That's what I thought too. And I don't think he'll have the heart to stop Jean taking her with him to Milan if he chooses to. As long as she stays there and keeps her head down from now on, so that François and Marie can pretty much forget she exists, all should be all right.
A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Well Jean and Isabella can go, but Louise will have to stay. She is property of the french crown too.
François won't punish his ten-year-old brother that far. It might mean Jean's expected to leave for Italy, as @Saya Aensland has hinted at, but I don't think he'd go so far as to break France and Milan's international ties over this. I think he'd be too much of a Valois for that...
François has found a way to get through to her, and she's off to Scotland soon anyway, so I doubt that will be so much of a problem...
Yeah, so Francois is pretty merciful ruler it seems, his uncle wouldn't be so forgiving, for example. I think it's best for Isabella to leave with Jean if she has that option.
Section CIX - August 1533
Chateau de Vincennes, August 1533
François is with his wife and mother, planning his father’s lying-in-state at St Denis, when the doors of his audience chamber crashes open.
He looks up, startled. Jean stands there, face as black as his hair, and every inch of him radiating indignant fury.
For a single long moment, the brothers simply look at each other. François is the first to look away, though only enough to flick his eyes to his mother.
“Maman, leave us, please.”
He doesn’t know exactly why Jean is so furious, but he strongly suspects it has to do with Madame de Valentinois and her impending banishment from Court. That is a pain he’s not willing to put his mother through, not if he can help it. Not now, not with their grief for his father still so fresh and raw.
Thankfully, his mother doesn’t argue, simply rises to her feet. François shoots his younger brother a fierce look, quelling the ten-year-old long enough for their mother to curtsy, cream taffeta skirts pooling out around her, and slip out into an adjoining antechamber, the door clicking shut behind her.
Jean’s rage bubbles over a heartbeat later.
“How dare you banish Lady Isabella from Court?! How dare you?!”
“How dare I?”
François has never considered himself particularly hot-tempered, especially not in comparison to at least one of his younger siblings, but white-hot ire flares in his breast at the audacity of Jean’s words.
Renee, seated at his side, tries to put a hand on his arm, but he shakes her off, leaping to his feet and stalking towards his brother.
“How dare I?” he repeats, letting the sentence linger threateningly in the air, “How dare I, you ask? Your question is ill-founded, brother. Better to ask the Navarrese harlot how she dared inveigle her way into our lives. How she dared lay claim to Papa’s heart when we were all still stunned with loss for Henri and Edouard. How she dared flaunt Papa’s affection for her so publicly, the very day Margot left for Portugal. How she dared take Maman’s place, not only in his bed, but at his side!”
“At least she cared!” Jean screams the words so high and loud that his piping voice cracks for the very first time, “At least Mama Isabelle cared! The only ones Her Majesty ever cared for were you and Margot and Henri. Once he died, she didn’t have any love left for the rest of us! She never has had!”
François acts on instinct. His fist flies out. He punches Jean so hard that the young boy’s head rocks back and bright scarlet blood gushes from his long, sharp nose.
“Never speak of our mother like that again,” he hisses, breathing hard, “If I ever hear another word of disrespect towards Maman pass your lips again, I’ll have you horsewhipped until you can’t stand. Do – I – make – myself – clear?!”
Staggering slightly, Jean lifts his head to look his brother full in the face with an effort. Blood is pouring from his nose, marring his young features, but his dark eyes glitter with defiance.
“She’s not my mother,” he spits, fighting the new nasal whistle in his voice to speak clearly, “Queen Marie may have given me life, but she’s not my mother. Mama Isabelle is my mother.”
Francis snarls gutturally. He almost lunges at his brother, intent on throttling him.
Almost.
As though she can read his mind, Renee moves before he does. She hurls herself to her knees in front of him, heedless of her swollen belly.
“François, mon cher. Stop. Think what you do. Your father wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you brawling with Jean before he’s even buried. This anger isn’t born of anything rational. You’re both grieving. That’s all this is, pain. For both of you. Can you not see that? Take a step back and think. Please? For me?”
François hears her words, but only dimly. He feels as though he is lost in a red fog.
He turns sharply on his heel, fighting to clear his head, to think rather than react. This isn’t how a new King should behave. He knows that. But with his pulse racing, his heart thumping, it’s almost impossible to remember.
Seven long seconds pass. He knows that, because he counts them.
Slowly, one cool thought coalesces in his head. Renee is pregnant.
Renee is pregnant. He mustn’t distress her.
He mustn’t distress her, and punching his younger brother’s lights out in front of her would most certainly do that.
Inhaling determinedly, he turns around again and helps Renee to her feet.
“You’re lucky I don’t wish to distress my wife in her delicate condition, Lord Milan,” he growls, unable to keep the throbbing anger from his voice, “I’d beat you bloody for your lack of filial respect if I didn’t have her to worry about. As it is, if you leave Court for your Italian estates at once, we’ll say no more about this – altercation.”
“Gladly,” the younger boy spits, fury making his voice deeper and more mature than it really is, “I don’t want to be at Court, if this is how you’re going to treat the woman who made Papa happy!”
In a blatant show of disrespect, he turns on his heel and strides from the room without waiting to be dismissed. François almost calls him back, just to prove a point, but decides against it.
Instead, he simply looks at Renee, whom he is still holding by the waist, “He’s going to take Isabella to Italy with him, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” the blonde agrees, and François sighs, feeling his anger drain from him as quickly as it flared, leaving only an intense weariness behind.
Renee places a hand on his wrist before he has time to formulate a sentence, “And, mon cher, I think you’re going to have to let him. I know it will rankle, but you can’t interfere, not with what he does in Italy. He might be your brother, but he’s also the sovereign Duke of Milan. You have to respect that.”
“No, I know,” François sighs again, then kisses Renee lightly on the forehead – which he can do, now that he is sixteen and has had his growth spurt, leaving him a full handspan taller than her, “Thank you for interfering, darling. I dread to think what might have happened, had you not been here. Now I’d better go and find Maman. She needs to hear this story from me, rather than through the Court gossips.”
Oh my it's a good thing that Renee was there to step in, and while he was unwise to say what he did, I can understand Jean's anger.
He does listen to her, yes. After all, she's six and a half years older than him. I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't at least a touch of the adolescent puppy love for an older woman about their relationship...
And yes, Jean is going to resent his brother/France for this. Fortunately, his council are sensible enough to know that they need to keep France on side, at least until Jean marries Isabella of Poland and gains her Sforza blood to help him hold Milan. They won't be able to hold the Spanish off otherwise.
Oh, so can I, but I'll say this for him. Jean has definitely become more of a Tudor as he got older and Henri was no longer there to play that role in the nursery...I did not see this pile of resentment coming when he was little...
Intense, but hopefully in a different way to solid grief.
And I can't promise that. I'm only writing May 1534 at the moment. Things haven't fallen apart YET is all I can say.
As gross as it might be, the more I read of them, the more I want Jean/Isabella in a IOTL Henry/Diane relationship! I'm sorry, but I do!
Also, I think Jean's nose might be broken if there's a nasal whistle to it!
And thank God for Renee the Peacemaker.
And nice one Marie - cream taffeta; the colour of mourning, loud and proud!
VVD0D95
Banned
Whilst I get Francois urge to defend his mother, surely he sees where his brother is coming from? Marie left, she did t stay. She did what all those dead beat fathers do abd ran away at the first sign of danger. Yes she came back but she never really I guess thought how it wohld impact her kids she left behind. Francois senior was also in the wrong for keeping it out of his pants.
as always brilliantly written
as always brilliantly written
You can want it all you like, I can't write it, so you'll have to imagine it happening off-screen in Milan.
And yes, you were supposed to infer that François had broken his brother's nose.
Of course Marie is mourning her husband. Say what you will of their relationship in the last few years, they adored each other for over a decade and he was the father of her children. She can't NOT mourn him.
Yes, she probably will!
Oh, if François was thinking straight, he probably would. But remember, he's just lost his father too, so he's reacting rather than processing properly.
And his gut instinct is always to defend his mother, because he feels like no one else ever does.
But, as Renee says, this argument isn't rational. It's born of pain, for both the boys.