At that moment, Louis arrives at her side, with him the two other royal dukes, Berry and Bourbon. ‘My dear, there are guests in the gallery who need you’ – a signal that she is to leave. She moves to go willingly, but as she turns, she hears her husband say clearly, and not too quietly:
‘Cousin, you have no place here, neither in my house nor in this city. We, the three senior members of the council, order you to leave Paris at once.’
All conversation in the room has ceased, the guests facing Burgundy and the other three dukes. Jean’s face is a study; a mixture of hatred, anger, disdain – and superiority! He turns on his heel, makes a slight motion with his head to his followers and marches his great bulk out of their home. A trembling Yolande moves quickly to take Louis’ arm, praying that this will signal the end of their family’s proposed union with that monster!
‘That man would like to kill all of us – you, me, Berry and Bourbon. Darling husband, frankly, he terrifies me.’ Louis is calm as he pats her hand, but Yolande is barely able to contain her anguish before the remaining guests. ‘How can this shameful murder of a loyal prince of the blood be accepted so readily? Banishing him from Paris is not enough!’
But Louis’ lips are tight and he gives a slight shrug as if to say, ‘That’s the way things are.’
Burgundy knows that the Duke of Orléans was disliked by the Parisians, and his people set about spreading the word that he has done them a great service in ridding them of the tyrant. It is true they were taxed heavily by the dead duke, and from what Juana tells Yolande she is hearing in the streets, the Parisians are actually celebrating Louis d’Orléans’ murder.
The next day, her dear friend Valentina, the newly widowed Duchess d’Orléans, calls on her. Her eyes look haunted, her face drawn and thin. Where is the flashing-eyed beauty? Yolande asks herself. The shock of her husband’s murder has Valentina shaking as she asks:
‘Dearest Yolande – would you be willing to help me?’
‘Anything, anything!’ Yolande’s inner rage on Valentina’s behalf – and on their own too – would indeed make her capable of anything at this moment.
‘Would you accompany me to call on my brother-in-law the king? I must beg for his support against his cousin of Burgundy to avenge my husband’s murder. Would you do that for me?’ she asks, as if unsure.
‘Of course, it is the very least I can do. And I can guarantee he will see you – I have his ring that allows me to pass anyone at any time to reach him, and you will be by my side. But to gain the king’s support we must plan carefully. I have a young friend near him I can count on, and I will first find out when he is well. We must make our entrance at court dressed soberly – in black velvet and pearls, I think.’ Yolande knows that appearance is all-important – both the king and the queen are easily swayed by the court’s reaction to the appearance of petitioners. Valentina will have the sympathy of more than half of them, she is sure, but to move the king to act against a member of his own family will be difficult. His awareness of Burgundy’s immense power could discourage him.
When she receives Yolande’s message that the time is right for her audience with the king, Valentina d’Orléans returns to the Anjou mansion. Her strong colouring has faded and her flashing eyes look utterly desperate, but Yolande knows she has more fire in her belly than pain at her loss. On her friend’s advice, Valentina has brought her young son, the new duke, so like his father – may his youthful blonde beauty sway the king to listen to her plea for vengeance.
There is murmuring as they enter the great audience chamber of the Louvre palace. Yolande, as a queen, walks slightly in front of Valentina. Both are conscious of the stir they are causing and aware of the approval of their audience. They make a striking pair, both tall and slim, Valentina so dark and Yolande very fair. Yolande is beckoned to sit on a stool near the throne, while Valentina stands facing the king, her young son beside her. Despite her courage, and her straight posture, somehow Valentina looks very slight, very alone, lost in all that multitude of faces. But her voice is firm, strong, an appeal not just to the king, but to the whole room:
‘Sire, I bring you my son; as you see, he is too young to avenge his father, and so it is to you I come, on bended knees.’ She drops to the floor on her knees to gasps from the assembled courtiers, not used to such a scene. ‘My lord sovereign and brother-in-law, I beg you to avenge this shameful murder of my husband, this young boy’s father and your beloved brother Louis d’Orléans, your beloved brother who never failed you.’ And with arms outstretched, she turns to her left and right in an elegant gesture of supplication to the assembled courtiers.
Deeply moved, Yolande watches the king. But she sees, with a falling heart, that he is not really here with them – his mind has wandered, as it so often does. She knows he loved his brother, yet he shows almost no emotion. Has he understood what has happened? Has he forgotten who Valentina is?
‘My young son, your nephew,’ Valentina exclaims, and Yolande can hear the rising desperation in her voice, ‘deprived of a loving father and guide through this vicious court, this country divided by its factions. I know, as you do, sire, who is responsible for my husband’s murder. Avenge it, I beg you!’ she cries out, turning to the assembled court again. But all Charles VI does is to raise her from her knees and embrace her, a loving gesture but he utters no word of retribution against his cousin Jean-sans-Peur.
Yolande cannot blame the king. He is not in his right mind again, but to her shame and forcibly suppressed anger, not one of the royal dukes, not even her own husband, says a word or makes a move to support Valentina’s plea. They are afraid, thinks Yolande, afraid of their rebellious cousin of Burgundy. Each of them knows that Jean, if alienated, is quite capable of giving his duchy’s mighty support to the English, who they know are waiting for an opportunity to launch another invasion. How typical of men, she seethes as she makes her way home, to choose the lesser of two evils. Perhaps it is the wiser choice, but it makes her boil with anger.
Later, in her disappointment and anguish for Valentina, Yolande dares to voice her distress to Louis.
‘Beloved husband, was not Valentina brave today in front of the king and the court? Do you think Charles understood what has happened or was he merely trying to console a grieving widow? Why did none of you support her plea for vengeance? Is this only a woman’s desire, to avenge her slain husband? Do you not feel that your cousin Jean of Burgundy should be apprehended? Interrogated at least?’ she asks apprehensively.
‘Madame,’ he replies – always a bad start – ‘this affair is the business of my family!’
‘My lord,’ she replies, piqued, ‘am I now no longer of your family? May I not have an opinion when I see wrongdoing among them?’
Louis says nothing, but he gives her one of those chilling looks from his blue eyes turned to ice, and leaves the room. Her heart is beating so fast she has to sit, as she feels the sun of his approval fade from her and the realisation dawns that Louis will not take a stand against his vile cousin.
To make matters worse, this murderer, this so-called ‘fearless’ duke, although now banished from Paris, has gathered about him a large number of grandees and supporters and has returned to the capital. He is even planning to make a solemn entry into the city in tremendous style, ostensibly to pay official court to the king.
Yolande is bewildered. Why does not one of the royal family try to stop him? A solemn entry is the greatest honour a king can bestow on an important visitor, even if he is a cousin. Charles VI is unwell and must be excused, and it is left to his eleven-year-old dauphin, together with his father’s uncles and cousins, her husband among them, formally to receive that odious murderer. Happily Yolande herself is not obliged to attend court to watch this degrading spectacle.
When Louis comes home, he has mellowed enough to tell her, ‘My dear, it will astonish you even more to hear that Jean was dressed most extravagantly for his entrance at court, and that the Parisians – no doubt urged on a
nd paid by Burgundy’s own men – shouted the royal salutation of welcome as he passed: “Noël! A tyrant has been slain! Welcome the slayer!”’
And yet she still cannot read her husband’s intentions. By now she knows better than to react angrily to anything he tells her about his family, but there is something she needs to know. She asks him softly:
‘My dearest, word has reached me that the Parisians have been told that Louis d’Orléans was plotting to take the crown from his enfeebled older brother, and that therefore he was guilty of treason! Is there any truth in that at all?’
‘No, my clever wife, and your face tells me how the entire episode troubles you,’ he says, annoyingly perceptive. ‘You wonder why I have not done more – no, do not stop me: I can read it in your eyes – to avenge the foul murder of our cousin Louis d’Orléans, whom we loved. But I am looking at the bigger problem facing France. We have it on good authority that the English stand poised to invade us once again. If we princes of the blood unite against the mightiest of us in terms of men and wealth – namely Burgundy – we will have civil war. Not only is that a catastrophe for France, but it opens the door even wider for England to march in again.’
Louis is thinking with cool reason; but she is Spanish, hotblooded and angry, but she knows he is right. The more she hears of Burgundy’s manipulations, the more she realizes how his power has grown in direct proportion to the horror of his crime.
While the Royal Council debates their next move, it does not surprise Yolande to hear that Jean-sans-Peur has mobilized his Burgundian army and is heading for Paris. He can only have it in mind to take the king’s place at the head of his council, which governs the country.
While Louis and Yolande sit at breakfast in their town palace overlooking the Seine, busy with river traffic, they are joined by Louis’ uncles of Berry and Bourbon. There is tension in the air, the sense of a storm coming, so that it hardly comes as a shock when Louis says, in heavy tones: ‘My dear family, it is time to take an important decision. The royal family must abandon the capital. It is clear that the Parisians prefer to oblige the wishes of Jean of Burgundy rather than those of their monarch. Our only option is to leave – do you agree?’ All murmur their assent. ‘You, my darling wife, will travel with the dauphin and the queen – and try and talk some sense into her. Now that her great protector Louis d’Orléans is no longer there for her, I notice that more and more she looks for a strong replacement and begins to take the side of our cousin of Burgundy who, she imagines, will protect her. Without cousin Louis to guide and comfort her, she appears totally lost. I fear she will indeed gravitate towards the strongest of us to safeguard her future. If only she could be made to see he will merely use her for his own advancement. Do what you can to persuade her to stay loyal to her husband and his late brother – she has such a high regard for you, my darling wife.’
The carriage is too small for Isabeau and Yolande to sit side by side, and she finds it impossible to speak privately, let alone charm or persuade the queen not to turn to Burgundy for support. It looks as if it will be a long, tiresome journey, but fortunately the dauphin is a splendid young man, interested in everything. Yolande can see he is registering the miserable state of the crops in the fields, and the meagre-looking livestock. When they arrive at Tours, the queen, the dauphin and Yolande install themselves with the court in the royal castle. Yolande watches the queen scanning the crowd of servants noticing her relief when she sees Odette de Champdivers among the royal household. Odette’s inclusion has been secretly arranged by her patroness for everyone’s benefit, but especially the king’s. Yolande has never admitted her part in this unusual arrangement to Louis. She does not want to keep secrets from her husband, but there are some things about women that men cannot understand or appreciate. It is better so.
With the king and queen no longer in Paris, they are not obliged to receive the murderous Duke of Burgundy. If they did, it would only serve to give the people of Paris, and the country, the impression that they accept him and condone his shocking crime. Jean-sans-Peur makes another triumphant entry into Paris, and will wait there, like a patient predator, for the eventual return of the king and the court.
Chapter Eleven
For the past eight weeks that Yolande has been with the court at Tours, she has been trying to conceal her third pregnancy, which is now in its sixth month. Already three months ago she removed the little bag of feathers that ladies wear under their dresses in front to give them that fashionable rounded look, but now she is beginning to appear larger than when she does wear the bag. She wants to help Louis, but after a month spent at Tours listening to the endless negotiations between the king’s staff and the couriers relaying the Duke of Burgundy’s terms from Paris, she tells him she needs to return to Angers, to her little ones, to await the birth.
When she leaves Tours in December on the Loire, the weather is still not really cold, and as yet there has not been a frost. The river journey is a pleasant change from the atmosphere of uncertain confusion that she has left behind. She is enveloped in furs and the warmth coming from the braziers inside the barge while the boatmen sing merrily. After two days they leave the Loire and she rides sedately home to Angers.
Her reception is predictably welcoming; despite the cold, the village girls, dressed in their finery, perform a short dance, recite a poem they have written themselves and present their duchess with a small basket of dried flowers and holly. Yolande extends the traditional formal greeting to the dignitaries, and is overjoyed to see her dear Juana there to receive her, her arms open wide to enfold her in a loving embrace. Ajax, Hector and Calypso bound up and she has to be stern so they do not jump on her stomach. Calypso is pregnant as well – perhaps they will give birth at the same time! As she enters the great doors of the castle, she makes her way down the line of servants, the women bobbing, the men bowing, hats in hand. She has a word with each, remembering every name, making a comment here and there, and their faces beam with pleasure at having their duchess home.
It is too cold outside for the children, who are waiting by the fire in the Great Hall. They rush to hug her around the knees, almost knocking her over. ‘Come, my darlings, come and sit with me in my room and tell me all that has happened since I left.’
‘Maman, you are so big!’ says Louis, eyes wide, and when she tells him there is a baby in her tummy for him and Marie to play with, he jumps up and down and rolls on the fur rug like one of her wolfhounds. Yolande marvels at how her golden-haired children have grown, and at the progress they have made.
The levrettes are waiting in her little sitting room next to her bedroom, bottoms wriggling with pleasure and excitement. The room is warm, with a good fire and the delicious smell of roasting chestnuts. Her children fill her with delight and she listens to their stories while Juana prepares her for bed.
‘Papa is coming for Christmas with lots of presents,’ she tells them, ‘and we shall have games and play-acting and gypsies and . . .’ She pauses. ‘The rest is secret!’ How their eyes light up with anticipation. They are laughing, healthy children, full of mischief and merriment. The journey and the pregnancy have tired her and, although almost dropping with fatigue, how good it is to be home. The terrible events in Paris and Tours seem like a distant nightmare. Back in Anjou with her children and Juana, her own rooms welcoming her, her own household surrounding her, it is almost possible to forget the ever-encroaching fear of the invasion and push it out of her mind. Almost, but not quite.
Louis arrives two weeks later, and in time for Christmas, to the children’s exuberant joy. The great fortress resounds with the songs of the visiting troubadours, the musicians Louis has commissioned from Paris, the gypsies and actors as well. There are squeals of delight from the children at their presents, their father’s mimicry and story-telling, followed by rough-and-tumble games.
On 16 January 1409, under the watchful supervision of Juana, Yolande’s second son René is born, mercifully as easily as her first two chi
ldren. Two weeks later, despite snow so deep that many of their neighbours are unable to attend the baby’s christening, they make merry nonetheless. A pale winter sun shines from a cloudless blue sky on to the sparkling snow as they present their new son to the good Angevins from the town and the countryside after the ceremony. Only the baby’s nose and eyes can be seen from his cocoon of fur, but the visitors are happy just the same. Hot spiced wine is given to all, children as well, and some of the town’s elders and their youngsters have been invited to join them for a celebration in the castle. Louis invents short sketches for the children and Juana make costumes for them to wear as they perform in front of the guests. Louis always takes part himself – he loves to act and the children adore it. His best role is that of a witch, his face blackened by the giggling girls in the kitchen, who also give him a broom to ride, while Yolande’s ladies make him a tall black henin to wear on his head, the tip bent forward. He even blackens some of his teeth so they look as if they are missing, to more shrieks from the young ones when he bares them. It is a happy welcome for baby René into the family, and the children’s merry laughter allows Yolande and Louis to forget for a while the troubles facing France.
But following the happy interlude of René’s arrival into the world, reality intrudes. Louis must return to the King’s Council. He has been chosen to act as intermediary between the two camps, the Burgundians in Paris and the king’s party in Tours, until a compromise is reached. Not long afterwards, word comes from Paris that there will be a ‘Ceremony of Reconciliation’ on 9 March, and Yolande wants to attend to support Louis. Six weeks after René’s birth, she sets out to join her husband in Chartres, travelling by road. It is a tiring, slow journey, the horses carrying her litter unable to manage more than a slow walk, but she arrives within two days.
Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The Page 10
