December 10: Excerpt from Anne and Louis Forever Bound, Book Four of the Anne of Brittany Series
A big thank you to historical novelist Rozsa Gaston for sharing with us this wonderful excerpt from her forthcoming novel, Anne and Louis Forever Bound, Book Four of the Anne of Brittany Series. — Claire Ridgway, Founder UK Tudor Society, author of The Anne Boleyn Files
In the second week of February 1511, sad news arrived. Germaine wrote from Spain that England’s queen-consort, King Ferdinand’s daughter, Catherine of Aragon, had given birth to her first child by Henry VIII. A daughter, the babe had been stillborn.
“Your Grace, I hope news from Spain is not bad?” Madame de Dampierre asked as she took in the stricken look on her sovereign’s face.
“Not bad from Spain, but sad news from England.”
Madame de Dampierre looked surprised. For the most part, relations between France and England were chilly. “I am all ears, Your Grace, if you care to share with me.”
Anne sighed and put down the letter. “The English king’s wife has just delivered her first child.”
“I’m sure the new king must be happy.”
“A stillborn daughter.” Anne turned her head to the tapestry on the wall where a stag’s face stared back at her reproachfully. Queens everywhere who delivered only daughters were censured. It was a perilous job to be queen, one fraught with fear of failure and too frequent pregnancies that imperiled their health. Well did she know, still weak from Renée’s birth. She was just beginning to get around, but tired easily. At age thirty-four, after fifteen pregnancies, she was not feeling her usual resilience after childbirth.
“Ah, Your Grace, that is sad indeed. But Queen Catherine is young and has many years ahead to try again,” Madame de Dampierre remarked.
“How old is she?”
“Your Grace, I am not sure, but a few years older than the king, I believe.”
“Get Sire Lemaire here to fill us in.”
“Oh, Madame, what a sparkling idea. I will see if I can find him.” The lady-in-waiting curtsied then bustled to the door.
“Have a pot of mulled wine brought and three goblets,” Anne called after her. Lemaire was good fun and an incurable gossip. He would have something to tell them, and not from the English perspective, either.
Within moments, Jean Lemaire of Belgium appeared in the doorway. Four years older than the queen, he had served at the court of Margaret of Austria in Flanders for many years. Some said that he had held his patron in such high regard that it had been best for him to find an appointment elsewhere. Anne had offered the cultured humanist a position at her court as her historiographer. His immersion in the new learning was renowned, yet within the bounds of adherence to Church teachings, to her approval. Above all, Lemaire was a boon to her as a conduit to the court of Margaret of Austria, Governor of the Netherlands, and a valuable Habsburg connection.
“Come,” she greeted him.
“I am at Your Grace’s pleasure,” Sire Lemaire offered a graceful bow.
“What can you tell us of the young Queen and King of England?” Anne asked.
“Your Grace, I have heard news of the new queen and it is—”
“Sad, but not unusual,” she finished for him. For once, it was another queen who had lost a newborn and not her. She would send a condolence note that day, but she would not allude to the depths of darkness she herself had felt at such losses over the years. No fellow queen would wish to walk the path she had traveled in childbearing.
“Quite right, Your Grace. She has many years before her to try again.”
“How old is she?”
“I have heard that she is six years older than her husband the king,” Lemaire answered.
“And he is …?”
“Twenty this year, Your Grace.”
“And what do you know of the years she spent as widow of the young king’s older brother?”
“Ah, Arthur…” Lemaire’s voice drifted off.
“Yes, Arthur, a noble but doomed name for Brittany,” Anne filled in, referring to the late 12th century Duke of Brittany from the House of Plantagenet. He had disappeared at the tender age of thirteen, rumored to have been murdered by his uncle, the vicious King John of England.
“Your Grace, I would say that the name Arthur has not flourished in the annals of history after the great King Arthur of the Round Table,” Lemaire said heavily.
“Did not Catherine’s first husband die of the sweat?” Anne directed him back to present affairs.
“He did indeed, Madame; only five months after his marrage to the young Spanish princess,” Lemaire rerouted to the topic at hand.
“I heard she had it, too,” Madame de Ddampierre remarked.
“It has been said that the sweat takes more healthy young males than it does females,” Lemaire observed.
“Mostly from the upper classes, they say,” Madame de Dampierre tutted.
Anne shuddered. “I hope it does not make its way to the Continent.” Poor Isabella’s daughter, sent to England to become a queen only to have her husband die after a few months of marriage.
“It is dormant now, and let us hope it will remain so forever,” Lemaire exclaimed.
“What is forever in this vale of tears we walk, Sire Lemaire?” Anne asked, thinking of her ruddy Charles-Orland, who would have been a youth of eighteen had he lived.
“Your Grace, you have just presented France with a bouncing princess so I am surprised you speak of tears,” Sire Lemaire replied.
“My tears fall today for the English queen. I wonder that she was stuck in limbo so many years between marriages.”
“Your Grace, it was six years, I believe, that the former English king and the King of Spain quarreled over her dowry.”
“Let me guess. Was it her father who refused to complete the payments?” Anne scoffed. Ferdinand was even more tightfisted than Louis. Much less handsome, too.
“Indeed, it was. But the old king was determined to get the full amount, so he dangled marriage to his son up ahead as a way to make the King of Spain pay up.”
“I heard there was more to it, too,” Madame de Dampierre added.
“Go on,” Anne encouraged. She sipped her mulled wine, enjoying its warmth spreading in her belly. She looked forward to another type of warmth heating her there soon. Once she regained her full strength she would try for a son again with Louis.
“It was said that the old king needed Spain’s royal stamp upon his line, being unsure of his legitimacy,” her lady-in-waiting expounded.
“Ah, poor Henry Tudor,” Anne sighed.
“Your Grace, do tell. Did he not spend some years of his youth in Brittany as the guest of your father?” Madame de Dampierre urged.
“He was under my father’s protection,” Anne told them. “The York kings would have killed him had he set foot on English soil before he was fully supported.”
“Did you meet him, Madame?” Her lady-in-waiting’s eyes shone.
“I met him just before he returned to England and won the throne.” She remembered Henry Tudor well. She had been a young girl, the Lancastrian exile a full twenty years older. Tall and lean like Louis, but there the similarities stopped. Not debonair in the least, Henry Tudor had been tentative, with a furtive hungry look that had puzzled her at the time. As a mother, Anne’s instincts told her he had been separated from loving arms at too young an age.
“And what was he like?” Madame de Dampierre pressed.
“Timid and penniless. Unsure of himself.” Her father had considered him as a match for her, but the idea had come to nothing when Henry had returned to England in 1483 and married Elizabeth of York. It had been the solution that had ended the War of the Roses, Anne thought approvingly. Marriage was life-giving, whereas war was the opposite. She had heard that it had been Henry Tudor’s mother who had brokered the union, the indomitable Lady Margaret Beaufort—even more ambitious than that redhead in Amboise, if such a thing were possible.
“That is it, Your Grace. He proved a good king, but he was uneasy on the throne,” Lemaire agreed. “Marrying his heir apparent to a Spanish princess legitimized his claim to the crown.”
“And now Catherine needs a son to anchor her marriage to the new English king,” Anne observed.
“Indeed, Your Grace. It would be most provident.” Lemaire’s tone was judicious.
“And how was her situation in those years between marriages to the two brothers?” she asked.
“I heard that before her marriage to the new king the young princess was living most precariously at the pleasure of the old king, but without means to support her household,” Lemaire described.
“Disgraceful,” Anne exclaimed. “But Henry Tudor was always cheap. It was not his fault, as he’d lived in hiding for so many years, but he should have supported his son’s widow in style until he decided what to do with her.” What misery it must have been for Isabella of Spain’s royal daughter to rot on the vine for six years of her first bloom, far from her family in a rainy, cold, foreign land.
“It was said at one time that he thought to marry her himself,” Madame de Dampierre put in.
“It would seem he thought to marry several great ladies,” Lemaire added. “I heard a proposal was made to the Countess d’Angoulême—”
“It would have been a disaster,” Anne snapped. “Henry Tudor was as contracted as the countess is grasping. Frankly, I don’t think he had it in him to take on a new wife after Elizabeth of York died.”
“Your Grace, it was said that the light went out in his eyes the day his York wife died,” Lemaire concurred.
“Sad for Henry Tudor that he achieved the throne he aimed for, yet could not sit on it with ease,” Anne mused.
“For fear of a pretender pushing him off,” Madame de Dampierre put in.
“Let u return to Catherine,” Anne directed them.
“She is finally the queen she was meant to be, as the young Henry’s wife,” Lemaire exclaimed.
“What have you heard he’s like?” Anne asked. Henry VIII was a wild card thus far. Only in power since 1509, he was an emerging player on Europe’s stage.
“Your Grace, it is said that the young King of England has inherited his mother’s York confidence and his Beaufort grandmother’s ambition,” Lemaire described.
“I hope he will be good to his queen,” Anne said. She was no friend of England, but for the sake of Isabella of Spain she prayed that the young Henry treated his bride as befit the daughter of one of Europe’s greatest monarchs.
“They say he is eager to prove himself.”
“As I am sure Catherine is eager to prove herself capable of providing him with an heir,” Anne replied, weighing an entirely different thought that she would share later with Louis. May the young English king not prove himself by entering into an alliance with his wife’s father.
“Madame, I am sure it will come to pass,” Lemaire said, avoiding her gaze.
“No one is sure of anything in such matters, but bring me my writing tools so I may send Catherine a note,” she told him, guessing his thoughts. All of France waited for her to provide Louis with an heir. Let them wait. She had produced two princesses, and if French Salic Law forbade putting a woman on the throne to rule, it was France’s loss.
“Right away, Your Grace.”
As Anne awaited his return, she met Madame de Dampierre’s questioning gaze.
“What is it?”
“Your Grace, I am surprised you are reaching out to the English queen.”
“To me she is not just the English queen. She is the daughter of Isabella, who I have ever held in high regard. Unlike her husband.” Ferdinand had never appealed to her although God knew he was a strong ruler. He lacked both gentility of spirit and the debonair courtliness that Louis possessed and that her father had had. How Isabella of Spain had put up with him she could scarcely imagine.
Madame de Dampierre let out a titter. “Madame, she will be grateful for your show of support.”
“I do not know her at all, but I know what it is to be queen and to fail at attempting an heir.”
“Your Grace, it is not an easy road to walk, is it?”
“You would not know, as you do not walk it,” Anne dispatched her. “But Catherine of England does, so I will offer her comfort as a peer.”
“Your Grace, she will be greatly consoled by a note from you.”
“Perhaps not, but it may help.” Anne waved her away as she contemplated other objectives in opening a line of communication to Catherine. It would be useful to have a conduit to the English court, should Henry VIII think to ally with one of Louis’ enemies.
Wishing the Queen of England a speedy recovery, Anne sent her prayers for blooming health and a blooming prince to grace her family soon in the future.
As she blotted and sealed the note, she prayed the same for herself.
The year 1506 began well, although Louis’ health was delicate. The doctors had suggested he remain in Blois with its mild, dry climate and the queen at his side, inarguably the king’s most attentive nurse. Basking in the great prestige of having provided the King of Spain with a wife from their court Anne and Louis rested easy, in accord on all points except the question of Claude’s marriage.
Louis XII ((1462-1515)
Etching of Louis XII from A Popular History of France
by Henri Martin, Paris: Furne, Jouvet et Cie, 1859
Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Louis tried everything to make Anne understand that on this one point, he was unable to
yield. It wasn’t just a question of what he wanted. It was a question of what his subjects
wanted, too: a French husband for their king and queen’s only child, not a foreign prince
who would not only take Claude to a foreign land but also sweep into his possession
Claude’s substantial dowry.
This included the duchies of Brittany, Milan, and Burgundy, the counties of Blois and Asti, and the territory of Genoa, now occupied by France. Given that the princess royal was her parents’ only child, her inherited holdings were too great for many of the French to feel comfortable seeing them handed over to a foreign prince.
“Madame, I would see our mice allied to rats from our own barn. Wouldn’t you?” Louis jested, hoping to assuage Anne.
“Monsieur, I would see our daughter married to a future emperor of the Holy Roman Empire with Spain and the lands of the new world in his portfolio, rather than a small rat who heads only one realm.”
“Madame, do you speak of my kingdom as insubstantial then?” Louis glowered at his wife.
“Monsieur, you and I both know that France enjoys prestige beyond any other kingdom in Europe. But a Queen of France does not rule. I wish our daughter to rule over her subjects, as a Queen in Brittany, Spain, or England does. Do you not wish your daughter to come into her full inheritance, my husband?”
“I do not wish our daughter to gift a foreign prince with what belongs to France.”
“Ah, husband, but Brittany does not belong to France.” Anne faced her husband. Not yet. Eyeing his wife Louis held his tongue, weighing the future against the present. Brittany did not belong to France at the present moment, but the inevitability of Anne’s duchy coming into France’s domain was apparent to him.
For the present, what was essential was to secure his succession by seeing his daughter ascend the throne of France as queen-consort, but at the same time to retain his wife’s affection and support. How the devil he was supposed to accomplish this remained to be seen.
“M’amie, do you prefer that our daughter rule a small duchy or sit on the throne of Europe’s most glorious kingdom?”
“I prefer her to rule, Monsieur, and not just sit at the side of one who does.” Anne flicked back her headdress.
“Then you would rather Claude rode a donkey than sat pillion on a thoroughbred?”
Anne of Brittany (1477-1514)
statue by Jean Fréour. Nantes, France
Courtesy of Pixabay and Wikimedia Commons
“Do not compare my country to a donkey. I have already been compared to one myself by your Parisians, and it does not suit,” Anne sniffed.
“Madame, I agree, but you know my meaning.”
“I know that you think nothing of insulting my country, although I am not allowed to insult yours.” Anne put her hands on her hips.
“My lady, as Queen of France, this is your country too.”
“But it is not my kingdom and its people are not my subjects, as are my Breton people.”
“It is still your responsibility to listen to your husband.” Obey your husband was what he wished to say, but thought it unwise given the moment. God forbid she lose her temper and flounce off to Brittany again for another four months’ stay.
“I listen, but I do not like what I hear.” Anne narrowed her eyes at him.
“Then hear you the tale of the roebuck and take heed.”
“What tale is that?”
“Once upon a time it was seen fit by our Lord to give antlers to both the stag and the roebuck. But the roebuck used her antlers against the stag and so God had to remove them. It has been so ever since, has it not, wife?”
“Husband, do you see me using antlers against you?”
“I sense a certain pointedness from your direction.”
“I use the same arguments against you that you use against me. You would not have me diminish the power of your realm. I would not have you diminish the power of mine.”
“I need not point out whose realm is bigger.”
“Nor need I point out in which realm our daughter’s authority would be greater.”
“Madame, you are without antlers. Therefore, I must prevail.”
“Monsieur, I am not without a voice and I will use it.”
“God knows you will.” Louis put a hand to his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
“Do not forget that I love you, Louis,” Anne’s voice softened.
“And I you, m’amie. But I would prefer to have peace between us.”
“I know, husband. As for me, it is not peace so much that I prefer but your continued health.”
“Thank you for that, wife. But try to back off this argument because I see no way other than the one I have chosen.”
“I will help you to see another way soon.” Anne smoothed his forehead, gliding her fingers over his closed eyes then down to his mouth.
“I was afraid of that,” Louis’ muffled voice came from under her touch. His headache was gone. end of excerpt from Anne and Louis: Rulers and Lovers
#1 in Historical Italian Fiction on Amazon new releases charts, Week of Jan. 1, 2020
It is the intent of the Anne of Brittany Series to bring alive Anne of Brittany’s story to modern readers in an accessible and historically accurate way.
This late medieval to early Renaissance ruler of Brittany provides a strong role model to women in leadership positions today. She has been largely overlooked due to French mistrust of her as a foreign queen who favored Brittany’s interests over those of France. She is the only woman in history who was twice crowned Queen of France.
A rigorous proponent of the education of women, Anne of Brittany was also one of Europe’s biggest patrons of the arts, largely responsible for bringing the Italian Renaissance to France and Brittany, which was an independent realm during her lifetime, from 1477-1514.
Readers of Tudor history, in particular, will enjoy expanding their knowledge of historical figures in Brittany and France who ruled during the Tudor era.
It is interesting to note that Anne of Brittany’s father, Francis II, Duke of Brittany, provided shelter and support to Henry Tudor during his years of exile in Brittany before ascending the English throne in 1485, marking the start of the modern age. Brittany itself maintains a strong Celtic identity since the 8th century when it was settled by explorers from Wales and Cornwall.
Stained glass mosaic of Anne of Brittany entering Dinan
Church of Saint-Malo of Dinan, Brittany, France
Photo by R. Gaston
Foreword page for ANNE AND LOUIS: RULERS AND LOVERSSome thirty-five years ago French historian Bernard Chevalier commented that the reign of Louis XII, Anne of Brittany’s husband, was a “no-man’s land, where neither medievalists nor modernists dare to go.” Unfortunately, that remains largely true still today, and the world knows little about this royal couple, who are two of the most fascinating figures of French history.
Anne of Brittany was unique among French queens in twice being queen, having her own source of power and authority as duchess of Brittany, and exerting robust influence over her husband. Louis XII, the only king to receive the title of “Father of the People” from the Estates General in 1506, was among the best-loved French kings.
With this book, the third in a series on the life of Anne of Brittany, Rozsa Gaston makes a major contribution to English-language historical works on Louis XII and his queen. It covers the middle period of both Louis’s reign and their marriage, which were virtually concurrent. It presents them as secure in both authority and marriage, after complications of Louis’s succession to the throne and his prior marital problems and before the disappointments of their last years, in particular their failure to produce a son to succeed him.
Gaston’s well-crafted imagining of the private life of Anne and Louis is historical fiction, but one that is based on a solid foundation of historical fact.
Frederic J. Baumgartner, author of Louis XII
Professor Emeritus of History, Virginia
Polytechnic Institute and State University
Wishing Tudor and Renaissance history readers a richly fulfilling 2020. May a spark ignite your interest in Anne of Brittany’s story and help it to flame alive in the new year ahead.