Louis has ordered a tree house built, and then a walkway to the next tree and another house in that too. Yolande trembles that the younger ones will fall, but Louis just laughs and says, ‘It’s good for them, toughens them up.’ He says the same when they fall off their ponies or hurt themselves in their mock battles and tourneys – which sometimes turn earnest, especially with their neighbourhood companions. In the evenings, the children perform plays Yolande makes up for them during the day, and Tiphane, Juana and the maids make costumes for them from old clothes. The plays often have a princess who needs to be rescued, a bad knight with followers and a good knight – in white – with fewer followers, but who has to win. Yolande insists that good always wins over evil.
After dinner in the evenings, the children sit with their father by the fire and he recounts the details of his battles around Naples and on the peninsula, which thrill them. He spares no details – the horrible food (to encourage them to eat whatever is put before them), the dirt, the wounds, the lack of sleep, the discomfort – and he recalls great acts of courage and unselfishness by knights and soldiers alike, and some amazing rescues and happy endings.
How Louis loves to describe the city of Naples and its surroundings; the volcano Vesuvius and what happens when it erupts, fire bursting from its centre, red-hot boulders flying out into the sky, and thick lava, like glowing golden-fired tomato sauce, sliding down the mountain, covering everything in its path. They sit open-mouthed, and all swear they will climb Vesuvius one day.
‘On the docks, brought on ships from Arabia, I have seen camels with one hump and with two, looking like this and he draws them for the rapt children – ‘and giraffes with extraordinary long necks, and a tame lion,’ he tells his enthralled audience, his eyes rolling, and he draws those animals for them too.
Sometimes Louis shows the children his suits of armour, his lances, his swords, his shields and the armour for his horses. Their faces glow at the telling, and Yolande can see they think their father the most thrilling man alive.
Chapter Sixteen
After years of hearing their threats, the time has come when the English really are on the march. Louis must leave the relaxed, easy life of Provence, heading north again to prepare to defend his duchy of Anjou. He leaves Yolande expecting a child she is sure was conceived in Marseilles out of sympathy for their shared loss – his of Naples and hers of Aragon.
Louis knows the time has come to make a momentous decision, one he has always sworn he would never take. It is finally clear to him that as a family they cannot stand aside another day and watch their evil, bullying cousin of Burgundy incite insurrection against the king, and in his own capital of Paris. The Dukes of Anjou, Berry and Bourbon band together, and with force of arms take over the main strategic posts in the city and quell the rebellion, forcing the Duke of Burgundy to flee to Flanders.
That the English dare to threaten Anjou, Louis’ own province, is for him the final indignity. Without hesitation, he informs Yolande that he will come to the aid of his lawful king – thereby joining forces with the Armagnacs.
Having gathered his Angevin army when Louis arrives in Bourges, he writes to Yolande:
My dearest, imagine what I discovered as I entered my uncle’s capital. The dauphin, a bright lad if ever I saw one, has instigated a peace process, which is being negotiated as I write!
Yolande replies:
Did you not receive my letter about the birth of our daughter on 12 June? What a sweet bundle of joy she is! And once again, such an easy birth. The children are as excited as if they have another litter of puppies – and they have had plenty of those. Marie has taken the baby over and become her nurse, telling both Tiphane and Juana confidently what to do. Didn’t she learn it all with baby René? And little Catherine is her nursery assistant.
On 15 August, another letter arrives, again without mention of baby Yolande. When she opens it, she realizes that her letter to Bourges must have missed him.
My beloved wife, the impossible has happened. I am at Auxerre, where the Dukes of Berry, Bourbon and Burgundy have come to celebrate a Day of Reconciliation and Peace with Charles d’Orléans and his brother.
She cannot tell from his letter if he believes in it or not – or whether he is afraid his letter might be intercepted. The situation is too delicate to take any risks. She prays that this High Mass will have more success than the last.
Since her evenings at Tarascon are mostly spent alone with her books and her dogs for company, Yolande begins to think about the future. There is a situation that keeps troubling her, eating away at her self-assurance. The king’s two elder sons are married to Burgundian princesses. One of his daughters is married to Burgundy’s heir. With Charles VI’s heirs entrenched thoroughly on the side of Burgundy, she knows she must find a way to even out the balance. If she could arrange for one of her children to marry a child of the king’s, that would help – and she sets her mind to thinking about this possibility.
Her concern about the validity of the reconciliation is justified, as Louis’ next letter makes clear. Somehow Jean of Burgundy has managed to keep control of the government and the treasury. Any opponents are swiftly removed and replaced with his own choices.
There is only one persistent voice of dissent, and that surprises not only my cousin of Burgundy, but everyone. It comes from the seventeen-year-old dauphin, Burgundy’s son-in-law, who alone has the courage to oppose him.
When Yolande reads these words – written by her famously brave husband – she smiles. That boy has valour and will make a great king once his mad father dies!
A fast courier arrives:
My darling sweet wife, how could this wonderful news have missed me – another adorable Yolande in our family! I am so very happy to hear of your safe delivery of a healthy child and a second delicious daughter for me to spoil as I do, and will again, her mother. May God bless you both, my darling. Your devoted husband, Louis.
At last he knows. As she sits with her baby on her lap, surrounded by her other children, as well as Jean Dunois and Catherine, Yolande feels blessed indeed. With each new baby in her arms, she tends to forget or ignore the world outside the nursery. But she is brought back to the daily struggle of events in Paris with the next letter from her husband:
We have victory and it belongs wholly to the dauphin, who has stood calmly at the helm within the capital, while the great armies of his kinsmen have been forced by the Parisians to remain outside. To our relief, finally the capital’s citizens, despite their preference for Jean of Burgundy, have opted for peace over conflict. My uncle of Berry and I have been permitted to make our official entry into the capital – not in armour, but wearing the purple robes of celebration. You can imagine how relieved we feel. Now we can plan for the defence of the kingdom, since we hear from many sources that the English are advancing.
Indeed, all France knows that the English, who have considerable forces based in their own territory of Normandy, have begun to plan a move southwards.
Chapter Seventeen
In January comes more reason to fear the English. This new year of 1413 has seen a vibrant young king mount the throne. He is Henry V, formerly Duke of Lancaster – young, intelligent and, by reputation, confrontational and ruthless. He has failed to extract the concessions he has demanded, and word comes that he has begun preparations to send his main army across the Channel to Normandy and regroup with his troops already there. The situation has developed into a national conflict between two kings – Henry Plantagenet of England and the Valois Charles VI – each of them claiming sovereignty over certain areas of France. When Yolande hears this from Louis in his letters, she trembles, because she knows what it means for their family. For the French to have a chance of defeating the English the royal dukes must be united, and that is impossible if the Anjou family are aligned to Burgundy, England’s ally. Louis has finally understood her initial resistance to the betrothal of their eldest son to a daughter of Jean of Burgundy. At last he c
an see that they cannot continue with the planned marriage. It is what Yolande wanted from the start, but now? What a cost to their family, to Catherine, whom they have all loved for the past four years. She feels her heart tearing in two.
‘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.
Chapter Eighteen
It 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 po
litics 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.’
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