An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Yes. I figured since I allowed Charles to conquer Burgundy, he should lose something to make it fair. Navarre felt like the most obvious choice.
Awww, Amalie seems to be happy with Gustav despite the age difference, good for her, even if she may end up becoming a young widow one day. It seems that Navarre has been retaken from Spanish occupation, a good victory for Francis, but I suppose we'll see how long it will remain independent.
So good to see Felipe home where he belongs and on a path to reconcile with his father, if the moving words Charles spouted reached Felipe’s heart.
Navarre for Burgundy is not a bad trade. Henri gets the kingdom that’s actually his birthright and Juan defended his hereditary birthright from his grandfather. All things are as they should be.
I did hope it would end this way. Ferdinand II usurpation of Upper Navarra always bothered me. On the other side Louis XI partially did the same in Burgundy and that was wrong too.
Yes and also: it is not the senior line in either place that has this lands. It is Charles' second son who holds Burgundy, and Francis' brother-in-law in Navarre.
23rd of October, 1543.
Dijon, Burgundy. 23rd of October, 1543.
Everywhere she went, Bessie led with her belly now. She was so large and fat that she more resembled a monster than a woman, her feet having grown to the size of boats. Her nose was so fat too, so round and ugly. And whenever she looked at her back, it looked as if someone had shoved a pillow under her clothes. And after the baby quickened, it seemed he did little else than kick her insides, little chubby feet shoved under her ribs or in her loins.
The doctors said she would give birth in early December, but Bessie was already sick of being pregnant. Maybe if this boy were the Emperor’s first grandson in the male-line, she would have endured it with a smile upon her face, but Infante Carlos had been born only days after she first realised she was expecting. That had been quite the disappointment. If she were not meant to be Queen of Spain, then she wanted to be the mother of the Emperor’s heir, a title that her cousin Joana took from her.
It was such a sadness that something as delightful as her marital duties resulted in something as miserable as pregnancy. Bessie enjoyed being with her husband, because as of late, that seemed to be the only place where they could find an agreement. She wanted to attend his council meetings and travel with him to speak with merchants of the Low Countries, but he seemed to see her as little else than a broodmare. Like the King of Scotland did with his empty-headed German wife. And his councillors ignored her when she gave them orders, as if she were not their duchess. As if she were not Henry of England’s daughter, a woman who had once been considered heir to her brother’s kingdom before he married her old servant.
But she would show him. She would show them all.
“Alice,” Bessie said to one of her maids, struggling to sit up with her enlarged midsection, “Find me my silver slippers. I will perform my rounds today.”
Alice, a brown-eyed girl from Dover, stared at her in shock. “But the Duke said it would be best for you to remain abed before the birth!”
“Do you respond to the Duke or to me?” Bessie responded, her eyes burning with blue flames so hot that Alice whimpered. “Find me my slippers, I will not say it again.” Her maid nodded with an apologetic glance, running off to do as she ordered. Another maid helped Bessie stand up from her bed, strong arms supporting her.
The Duchess of Burgundy kept her hands in her belly as she walked out of her apartments, wondering how her mother managed to do this so many times. The Dowager Queen of England had as many as six pregnancies before her husband died, though only her three daughters had outlived their father. Bessie thought babies had to be beautiful, or incredible in some unspoken way, otherwise no one would continue breeding.
She knew Juan would be having a meal at this moment and he liked to invite trusted members of his court to join him, those few that made the trek every year between the Low Countries and Burgundy. Thus, Bessie walked to the smaller hall inside the ducal palace, searching for her husband.
But when the doors opened to let her in, there was no way to mistake the scene. Juan was sitting in his prime seat at the head of the table, surrounded by his sycophants and lickspittles. Normally, the seat next to him was reserved for his wife and had to stay empty when she wasn’t present, but there was a woman sitting there. Tall, with breasts fit to burst from her low decolletage, red hair bound up in rings under a simple white hood.
The woman was bringing a piece of cake to his mouth, laughing and Juan ate it ravenously, staring at the woman with lust-filled eyes. Not even noticing her presence there, despite the others present standing up to bow for their duchess. The duchess that wasn’t even looking at them, eyes focused on the woman flirting so shamelessly with her husband.
Bessie recognized her at once. Katharina van Hanau, the Countess of Wied. Her younger half-brother Willem was the new Prince of Orange. Their mother was Juan’s old governess. Someone unimportant, in the grand scheme of things. As she looked at them, Juan tugged at Katharina’s ear and leaned in for a kiss, curling his fingers at the back of her pale neck.
That was enough for her. Despite her size and her clumsiness, her anger and offence made her move fast, so fast that she could barely realise what she was doing. There were many glasses of wine on the table, Burgundy was famed for their vineyards, for their red vintages. It was a pity to waste them, a greater pity to risk her child by acting so foolishly, but Bessie didn’t care. She ran, grabbing the first cup she found to throw it in Katharina’s face.
A reddish purple bloomed in her white hood, spilling down her white skin to stain her cream dress. So much cream, so much white. One would almost think her a virgin. Glass shattered at her feet and Bessie threw herself forward, long nails scratching the whore’s round cheek, her fingers grabbing her hair, everywhere she could reach. Her throat started burning, used raw and she must have been screaming, though she would never remember what she said.
Strong arms curled around her waist, pulling her away from the whore. They were mindful of her belly, the child kicking wildly inside of her and she continued screaming, continuing throwing herself forward. Bessie didn’t know if it were guards dragging her, or Juan’s nobles, or even her husband. They took her away, dragged her back to her rooms where her maids were shocked to see her state. Hair pulled out from its respectful bun, cheeks red, Katharina’s red curls clutched in her fist.
She was placed on the ground, with Juan, her handsome betraying husband, looking over at her as the doors closed. They were left alone. Bessie sagged weakly against her bed, the wooden columns supporting her body.
“You will apologise to the Countess,” he told her, his expression one of both anger and disappointment.
Bessie laughed. “You want me to apologise to your little whore?” She laughed again. “I’d sooner pluck my own eyes out.”
“You prideful little fool,” Juan said, shaking his head. “You embarrassed yourself and you embarrassed me in front of good honest men!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking the part of an exasperated father. “Be thankful that you have are with child, for I have persuaded them to consider your delicate condition and I would advise you to behave appropriately for your station in the future!”
“You betrayed me! I’m a princess of England! You had my place occupied by that whore and you expect me to—“
“I will hear no talk of whores,” he interrupted her, walking to her. “The Countess has been a dear comfort to me these years past and I will continue to enjoy her company as long as it is my desire to do so. You must remember that I have my own needs to be fulfilled and when you are incapacitated, I will fill them elsewhere as is only my right. Did you expect me to abstain for months on end when every moment before you announced my son’s imminent arrival, I had you as often as I could?”
She straightened up, her blood boiling. “I expect my husband to be loyal to me!” she bellowed. “I expect him to not parade whores in my place when my belly is doing its business for the good of his damned duchy! I expect treatment befitting a princess—“
“You are no longer a Princess of England!” Juan responded, face red. “You are the Duchess of Burgundy and you are my wife! I expect obedience and faithfulness as you swore to me in our marriage vows! How is it that your brother received an English rose and I received a thorny bitch?”
The slap rang through the air, and for a moment, neither was sure who had struck first. Bessie’s hand stung something terrible, the white skin a sudden pink, but the evident mark was on her husband’s cheek as his eyes darkened and he grabbed her offending wrist. He pulled on her, his grip so unforgiving that her arm burned, but she let out not a peep of pain. Nothing, only staring up at him.
“You will return to your bed and you will stay there. I will graciously forgive you for all that has been said and done, as you are only a woman confused by my son growing in her belly.” His voice was cold, and his lips against her open palm offered little comfort for his hand gripping her wrist like a vice. “I hope that your confinement allows you much contemplation on your new station as my wife and duchess, and you make your peace with this humiliating demotion from princess.”
“I’m not in confinement yet,” she replied, tilting up her chin.
“You are,” he said. Juan took a deep breath. “From this moment forward, you are in your confinement. It’s clear that the child has confused your thoughts too much to allow you to remain within polite company.”
He threw her wrist away from him then, as if holding it a moment longer was the most abhorrent idea. Bessie sagged against the column again, too weak to hold her own body. Straightening up, he looked down at her imperiously and gave a curt nod to her bed.
“I will send in a doctor to check that my son has not been agitated by your outburst,” he said as she brought her wrist to her chest, cradling the smarting limb. His cheek grew redder and redder with the force of her slap, “And to see to any damage your lashing out has done to your wrist. I pray you’ll forgive my departure, I have guests to attend to. You will not be alone, however. I will be appointing appropriate maids to your household to occupy your time and cheer you in my absence.” He turned to walk away, directing himself to the door.
“I have maids,” Bessie retorted.
Juan stopped and turned to look at her. “Appropriate maids from the Low Countries,” he said. “The English ladies must return, unfortunately, to serve your brother’s wife. Or one of your sisters. Or your mother. Frankly, I do not care where they go.” He tilted his head slightly, as if taking pity upon her. “It has already been decided that you may keep your confessor, but he is to be the only Englishman in your retinue. England is dead to you now. Bury it and you might find some peace here.”
He closed the door behind him. After a moment, her strengths regained, Bessie straightened up and ran to it, eager to find him and get the last word. However, no matter how much she tried to open it, or how much she struggled and pulled, the door remained closed. Locked, with her trapped inside.
Lord almighty bessie's gonna be locked away in a burgundian version of tordesillas if this continues, also juan's mom would be disgraced of him for treating his own english wife like this
Not just his mother - his father, brother, uncle, and cousin whom Juan clearly did not learn from in the matrimonial department!
Anne Boleyn would be ashamed of Juan. I hope someone kick his ass for this abysmal behaviour.