since it seems like it’s going beyond the Henry vi was stupid and ruined everything portrayal, I’m sure I will!
The Red Rose and the Golden Fleece - A 15th Century TL
Chapter 1: The Duchess
Music: Se la face ay pale - Guilaume Dufay
Écluse (Sluys), 7 January 1430: Duke Philippe III of Burgundy and Princess Isabella of Portugal are married for the second time (after a proxy marriage in Lisbon the previous July) in the Flemish city of Écluse. Sporting the dark curls of her Portuguese father João I and the clear blue eyes of her English mother, Philippa of Lancaster, the Infanta does not fail to impress her new husband or his court.
“We are gathered here today to join Her Highness Princess Isabelle of Portugal and His Grace, Duke Philippe the third of Burgundy, in holy matrimony.” Isabella watches from afar as the Bishop of Tournai - Louis de Cluny - performs the rehearsed script to perfection. “Do you, Philippe de Valois-Bourgogne, third of that name, take the Princess Isabelle of Portugal to be your wedded wife, swearing to protect and honor her for good or ill, richer or poorer, and to have and hold her till death parts you both?”
“I do.” Philippe says in a proud, almost musical voice. “In the name of the House of Valois-Bourgogne, I do so swear.”
“And do you, Princess Isabelle, swear to do the same?” The Bishop asks the Princess. “And do you swear to hold the interests of your marital home?”
“I do, Your Eminence. Rest assured that the Duke of Burgundy has my loyalty and devotion until I pass on to meet our Maker in heaven. I, Isabel de Avis, do so swear.” The Princess answers in clear, near-perfect French.
“Then I pronounce you man and wife. May the House of Burgundy flourish under you both.” Bishop Louis says, to deafening cheers from the crowd.
Pont-à-Mousson, 23 March 1430: While the new Duchess of Burgundy relishes in the company of her husband, another Isabelle — this time the suo jure Duchess of Lorraine — gives birth to her fifth child, a girl named Marguerite. Her elder brother, the six-year-old John, quickly grows close to his new sister, while her slightly older sister — the two-year-old Yolande — still finds that playing with dolls is more interesting than playing with the pink, squalling baby sister she just gained.
“Congratulations, René.” The children’s grandmother — the fierce Yolande of Aragon — is the first one to greet her son as he arrives just outside Isabelle’s bedchamber. “You have another daughter.”
“That is well and good, maman, but what of Isabelle? Is she well? And the child?” René of Anjou, Duke of Lorraine and Bar, quickly presses his mother, a slight frown upon his face. “I have to see them, please.”
“Both of them are well, René. There’s no need to fret.” Lady Yolande chuckles fondly. “Mon Dieu, you act as though this is your first child, rather than your fifth. Go meet them.”
“She’s lovely.” René says, sitting beside Isabelle’s bed after the nurse lets him in. “Have you settled on a name for her?”
“Marguerite.” Isabelle replies, a little tiredly. “Her name is Marguerite.”
CHAPTER 1: THE DUCHESS
Écluse (Sluys), 7 January 1430: Duke Philippe III of Burgundy and Princess Isabella of Portugal are married for the second time (after a proxy marriage in Lisbon the previous July) in the Flemish city of Écluse. Sporting the dark curls of her Portuguese father João I and the clear blue eyes of her English mother, Philippa of Lancaster, the Infanta does not fail to impress her new husband or his court.
“We are gathered here today to join Her Highness Princess Isabelle of Portugal and His Grace, Duke Philippe the third of Burgundy, in holy matrimony.” Isabella watches from afar as the Bishop of Tournai - Louis de Cluny - performs the rehearsed script to perfection. “Do you, Philippe de Valois-Bourgogne, third of that name, take the Princess Isabelle of Portugal to be your wedded wife, swearing to protect and honor her for good or ill, richer or poorer, and to have and hold her till death parts you both?”
“I do.” Philippe says in a proud, almost musical voice. “In the name of the House of Valois-Bourgogne, I do so swear.”
“And do you, Princess Isabelle, swear to do the same?” The Bishop asks the Princess. “And do you swear to hold the interests of your marital home?”
“I do, Your Eminence. Rest assured that the Duke of Burgundy has my loyalty and devotion until I pass on to meet our Maker in heaven. I, Isabel de Avis, do so swear.” The Princess answers in clear, near-perfect French.
“Then I pronounce you man and wife. May the House of Burgundy flourish under you both.” Bishop Louis says, to deafening cheers from the crowd.
Pont-à-Mousson, 23 March 1430: While the new Duchess of Burgundy relishes in the company of her husband, another Isabelle — this time the suo jure Duchess of Lorraine — gives birth to her fifth child, a girl named Marguerite. Her elder brother, the six-year-old John, quickly grows close to his new sister, while her slightly older sister — the two-year-old Yolande — still finds that playing with dolls is more interesting than playing with the pink, squalling baby sister she just gained.
“Congratulations, René.” The children’s grandmother — the fierce Yolande of Aragon — is the first one to greet her son as he arrives just outside Isabelle’s bedchamber. “You have another daughter.”
“That is well and good, maman, but what of Isabelle? Is she well? And the child?” René of Anjou, Duke of Lorraine and Bar, quickly presses his mother, a slight frown upon his face. “I have to see them, please.”
“Both of them are well, René. There’s no need to fret.” Lady Yolande chuckles fondly. “Mon Dieu, you act as though this is your first child, rather than your fifth. Go meet them.”
“She’s lovely.” René says, sitting beside Isabelle’s bed after the nurse lets him in. “Have you settled on a name for her?”
“Marguerite.” Isabelle replies, a little tiredly. “Her name is Marguerite.”
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Chapter 2: The Maiden
Music - The Burgundian Court of Philip the Good, Early Music Consort of London
CHAPTER 2: THE MAIDEN
Orleans, July 1428: following the deaths of Henry V and Charles VI in 1422, the war in France seems to be going very poorly for the French, and heavily in favour of the English, led by the co-regency of John, Duke of Bedford and Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. By now, England holds all of Normandy, Brittany, Maine and Champagne, and held the cities of Rouen, Paris, Troyes and Reims. The English control of Reims is crucial for the war, as it means that the French king, Charles VII, could not be crowned King of France. England also holds Gascony in southwestern France, and English troops led by John Talbot and the Earls of Salisbury and Suffolk begin to circle around the strategically important city of Orleans. Around this time, a young peasant girl called Joan d’Arc claims to have visions of the Archangel Michael, bidding her to leave her home of Domremy to assist Dauphin Charles retake France.
Chinon, February 1429: while planning his strategy to combat the English at the siege of Orleans, Dauphin Charles meets with the seventeen-year-old Joan d’Arc. She informs Charles that she has come to raise the Siege of Orleans and defeat the English, then open the way for Charles to have his coronation at Reims, granting him the legitimacy as Charles VII he craves. She also assures the Dauphin that he is indeed the son of Charles VI and not the result of an affair between Charles VI’s wife Isabeau of Bavaria and the Duke of Orleans. Once assured that she was genuinely here to save France, Charles commissions a set of plate armour for Joan, who designs her own banner.
Orleans, 29th April 1429: Joan d’Arc arrives at Orleans carrying supplies, and meets Jean de Dunois, Bastard of Orleans there. Dunois manages to sneak Joan into Orleans, greatly boosting the morale of the townspeople. Her arrival here signifies a turning point in the French fortunes. The French begin scoring victories around Orleans in retaking various fortresses back from the English, culminating in the English retreat from Orleans on 8th May, a victory for Joan d’Arc and the French.
Patay, 18th June 1429: as the French army storms towards Reims to have the Dauphin crowned king, a contingent of less than 1,500 French troops – under the command of La Hire, Jean de Xaintrailles and Antoine de Chabannes – encounter the English army led by John Falstof, John Talbot, Thomas Scales and Thomas Remptson, numbering around 5,000 men. The English attempt to use their notorious longbowmen to pick at the French army. However, the French commanders have since learned from the battles of Crecy (1346) and Agincourt (1415), and the archers are attacked by the French knights before they have a chance to set their positions up, exposing the flanks for a devastating cavalry charge. The result is a resounding French victory – over 2,000 Englishmen are killed and somewhere between 2,000 and 4,000 are captured. In comparison, only 3 French soldiers are killed, and another 100 are wounded.
Reims, 17th July 1429: having entered the city of Reims the previous evening, Dauphin Charles wastes no time and has himself consecrated as King Charles VII of France. Joan d’Arc is given a place of honour at this ceremony, proud that she had played her part in fulfilling God’s wishes.
Westminster, 6th November 1429: in response to Charles’s coronation as Charles VII in Reims Cathedral, the seven-year-old Henry VI is hurriedly crowned as King of England in Westminster Abbey.
Compiegne, 24th May 1430: in an attempt to retake Compiegne, Duke Philippe of Burgundy lays siege to the town. Joan d’Arc gathers a group of volunteers to help relieve the town, but this ends in disaster for Joan – after a promising start in entering the town, the French failed to dislodge the Burgundians from their camp at Margny to the northeast of Compiegne. During this failed attack, Joan d’Arc is captured by Jean de Luxembourg’s contingent. The news of Joan’s capture is met with utter joy in the English camp, who begin negotiating to take custody of the woman who had caused them so much grief.
Rouen, November 1430: negotiations between Burgundy and their English allies for the transfer of Joan d’Arc succeed, and the English promise to pay 10,000 livres in turn for custody of her. Joan d’Arc is taken to Rouen, the capital of English-controlled France. Despite her help in getting him the throne, Charles VII does nothing to try and save Joan. This symbolises a grave reversal in fortunes for the French.
Rouen, 2nd November 1430: at this present moment in time, Duke Philippe III of Burgundy could not be more pleased with how events were going for him. His alliance with the English was paying dividends, and with the capture of Joan d’Arc by Burgundian soldiers, Philippe’s credibility was only increasing - his army achieved what the English could not. He was with the Englishman John Talbot now, concluding negotiations for a payment of 10,000 livres from England to obtain Joan, an impressive boon in itself. As well as that, the death of Philippe’s cousin Philippe of St-Pol in August meant that Philippe had inherited the Duchies of Brabant and Limburg and the Margraviate of Antwerp. His territories had been vastly increased, and he had barely had to lift a finger.
As if all these victories weren’t enough for Philippe, his wife Isabella of Portugal was pregnant, and going into labour now. Unfortunately, Philippe wasn’t there to be with his wife as he was finishing off negotiations with Talbot. Talbot stood up and gave Philippe a handshake. "I will ensure that the livres are available as soon as possible, my liege," he said warmly. "I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield against the French, reversing the damage Joan d'Arc has done to our cause."
"And I look forward to fighting alongside you once again, Lord Talbot." Philippe said as he shook the Englishman's hand. Then, a knight burst into their room breathlessly, with the livery of Isabella’s royal house of Aviz on his chest plate.
“Sire!” The knight exclaimed. “I bring news of your wife.” He said.
Philippe gasped. “Has she given birth?” He demanded.
“Yes. You have a son, my duke. As per your requests, Isabella has named the boy Antoine.” The knight said, and Philippe smiled. An heir. Finally! After two wives who had died before they could deliver a son, Philippe finally had one! His heart soared with relief. And to think, Philippe had thought he couldn’t love Isabella any more than he already did.
“That is... astonishing news.” Philippe said. To his side, John Talbot gave the man a handshake.
“Congratulations, Philippe.” Talbot said with a smile.
“Thank you, John.” Philippe said. “Excuse me. We shall plan this campaign, but then, you will understand my desire to see my wife.”
Lille, 17th November 1430: annoyingly, Philippe didn’t have a chance to get away for two weeks. First, there was the matter of finalising the agreement for Joan d'Arc after the English treasurer protested that he hadn't been remotely involved in the negotiations and was now expected to hand 10,000 livres over out of nowhere, and then Philippe had been roped into planning the next campaign against the French in a push down to Paris from Rouen. But as soon as he could, he got a horse and rode from Rouen to Lille, where Isabella had just given birth to Antoine.
Philippe was already imagining himself with his son. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to see little Antoine grow up! He would teach him everything a duke should know. They would keep the war against France going, and they would transform Burgundy into the most powerful state in Europe.
There was a subdued mood in Lille as Philippe rode in, followed by his entourage, all on horseback. They made an impressive sight together, but instead of attracting looks of awe, people looked at Philippe with pity. He couldn’t help but wonder why - and then it dawned on him.
Oh no. Oh, no.
Philippe raced to the town centre and jumped off his horse, almost falling over as he did so. He rushed into the castle, up the corridors, his heart beating with thunderous intent. As he stepped into the wetroom, where his wife and son were still meant to be, he was greeted with the devastating sight of Isabella sobbing her eyes out, tears streaming down her face. In her arms was a little limp thing that vaguely resembled a child. She looked up at Philippe, her cheeks red from the crying. She opened her mouth to speak, but only more sobs came up.
Feeling hollow inside, Philippe walked over to Isabella. He perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, trying to hold back tears of his own.
Rouen, 9th January 1431: on the surface, the Bishop of Beauvais appeared to be a gentle soul, always ready to serve the will of the Lord with a kindly smile and a welcoming nature. This was not the case, though - if anything, Bishop Pierre Cauchon seemed to be relishing in the opportunity to pick apart Joan d’Arc, condemn her, and consign her to death.
Joan had no intention of making it easy for him, though. After all, she had received these visions straight from God. How could he, a servant of God, possibly refute these claims?
Because he supports England, Joan told herself cynically. He will do whatever he can to destroy you. Only God can save you now.
There were over a hundred prelates gathered in Rouen for this trial. Joan wondered if any at all would support her, or if they were all in the pocket of the English. The wife of the Duke of Bedford, Anna of Burgundy, was present too, although Joan wasn’t sure why.
Then Cauchon cleared his throat, and the room fell silent. “Here begins the proceedings in matters of faith of this woman Joan, known as the Maid.” He announced, and the trial began.
Joan soon learned why Anna, Duchess of Bedford was at the proceedings. She had been sent to Rouen to test whether Joan was a virgin or not. She led Joan to another room, alongside a group of four other maidens, where they began to search her body for the telltale signs of virginity. “What will happen to me if you find I am not a virgin?” Joan asked Anna.
“Are you?” Anna asked.
“Yes.” Joan nodded.
“Then you have nothing to fear. We will find you as such, and all will be right.” Anna said reassuringly.
Anna of Burgundy was true to her word. “I can verify that Joan d’Arc is indeed a virgin, as she claims.”
The prelates gathered gasped and murmured to each other their opinions on this discovery. As for Cauchon, his lip turned upwards in an angry sneer. He was clearly ready to utter some cruel remark, but then remembered Anna’s position, and thought better of it.
“Fine. Her virginity is... accepted.” Cauchon said, not without anger. Then he turned to a man called Nicholas Bailly, who had been sent to Joan’s home village of Domrémy to collect testimonies from the people Joan had grown up with. “Bailly. What did you discover of the accused?” Cauchon asked.
“Nothing of note, Father.” Bailly replied. “I discovered nothing I would be displeased to discover about my own sister.”
“You found nothing?” Cauchon asked incredulously. Bailly shook his head. “You are an Englishman, are you not? And you found nothing against this wench, who has caused so many English deaths? You must be a traitor, and a bad man.” Cauchon said.
“Peace, Father. Now is not the time for more accusations.” Some other prelate somewhere cried out. “Let us focus on the matter at hand for now.”
Cauchon looked out at the crowd, trying to find the dissenter, then grunted and gave up.
21st February 1431: today was the first day of Joan’s interrogation for the crimes that England had levied against her. Not least of these crimewas blasphemy, since she was a woman wearing clothes meant for men. Here, she didn’t help herself - she came to court dressed as a knight.
The day started routinely. Bishop Cauchon explained the proceedings of the court, as well as the charges that were brought against her. Then, Cauchon asked her to take an oath. “Do you swear to speak the truth to answer questions we put to you?” Cauchon asked.
“Well, I do not know what you will examine me on. You might ask things I would choose not to tell.” Joan answered cryptically.
“Will you swear to speak the truth upon questions of faith?” Cauchon asked.
Joan shrugged nonchalantly. “Concerning my father and my mother, and what I have done since I took the road to France, I will gladly swear to tell the truth. But concerning my revelations from God, I have never told these to any but Charles, my king, and I will not tell them to save my head.”
Third Session, 24th February 1431: The previous two sessions, Joan’s interrogators had been interested in the matter of her childhood. Her friends in Domrémy, those things her parents had taught her, like how to sew. Today, though, Cauchon seemed keen to take the matter to a more spiritual standing.
“Do you know whether you are in God’s grace or not?” Cauchon asked.
Some in the crowd gasped at this question, so blunt, so... wrong. No-one could be certain that God held them in His grace - that was holy doctrine. But if Joan said no, then Cauchon could use it to prove that she was unholy. In response to this question, Jean Lefèvre stood up in protest. “That is a grave question, Bishop Cauchon. Joan, you do not need to answer that.”
“It would have been better for you if you had kept your mouth shut!” Cauchon snapped, and turned back towards Joan, who was planning her response carefully.
“If I am not,” she said, deliberating over each word, “I pray God puts me there. If I am, I pray God keeps me there. I would be the saddest creature in the world if I knew I were not in his grace.”
An impressive answer. Joan was proud of herself. But the very question proved to her what she already knew - Cauchon would do whatever it took to find her guilty of heresy, no matter what the cost. She must endeavour to fight, but he would fight just as hard.
“I would like to add, I think it would be unlikely that these saints would come to me if I was a sinner, as you think I am. If you could hear them, then you would know.” Joan said. Then, she said to Cauchon directly - “you say that you are my judge; I do not know if you are. But take good heed not to judge me ill, because you would put yourself in great peril. And I warn you so that if God punishes you for it, I have done my duty in warning you.” Joan said, and the court exploded with clamouring.
Saint-Ouen Church, 30th May 1431: the trial had gone on thus. Joan’s prosecutors demanded answers to vague questions designed to entrap her, and Joan answered as eloquently as she could. However, no amount of eloquence on her part could change the truth that she was a woman wearing a soldier’s outfit, a crime in itself. A few days ago Joan had been forced to sign a document agreeing to stop wearing the clothes of a soldier on pains of execution, but since then, Joan had had an epiphany.
This is God’s mission to me. I cannot stop based on the risk of execution. I would rather die in pain on Earth, than live in agony in Hell. And so, just a few days later, Joan wore her armour once more and was found guilty of relapsing into heresy. Now she stood on a hastily-erected scaffold in the cemetery of Saint-Ouen Church, surrounded by at least fifty Englishmen. “May I have a cross to pray to, before you burn me?” Joan asked the crowd.
An English soldier stepped forward, holding a small cross made from two sticks tied together with a bit of rope. “Here,” he said as he passed it to her.
“Thank you.” Joan said with a smile. She kissed the cross and placed it over her heart as the executioner set the scaffold alight.
Somewhere in the crowd was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. He was grinning evilly, proud of his great victory over the so-called saviour of France, or as he knew her, the heretic maiden. While he savoured this moment, Joan d’Arc took comfort in the thought that she would see God, but Cauchon would soon see the very devil he was so afraid of.
I am coming, my Lord, Joan thought as the flames engulfed her.
Notre-Dame Cathedral, 16th December 1431: the execution of Joan d’Arc has led to yet another reversal of fortune in the war between England and France. The English take control of Paris once more, and King Henry VI of England is crowned King Henry II of France at Notre-Dame Cathedral. He is the only English king in history – at least, up until this point – to be crowned King of France as well. The English regency of Bedford and Gloucester use the coronation to further emphasise Henry VI’s claim to the French throne, as they are now able to say that he already is the King of France, not just that he has a right to be the King.
John, Duke of Bedford couldn’t help but wonder if the ten-year-old boy he was walking behind had any inkling of the enormity of what was about to happen. That ten-year-old boy was John’s nephew and king, Henry VI of England - and soon, by right, he would be King Henry II of France.
The boy was no fool, of course. He was being given an education that befitted a king. He knew the war, he knew what England and her nobles were fighting for. But then, he was just a child, and Bedford wondered how much of it all the boy king actually understood.
To Bedford’s side stood his wife, Anna of Burgundy, and their seven-year-old daughter Marie. Bedford considered, not for the first time and not for the last, the idea of having Marie betrothed to King Henry. Such a move would make Bedford essential to Henry’s reign once he phased out of his regency and into his majority rule. The only problem was that Henry and Marie were first cousins. They would need papal dispensation to marry within such close blood ties. But why not? There was no reason for the Pope not to grant such dispensation. Perhaps I will write to him. Perhaps that is one of the gifts the new year will bring. Bedford told himself, and smiled contentedly.
On Bedford’s other side was his brother and co-regent Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester and his wife Philippa Percy, the daughter of the late Henry, 1st Earl of Northumberland and the aunt of the 2nd Earl. They had been married two years ago in Durham, not far from the Percy family heartlands. Philippa was now beginning to show signs of a pregnancy announced a little over a month ago.
Behind the co-regents and their families stood the great nobles of the realm, all of whom had travelled from England to Paris to witness this monumental event. The twenty-year-old Duke of York was present with his fiancée, Cecily Neville. Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham was also present with his wife Anne Neville and their eldest sons, John and Henry. So many great dukes and earls were gathered, all to watch Henry VI be formally crowned the King of France.
Henry walked towards the throne placed in the centre of Notre-Dame Cathedral. He was dressed in a robe made from the finest velvet available to England - long and flowing, purple in colour and embroidered with gold threads. In one hand, Henry carried the royal sceptre, and in the other, an orb, symbolising his authority and dominion. He was adorned with enough jewellery to weigh down a pack horse, glimmering with diamonds and gemstones.
When he reached the throne, he looked at the Archbishop of Reims, who stood next to it. Bedford had instructed the Archbishop to crown Henry as if there was no other alternative king, and King Henry VI was completely unchallenged in his rise to the kingdom. Henceforth, the archbishop began the oath.
“Henry of England, do you swear to protect the people of France from cruelty and injustice?” The Archbishop asked.
“I swear.” Henry replied.
“Do you swear to preserve peace and rule justly over the people of France?”
“I swear.”
“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of France?”
“I swear.”
There was quiet for a moment as two bishops brought forth a crown as the Archbishop of Reims began to speak. “Then on this day, I proclaim you King Henry II of France!” He said, and the crown was lowered onto Henry’s young head. Reims turned around to the English nobles. “All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
CHAPTER 2: THE MAIDEN
Orleans, July 1428: following the deaths of Henry V and Charles VI in 1422, the war in France seems to be going very poorly for the French, and heavily in favour of the English, led by the co-regency of John, Duke of Bedford and Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. By now, England holds all of Normandy, Brittany, Maine and Champagne, and held the cities of Rouen, Paris, Troyes and Reims. The English control of Reims is crucial for the war, as it means that the French king, Charles VII, could not be crowned King of France. England also holds Gascony in southwestern France, and English troops led by John Talbot and the Earls of Salisbury and Suffolk begin to circle around the strategically important city of Orleans. Around this time, a young peasant girl called Joan d’Arc claims to have visions of the Archangel Michael, bidding her to leave her home of Domremy to assist Dauphin Charles retake France.
Chinon, February 1429: while planning his strategy to combat the English at the siege of Orleans, Dauphin Charles meets with the seventeen-year-old Joan d’Arc. She informs Charles that she has come to raise the Siege of Orleans and defeat the English, then open the way for Charles to have his coronation at Reims, granting him the legitimacy as Charles VII he craves. She also assures the Dauphin that he is indeed the son of Charles VI and not the result of an affair between Charles VI’s wife Isabeau of Bavaria and the Duke of Orleans. Once assured that she was genuinely here to save France, Charles commissions a set of plate armour for Joan, who designs her own banner.
Orleans, 29th April 1429: Joan d’Arc arrives at Orleans carrying supplies, and meets Jean de Dunois, Bastard of Orleans there. Dunois manages to sneak Joan into Orleans, greatly boosting the morale of the townspeople. Her arrival here signifies a turning point in the French fortunes. The French begin scoring victories around Orleans in retaking various fortresses back from the English, culminating in the English retreat from Orleans on 8th May, a victory for Joan d’Arc and the French.
Patay, 18th June 1429: as the French army storms towards Reims to have the Dauphin crowned king, a contingent of less than 1,500 French troops – under the command of La Hire, Jean de Xaintrailles and Antoine de Chabannes – encounter the English army led by John Falstof, John Talbot, Thomas Scales and Thomas Remptson, numbering around 5,000 men. The English attempt to use their notorious longbowmen to pick at the French army. However, the French commanders have since learned from the battles of Crecy (1346) and Agincourt (1415), and the archers are attacked by the French knights before they have a chance to set their positions up, exposing the flanks for a devastating cavalry charge. The result is a resounding French victory – over 2,000 Englishmen are killed and somewhere between 2,000 and 4,000 are captured. In comparison, only 3 French soldiers are killed, and another 100 are wounded.
Reims, 17th July 1429: having entered the city of Reims the previous evening, Dauphin Charles wastes no time and has himself consecrated as King Charles VII of France. Joan d’Arc is given a place of honour at this ceremony, proud that she had played her part in fulfilling God’s wishes.
Westminster, 6th November 1429: in response to Charles’s coronation as Charles VII in Reims Cathedral, the seven-year-old Henry VI is hurriedly crowned as King of England in Westminster Abbey.
Compiegne, 24th May 1430: in an attempt to retake Compiegne, Duke Philippe of Burgundy lays siege to the town. Joan d’Arc gathers a group of volunteers to help relieve the town, but this ends in disaster for Joan – after a promising start in entering the town, the French failed to dislodge the Burgundians from their camp at Margny to the northeast of Compiegne. During this failed attack, Joan d’Arc is captured by Jean de Luxembourg’s contingent. The news of Joan’s capture is met with utter joy in the English camp, who begin negotiating to take custody of the woman who had caused them so much grief.
Rouen, November 1430: negotiations between Burgundy and their English allies for the transfer of Joan d’Arc succeed, and the English promise to pay 10,000 livres in turn for custody of her. Joan d’Arc is taken to Rouen, the capital of English-controlled France. Despite her help in getting him the throne, Charles VII does nothing to try and save Joan. This symbolises a grave reversal in fortunes for the French.
Rouen, 2nd November 1430: at this present moment in time, Duke Philippe III of Burgundy could not be more pleased with how events were going for him. His alliance with the English was paying dividends, and with the capture of Joan d’Arc by Burgundian soldiers, Philippe’s credibility was only increasing - his army achieved what the English could not. He was with the Englishman John Talbot now, concluding negotiations for a payment of 10,000 livres from England to obtain Joan, an impressive boon in itself. As well as that, the death of Philippe’s cousin Philippe of St-Pol in August meant that Philippe had inherited the Duchies of Brabant and Limburg and the Margraviate of Antwerp. His territories had been vastly increased, and he had barely had to lift a finger.
As if all these victories weren’t enough for Philippe, his wife Isabella of Portugal was pregnant, and going into labour now. Unfortunately, Philippe wasn’t there to be with his wife as he was finishing off negotiations with Talbot. Talbot stood up and gave Philippe a handshake. "I will ensure that the livres are available as soon as possible, my liege," he said warmly. "I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield against the French, reversing the damage Joan d'Arc has done to our cause."
"And I look forward to fighting alongside you once again, Lord Talbot." Philippe said as he shook the Englishman's hand. Then, a knight burst into their room breathlessly, with the livery of Isabella’s royal house of Aviz on his chest plate.
“Sire!” The knight exclaimed. “I bring news of your wife.” He said.
Philippe gasped. “Has she given birth?” He demanded.
“Yes. You have a son, my duke. As per your requests, Isabella has named the boy Antoine.” The knight said, and Philippe smiled. An heir. Finally! After two wives who had died before they could deliver a son, Philippe finally had one! His heart soared with relief. And to think, Philippe had thought he couldn’t love Isabella any more than he already did.
“That is... astonishing news.” Philippe said. To his side, John Talbot gave the man a handshake.
“Congratulations, Philippe.” Talbot said with a smile.
“Thank you, John.” Philippe said. “Excuse me. We shall plan this campaign, but then, you will understand my desire to see my wife.”
Lille, 17th November 1430: annoyingly, Philippe didn’t have a chance to get away for two weeks. First, there was the matter of finalising the agreement for Joan d'Arc after the English treasurer protested that he hadn't been remotely involved in the negotiations and was now expected to hand 10,000 livres over out of nowhere, and then Philippe had been roped into planning the next campaign against the French in a push down to Paris from Rouen. But as soon as he could, he got a horse and rode from Rouen to Lille, where Isabella had just given birth to Antoine.
Philippe was already imagining himself with his son. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to see little Antoine grow up! He would teach him everything a duke should know. They would keep the war against France going, and they would transform Burgundy into the most powerful state in Europe.
There was a subdued mood in Lille as Philippe rode in, followed by his entourage, all on horseback. They made an impressive sight together, but instead of attracting looks of awe, people looked at Philippe with pity. He couldn’t help but wonder why - and then it dawned on him.
Oh no. Oh, no.
Philippe raced to the town centre and jumped off his horse, almost falling over as he did so. He rushed into the castle, up the corridors, his heart beating with thunderous intent. As he stepped into the wetroom, where his wife and son were still meant to be, he was greeted with the devastating sight of Isabella sobbing her eyes out, tears streaming down her face. In her arms was a little limp thing that vaguely resembled a child. She looked up at Philippe, her cheeks red from the crying. She opened her mouth to speak, but only more sobs came up.
Feeling hollow inside, Philippe walked over to Isabella. He perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, trying to hold back tears of his own.
Rouen, 9th January 1431: on the surface, the Bishop of Beauvais appeared to be a gentle soul, always ready to serve the will of the Lord with a kindly smile and a welcoming nature. This was not the case, though - if anything, Bishop Pierre Cauchon seemed to be relishing in the opportunity to pick apart Joan d’Arc, condemn her, and consign her to death.
Joan had no intention of making it easy for him, though. After all, she had received these visions straight from God. How could he, a servant of God, possibly refute these claims?
Because he supports England, Joan told herself cynically. He will do whatever he can to destroy you. Only God can save you now.
There were over a hundred prelates gathered in Rouen for this trial. Joan wondered if any at all would support her, or if they were all in the pocket of the English. The wife of the Duke of Bedford, Anna of Burgundy, was present too, although Joan wasn’t sure why.
Then Cauchon cleared his throat, and the room fell silent. “Here begins the proceedings in matters of faith of this woman Joan, known as the Maid.” He announced, and the trial began.
Joan soon learned why Anna, Duchess of Bedford was at the proceedings. She had been sent to Rouen to test whether Joan was a virgin or not. She led Joan to another room, alongside a group of four other maidens, where they began to search her body for the telltale signs of virginity. “What will happen to me if you find I am not a virgin?” Joan asked Anna.
“Are you?” Anna asked.
“Yes.” Joan nodded.
“Then you have nothing to fear. We will find you as such, and all will be right.” Anna said reassuringly.
Anna of Burgundy was true to her word. “I can verify that Joan d’Arc is indeed a virgin, as she claims.”
The prelates gathered gasped and murmured to each other their opinions on this discovery. As for Cauchon, his lip turned upwards in an angry sneer. He was clearly ready to utter some cruel remark, but then remembered Anna’s position, and thought better of it.
“Fine. Her virginity is... accepted.” Cauchon said, not without anger. Then he turned to a man called Nicholas Bailly, who had been sent to Joan’s home village of Domrémy to collect testimonies from the people Joan had grown up with. “Bailly. What did you discover of the accused?” Cauchon asked.
“Nothing of note, Father.” Bailly replied. “I discovered nothing I would be displeased to discover about my own sister.”
“You found nothing?” Cauchon asked incredulously. Bailly shook his head. “You are an Englishman, are you not? And you found nothing against this wench, who has caused so many English deaths? You must be a traitor, and a bad man.” Cauchon said.
“Peace, Father. Now is not the time for more accusations.” Some other prelate somewhere cried out. “Let us focus on the matter at hand for now.”
Cauchon looked out at the crowd, trying to find the dissenter, then grunted and gave up.
21st February 1431: today was the first day of Joan’s interrogation for the crimes that England had levied against her. Not least of these crimewas blasphemy, since she was a woman wearing clothes meant for men. Here, she didn’t help herself - she came to court dressed as a knight.
The day started routinely. Bishop Cauchon explained the proceedings of the court, as well as the charges that were brought against her. Then, Cauchon asked her to take an oath. “Do you swear to speak the truth to answer questions we put to you?” Cauchon asked.
“Well, I do not know what you will examine me on. You might ask things I would choose not to tell.” Joan answered cryptically.
“Will you swear to speak the truth upon questions of faith?” Cauchon asked.
Joan shrugged nonchalantly. “Concerning my father and my mother, and what I have done since I took the road to France, I will gladly swear to tell the truth. But concerning my revelations from God, I have never told these to any but Charles, my king, and I will not tell them to save my head.”
Third Session, 24th February 1431: The previous two sessions, Joan’s interrogators had been interested in the matter of her childhood. Her friends in Domrémy, those things her parents had taught her, like how to sew. Today, though, Cauchon seemed keen to take the matter to a more spiritual standing.
“Do you know whether you are in God’s grace or not?” Cauchon asked.
Some in the crowd gasped at this question, so blunt, so... wrong. No-one could be certain that God held them in His grace - that was holy doctrine. But if Joan said no, then Cauchon could use it to prove that she was unholy. In response to this question, Jean Lefèvre stood up in protest. “That is a grave question, Bishop Cauchon. Joan, you do not need to answer that.”
“It would have been better for you if you had kept your mouth shut!” Cauchon snapped, and turned back towards Joan, who was planning her response carefully.
“If I am not,” she said, deliberating over each word, “I pray God puts me there. If I am, I pray God keeps me there. I would be the saddest creature in the world if I knew I were not in his grace.”
An impressive answer. Joan was proud of herself. But the very question proved to her what she already knew - Cauchon would do whatever it took to find her guilty of heresy, no matter what the cost. She must endeavour to fight, but he would fight just as hard.
“I would like to add, I think it would be unlikely that these saints would come to me if I was a sinner, as you think I am. If you could hear them, then you would know.” Joan said. Then, she said to Cauchon directly - “you say that you are my judge; I do not know if you are. But take good heed not to judge me ill, because you would put yourself in great peril. And I warn you so that if God punishes you for it, I have done my duty in warning you.” Joan said, and the court exploded with clamouring.
Saint-Ouen Church, 30th May 1431: the trial had gone on thus. Joan’s prosecutors demanded answers to vague questions designed to entrap her, and Joan answered as eloquently as she could. However, no amount of eloquence on her part could change the truth that she was a woman wearing a soldier’s outfit, a crime in itself. A few days ago Joan had been forced to sign a document agreeing to stop wearing the clothes of a soldier on pains of execution, but since then, Joan had had an epiphany.
This is God’s mission to me. I cannot stop based on the risk of execution. I would rather die in pain on Earth, than live in agony in Hell. And so, just a few days later, Joan wore her armour once more and was found guilty of relapsing into heresy. Now she stood on a hastily-erected scaffold in the cemetery of Saint-Ouen Church, surrounded by at least fifty Englishmen. “May I have a cross to pray to, before you burn me?” Joan asked the crowd.
An English soldier stepped forward, holding a small cross made from two sticks tied together with a bit of rope. “Here,” he said as he passed it to her.
“Thank you.” Joan said with a smile. She kissed the cross and placed it over her heart as the executioner set the scaffold alight.
Somewhere in the crowd was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. He was grinning evilly, proud of his great victory over the so-called saviour of France, or as he knew her, the heretic maiden. While he savoured this moment, Joan d’Arc took comfort in the thought that she would see God, but Cauchon would soon see the very devil he was so afraid of.
I am coming, my Lord, Joan thought as the flames engulfed her.
Notre-Dame Cathedral, 16th December 1431: the execution of Joan d’Arc has led to yet another reversal of fortune in the war between England and France. The English take control of Paris once more, and King Henry VI of England is crowned King Henry II of France at Notre-Dame Cathedral. He is the only English king in history – at least, up until this point – to be crowned King of France as well. The English regency of Bedford and Gloucester use the coronation to further emphasise Henry VI’s claim to the French throne, as they are now able to say that he already is the King of France, not just that he has a right to be the King.
John, Duke of Bedford couldn’t help but wonder if the ten-year-old boy he was walking behind had any inkling of the enormity of what was about to happen. That ten-year-old boy was John’s nephew and king, Henry VI of England - and soon, by right, he would be King Henry II of France.
The boy was no fool, of course. He was being given an education that befitted a king. He knew the war, he knew what England and her nobles were fighting for. But then, he was just a child, and Bedford wondered how much of it all the boy king actually understood.
To Bedford’s side stood his wife, Anna of Burgundy, and their seven-year-old daughter Marie. Bedford considered, not for the first time and not for the last, the idea of having Marie betrothed to King Henry. Such a move would make Bedford essential to Henry’s reign once he phased out of his regency and into his majority rule. The only problem was that Henry and Marie were first cousins. They would need papal dispensation to marry within such close blood ties. But why not? There was no reason for the Pope not to grant such dispensation. Perhaps I will write to him. Perhaps that is one of the gifts the new year will bring. Bedford told himself, and smiled contentedly.
On Bedford’s other side was his brother and co-regent Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester and his wife Philippa Percy, the daughter of the late Henry, 1st Earl of Northumberland and the aunt of the 2nd Earl. They had been married two years ago in Durham, not far from the Percy family heartlands. Philippa was now beginning to show signs of a pregnancy announced a little over a month ago.
Behind the co-regents and their families stood the great nobles of the realm, all of whom had travelled from England to Paris to witness this monumental event. The twenty-year-old Duke of York was present with his fiancée, Cecily Neville. Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham was also present with his wife Anne Neville and their eldest sons, John and Henry. So many great dukes and earls were gathered, all to watch Henry VI be formally crowned the King of France.
Henry walked towards the throne placed in the centre of Notre-Dame Cathedral. He was dressed in a robe made from the finest velvet available to England - long and flowing, purple in colour and embroidered with gold threads. In one hand, Henry carried the royal sceptre, and in the other, an orb, symbolising his authority and dominion. He was adorned with enough jewellery to weigh down a pack horse, glimmering with diamonds and gemstones.
When he reached the throne, he looked at the Archbishop of Reims, who stood next to it. Bedford had instructed the Archbishop to crown Henry as if there was no other alternative king, and King Henry VI was completely unchallenged in his rise to the kingdom. Henceforth, the archbishop began the oath.
“Henry of England, do you swear to protect the people of France from cruelty and injustice?” The Archbishop asked.
“I swear.” Henry replied.
“Do you swear to preserve peace and rule justly over the people of France?”
“I swear.”
“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of France?”
“I swear.”
There was quiet for a moment as two bishops brought forth a crown as the Archbishop of Reims began to speak. “Then on this day, I proclaim you King Henry II of France!” He said, and the crown was lowered onto Henry’s young head. Reims turned around to the English nobles. “All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
“All hail King Henry II!”
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I wasn't joking when I said he was going to be a second Henry III.
He's such an underrated King, his kindess, care for his people, piety and love for his family should be commended more.
Little Henry VI will be exactly like that, only a little more artistic and deeply religious, like Amadeus of Savoy.
Nice! I can see Henry never parting from his rosary and diligently attending mass everyday plus always making his his people are feed and provided for.
A Habsburg and Plantagenet wank at the same time? definitely watched.
Any predictions for the Iberian Peninsula? I vote for a unification by Aviz or Foix
Any predictions for the Iberian Peninsula? I vote for a unification by Aviz or Foix
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Not happening under Foix, but under Aviz. King Edward is still alive. The Trastámaras unite Spain (Castile, Aragon & Navarre), though.
yes, more can happen like OTL, with Catholic kings (if they still exist) being succeeded by one of their daughters and that daughter having married the king/heir of Portugal or Navarre