An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

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TheBookwormBoy

pandizzy said:
Fontainebleau, France. 12th of July, 1522.​

Laughter erupted from King Francis’ throat as he read his ambassador’s letter. The joy he felt in reading those words was such that he fell forward, pressing a hand to his stomach as he laughed. The King’s mother, Louise of Savoy, suo jure Duchess of Auvergne and Bourbon, Duchess of Nemours and Dowager Countess of Angoulême set down her prayer book and looked at him, curious to know what had initiated such a reaction in her son.

“Marvelous,” he said, still laughing, “This could not have come at a better time!”

“What is it?” she asked, straining her neck to try and see what was written on the paper, “Francis, what has happened?”

When her son looked at her, she saw that there were tears of joy in his eyes. “During his visit to England, Charles of Burgundy wed an English noblewoman, without King Henry’s permission,” said the King, “Finally, that foolish boy has been humbled.”

The King of France was only six years older than the Emperor, but neither he nor his court will let themselves forget such a precious difference. It means he is senior to the Emperor, a wicked man who likes to pretend he is the most powerful ruler of all Christendom.

But why would he do that? Louise couldn’t understand it. Was this bride from a powerful family, one with high connections not just in England, but beyond? Why would he choose anyone over Mary Tudor, a girl first in line to inherit her father’s throne, or Louise’s own granddaughters, two of whom had been betrothed to Charles in their own time? Little Charlotte would not be pleased by this, as her mother still hoped to give her the imperial crown, and often told her of her glittering future in Flanders.

This was all very confusing. Louise pressed a hand to her head as she mulled the subject over and over. Charles married to an English noblewoman, without the King’s permission. His grandfather, the King of Aragon, had been a tricky man, everyone said so, so could this be a trick from Charles? Every ruler in Europe wanted him married to their own relations, so he chose a girl from a minor family, out of his realm, but for what? This did not make any sense.

“Henry has now offered his daughter for our François,” continued Francis, ignoring Louise’s thinking, “I have half a mind to agree to it.” He frowned, peering closer to the letter, “Though the girl may not be the heir for much longer. Her mother seems to be ill and the doctors think she has conceived again. By Jesu, she is thirty-seven!”

“Who has the Emperor married?” Louise asked when he finished speaking. If she had to be honest, she did not care for the English succession as much as her son did. King Henry was likely to outlive his barren wife and could beget a son in a second bride, putting an end to Francis’ plans to place a Valois in the English throne.

Her son waved his hand, as if the matter was not important, “One Anne Boleyn.”

Her?

“Mademoiselle Boullan?” asked Louise, shocked.

“Do you know her?” Francis frowned.

“Well, yes, we all do,” she said, “Anne de Boullan was a maid of honour to your wife for some years, my dear. Your sister was fond of her.”

“Oh, of course,” said Francis, “I remember her. La Petite Boullan was always running behind Marguerite in her early days here.” Francis frowned and returned his eyes to the letter, “But she left for England in January. Claude said she would marry an Irish cousin of hers.”

“The match must have either been called off or the new Empress was left a young widow,” said Louise, closing her prayer book, “Do you know if her family is wealthy?”

“Does it matter?” her son asked, standing up, “She is not a Princess and Charles has gained nothing but a bride in this marriage.” He walked to the window, one that pointed south, to Italy, “This could be what we needed.”

Louise understood what he meant immediately, “The Emperor has weakened himself. Without a dowry from his wife, he cannot repay the debts he acquired from his bribes to the Electors. And his prestige is hurt immensely. Few will flock to his banner now, especially in Iberia.”

Francis laughed again, “Exactly, mother. Call Anne de Montmorency. We have much planning to do.”
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Really love Francis being a little shit about Charles throwing away Henry’s alliance and immediately planning how to use it to his advantage.
 
Tudorfan

Tudorfan

TheBookwormBoy said:
Really love Francis being a little shit about Charles throwing away Henry’s alliance and immediately planning how to use it to his advantage.
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I mean, technically, Charles is being smart in a way - if he and Anne have a child in the next year or so, Mary will only be 7 years older than the child rather than his 16 year age difference with her; much more appropriate for a wife.
 
pandizzy

pandizzy

Tudorfan said:
I mean, technically, Charles is being smart in a way - if he and Anne have a child in the next year or so, Mary will only be 7 years older than the child rather than his 16 year age difference with her; much more appropriate for a wife.
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Isnt that too much of an age difference?
 
GenghisKhanfan

GenghisKhanfan

pandizzy said:
I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, my health has not been great for the past few weeks and I have decided to take a small break from writing. I will still see when I'm able to upload, but it will not be as frequent as it once was. Hope you can understand.
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Hope you feel better soon. This story is too good to abandon for too long
 
16th of July, 1522
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Santander, Castile. 16th of July, 1522​

    Fadrique Álvarez de Toledo y Enríquez, 2nd Duke of Alba looked on at the rolling waves as a ship neared the docks of Santander, a port city in northern Spain. There, in that boat now anchoring, was his Emperor, his King, back from acquiring the imperial crown for himself. It was a great honour to have been chosen to receive the King, whom he had not seen in two years, and one that he bore with pride as he stood in the harbour of Santander.

    His grandson stood behind him, arms folded behind his back. Fernando had just turned fifteen and was heir to all of his titles, as his father and Fadrique’s son had died when he was just three years old. Fadrique had assumed his guardianship after that, as well as that of his siblings, and had the boy near him at all times. One of his fondest memories was when he took Fernando, aged just six, with him on a military mission to capture Navarre for the King’s grandfather, Ferdinand of Aragon.

    To have the boy with him now was also a sign of careful planning, as he hoped the King would accept Fernando as one of his personal grooms, arranging a possible friendship between the two, who were not of so different ages.

    And so, when the Emperor left his ship and set foot on Spain once again, Fadrique took a deep bow, cautious as to show the utmost respect to his King-Emperor, his liege. He saw from the corner of his eye as Fernando did the same, and all of the others who were with them, such as knights and grooms who were deemed worthy of welcoming His Imperial Majesty.

    “Arise, my lord,” said the Emperor, coming closer to them. Fadrique straightened himself and would have smiled to his liege had his attentions not been captured by the woman on the arm of Charles of Austria.

    She was a small and thin woman, with heart-shaped lips and a long nose. Her eyes were very dark, to the point of Fadrique not being able to distinguish her pupil from her iris, and pulled him in as she smiled. Her dress was made in the French fashion, a glittering gown of dark blue embroidered with sapphires and diamonds, and she wore a bejewelled French hood on her head. He could see the front of her carefully brushed hair, which was of a tone of rich dark brown. She was not a woman he was familiar with, but there was something about her, something about the way her chin was raised and how the ring on her finger glittered as the sunlight hit it that told him to be careful.

    “Your Imperial Majesty,” Fadrique said, bowing once more. When he turned to the woman, he only nodded with his head, as he did not know who she was, “Madame.”

    She did not curtsy to him, as most women did when meeting the premier noble of Castile, and that told him to be very careful. Perhaps she was a mistress, acquired in Burgundy, where the French and Dutch ways are so easily mixed. Mistresses are so easily vain and proud. Charles of Austria had many mistresses before and respect had to be paid to them accordingly, lest one wished to lose the King’s favour. The most memorable of them was Germana de Foix, of course, who had once been married to the Emperor’s grandfather and bore him a bastard daughter she insisted on calling Infanta Isabel.

    But this one could be just as memorable, as seen from the way she was already acting. High and proud, as if no false movement could cause her to fall from Charles’ side.

    “Fadrique of Alba,” said the Emperor with a large and proud smile on his wife, “Meet my wife and your queen. Ana Bolena.”

    Despite his initial shock at the news, Fadrique still had enough sense in him to bow to the Queen and kiss her offered hand, whispering, “Your Majesty.”

    As he did so, he could not stop thinking. Married? And to an adult woman? But how could this be? As far as he knew, the King was betrothed to Princess Mary Tudor, daughter of the English King and Catalina de Aragón. It should be she on his arm, not this Anne Boleyn. Or, if not her because of her age, then Isabella of Portugal, who could give him children immediately.

    The Cortes had advised the King for years, since he arrived on Spanish soil, to take a wife with Iberian blood, to strengthen his fledgeling ties to the land, but what had he done? What had he done?
     
    Last edited:
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    • TheBookwormBoy

    pandizzy said:
    Santander, Castile. 16th of July, 1522​

    Fadrique Álvarez de Toledo y Enríquez, 2nd Duke of Alba looked on at the rolling waves as a ship neared the docks of Santander, a port city in northern Spain. There, in that boat now anchoring, was his Emperor, his King, back from acquiring the imperial crown for himself. It was a great honour to have been chosen to receive the King, whom he had not seen in two years, and one that he bore with pride as he stood in the harbour of Santander.

    His grandson stood behind him, arms folded behind his back. Fernando had just turned fifteen and was heir to all of his titles, as his father and Fadrique’s son had died when he was just three years old. Fadrique had assumed his guardianship after that, as well as that of his siblings, and had the boy near him at all times. One of his fondest memories was when he took Fernando, aged just six, with him on a military mission to capture Navarre for the King’s grandfather, Ferdinand of Aragon.

    To have the boy with him now was also a sign of careful planning, as he hoped the King would accept Fernando as one of his personal grooms, arranging a possible friendship between the two, who were not of so different ages.

    And so, when the Emperor left his ship and set foot on Spain once again, Fadrique took a deep bow, cautious as to show the utmost respect to his King-Emperor, his liege. He saw from the corner of his eye as Fernando did the same, and all of the others who were with them, such as knights and grooms who were deemed worthy of welcoming His Imperial Majesty.

    “Arise, my lord,” said the Emperor, coming closer to them. Fadrique straightened himself and would have smiled to his liege had his attentions not been captured by the woman on the arm of Charles of Austria.

    She was a small and thin woman, with heart-shaped lips and a long nose. Her eyes were very dark, to the point of Fadrique not being able to distinguish her pupil from her iris, and pulled him in as she smiled. Her dress was made in the French fashion, a glittering gown of dark blue embroidered with sapphires and diamonds, and she wore a bejewelled French hood on her head. He could see the front of her carefully brushed hair, which was of a tone of rich dark brown. She was not a woman he was familiar with, but there was something about her, something about the way her chin was raised and how the ring on her finger glittered as the sunlight hit it that told him to be careful.

    “Your Imperial Majesty,” Fadrique said, bowing once more. When he turned to the woman, he only nodded with his head, as he did not know who she was, “Madame.”

    She did not curtsy to him, as most women did when meeting the premier noble of Castile, and that told him to be very careful. Perhaps she was a mistress, acquired in Burgundy, where the French and Dutch ways are so easily mixed. Mistresses are so easily vain and proud. Charles of Austria had many mistresses before and respect had to be paid to them accordingly, lest one wished to lose the King’s favour. The most memorable of them was Germaine de Foix, of course, who had once been married to the Emperor’s grandfather and bore him a bastard daughter she insisted on calling Infanta Isabel.

    But this one could be just as memorable, as seen from the way she was already acting. High and proud, as if no false movement could cause her to fall from Charles’ side.

    “Fadrique of Alba,” said the Emperor with a large and proud smile on his wife, “Meet my wife and your queen. Ana Bolena.”

    Despite his initial shock at the news, Fadrique still had enough sense in him to bow to the Queen and kiss her offered hand, whispering, “Your Majesty.”

    As he did so, he could not stop thinking. Married? And to an adult woman? But how could this be? As far as he knew, the King was betrothed to Princess Mary Tudor, daughter of the English King and Catalina de Aragón. It should be she on his arm, not this Anne Boleyn. Or, if not her because of her age, then Isabella of Portugal, who could give him children immediately.

    The Cortes had advised the King for years, since he arrived on Spanish soil, to take a wife with Iberian blood, to strengthen his fledgeling ties to the land, but what had he done? What had he done?
    Click to expand...
    This is shaping up to be an interesting arrival for Anne. Can’t wait to see how the broader scope of the HRE responds to Anne’s very impressive climb in rank. The court gossip will no doubt be juicy.
     

    Cate13

    Nice! Also, I quite like Anne's name in Spanish. So, does anyone know if Anne picked up Spanish while she was in the Netherlands? I'm assuming Margaret spoke Spanish, and if Anne was childhood friends with Charles, I feel like there's a good chance she would speak Spanish.
     

    Dolnikan

    This certainly is an interesting arrival, and I feel sorry for poor Alba. He has to find a way to get this all to work, but at least he didn't say anything ill-advised.
     
    Awkwardvulture

    Awkwardvulture

    Oh my, the reaction among his subjects promises to be interesting, though I trust that outright revolts are unlikely. I quite like Ana Bolena, it sounds almost musical.. Great chapter!
     
    pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Cate13 said:
    Nice! Also, I quite like Anne's name in Spanish. So, does anyone know if Anne picked up Spanish while she was in the Netherlands? I'm assuming Margaret spoke Spanish, and if Anne was childhood friends with Charles, I feel like there's a good chance she would speak Spanish.
    Click to expand...
    Anne's name in spanish (and portuguese) sort of rhymes and it's the reason I fell in love with her, because my english teacher once told us about her and I was like ANA BOLENA?

    and I dont think anne would speak spanish. Like Charles, she has to learn it
     
    FalconHonour

    FalconHonour

    Haha! This is fantastic! The cat is well and truly among the pigeons now, isn't it?

    I love how matter of fact Charles was and just how much Alba's head was whirling in contrast...
     
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