San Angelo, Naples
1343
“For someone getting married, you certainly look very unhappy, darling.”
In a small side room at the San Angelo Basilica, Jeanne stood uneasily as a variety of serving girls applied the last touches to her wedding gown. In her opinion, the whole affair was rushed—she hadn’t even been able to choose the fabrics for her own gown! Eager to have the whole wedding done, the council ordered the Mistress of the Robes to find something suitable, and so she had the gown that Jeanne’s mother, Marie de Valois had worn at her own wedding twenty years earlier. The young queen was not entirely pleased with the dress—it wasn’t that it was ugly; it was perfectly beautiful. Yet… it seemed perfectly out of style, and so the serving women were trying their best to fix the dress as quickly as they could before the ceremony commenced.
“Look who I’m marrying!” Jeanne spat, turning her head slightly in the direction of her Mistress of the Robes, Agnes de Périgord. Agnes was more than just another courtier: she was also her aunt, and the only mother figure she knew. A princess from France not unlike her own mother, Agnes had come to Naples young and had been widowed with several young children. Always lurking in the shadows, she seemed to know everything before anyone else did, and had pulled herself up into some of the highest pecking orders of the court, quite the feat for a foreign princess, who were more often than not subjected to the cruel tortures of the fickle Barons. Although shrewd, Agnes was not what one would call “pretty.” With dark hair like a raven, her most defining feature was her aquiline nose and bird like eyes that dominated her face. Unable to charm people with her looks, she instead relied on her quick wit and sharp tongue. Smirking slightly at her niece, Agnes held back her giggles, knowing that at sixteen, Jeanne still had much to learn about the world.
“Consider yourself lucky—at least he isn’t ugly. And he’s sixteen! I married my first husband when he was thirteen… believe me; I was much more embarrassed than you were. He preferred to play with his toy soldiers on the wedding night…”
Alongside Agnes was a relatively new face at the Neapolitan court, Margarete, the Countess of Tyrol. Having been driven from her domains alongside the Alps by the troops of the Holy Roman Emperor, Margarete had fled south with her second husband, Louis of Bavaria. Her second marriage, having been carried out without any Papal dissolution of her first marriage had caused great scandals in the royal circles of Europe, and had also brought down excommunication upon herself and her husband, as well as interdict over her domains only the year before. With Tyrol occupied by the House of Luxembourg, Margarete and her Bavarian consort fled south into Italy. Sojourning briefly in Venice, Mantua, and Pisa, a trail of expenses and unwilling patrons drove them to south to Naples. Quickly gaining the eye of the old king, Margarete quickly became an exotic fixture at the court, being granted a generous pension by the now deceased king, who also promised to intercede with the Emperor and Pope personally, to restore her to her estates; his illness however prevented anything of substance being carried out, and thus she bided her time.
“Maybe Andrew will have something to do after the wedding…” Jeanne mumbled, biting her lip. “I don’t really want to have to sleep with him… can’t we keep separate chambers?”
Margarete smirked. Like Agnes, she was an intelligent schemer, but unlike her friend and ally, she had looks on her side. Waifish figure, the Countess of Tyrol was well known for her blonde curls and deep blue eyes. Despite being a foreigner and possessing a scandalous reputation, she was nevertheless able to secure her husband a position in the royal armies, commanding the garrison of Gaeta. With a husband absent due to his command, it took Margarete little time to capture the hearts of the barons: it was no secret that Margarete possessed many lovers amongst the court, making her a natural ally to Agnes. Who else would be likely to spill secrets than those wrapped around the finger of the Tyrolean beauty?
“The boy’s sixteen,” Margarete said with a smirk, winking slightly. “You won’t be sleeping much tonight, I presume. The first time is always the most memorable, why, I still remember mine, he was quite handsome—“
“Shh.” Agnes snapped, laughing softly at the German countess. “Don’t scare the poor girl. I’m sure she’s already nervous…”
“I’m not nervous,” The Queen of Naples responded quickly, huffing. “Annoyed is more like it.”
“I’d be annoyed too.” Margarete replied, exchanging a glance with Agnes, shooing away to serving girls to apply the finishing touches to her gown. Touching the fabric softly, she smiled softly at the young queen as she begin to tie up the loose strings. “A girl like you is far too pretty to be marrying someone like him. He isn’t ugly… but he’s so quiet. You need someone you can talk too.”
Smirking, Agnes followed the lead of the Tyrolean, stepping behind the queen to finish tidying the mess that the serving girls had made. Listening intently, Agnes could only smile as Margarete continued to flatter Jeanne, plying on the compliments of how pretty she was, how deserving she was of a proper husband, watching carefully as the young Queen of Naples ate it up like a starving animal. When Jeanne was but a little girl, having lost both of her parents and without any proper guidance, Agnes had taken it upon herself to care for Jeanne as she would her own daughters. It was only a bonus that she had been her grandfather’s intended heiress—knowing full well that flattery and kindness would bring her further benefits once she was properly enthroned.
“Indeed,” Agnes murmered softly, brushing a strand of Jeanne’s hair back as she fetched her bridal cap. “You need someone who can speak, and not stutter. It is really a pity—I remember when you were young, your grandfather considered a marriage to both Philip of Burgundy and Charles of Navarre, both handsome, talkative princes…”
“Really?” Jeanne smiled slightly as her wedding cap was tied. Of course it was slightly depressing that she was not to marry either of these princes, but rather Andrew, but it did help her situation slightly. Margarete was right. She needed someone who would talk to her. Her mood brightened slightly, both the older women exchanging glances as they continued to tie the various strings on the beautiful gown. Jeanne couldn’t help but wonder slightly why the two women had took it upon them to finish dressing her, but she had no reason to complain. Agnes loved her as a mother would, and Margarete was a breath of fresh air, a witty and colorful woman whose stories Jeanne couldn’t help but listen in on.
Agnes knew that her flattery was working. There had been no plans to engage Jeanne to either Philip or Charles; from her birth it had been decided that she would marry one of her Hungarian cousins—it was simply the question of which one, a problem that had forced Robert to send her husband, John of Gravina to select one of the sons of Charles of Hungary. Naturally, Agnes had accompanied him, nearly ten years before. It had been easy enough: simply watching the Hungarian dynasty, Agnes immediately ruled out those sons who were independently minded. With her husband harboring the same ambitions as she, it didn’t take Agnes long to suggest they negotiate the betrothal to Andrew. Clinging to his mother, Andrew was brought to Naples kicking and screaming. Smothering him with kindness, it had been easy enough to win him over. Much like Jeanne, Andrew himself was overly attached to Agnes, solidifying her position as a matron to the soon-to-be wedded couple.
“Really.” Agnes chirped, reaffirming her previous lie. “Such is the fate of a princess… or in your case, a queen. Very rarely do we find love in this life. At most, hope you get along. Andrew certainly won’t cross you…”
Jeanne could not help but frown as her cap was properly tied together, setting her eyes upon Margarete, in hopes that the German might offer some insight. After all, she was still married and didn’t seem terribly unhappy with her situation. Perhaps sensing her distress, Margarete was quick to squeeze her hand. The Queen of Naples found little comfort in this gesture; she wanted something concrete. Some kind of advice… anything at all that might make her present situation seem a little bit better. Perhaps some princess who had it much worse than her? But all she received was silence. Inhaling slightly as Margarete pulled the dress tighter, Jeanne winced, wondering if she would even be able to breathe when Margarete was done. Trying her hardest to ignore the pain in her hips, Jeanne looked at the Tyrolean, who undid the dress-strings slightly before speaking. Jeanne felt relieved—mostly because she could breathe again, but the fact Margarete was prepared to offer her what she needed desperately.
“It doesn’t matter, anyways. The most important thing is that you give the barons what they are clamoring for—an heir. I’ll let you in on a little secret: to have a successor, it matters very little whether the maker is behind the throne or in front of it…”
“I don’t understand…” Jeanne mumbled, looking at the older woman as she smirked slightly, exchanging glances with Agnes who shook her head disapprovingly for daring to push Jeanne in such a direction. It was no lie that it would certainly bring her own son closer to the throne if Jeanne displeased the barons, but she somehow doubted that taking one of them as a lover would cause such an outrage, especially if Andrew failed to live up to his duties as king. If that was the case, then the barons would expect her to sire an heir, however possible.
“She’s saying that if Andrew does not please you…” Agnes was careful with her words, not wanting to reveal too much. “Then you should find someone else who does.”
Jeanne was still clueless as both the older women pulled back, examining the Queen of Naples in her bridal dress. Looking down at herself, she wasn’t sure how she felt. Beautiful? No… even while she felt somewhat close to her dead mother by wearing her own gown, she couldn’t feel beautiful. She was getting ready to say her vows to a boy she had no interest in marrying. It didn’t help that the advice she had been given offered no practical escape. She was simply supposed to grin and bear it, and to find someone else who she could love, and who would love her. There was no mention of Andrew, or of his feelings in the matter… not that Jeanne really cared how he felt. If she could find someone else, then certainly he would do the same? Was marriage such a sham for people of her status that they abandoned it at the nearest convenience? Thinking harder on the exact words of Agnes, Jeanne suddenly had a horrifying revelation, back to the days when her grandfather had been healthy. She recalled very little, except a loud argument between her grandparents regarding his mistress. It was only then that it was obvious—if love was not found in your marriage, then you simply cheated. Jeanne gulped. Was that all she had to look forward too? Arguments with Andrew when she discovered he had a new mistress? Or his angry retorts upon discovering she had found someone else? It didn’t sound pleasant.
“I think I understand now.”
“Good, good!” Margarete was the first to speak, grinning wildly. “I thought you would catch on sooner or later… my, look how beautiful you are. I think we’re all ready for your little ceremony. You’re going to be fine, just take a deep breath…”
Jeanne smiled slightly as she examined herself in the mirror one last time. Her hair tied back, her dress had been totally transformed into something more bearable. It was certainly pretty, but Jeanne couldn’t bring herself to care about it. Watching Margarete place the veil over her face, the Queen of Naples held back a sigh as Margarete and Agnes stood back, admiring their work. Not wanting to disappoint, she forced herself to smile. She wasn’t happy—far from it. But there was no way out of her present situation. There were ways to make it more bearable, but no way to avoid it. It was then that Jeanne felt a break with her childhood, with her youth—it was children who dreaded change that didn’t favor them, who looked for an escape. Adults knew to face whatever was ahead of them with a false smile. If something was unavoidable, then it made no sense to sulk and throw tantrums, but rather to do whatever possible to make the situation more bearable. Jeanne would marry Andrew—it certainly wouldn’t make her happy, but it would not make her totally miserable.
“Thanks,” Jeanne mumbled. “I’m ready.”
“Excellent.” Agnes spoke quietly, smiling brightly at the young girl. Despite smiling back, Agnes knew that the girl was crushed on the inside. Not terribly—Jeanne was far more headstrong than the oaf of a boy she was marrying: she wouldn’t dare let anyone see that she was upset. She would despair, but only momentarily. Agnes was certain by time Jeanne settled into her chambers for the wedding night she would already have a new plan of action plotted out in her mind. And when she did, Agnes would be there, ready and willing to lend her advice.
