August 1478. Prague, Bohemia.
Maximilian knew why he had been elected as king. He was not stupid enough to think that tales of his non-existent beauty and gallantries had reached Prague before him, to think that they chose him simply to assuage his father, though the latter was more likely than the former. In truth, it was not hard to discern the reason for his election; he was young when he came to the throne and, after so many years hiding in his father's shadow, practically unknown by the masses. Certainly, the Czechs thought they could control him, influence him to do as he wished, but Maximilian had no desire to do so.
He had plans, desires. He wanted to be a good king, but more than that, he wanted to be a good son. A good head of the family, a good patriarch. He wanted to write down the Habsburg name in the golden scrolls of history, to be accepted by the great rulers of Europe and he would do whatever it took to make it happen.
So, as he met with the council in the late morning after mass, Maximilian was not surprised by their suggestions.
"An offer has come from Paris, Your Grace," said the supreme burgrave. "The King would break the contract signed between his father, the Emperor and the King of England and would marry Mademoiselle Marguerite de Valois." He looked at the men around him, searching for support. "While Magdalene of York came with just 200,000 crowns as her dowry, the King and Queen of France offered 500,000 for their daughter."
Maximilian nodded. The offer sounded sweet enough, but he knew there was a cost behind it.
“I imagine the offer also comes with a demand to join the war?” he asked and the supreme burgrave looked embarrassed, at least.
“The French King does expect His Grace to at least condemn the work of his cousins in invading France,” he responded.
Maximilian nodded, thinking. His councillors looked at him, trying to read his face and see whether or not they should encourage him to take the French marriage. Some were pro-French, he knew it, while others were still on the fence over the entire matter.
"Marguerite de Valois is a child of six," he murmured at last. "It will take another decade for any man to gain an heir from her, whereas Magdalene of York is already of canon age." A decade he did not have. Maximilian was nine and ten and, though his father had been willing to wait for Magdalene of York to grow, he couldn't say the same about her cousin. Maximilian was his only son and besides, Emperor Frederick would hate to see him marry someone that was not his choice. "I will maintain my betrothal to the daughter of King Edward, but King Louis must be assured that I have no wish to join the war."
"Whyever not, Sire?" someone asked. Maximilian did not bother raising his head to see who. "If we invade France and take advantage of the confusion, there is a chance we may gain some of the riches around the land."
Maximilian shook his head. "We are not sneaky, my lord," he answered. "We can't cross the empire without the French king hearing about it." He sighed, leaning back against his carved armchair. "There are two million Bohemians under my rule. How many can be armed to fight before the end of the year? Twenty thousand, at best?"
The men did not respond to him. They looked between themselves, almost upset at having failed to provoke him into a war he'd surely lose.
"I have been betrothed to Magdalene of York for many years and to break it now, when I can expect to meet her before the end of the decade, would be a grave insult," he continued. "Whatever is Mademoiselle de Valois' dowry, the money will be sunk into a war we will surely lose, even if we do join France's side."
"So His Grace thinks France will win the war?" the supreme burgrave asked.
"And why wouldn't they win?" he asked. "France is rich and even if it weren't, its population is more than twice as that of Lotharingia and England combined. The King of France can call upon an army that would decimate their chances of ever threatening him." Maximilian smiled. "Whatever Henry V of England won in his day was only because France was divided under the rule of the Mad King. At the present moment, of the Spider's vassals, only the Duke of Brittany can be bothersome and without a son to succeed him, he is running out of time."
He leaned back, observing the men before him.
"One day, my lords, I shall inherit Austria and, God willing, the Empire," he said. "Lotharingia is the only thing standing between France and my father's lands. With the English by their side, they may very well recover their wealth and power in the future. I can't afford to offend them now." King Louis wanted his assistance at that moment, but there was nothing to say he would spring up to Maximilian's defense in the future. Even if his daughter sat on the throne beside him. "Bohemia will remain at peace. Tell that to all who may hear."
Maximilian returned his eyes to the table before him, his heart calm. He had received a letter from Kunigunde that morning, telling him that her husband had sufficient fears of being invaded by the Turks while Europe was divided. If the Sultan did attempt to conquer Hungary, Maximilian wanted to be ready to defend the Christian faith and the war in France would not allow such a thing.
--
September 1478. Château de Montsoreau, France.
Louis leaned on his cane as he hobbled down the corridors leading to the makeshift cell. The lord of the castle, a loyalist by the name of Jean de Chambes, walked beside him, face serious. Louis felt no need to speak, even after travelling so many hours just to see this one prisoner, more eager to see the man than to speak to he who captured him.
Frañsez was held in a simple room at the highest floor in the castle, just one window to let sunlight in and a simple bed and hearth. When he entered the room, Louis saw the man sitting by the stone construction, observing the flames that flickered. There was no entertainment for him, nothing save the one bible that was necessary for all prisoners, and Frañsez was there for nearly a fortnight.
The man did not move when Louis stepped inside, though he saw the way his eyes followed him, the slight twist of his mouth. It was as if he wondered how long it would take for Louis' frail body to fail, for him to die.
He might as well keep waiting. Louis was fifty-five, older than most men of his time and he had no intention of going anywhere. If determination could keep someone alive, he was sure he'd live to see the end of times.
Louis looked at Frañsez, who in turn looked at him. He sighed, letting his back fall against the cushioned chair.
"Your armies have been decimated at the most recent battle, cousin," he began. "Most men were so desperate for relief that they surrendered to women in the fields, hoping that they would show more mercy than their husbands and brothers." Frañsez did not react at all, his face an impossibly calm mask. "Thus, I offer peace to you. I came on my own accord, to look into your eyes and give you the power to end this war."
"You may have won the battle,
cousin," he spat the last word out like a poison, "But I plan to win the war."
"And how will you manage that?" Louis asked. "The English and Burgundians have their own goals. They will not come to your call, you are alone." He sighed, placing his two hands over his lap. Louis wore a seashell-chain, a symbol of the old Capets, but not his crown. Instead, there was a simple blue cap upon his head. "I have a son, you have a daughter. We shall join our houses."
Frañsez chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you really think I will simply hand over the heiress of Brittany to you on a silver platter?" he asked in a mocking tone. "No matter what you hope for, Brittany will always be separate from the French crown."
Louis smiled. "Categorically," he said. "That's why I offer my second son Philippe, to be your daughter's husband. The Dauphin shall marry Bianca Maria Sforza, as was agreed between myself and the Duke of Milan, her father."
He waved a servant in, who brought a large portrait of Philippe for the Duke to see. The child represented was blonde and handsome, with blue-grey eyes that popped through the dark blue background. He was wearing fine clothes of blue and gold, holding a brooch bearing the white rose of his mother's house and an inscription in gold at the bottom of the painting spoke of his name and date of birth.
PHILIPPUS. FILIUS FRANCORUM REX. 14 IUNII 1474 ANNO DOMINI. SALVE REX.
Louis looked back at Frañsez. "It is a faithful likeness, you must be sure of that," he said, as if that was the sole cause of worry in the room. "My son is also a healthy boy and very intelligent. He already knows how to speak Latin, French and English. You can be sure that he will be a sensible Duke of Brittany in the future."
Agitated, Frañsez stood up, running his hands through his dark hair. "You speak as if the matter is already decided," he said, more to himself than to Louis.
"Isn't it?" he asked. "As we stand here waiting for you to accept, my armies are ready to march to Brittany and take your wife and child under control." The threat was only half-empty; Louis had armies waiting, but he wanted to use them to defeat Edward and the boy-king of so-called Lotharingia. He could not afford to divide his men into two fronts such as that.
He stood up, letting his words hang in the air. "I will give you time to come to your senses," he said, "
Cousin."
