Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The (17 page)

‘I love this child,’ she says to Louis when he returns from the council to tell her of his decision, ‘and so does our son, and they would be happy.’ Louis nods, but he can see from the set of her face that what he has decided, tough and unpleasant as it is, must be.

‘You do realize, my darling wife, that this is tantamount to a declaration of war between Anjou and Burgundy, two royal first cousins?’ And she answers simply, ‘Yes.’ There is no other way.

‘Louis,’ she says, taking his hand, ‘beloved husband, I know you have never wanted to become involved in your family’s quarrels, but the time has come, hasn’t it, when we must take this tough and shaming decision, no matter what it costs us?’ Louis nods forlornly. ‘We must nullify the formal planned marriage contract between our eldest son and Catherine of Burgundy, mustn’t we?’ Again he nods.

Yolande knows that Louis loves little Catherine as much as she and the rest of their family do. ‘What an asset she would have been in her own right – if only she did not bear that accursed name,’ he says with genuine regret.

She can sense that she must strengthen his resolve. ‘It has been four years now that she has lived happily among us, but we must do this. I have taken my decision and I know from your face that you have done the same.’ And they embrace in joint grief for Catherine and for themselves. Yolande says nothing about their altercation when she last broached the subject of their heir’s marriage, nor will she, but however much her heart bleeds for Catherine, part of her rejoices that they have taken their stand against Burgundy at last.

First Louis must inform their son. Young Louis understands at once – though he is young, the rumours of war have reached his ears, and he has somehow divined their significance to him. Then Yolande sends her husband to tell Catherine. When she hears, Catherine comes running into Yolande’s room.

‘Maman!’ she cries. ‘Why? Why are you doing this to me? Have I not been dutiful? What have I done to displease you? I have never been happier than during these years spent with you. I have grown to love you and your family more than my own, and I have tried so hard to have you love me in return. You have often told me how you love me. Was this not true? Did you just say these words with no meaning? Of all the people in the world, I trust you more than anyone. Whatever you say, I know it to be fact. Can you really be telling me now that you do
not
love me and I must go back to Burgundy? Will I no longer marry Louis, whom I love, and be his loyal wife, the way you have taught me to become?’ This all comes out in a torrent of words, her despair heart-rending.

Tears pour down Catherine’s cheeks as Yolande holds tight her trembling, fragile body, smoothing her brow and kissing her forehead, but she can say nothing, only shake her head in sorrow. Sorrow for Catherine, sorrow for them all in losing her, and for their son to have to part with this delightful girl who would have made him a good wife. Most of all, sorrow for the House of Anjou, for they know that from this time onwards they will be at the mercy of that vengeful and powerful duke, Catherine’s father, Jean-sans-Peur of Burgundy.

In August, with heavy hearts, they send the poor girl home – without explanation and with all she brought with her: the huge trousseau, her wedding dress and crown, her many trunks of clothes and possessions. But not her dowry – that has been spent in Naples and they must find a way of replacing it. The insult to Burgundy is enormous, and universally regarded as such. They know Jean-sans-Peur will be mortally offended and they can be certain his retaliation will be brutal, especially since Anjou is situated between Burgundy and Brittany, both allies of England.
He will not stop until he has punished us and our family, of that I am sure,
thinks Yolande.

‘We are doing a dreadful, cruel thing to this sweet child, my husband,’ she tells Louis, ‘and we will suffer the consequences. But it is what we must do – for the king – despite Burgundy’s vengeance.’ She remembers the early days of her marriage, how her husband taught her that this loyalty must come above all. Well, the day has arrived, but at what a price.

‘You were right, my dearest. I should never have made the marriage contract. It will cost us dear,’ answers Louis quietly as he holds Yolande’s shaking, weeping body in his strong arms.

I
t is October 1413, and the Queen of Sicily is travelling from Anjou with her four children, including her youngest, baby Yolande, to join her husband in Paris. During the long nights alone in Saumur, a strategic plan has been forming in her mind: to revive the connection between the House of Anjou and the royal House of France. Now she has set out to achieve it at her own instigation. If she fails, she reasons, Louis need never know. If she tells him, he might forbid her initiative.

On the way to Paris, Yolande makes a planned break in her journey at the chateau of Marcoussis, where Queen Isabeau is in residence. Her son, the Dauphin Louis, is married to Marguerite, eldest daughter of the Duke of Burgundy. The dauphin’s younger brother, Jean de Touraine, is married to Burgundy’s niece, the daughter of his sister. And Burgundy’s heir is married to one of the king’s daughters. These three royal marriages make the odds within the younger generation of the royal family firmly stacked on the Burgundian side. In order to regain a little balance, Yolande’s proposal is for her daughter Marie to marry the queen’s third and youngest son, Charles de Ponthieu, and she believes that the best way to gain Isabeau’s consent is to have a conversation with her face to face. Yolande has helped Isabeau in the past when she asked her; she will not have forgotten.

The Queen of France and the Queen of Sicily could not be more dissimilar. Shown into her room, Yolande is surprised to see how much Isabeau has changed since their last meeting. She has become even larger, and now has difficulty moving. She reclines her great bulk on a day bed, sprawled on her back, draped like a statue under construction with a variety of shawls – some of silk, others of the finest wool. Her famously once-lovely features have coarsened further, her rouge is too intense and her hair unkempt, but vanity has not entirely abandoned her. Isabeau wears an impressive treasure trove of jewels on her fingers and wrists and around her neck. How can she eat with so many rings on? Judging from the size of her, Yolande is confident she manages! The Queen of France has the look of a woman lost, her eyes roaming, unsure of herself and of her place – and she is right. How
can
she be sure of anything – or anyone – in this world so alien to her native Bavaria? Particularly now that she is deprived of the three men in whom she placed her trust, and who maintained her: the late Duke of Burgundy, ‘Philippe-le-Hardi’; her brother-in-law, the enchanting Louis d’Orléans; and her husband, the insane king she originally adored. Those others she trusted have either been killed or shown themselves to be disloyal. Isabeau is forty-two, and one would never know she had been a great beauty. Yolande, at thirty-three, knows from her own mirror that, happily, this is not so in her case.

As a queen herself, Yolande does not bend her knee but comes forward and embraces Isabeau affectionately.

‘My dear, what a pleasure to see you again,’ she says as she kisses her cheek.

Isabeau smiles warmly – they have always understood each other. They are familiar with one another’s stories, there are no secrets between them, and Isabeau sees that Yolande has come with a purpose.

‘Dear Yolande, as beautiful as ever, unlike me,’ she says, but without rancour. ‘What can I do for you? You surely have something on your mind.’

Politics was never Isabeau’s natural world, and once the old Duke of Burgundy was no longer there to guide her, she floundered in the Council of State, unable to take decisions or even to influence others. That she turned for comfort and reassurance to her captivating brother-in-law, Louis d’Orléans, Yolande found completely understandable.
I doubt she has any idea how her friendship with him has shaped the politics of France.

Yolande’s approach is subtle. ‘Dear cousin, you and I have much in common,’ she begins. ‘We may come from different countries but we are both queens, each the daughter of a king, and we have made our homes and borne our children at the court of France. Our roles are the same – to live our lives solely for the benefit of our king and our adopted country. I know that has always been your goal,’ she lies, ‘and you know it has always been mine.’ At this point she pauses to see if Isabeau is listening. Her eyes appear glazed – or is that just the failing light at the end of the day?

‘We have each left behind the kingdom of our parents and our childhood, the safety and comfort of our father’s hearth and our mother’s knee, and become mistress of our own house, mothers of children. And, if you will allow me, we have both tried our best, in the difficult situations in which we have found ourselves, to make peace among our husbands’ followers.’

At this point, Isabeau shifts her great bulk somewhat uneasily on her bed, but says nothing.

‘Our adopted country is on the brink of invasion from across the Channel, and within, the people are tormented by civil war between members of both our husbands’ factions.’ More discomfort from the queen as she reaches for a sweetmeat. ‘Your two elder sons are married into the family of Jean of Burgundy, cousin to both our husbands. One of your daughters is married to his eldest son. The future generation of this royal family is, for the moment, totally allied to Burgundy.’

Before Isabeau can demur, Yolande continues:

‘Give me your youngest son, Charles de Ponthieu, and let him be betrothed to my daughter Marie. Let us join once again our two royal houses of Valois and Anjou, and with this union create some measure of balance within our fractious families.’

Isabeau sighs as if with relief. Yolande cannot think what she expected her to say, but whatever it was, her request for the queen’s youngest son has come almost as a reprieve. How mentally frail she appears – almost as if she does not know who she is, or where. Without the support of her husband or his brother, Yolande believes Isabeau has lost her sense of her own value and power.

Yolande is persuasive; Isabeau is pensive. And then, to Yolande’s masked pleasure, Isabeau nods and agrees. ‘Yes . . . why not . . . Valois and Anjou, Anjou and Valois. I agree with your plan, dear Yolande. You were always a sensible young woman. Come, embrace me. It is done.’

Yolande sighs inwardly. This decision gives the House of Anjou a real advantage. She has succeeded.

The formal betrothal of their children is to be celebrated in Paris on 18 December. Louis has come to join his wife at Isabeau’s chateau of Marcoussis, and they all travel on to Paris together with their three older children and cousin Jean Dunois. At the gates to the city they are met by Charles VI on horseback, and alongside him, his third son Charles, Count of Ponthieu, Yolande’s future son-in-law.

‘Well met, dear cousins,’ says the king in friendly greeting. ‘I am delighted with this betrothal, and have brought you my youngest son to place in your care.’

As both of their escorts fall back, Louis returns the king’s greeting while Yolande observes her daughter’s intended bridegroom, a small, miserable-looking ten-year-old boy, sitting awkwardly on a splendid white pony. She smiles down at him.

‘Would you like to come to live with us and our children? I have two your age,’ she says, pointing to her children riding behind with Jean Dunois, ‘and more growing.’

Instantly his eyes brighten and he replies with a shy smile. ‘Madame, yes, yes please.’ Yolande doubts that Charles, as the youngest of his siblings, has enjoyed any games with other children. From this day he will be in her care and under her protection. ‘
Je le garde, moi,
’ she announces, and will repeat it to anyone who may doubt that it is her vow.
I will keep him safe.

The queen has graciously invited Yolande and her eight-year-old daughter Marie to stay with her in Paris for the celebrations. She cannot help but despair for Isabeau as she studies her across the table – gross, her face an expression of self-disgust as she shovels food into her mouth, some of it falling on to her clothes. No pride or interest even in the betrothal proceedings earlier, with their beautiful music and poetry read by the court
trouvères
. She attempts to be hospitable and welcoming, but Yolande is so conscious of her apathy it saddens her. The king is unwell again, and they are seated alone at the top table with young Marie and her new betrothed – who exchange not one word in their shyness. Yolande has no difficulty in talking to Isabeau, and draws her out on her childhood and her own betrothal – all happy memories which bring her back to life a little.

The following evening, Yolande returns to their mansion on the Seine, leaving Marie and her betrothed together at Marcoussis with Isabeau, while the other children leave for Angers with Juana.

‘Well, my dear wife,’ murmurs Louis in her ear when they are in bed, ‘you have always been beautiful, and I know from experience that you have been a clever administrator of my estates, but now I can appreciate your true genius. You have achieved something I would not have imagined possible, not in this climate of suspicion and intrigue. Although Burgundy has married two princely heirs to the throne of France into his family, there is one he has missed. This last one belongs to Anjou!’

Yolande smiles with pleasure at his praise. Especially, she has to admit, as their clever, wise-for-her-age daughter Marie is really rather plain – and that is putting it kindly. But her intelligence and her bright expression compensate for her long, narrow face, pointed chin and rather small eyes. Marie has other virtues, and Yolande hopes they will become useful to young Charles de Ponthieu.

T
o take possession of the prince as her daughter’s betrothed is normal procedure – his older brother Jean of Touraine lives with his future parents-in-law. In February, with the queen’s permission, Yolande returns to Anjou with Marie and the young Prince Charles. Meanwhile, her husband has decided to remain in Paris to help prepare for the ever-advancing English.