An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
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Oh, poor Juana's life is finally at an end. At least her grandchildren were there, and she doesn't have to outlive anyone else. What a lovely scene, I loved it, Izzy!
Another one of the old guard is gone - Now Charles can finally abdicate and live the rest of his life in peace
28th of August, 1554.
Castello Sforzesco, Milan. 28th of August, 1554.
Caterina de’ Medici watched the mournful procession of men in the Emperor’s livery, the great carriages swathed in black bearing mournful ladies-in-waiting. Servants with downcast eyes. It almost made her want to roll her eyes. The Mad Queen of Castile and Aragon was dead, finally mouldering alongside the husband she faithfully clung to decades beyond his death.
She grimaced to think that the woman's great-grandchild would rule alongside her precious Paolo, as much as she did when she was forced to recall her own husband was the madwoman’s grandson. It mattered little though. Paolo was a Medici in all but name, the blood of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and he would do great things for Milan.
She looked at him and smiled, her son, a man grown at sixteen and handsome as his father had been, with eyes as dark as onyx and hair to match. He was tall and proud, looking even older for the dark mourning clothes he wore and the fledgling beard on his slightly protruding chin. It was a strong chin for a strong man.
A gilded carriage came to a halt in the courtyard before all of them, and the very air stood still as Luisa de Austria stepped out.
Caterina sniffed slightly, appraising the girl. She was a small thing. Delicate, and shorter even than Caterina herself. Pale, but not worryingly so. Her face was long, her hair a light ruddy brown that fell as straight as a pin down her shoulders and back. Her eyes were blue, a deep blue to match the sky above them, and Caterina felt her back stiffen as she noticed they held Paolo’s gaze.
The girl carefully bowed in time with the Milanese court, and Paolo stepped down from Caterina’s side to take the hand of his intended, pressing a kiss to the delicate fingers as he quietly bid her welcome. They talked in intimate whispers, and Caterina remembered the hundreds of letters sent back and forth between the two over the years past.
The girl was only fourteen and had already entranced Paolo from afar. She smiled at him, soft and sweet, her eyes hooking him in deeper still. Paolo leaned down, as if desperate to be closer to her, to hold her in his embrace. Caterina was suddenly thankful for her son’s insistence on observing mourning. The wedding had been delayed by a month. She could still recover.
The girl held his arm, confident as Paolo led her back up the steps and stopped before her. “Luisa, it is so wonderful to finally introduce you to my mother, Caterina de’ Medici, Dowager Duchess of Milan.”
The girl looked at Caterina and smiled graciously. Caterina smiled in turn, careful with so many eyes upon her. She gently pried the girl off of Paolo’s arm and took her on her own, her fingers digging into the little mouse’s wrist. She hoped it might break.
“Be welcome. I’m certain you will bring much joy to this court, once we have observed the proper mourning for the great Queen of Castile and Aragon.” She leaned in, so that only the girl might hear her. “Please, do not hesitate to come to me if you find anything not to your satisfaction.”
“You are too kind, mother.” The little archduchess grimaced slightly and Caterina released her grip, smiling amiably.
“You needn’t call me that, dear girl. Donna Caterina will do nicely.”
--
Vienna, Austria. 30th of August, 1554.
Juanita raised her head as the door opened behind her, quick and familiar steps entering her room. She looked at her altar and crossed herself, careful to stand up with her belly pending forward. She was to give birth only in January, but Juanita found herself easily gaining weight with each successive pregnancy, especially after the twins and this one was no different.
Max approached her carefully. “You’re still awake?” he asked her. “In your condition, I thought it best to rest as often as possible.”
“I can’t sleep,” Juanita admitted. She looked at her husband and cousin and he walked to her, extending a hand forward to caress her belly. She smiled sadly and the child kicked him, though it was too weak for him to feel. Unlike her, who could recognize the signs of movement of the baby inside her. “I keep thinking of our poor and dear grandmother.”
“What happened to her will not happen to you,” said Max. “You’re not mad.”
Juanita shook her head. “She was never mad, but misunderstood.” She remembered well the visits that her mother arranged for them to see their grandmother. She liked to play with them, and see that they were studying well, that they were healthy. She loved them. “They locked her away from the world so as to steal her throne.” Her face crumbled. “She was a king’s daughter, a king’s wife, a king’s mother.”
“Juana.” Max cupped her face. “The tragedies of our ancestors are not ours to pay for.”
“She is dead,” Juanita murmured, tears flowing down her eyes. “Mi abuela.” Her husband embraced her then, kissing the side of her face and Juanita allowed herself to be weak. To cry on his shoulder as she thought about her poor grandmother. When she felt calm again, she looked at Max, who was stroking her face gently. “Our grandmother… She suffered more than most women.”
“It was because of her father,” said Max. “He couldn’t handle the loss of Castile and committed a great crime towards his own flesh and blood, but he is gone. Dead.”
“I suppose that is a poor comfort,” she said. “Promise me something, my love.” She gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him close and he nodded earnestly. “No matter what, if you outlive me or not, you won’t treat our daughters the same way. Even if they are mad, even if they are insane.”
“I promise,” he said. He kissed her then. “I promise, I promise to all the saints. I promise on the Virgin herself.”
Juanita nodded, believing him. “There is another thing,” she murmured. “Not just my fear for our girls, but a fear for ourselves.”
“What is it?” Max asked. “Tell me, and allow me to assuage your fears.”
“Our grandmother’s death may change everything between the family’s branches,” said Juanita. “Our fathers have barely spoken since the damned inheritance problems. I wonder… will their mother’s death bring them closer? Or tear them apart once and for all?”
Max said nothing and that was how Juanita knew he didn’t know either.
Damn Caterina might be more like her monster-in-law than she thinks, hopefully, she doesn't meet the same fate one day...
Well, it seems that the Sforza court will remain a viper's nest for the foreseeable future. I wonder if there'll ever be a good relationship between the in-laws at court
It's nice to see that some of Juana's grandchildren understand that she was mistreated severely
It's nice to see that some of Juana's grandchildren understand that she was mistreated severely
Ramontxo
Donor
I know of the Lady by reading Dumas and, if I don't miss remember, she is portrayed as having abandoned everyone who helped her in her misfortunes. So completely alone when the wheel turned again and, once more, she found herself in "Dire Straits"*
*wonderful group that helped me with an particular idiom...
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2nd of September, 1554.
Flanders, Low Countries. 2nd of September, 1554.
“It’s a good likeness,” Anne declared behind him, a hand on his shoulder. “Is it not?”
Charles stared at the large painting before him, taller than him and wider than life. It was his family, at least himself, Anne and their children. All of his children painted according to other miniatures and sketches made by Titian, since the Dutch painter had never met Felipe, Catalina, Margarita or María. Or even Anne herself, but Charles twisted his lips, displeased.
“There is something wrong,” he said. “Eduardo’s hair was darker than that, I’m certain.” He pointed at the black strands painted on his youngest son's likeness, the boy painted at the same age he died.
“I think it’s correct,” Anne said. “There is no darker paint, my love. And it’s been nine years since Eduardo came to me. Your memory may be failing.”
“No,” said Charles. “Never.” He couldn’t admit the possibility of forgetting his son’s hair colour, or even anything about it. “The painter is wrong, I’m sure of it.”
“My love, the painting is not the problem,” Anne said. She stroked the back of his head and he turned to look at her face, which remained just as young and healthy as he remembered. “Why do you surround yourself with these paintings? Of myself, of our lost children. And these clocks…” She pointed at all of the clocks that surrounded him, perhaps two dozen of them. Ticking and moving towards an end. “Why do you do this?”
“It’s time,” he murmured. “What I have been waiting for for years has happened. My mother is dead and I may finally rest. To seclude myself away from all the politics and gossip that have plagued me for over thirty years.”
Anne smiled sadly, knowing well that he wouldn’t risk his immortal soul by ending his life earlier. “Once, you told me you’d never abdicate,” she said. “You told me God trusted you to inherit your grandparents’ dominions and rule them until the day of your death.”
“That was before,” said Charles. “Before your death.”
“My death should not signify your end,” she murmured. “I may be dead, but I’m at peace.”
“And that is what I want too,” he said. “Peace under the Spanish sun.” He shook his head. “When our son Juan came of age, I gave him the rules over the Low Countries, then inherited by his son, Archduke Philippe. Now it is time for the Empire and Spain to be given over to their respective heirs as well.”
“Why?” Anne asked. Charles grasped her hands, which were cold, but still soft.
“You were an Empress, my empress,” he said. “The Queen of Queens.” Her black eyes pulled him in, like dark hooks for his soul. Charles could see his own face reflected in her pupils. “Why should I enjoy the honours and riches of the Empire while you’re cold and rotting in your grave?”
“What is this guilt?” she asked. “All this time, all these years and you still blame yourself for my death? For María and Eduardo? Margarita and Juan?”
“It is my fault,” he said. “Margarita and Juan inherited their sickness from me.” Tears burned in his eyes. “María was too weak to be married and Eduardo… If I had paid more attention to him, if I had been a better father, he would still be here.” His son had asked him to come with him, for the two to ride together after the snow fell. But Charles refused. He was too busy and now his son was dead, and he was still alive. “I failed them, just as I failed you.”
“Is that really what you think?” she asked. “We lived the lives God intended for us. It’s no one’s fault and especially not yours.” She smiled, the same gentle smile that he would kill to see again.
“Your kind heart forbids you from seeing the truth,” he said.
Anne looked at him, really looked at him. “If this is your penance, then do so,” she said. “Abdicate and live out the rest of your days in peace, until the time comes for you to be with me.” Her smile grew brighter. “I’m waiting for you.”
---
Madrid, Castile. 10th of September, 1554.
Felipe held the paper in his hands, his heart racing deep in his chest. Joana stood beside him, reading in tandem with him, reaching the same conclusion as he did. The idea that this couldn’t be possible and yet, with the flick of a quill, his father had done it. He had transformed everything.
“Can he do this?” Joana asked him. “Abdicate Naples and Sicily like that?” Felipe looked at his wife.
“He can and he did,” he said. “Naples is a papal fiefdom and since the sack, the Pope has done everything my father wished.” He shook his head. “But this means something. My father is proud, he wouldn’t abdicate such a foothold in Italy without a reason.”
“He abdicated the Low Countries and Burgundy for your brother,” Joana said.
“That was different,” said Felipe. “My brother gained the rule as soon as he came of age. Such as it was with me and the regency.” The first regency, that was. After that, it took years for Felipe to gain his father’s trust again. His young self sometimes surprised him with his own stupidity, even if he had intended well. Though María still died and his father still trusted Tavera with the regency. “I’m thirty-one. Why does he make me a king now?”
“Does it matter?” Joana asked. “You’re a king. Let us travel to Naples and see Carlos installed as Duke of Calabria.” Their son was now first in line to Naples and Sicily, his heir apparent where no one save the Lord could see him removed.
“I can’t,” said Felipe, gesturing to the end of the letter, where his father wrote, It is my command to convoke you on the 25th day of the month of October of this year of the Lord, not giving you the option to refuse or postpone the fulfilment of this will which is an order. On this day, I expect all of you without fail, here by my side. “It is for Fernando and I, surely.”
“What does he want?” Joana asked.
“How could I know?” said Felipe. “What matters is that you will stay here. I’ll give you the regency and command of the country until my return.” He looked away, wondering what his father could possibly want now.
We will need new family trees I think...😂
Also, Charles really should abdicate at this point, man needs rest
Also, Charles really should abdicate at this point, man needs rest
He really does and i think he will summon his 2 remaining sons to help his make plans for it
Its good to know that Joana is a capable and steadfast regent for Spain. Felipe really got lucky with his wife.
Nope! He needs to do it well and in an orderly fashion for a smooth transaction of power.