The Battle of the Queens (23 page)

The palace was plunged in gloom. The King shut himself in his apartments and would not speak to no one. Agnes had left Paris.

She had made up her mind that she must save France from the disaster which she was sure the continuance of the Interdict would bring her to. War was imminent. No army could believe in victory when the approbation of Heaven was turned against it.

Agnes had made the great sacrifice.

Philip pacing up and down his bedchamber knew that she had done that which was best for France. He had dreaded going into battle with an army which would have decided before the fighting began that it was defeated. And yet … he had lost Agnes.

He cursed his fate. He was doomed to lose those he loved. Had he loved Isabella of Hainault, Louis’s mother? Not greatly but she had been an amiable spouse – a lovely creature; sometimes Louis looked very like her. She had been sixteen years old when he was born – not much older than
he
was now and she had died when the boy was two. So theirs had been a brief married life; and he had mourned her. He had lost Richard Coeur de Lion, whom he had loved more passionately than he had loved Isabella. He often thought of Richard now … moments of tenderness, moments of anger. Love and hatred had played strong roles between them. And he had lost him … But perhaps when he had almost lost his son he had suffered most. It was shortly after Isabella’s death when the child had come near to dying too and he had come home from the Holy Land, leaving Richard for the sake of his child. Louis had been preserved and how he had loved the boy. He still did. He could not explain what joy it was for him to be near this son of his. That Louis was gentle both delighted and dismayed him. He often wondered what sort of king he would make. He was like his grandfather really, too sensitive for kingship. But he was a lovable boy and Philip thanked God that Blanche showed signs of strength. He would talk to Blanche some time. He would make her understand how she must grow stronger and always support Louis, for Louis would need her. Thank God they had taken to each other. He had not wanted to spoil it. That was why he had let them live innocently together until that time when they should mate naturally. If it was, as it appeared, that the time had come, he rejoiced. It would mature them both and then he could talk to Blanche and make her understand.

But now he had lost Agnes.

The Interdict would be raised and there would be rejoicing throughout the land, but to gain the contentment of France had cost him Agnes.

He supposed he could have ridden to Poissy whither she had gone, could have implored her to come back, and he knew that she would not have been able to resist him.

But a king is a king, he told himself.

He had not thought that in the heat of his passion for her. Had he not known that he was in truth married to Ingeburga and because she was a princess the Pope would not allow her to be set aside.

Ingeburga. He shivered. Never never again …

Then he thought of Agnes and wept. But there would be war.

He was going to finish John – that foolish, reckless braggart. Brother of Richard … son of great Henry! God in Heaven, how did Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry Platagenet get such a creature?

But thank you, God, for bringing him into this world. Thank you for making him King. This is my chance. I shall bring back all that France has lost. I shall be as great a king as Charlemagne. And Agnes, dearest Agnes, I could not have done it without you beside me.

And while the King of France made plans for war, in the convent of Poissy Agnes wept and tried to forget the past. This was the best … for the King her lover, and for their children. This was the sacrifice demanded of her.

She grew listless. She could eat nothing. She spent hours in prayer.

There was no happiness left in life. She longed for the peace of Heaven. She prayed for it.

‘Oh Holy Mother of God, my life is over. There is nothing left to me now. In your mercy let my sorrows pass away. In death I shall find peace.’

Her prayers were granted. A few months after she had entered the convent of Poissy, Agnes was dead.

The Interdict was lifted but Philip refused to have Ingeburga back. That was one thing he stood firmly against. The Pope might have parted him from the woman he loved but he could not make him live with one he loathed. So Ingeburga continued her peregrination from castle to castle, convent to convent; she might go where she pleased as long as it was not where Philip was.

To soothe his unhappiness he plunged into preparations against John, for John was gathering enemies fast which was a matter for rejoicing; and the prospects for France had never looked so bright. Philip was not an old man – not yet forty. He had time before him and he wanted to leave a flourishing country for Louis.

He liked to talk with his son, to train him, as he called it, for future kingship, and at the time of Agnes’s death he grew closer and closer to his son.

He walked with him in the gardens and there he would speak to him as he said in secret, which made a pleasant intimacy between them.

He studied Louis anxiously. Ever since that terrible illness he had been concerned for his health. He set his doctors to watch his son without letting Louis know it. ‘For,’ he said, ‘I do not wish him to imagine he is ill, which he is not. But in view of the fact that he has a delicate constitution, I want to be absolutely sure that if he should need attention it be promptly given.’

It was important for France that the heir be strong, he was often telling himself. And if anything should happen to Louis he could see great conflict, for Agnes’s boy would not be accepted by some even though the Pope had made him legitimate. He knew in his heart that one of the factors in the case from Agnes’s point of view had been the legitimisation of young Philip, for if she had remained with him, it was certain that the Church would have upheld the point of view that the child was a bastard.

Philip was angry with fate, the Pope and the circumstances which had led to his marrying Ingeburga before he had found Agnes. But it was no use. Louis was left to him and he had to guide him in his role; and he fervently hoped that before long Louis would give him grandsons and he could thankfully know that the line was secure.

Now, in the gardens, he talked to his son of the need to recapture all that France over the centuries had lost.

‘We shall never be truly at peace,’ he said, ‘until Normandy is ours. William the Conqueror brought it to England … or England to Normandy which you prefer. But before his day there was strife between us. The Franks should never have given that part of France to the Norsemen. It happened centuries ago and who knows it may be our glory to bring it back. We have a heaven-sent opportunity in John. Think of him. You have seen him. What is your opinion of him, Louis? Would men ever follow such a one? Only those who sought their advantage … and a few to whom loyalty to the crown is a way of life. Nay, son, there never was such an opportunity as now lies in our hands and we shall take it.’

Louis listened intently, but he was not a warrior; that much was clear. He reminded Philip very much of his own father … another Louis, and a good man, a man who was pestered by his ability to see two sides to every question, a man who was haunted by the cries of innocent men and women slaughtered during the course of a battle. Philip respected such men, but did they make good kings?

He went on: ‘The time is at hand. The Lusignans are ready to rise against him. He took Hugh’s bride.’ Philip laughed. ‘There is a woman for whom men would go to war. I thank God that our dear Blanche is not of her kind. Isabella will bring John to ruin, I don’t doubt. Though his own nature will do that and it will only be necessary for her to help the process. The Lusignans are a powerful clan. They are waiting to get at him. Then there is Britanny. Arthur and his adherents believe that he should be on the throne.’

‘Do you believe that, father?’

‘I shall support Arthur, my son, because he is against John and my eyes are on Normandy. Your wife Blanche has a strong claim to the English Crown, you know, Louis.’

Louis smiled. ‘But John is the King and he will have children.’

‘From what we hear he is making every effort to get them,’ retorted Philip. ‘Kings lead precarious lives, Louis. If John should die in battle and Arthur too, why then who would be next in the line of succession? What of Blanche, daughter of Eleanor, sister to John and Richard – the Kings of England?’

‘There is of course the connection but it is unlikely that John will die before he gets an heir and then there is Arthur. And do you think the people would accept Blanche?’

‘With France behind her – yes. Think of it, Louis. The whole of France in our hands – and the Crown of England thrown in.’

‘How should we hold such vast territory?’

‘That is what we would think of when the time comes. It is a king’s duty to take the events as they arise, but if possible to be prepared for them and to act one step ahead of his enemies. You will work with me closely on this campaign.’

‘You mean I am to go into battle.’

‘God forbid. You are far too young. I would not dream of allowing that. But this will be a war of strategy – as all wars are; and it is the man who is cleverest at that wily game who is more likely to defeat his opponent, even though the latter has the bigger army. That is something Richard Coeur de Lion never realised. He was the greatest, bravest fighter in the world but no strategist. If he had been, with his courage and generalship he would have brought Jerusalem back to Christendom and, given time, conquered the world. Now I never cared for battle as I did for strategy. It is a wise policy, for countries perpetually at war grow poor, the people dissatisfied and prosperity elusive. So we should try to let others fight our wars.’

‘Is that what you propose to do?’

Philip nodded. ‘As far as I can. I want John brought low, and because he is as he is, I do not think it will be an impossibility. His enemies are numerous. The Lusignans are raring to get at him. Arthur believes he is the rightful King of England. I shall give them my support – my moral support. Though of course if necessary I shall have to offer practical help. But let them work for us first. I am going to offer your half-sister as a bride for Arthur.’

‘Marie. She is but a child.’

‘That’s true. But she is legitimate. The Pope has agreed on that. Marie is not ready for marriage. As for Arthur he is but a boy … your age, Louis. He can wait for Marie – and if he has the Crown of England by that time I shall be happy to see my daughter Queen.’

‘Does Arthur know?’

‘I have whispered to him that I propose to offer him my daughter. He is beside himself with joy. It means that I give my support to his claim.’

‘He will be going soon.’

‘Any day. The time to strike is now, Louis. Talk of these matters to Blanche. It is well that she should learn with you how affairs of state are conducted.’

‘I will talk to her,’ said Louis.

Arthur and his sister Eleanor were in mourning, for their mother had died. Eleanor shut herself away to brood in solitude, but Arthur was constantly conferring with the King; messengers were coming to and from Paris and there was always something to discuss, some preparations to be made that there was little time for grieving.

Blanche, aware of what was going on, saw how the excitement of coming events helped Arthur over his sorrow, just as plunging himself into the affairs of his country had helped Philip in his anguish over the loss of Agnes. It was a good lesson learned.

With rulers, she inferred, the good of the country must come first, and personal grief could be and must be set aside for the sake of duty. She wondered how she would fare if she lost Louis whom she was loving more every day; and she thought of the deep affection which had been so obvious with her own parents and she was sure meant more to them than anything on Earth – and it had indeed made a happy home for their children. Her mother wrote to her regularly telling her what was happening at home in Castile and spoke often of her father’s health. The bond between them all would never be broken, but she had a new life now. Louis was more important to her than anyone, and France was her home.