A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France

Really hoping the French can keep Milan under their control here or else Francis sacrifice will be for nothing. Damm it Jean! And Damm you even harder Isabella!
Yes, she is definitely the main one to blame here, as Jean wouldn't have gone North at all if she hadn't persuaded him...
take that you stupid french little bitch jean
Lmaooo jean really played right into the emperor's hands
Yes, yes, he did. And no, Francois is NOT going to be happy with his little brother here....
 
i mean, francis died fighting in the north, against the english, but yeah, francis jr is not gonna be happy if his brother's tantrum with an army results in the french losing milan
Who wouldn't? Losing such a door into Italy, rich territory and one won by their father. No matter how you look into it, Francis II is gonna be absolutely furious.
 
Oh god please let France loose Milan because Jean rose in revolt against his brother for stupid reasons. Please let Isabella of Navarre's stupid whisperings in his ear make them loose Milan. It would be the single best thing ever written. I want this to blow up in her face so badly.
 
Oh god please let France loose Milan because Jean rose in revolt against his brother for stupid reasons. Please let Isabella of Navarre's stupid whisperings in his ear make them loose Milan. It would be the single best thing ever written. I want this to blow up in her face so badly.
I'll see what I can do!
 
I feel most sorry for the people of Milan who get fought over so often.

Lord Milan may also find out that his war was a really bad idea soon.
 
I feel most sorry for the people of Milan who get fought over so often.

Lord Milan may also find out that his war was a really bad idea soon.
Yeah... He may very well come to think that. But of course I couldn't possibly comment.

(Bonus Points if you know which TV show I was just paraphrasing...)
 
Rotterdam, March 1536

Charles blinks slightly at Chapuys’ missive, written from Bordeaux, where he has sent him to see if there are any truth in the rumours that are swirling Christendom, that Lord Milan has joined forces with the Duke of Nemours and Henri of Navarre to rise against his brother King François.

Charles hadn’t really intended to lay any credit in them. After all, even at only thirteen, Lord Milan must have learnt enough of politics to know that his Duchy requires his brother’s support if it is to survive as any kind of an independent state. But there is no mistaking these words. There they are in black and white.

Accompanied by Lord Nemours and Lady Valentinois, Lord and Lady Milan have landed in Beziers and travelled to Narbonne, where they have joined forces with the city’s Archbishop and the would be King of Navarre. They are now preparing to march north at the head of 8500 men.

Despite himself, Charles’s heart leaps as his swift mind makes some startling, but delightful, leaps.

Lord Milan won’t have brought his entire garrison. That many men would be too cumbersome to transport, and besides, Monsieur De La Marck wouldn’t let him leave Milan completely undefended. But even if the bulk of his forces are being supplied by Lord Nemours and His Grace of Narbonne, he must have brought a couple of thousand with him. His honour and his status as a royal Duke will have demanded no less.

Therefore, there are necessarily a couple of thousand seasoned fighters currently not defending Milan.

And King François will need his men in France this spring. He’ll be too busy dealing with his brother’s uprising to send any replacements. This is a golden opportunity for Charles to regain his family’s lost foothold in Italy, one which may never come again.

Controlling his emotions with a chokehold grip, Charles reads the letter over one more time, just to be sure there is no mistake – that he hasn’t seen what he wanted to see, rather than what was actually there.

When the words don’t change on a second reading, he jumps to his feet, wrenches open the door of his private chamber and bellows at the nearest page, “Fetch Lord Pescara! Immediately! I have grave military matters to discuss with him!”
I… what is this? A Frenchman and a Spaniard, however unintentionally, on the same side? What parallel universe have we tumbled in too?

I won’t deny Charles his chance too cause some havoc for Jean. Now, Marguerite, remember, you may be French, but this is a good thing for your babies if he wins! Support your Spaniard husband!
 
To Play the King?
I was thinking the original House of Cards, but yes.
I… what is this? A Frenchman and a Spaniard, however unintentionally, on the same side? What parallel universe have we tumbled in too?

I won’t deny Charles his chance too cause some havoc for Jean. Now, Marguerite, remember, you may be French, but this is a good thing for your babies if he wins! Support your Spaniard husband!
I think she would. Not necessarily because she wants to hurt François, but because she will see Jean as a traitor and think he deserves everything he gets after his actions against his big brother. She'd never have dreamed of moving against Francis, after all.
 
I was thinking the original House of Cards, but yes.

I think she would. Not necessarily because she wants to hurt François, but because she will see Jean as a traitor and think he deserves everything he gets after his actions against his big brother. She'd never have dreamed of moving against Francis, after all.
Makes sense. Marguerite isn't an idiot, after all.
 
Section CXXXI: April 1536
Sarzeau, April 1536

They are dancing when the news comes. It had been Renee’s idea to come back to Brittany for François’s nineteenth birthday, to come back to the Chateau d’Suscino, where Anne was born and they’ve both always been so happy. She thought they’d needed it, a chance to relax after all the grief and strain of the past few years.

And for a few precious days, even weeks, it works. The Chateau d’Suscino rings with merriment as the young Court throws itself into celebrating the young King and his bright future. François’s birthday ball is no exception.

The nineteen-year-old King is at the centre of proceedings, as is only right, dancing pavanes, galliards and allemains with every young woman in sight, and even some little girls, for his eight-year-old sister Lisabelle and her companions have been allowed to stay up for this one precious night of the year.

Two hours into the ball, François’s red hair is damp with exertion and his dark eyes sparkle with joy, a joy that is utterly infectious. His grin widens excitedly every time he glances over to his wife, presiding on the dais in a gorgeous gown of pale blue taffeta, for, unbeknownst to anyone else in the room, Renee has already given him the best birthday present anyone could ask for. She whispered to him as they left Mass that morning that she is pregnant again – that Anne and Marie will have another sibling before the year is out. The two of them are like children again, hugging their secret between them conspiratorially.

François is dancing with ten-year-old Griet de St Pol, whirling the pretty dark-haired child under his arm to make her giggle, when the mud-splattered figure in the corner of the room catches his eye.

For a split-second, he falters, but when the messenger carries straight on to the dais, he dismisses it and throws himself back into the dance. It’s his birthday. It’s his birthday and Renee is more than capable. She can deal with this importunate petitioner, no matter how urgent the matter may be.

He pulls Griet away from the dais, galloping her down the length of the hall without missing more than half a beat.

By the time they are coming back up the hall, however, Renee is on her feet, scanning the crowd for him. His heart leaps into his throat. The way her jaw is set tells him that, whatever that letter contains, it’s bad news, and urgent bad news at that.

He leaps up the steps of the dais without so much as a goodbye to Griet.

“What is it? What is it, my love?”

In answer, Renee simply holds up the letter, letting him scan it over her shoulder.

The music falters to a discordant halt, as, all around them, people begin to realise that something is very, very wrong.

François pays it no heed, taking in the close-written words with frantic eyes.

Jean, whom they have been watching carefully since he arrived in Narbonne without warning a couple of weeks ago, has finally made his move. He has left the southern city and is pushing north to Orleans at the head of 8500 men. He claims only to want to take up his place on François’s council and replace those who are giving his brother terrible advice, but who knows? He’s very much Madame de Valentinois’s creature. He always has been. And Madame de Valentinois has no reason to be friendly to either François or Renee. Moreover, with Lord Nemours, Henri of Navarre and the Archbishop of Narbonne behind him, Jean has powerful men trying to pull his strings. This could very easily spiral out of control, if they don’t get on top of it, and quickly.

Renee suddenly tips her head back to look up at him, her blue eyes wide with horror.

“Orleans,” she whispers, making it only too clear that her thoughts are running in concert with François’s own.

Orleans is where Jean’s namesake, the Maid, famously relieved the siege, rescued the Dauphin and turned the tide of the Hundred Years War, thereby reviving the fortunes of the House of Valois.

Ever since then, the bustling city has held almost mythic status in the hearts of the populace. In fact, it is treated almost as a second capital, dwarfed only by Paris itself in importance. If Jean can seize it, then…

François shies away from that thought, shaking his head to clear it. It’s not going to come to that. He won’t let it.

Renee reads faster than he does. As such, it is her gasp that pulls François from his musings and directs his attention to the second page of the letter.

Shocking as Jean’s rebellion is, it’s not the worst of it. Not even close. Even as Jean marches north, the Emperor has seen fit to challenge the Treaty of Rouen. The Marquess of Pescara set sail from Rotterdam last week, a fleet of thirty ships under his command. Given Señor de Avalos’ experience in the Italian theatre, and the fact that Jean’s sudden return to France must already be common knowledge throughout Christendom, there is only one place such an Armada can be bound.

Milan.

Cursing under his breath, François squeezes Renee’s shoulder in a futile attempt at reassurance and then shouts across the suddenly silent hall.

“Claude, Guy, Rene, Charles, Antoine! With me. Now!”

The five men so summoned gather hastily and François leads them to a hidden antechamber almost at a run, leaving Renee to rescue what shreds of his birthday party she can.


By dawn, they have their orders. The Duke of Guise is to sail from St Malo with 5000 of the finest Breton soldiers to try to bolster the Duke of Bouillon’s defence of Milan. If they can only get there in time.

Guy de Laval and Rene de Rohan, both of whom have connections to Madame de Valentinois and Henri of Navarre, are to ride to Orleans with all possible speed, taking a cadre of 6000 soldiers with them. With any luck, they will be able to treat with Jean and bring him to heel, but, if all else fails, François has reluctantly conceded that they may try to force his surrender through battle.

Charles de Vendome is to escort the pregnant Renee, Marie, Charly and Lisabelle to Marie’s dower property at Chambord. With any luck, the 3000 soldiers he commands will be enough to keep the Queens, Lord Angouleme and Mademoiselle Elisabeth safe from any villainy Jean and his cronies may be plotting. Meanwhile, Lord Vendome’s son, Antoine, is to take another 3000 men and retreat to Nantes with the Dauphin and Mademoiselle Marie.

At just eighteen, Antoine is the youngest of François’s commanders. In fact, the two of them grew up together, and François sincerely hopes that stationing Antoine in Brittany with his son will be enough to keep his boyhood friend safe. Getting him killed would be a very poor way of rewarding the Vendomes’ loyalty to the Crown.

As for François himself, he is to hot foot it to the central stronghold of Chinon, where his mother waited out the Italian War of 1521, 4000 soldiers and the 24 -year-old heir to the Duchy of Bouillon, Robert de La Marck the Younger, riding with him to keep him safe. From Chinon, with any luck, he will be able to coordinate everyone’s movements and oversee the destruction of his brother’s rebellion before it ever really takes off.

François is reluctant to be parted from Renee, particularly since she is pregnant once more, but he is eventually persuaded that, the more scattered the royal family is in this time of trial, the safer the Crown will be.

All in all, there are soon to be 21,000 of France and Brittany’s finest soldiers on the move throughout the country and overseas.

All François can do, as he kisses Renee, Marie and Lisabelle and bundles them into a litter, charging ten-year-old Charly to be the man of the house until they can all be together again, and then races to the stables to find his own mount, is pray that it won’t all be too little, too late.
 
While I will cheer Francois on regarding his brother and the schemers plotting havoc, I still hope France looses Milan here. And Charles better send extra men from spain and austria to Milan. It's gonna take a while before the armada reaches Milan if they travel from Rotterdam.
 
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