| |
“The king is dead! Can you believe that Antoinette?” Out of breath from running, Louise pressed her hands on her cheeks to cool them as she tried to hide her excitement.
“King Charles? Are you sure?” The gouvernante, sitting in the children’s day room, looked up from her embroidery. Her voice remained placid.
Even though she had doubted it herself, Antoinette’s question and lack of interest irritated Louise. “Yes. I asked our priest. He said this pattern of ringing is used when a king dies. But Charles is so young. I wonder what happened?”
She stood at the back of the day nursery, brimming with anticipation, but undecided what to do. It meant Duke Louis was King. And her son, her François, her César, was dauphin. Friar Francis’s prophecy was coming true.
* * *
EASTER CELEBRATIONS prevented Louise from setting out immediately for Blois to visit King Louis. Once she had performed her essential duties, she passed several restless days wishing she had a friend or confident as close as her mother-in-law had been. After a week, she decided she could, with decorum, call her chamberlain, Sire Jean de Saint Gelais, back from Angoulême.
“Sire Jean,” she said with delight when her maître d'hôtel opened the library door to announce him.
He bowed, took her hands, held them a moment too long, then kissed them and then both her cheeks. “Mme Countess, it is a pleasure, as always. How may I serve you?”
She gave him a slow smile and swung her hips as she returned to the chair behind the large desk. It pleased her that he treated her as a beautiful woman, for she had begun to notice he was a handsome man, only a few years older than herself, with a full head of chestnut hair and all his teeth.
“I am concerned about King Louis’s intentions now that my son is dauphin.” Louise plunged right in. “It was hard enough after Carlo died when he took the case of his guardianship to the Parlement de Paris.”
Her chamberlain nodded. “We were fortunate the queen stepped in on your behalf. I believe he would have won all the rights over the young Count if not for her. She must suffer deep distress, having lost both her husband and her daughter so close one to the other.”
“You are too soft about her.” When Sire Jean looked pained, she said, “It is hard that she lost her husband and child, yes, but I hear she is busy gathering every last écu that Charles bestowed upon her, negotiating hard for her dower, and demanding all her Breton rights. As for helping me, Louis still won ‘de jure’ guardianship, and the Parlement gave me only de facto rights to bring up my children day to day.” She would have gone on, but saw her chamberlain’s expression had stiffened. “Well, enough about that. She tried. I have a more important problem and I need your help. You are so clever with problems like this.”
Before her eyes, Sire Jean’s chest swelled like a cock preening before his flock. Better.
“You tell me that our finances have become increasingly tight since my dear Carlo died. Especially since we lost the income from the governorship of Guyenne."
He nodded, looking serious.
“Now that my son is dauphin, should not the king provide him with an income? I am sure you would know, and also what it should be.”
“Yes, indeed, Mme Countess, he should and—”
“What about his own duchy of Orléans and its income?” she suggested.
When Sire Jean grimaced doubtfully, Louise went to work to persuade him, and to convince him it was his own idea.
* * *
SEVERAL TIMES, ANNE half-wakened, thinking she heard the ringing of bells, but the clamour ceased before she roused. The music of the bells wove its way into her dreams, lulling her back into the arms of Lethe. Fanchon’s soft tongue licking her face finally forced her to open her eyes. She could have slept more, but Fanchon would have none of it. In her doggy opinion, it was time to rise, and she wiggled and whined until they both heard noises on the far side of the bed curtains. When her maid drew them back, Fanchon bounded down and raced for the door.
“She is not normally so eager to go out,” Anne said as she stretched.
“It is rare that you lie abed this late,” said her maid, as another maid hurried after Fanchon. “The bells for Sext rang sometime past. But we had orders not to disturb you.”
As memory returned, Anne’s momentary lightness faded. She prodded thoughts of Charles and baby Anne gently, as if putting her tongue on an aching tooth, to see if a shooting pain would sear through her heart. It did not. This ache she could endure.
“Bring me bread and small beer.”
Yesterday, she had not addressed the question of mourning garb for herself or her household. That must be next.
“Send the wardrobe mistress to me, too.”
The girl curtsied, “Yes, Madame la Reine.”
Anne pursed her lips. That would have to change. From today onwards, she would be Mme la Duchesse, but it could wait until after she ordered court mourning. Those orders would cause enough stir for now.
It gave her no pleasure to be proven right, but it was not a surprise. Her wardrobe mistress, a good Frenchwoman, was at first unbelieving and then stiffly disapproving when Anne informed the lady that she would wear black for mourning.
Her wardrobe mistress sniffed. “But it is entirely against custom. The queen always wears white.”
“French custom,” Anne said. “Breton custom requires mourning in black. I am Duchess of Brittany now. Since I am wearing black mourning for my daughter, it will make it much easier on you and my court. Please have additional black chemises and sleeves made for me.”
After her lady grumbled off, Anne considered the woman’s reaction. She would certainly noise her complaints among the other ladies-in-waiting, and they would write to their families. That should spread the news about. Good. She wanted it known far and wide that she was asserting her Breton rights and that Brittany was an independent duchy once again.
* * *
ANNE WENT TO MASS WITH her ladies. It distressed her to hear the priest offer prayers for the health and long life of the king and queen, Louis and Jeanne. The shock focussed Anne’s attention on her biggest problem: Louis and Brittany’s independence. They were intricately entwined, like skeins of embroidery thread that had become badly entangled. She must separate them carefully or risk igniting another disastrous war. Yet she was determined to assert the rights inserted so skillfully into the treaty and marriage contract that had made her queen of France. Louis had helped her incorporate them. How would he feel now that he had to abide by them?
After mass, walking beside Mme Michelle in the gardens she loved, followed by several of her ladies, she pondered the question. Because she and Charles had produced no living children—she sniffed to hold back the tears that threatened—Brittany was wholly hers.
As its duchess, Anne forced herself to examine the situation cold-eyed. It should be simple, yet one issue remained. Her marriage contract stated that, impossible as it had seemed, if their matrimony ended without heirs, she must marry the next king of France or marry no one. But King Louis was married and had been for over twenty years. That should void the clause. Except he was married to a barren woman he detested.
She turned to Mme Michelle, whose shrewd political sense she valued. “Do you agree that the new king finds himself in a delicate situation?” she asked.
“Because he has no heir, and the new dauphin is but four years old?”
“Yes, you know Madame la Grande has always mistrusted him. She and Duke Pierre are his most powerful vassals and the Bourbon lands control central France. They could lead a rebellion, just as he led one against them after they were named regents instead of him,” Anne said.
She weighed the possibility. Eleven years earlier, Madame la Grande, continuing her late father’s policy of centralizing power in the king, had spearheaded the invasion of Brittany. Since then, her interests had changed. Her husband had inherited the huge Bourbonnais fief in central France from his brother and become the Duke de Bourbon. Might the Bourbon now side with those who favoured greater independent power for feudal duchies, like Burgundy and Brittany? “If they did, could I trust them as allies? We would have the same interests. I would find it hard.”
“Why would they rebel? They are powerful within France and their duchies are appanages, they are not independent.” Michelle sounded thoughtful as they continued their walk through the garden.
“I expect Louis will want heirs and his wife is barren. Madame la Grande has always opposed his divorce from Jeanne. If he tries, it could be a powerful inducement for the Bourbon to rebel. They could succeed, for they are the richest vassals in France; they have more allies; and are most experienced in governing. Or Madame la Grande could make it a condition of her support that Louis stay married to Jeanne.” Anne became animated as she considered the hard choices that faced her in-laws. Her voice rose.
Her companion raised a finger to her lips and murmured, “Your ladies will hear you.” She went on. “Louis is an astute negotiator. I wonder what they will want as their price for supporting him—and his divorce?”
“It will be high, perhaps the right to decide whom he will marry. Will he pay it? Madame la Grande kept him in her prisons for three years.” Anne remembered his bitterness when he spoke about it as they rode towards France eight years ago. “Will he seek vengeance now he is king?”
“Not if he is wise. And he strikes me as a clever man.” Mme Michelle replied.
“That is true.” Anne smiled at her friend. “I see opportunities for Brittany in supporting Louis and persuading Madame la Grande to do so, too.”
She rubbed her arms to warm them for a cool breeze had blown up. “You were not with the court when Brittany surrendered, but I was stubborn during the negotiations about my dower rights. Even then I was afraid Charles would betray his promises in the treaty. After a while, my councillors and the French delegates gave way since they thought I would never gain sole control again. But I have, Grâce à Dieu.”
She stopped to admire the gardens that she had spent so much time designing. “I love these gardens but I would not miss them if I could return to Brittany to stay. So when I negotiate the treaty we must have, Louis will find me as stubborn as the Breton rock he said I was made from. Whatever I must give up, I am determined to restore the Breton rights and liberties that Charles revoked.”
* * *
AS ANNE WAITED FOR her secretary, Père André de la Vigne, she called for her grand chamberlain to ready her apartments for her mourning. When he came, they agreed every wall and window, and all her public rooms must be draped with black. The rest of the chateau was King Louis’s responsibility.
Père André arrived, looking nervous. “Please accept my condolences on the sudden, shocking loss of your husband, Madame la Reine.” He bowed and backed away, as if expecting her to burst into tears.
She was not surprised. Undoubtedly whispers were circulating here and spreading throughout Europe that she was hysterical with grief. She knocked the thought away as she had learned to do. To concern herself over something she could do nothing about was pointless.
“Thank you, Père André. It is a sad time for France. Yet we must move forward. I would have you take notes.”
He appeared relieved as he took out a slate and sat poised to write.
“I would have you circulate the following announcement to all courts within and without France.
Greetings, etc. My late husband, Charles King of France, having gone to God on the 7th April 1494, from this day forward, I wish to be addressed as Anne, Duchess of Brittany.”
His eyebrows rose, and he hesitated.
She understood his doubts. “Yes. I have the right to use the title Queen of France. But once I have completed the forty days of official mourning, I shall return to Brittany, and I wish this to be known immediately. I will dictate the legal documents today.”
Père André was Breton. He smiled and bowed again, this time more cheerfully. “I am your willing servant.”
They shared a complicit smile.
“Let us begin with Baron Philippe de Montauban. He will be so pleased to hear that I am restoring the Chancellery that Charles suppressed and reappointing him Chancellor of Brittany—effective immediately.”
Père André clapped his hands.
The corners of Anne’s lips lifted. “Add that I require his presence at Amboise as soon as he receives this summons.”
“That should toss the cobblestones into the millpond,” Father Andre said.
“It should. And Père André, I need a new seal. Write up an order for me. It is to have my Breton arms only, with my motto: No mudera. For I do not change.”
The next document took longer to shape. With Père André’s words of advice, they crafted a proclamation addressed to the President of the Parlement de Paris, Guy de Rochefort, to announce the re-establishment of the chancellery and the appointment of its chancellor. She coupled it with a sharp demand for the return of the Great Seal of Brittany from the Parlement.
Anne sniffed. “Can you imagine? They removed it from Vannes when the king merged our chancellery into the general French accounts. I could have a new one made, but I want our original back. And I expect Baron Philippe to make a claim to the Parlement de Paris for the sums they misappropriated from our accounts.”
Surprise is the best strategy, she remembered one of her enemies saying. So, she had decided to launch her assault on all fronts simultaneously and without warning.
Although she was flagging, she pushed herself to finish. “Père André, please send a copy of both documents to the viscount de Rohan, as is correct since he is Lieutenant-Governor of Brittany. I want him to understand that now that I am back, his position is no longer powerful, for I shall rule. Send other copies to King Louis. This is a test. Will he honour my rights according to the clauses of my marriage contract?”
She had dulled the pain of the loss of her duchy by refusing to brood about it. When her enemies—Marshal de Rieux or Marshal de Gié or her former gouvernante—benefitted from the union with France or built their fortunes in Italy or made malicious remarks about her wealth as Queen of France, she filed them away as debts owed, with no certainty they would be repaid. Now she could consider what justice demanded. Know your enemies, she had learned, and don’t mistake them for friends when they pretend to be.
The tasks she had accomplished had exhausted her. With her fatigue, her grief returned. She must lie down.
“King Louis will wish to see me when he arrives. I must rest before that, Père André.”
He leapt to his feet as if she had berated him. “Of course, Madame la Duchesse.”