The Girl Who Would Be Queen
THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN
Kingdom of Naples, 1342 – 1345 A.D.
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Girl Who Would Be Queen (The Kingdom of Naples, #1)
The Angevin Line in the Kingdom of Naples from Charles I to Joanna and Maria
CONTENTS
Chapter One: A Christmas Masque
Chapter Two: The Sorceress
Chapter Three: A Broken Vow
Chapter Four: A Dangerous Will
Chapter Five: A Tryst
Chapter Six: A Walk in the Garden
Chapter Seven: A Secret Revealed
Chapter Eight: A Merry Dance
Chapter Nine: An Engagement
Chapter Ten: A Scandal
Chapter Eleven: Unbalanced
Chapter Twelve: Return to Court
Chapter Thirteen: Economics
Chapter Fourteen: Confinement
Chapter Fifteen: Losses
Chapter Sixteen: Jealousy
Chapter Seventeen: Kingdom Without a Monarch
Chapter Eighteen: God’s Will Be Done
Chapter Nineteen: Birth and Rebirth
Chapter Twenty: A Fall From Grace
Chapter Twenty-One: The Scales of Justice
Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Banner
Chapter Twenty-Three: Foolish Young Women
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Foul, Unholy Night
Chapter Twenty-Five: Rumors and Veils
Chapter Twenty-Six: Wolves at the Gate
Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Royal Heir
Author’s Note
About the Author
The Sorrow Stone by Jane Ann McLachlan
The Sorrow Stone | Chapter One
By Jane Ann McLachlan
The Girl Who Would Be Queen
Copyright © 2019 by Jane Ann McLachlan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, photocopying or recording, or translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978-1-9993836-1-9
Cover Design by Heather from Expert Subjects
Formatting by Chris Morgan from Dragon Realm Press
www.dragonrealmpress.com
Other Books by Jane Ann McLachlan
Historical Fiction:
The Sorrow Stone
The Lode Stone
The Girl Who Would Be Queen
Memoir:
IMPACT: A Memoir of PTSD
Creative Writing:
Downriver Writing: The Five-Step Process for Outlining Your Novel
By J. A. McLachlan
Science Fiction:
Walls of Wind
Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy:
The Occasional Diamond Thief
The Salarian Desert Game
Midsummer Night Magicians
The Angevin Line in the Kingdom of Naples from Charles I to Joanna and Maria
Charles of Anjou (d. 1285) was the youngest son of King Louis VIII, King of France. He became Charles 1, King of Naples and Sicily, and married Beatrice of Provence (d. 1267).
Their eldest son, known as Charles the Lame (1254-1309), became Charles II, King of Naples and Count of Provence. He married Mary of Hungary (1257-1323) to became the titular King of Hungary. Four of their fourteen children figure in this story.
Charles Martel (1271-1295), the firstborn son of Charles II, married Clemencia of Habsburg (d. 1295). He died before his father, leaving one child, Charles Robert, called Carobert (1288-1342). As oldest son of the oldest son of Charles II, Carobert should have inherited all his Grandfather’s titles. But he was only 7 when his father died and a new heir had to be named, and Charles II decided to leave the Kingdom of Naples to his third son, Robert, a man strong enough to hold it. Carobert was sent to rule Hungary, if he could. Against all odds, he did, and became the powerful King of Hungary. He married Elizabeth of Poland (1305-1380), They had three sons: Louis (1326 – 1382), who became King of Hungary; Andrew (1327 – 1345) who became Duke of Calabria, husband to Joanna 1 of Naples; and Stephen (1332 - 1354).
Robert (1278-1343), the third son of Charles II, became King of Naples and Count of Provence and was known as Robert the Wise. He married Violante of Aragon (1273-1302). They had two sons, Louis (1301-1310), and Charles (1298-1328). Robert later married Sancia of Majorca (1285-1345) but they had no issue. Charles, Robert’s only living son, married Marie of Valois (1309-1331). Charles pre-deceased his father, leaving two daughters, Joanna (1326-1382) and Maria (1329-1366), as Robert the Wise’s only living heirs, although he also had an illegitimate son, Charles of Artois.
Philip (1278-1332) was the fourth son of Charles II. He married Catherine of Valois (1303-1346), the titular Empress of Constantinople, and became the Duke of Taranto. They had four children: Robert (1326 – 1364); Louis (1327 – 1362); Marguerite (d. 1380); and Philip (1332 – 1373).
John (1294-1336) was the ninth son of Charles II. He married Agnes of Perigord (d. 1335) and became the Duke of Durazzo. They had three sons: Charles (1323-1348); Louis (1324-1362); and Robert (1325-1365).
CONTENTS
Chapter One: A Christmas Masque (1342)
Chapter Two: The Sorceress
Chapter Three: A Broken Vow (1343)
Chapter Four: A Dangerous Will
Chapter Five: A Tryst
Chapter Six: A Walk in the Garden
Chapter Seven: A Secret Revealed
Chapter Eight: A Merry Dance
Chapter Nine: An Engagement
Chapter Ten: A Scandal
Chapter Eleven: Unbalanced
Chapter Twelve: Return to Court
Chapter Thirteen: Economics
Chapter Fourteen: Confinement
Chapter Fifteen: Losses (1344)
Chapter Sixteen: Jealousy
Chapter Seventeen: A Kingdom Without a Monarch
Chapter Eighteen: God’s Will Be Done
Chapter Nineteen: Birth and Rebirth
Chapter Twenty: A Fall From Grace (1345)
Chapter Twenty-One: The Scales of Justice
Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Banner
Chapter Twenty-Three: Foolish Young Women
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Foul, Unholy Night
Chapter Twenty-Five: Rumors and Veils
Chapter Twenty-Six: Wolves at the Gate
Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Royal Heir
Chapter One: A Christmas Masque
Naples, 1342
“A masque!” I echo my sister’s words with delight. The ladies-in-waiting gathered around us in our presence chamber—gathered around my sister Joanna, actually—laugh at my excitement, but I do not care. I love a masque! “Will there be a theme?”
The last time Joanna arranged a masque we disguised ourselves as creatures in our royal menagerie. I received the marker with ‘zebra’ written on it. I like the little zebras with their wide, gentle eyes and striped markings, but I had hoped to come as a parrot. They are so beautiful with their brilliant plumage, what a costume it would make! I had already learned to mimic their funny, scratchy voices, asking for treats and
singing songs for us. But my sister gave that marker to our older cousin, Marguerite of Taranto, who did not even try to sound like a parrot when she spoke. Joanna herself came as a tiger. Quite by coincidence Marguerite’s brother, our handsome cousin Louis of Taranto, also received the tiger marker. Their older brother Robert came in a lion mask. He expected Joanna to come as the lioness, and was furious to see her matched with Louis, which made me giggle. Robert’s and Louis’ competition for Joanna’s attention is constant. She smiles at them both, although I know she secretly favors Louis. I hope she has thought up something equally fun for this Christmas masque.
“The theme will be...” she waits, enjoying our suspense as we hang on her words, “...the ballad of Tristan and Isolde.”
I am not the only one who gasps. That is not a Christmas story at all. Yesterday, when Joanna arranged a chanteur to sing the ballad for us at the first of our December feasts, many of the older ladies frowned. I was surprised, also—delightfully surprised, for I had never heard the ballad sung, though everyone knows the tale of Tristan and Isolde, who swallowed a love potion and could not escape their forbidden love for each other.
“But Your Royal Highness...” Elisabette, the oldest of our ladies, stammers to a stop as Joanne turns to her.
“Did you not enjoy the chanteur’s song, Lady Elisabette?” Joanna asks.
Don’t, I think. Don’t let her ruin it! Already I am desperate to perform this masque. How could anyone not have enjoyed the chanteur’s ballad? I listened as one spellbound to the glorious tale of lovers defying everything to be together, and wept in front of everyone as the chanteur sang the final tragic verses. Grandmother Queen Sancia scowled down the table at me. She disapproves of the public display of any emotion other than piety. But Joanna’s eyes were moist, too, and many of the other ladies’, so I pretended not to notice my Lady Grandmother and wept happily. Is it not wonderful to think two people could love each other as much as Tristan and Isolde?
“Of course I did, Your Highness. Your entertainments are always delightful. It is only... King Robert has many nephews at court, might they not be offended to see a King’s nephew betraying his sovereign uncle?”
“Tristan did not seduce Queen Isolde willingly,” Lady Marguerite, sister to three of those nephews, says. “The ballad serves as a warning against the perils of potions and spells and demons’ magic. Surely that is a message to us all.”
I nod as solemnly as the other ladies, but the thought of my handsome young cousins wanting to seduce my Lady Grandmother makes me bite my lip to keep from giggling. Even if she were not ancient, it is no secret that she is too holy even to share her husband King Robert’s bed.
“I do not think my honorable cousins will see themselves as Tristan.” Joanna’s face is solemn, her eyes steady but for a single quick glance at me.
I am overtaken by a fit of coughing. I cover my face, which I know is turning red, my eyes watering. Lady Marguerite fetches me a cup of small ale. I gulp it down. Joanna watches me solicitously as though she was not also fighting the urge to laugh beneath her calm expression.
Marguerite rescues me by asking Joanna to explain her idea for the masque. As my sister describes the tableaux we will portray of the pivotal scenes, while the chanteur sings our parts, my excitement mounts. I can picture it already, how charming we will look, how tragic it will be. I want to leap up and down, and hug myself... but I am a woman of thirteen, it would be unseemly and childish to do so. Still, the urge is so strong I consider going into our bedchamber where I can hop on one foot and twirl with excitement and no one will sigh or call me giddy. But I might miss something. So I sit still and only imagine myself jumping with glee as I listen to Joanna’s plans. She will write the tableaux, and we will all have parts—oh! I do want to jump!—and the masks will be large, covering our whole faces, so no one will know who we are. I am breathless with excitement as my sister explains the different parts. Joanna’s entertainments are more fun than anything at the grand court in Paris, I am certain of it!
“Who will play Queen Isolde?” Lady Marguerite asks. She is my friend, even though she is older than me. I look hard at her, willing her to suggest a name—my name. She pretends not to notice.
There is a long silence. None of the married ladies wants to play the part of an adulteress in front of her husband, despite Joanna’s assurance that no one will know who we are beneath our masks. The unmarried ladies do not want to frighten away suitors with a convincing performance, either.
Prince Louis of Hungary will never know. He is so far away, and besides, he is already contracted to marry me whatever I do. King Louis of Hungary, I correct myself, crowned four months ago after the death of his father, King Carobert. I have been waiting in fear that he would send for me and I would miss the feasts and songs of the Twelve Holy Days of Christmas at our brilliant Neapolitan court, but no summons has come. Even if it arrived tomorrow, I could not be ready now until spring. I smile with satisfaction.
I do not trust Louis’ brother, Andrew, but Duke Andrew will be drunk long before we throw off our masks. He will not care anyway, he never pays attention to the entertainments Joanna goes to such trouble to arrange. I open my mouth to volunteer, having waited as long as I dare in order to avoid looking over-eager.
“I will play Isolde, then,” Joanna says smoothly, before I can speak. “I understand your loyal reluctance to take the part of the queen, in my court.” She smiles around at all of us. Is it my imagination or do her eyes linger on me?
“It is only a masque,” I mutter, as though I have been caught out. Trust Joanna to turn the issue from adultery to allegiance. We have all sworn our fealty to her as heir to the throne of Naples; Grandfather had everyone do so as soon as we came to Castle Nuovo, three full years before her marriage to Andrew when she was seven and he was six. I was too young to swear fealty then, but that does not matter. I know my duty to my future queen, even if she is my sister. I have been taught it all my life. Still, I cannot help admiring her subtlety. Now she is taking the part because it is a queen’s role. Everyone around me is nodding and smiling, as though she has waved her hand and changed the story. They see her as Isolde the Queen, not Isolde the adulteress.
I wish I could do that. I wish I could make people see me as I want to be seen. But I never think of the right thing to say until it is too late.
Joanna does it naturally. She is the heir to the throne. Always. She wears it like her skin. She is seen as the future queen because that is who she is, at every moment, whatever she is doing or saying; she is always the heir to the throne of Naples.
I will be a queen when I marry. When I marry Louis of Hungary, Joanna will not be greater than I. Our grandparents, King Robert and Queen Sancia, will notice me when I am Queen Maria, and not only when they catch me doing something they do not approve of. That will not matter, then; a queen can do what she wants!
“Marguerite of Taranto and Sancia of Cabannis will be Queen Isolde’s ladies-in-waiting,” Joanna says. “You will carry letters and tokens between Tristan and Isolde, arranging their trysts.” They smile at her, making me wonder if they have already carried similar notes in our court. Elisabette is to be Isolde’s disapproving nursemaid. Elisabette frowns. “Perfect!” Joanna cries, as if the old sourface was actually acting the part. One by one, all the best parts are taken, and none of them given to me. I look down at my lap, biting my bottom lip.
When I marry King Louis of Hungary, Joanna will only be married to Duke Andrew, my husband’s younger brother. Louis will send for me soon, now that he has come to his throne. I am his assurance that whatever happens to Joanna or Andrew, the kingdoms of Hungary and Naples will be united again under the rule of a grandson of his father, King Carobert of Hungary.
Louis’ father called our Grandfather, King Robert the Wise, a usurper. King Carobert believed he should have inherited both kingdoms as eldest son of the eldest son of Charles II. But King Charles II gave the Kingdom of Naples to his third son, Robert the Wi
se, our Lord Grandfather, and gave Hungary to his seven-year-old grandson, Carobert, the only son of his deceased eldest son, Charles Martel. Naples was too important a kingdom to entrust to a child. The trouble began when Carobert grew up and pressed his claim to Naples as well as Hungary. It almost caused a war, both sides arming for battle—I shiver, imagining for a moment the possibility of soldiers fighting in the streets outside our castle!
To forestall that war, King Robert agreed to marry his heir, Joanna, to King Carobert’s second son, Andrew, and promised me to King Carobert’s heir, his eldest son Louis, thus giving Carobert a son on each throne, Naples and Hungary, and King Robert a granddaughter on each throne. Joanna explained all this to me, for she remembers it; she was seven at the time, but I was only four. “We will be equals when we both marry,” she told me grandly.
Equals. I have not even been given a part in the masque. She will never see me as her equal. Even when we are both queens, Joanna will be Queen of Naples, the most renowned court in Europe, outside of Paris. Our royal grandfather cares about Naples. He is training Joanna to be his heir. My Lord Grandfather does not care at all whether I will be a good queen of Hungary. My only task is to produce an heir if Joanna does not, and thus fulfill the contract that keeps Hungary waiting patiently for Naples, a drooling wolf at our door.
Hungary is a barbaric, uncivilized land, but it is very rich. Well then, I will make it my duty as its queen to introduce learning and culture when I am there, and courtly entertainments. In Hungary, I will be the one giving out the roles in a masque, and keeping the best one for myself. I will be a patron to artists and sculptors and poets. What will my grandparents, who expect so little of me, think of that? I will be known as the queen who brought civilization to Hungary!
“Would you be in charge of costumes, Maria?” my sister asks, scattering my reflections. I look at her, not quite certain I have heard her right. Perhaps it was part of my daydream? But she is looking at me, waiting for an answer.