Her sigh is slight but it cuts deep – only one night together, and then ten empty years. I could not have borne it, Yolande thinks, and instinctively embraces Marie.
The duchess composes herself and continues:
‘At last Louis came home, and we were blessed when our first child, a girl we called Marie, was born less than a year later. Then Louis, your husband, arrived in 1377, and Charles in 1380. When Charles V died that same year, his eldest brother, my husband Louis I d’Anjou, served as regent for his son, our present king, Charles VI, too young at the time for the throne. While my Louis sat at the head of the Council in Paris, I remained in Anjou, and when winter was approaching, I travelled alone with the children to Provence. Two years later, following the death of my husband’s cousin, Queen Giovanna of Naples, I was again left behind, this time with the two boys, while my beloved Louis sailed to claim Giovanna’s throne – his inheritance – the kingdom of Naples and Sicily.
‘Naturally I wanted to go with him,’ she says ruefully. ‘My eldest, little Marie, had died, Louis was five, Charles only two, and my husband refused to allow me to travel with him and his army for fear some harm should come to his heirs. He was obsessed with the idea of ruling Naples – the distant kingdom he felt was his by right of birth and inheritance. He knew it would be hazardous to travel by ship with a wife and two small children, and then there was the danger of the inevitable battles on his arrival.’
Yolande finds herself imagining sailing with her own two little ones to be with Louis on his epic journey to claim his inheritance, just like his father did. Or being left behind! How well she can understand Marie’s pain.
‘But my dear husband’s optimism was short-lived and he failed to defeat his cousin, Duras – or Durazzo, as the Italians called him – the other claimant to his throne.’ The duchess sighs. ‘I never saw Louis again.’
Yolande sits, totally overwhelmed by this heart-breaking story. She looks at her face and sees a mask of tragedy, realising how much Marie had loved her husband. Her heart goes out to her for the misfortune of her life. She remains motionless, waiting to hear more.
‘Some months later word came he died suddenly north-east of Naples. I like to think he was coming home,’ She almost whispers. But Yolande has heard the rumours, and no doubt Marie had as well – that Louis I had been poisoned.
They sit silently for a while, sipping their drinks, Yolande desperate to embrace her mother-in-law, console her, but not sure how. Then, taking a deep breath, Marie de Blois continues with her story.
‘There I was in Anjou, a widow, thirty-nine years old, with two young sons and a huge inheritance to manage for the boys until they came of age. Such a challenge taught me survival, and that the most useful attribute – not only to survive, but to succeed – is common sense. I want this to be my legacy to you, my dearest Yolande. You know, I hope, that I have come to admire you and hold you very dear.’ She looks at Yolande and says with great dignity. ‘May you never have as much need of common sense as I had.’
Yolande embraces her dear, sad mother-in-law and imagines herself repeating her heart-rending life, loving her Louis as Marie loved hers, his father. She must push away to the furthest reaches of her mind the spectre of that kingdom that ensnared him.
As if Marie de Blois shares her foreboding, for she holds Yolande’s hand and says: ‘I sincerely pray that you will be spared a future like my past. May the chimera of Naples never reach out and touch your precious life.’
Not long after this conversation, Marie de Blois takes to her bed. Yolande visits her daily but knows that she has no great will to live much longer. Telling her daughter-in-law her life story was important to her; she wanted to advise Yolande how to help her son, her Louis, to survive his own destiny, especially if it included Naples.
But it is not Marie who dies; to their shock and anguish, it is her second son, Yolande’s enchanting brother-in-law, Charles d’Anjou, who falls prey to a sudden illness. Charles, who met her as she entered France, who lightened her nerves with his charm and wit. Charles, her Louis’ greatest supporter, and to Yolande the brother she never had. Charles, who has never been long from her hearth or her side, constantly explaining, reassuring, positive and entertaining, her companion in Angers during Louis’ absences. How can he be gone?
For Marie de Blois it is, perhaps, the final blow. She has completed her silent promise to her husband. His heir is married, with an heir of his own. The duchy of Anjou is in good and capable hands. She suffers the death of her second son, grieving silently. There is no more for her to do. She has no particular illness, but is simply worn out by a life of struggle. One evening, some months later, after she has finished her light supper on a tray in her room, which she has not left since the death of Charles, Marie de Blois sends for them.
‘My dears, I have called you to say goodbye. To you Louis, my beloved first-born, I go to my Lord above in the same knowledge that I leave you in the loving and capable hands of Yolande, the wife I chose for you.’
She takes their right hands in hers and holds them together. ‘Hold each other close to your hearts, and bind your children together so that they too will support and love one another as you do. You are young and have still not experienced the great trials that will surely come your way. But you can survive anything – the greatest heartbreak and loss – as I have – if you live your lives with care for your own and others, with honesty, loyalty, patience, fortitude and common sense. Do not grieve for me my darlings. I am happy to join my beloved husband at last.’
With that she kisses the palms of their right hands and they kneel and kiss hers. Neither Louis nor Yolande are surprised when she dies that night in June 1404, at the age of fifty-nine.
Chapter Eight
Following the death of Marie de Blois, Yolande is based at Angers alone with the children. Louis’ absence is hard. She no longer has the good and wise counsel of Louis’ mother to rely on, nor the strong and reassuring presence of Charles d’Anjou by her side. But she does thank God for Juana’s familiar, comforting presence. No longer the young bride, no longer the protected wife, with Louis in Paris at the Royal Council, she has new duties at home now, and must pursue them with vigour. With her husband’s consent and encouragement, Yolande must rule both Maine and Anjou, head his council, take decisions on his behalf, and receive regular couriers from him in Paris to advise her how to run his business at home and to keep her aware of events as they develop at court and on the King’s Council. Looking in her mirror now, what she sees is no longer a girl whose realm is the hearth and the home, but a woman who must steel herself to be her husband’s effective regent, to wield his power justly when he cannot. When Juana helps her dress each morning, she feels she is donning her armour for the day’s battle ahead.
Meanwhile, the political strife deepens. Anjou, Berry and Bourbon, all with the best of intentions, have done little to defuse the worsening situation in Paris. The enmity between the two factions, led by the rival cousins and royal dukes – Orléans and Burgundy – is growing daily more tense.
Couriers arrive several times a day from Louis and her informers as well as friends like Valentina, bringing Yolande news of the growing aggression between the Orléanists and Jean-sans-Peur’s Burgundians; small skirmishes here and there, inside the walls of Paris and without, until the local people are too afraid to go outside the city’s walls to work in the fields or harvest their crops.
As if this constant fracas between princes, lords and their supporters is not sufficiently harmful to the people and the land, nature is punishing them as well. France is experiencing exceptional droughts, which ruin harvests, and livestock is starving. The result is famine, and worse: disease is spreading – cholera, smallpox, diphtheria and the greatest killer of all, the bubonic plague. Whole villages and most of the citizens in some towns are succumbing to it. In less than a hundred years, France has lost half her population.
To Yolande’s relief, she receives word that Louis is coming
home. She has given his affairs her utmost attention, but she misses him and needs him to guide her. He arrives a day before he is expected and she has not had time to prepare herself or his welcome as she would have wished.
‘Welcome home, my lord,’ she says hurriedly as she runs to greet him, smoothing her skirt and tucking back a loose curl. ‘We expected you tomorrow.’
‘And are you sorry I raced to be with you as quickly as I could?’ he says with a teasing smile. ‘My poor horse is lame with the effort and you admonish me?’
‘No, no, my darling, you misunderstand! I wanted everything perfect for your arrival,’ she quickly corrects herself as she embraces him with all her heart.
‘And it is,’ he says in her ear as soon as he can close the door behind him. He holds her tight and breathes her in, sighing deeply into her neck.
He is home; my strong, loving husband is home.
*
That evening, after they have dined, Yolande can see he wants to talk seriously. And as they talk, she realizes that there has been a change in their relationship. No longer is he shutting the door on important affairs, family affairs, and leaving her on the other side of it. Now, he is actually seeking her counsel. Has she proved herself? Or is it that, without his mother and brother, he has need of a listening ear? It does not matter – it is the opening of a door she is eager to step through.
‘The sparring between the two royal factions is growing out of control and I fear for the consequences. You are fully aware of the situation – I have written to you almost daily and you have your own sources I believe.’ He raises an eyebrow, but Yolande says nothing. ‘As you know, I have always held back from taking sides in my family and their differences. Now I am being pushed into aligning myself with one side or the other – and there is no contest; my loyalty will always be with the king – but how can we stay out of this rapidly growing feud, or defuse it somehow?’
Now that she has Louis at home, it might help him in taking a decision if he learns more about their troubles in the countryside.
‘My darling, allow me to tell you what is going on here on your estates. You should know that anxiety for our family in this time of plague has prompted me to send couriers in every direction, but in particular to our several houses in Anjou, Maine and Provence. I am deeply concerned about the fate of our own people, not only our administrators and household staff, but the families of our workers, our loyal Angevin and Provençal peasants with whom we have such good relations.’
‘Yes, I know, and that is one of the reasons for my return. I must see for myself how things are here, my dearest, though I can tell from my factor’s report how well you have coped.’ And his heart-warming smile of approval fills her with pride.
‘I believe I have done, and am doing, all I can. I send medicines and doctors wherever I hear of an outbreak, give advice on hygiene and basic treatment. I join my own staff visiting the villages and bringing them food or medicine where needed. Why, only last week I called on the family of your good foreman at Saumur, and his wife begged me to send yet more help to their town, where there is a serious outbreak of plague. Her children are so small and sweet, I could not bear it if she lost them. Husband dearest – you should know – so many men are affected that harvests are not being brought in even when the crops do grow. I have had several accounts of vessels arriving at Marseilles bringing infection with them – rats are seen running down the ropes attaching ships to the docks . . .’ She would have gone on, but he presses his finger to her lips and hushes her like he would a baby.
After a long pause, she turns to him.
‘My love, I agree with you completely – in the midst of so much misery, these personal family quarrels between the princes cannot be allowed to continue.’
‘Then you will understand why I can only remain fleetingly with you. I could not bear another day without reassuring myself that all was well here and with our children, but tomorrow I must return.’ And he takes her in his arms before she can utter a word of protest.
In the morning he is gone again, and she wonders if she dreamt their wonderful night of love.
A week later, Louis’ courier arrives.
‘Madame, I bring good news. Duke Louis has asked me to tell you that he has succeeded in brokering some sort of peace between the Orléans and Burgundian factions – confirmed and sealed with a High Mass in the cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris!’
Eagerly she reaches for Louis’ letter, certain it contains details of the peace within the family. There is much family gossip and information, and then she reads the words that make her blood run cold:
To validate this remarkable peace between our cousins, something we have all wished for, so that together, our armies united, we can face with confidence our enemy approaching our threshold once more. With this unity in mind, I have arranged a marriage between our son, Louis III and Catherine, the second daughter of my cousin Jean of Burgundy, to be concluded in seven years’ time. I know you will appreciate the importance of such a strategic union between our two royal houses.
Reading these words, Yolande sinks to her knees, lost in impotent despair. Every part of her recoils from the idea of this alliance. Short as her acquaintance with Jean-sans-Peur has been, she has never forgotten the loathsome atmosphere he exuded. Nor is she unaware of the trouble he has caused at court. To connect their families may be good politics – Louis may be acting in the interests of France as well as of their family – but she shudders at the idea of joining her family with that of this repulsive man. What can she do? Little Louis may be her adorable son, but his fate, his future, belongs to the world of men.
I do not know the little girl and have no reason to dislike a child I have never seen, but to be linked by marriage to that man, her father, repels me. Perhaps she is becoming a little cynical, but she reminds herself that since part of the girl’s dowry will be paid in advance, Louis will also have the necessary funds to mount a new expedition to Naples. Her mind is in turmoil. She knows her duty and it is one she dreads – she knows that she must confront her husband about his decision. Recalling the harmony of his last visit, when their minds seemed as one, she could weep. But face it she must.
On Louis’ next visit home to Angers from Paris, Yolande steels herself to broach the subject. They are in her favourite corner of her sitting room, dinner was delicious, the mulled wine has relaxed him and they talk of this and that concerning his farms, the workers, their health and, most of all, the children. Since she began managing Louis’ estates during his absence in Paris, her confidence has grown immeasurably – she has done well and he is proud of her achievement. Then, when she feels the time is right, gently she taxes him.
‘Louis dearest, I wonder, something has crossed my mind,’ she begins.
‘Yes, my clever wife, what is it?’
She looks at her hands, ‘Could it be that you have it in mind . . .’ and here her nerve almost fails her, though his smile is warm and encouraging, ‘to use some of Catherine’s dowry to mount a new campaign . . . to regain Naples?’
Instantly, there is a chill in the room. The hard, cold look he gives her makes her hold her tongue and lower her eyes at once. It seems that the door in his heart has opened to her only so far; he will discuss family matters, politics, court intrigues and affairs of state with her, but there is one thing that lies in a secret chamber beyond all this, one thing he will not discuss with anyone. His dream of Naples, it seems, is territory she cannot cross. In future, she now knows she will have to learn to find a different approach in order to avoid a conflict with her husband. Louis d’Anjou is not a man even she would dare cross again once his mind is fixed on a particular goal.
But although she holds her tongue, inwardly Yolande is unmoved. She remains convinced that the betrothal of their son and heir to a daughter of the loathsome Toad of Burgundy is not right for their family. And for what? For that accursed kingdom of Louis’ dreams.
Chapter Nine
The royal c
ourt of France is peripatetic; the government is based wherever the king is in residence, and sometimes that is in Paris. At these times, it pleases Louis that Yolande joins him at their town palace, and they also receive the great and the good there. Present on this night are Louis d’Orléans and Valentina, as well as the Dukes of Berry and Bourbon. The queen has arrived; the king is unwell. Yolande finds she is rather intrigued by Isabeau. Since their first meeting, when Yolande arrived in Paris on her marriage journey, Isabeau has become even larger, and Yolande pities her sincerely. What insecurity she must suffer.
‘Madame, welcome,’ she says, and, queen to queen, she merely bows her head, though not disrespectfully. Isabeau embraces her warmly.
‘My dear Yolande, it is always a pleasure to see your sincere face – unlike most in my palace,’ she says more softly.
Then there stands cousin Jean of Burgundy: he has come with his son Philippe, whose appearance is the opposite of his father – quiet, polite and secretive. In the three years since Yolande first met him, Jean-sans-Peur has not improved. If anything, he is even more brutish of face and manner, but with a slyness that hints at a certain kind of intelligence. From the way he looks at her – as if measuring her abilities and strength of character – she can tell he sees her as an obstacle to his plans, and he will surely cause trouble.
‘Well met, cousin Yolande,’ he greets her, and she does not pull her hand away this time. ‘How are the affairs of Anjou and Provence?’ he asks, though, it is clear from his face, without any interest in her reply. He is going through the conventions, nothing more, and does not bother even to mentioned the betrothal of his daughter Catherine to their son, a topic that should please him.
‘Well enough,’ she says. ‘Much like Burgundy, I imagine – there is always the threat from England in the air,’ she remarks and watches him carefully; she knows from Louis that Burgundy’s interests are nearer those of England than of France.
Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The Page 8
