Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The (12 page)

‘My dear Odette, I give you my word that if ever there is a problem, you can count on me, your Duchess of Anjou. Send me a messenger at once, and I will have you placed in comfort and safety. Naturally, I shall also be financially responsible for the children should anything happen to the king, or to you.’ She expects Odette to recoil in shock at the meaning of her words, but she does not. No, she is mulling over in her mind the advantages and disadvantages of Yolande’s proposition.
After all, what are her choices? To remain at court and become an old maid, or to help her country and perhaps even have children with the king whom she can bring up herself and be independent.

‘Madame, I understand now what it is you are asking of me. I give you my word: I will not fail you, the king or France. It is true, I have observed the king’s sadness and his need of comforting. He is a good man who suffers terribly when his demons descend. I will give him that comfort, by day and even at night should he so wish.’

It is settled, and Yolande assures her again that she will be available should she ever need help. Although she is aware that most of Odette’s family are in the Burgundian camp, her devotion to her king is solid and she understands what it is she has to do.

With the use of the king’s sapphire ring with his crest, it is not difficult to arrange for Odette to be introduced into the private chambers of Charles VI, and it is also the first time that Yolande gains access to them by using the ring. Every door opens, and while Yolande goes to tell the king she has brought a young friend from Anjou to read to him and sing should he require, she leaves Odette waiting for him.

‘Sire, her name is Odette, and she awaits your pleasure in your apartment to which I gained access using your ring.’ The king smiles at Yolande and embraces her – but she is not sure if he has understood.

Not long afterwards, Isabeau lets Yolande know of her relief at Odette’s existence and of her gratitude. Whether or not the queen realizes that it is Yolande who procured the girl is not clear. Yolande hears stories of Odette wearing Isabeau’s clothes in bed so that the mad king does not notice the difference, but she puts such tales down to the usual slander aimed at a disinterested, authentic spirit such as she has encountered in Odette. She corresponds regularly with her, and promises again that she will arrange a dowry for any child she bears the king. The girl will serve all their purposes: the king’s, the queen’s, the country’s – and Yolande’s, by easing her dear husband’s concerns.

Have I done wrong in procuring Odette de Champdivers for the king? No, I have no qualms whatsoever about doing what is right for the kingdom of France. Louis has made me understand that that is my role in life, and I intend to fulfil it.

L
ate one night in November 1407, Louis and Yolande are at their town palace in Paris when they hear a commotion in the street, the loud slap of shutters flying open nearby and the alarm being raised. Accompanied by his guards, Louis races out into the night, while Yolande remains on their first-floor balcony, leaning out, watching flares being brought and a confusion of people running to and fro, shouting. She cannot imagine what is happening and is greatly afraid that her husband might be rushing into danger.

But when he returns, the news is far worse than either of them could have imagined. His face white, his mobile features rigid and shocked, Louis is almost unable to tell her what has happened. The story comes out in short bursts – how Louis d’Orléans left the queen’s court this evening in good spirits for the short ride to his own residence. Entering the narrow, high-walled lane that separates their respective palaces, he and his small escort were set upon from above by some fifteen masked men and brutally attacked. When Louis raised his left hand to shield his face, a savage sword-slash cut it off at the wrist, before an axe cleaved his skull, spilling his brains on to the cobbles.

Aghast, Louis and Yolande gaze at each other. There is no time to absorb this horror. Within minutes, their own house becomes a maelstrom of noise and movement. There is much that needs to be done. The Anjous’ palace is the nearest to the murder scene, and Louis sends messengers at once to the Provost of Paris and the other royal dukes – Burgundy, Berry and Bourbon – summoning them to convene at his house at once and plan how to capture the assassins.

The atmosphere is strained as the dukes – though not Burgundy – meet with several of the suite of the murdered Louis. And at the centre of this terrible whirlwind of activity, there is a still, silent, dreadful presence. The body of Louis d’Orléans himself has been brought here. His horribly distorted, bleeding body lies on a table in the hall, covered with a thick velvet curtain. Yolande is in shock. Their beautiful, gallant cousin, he who embodied all the qualities a prince should possess – courage, courtesy, high ideals – lies murdered in their house. She is too angry to cry, too full of rage at the injustice of it all.

And through her shock, and that of all present, a dreadful knowledge is forming. Everyone’s finger is silently pointing at the dreaded Jean of Burgundy. Yolande is in no doubt – there is no one else who refused to see Louis d’Orléans for the patriot he was.

In the presence of the dead prince’s body, the men confer hurriedly; messengers are being sent in every direction as the Duchess d’Anjou silently offers strong wine to each of the group as if in a daze. She will not break down in front of them. She will keep her sorrow to mourn him in the quiet of her room, alone. Louis d’Orléans, together with her husband, was the best of this family. Poor darling Valentina and her children – and poor France.

With each goblet she fills, a terrible sense of foreboding grows in her – this can only be the beginning of more outrage to follow. By now, no one doubts the guilt of Burgundy’s men – a number were recognized despite their hoods while they fled. As she brings another flask of wine to the gathering, Yolande dares to ask: ‘Have the Provost’s men gone to arrest the Duke of Burgundy?’

No one replies.
What ails them?
She asks again:

‘Have men been sent to summon the Duke of Burgundy. Who will enquire into the outrage committed by his men?’ And again no one speaks; they only shake their heads. She understands. No one dares move against the powerful Jean-sans-Peur!

She walks away from them and retires to her rooms – what else can she do? She is new to this family and they have their own rules. But she knows what she would do were she in their place! Louis thinks her rash, and he may be right, but to stand by and watch such blatant aggression – and now the murder of a loved family member – is beyond her comprehension.
Have they milk instead of fire in their bellies?
She feels her Spanish blood rising, and a part of her curls her lip at their judiciousness, their diplomatic caution. Surely this terrible deed will be reason enough to cancel the betrothal of their heir with Burgundy’s daughter. They can never join their blood with his after this horrible murder.

Yolande spends the next day at home while Louis is leading the service for his beloved dead cousin in the absence of the king, who is sick and cannot attend. He returns, ashen-faced with barely controlled rage.

‘You will not believe it – all three royal dukes, Berry, Bourbon
and
Burgundy, joined me in the church. We each held one of the four poles supporting the golden awning over the catafalque.’

She is stunned. ‘How is it possible that Burgundy dared to appear? How did you and the others allow it? You all know it was his men who murdered our dear cousin.’ She stares at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

‘Can you imagine it?’ he gasps. ‘And what is more, that gross Burgundy was the only one of us correctly dressed in the black robes of royal mourning!’

‘
Of course
,’ she almost hisses. ‘Only
he
would have known they would be needed today!’ And she spits out her words with all the venom in her heart.

But there is worse to come. Following the funeral, Louis has invited all the major mourners to come to their palace and, to Yolande’s breathless astonishment, Burgundy dares to appear! Anxiously she looks about for Louis among the company, and cannot see him.
How can I receive this monster?
She has no choice but to move towards him as protocol demands.

‘Ah, my beautiful cousin Yolande,’ he says, taking her hand – which she has not offered – and kissing it in a way that draws attention. ‘What a sad day indeed.’

Yolande’s face is frozen, lips shut tight, and she scans his face with cold eyes, chafing at the protocols which prevent her from accusing him outright. Not a shadow, not the slightest hint of any emotion – no, he has applied an actor’s mask expression of sorrow, the corners of his mouth turned down. She is so shocked at his presence that, despite her training, she is completely lost for words, certainly of welcome, and just stands looking at him.

At that moment, Louis arrives at her side, with him the two other royal dukes, Berry and Bourbon. ‘My dear, there are guests in the gallery who need you’ – a signal that she is to leave. She moves to go willingly, but as she turns, she hears her husband say clearly, and not too quietly:

‘Cousin, you have no place here, neither in my house nor in this city. We, the three senior members of the council, order you to leave Paris at once.’

All conversation in the room has ceased, the guests facing Burgundy and the other three dukes. Jean’s face is a study; a mixture of hatred, anger, disdain – and superiority! He turns on his heel, makes a slight motion with his head to his followers and marches his great bulk out of their home. A trembling Yolande moves quickly to take Louis’ arm, praying that this will signal the end of their family’s proposed union with that monster!

‘That man would like to kill all of us – you, me, Berry and Bourbon. Darling husband, frankly, he terrifies me.’ Louis is calm as he pats her hand, but Yolande is barely able to contain her anguish before the remaining guests. ‘How can this shameful murder of a loyal prince of the blood be accepted so readily? Banishing him from Paris is not enough!’

But Louis’ lips are tight and he gives a slight shrug as if to say, ‘That’s the way things are.’

Burgundy knows that the Duke of Orléans was disliked by the Parisians, and his people set about spreading the word that he has done them a great service in ridding them of the tyrant. It is true they were taxed heavily by the dead duke, and from what Juana tells Yolande she is hearing in the streets, the Parisians are actually celebrating Louis d’Orléans’ murder.

The next day, her dear friend Valentina, the newly widowed Duchess d’Orléans, calls on her. Her eyes look haunted, her face drawn and thin.
Where is the flashing-eyed beauty?
Yolande asks herself. The shock of her husband’s murder has Valentina shaking as she asks:

‘Dearest Yolande – would you be willing to help me?’

‘Anything, anything!’ Yolande’s inner rage on Valentina’s behalf – and on their own too – would indeed make her capable of anything at this moment.

‘Would you accompany me to call on my brother-in-law the king? I must beg for his support against his cousin of Burgundy to avenge my husband’s murder. Would you do that for me?’ she asks, as if unsure.

‘Of course, it is the very least I can do. And I can guarantee he will see you – I have his ring that allows me to pass anyone at any time to reach him, and you will be by my side. But to gain the king’s support we must plan carefully. I have a young friend near him I can count on, and I will first find out when he is well. We must make our entrance at court dressed soberly – in black velvet and pearls, I think.’ Yolande knows that appearance is all-important – both the king and the queen are easily swayed by the court’s reaction to the appearance of petitioners. Valentina will have the sympathy of more than half of them, she is sure, but to move the king to act against a member of his own family will be difficult. His awareness of Burgundy’s immense power could discourage him.

When she receives Yolande’s message that the time is right for her audience with the king, Valentina d’Orléans returns to the Anjou mansion. Her strong colouring has faded and her flashing eyes look utterly desperate, but Yolande knows she has more fire in her belly than pain at her loss. On her friend’s advice, Valentina has brought her young son, the new duke, so like his father – may his youthful blonde beauty sway the king to listen to her plea for vengeance.

There is murmuring as they enter the great audience chamber of the Louvre palace. Yolande, as a queen, walks slightly in front of Valentina. Both are conscious of the stir they are causing and aware of the approval of their audience. They make a striking pair, both tall and slim, Valentina so dark and Yolande very fair. Yolande is beckoned to sit on a stool near the throne, while Valentina stands facing the king, her young son beside her. Despite her courage, and her straight posture, somehow Valentina looks very slight, very alone, lost in all that multitude of faces. But her voice is firm, strong, an appeal not just to the king, but to the whole room:

‘Sire, I bring you my son; as you see, he is too young to avenge his father, and so it is to you I come, on bended knees.’ She drops to the floor on her knees to gasps from the assembled courtiers, not used to such a scene. ‘My lord sovereign and brother-in-law, I beg you to avenge this shameful murder of my husband, this young boy’s father and your beloved brother Louis d’Orléans, your beloved brother who never failed you.’ And with arms outstretched, she turns to her left and right in an elegant gesture of supplication to the assembled courtiers.

Deeply moved, Yolande watches the king. But she sees, with a falling heart, that he is not really here with them – his mind has wandered, as it so often does. She knows he loved his brother, yet he shows almost no emotion. Has he understood what has happened? Has he forgotten who Valentina is?

‘My young son, your nephew,’ Valentina exclaims, and Yolande can hear the rising desperation in her voice, ‘deprived of a loving father and guide through this vicious court, this country divided by its factions. I know, as you do, sire, who is responsible for my husband’s murder. Avenge it, I beg you!’ she cries out, turning to the assembled court again. But all Charles VI does is to raise her from her knees and embrace her, a loving gesture but he utters no word of retribution against his cousin Jean-sans-Peur.