Character Conversations: Hugh Despenser, from the King’s Greatest Enemy series by Anna Belfrage

Tewkesbury Abbey was quiet and I was grateful. I knew people could see me when I traveled through time to conduct interviews, but I wasn't sure how it all worked when my interviewees stepped through time to talk to me and I wasn't prepared to test the waters with someone as controversial as Hugh Despenser. 

The fact of the matter was that the request itself had caught me off guard, but on learning of the discussions I host here at Flashlight Commentary, Hugh simply wouldn't be denied the opportunity and hounded Anna into setting up an interview. Thinking back on it, I half wonder what would have happened if we'd refused to arrange the meeting. I'm not sure it'd have gotten violent, but Hugh is quite intimidating and I'm not convinced a polite declination would have been accepted.

I'd arrived early to take in the grounds before the interview. The Abbey's vaulted ceilings and stained glass fascinated me, but so did many of dead and I took my time looking over the tombs that lined the ambulatory. I was on the south end, considering a fairly modest installment when I sense someone approach and take position just behind my left shoulder. I turned quickly and found myself face to face with Hugh, a smug grin of amusement on his lips as he held out his hand gestured me to the door. 

He made a quip about being interviewed over his dead body, but intimated he'd be more comfortable outside in the fresh air. I agreed and we head out to settle ourselves under a tree near the churchyard. 

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You and your wife were great patrons of this monastery. What inspired your generosity?
Truth be told, it was more Eleanor’s thing than mine. Her family has roots the size of upside-down oak trees here, and what with the de Clare line going extinct on the male side with the SO unfortunate death of Gilbert at Bannockburn, someone had to take up the mantle. Quid pro quo, if you will: I got the lion’s share of dear, dead, Gilbert’s lands – well, officially Eleanor did – and so I graciously passed some of all this wealth on to the good monks of Tewkesbury. Besides, men like me need all the help they can get to ensure a comfortable afterlife – assuming one exists. There are days when I am struck by the blasphemous thought that maybe this life is all that we get, and if so, one must really suck the marrow out of it, right?

How do you feel seeing it today?
The abbey? Dull thing these days, isn’t it? In my time, it was an explosion of colour and gold, now it is all unadorned stone. And then, of course, there’s the infected matter regarding my tomb. THEY’VE MOVED ME!!! (If we’re going to be correct, they’ve moved the parts that Eleanor managed to recover, which wasn’t all that much – not enough to get by on once Resurrection Day dawns) Instead, my alcove now contains the tomb of some fat abbot or other. Huh! Ah well: in difference to that accursed Mortimer there are some reminders of my existence – my dear wife donated a window on my behalf – and even if I am no longer where I rightfully should be, I remain close by. Mortimer, the bastard, lies buried God knows where. Serve him right…

Getting into you background, I’m curious, how did you distinguish yourself at court and rise to the position of royal chamberlain?
The same way anyone who wants to rise at court does: be adequately capable and do a lot of flattering – or maybe brown-nosing is the correct term. In my case, it helped that Edward always had a special fondness for his niece, my Eleanor. I was sort of part of the family, and when things get sticky, who do you turn to but to those closest to you? It also helped that Edward found me entertaining and refreshingly unburdened by chivalric codes and all that idiotic stuff. What the top dog wants, the top dog should get, I have always said, and Edward was more than happy to agree with that.

Your marriage obviously helped your rise. How do you feel about Eleanor and how would you describe your relationship?
Ah. Some people insinuate my dearest liege has indulged in bedsport with my Eleanor. Had he done so, I’d have been obliged to murder him – my wife welcomes no one but me to her bed. She is beautiful, my wife, and shrewd and loyal. We may not indulge in all that mushy stuff that goes for courtly love, but we are partners, determined to build a future for our children – even if it comes at the expense of others.  

Your wife has given you several children. What future do you see for them?
“What future do I see for them…” I know, don’t I? *sags* Three of my little girls, forced to take the veil, my eldest son, fighting on so bravely before finally surrendering in exchange for his life… Isabel, that apple of my eye, so cruelly divorced by her husband, and my baby Elizabeth, married off to one of Mortimer’s grandchildren. Ugh! But despite all this, the Despensers survived, didn’t they? Oh yes, they most certainly did! 

Getting back to your role at court, what are your roles and responsibilities? 
Anything the king doesn’t want to handle, I handle for him. Nice and simple, don’t you think? 

What is the nature of your relationship with Edward II? 
He’s my king, my uncle by marriage. He is also a man whose company I truly appreciate – we have the same sort of wit, I believe, and both of us enjoy some heated word sparring. He’s quite the hunk, my king, tall and handsome, strong and forceful. I make him laugh. I support him against those pesky barons of his – and especially that odious Thomas of Lancaster, a man so full of himself it’s a miracle he could ever tear his eyes away from his own reflection. It is my job to make sure my king is not bothered by the minutiae of ruling a kingdom – he is easily bored. It is my privilege to control access to his ear, thereby ensuring anyone who wishes to raise something with the king must come to me first – even, of late, the queen herself. *chuckles* She doesn’t like that, I can tell you: Isabella, daughter of France, ousted by me, Hugh Despenser.

Modern historians speculate that you two shared a bed. Do you care to comment on the rumors? 
Of course we share a bed. Don’t men in your day and age do that when travelling? When desiring to converse without any potential eavesdroppers? Do we do other things in bed than talk? Well, my dear, that is none of your business. But let’s just say my liege is hot – seriously hot. All that outdoor activity he is so fond of leaves him with a physique to die for, and I’m none too bad either, even if I say so myself. Maybe a tad too hirsute, but Edward always says he likes it. 

What of his queen? What are your thoughts and opinions of Isabella?
Isabella is the pampered only daughter of a king who showed little affection for anyone else than her. Pretty, I’ll give her that, and fully aware of how men drool in her presence. Not all men – her husband rarely falls for her wiles, preferring the company of other men to hers. I dare say it irks her, that she cannot entice him to follow her, no matter how much she batts those long dark eyelashes of hers.  Other than her looks, she is also gifted with cunning and an impressive intellect for a woman, and she is therefore a potentially dangerous influence on our king, which is why I do my utmost to drive a permanent wedge between them. Must say I’ve done a great job there. Maybe too great…

Who would consider your Lord’s greatest enemies? 
Lancaster. Well, he was, until he was executed back in 1322. Mortimer, may his name be cursed. Isabella, her damned brother Charles IV of France, and that ambitious Flemish bastard, Guillaume de Hainault.   

What are your feelings on men like Roger Mortimer and Adam de Guirande?
Adam? *laughs out loud* The man is a pain in the nether parts, and handsome enough to have me considering using certain parts of his anatomy for my pleasure, but ultimately, he’s of little consequence, minor knight that he is.  Mortimer, on the other hand, is a snake – and a dangerous one. I pleaded and begged my liege to execute him back in 1322, but Edward, fool that he sometimes is, chose to be lenient. Lenient! *spits* Look where that has got us, eh? That accursed rat of a man escaped the Tower and now sits in France, like a huge cat ready to pounce on its mouse. And we are the mice…

Were it your decision, how would you deal with these men? 
They’d have been dead since years back – both of them. Preferably after long, extended executions. I’d have liked to see Mortimer maintain that stiff upper lip of his as his entrails were drawn out of his body.

What is the worst thing you’ve had to do in Edward’s service?
Not kill Mortimer when I had the chance. What? Oh, you meant from a moral perspective. *drums his fingers on the armrest of his elaborately carved chair* You know, I can’t think of anything. Besides, Edward rarely asks me to do something I’m not happy to do, if you know what I mean.  

You had Llewelyn Bren hung, drawn and quartered without a trial. Did you feel this justified?
Yes. The man had looted Caerphilly and besieged my castle there. What do I care that the king chose to commute his death sentence to imprisonment? He deserved to die – and men with so much informal power as he had, are best dealt with by relieving them of their lives. 

You’ve robbed widows of their lands. Why?  
If not me, someone else. What do you think this is? Some sort of picnic? This is England, early 14th century, and everyone who can is out to grow their wealth. Widows and orphans make good victims – all they can do is bleat while they’re being fleeced. And as rich widows are not thick on the ground, one must be quick – or in a position of power – to grab the juicier morsels. I happen to be both quick and powerful. 

What does Eleanor think about you robbing her sisters of their share in the de Clare inheritance? 
*Smiles* As I said, we’re partners. And Eleanor is the eldest and has far more children than any of her sisters – I suppose one could argue we need the land much more than they do…

Are you haunted by any of your actions?
No. Wait: yes, I am. I will never forgive myself for convincing my beloved liege to send his son to France to do homage for Gascony. I did it to save my own arse, because had King Edward left me to rule on his behalf while he swanned off to France to pledge his allegiance to Charles, I can tell you I’d have been dead within days – beaten to death by a mob, likely. I know, unbelievable, isn’t it? Imagine anyone wanting me, the king’s favourite, dead! Anyway: the long and the short of it is that Edward sent his son instead. In retrospect, that was like handing Isabella a…a…would a WMD be a correct comparison? The prince legitimizes any venture Isabella and Mortimer may decide on, and that is my fault. Damn! 

What do you see for yourself as far as your legacy is concerned? How do you think history will remember you?
*gives a sour look* I’ve been voted the vilest man in English history, haven’t I? Huh: just goes to prove that old adage that history is written by the winners. A more balanced view would be to recognize that Mortimer and I aren’t all that different – ambitious, greedy and hungry for power the both of us. Having said that, I’d rather be hanged, drawn and quartered than be compared to that bastard! *Takes a deep breath and clears his throat” I wasn’t all bad, you know. I loved my king – and not only because he so generously feathered my nest. I loved my wife and children. I respected my father – he taught me everything I needed to know about being cunning and grasping. Circumstances made me into what I am – is that my fault? And seriously, had Mortimer died back in 1322, who do you think history would have remembered in glowing terms? Me, Ms Davies. Me, the most powerful man in England, the father of a dynasty of future royal chancellors. Damn the wheel of fate for being such a fickle thing! Damn Mortimer for ever having been born, damn Isabella for being such a prize bitch. *slams his hand down on the table, and in doing so, his apparition begins to disintegrate and fade. All that he leaves behind is a faint fragrance – of lilies-in-the-valley and sulfur. 

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Date of Birth: Birthday? Hugh scrunches up his brow and says he’s of an age with Mortimer, some years younger than his king – born in 1287 in the merry month of May, as per his mother, and she would know, wouldn’t she? 

Physical Appearance: Dark hair, dark eyes, middling height, excellent taste in clothes. Beautiful hands, if he may say so himself. Light on his feet, good teeth and a rather full lower lip. Has a tendency to overdo the jewelry, what with rings and gold collars, precious stones in his cloaks, ornate brooches decorating his mantle. 

Education and Job Skills: Education is really same old, same old: first a page, then a squire and then, finally, a knight. Skills include number-crunching, piracy, a flair for administration, for making people open up and share their secrets (and yes, at times some mild coercion might be required, but a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do). A soothing companion for a restless king, Hugh can also, when required, hum a song or two – him being David to King Edward’s Saul.

Family: Wife and kids. Father. Two sisters and a half-sister, married to Thomas of Lancaster’s brother, no less. 

Allies: Edward II, Walter Stapledon, his wife, his father and all those who remain loyal to Edward II. Hugh would like to point out that he isn’t the traitor here – Mortimer is. And as to that false wife of a queen – in Hugh’s opinion, Isabella should have been spanked more often, tamed, if you will. 

Enemies: Queen Isabella, Mortimer, those idiotic bishops who somehow see a better person in Mortimer than in Hugh, such as Orleton and Burghersh, bishops of Hereford and Lincoln respectively. Plus, as time passes, for some inexplicable reason (as per Hugh) most of the English barons develop a dislike for him. 

Hobbies: Embroidering – but Hugh will kill you if you tell someone that. He also enjoys hawking and hunting rabbits with ferrets. It’s so much fun to release a ferret into a warren and watch the rabbits get caught in the nets as they attempt to escape. A bit like flushing rebellious barons, Hugh says – and almost as satisfying. 

Most Cherished Possession: Ah. A rather fine set of matching golden goblets. No one in the entire kingdom has one as gorgeous – not even his dear lord and king.

Strengths: Determined, self-motivated. Never takes his eyes off the final goal. 

Weaknesses: A tad too self-centred? Plus a covetous streak a mile wide. 

Fictional Appearances: Hugh is a main player in the series the King’s Greatest Enemy. 

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Anna was raised abroad, on a pungent mix of Latin American culture, English history and Swedish traditions. As a result she's multilingual and most of her reading is historical- both non-fiction and fiction. Possessed of a lively imagination, she has drawers full of potential stories, all of them set in the past. She was always going to be a writer - or a historian, preferably both. Ideally, Anna aspired to becoming a pioneer time traveller, but science has as yet not advanced to the point of making that possible. Instead she ended up with a degree in Business and Finance, with very little time to spare for her most favourite pursuit. Still, one does as one must, and in between juggling a challenging career Anna raised her four children on a potent combination of invented stories, historical debates and masses of good food and homemade cakes. They seem to thrive…

For years she combined a challenging career with four children and the odd snatched moment of writing. Nowadays Anna spends most of her spare time at her writing desk. The children are half grown, the house is at times eerily silent and she slips away into her imaginary world, with her imaginary characters. Every now and then the one and only man in her life pops his head in to ensure she's still there.

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Character Conversations: Catherine de' Medici, from Médicis Daughter: A Novel of Marguerite de Valois by Sophie Perinot

The stone ruins and remnants of Château de Montceaux were hauntingly beautiful. Mother nature was slowly reclaiming parts of the site, but it was a subtle process and the remaining structures seemed peacefully content to be slowly enveloped in nature's green embrace.

I'd arrived early to wander the site before my interview as I didn't want to be gaping at the architecture during my Q&A, but time had run away from me and despite my best efforts, there I was, rushing to collect myself at the very last minute.

I slipped my pack off, knelt and began digging through my things for my voice recorder. I generally prefer my notebook, but I didn't trust myself to take handwritten notes while interviewing a Queen of France. The damned thing was naturally nestled at the very bottom of my bag and I must have been very focused on digging it out because I failed to register the dramatic shift in my surroundings until I'd rearranged my belongings.

I slipped the recorder into my pocket and spun round a few times. The mechanics of falling through time elude me, but it's nothing like what you see in the movies. There is no flash of light or physical sensation and it isn't a complete shift. I can see my rental car on the other side of the gate, but everything on this side of the barrier is pure sixteenth century.

The sound of footsteps and rustling skirts proceeded the arrival of a grandly attired woman with bulging eyes. There was no mistaking Catherine de' Medici, but as I turned towards her, I hesitated. Is one supposed to curtsy to dead monarch? Was it appropriate to say a simple hello and shake hands? Should I apologize for my comparatively plain racerback maxi and sandals?A smile played at the corner of her mouth and she gestured an invitation to tour the garden. I'd no idea what sort of impression I made, but she hadn't refused the interview and I determined that was a good sign. I fell into step beside her and while I was never entirely at ease in her presence, I admit that found the rest of that afternoon quite illuminating.

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For you, what does it mean to be a Medici? 
To be a Medici (or Médicis as they spell it in France, my adopted kingdom) is a point of pride. It means being the descendent of the great Cosmo and of the Italian Renaissance. It means being part of a family that did not inherit its wealth or power but built all that from banking and commerce. If that made us “common” in the eyes of the ancient great noble and royal houses of Europe, well, so be it. We ignored such tittering and married into many of those same families.

How did growing up in your family prepare you for your marriage and life in France?
It didn’t. My mother, Madeleine de La Tour d’Auvergne, Comtesse de Boulogne, may have been a French princess of royal blood, but my father’s family was not royal. Nor did I have the opportunity to know my parents, let alone be shaped by them. Both were dead within a month of my birth. I was taken under the wing of my grandmother. Because of my mother’s connection to the French crown, King Francis I claimed the right to raise me, but Pope Leo told the French King to pound salt. I am not sure that was the best result for me because eventually Francis I became my father-in-law and was more of a father to me than any other man in my life. When I was about 11 I was brought to Rome by my Uncle Pope Clement VII, not because he cared for me, but because he saw me – as Lorenzo de Medici’s legitimate heiress – as a useful pawn. He never gave me much attention and I never cared for him.

When I went to France at age 14 my new “father” King Francis showed me great kindness. This, more than anything before it, helped ease my transition into life as a member of the French royal family. When I married Prince Henri, who was not Dauphin at the time, my father-in-law assigned me the royal device of a rainbow and the motto “she brings light and serenity.” So you can see from that that the King cared for me. The French themselves, however, including courtiers, had many cruel things to say. Yes, I brought their country a valuable alliance with Pope Clement, but they still considered me lowly—of the merchant class—and foreign. Then things got worse: the whole reason for my marriage vanished when Pope Clement died and his replacement was well-disposed to France. Even my dear father-in-law was nonplussed.  I overheard him telling someone, “the girl has been given to me stark naked.” That hurt, but when there was a movement to have my marriage repudiated King Francis did not permit it.

Did your marriage alter your personal identity at all?
My marriage WAS my identity. To be a wife, is that not the role, the identity, of every woman? And then to be a mother—a duty that became more important once my husband became Dauphin upon the unexpected death of his brother in 1536. Yet early in my marriage I felt that I was a failure as both wife and mother. I worried constantly that I would be set aside because for ten long years I bore no children, and I had the love of neither my husband nor my subjects. My marriage did change me yes—it made me doubt myself at first but then the adversity of it made me hard, and fierce and determined, characteristics that later served me, my sons, and France well.

How did your marriage challenge you?
I fell in love with my husband Henri the first moment I saw him. When he went off on military campaigns I would adopt the garb of mourning and insist my ladies do likewise. But for all this Henri did not care for me in a romantic way. His heart belonged to Diane de Poitier. And he elevated Diane so that all knew it. He made her Duchesse de Valentinois, the highest dignity any lady at the French Court could receive who was not a princess, and allowed her to walk among the princesses of the blood at my own coronation! Early in his reign Henri spent a large part of every day with Diane and gave her the political influence I was never permitted. And worse than this he gave her the love of his body in ways he never gave it to me. At the Place of Saint-Germain my bedroom was immediately above Diane’s. I had two holes made in the floor of my room and watched them together in bed—my husband and his whore.  How I remember sobbing in the arms of my friends afterwards and telling them that Henri had not once in our married life used me so well. Still I was courteous to Diane while Henri lived, for his sake and for my own.  What man loves his wife better when she harangues him or does as he would not wish? 

How do you remember Henri II?
After all these years I still miss Henri. Although the traditional color of mourning for a French queen is white, I chose black and I wear it still. I changed my device from the rainbow given me by King Francis to a mound of quicklime with rain falling on it. And I changed my motto to:  “although the flame is extinguished, this testifies that the fire still lives.” I will never be over Henri.

How did your role and status change when he died?
Setting aside for a moment the grief of losing my husband, being the Queen Mother rather than the Queen of France gave me more power. Perhaps not at first, because my son King Francis II was of-age, needed no regent, and he had many seeking to influence him. But once my ten-year-old Charles wore the crown of France it was, at last, my turn to rule.

Did you enjoy being thrust into the spotlight?
I am not about attention; pretty women get looked at for doing nothing. I am interested in POWER.  Did I enjoy power, of course! Only an idiot would not enjoy power.

Francis II inherited his father’s throne, what ambitions did you have for your first born?
What ambition does any queen have for her son? I wanted him to have a long, successful reign. I wanted my husband’s royal line preserved and cemented on the throne of France. Alas, that was not to be, but it was not due to a lack of effort on my part. Even my enemies (sometimes grudgingly) conceded how hard I worked to preserve the Valois line! That peasant Henri of Navarre said of me (only after my death of course), “what could the poor woman do, with five children in her arms, after the death of her husband, and with two families in France—ours and the Guise—attempting to encroach on the Crown? Was she not force to play strange parts to deceive the one and the other and yet, das she did, to protect her children, who reigned in succession by the wisdom of a woman so able?”

You sent his widow, Mary Stuart, home after your son died. Why?
Did I “send” her? I think not!

There have always been these unaccountable rumors that I disliked Mary, or was even jealous of her. Nonsense! When my Henri died and Francis became King, I showed every deference to Mary. When I handed over the Crown jewels (without complaint) I even slipped in a few of my own pieces for her. Of course I was interested in limiting her influence over my son the king—the role of chief advisor to him rightfully belonged with me. Francis was young and needed my experience if he was to rule well and avoid being torn to bits by rival noble houses after his father’s death. But I can honestly say there was no fault or failing in my treatment of Mary while she was Queen of France.

But here is the truth of the matter—a daughter-in-law is not a daughter, she is not a permanent member of a family.  And once Francis died Mary was competition with my youngest daughter, Magot, for the hands of all the best prospective royal grooms. She was also a political distraction at the Court of France, and an expense to the Royal treasury. Still, let me be clear, Mary had the legal right to remain in France under the terms of her marriage contract. That was true even if I found her continued presence vexatious.  Fortunately for me, and for my next son to take the throne, Mary was actually rather anxious to return to Scotland and reclaim her throne from the regents who ruled in her absence. 

Charles IX was ten years old when he inherited his brother’s throne. What hopes did you have for his rule?
Like his brother François before him, I hoped for a long and prosperous reign for Charles. Again those hopes were dashed that by fate. In his death, which was very painful for me, at least I had the solace of my favorite son Henri—“my Alexander” as I often called him—returning to my side from near-exile as King of Poland and taking the throne of France. Oh how I loved ruling beside Henri III!

How do you characterize Marguerite? Do you think she inherited any of your characteristics?
Ah Marguerite . . . if only she had been a boy. She had the best constitution of any of my children, good health largely wasted as she was a girl. People say I did not love her but this is not true. I loved all my children, but they were not merely children, they were ROYALS—and that rank comes with duty to the crown. Margot had a duty to be useful to the House of Valois, and I made decisions for her in line with that duty. But my actions were not necessarily incompatible with a good life for her. Women marry to their family’s advantage *shrug* that is what we do. And then we make the most of it.

What did Margot inherit from me? She inherited a gift of second-sight (though mine was stronger and more reliable). And, looking back I can see now, as perhaps I could not at the time, that her intelligence and her political savvy were reminiscent of my own. Of course when she was young that made her more not less aggravating to me, as we were not working towards the same goals.

How did you feel about her relationship with the charismatic Duc de Guise?
It had to be stopped—or at least any foolish talk/thoughts of a marriage did. I knew that from the moment that my darling son Henri brought me rumors of her entanglement with Guise. Margot was flattered into thinking herself in love with the young Duc, but whatever she believed about the Duc’s attachment to her, I saw it as the charade it was—nothing more than power grab and a presumptuous attempt to marry into the Royal family.

In fairness to my foolish daughter, she did not have the advantage of the experience I did. Over the years I’d learned firsthand how power-hungry the Guise family was. After my husband died, when the Guises moved to push the Montmorency out of the government, I did not mind because I never liked the Montmorency. But subsequently the Guises—really the entire House of Lorraine in all its branches—had far too much power over King Francis II, and made every attempt to shut me out. I vowed then that I would never see another Valois King dominated by a member of the House of Lorraine!

I needed, France needed, an equilibrium between the great nobles of the realm or the country would be torn to bits. Already the Guises had done all they could to foment war. Was it not the elder Duc de Guise (Francis) who shattered the Crown’s first agreement with our Protestant subjects (within 6 weeks of its signing no less) by committing the Massacre of Vassy and thus causing the first War of Religion? I certainly was not sorry when he was assassinated, though telling the Venetian ambassador that, “If Monsieur de Guise had perished sooner, peace would have been achieved more quickly” might have been overdoing it.  And despite the old Duc’s death the Guises kept fouling up my efforts at peace—always wanting to wipe out the Protestants rather than work with them.

So no, Guise was not an appropriate husband for my daughter. And really, even if Guise had loved Margot, what foolish woman would take a Duc when she could have a King?

How did her marriage to Henri of Navarre further your ambitions for her, Charles, and France?France had already struggled through THREE costly (both in terms of lives and in terms of damage to the economy) Wars of Religion. Again we had peace, and I wanted that peace to hold so that I could concentrate on other things (like taking Admiral Coligny down a peg and reducing his influence over Charles before the King was talked into a ridiculous war with Spain). Henri of Navarre was next in line for the throne after my own sons, and he and his mother were significant leaders in the Protestant camp. The marriage between the Prince of Navarre and my daughter was meant to provide a seal upon the Paix de Saint-Germain, forging an unbreakable bond between the Catholic and Protestant branches of our family. And to be honest as the marriage was negotiated I even had hopes that the Prince of Navarre might be brought into the Catholic fold—more than one man has made himself over for an attractive, persuasive, wife.

To those who think it was all a plot—a ruse from the beginning to lure the King of Navarre and thousands of Protestants to Paris for a massacre—I say no. I am not a religious zealot like the Guises. I am and always was a pragmatist. Whatever happened after Margot’s wedding, I did not have wholesale death in mind as it took place. For heaven’s sake, we had medals struck, medals distributed at the wedding dinner, bearing a lamb resting against a cross encircled by the phrase “I announce peace to you.” If only the Admiral had been shot dead instead of wounded...

How far would you go to secure the power and legacy of your family?
Further than many people, but not as far as the black legends surrounding my name say. I am first and foremost a mother and a practical ruler. Would I assassinate? Absolutely, all great families have assassins on their payroll. Will I finish a situation once other forces have started it? Yes. But I honestly prefer less death not more, and less disruption to the business of the crown. Unfortunately sometimes things do not work out that way, and I am not above taking credit for events that raise me or my sons in the opinions of the majority of our subjects. 

What do you hope your children take from your example? Do you think any of them has what it takes to wield power as you have?
They do not have to have my strength or my cunning because I am with them, always ready to guide and aid them. I hope that I have instilled in them loyalty to family. Otherwise everything I have done to protect and promote the Valois line will be for nothing.

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Date of Birth: April 13, 1519

Physical Appearance: Catherine, with her bulging eyes, was by no measure an attractive woman. The fact she herself considered her hands to be her best and most beautiful feature suggests she knew as much. 

Education and Job Skills: Life was her teacher. As for skills, many: chief among them political (and religious) pragmatism and sometimes ruthlessness. Catherine had a will of iron and a willingness to do what was necessary (or what she thought was necessary) even when it was unsavory.

Family: All her significant family attachments really came after her marriage. She adored her husband.  She bore ten children, seven of whom lived to adulthood, only 2 of whom outlived her.

Allies: Catherine did not so much have allies as lieutenants. While she formed ties with others to benefit her goals and her sons’ governance of France, Catherine did not tend to view those whose interests corresponded with her own or those she cooperated with as equals.

Enemies: A complete list would be l-o-n-g. Let’s just say that when it came to influence over King Charles IX (relevant to my novel Médicis Daughter) her stand-out enemy was the Protestant leader Admiral Gaspard Coligny (Seigneur de Châtillon). 

Hobbies: The sciences, including particularly astrology (which WAS considered science during her lifetime). For more on Catherine’s involvement with astrology check out my blog at Wonders and Marvels entitled, "Star Struck: Catherine de Médicis and the Science of Supersitiont"  

Most Cherished Possession: No idea, but Catherine was particularly fond of her Château at Montceaux which her husband Henri gave her and where he visited her without his mistress Diane de Poitier.  

Strengths: Fortitude, pragmatism, a willingness to do the dirty-work. Loyalty to her children and to her husband’s royal Valois line.

Weaknesses: Catherine’s largest failing was not so much her penchant for poisoning or her beliefs in astrology and predictions of the future. Rather I believe it was her inability to accept that anyone could do anything as well or better than she could. As a result, Catherine never allowed her kingly sons—even once they were adults—the power and control that ought by rights to have been fully theirs. 

Fictional Appearances: Catherine de Médicis is one of the chief characters in Médicis Daughter (Thomas Dunne/December 2015)

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Sophie Perinot writes historical fiction. Her debut novel, The Sister Queens, (2012 NAL/Penguin) was set in 13th century France and England. The Sister Queens weaves the captivating story of medieval sisters, Marguerite and Eleanor of Provence, who both became queens – their lifelong friendship, their rivalry, and their reigns.

Perinot's latest novel, Medicis Daughter , (2015 Thomas Dunne/St. Martin) is set three-hundred years later--at intrigue-riven 16th century French Valois court. Medicis Daughter spins the tale of beautiful princess Marguerite who walks the knife edge between the demands of her serpentine mother, Catherine de Medicis, and those of her own conscience.

Ms. Perinot has both a BA in History and a law degree. She left the law to pursue artistic interests, including writing. An avid reader, especially of classic literature, and life-long student of history, it seemed only natural that Sophie should write historical fiction. As someone who studied French abroad and a devotee of Alexandre Dumas, French history was a logical starting point. An active member of the Historical Novel Society, she has attended all of the group’s North American Conferences and served as a panelist multiple times.

Website ❧  Facebook ❧  Twitter ❧  Goodreads ❧  Blog

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Character Conversations: Elisabeth Beaumont, from Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan

I looked down at my phone to double check the address Aimie forwarded when she'd arranged my interview with Elisabeth. It wasn't much of an address really. Just a street name in Quebec's historic district with a noted instruction to follow my nose. 

I turned the last corner and looked up the street. The buildings had a charming old world feel to them, but I didn't see anything that looked like a colonial era bakery. Panic fluttered in my stomach, but just as I thought to text Aimie for help, I caught the scent of fresh baked bread. 

I spun round and just two doors down, perfectly conspicuous and yet inexplicably imperceptible to the passing pedestrians was the Beaumont's bakery. I grinned thinking the effect was similar to Rowling's descriptions of 12 Grimmauld Place, shoved my phone into my pack, and hurried inside.

It was warm and a variety of mouth-watering aromas hung heavy in the air. I looked over the displays and was making a mental note to buy something for the trip back to my hotel when a tall woman with blonde hair entered the room. If she was surprised by my clothes and appearance, she didn't let on. She simply smiled, introduced herself, and invited me to a table where she'd prepared coffee for our Q&A.

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Please forgive me if this is an impertinent question, but what possessed you to leave the safety and security of France for the wilds of Quebec? 
An arranged marriage to the most shiftless man in Paris, not to put too fine a point on it. My mother had grand ideas for my match, but I had other plans that had little to do with titles and prestige. I always dreamed of running a bakery as my father did, and his father before him. My mother meant well, or at least I hope she did in her heart, but I am Pierre Martin’s daughter through-and-through. I don’t think mother ever fully approved of either of us.

What was the crossing like? 
Dreadful. Three months on a rickety ship being tossed about like mice in the clutches of a sadistic cat. We had to bring on our own water or risk dying of thirst days or weeks away from the coast. Food could grow scarce. Disease could ravage the ship. We came closer to that than we cared to think about. Once I stepped foot on New France, I knew I never wanted to see the old one again. It wasn’t worth the return voyage.

Were you nervous about what’d be waiting for you when you arrived? 
We all were, though some worse than others. Nicole had quite a few worries as we arrived, but it shows how well loved she was at home. She was lucky in that regard. It was easier for those of us who didn’t leave behind much family. The future was ours to carve out of the ice, and I was more excited than nervous—most of the time.

What were your first impressions New France? 
It was as cold as they claimed, even in September when we first arrived. In Paris, the weather would have begun to turn for the worse, to be sure, but we didn’t have blankets of snow until December most years. All but the coldest days here are still better than the biting cold on the deck of the ship. That’s a cold that settles in your bones and refuses to leave. The people seemed friendly and very happy to see us when we first arrived, and for the most part, they stayed that way. In a small settlement like ours, it’s more useful to have friends than foes.

Did the ratio of men to women intimidate you at all? 
It made choosing a husband more of a chore in many ways, but it was wonderful to have a choice. Most of us would have been married off by fathers, brothers, or uncles to the man that best suited their needs, not ours. Here, we were only offered advice by the Ursuline Sisters, and then left to make the decision on our own. That aspect was intimidating, make no mistake. If we chose poorly, we had no one else to blame for it.

How did you feel being ‘put on display’ as a potential bride? 
It was a necessary evil. We needed to meet the gentlemen of the colony in one way or another, so the reception seemed the least degrading method of introduction. Some of the girls had heard that these meetings were more in line with cattle auction than a proper debut into New French society, but it was nothing so crass. I simply pretended to be charming customers at my father’s bakery, and the evening was as pleasant as one could hope for. 

There were obviously more men than women in the colonies. Did you feel pressured to choose a partner quickly? 
We knew we had a duty—to marry and bring forth children for the colony, and the whole of the settlement wanted to see us paired off. At the same time, the Sisters urged caution when choosing our husbands to ensure we wouldn’t select a man who was less than worthy or ill-prepared to take a wife. The wrong choice would be a mistake we’d have to live with for a lifetime. No one blamed us for taking a few months to know our minds.

What factors did you consider when evaluating your suitors? 
It came down to two suitors in the end. I asked myself which man my father would have chosen. Then my mother. I went with the man whom I thought would make me happy and whom I could best serve as a helpmeet. It wasn’t a hard decision once I thought of it like that. 

Did you find what you were looking for in New France? Is your life what you hoped it would be? 
It hasn’t been an easy path, my dear girl. I’ve the purest happiness of my life and the bitterest sorrow since I came here. But I have to say, I’ve done all I can do to honor my country, my king, and my husband. I live a life of value and purpose. No woman can ask for more. 

Do you think many ‘King’s Daughters” found happiness in Quebec? 
I don’t think any of us can ‘find’ happiness like one might stumble across a perfect meadow of wildflowers. You have to work for it, mold it, and craft your own. We’re the resourceful and resilient sort though, so I think most of us made our measure of happiness. I truly hope so.

Do you miss anything about France? Do you long for any conveniences that simply aren’t available on the edge of civilization? 
Chocolate. It was a delicacy in Paris that we could only get in fits and starts in the bakery, but it had a flavor like nothing I’ve ever tasted. My millefeuilles aren’t the same without it. And coffee. Oh how I miss the decadent brews my mother and I would share. Those were some of the few happy memories I have of her. 

I’ve got to get going or I’ll miss my bus, but I’m curious, if you had the chance, would you have done anything differently? 
What’s this ‘bus’ you speak of? A new-fangled carriage or wagon? Don’t tarry too long or your horses won’t be able to traverse the snow. 

I like to think I would have asked the friends who imparted the news of my departure to my mother to let her know I loved her and hope that we could make peace one day. She was neither loving nor kind, but she gave me life and deserved better from me. 

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Date of Birth: April 27, 1641

Physical Appearance: Tall, statuesque woman with long wheat-blonde hair and blue eyes. Not particularly feminine, but charming and sweet tempered.

Education and Job Skills: Cannot read or write before arriving in the colony at her mother’s insistence. Strong mind for figures. She is a skilled baker, particularly fond of crafting pastries. 

Favorite Food: Apple pastry with thick cream and a cup of coffee

Favorite Recipe: Millefeuilles. The dozens of layers and perfectly blended English cream always require perfect attention. One can’t be complacent with pastry, even after decades of experience.

Hobbies: Sewing, though never fancywork. If it doesn’t serve a purpose, she’s not interested. She also like cards, but Gilbert has little patience for games.

Most Cherished Possession: Her father’s rolling pin.

Immediate Family: Her husband, Gilbert, and two wards, Pascal and Gabrielle Giroux. 

Strengths: Loyalty, intelligence, and stamina.

Weaknesses: Temper, with an unfortunate inability to censor her tongue when provoked. 

Appearances: Chapter 2 of PROMISED TO THE CROWN and nearly every one after.

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Aimie K. Runyan, member of the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and Women's Fiction Writers Association, has been an avid student of French and Francophone Studies for more than fifteen years. While working on her Master's thesis on the brave women who helped found French Canada, she was fortunate enough to win a generous grant from the Quebec government to study onsite for three months which enabled the detailed research necessary for her work. Aimie lives in Colorado with her husband and two children.

Website ❧  Facebook ❧  Twitter ❧  Pinterest ❧  Blog

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Character Conversations: Polypoetes, from By Helen's Hand by Amalia Carosella

I arrived at the Victoria & Albert Museum a good fifteen minutes early. Amalia had arranged for Polypoetes to meet me near Antonio Canova's Helen for our interview, but I wanted to get a look at the statue before our Q&A. 

The figure was artistically beautifully, but it was the subject matter that captivated my imagination. Who was this woman? What part did she play in her legends? What sort of spirit lay hidden beneath her celebrated beauty? I didn't know if Polypoetes could answer my questions, but I was eager to find out. 

I looked around and wondered if I'd be able to pick him out of the crowd. I sent up a silent prayer I wouldn't have to hover in the doorway like some sort of stalker, but there was no mistaking him when he arrived. 

Polypoetes proved an easy interviewee. The fact that he was easy on the eyes didn't hurt, but our discussion proved most enlightening. 

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You’d know better than I, does the statue do her justice?
Not in the slightest – nothing so simple as stone, no matter how cleverly carved, could ever capture the brilliance of her beauty. Helen was everything you never knew you desired, and not only in form, but in substance as well. At least to me.

What was Helen like as person?
She was devoted. Compassionate. Loyal and kind. She was in everything a servant to her people, a fine princess and a true queen, though those who did not know her might say otherwise. And she was stubborn as well, determined upon the course she had chosen. But only because she believed it was what she must do to protect Sparta, to protect us all. What she endured for our sakes – in truth, she had the courage and strength of a hero, though she never wielded a sword or fought in a war. Her battles were of a different sort.

What was the nature of your relationship with her?
At first, she was a debt to be repaid. My father’s foolishness had wronged her, betrayed her to her enemies, and while she was the wife of Theseus and rightful queen of Athens, how could I not offer her my aid and protection? When Theseus fought beside my father and mother? When he had always been our friend and ally?

But after I met her – once I knew her for herself... Had she granted me the smallest encouragement, I would have loved her until death. I would have walked happily into madness to have her as my wife. To have her as my queen.

As Prince of the Lapiths you had every right to approach her, but I’m curious, were you nervous?
I did not intend, at first, to present myself as her suitor, only as her friend and ally. But all the same, I was... uncertain, I suppose. Of how she would receive me. She had little reason to love my father, all things considered, and she did not know me. Why should she trust me at all? Why should she not blame me, as my father’s son, for the loss of Theseus, her husband? For the destruction of the peace they had fought so hard to build together?

What did you think of the suitors that flocked to her side? Did anyone stand out for any reason?
I would have liked to kill Menestheus where he stood from the moment I glimpsed him wearing Theseus’s crown. And Agamemnon, of course. There was not a man at that Assembly who would not have been pleased to see Mycenae’s king dead. But sacred law bound my hands, and I would not bring a curse down upon Helen or her people by murdering a man while I was her guest.

Helen’s legend isn’t exactly happy. Why do you think it endures?
Fame and Glory, our lives made immortal by the telling of our stories – these are the greatest gifts the gods can give us, but for true immortality upon Olympus as gods in our own right. That Helen’s story endures is the proof of Zeus’s love for his daughter. Perhaps you think it is a poor repayment for what he asked of her in life, for the use he made of her and the suffering she endured, but I am glad to know we did not fight so desperately only to be forgotten.

Do you think it’s possible to defy the God’s and forge your own destiny as Helen wished?
I believe we must live our lives as if they are ours to do with as we please. The gods will take what they are owed, there is no question, but they will take it whether we pursue our own desires or lock ourselves away. Why should we not fight for what we love? Live as we see fit? To do less seems a greater sin. A betrayal of what we have been given.

Your father also faced challenges as the son of deity. How did Pirithous rectify that reality?
My father – My father learned early that he had no wish to be caught up in the affairs of the Olympians. He was grateful for the gifts Zeus had given him, for his strength and his power, for the ichor that ran like lightning through his veins, but the gods are fickle and cruel, most of all to those they love, to the heroes they raise up. Ixion’s madness was proof enough of what could become of a man who forgot his place, who believed for a moment he was deserving of any favor he was granted, and my mother’s death, after that – my father lived so hard, raided so fiercely, traveled so often and celebrated so much, because if he slowed, if he stopped, if he settled, all the grief and pain, all his suffering would catch up.

Speaking of your father, what do you believe his fate to have been?
Dead or Alive, my father belongs to Hades, now. I do not believe he will find his way back from the Underworld. Not while I live. But perhaps I will find him in Elysium, one day.

Is there anything you wished you’d told Helen when you last saw her?
Helen knew she had my love. Leaving her that day was the greatest proof of it I could offer. There was nothing more to be said between us, not then. I think – I think it was in that moment that I understood her, truly. For Helen, there would only ever be Theseus.

What did you do after you parted ways?
I did as she asked of me. I kept her brothers safe, in Thessaly, until she had quieted Menelaus’s fury. It chafed, leaving her. Letting her sacrifice herself to that cur for our sakes, for our safety, but what else could we do? We were bound by Odysseus’s thrice-cursed oath. We could not strike at Menelaus. And Helen had made up her mind. She would not risk more harm to those she loved, to her people, and how could we deny her the right to make such a choice? The right to face her fate on her own terms?

So we left. You asked if there was something I wished I’d told her, and my answer was honest, for there were no more words to be shared, but in truth – in truth I wish I had stolen her, oath or no oath. I wish I had dragged her with us from that hall and let the gods curse us all. Let Ares send war marching north upon our heels. Theseus might have come North to us as well, and perhaps then he might have lived. So many of us might have lived, if we had fought only that small war instead of spending those long years beneath the walls of Troy.

Troy has been heavily romanticized over the centuries. What was it really like? Were the heroes as we know them today?
War is blood and death and disease. It is festered wounds and seeping puss. It is horror and terror and nightmare. What was Troy really like? It was weeping children and screaming women. It was sorrow and choking smoke. No amount of gold, no prize was enough. And that woman that Menelaus found inside Troy’s walls – she stared at me as if I were a stranger. As if we had not struck our own bargain beneath the moon. As if she had not trusted me with her brothers’ lives – brothers she loved more than anything else in this world, save Theseus, perhaps. He did not notice. Perhaps he did not want to see. Perhaps he wanted to believe, because when she looked upon him, there was warmth and love and desire in her eyes, the likes of which I am certain he had never seen...

We were not heroes, Lady. We were, none of us, heroes. We were only fools. Fools made eager for a woman who did not want to be won. From the very beginning, she had not wanted any of us. But the gods – the gods always take what they are owed, one way or another. Only Helen understood, truly, the cost. We did not listen, and we have only ourselves to blame for that.

Our time is almost up and I don’t want to keep you, but I’ve one more question. In looking back, do you think she was worth it?
I do not think your people will ever truly understand – you think we fought this war for Helen. You think we died for her, and her alone. You think to place this burden upon her shoulders, to pin her beneath it as Heracles shouldered the weight of the world. But you are wrong. We fought because the gods would have it no other way, because they demanded a sacrifice greater than any that had come before. We fought for Zeus and Poseidon, for Hera and Athena, Artemis and Aphrodite. We fought for Apollo and Ares, even for Dionysus. Helen was only the lure. The means by which we might be trapped in cages of honor and ill-considered vows.

But if what you truly wish to know is whether I would act again as I did, then. If knowing the outcome, I would still travel to Sparta and join the assembly of her suitors in the hopes of winning her hand – Lady, I knew then what I risked, as well. And I would go to her again, now.

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Date of Birth: Late 13th Century BC

Physical Appearance: Dark-haired and brown-skinned, like his mother, with his father’s blue-gray eyes and well-formed physique.

Education and Job Skills: As prince of the Lapiths and the only acknowledged son and heir of Pirithous, Polypoetes was given extensive training in palace and tribal administration, as well as horsemanship, horse-breeding, and horse-taming. He’s an exceptional hunter and warrior, trained by his father in sword, spear, bow, knife, hand to hand combat, wrestling, and boxing. Polypoetes is not the raider his father was, but you wouldn’t want to find yourself on the wrong end of his sword.

Allies: King Theseus of Athens, as well as his sons, Demophon and Acamas. Aethra, mother of Theseus. Leonteus of Thessaly. The Lapiths people.

Enemies: The Myrmidons of Phthia under King Peleus, the Centaurs of Mt. Pelion

Hobbies: Hunting, Horsemanship and horse-breeding

Most Cherished Possession: His horses

Family: Pirithous, son of Zeus (father), Hippodamia (mother), any number of unacknowledged half-brothers and –sisters scattered across Achaea.

Strengths: Healthy respect for the gods, Natural ability for horsemanship

Weaknesses: Loyal to a fault, liable to be trapped by honor, Helen of Sparta

Appearances: BY HELEN’S HAND, cameo appearance in TAMER OF HORSES (forthcoming)

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Amalia Carosella graduated from the University of North Dakota with a bachelors degree in Classical Studies and English. An avid reader and former bookseller, she writes about old heroes and older gods. She lives with her husband in upstate New York and dreams of the day she will own goats (and maybe even a horse, too). For more information, visit her blog at www.amaliacarosella.com.

She also writes myth-steeped fantasy and paranormal romance under the name Amalia Dillin. Learn more about her other works at www.amaliadillin.com.

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