Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The (8 page)

‘I have noticed how cleverly he deals with his subjects,’ she ventures, hoping to hear more.

‘The thing about my nephew that I have always admired,’ says Uncle Jean, ‘is his common touch. He knows how to speak to every level of person and make each one feel comfortable, whether the simplest peasant or the grandest duke,’ and he points to himself and laughs. ‘You see, my dear, he has always been curious. His mother taught him that. A curious child will learn, and he had a lot to learn and quickly, particularly to avoid knaves taking advantage. His father, my older brother, was shrewd, but too kind for his own good. I am sure that is why he lost the throne of Naples – and his life,’ he adds with sadness.

Yolande sees his eyes welling with tears. ‘I can see you loved your brother very much,’ she says softly.

‘Oh yes, I worshipped him. He was the eldest of the brothers after the king, and such a heroic figure, very like your Louis – tall and blonde. And kind, very kind to me, the youngest of his siblings. The rest you know – his elder son, your Louis, set out to conquer that mirage of a kingdom when still very young. Dear Marie will surely have told you the story?’

‘Yes, indeed she has,’ answers Yolande, but her thoughts stray once again to that faraway kingdom.
What a challenge I shall face to win my husband away from this powerful intoxication called Naples,
she thinks to herself.

Ambassadors are frequent visitors, and Louis shows his exquisite manners by descending from his tall chair on a dais to make their obeisance unnecessary. He is well briefed by his staff to remember details about each person’s life, but he makes it appear so natural, as if he himself remembers. His visitors melt under the effect of his attentiveness. He has notes made during and after each meeting which are carefully kept to brief him for the next visit, and he makes it seem as if concern for his visitor is all he has on his mind.

But he can also be firm. If an ambassador or important visitor takes liberties in conversation with him, most especially if they hint at or speak disparagingly of the king’s mental illness, his eyes flash and the visitor quickly feels the razor slice of his tongue. ‘Good sir, I believe you are mistaken,’ he says softly but with acid, and the offender is quietly, discreetly removed from his presence.

Yolande notices that Louis does not shy away from his power; on the contrary, he enjoys it to the full, and shares his good fortune liberally. At council meetings, which Yolande is permitted to attend, she is repeatedly surprised by his magnanimous gestures, granting privileges and favours to supplicants. Marie de Blois, her guide in all things to do with the court and its inhabitants, further surprises her.

‘My dear, do not imagine that all our French dukes behave like Louis d’Anjou! I regret to tell you that a great many of our feudal lords hug their power and wealth to themselves – almost furtively.’

Louis’ estates and great houses are countless, and one by one he takes her to visit them all. There is much for her to learn. But sometimes at breakfast he will announce: ‘Enough of work, wife of my heart – today we play!’ Then horses are brought and they ride out together in the countryside, taking wild gallops over fields and into forests, at times with hawks on their arms; or they join a hunt with neighbours, their hounds following. Often they will ride out alone with only their dogs, their grooms following at a discreet distance. They picnic under trees by a stream, and she sings romantic songs taught to her by troubadours in Aragon, or tries to accompany him on her Spanish guitar as he serenades her with the old love ballads of Anjou.

As part of her marriage portion, Yolande has been given the beautiful chateau of Saumur in the Loire district of Anjou, and there they are as much at home as in Angers. With its roofless towers, crenellations and bold panache, the chateau sits high, dominating the town. Although strongly fortified, it does not intimidate – at least not Yolande. Since it is hers to do with as she chooses, she makes a number of changes to the structure both inside and out, adding a tall tower with a pointed roof at each of the four corners. ‘They look almost like the
henins
worn by my ladies, but without the veils!’ she tells Louis. For entertaining in the summer months and to allow in more light, she creates several courtyards and edges them with orange trees in square tubs. How delicious is the scent of the blossoms trapped within the four walls as it wafts up to the open windows. For comfort in the colder months, chimney pieces are installed in every room and blazing fires burn day and night. Fur pelts of all kinds lie in profusion on the rugs covering the stone floors; and on the beds are soft coverlets of marten, mink or otter. Many candles stand in clusters on every surface to throw light on the glorious tapestries hanging on the walls – not only for their beauty, but to cover the cold stone. Saumur, the most striking of their castles, is the home of Yolande’s youthful marriage into which she tries to incorporate the elegance of her native Aragon. Her mother has sent her a number of tapestries, carpets and clothes chests from Saragossa, and she houses them easily at Saumur.

Throughout the summer months they move between Angers and Saumur, remaining in each place for some weeks, making their way overland to the nearby Loire, then sailing when they can, or else being rowed in barges, theirs in front and the household following. They take everything with them they need – bed linen, tablecloths, plates, silver, chests full of clothes and hangings, tapestries and carpets, as well as some of the servants. Yolande takes Carlo and Vincenzo from Angers to test if they will become her eyes and ears among the staff and their guests.

Come the autumn, they make a longer journey – to Tarascon, their capital in the south. The voyage is only feasible for most of the way by water. With a few stops it can take up to seven or eight weeks, their barges or galleys resounding to the songs of the sailors as they row in rhythm, the lyrics often so bawdy Yolande blushes. The long river journey south from Anjou is such a happy time for them all – the promise of an adventure as they leave the growing chill of the north and follow the sun to the warmth of their land of Provence.

They plan to arrive at the end of the hot local summer, at the time of the lavender harvest. From the boat Yolande can see row upon row of the thick mauve bushes, and watches the women cut and tie bunches, tossing them into the baskets on their backs to be dried at home. How delicious is the scent of lavender as their boats pass by, all their goods infused with the aroma. They will spend the winter and spring at their chateaux in the south, at Tarascon, Arles or Aix, and there is always a visit to the port of Marseilles for business. These are magical times, and cherished. Then, when the blossom appears in the orchards, and the lambs, foals and calves arrive, they know it is time to move north again.

One lovely afternoon, Marie de Blois and Yolande are sitting in the recently completed walled garden at Tarascon, admiring the sunlight filtering through the trees. Chilled glasses of elderflower juice mixed with water refresh them, and they both work slowly on their embroidery as Marie talks about Louis’ nature – punctual, exact, almost military – which is often at odds with the more relaxed Mediterranean ways of Provence.

‘Believe me, my dear, I made every effort to have him absorb the Latin ways. But as you may have already noticed, he is a precise man; his life is dominated by control and order, with everything and everyone in their place.’

‘You are right, dear Maman; it’s true, he is punctual and consistently keeps to his word, and I have observed how reasonably he deals with his tenants and listens to argument.’

‘Have you noticed that when someone has a convincing point of view that he finds valid, he will change his original opinion and agree with them?’

‘Yes, it is one of the traits I admire the most – his humility when he realizes he is mistaken, or another has a better idea.’

‘Ah, my dear, this flexibility is not the custom of the south, and as a result, he has had some difficulty in coming to terms with the more rigidly feudal existence within Provence. You will see soon enough that it will be your role to smooth his path in dealing with some of his more intractable subjects.’

It does not take Yolande much time to appreciate that the massive commercial power of the Anjou family originates from the south, for here they have access to the sea with their great port of Marseilles; they have ships; they can trade the produce from the rich soil of Anjou as well as from Provence, and import goods from all over the Mediterranean to sell throughout France. Provence is the heartbeat of this family she has married into – the principal source of their great wealth; of men for their armies; of ships for trading, or to carry their soldiers to Naples to fight for their distant kingdom. This sovereign territory produces twice the income of Maine and Anjou. Trade and taxation, and the salt mines – a valuable export – as well as the efficient government handed down from Louis’ father all contribute. To maintain order in his southern territories and to impose his will, it is important for Louis to show himself regularly in Provence, especially since the people here have not long been governed by the House of Anjou.

I
t is while they are in Provence, about three years after their marriage, during the autumn of 1403, enjoying the weather, picking wild flowers amid the scent of lavender and the delicious aroma of the ripe harvest in the fields, that Yolande tells her husband she is expecting their first child. Louis surprises her with his enthusiasm. ‘Oh my darling wife – this is the best possible news! Of course the baby will be a boy, I know it! And he must be named Louis, yes, Louis III. My darling, clever, beautiful wife!’ And on and on he goes, describing his plans for his son’s first ten years.

Yolande never expected her husband to be such a keen father-to-be, and they delight in her pregnancy. Perhaps they both thought she would conceive sooner, but God chooses his time and she considers herself fortunate – she is strong and healthy, and she feels no sickness. Much as she would love her mother to be with her and share the excitement of the baby’s birth, Aragon’s queen is nursing a badly broken leg and unable to travel. Her letters full of maternal advice fill Yolande with expectation, and Juana is with her, which comforts them both.

It is during her pregnancy in Provence that they hear Queen Isabeau has given birth to her eleventh child, a son. Since his brother’s madness began, Louis d’Orléans’ unstinting support of the queen has been remarked upon, somewhat insidiously, by some courtiers. Inevitably, malicious tongues wag about the paternity of this new royal birth, but since the boy is the queen’s third surviving son, he is too distant from the throne for the gossip to be of importance. Both Carlo and Vincenzo have been fully trained by Yolande to listen to the staff of the many visitors to Anjou and Provence. From them Yolande has heard all the gossip of the royal court, possibly more even than Louis, since he is more interested in the government.

During the past two years, Yolande’s friend Valentina d’Orléans has visited her twice in Anjou, and now she is coming to Provence with two of her little ones to escape the cold of the north. Yolande rejoices in her friendship – they have no secrets, no qualms about exchanging any apprehensions – and Valentina’s servants have become good friends of her own house staff, especially Juana and Valentina’s principal maid, Eduarda. Much useful information has been absorbed by Carlo and Vincenzo from the others.

After they are settled, and she and her hostess have sat down to refreshments, Valentina says: ‘No doubt the gossip from the king’s court has reached you? No, please don’t disappoint me by looking so bland. You must have heard about Isabeau’s new son?’

‘Oh yes, that – but I paid it no mind. With a wife like you, no man could look at our sadly obese queen, certainly not your dashing Louis! And I expect him, in his kindness, to console her – as much as he decently can in her tragic situation. I really admire Isabeau for continuing to give Charles children, especially since she never knows when a new fit will start.’

‘Yolande, you are so strange sometimes! I know my Louis has a mistress, though it is not the queen. Yes, don’t look so surprised! Like the people of Aragon,’ she smiles at Yolande, ‘we of Milan also have our agents, and they are quite as good as yours.’

‘Valentina – listen to me, please. We are friends. You believe that, do you not? Then I can tell you that my people – and yes, I do have two reliable agents at the court – have assured me that your Louis is
not
the father of this latest of the queen’s children – or indeed of any of them. He is too loyal a brother, and I know that to be true. In our many conversations together, the thing that has struck me the most is his devotion and sense of honour where the king is concerned. That is why I paid this silly gossip no mind.’

‘Dearest Yolande. Yes, you are a good friend, but do not count on his sense of honour to me! I know that his mistress – a pretty, decent young lady from what I hear – has recently given birth to a son. My Louis has even given him a title. Don’t look so surprised; it is quite the norm for royal princes!’ she says with a wry laugh.

Not mine,
Yolande thinks to herself.
Not mine.

With the coming of summer, they have arrived in Anjou, with everyone ready for the birth of her first child. Valentina has told Yolande in great detail how it has been for her and what to expect. Juana has not had a child, so although she knows a lot, she cannot know how it actually feels. Yolande’s birthing rooms are made ready, something she enjoys supervising; and Marie de Blois has produced beautiful lace from a huge trunk in the nursery wing for the crib.

When Yolande’s labour begins, she cannot help wishing:
If only my mother could be with me!
But the Queen of Aragon has still not recovered from her broken leg and can hardly walk.
I am blessed to have dear Juana; I can hear the birds singing and rejoice in our child’s birth, despite the pain.

The midwife rushes about, maids carry clean towels and sheets, buckets of warm water, watered elderflower juice for Yolande. Time seems to stand still. And then, at last, the cry of the newborn baby brings smiles of relief to all the anxious faces.