The Battle of the Queens (27 page)

In due course the child was born. He was called Philip, but because his parents were reminded of that beautiful boy who had died in his ninth year, they wished to distinguish between the newcomer and his dead brother and they added Dagobert to his name, so that he was always known as Philip Dagobert – it was considered to be an unusual name at this time though many kings had borne it in the seventh century. Blanche pointed out, so that it was a pleasant idea to revive it, while naming the child after his grandfather.

The King was feeling ill and in no mood to leave his bed when news was brought to him that the Pope had called a council which would take place in Paris.

Philip who was resting at his palace at Pacy-sur-Eure grimaced when he heard the news. The fact that the meeting was to be held in Paris meant, of course, that he was expected to be present. He would like to see the whole matter of this trouble cleared up, but was uneasy because the Church, deciding with great determination to stamp out heresy, was instituting this Holy Office which Philip felt was a dangerous invention. He foresaw that no man would be safe from it, and bearing in mind the Church’s constant need for money, he wondered whether those who possessed it might be selected as victims, as in addition to torturing the so-called heretic they confiscated his wealth which of course went into the coffers of the Church.

Trying to look ahead into a future which he was beginning to think he would not be there to see, he could visualise dangers in this Holy Office or Inquisition. He even wondered whether it would bring good – even if it brought gain – to the Church. He could see men of substance moving away to those countries where it was not upheld. Perhaps he would put these ideas forward at the conference. Perhaps not. It was not for him to concern himself with what went on outside France. It was because he had always followed that belief that France was now in a far better position than she had been when he came to the throne.

So he would go to the conference, speak discreetly, neither condoling nor condemning. He was adept at such manoeuvre.

He felt limp and weak, but nevertheless he was determined to attend. One so often feigned an illness and offered it as an excuse that when one was genuinely sick one was not believed.

He rode on but the heat was too much for him, for it was July and the sultry weather did not suit him.

When they reached Mantes he said he would rest for a while. He took to his bed and it occurred to him as he was helped there by his servants that he might never rise from it.

During the night he awoke and felt the fever was increasing. It had the effect of making his mind hazy and yet as he grappled to keep a hold on his consciousness he was aware all the time that this was the end.

His mind went back to those days which followed the capture of Acre when he had made up his mind to leave Richard and return to France. It was a great decision … the right decision. He had made it for the good of his country. He could remember vividly the excessive heat … the fearful plagues, the mud, the scorpions, all the discomforts on which Richard had seemed to thrive.

France first … that had been his motto. And it had brought rewards. He was leaving Louis a well-governed land; much of that which France had lost for years was now returned. One day, the English should have no claims in France. It was not quite so as yet … but that would come.

Wise government … that was what was necessary. War only when there is no other way. Justice for the people so that they would accept hardship when need be.

Oh, Louis, he thought, you will have Blanche to help you. I pin my hopes on Blanche, my son, for although you are the best of sons I doubt you will be the strongest of kings.

Ingeburga would not mourn very much. She would be a fool if she did. Now Ingeburga would come into her own. There would be nowhere where she would not now be received with honour. The Dowager Queen of France. He shuddered to remember that first night and only night with her. She had bided her time. In a way her methods were like his own. She had refused to relinquish her hold and had quietly submitted to indignity. He had paid dearly for that hasty marriage. It had cost him Agnes … dear sweet, uncomplaining Agnes. And it was Ingeburga who had won in the end.

Louis the King and Blanche the Queen. They were thirty-five years old, mature and with a fine nursery of sons. Young Louis was nine years old. Well, that was a good age with a father who was only thirty-five. Louis had a long life before him yet and Blanche would train young Louis in the way he must go.

Philip could close his eyes and say: ‘Lord now lettest thy servant depart in peace.’

He had arranged everything and it augured well.

Louis was bewildered. His father ill … possibly dying. He could not believe it.

He went into the death chamber and threw himself on to his knees. He took his father’s hands and looked at him appealingly as though begging him not to die.

Philip said: ‘All will be well, my son. Is Blanche there?’

She came to kneel beside her husband.

‘Blanche, dear daughter, I thank God for you. Look after Louis, the King of France … very soon now. Into your hands I commend him … and the young Louis … my grandson. And Louis, weep not, my son. My time has come as it must for us all. Beloved son, you never caused me grief. I marvelled that it should be so. God’s blessing on you. Blanche, Louis … my beloved children … I thank God I leave you each other. I have put France before aught else in my life. Perhaps I was wrong. But I served my country well and it was God who gave me the task when He made me the son of a King … as He now puts that burden on you, my dear Louis.’

They sat beside his bed and that contented him.

He was smiling as he died.

Blanche deeply regretted the death of the King. She loved her husband; he had never been anything but faithful to her and had shown her every kindness and consideration, but a woman as forceful as herself must know that he could never be a great king as his father had been. As a Prince of France, with his father to guide him, he had been admirable. She knew that it would be different when he stood on his own.

She was determined to bring up her sons herself so that when the time came for them to take the throne, they would be prepared. Had Philip faltered with Louis? Perhaps. That obsession with his health and safety was understandable, for he was the only legitimate son, but such coddling care was bound to have its effect. Louis was no coward but he was no strategist either. There was weakness in him, a lack of ruthlessness, which however pleasant in the personal character was no good for a ruler.

During that splendid ceremony at Rheims she was uneasy, although there was great rejoicing throughout the land and a prosperous reign was prophesied. When his father had married Isabella of Hainault who was in the direct line from Hermengarde, daughter of Charles of Lorraine, the last of the Carlovingians, the rival claims of the dynasties of Charlemagne and Hugh Capet had come together; and Louis was the fruit of this. No one now could dispute his absolute right to the throne.

All was set fair, said the people. It was a long time since France had been so prosperous. The English had been defeated as never before. Philip, that master of strategy, had held aloof from the Albigensian war. He had lived on affectionate terms with his son and they had never been anything but the best of friends.

‘Oh fortunate France!’ said its people.

Ingeburga had assumed a new importance. She was affable and kind and took a great interest in the royal children. The death of Philip had naturally brought her closer into the family circle and none could understand what had been the cause of Philip’s aversion to her. She lived in state and dignity and the children were fond of her.

For a few months after the coronation there was rejoicing, but if Louis believed this would continue, Blanche did not.

The first intrusion into their peace came from Lusignan.

Blanche immediately remembered the sly-eyed Isabella who had made such an impression on her when they had first met, the memory of which had been revived by her marrying the man selected for her daughter a few years before.

When the messengers arrived from Lusignan with letters from Hugh, Blanche guessed there would be trouble, and when they read them they were not surprised.

Hugh, who had, Blanche was sure, written at the command of his wife, pointed out that King John had assigned certain lands to Isabella and it was her right to reclaim that land.

‘I feel certain,’ said Blanche, that that woman will lead Hugh by the nose and if you would have him as your ally you must placate his wife.’

‘Nay,’ said Louis, ‘he is an ambitious man. He wants his wife’s land. I hear that Isabella has a son now – Hugh after his father.’

‘Let us hope,’ retorted Blanche, ‘that she is a better mother to him than she has been to her children by John.’

‘She was wise enough to get young Henry crowned with the utmost speed.’

‘Because it was to her own advantage to do so. With the same speed she took her daughter’s betrothed and married him. Louis, we must be watchful of Isabella of Angoulême.’

‘My dearest, we must be watchful of all.’

‘We are in agreement on that, but with such a woman we will need to exercise more than usual care.’

Louis smiled benignly but she knew that he did not understand.

It was necessary to go on a tour of certain towns and he would visit, with his army, those where he might expect trouble. Blanche had agreed with him that it would be well to show that while he was prepared to be reasonable, the people must not imagine that he was going to be any less strong than his father.

They travelled first to Lusignan for Hugh was a man too powerful to ignore either as an ally or an enemy and with all the unrest which invariably followed a new reign, Louis would have to be watchful. He was expecting the English to make an attempt to retrieve their losses in Normandy.

With them rode, among other vassals to the crown, Thibaud the fourth Count of Champagne, that very handsome though somewhat corpulent troubadour who considered himself royal because his grandmother was the daughter of Louis VII, the father of King Philip Augustus, thus making him a kinsman of the King.

He had never ceased to sing of his admiration for Blanche and had become known as Thibaud Le Chansonnier; and that royal arrogance he assumed sometimes disturbed her. There was often a suggestion in his looks which she refused to accept for what it was. None would dare insult the Queen, who was known to be as loyal to the King as he was to her; but there were some who noticed that the Count of Champagne was obviously enamoured of Blanche and would give a great deal to be her lover. A vain hope, said most; but there were some who liked to look wise and murmur that women were unaccountable, that Blanche was a strong healthy woman and Louis scarcely lusty. It was considered by some that a man who must absent himself from his wife as frequently as Louis did and be as faithful as he was, was in some way lacking.

As for Blanche she conveyed the impression that the Count of Champagne was nothing to her but a vassal and a connection of her husband’s through their grandfather.