The Battle of the Queens (24 page)

Arthur rode off to place himself at the head of an army and it was with dismay that Blanche heard that her grandmother had left Fontevrault to go to the aid of John.

Louis tried to soothe her.

‘But,’ she cried, ‘your father, you, and therefore myself, are supporting Arthur, and my grandmother is against Arthur and for John.’

‘It happens so in families sometimes,’ Louis answered.

‘But this is different. You see we travelled together. We became very close to each other … we understood each other.’

‘Then she will understand now that you must be on different sides.’

Blanche shook her head in grief.

And this was intensified when the news reached the court that Arthur and his supporters had attacked the castle in which the old Queen was staying and had actually dared take her prisoner; but John had arrived, rescued his mother and captured Arthur as well as Hugh de Lusignan.

‘It was a bitter defeat for Arthur and victory for John,’ declared Philip and he doubted not that the result had been brought about by the old Queen for little success could be expected from John.

But it was a temporary setback. Moreover Arthur was in the hands of John and who could say what the outcome could be.

John gave expression to his venom and derived great pleasure from humiliating Hugh de Lusignan by forcing him to ride in chains in a bullock cart while Isabella, his lost love, witnessed the spectacle; but then he released him, much to the astonishment of all. It was just a sign of John’s unpredictability; and as all his emotions at this time were governed by his feelings for his queen, it appeared that in releasing Hugh he was showing her his contempt for him as an enemy.

But he was not so foolish as to release Arthur, and that was the end of the young Prince. It was not certain what exactly had happened to him, but in a few months he was to disappear from the world, leaving behind him a mystery which added to the rapidly growing evil reputation of his uncle.

Blanche often thought of her grandmother during the next two years. She knew how desolate she must be living out the last months of her life in gloomy speculation.

She would have loved to go and visit her, to tell her that although they were on opposing sides the affection between them was in no way diminished and she would never forget their journey from Castile to the Loire when they had forged the bond between them which nothing could sever.

Eleanor had conveyed to Blanche how proud she was of the Plantagenet line, how deeply she had loved Richard and how greatly she had feared for John. And rightly so, for if ever a king brought about his own ruin that king was John. Now he was losing those possessions which had belonged to his family since the days of great Rollo. One by one the castles were falling into the hands of his enemies. There were constant murmurs of ‘Where is Arthur?’ and gruesome stories were told of the young man’s end. That he had been murdered by his wicked uncle seemed evident and his enemies – chief of them Philip of France – were not going to allow that to be forgotten.

When Château Gaillard was lost to him that seemed the end of his hopes of holding Normandy, for the castle was the gateway to Rouen and had been known as the strongest fortress of its time.

If he could lose that, he could lose everything.

While the court rejoiced, Blanche could not do so wholeheartedly for she must think of the sorrowing old lady in Fontevrault.

At least she could send messengers to the Abbey to enquire about her grandmother and it was thus that she heard of Eleanor’s decline.

It seemed that she had grown listless when she had heard of the continual defeats of her youngest son and that when Gaillard fell they tried to keep the news from her. But she was imperious to the end and realised that some major catastrophe had occurred so she insisted on being told. And when she had, she covered her face with her hands that none might see her grief.

‘It is the end,’ she said.

And they were not sure whether she meant of John’s hopes or her own life.

She took to her bed and when a fever overtook her she did not seem to care whether it left her or not.

She lay in bed, sometimes murmuring of the past and it was noticed that Richard’s name occurred very often.

She died quietly in her bed and in accordance with her instructions was buried in Fontevrault beside the husband whom she had hated and the son she had loved.

Blanche’s grief was great; she could not forget her grandmother; and although the people around her were rejoicing at the manner in which the King of England was losing his dominions and gloated on the importance of this to France, she was filled with melancholy, knowing full well that that which delighted those around her had brought great sorrow to the old lady whom she had learned to love.

Then something happened to divert her thoughts from her grandmother’s death.

She discovered she was pregnant.

The King was delighted. Blanche was not yet seventeen and there were years ahead of her for childbearing. Philip congratulated himself that it had been wise not to hurry them. They were in love and it was charming to see them together; Blanche was growing into a beauty and a woman of good sense, and that she was also going to be a mother was a matter for the utmost rejoicing.

Everything must be done for her ease. Her parents and sisters wrote of their delight and pleasure on her account and from her mother came advice on how to care for herself.

Great preparations were made throughout the court and when the time came for the child’s birth it would seem as though, as Blanche said, no one had ever had a child before.

But this child was the heir to France.

There was a certain disappointment that it should be a girl, and a delicate one, and when all the preparations, all the care, all the taken advice had proved futile, for within a few days, the child was dead, Blanche was desolate. Louis consoled her. ‘We are young,’ he reminded her. ‘There will be others.’

‘There must be,’ declared Blanche. ‘I fear that the King’s disappointment will be great.’

She was right; but he did not allow her to see how great. He comforted her and told her that it often happened so – in royal families particularly.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that so greatly do we desire heirs that perverse fate denies them to us. But this is but the first. Perhaps you are too young, my daughter, for you are young, you know. It has ever astonished me how a chance encounter with a woman who has pleased for a day or so will result in a healthy child. There is my own Peter Charles whose mother was a fine young woman I found in Arras and there is Philip whom I named Hurepel because of the way his hair stands up. Where would you find two more sturdy boys? And bastards both! But you will have healthy sons … great sons. I know it. You were made to be a mother of kings.’

Blanche thanked the King and told him that he had done much to soothe her melancholy; but in her sadness memories of her grandmother came back – she who had outlived all her sons, save John, and had little joy brought to her by him.

She would have another child soon and when she did this would become just a sad memory.

In the gardens Philip walked with his son. He wanted him to promise him something.

Louis was a little puzzled until his father went on: ‘I do not want you to take an active part in a joust, and I wish you to promise me that when you attend these tourneys you will go as a looker-on.’

‘But, my lord, how can I?’

‘You can do so by making sure that you do not attend in armour. If you are simply present in a light mail jacket without a helmet, all will know that you have no intention of riding in the lists.’

‘It will be noticed that I do not enter, Father. It will be said that I am a coward.’

‘Let them say that to me! None shall say it twice, I promise you. And you and I will know that you are no coward, for it may well be that it will need greater courage to abstain from the lists than it would be to enter them.’

‘Do you mean that I am not to joust ever …’

‘I mean that for a while I do not wish you to.’

Louis understood. He and Blanche had had a daughter who had not lived. He was the heir to the throne – the one on whose rights to inherit the crown none could throw a doubt; and until he had produced a son, he must live.

Jousting could be dangerous, for although a tourney was supposed to be a mock battle it often became realistic. Poor sad Arthur’s father had ridden out to do mock battle but when he had been surrounded by his opponents he had fallen from his horse and been trampled to death. Yet it was but a mock battle.

Louis had always been aware of the responsibilities of kingship, but he had never realised them so thoroughly as he did at that moment.

Four years passed before Blanche was able to give France the hope of another heir. Meanwhile John was losing his grip even on his English possessions. His Barons despaired of him and there was a growing conflict between them; he was still enslaved by his wife Isabella but that did not prevent his infidelities. He became more and more cruel as his power was stripped from him; his enemies were legion and recklessly he added to their number with every passing year.

Philip had dreamed of recovering all the French territory. That was almost accomplished, and now he was turning covetous eyes on England itself. Why not? His daughter-in-law had a claim through her mother. There was no salic law in England; he did not see why Blanche should not one day be Queen of England and Louis King. France and England under one crown. Even Charlemagne had never been King of England.

And now Blanche was pregnant.

If this child be a healthy boy, it is an omen, said Philip. ‘Oh God, give me a grandson and I will be ready to depart in good heart and spirits when ever You see fit to call me.’

Great was the rejoicing when the child was born – a boy, a healthy heir to the Crown of France.

The King’s eyes shone with affection for his daughter-in-law and pride in his grandson.

‘There have been few days in my life happier than this one,’ he declared.

As he kissed her hand, Blanche said: ‘If it pleases you, I should like to call him Philip.’

Those were the years of triumph for France. Philip had his spies everywhere and nowhere were they more important than in England. That John was a feeble ruler, a man destined to fail, was becoming more and more obvious to everyone except John, who boastfully declared he would regain all that he had lost.