An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
I’m getting the vibes that he’ll perish in battle. On the bright side, we’ll get Francois II and Queen Marie of England!
I get the feeling that Francis will have a rather... mixed success, with how thin he's stretching his forces, not to mention he's also provoking the English by going after the Netherlands, I look forward to seeing how this goes!
I have mixed feelings in regard of Navarra, I have always detested Ferdinand unjust usurpation of Upper Navarra.
He can't win on both sides now, can he?
Well, people in Europe are very much going, "What? He declared war on the Emperor because he was distracted with his daughter's funeral?... Huh."
I do consider myself to have a soft spot for Navarre, no matter what that means.
Family Tree - Oldenburg
Hans II of Denmark (June 1521-) m. Dorothea of Denmark (November 1520-)
- Frederik, Hereditary Prince of Norway (January 1536-) b. Margaret of England (May 1533-)
- Elisabeth of Denmark (February 1537-) b. Gustav Vasa (1534-)
- Ludvig of Denmark (May 1538 -)
- Dorothea of Denmark (June 1540-)
- Sophie of Denmark (December 1541-)
Last edited:
Good to see that Hans and Dorothea have been busy. Both Dorothea and Sophie would be of right age for little Prince William
30th of August, 1542.
Chapter first posted on my patreon on 02/03/2023.
Dijon, Burgundy. 30th of August, 1542.
Juan walked slowly through the field, the armour heavy on his aching body. His entire frame was sore, his legs straining under all the weight of both his armour and his own weight. It had been a bloodbath, a clear victory for them, but still. He could feel a deep pull in his back, a ringing in his ears after a Frenchman tried to knock his head about. And that wasn’t the only thing weighing on him.
He sent four thousand people to their deaths that day. Three thousand and six hundred Frenchmen, with the remaining four hundred men of their army either lingering between the two realms or dragged in chains back to the city. And nearly five hundred of his own men, the ragtag group of soldiers, knights and archers that he could amass in the weeks preceding the invasion, when all they had heard were whispers of an army coming to Burgundy. Juan had to thank the ten cannons he managed to buy, or construct during those weeks, for his victory. Without them, there was no way two thousand and five hundred Burgundians could defeat four thousand Frenchmen. The weight was clear to him, as he observed the dying bodies outside his city when four thousand Frenchmen came to take it for themselves.
Juan disliked war, had a distaste for it, but when the French came to try and take his inheritance, he had to do something about it. How could he call himself the Duke of Burgundy if he did not hold Burgundy proper? He shook his head and walked away from the field, back to his horse.
There was the smell of death in the air, and the slow decay as survivors were brought back to Dijon. Those who had fought for them would be treated for their injuries, rewarded for their bravery, but their enemies… Juan did not even want to think about it.
He rode as fast as the wind, crossing through the field in his eager desire to return to the city. Juan spent half of his year in Dijon, the other half in Flanders and he was very lucky to be in Burgundy when the French came. Who knew what might have happened if he were visiting the Low Countries?
There was a hot bath waiting for him in the ducal palace, and a warm meal, but Juan was tired. Exhausted, really. He was sixteen only, with blonde hair matted with blood and blue eyes that had seen things. He wasn’t just a boy. After today, he was a man.
When he returned to his rooms, Juan found Katharina van Hanau standing by the window, clutching a rosary in her pale hands. The door closed noisily and she turned, looking at him with wide eyes. Katharina was only a year older than him, with bright red hair hidden under her white cap, and blue eyes that seemed to fill with tears when she looked at him.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, running to him with open arms. Juan received her tight embrace, burying his head in the curve of her neck. “When they told me you had gone to war, I was so worried. I prayed for you the entire day.”
He had risen with the sun, prepared his men and gone to war. He would not let men die in his name without doing anything about it. Katharina was not as early a riser as he was, so it made sense that she would worry and ask around when she woke up without him in the bed.
He leaned back, arms wrapped around her waist. “I'm sorry for leaving you." He stroked her arms. "But the French will not bother us again. Today’s victory was decisive, as I’m sure my councillors will tell me in the morning.” He smiled. “We have even captured the Duke of Montmorency and he will fetch a fine ransom from King Francis.”
Katharina smiled brightly and pressed a kiss to his lips, their tongues tangling together. Juan groaned, stroking her back as he pulled her closer, but just as quickly as their kiss started, she leaned away. “Send my husband to Paris,” she said with an arched brow. “Let him seal the deal. It will allow us many weeks of bliss away from him, and he will be pleased to serve you.”
Juan took a deep breath. “I will have to talk with my father first,” he said. “I can’t act without his blessing, you know that.”
Katharina nodded, satisfied with his words.
“I do,” she murmured, “But if the Emperor allows it, will His Grace do it?”
He nodded. “If my father allows me to negotiate the release without his oversight, then Johann may negotiate the Duke’s release.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I swear it.” Katharina smiled and kissed him again, this time without any intention to stop.
--
Felipe walked behind his father, the Emperor limping on a cane. He maintained his hands clasped behind his back, feet quick to keep up, because, although his father was a sickly man in his forties, he was still very fast. Cardinal Tavera, the Duke of Alba, and the Duke of Gandía walked alongside them, all of whom had come to Granada for María’s funeral and now had to prepare for war.
“I want every available man to march to the Pyrenees,” he declared. “My grandfather conquered Navarre and the Treaty of Cambrai sealed the division. Francis, that devilish dog, is breaking our terms of peace.” He shook his head, furious. “I want my horse saddled and my household prepared to leave for Valladolid before the end of the week. Tonight, by all I care!” He stopped and pointed to his son. “Felipe, you are my son. Whatever claim I might have over Navarre is your inheritance. Do you understand me?"
"I do," he said. It was not the moment for filial rebellion, Felipe knew it. Not when there were lives on the line and his father looked about ready to burst with nerves. "What can I do, father?"
"You must go to the north," his father declared. "Those are your lands. Amass an army that can serve as our reinforcements.”
"With your permission, I'd like to go with the Prince, Your Majesty," said Luis Hurtado de Mendoza, who was the godfather to Felipe's second daughter and his old guardian, who had taught him all that he needed to be a Castilian prince. The Emperor waved a hand, as if the matter wasn’t important to him, and scratched nervously the skin over his brow.
“This is terrible,” he admitted in a low voice. “Infanta Juana is scheduled to leave for Vienna in March and with this war, there is no money left to pay the dowry I agreed with the King of Hungary.” Felipe had the sin of overhearing, but he knew well that his father and uncle had agreed on a dowry of 300,000 crowns for his sister. It was enough to pay for her household while she lived with Maximilian before they could arrange fiefs and lands that would pay taxes to her. The Emperor looked at the Duke of Alba, who was an old friend of his. “Ferdinand will not accept her without a dowry. He is at war too.”
“The marriage can be delayed until the war is finished, Your Majesty,” said the Duke of Gandía. The Emperor shook his head.
“No, this marriage was arranged to strengthen our blood, to strengthen the two branches of the family and draw us closer,” he said. “I will not offend my brother, but I can't exactly send her naked."
Felipe spoke almost without wanting to, "I can pay the dowry, father.” All eyes turned to him.
“What?” his father said, frowning.
“I have the money.” He shrugged. “I can pay the dowry.”
"How do you have 300,000 crowns in liquid assets?" the Emperor asked with a deep frown, as if about to accuse his own son of stealing from him.
"My own lands are wealthy, father," said Felipe. He was nineteen and had been caring for his own money since the age of fourteen. As Prince of Asturias and Girona, Felipe had extensive lands around his father's expensive kingdoms. And an allowance of 5,000 a year by each of the different cortes that served Castile, León and Aragon. He also had inherited some of the lands allotted to his mother to maintain her household. All of which he had managed skillfully in the five years since he was declared of legal age. “I was tutored in finances during my boyhood years, as was the insistence of my lady mother.”
His father looked ready to question him, but there were more pressing matters to attend. “Very well,” he said. “Keep that money secure, for in March, it will be essential to your sister’s happiness. Do you understand me?” When Felipe nodded, his father pointed at him. “And when this war is over, you and I are going to have an important talk about this money. Do you hear me, boy?”
Felipe was nineteen. He wasn’t a boy any longer. But still, he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Dijon, Burgundy. 30th of August, 1542.
Juan walked slowly through the field, the armour heavy on his aching body. His entire frame was sore, his legs straining under all the weight of both his armour and his own weight. It had been a bloodbath, a clear victory for them, but still. He could feel a deep pull in his back, a ringing in his ears after a Frenchman tried to knock his head about. And that wasn’t the only thing weighing on him.
He sent four thousand people to their deaths that day. Three thousand and six hundred Frenchmen, with the remaining four hundred men of their army either lingering between the two realms or dragged in chains back to the city. And nearly five hundred of his own men, the ragtag group of soldiers, knights and archers that he could amass in the weeks preceding the invasion, when all they had heard were whispers of an army coming to Burgundy. Juan had to thank the ten cannons he managed to buy, or construct during those weeks, for his victory. Without them, there was no way two thousand and five hundred Burgundians could defeat four thousand Frenchmen. The weight was clear to him, as he observed the dying bodies outside his city when four thousand Frenchmen came to take it for themselves.
Juan disliked war, had a distaste for it, but when the French came to try and take his inheritance, he had to do something about it. How could he call himself the Duke of Burgundy if he did not hold Burgundy proper? He shook his head and walked away from the field, back to his horse.
There was the smell of death in the air, and the slow decay as survivors were brought back to Dijon. Those who had fought for them would be treated for their injuries, rewarded for their bravery, but their enemies… Juan did not even want to think about it.
He rode as fast as the wind, crossing through the field in his eager desire to return to the city. Juan spent half of his year in Dijon, the other half in Flanders and he was very lucky to be in Burgundy when the French came. Who knew what might have happened if he were visiting the Low Countries?
There was a hot bath waiting for him in the ducal palace, and a warm meal, but Juan was tired. Exhausted, really. He was sixteen only, with blonde hair matted with blood and blue eyes that had seen things. He wasn’t just a boy. After today, he was a man.
When he returned to his rooms, Juan found Katharina van Hanau standing by the window, clutching a rosary in her pale hands. The door closed noisily and she turned, looking at him with wide eyes. Katharina was only a year older than him, with bright red hair hidden under her white cap, and blue eyes that seemed to fill with tears when she looked at him.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, running to him with open arms. Juan received her tight embrace, burying his head in the curve of her neck. “When they told me you had gone to war, I was so worried. I prayed for you the entire day.”
He had risen with the sun, prepared his men and gone to war. He would not let men die in his name without doing anything about it. Katharina was not as early a riser as he was, so it made sense that she would worry and ask around when she woke up without him in the bed.
He leaned back, arms wrapped around her waist. “I'm sorry for leaving you." He stroked her arms. "But the French will not bother us again. Today’s victory was decisive, as I’m sure my councillors will tell me in the morning.” He smiled. “We have even captured the Duke of Montmorency and he will fetch a fine ransom from King Francis.”
Katharina smiled brightly and pressed a kiss to his lips, their tongues tangling together. Juan groaned, stroking her back as he pulled her closer, but just as quickly as their kiss started, she leaned away. “Send my husband to Paris,” she said with an arched brow. “Let him seal the deal. It will allow us many weeks of bliss away from him, and he will be pleased to serve you.”
Juan took a deep breath. “I will have to talk with my father first,” he said. “I can’t act without his blessing, you know that.”
Katharina nodded, satisfied with his words.
“I do,” she murmured, “But if the Emperor allows it, will His Grace do it?”
He nodded. “If my father allows me to negotiate the release without his oversight, then Johann may negotiate the Duke’s release.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I swear it.” Katharina smiled and kissed him again, this time without any intention to stop.
--
Alhambra Palace, Granada. 7th of September, 1542.
Felipe walked behind his father, the Emperor limping on a cane. He maintained his hands clasped behind his back, feet quick to keep up, because, although his father was a sickly man in his forties, he was still very fast. Cardinal Tavera, the Duke of Alba, and the Duke of Gandía walked alongside them, all of whom had come to Granada for María’s funeral and now had to prepare for war.
“I want every available man to march to the Pyrenees,” he declared. “My grandfather conquered Navarre and the Treaty of Cambrai sealed the division. Francis, that devilish dog, is breaking our terms of peace.” He shook his head, furious. “I want my horse saddled and my household prepared to leave for Valladolid before the end of the week. Tonight, by all I care!” He stopped and pointed to his son. “Felipe, you are my son. Whatever claim I might have over Navarre is your inheritance. Do you understand me?"
"I do," he said. It was not the moment for filial rebellion, Felipe knew it. Not when there were lives on the line and his father looked about ready to burst with nerves. "What can I do, father?"
"You must go to the north," his father declared. "Those are your lands. Amass an army that can serve as our reinforcements.”
"With your permission, I'd like to go with the Prince, Your Majesty," said Luis Hurtado de Mendoza, who was the godfather to Felipe's second daughter and his old guardian, who had taught him all that he needed to be a Castilian prince. The Emperor waved a hand, as if the matter wasn’t important to him, and scratched nervously the skin over his brow.
“This is terrible,” he admitted in a low voice. “Infanta Juana is scheduled to leave for Vienna in March and with this war, there is no money left to pay the dowry I agreed with the King of Hungary.” Felipe had the sin of overhearing, but he knew well that his father and uncle had agreed on a dowry of 300,000 crowns for his sister. It was enough to pay for her household while she lived with Maximilian before they could arrange fiefs and lands that would pay taxes to her. The Emperor looked at the Duke of Alba, who was an old friend of his. “Ferdinand will not accept her without a dowry. He is at war too.”
“The marriage can be delayed until the war is finished, Your Majesty,” said the Duke of Gandía. The Emperor shook his head.
“No, this marriage was arranged to strengthen our blood, to strengthen the two branches of the family and draw us closer,” he said. “I will not offend my brother, but I can't exactly send her naked."
Felipe spoke almost without wanting to, "I can pay the dowry, father.” All eyes turned to him.
“What?” his father said, frowning.
“I have the money.” He shrugged. “I can pay the dowry.”
"How do you have 300,000 crowns in liquid assets?" the Emperor asked with a deep frown, as if about to accuse his own son of stealing from him.
"My own lands are wealthy, father," said Felipe. He was nineteen and had been caring for his own money since the age of fourteen. As Prince of Asturias and Girona, Felipe had extensive lands around his father's expensive kingdoms. And an allowance of 5,000 a year by each of the different cortes that served Castile, León and Aragon. He also had inherited some of the lands allotted to his mother to maintain her household. All of which he had managed skillfully in the five years since he was declared of legal age. “I was tutored in finances during my boyhood years, as was the insistence of my lady mother.”
His father looked ready to question him, but there were more pressing matters to attend. “Very well,” he said. “Keep that money secure, for in March, it will be essential to your sister’s happiness. Do you understand me?” When Felipe nodded, his father pointed at him. “And when this war is over, you and I are going to have an important talk about this money. Do you hear me, boy?”
Felipe was nineteen. He wasn’t a boy any longer. But still, he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Philip and Juan are really proving their mettle here. I'm so proud of them both!
Charles, you had money problems all your life, costantly idepting with bankers, be glad your son will not.
and his grandfather philip... and his father charles...
I think Charles is like 'YOU HAVE MONEY? I'M YOUR DAD. GIVE IT TO ME.'
May the lord have mercy on Juan if he acts like Philip did with Juana once Bessie arrives