The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (13 page)

T
HE Emperor Charles V was not the only person matchmaking for Charles de Bourbon. Behind Louise’s back, some members of the French royal family hoped to encourage the Constable of France to marry Queen Claude’s sister Renée, as he was the last of that royal line. The Constable could see the advantage of this marriage. If he were to marry the king’s sister-in-law, who was also the daughter of the late king, he would be even more powerful. Bourbon arranged to arrive at court while Queen Claude was dining alone and asked to join her. Claude had always been a favorite of his—her gentle ways and wisdom
attracted the taciturn Bourbon, and he trusted her. In the privacy of the queen’s small dining room, he discussed with her the subject of possibly marrying her sister. Suddenly, the king entered and the delicate conversation stopped. François had been hunting and drinking and bridled at the intimate scene before him. François’ spies had told him of the emperor’s offer to wed Bourbon to his sister Eleonore; the king demanded to know if this was true and accused Bourbon of having secret dealings with Charles V.

Rising, the red-faced Bourbon denied it and replied, “Sire, then you menace and threaten me—I have deserved no such cause.” In spite of the fact that he was involved much more deeply with Charles V than the king realized, the sensitive duke was outraged and told his friends he would return his Constable’s sword of office. News of the discord between the king and Charles de Bourbon spread overseas. Henry VIII told the emperor’s ambassador: “There is great displeasure between King François and the duc de Bourbon, perhaps because he will not marry Madame the regent.”

Still Bourbon hesitated to make the final move. However, when the
Parlement
ordered the confiscation of his lands on September 7, 1523 for his refusal to marry Louise de Savoie, the Constable of France finally rebelled. Brantôme suggests that Bourbon had no choice other than to pursue his treason and act as he did. Otherwise, “he would have been imprisoned and dishonored for ever.”

T
HE phantom of Italy was haunting the French king and he ached to retrieve his losses. In an effort to increase his power base, François I had succeeded in renewing his treaty with Henry VIII after Mary Tudor had ceased to be queen of France in 1515; but he failed in his efforts to gain the unequivocal support of the Italian states against the Emperor Charles V. In the advent of further hostilities, the king believed he could count on Venice and Genoa with whom he had treaties, and that the Swiss would be brought into the French camp. Blinded by his ambition to see the northern Italian states back within his domains, in 1523 François I began to gather a great army at Lyons. Montmorency
was dispatched to Switzerland to raise twelve thousand men, while Charles V made alliances with Venice, Lucca, Siena, and Florence. The emperor had more success than the French in gaining allies, adding Venice, Savoy, Tuscany, and lesser Italian states to his side.

Charles de Bourbon planned his revolt carefully, intending to wait until the king had left for Italy. The emperor was to invade France from the Pyrenees in the south, Henry VIII through Normandy in the north, with the Constable instigating guerrilla action in the middle of the country. He would then move north to Paris with an army of
Landsknechte
(literally, “country farmhands”)—the rough, wild Germans from Franche-Comté. All three armies would combine and attack the king from behind.

To ensure that Henry VIII’s troops could land safely in the north, Bourbon brought two young Norman noblemen into his plot. Shocked by this proposed treachery, they confessed all to their bishop, who promptly informed the Grand Sénéchal of Normandy, Louis de Brézé, husband of Diane de Poitiers.

The king was heading south to join his troops when he received Brézé’s letter telling him of the conspiracy. He took the news calmly, increased his escort to five thousand, and turned to ride to the Constable’s seat at Moulins. There, François found Bourbon ill in bed. He told Bourbon that the plot had been uncovered and feigned disbelief. The king also assured his Constable that, should the property case go against him in the
Parlement
, he himself would override the decision and restore Bourbon’s lands and possessions to him. In his last attempt to retain the loyalty of his Constable, François urged him to admit to his crime and assured him that he would be forgiven, promising that he was surely Bourbon’s friend and understood the stress he had been under. François then urged his Constable to ride south with him and be his second-in-command at the front.

But Charles de Bourbon had decided on his path and to confess was the last thing he wanted. Yet if he did not promise to join the king, then François would be sure of his treason. Bourbon malingered and gave his sovereign his word. As soon as François had gone, he fled to Germany with a small escort and his saddlebags full of gold to offer his undoubted military skills in the service of the Emperor Charles V.

Tragically, Louis de Brézé realized too late that his father-in-law, Jehan de Saint-Vallier, was unwittingly involved in Bourbon’s conspiracy. Nonetheless, Brézé would do his duty no matter how much it hurt his wife. Diane’s head must have been spinning with conflicting emotions: her love and loyalty to her father, to the king, to her husband; fear of recrimination against her family; worry about the damage done to their position at court. Her father’s failure to expose the treasonous plot had put them all in a very dangerous position.

T
HAT year, 1523, all the courtly games and colorful pageantry of the French court came to an abrupt end as the Habsburg Emperor Charles V, aided by Henry VIII and the traitor Bourbon, laid siege to France. The north would require defending against Henry
VIII, and the Pyrenees against the advance of the emperor’s army. The defection of the English king hurt François the most, as the code of chivalry in which he believed had been broken. Never again, he said, would he place his trust in a living prince. With all Europe united against him, and with typical and misplaced courage, the king of France prepared to face his enemies.

The main culprits in the treacherous plot, including the Constable, had escaped, but the king ordered the immediate capture of Jehan de Saint-Vallier. Despite his reluctance to betray his monarch, Saint-Vallier’s first loyalty had been to Charles de Bourbon. These traditional bonds stemmed from medieval times and were deeply embedded in the fabric of society. It was not an excuse, just an explanation, and Diane prayed her husband could influence the king to take the family’s long and devoted service into consideration. He was arrested on September 5, 1523, and imprisoned first in Tarare, and then in the forbidding castle of Loches on the Indre. The king’s men found incriminating letters in Saint-Vallier’s possession, as well as proof that there had been several rendezvous with the conspirators at his house. With insurrection all around, an example had to be made. Saint-Vallier, stripped of his lands and titles, was sentenced to death. Although he was famously brave in battle, when faced with the terrible shame of his crime against his sovereign, Saint-Vallier broke down and wept, and his dreadful fever returned.

Louis de Brézé and Diane received letters from her father begging them to visit him and to plead for his life with the king. Diane knew that François was very fond of her and had treated her with much kindness and respect all her life; surely he would take pity on her misery and weaken in his resolve? Educated in the stern school of Anne de Beaujeu, Diane de Poitiers knew her place. She kept her head and did nothing, praying that her husband could influence the king to take the family’s long and devoted service into consideration and hoping that Queen Claude would speak for her to the king. Such treachery by Saint-Vallier could ruin her husband in spite of his lifetime of service to the crown. Anxiously, Diane awaited the outcome of the trial, fearing for her father’s life and for their own favor with the king.

Louis de Brézé loved his wife and daughters—they were a close-knit
family—and he agonized over their situation of divided loyalty—on the one hand to their king, and on the other, to his wife’s father. However, Saint-Vallier’s guilt was not in doubt. The Grand Sénéchal of Normandy confided to his close friend Anne de Montmorency that he had found no one who could help him save Saint-Vallier, but that he so trusted in “the goodness of his master that I hope all will be well.” Louis de Brézé had only one real ace. As war looked imminent, he knew that the king would need the services of his Grand Sénéchal to keep the coast of Normandy defended against an invasion by Henry VIII. When François sent a gift of twenty-five bottles of wine to the prison for the condemned man, Louis and Diane felt there might yet be some hope.

On December 23, 1523, Jehan de Saint-Vallier was transferred to the grim prison of the Concièrgerie in Paris, and on January 8, 1524, he was brought before the
Parlement
. Saint-Vallier had been on hunger strike in the months spent in prison waiting for his trial; he almost collapsed when, on January 17, he was found guilty of
lèse-majesté
. The sentence carried the death penalty, and the loss of all his properties, honors, and titles. In one month, he would be brought to his execution. All Diane’s prayers had been in vain, but she and her husband continued to appeal to the king, the queen, and Madame Louise.

Three of the king’s courtiers came to Saint-Vallier’s cell and ceremoniously stripped him of his chain and Order of Saint-Michel. They then formally announced the withdrawal of all his honors, decorations, and court privileges. Diane’s father was permitted to make his last will and testament and, assisted by a local priest, to prepare for his end. Asked once again if he had any further information to give to the crown, Saint-Vallier replied that he had told all he knew and gave permission to the priest to divulge his last confession. At 3 p.m. on February 17, 1524, Saint-Vallier, shaking from his mystery fever, was too weak to stand, let alone walk, to the place of execution. An archer lifted him onto a horse and had to sit behind him to hold him upright for the ride to the scaffold.

It was a bitterly cold day and the condemned man, bareheaded and with hands tied, was wrapped in a fox-fur cloak. With his confessor following
behind on a mule, they came to the Place de Grève, where a huge crowd had come to watch the execution. According to that useful chronicler “
Un Bourgeois de Paris
,” Saint-Vallier was hauled onto the platform, his warm cloak was removed, and he was forced to kneel with his head on the block and beg for God’s mercy and justice. Stripped to his doublet and shivering with fever, cold, and fear, Saint-Vallier knelt with his head over the execution block for more than an hour, waiting in anguish and confusion for the sword to fall. The audience grew restless—after all, they had come to see a show. Some denounced this senseless cruelty and others objected to the lack of spectacle; there was little else to amuse the Parisians in winter. It was said that Saint-Vallier’s hair turned snow white during that fearful hour of waiting.