The Battle of the Queens (34 page)

‘Traitor!’ cried Louis. ‘I ever found it hard to tolerate that fat man. Though I must admit he is a good poet and I have enjoyed some of his work. What think you, Blois, Bourbon, Hurepel … will others follow?’

Philip Hurepel said stoutly that the King had enough good friends beside him to enable him to take Avignon.

‘I doubt it not,’ replied Louis. ‘But I like it not when traitors desert.’

‘Thibaud is too fat to be a good soldier,’ said Bourbon. ‘He is more adept with the pen.’

‘The pen can be a mighty weapon,’ said Louis, and he wondered whether those poems about Blanche had engendered his hatred of the man.

As he feared, Thibaud’s departure had increased the dissatisfaction of the men. The people of Avignon had been well prepared. Never it seemed to those outside the walls had there been a city so well equipped to withstand an army. Louis’s health was failing again and his friends watching him with anxiety wondered if it would not be wise after all to raise the siege and abandon Avignon.

August had come – sweltering hot. Never, declared the soldiers, had the sun shone so fiercely; dysentery increased. Men were dying all around them.

‘It would seem that Louis will be one of them if we don’t get out of this place,’ said Philip Hurepel.

Bourbon was of the opinion that the King would never give in.

‘Perhaps, after all, Thibaud was the wise one,’ suggested the Count of Blois. ‘At least he escaped this.’

‘He will repent his folly,’ said the loyal Philip.

It was only a few days later when the governor of the town sent a messenger to the King. The town was ready to make peace, for it could hold out no longer.

This was victory – but a dearly bought one.

Louis had no wish to send his soldiers to rape, murder and pillage. He shrank from such procedure. He could not but respect such valiant men. He therefore decreed that the people should be spared but it would be construed as weakness if some punishment were not meted out to a town which had cost him so much in men, arms and money.

He ordered that the walls of the city should be demolished but the townspeople unharmed.

His work was done at Avignon. It could be carried out by others whom he appointed. He could go back to Paris.

Blanche would be waiting for him and there he would enjoy a time of recuperation in her soothing company.

He needed it.

So he began the journey.

The siege had ended at the close of August but there had been a great deal to arrange and it was the end of October before he could begin the journey back.

He felt very tired and a day spent in the saddle often exhausted him so much that it was necessary for him to rest the following day.

It was when he reached the Castle of Montpensier that he took to his bed and found, when he attempted to rise the next day, that he was unable to do so.

‘Alas, my friends,’ he said, ‘I fear I shall be obliged to rest here for a few days.’

Blanche called the children to her … her adored Louis, who grew more handsome every day, Robert, John, Alphonse and Philip Dagobert. Isabella was too young of course; she must remain in the nursery where another little one would soon join her.

‘Your father is coming home,’ she told them, ‘and we shall all go to meet him and give him welcome. That will give him as much pleasure as his victory.’

Young Louis said: ‘What will happen to the people of Avignon, my lady?’

She looked at him sharply. There was compassion in his voice and she wondered why it should have occurred to him first to ask after the defeated.

‘Your father will know best how to treat them.’

‘He’ll cut off their hands perhaps,’ said Robert, ‘or their feet. Perhaps put out their eyes.’

‘Our father will do no such thing,’ declared Louis.

‘He will punish them for having a siege, won’t he?’ demanded Robert.

‘It is their leaders who were to blame,’ pointed out Louis. ‘The people should not be punished for that, should they, my lady?’

‘When your father returns,’ said Blanche, ‘you may ask him what happened to the people of Avignon. Then you will hear that justice was done.’

‘Is our father always right?’ asked Robert.

‘Your father always does what God tells him is right,’ answered Blanche.

‘God does not always answer,’ Louis pointed out.

‘But He guides, my son,’ replied Blanche.’ You will understand one day, when you are King. That will not be for many many years. First you will have learned from your father how best to reign.’

How proud of them she was as they rode out together. It was fitting that they should be there to greet him after the victory at Avignon. How glad she was that it was over, for there had been a time when she feared that the siege might have to be abandoned and that would have been bad for France and for Louis.

As they came near to the Castle of Montpensier she suggested that Louis with his party should ride on ahead so that he should be the first to greet his father.

This the young boy was eager to do. At twelve years old he already had the bearing of a hero. His blond good looks and his regal bearing attracted men to him for his bearing was enhanced by a certain gentleness. Blanche did not think it was disloyal to Louis to notice that his son was the more kingly of the two. Louis himself had remarked on it.

The young boy rode a little ahead of his attendants in his eagerness to see his father and he had not gone very far when he saw a party of horsemen coming from the château.

He pulled up and cried, ‘Where is my father? I have come to greet him.’

‘My lord,’ said the leader of the group, ‘where is the Queen?’

‘She is a little way behind. I rode on ahead. She wished it.’

‘Will you return to your mother and tell her to come with all haste to the château?’

‘But my father….’

‘It would be well, my lord, if you would come with your mother.’

Louis turned and rode back.

When she saw her son a terrible fear came to Blanche. She spurred up her horse and galloped to the castle.

Philip Hurepel was waiting for her there. There were tears in his eyes and she knew before he said: ‘My lady, the King is dead. Long live Louis IX.’

Blanche was in command now. The new King was a boy of twelve and, though possessed of great gifts, but a boy.

She must set aside her personal grief. There was no time for it. Later she would think of Louis, the understanding between them, the affection, the respect they had always had for each other, the happy married life – almost as felicitous as that of her own parents; but now she must think of the future.

When a King died and left an heir not of an age to govern, there was always danger.

‘The King is dead. Long live the King.’ It was an old cry; but that King was not truly recognised as King until he was crowned.

So before she sat down to grieve, she must get Louis crowned. And then she knew that there would be little time for grief. Louis was too young; he would need guidance. She had good friends and Louis would have loyal subjects, but on her would rest the main burden.

From Philip Hurepel, the Counts of Bourbon and Blois she heard the story of Louis’s last days. He had exhausted himself before Avignon; they had known he was ill but not how ill – and could be said to have died fighting for a holy cause, so they need have no fear for his soul.

‘I never had fear for his soul,’ cried Blanche. ‘He was a good man. There are few as good in this world or in the next, I assure you.’

The men bowed their heads and said: ‘Amen.’

‘Indeed we need have no fear for him,’ said Blanche. ‘He is at peace. Now we must think what he would wish us to do. We have a new King, Louis IX. He is a promising boy … but a boy. My lords, the late King would wish us to make sure that he is crowned without delay.’

They agreed that this was so.

‘Then, my lords, let us see that this is done.’

She should rest a day at the château, Philip Hurepel told her. ‘You need your strength to support him.
You
must not be ill.’

She agreed to rest there and in her room her grief and desolation swept over her.

Dear, good, kind Louis … dead! She could not believe it. Never to speak to him again. She needed him now … so much she needed him.

Her women came to her and found her seated on her bed staring ahead of her, the tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

‘My lady,’ said one, ‘is there something we can do for you?’

She shook her head. ‘There is one thing I would you would do for me and that is bring a sword and run it through my heart.’

‘My lady!’

‘Oh, that is foolish is it not? But if I could make a wish it would be to be lying in a tomb beside him. He has been my life. We have been together in love and understanding. Do you realise what that means?’

‘To have seen the King and you together, my lady, was to understand.’

‘I have no wish to live without him.’

‘There is the young King, my lady.’

‘Yes, the young King. Could it be that others could guide him better than I?’

‘None can guide him as you can, my lady.’

‘I know that to be true and it is for this reason only that I wish to live.’

‘You must live, my lady. You must not harm yourself with grief. You must remember, the young King needs you.’

‘It is true,’ she said. ‘Send the King to me.’

Louis came and throwing himself at her feet gave way to weeping.

‘My beloved son,’ said Blanche, caressing those shining blond locks, ‘you have lost the best of fathers, I the dearest of husbands. But we have work to do. We must not forget that.’

‘No, my lady, I do not forget it.’

‘His death which has made me a sorrowing widow has made you a King. He would want you to be worthy of him, my son.’

‘I will be. I promise you, my lady. I will never do anything that would make him ashamed of me.’

‘May God bless you always.’

They were silent, weeping together.

Just this night, thought Blanche. Just this little time to mourn him. Then there will be work to do. My dear young King – so beautiful, so vulnerable – it will not be easy for you.

But he would have her beside him – and she knew she would be strong.

Chapter XI

ISABELLA SCHEMES

S
ix years of marriage had not had the effect of lessening Hugh de Lusignan’s passion for his wife – rather had it increased it. Uxorious, adoring, he had allowed her gradually to take over his life; he rarely made the most insignificant decision without consulting her and if she disapproved of it, that was an end to it.

His reward was a life of such eroticism as would have been beyond his belief had he not known her and the knowledge that – as far as it was possible for her to love anyone – she loved him.

In many ways she was not discontented with her life. She was close to her native Angoulême, and indeed spent much of her time there; she had children without much difficulty, although she did deplore the mild discomfort that must be endured before their arrival. She was very fruitful, which seemed natural in view of her insatiable sexuality, and she accepted her children with a certain amount of pleasure. Children could be very useful. In six years of marriage she had had five; and she guessed there would be more. Hugh, the eldest, was a fine boy who was very like his father in appearance and manners – a child as yet but one of great promise. Then there was Guy, only a year younger, and Isabella, William and Geoffrey. Four boys – all strong, all healthy. And a girl was useful. Young Isabella was a charming creature but Hugh declared she would never have the beauty of her mother. But then whoever had and whoever would?

But there was one thing Isabella could never forget and that was that she was a queen. It was all very well to be the centre of Hugh’s life and domain, to be admired wherever she went, to have every whim respected, but in Lusignan she was merely the Countesse of La Marche. With John she had been Queen of England and even when she was his prisoner, that fact had remained. In England she would still be Queen – though Queen Mother. She grimaced at the expression, but still with a son who was young and had not yet found a queen of his own she would have had considerable standing.

So there was always the need to remind everyone that she was a queen, to bestir Hugh to actions which would let everyone know how important he was.

Of course he was a lord of a great deal of territory. There were many who owed allegiance to him; but one fact remained and it irked her more than anything she had ever known – and that was that Hugh must swear allegiance to the King of France.

How she hated that cold-eyed queen who had regarded her with such distaste. She would like to see her brought low, her and her stupid Louis who doted on her. He was completely faithful to her. People were constantly commenting on it. Well, he was scarcely a man – and what of her? Did she have lovers? Although no scandal had touched her, all knew that the fat troubadour made songs about her. Isabella despised them all – Louis, Blanche and Thibaud of Champagne.

Messengers arrived at the castle with letters for the Count. She had gone down to the hall with Hugh to receive them, and when she saw that they came from the Queen she could not conceal her impatience.

She dismissed the messenger to the kitchens where he would be refreshed and said: ‘Let us go to the bedchamber where we can be quite alone to read what this means. It is important. Rest assured.’

She took the packet from Hugh, who meekly allowed her to do so, and when they were in the bedchamber it was she who broke the seals.

He came and looked over her shoulder.

‘My God!’ he cried. ‘Louis … dead.’

‘Always a weakling,’ she said. ‘You know what this means.
She
will be the sovereign now.’

‘It is young Louis …’

‘Young Louis! A boy of twelve. This is what Madame Blanche has been waiting for.’

Hugh was well aware that Blanche would be desolate at the death of her husband and no woman as wise as she clearly was would want to see her son of twelve years on the throne, but he had learned not to contradict Isabella.

‘She is the mistress now.’ She turned to Hugh. ‘It is to this woman that
you
will have to bow the knee.’

It was a familiar theme and Hugh would like to ignore it.

‘Why look,’ he said, ‘We are summoned to the coronation.’

Isabella’s eyes were narrow. She was thinking back to ten years before when the news had been brought to her of John’s death and she had then been in a similiar position to that in which Blanche found herself now. What had she done? She had instinctively known that her young son must be crowned without delay. Blanche was realising the same thing now.

‘We must make ready at once,’ said Hugh. ‘There is little time.’

‘Hold!’ said Isabella. ‘I am not sure that we are going to this coronation.’

‘Isabella, my dearest, this is a command.’

‘Hugh, my dearest, you married a queen. She does not take orders from that woman … even though she also is a queen. We are equal in rank and she does not command me.’

‘She commands us as Count and Countess of La Marche and as such we are vassals of France.’

‘Oh Hugh, you madden me sometimes. It is well that I love you. If I did not I should quarrel most surely with you and leave this place and go back to England.’

Hugh turned pale at the thought of such a disaster.

‘Now, my love. What are we going to do?’ she asked.

‘Prepare to leave. If we are going to be in Rheims …’

‘We are not going to be in Rheims.’

‘Isabella, what do you mean?’

‘We are setting out at once to call on our neighbour of Thouars.’

‘He too will be summoned to Rheims.’

‘Then we must reach him before he commits the folly of going there.’

Hugh stared at her aghast. She put her arms about his neck and laid his cheek against hers. ‘My dearest husband,’ she said, ‘where would you be without me? I am going to make you the most powerful man in France.’

‘Isabella, the King …’

‘That soft-cheeked infant. Do not talk to me of him. My Henry is a man in comparison. You see, my love, you are in a very good position. You are the husband of the mother of the King of England. I have been thinking for some time that we might be happier supporting him than this woman who now sets herself up as our ruler.’

‘But I have sworn allegiance …’

‘Oaths! What are oaths? Oaths are for vassals … We should not allow ourselves to be fettered by such.’

‘Isabella, much as you mean to me, I have my honour, my duty …’

She laughed softly. ‘And I would not have you other than you are. But before we go to Rheims I want you to come with me to visit our neighbours. I will send a messenger immediately to Thouars and Parthenay to tell them we are on our way.’

‘This is the coronation of our King …’

‘Oh, come, Hugh. There is no time to waste. That child is not ready to be crowned. He will merely be the mouthpiece for his mother.’

He made a mild effort to detain her; but laughingly she thrust him aside, and the next day they set off for northern Poitou.

Guy de Thouars, Hugh and the Lord of Parthenay were the most powerful lords of this part of the country and they had begun to realise that linked together they were a formidable force.

Guy received them eagerly when they arrived. Hugh by this time had allowed Isabella to override his doubts and had convinced himself that what she had suggested was indeed the truth.

Louis had been no friend to them; there was now a king who was only a minor; and Isabella was convinced that Blanche worked deviously against them.

It was Hugh who began the explanations. Isabella had primed him in what he had to say and she knew that Guy and Parthenay must be convinced that Hugh was not merely upholding her views.

Hugh pointed out that the late King had not served them well. He had suddenly decided to fight in the Albigensian war instead of continuing to wage war against the English. As soon as the Earls of Salisbury and Cornwall had shown they were not without military skill he changed wars.

‘Now,’ said Hugh, ‘we have a child as our King and we know full well that our true ruler will be the Queen.’

‘It seems likely,’ agreed Guy.

‘She will have able counsellors,’ put in Parthenay.

Isabella interrupted them: ‘We know the Queen, my lords; she is not of a temper to consider advice. She will have her say and expect all to follow her wishes.’

‘It would seem,’ said Hugh, glancing at Isabella, ‘that we should offer our allegiance elsewhere.’

The two men looked aghast, and Isabella said quickly: ‘I am not without influence in other quarters. I happen to be the mother of the King of England.’

‘My lady … my lord …’ began Guy.

‘Yes,’ said Isabella. ‘I can promise you lands and riches. When my son comes here and regains that which has been lost to England, he will not be ungrateful to those who helped him. I can promise you that.’

‘We have sworn an oath of allegiance …’

‘To King Louis VIII,’ cried Isabella. ‘He is dead.’

‘His son is now our King.’

‘His mother hastens to crown him, to have you all kneel before him and swear allegiance, but you have not done that yet, my lords. Will you be foolish enough to go to Rheims and mildly bend the knee to the Spanish woman?’

‘The coronation of our King is to take place on the twenty-ninth of this month.’

‘But three short weeks after the old King’s death! Well, we will say this for the lady. She knows how to move fast.’

‘I would say,’ put in the Lord of Parthenay, ‘that the Queen will be an able regent with good men to help her. We shall not find her ill-prepared for the task.’

Isabella was stung into sudden fury. Little enraged her more than to hear praise of Blanche.

‘Prepared! Indeed she is prepared. I’ll vow she was waiting most impatiently for this day. She … and her plump paramour.’

‘Isabella!’ cried Hugh. The others regarded her with amazement.

‘Oh, come,’ cried Isabella. ‘We know of these matters, do we not? She is a woman … for all that she shows a frozen face to the world. Have you read those verses written to her by her fat count? They are the words of a lover, my friends, a satisfied lover. Should we blame her? Louis was scarce a man. She has her needs like the rest of us. If she took him openly I could like her better. It is this mock purity which galls me.’

‘My lady,’ said Guy, ‘you speak of the Queen.’

‘I speak as one queen of another.’

‘This must not go beyond these four walls,’ said Hugh uneasily.

Isabella laughed shrilly. ‘My dear husband, my dear friends, it has already gone to the four corners of France. Are you so innocent that you do not know that tongues are wagging about our lily white Queen?
He
is not so silent. He might as well stand at the turret of his castle and proclaim his mistress to the world. He does more than that. He writes it in songs which are sung throughout France. Who does not know of the guilty passion of these lovers?’

‘Champagne writes of her as the unattainable,’ said Guy.

‘You are a soldier, my lord. You do not read into those poems what is there to be seen. He is mad with love of her. Louis dies suddenly. Did you expect him to die? Come, confess it. Was it not a shock to hear that the King was dead? But I tell you this: the Count of Champagne quarrelled with him. He left before the walls of Avignon … and soon after we hear the King is dead. Of a fever, we are told. Of drinking bad wine. Who gave Louis bad wine to drink? The Queen’s lover was there, was he not … and Louis died!’

‘But it was weeks after he had left that Louis died,’ Parthenay pointed out.

‘Those who are clever with poisons may choose the time they work. I tell you this, my lords, I call it strange that Thibaud of Champagne should write so of his love, and that he should be with the King before he dies. And the Queen … what of her? What does she say: “I must get my son crowned without delay.” In fact there has been such little delay that one might be forgiven in thinking that it was planned beforehand.’

There was a deep silence. With her glittering eyes and flushed cheeks Isabella presented a sight of such beauty that none of them could take their eyes from her. If there was something evil in her undeniable loveliness, that did not make it the less fascinating.