going to ratify Phillip’s betrothal to Christina unless Hans wins Denmark for himself. Our heir can do far better than a King-Claimant’s sister.”
Porto, 16th July 1533
“My dearest brother,
Regent for Papa? And a father-of-two within the year? Well, well. No one can deny that you’re a man now, can they?
I wish you all the best in your endeavours. I remember only too well how daunting trying to lead the wolves of Court can be. At least you have Renee to help you, and Maman. That’s more than I had when I had to be Papa’s hostess in Maman’s absence.
But that’s a dim and distant memory now, and I assure you, all is well here in Porto. The big news is that Nannette has finally wed! After all the years I’ve spent trying to secure her a wealthy husband, she’s only gone and fallen for the second son of the lord of Ulme and Chamusca. The second son, I ask you! Could she not at least have picked an heir to fall in love with?
Still, Rui’s pleasant enough, I suppose, and if he makes her happy, who am I to complain? At least the match keeps Nannette at Court so she won’t have to leave me in a hurry. I hardly see Francoise any more, now that she’s married Martim de Sousa, so I don’t want to lose both my childhood friends.
Oh, and in other big news, Luis and Anna have finally secured the Dukedom of Beja! After three miscarriages, Anna has finally been safely delivered of a healthy boy, whom Luis has named Joao Nicolau, after my husband and St Nicholas of Bari, who watched over Anna in her pregnancy.
Have you and Renee decided what you might name your new child, by the way? Marie for a girl, I assume, given you’ve always said your first daughter will be named after Maman, but what about a second boy? Rene, for his mother? Alain or Conan, for the old Dukes of Brittany? Or Henri? That would really annoy Papa, given the circumstances, but I don’t think he’d be able to argue, not if you told him you wanted to honour our late brother…
I will remind you that Marguerite is a beautiful name for a girl, if your new daughter doesn’t suit Marie.
Ha, I can see you rolling your eyes from here! I’m not trying to push you either way, but you know I’ll never argue with a namesake niece! No one would!
Right, I shall cut this here or I shall be late for Mass, and I can’t afford that, not when Joao is having it held in my honour…
This letter comes, brother, with my fondest love and prayers, as it always does.
Your adoring sister,
Marguerite
PS: I’ve enclosed a note for Papa as well. Send it on to Boulogne, would you? I want him to know that I am praying for him and for the city. Please God the siege ends soon.
Copenhagen, 1st August 1553
“Dearest Mama,
We’ve done it! We’ve won! Denmark is mine!
Now, I’ll give Uncle Frederick his due, he put up a spirited defence of his stolen crown. He claimed I was a Spanish, Imperial puppet who would never treat Denmark with the respect he deserved, but he underestimated the affection the common people still hold for my father and his blessed memory.
I landed in Oslo to a swell of popular acclaim, and our army grew by a third within a fortnight.
Uncle Frederick very quickly learnt that you can’t hold a country if you don’t hold the people’s hearts, particularly not if your enemy is far richer and stronger than you are. By the time he and Cousin Christian came to fight us in Aalborg, Señor Avalos had already won me the allegiance of several prominent nobles, including Christopher, Count of Oldenburg, and the aldermen of Mälmo, by promising to abolish Uncle Frederick’s heavy taxes.
Our victory at Aalborg seemed almost inevitable in the end, although I was confined to the rearguard for the sake of safety, so I can’t say I witnessed all that much of the battle itself. Besides, even if I had, I would not wish to distress either you or my sisters with stories of death and violence. Such things are not suitable for Princesses to hear. Suffice it to say that Uncle Frederick is dead and Cousin Christian our prisoner. Cousin Christian has been sent to Kärnan to ruminate on his family’s folly in accepting our ancestral crown, and Count Christopher has gone with him to act as his guardian and rule Scania in my name.
Cousin Christian’s wife will soon join him in his confinement, for I would not wish to be unnecessarily cruel and keep a man from his wife. That being said, I am sending their little daughter Anna to join Christina in Brussels. I need to ensure no one can use her against me.
And don’t worry. Señor Avalos assures me that steps can be taken to ensure that Cousin Christian can’t sire a son on Dorothea of Brandenburg.
As for Uncle Frederick’s younger sons, I intend to have them promised to the Church as soon as they are old enough to understand the vows, so that they can’t be used against me either. Better safe than sorry, after all.
But enough of that. What truly matters is that I have been elected King by the rigsråd, and my coronation is a matter of weeks away.
Which is why I am writing. I would like you, Dorothea and Anna here to witness it. You have done more than most to keep my dream of regaining Denmark alive, Mama, and I think you deserve to be here to witness the culmination of our family’s triumph.
I know Anna is only eleven, but I hope you can persuade His Grace of Lorraine to let her travel with you. I feel it is important that the two of us get to know each other, and that Denmark gets to know us both and sees us as its future. I’d ask you to bring Christina too, but I think she’s better off in Brussels, where she can be raised as Cousin Phillip’s future Empress. After all, Uncle Charles has no reason not to ratify their betrothal any more, not now that I have been acclaimed as King.
I leave the persuasion of His Grace of Lorraine in your capable hands, and those of Aunt Marguerite. I shall, of course, ensure you are all greeted in Oslo and escorted to Copenhagen with appropriate honour, and you can tell His Grace that. All I will need from you is the details of when you plan to sail, so write when you have made arrangements to travel.
In the meantime, Lady Mother, I remain your devoted son,
Hans, King of Denmark.
PS: Oh, and by the way, if you do come to Denmark for my coronation, I shall want you to stay. You spent eight years here as Queen, you know Denmark far better than I do. I shall need you as one of my advisors as I find my feet in my new realm. Moreover, I want you to raise Uncle Frederick’s daughters for me, and re-educate them as to their new places in the world, so that they can be used to bind allies to me when they’re older, rather than as lightening rods for any malcontents. Please say you will.
