by Jean Plaidy
The Red Rose of Anjou
by
Jean Plaidy
Plantagenet Saga Series: Volume 13
Copyright © 1982 by Jean Plaidy
All rights reserved.
Published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York
ISBN: 039912795X
England: The Norman and Plantagenet Kings
House of Lancaster
House of York
CONTENTS
René
Yolande
A Stolen Portrait
Margaret and Henry
Mysterious Death
Nicholas of the Tower
Jack Cade
In the Temple Gardens
The King’s Madness
As St. Albans
Love Day
The King-Maker
The Paper Crown
Margaret’s Triumph
The Fateful Decision
The Waiting Years
The Quarrel
The Queen’s Grief
Finale
BIBLIOGRAPHY
RENÉ
Bleak March winds buffeted the walls of the Château Keure and the two women who sat together in the large draughty room huddled closer to the fire. They were both busily sewing.
The elder of the two paused suddenly and held up a small garment. ‘I never thought,’ she said, ‘that it would come to this. A child to be born and here am I hard put to it to find clothes worthy of it. Who would have thought that a son of the King of Anjou would ever be in such straits?’
Her companion lifted a strikingly beautiful face from her work. Her expression was of a serenity unusual in one so young.
‘The whole of France must be prepared to accept these differences, Theophanie,’ she said.
‘Oh, ‘tis all very well for the young,’ was the reply. ‘Remember I was with the King and Queen of Anjou for years until I came here. I brought the children up...every one of them.’
‘Well, you have not really left the household.’
‘No...no. Here I am with my lord René and his little family. May God preserve them. Oh, Agnès, my child, there are terrible things happening in France at this time. I often think of those poor souls in Orléans.’
‘We must hope and pray that succour will come to them soon.’
‘God seems to have deserted us. You don’t remember, Agnès, but when I was young there were not these troubles. Life was peaceful. Then it started. First it was the Armagnacs against Burgundy.’
‘It still is,’ said Agnès.
‘But our real enemies are the English. They are the ones who are tearing this country apart. It is because of the war...because they say we are defeated that I have to make over my lady Yolande’s little things for this new baby.’
‘There could be worse troubles,’ suggested Agnès.
She returned to her sewing, but Theophanie, nurse to the five children of the King and Queen of Anjou and now transferred to the nursery of their second son René to take charge of his offspring, was in a reminiscent mood.
‘He was always my favourite...René,’ she mused. ‘A lovely boy he was, and a lovely man. He was one for the poetry...for the singing of the troubadours. He was more interested in that than in doing all those fancy tricks on his horse. His mother Queen Yolande used to fret about it a bit. His father was rarely in the castle. "René likes reading books better than shedding blood," she used to say. "Admirable but books won’t hold his estates together if someone casts a greedy eye on them." "Oh, don’t you fret, my lady," I used to tell her, "when the time comes my lord will know the right way to act."‘
That is all any of us needs,’ said Agnès, ‘to know the right way to act when the time comes.’
Theophanie regarded her steadily. She had come to look on the girl as one of her charges. Agnès had been sent by her family to be brought up in a noble household as so many girls of good family were. One could not help liking her. She was quiet, unassuming and ready to make herself useful. She was fond of the children and as they were so young Theophanie was glad of her help in the nursery. John was not yet four and then there was Louis who was three and Yolande not much more than eighteen months. She had had a twin, Nicolas, who alas had died a few weeks after his birth. It was a pleasant little clutch, thought Theophanie; and my lady was young yet. My lord was away a great deal as all noble lords were, but they managed somehow to accumulate families. Theophanie sometimes thought the good Lord very obligingly made such ladies especially fertile so that the long absence of their lords did not hold up the filling of the nurseries.
The lady Isabelle was very young still and already this new child would be the fourth—and would have been the fifth but for the death of poor little Nicolas.
She looked about the room with pride. This was one of the finest castles in Lorraine and was part of the lady Isabelle’s dowry. René had done well in his marriage, Theophanie considered. He had married a strong-minded young woman. In fact all the women in the household were of a forceful nature—more so than the men, Theophanie often thought it should have been the men who stayed at home and the ladies who went into battle. René would have been a wonderful companion for his children; he would have patiently initiated them into the delights of poetry and music. As for the lady Isabelle, one could imagine her leading her troops into battle.
‘Is this one of Your little jokes. Lord?’ Theophanie asked. Her faith was simple and she often conversed with God, treating him as though he were human like the rest of us—a sort of King above the King of France of course, but not without his foibles, and as her role in life was that of a nurse she was sometimes apt to adopt her nurse’s manner to her Lord.
Of course it was a privilege to work for the House of Anjou. She greatly admired the lady Isabelle just as she had the lady Yolande. The lady Yolande was the daughter of the King of Aragon; and her daughter Marie, sister of René, had married the Dauphin of France.
‘Mind you,’ said Theophanie to Agnès, ‘the Dauphin is a poor creature by all accounts. Sometimes I pity poor Marie. A good girl she was and deserving a better fate. Poor Marie...we thought she would l)e a Queen and what is she now...married to a Dauphin...one who should be King and they are calling a little English baby the King of France. It’s pitiful when affairs get to that state, Agnès.’
Agnès bent her head over her sewing. She wondered about Marie and how she felt in the midst of such conflict, for although his mad father had accepted the English and allowed his daughter Katherine to marry the King of England, the Dauphin did not agree with him and put up a resistance, although in a rather feeble way. But perhaps it was those about him who resisted and used him as a figurehead.
What would be the outcome? It looked gloomy; more bleak than the cold March winds which swept across Pont-à-Mousson and angrily hit the walls of the Château Keure.
There was a tension throughout the country. Orléans, the key to the Loire, had been under siege since October. If it fell there would be little hope for France to extricate herself from the yoke the English had put about her neck. And how could it be saved? It was asking for a miracle.
‘But You could do it. Lord,’ Theophanie admonished. ‘It’s not past Your powers. I thought You could move mountains. Well, if You can do that why don’t You drive the English from Orléans?’
So there was waiting throughout the country and waiting in the Château at Pont-à-Mousson.
In the castle they were rewarded before the people of Orléans.
That very day when Theophanie and Agnès sat sewing over the fire, the Lady Isabelle’s pains started. And on the twenty-third day of March she gave birth to a healthy girl.
She was called Margar
et.
###
Times might be hard but the baby must be given a worthy christening. Theophanie brought out the elaborate christening robes which had been worn by generations of the House of Anjou and in the Cathedral of Toul, Margaret was baptized. Her sponsors were René’s elder brother, Louis King of Naples, and her maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Lorraine after whom she had been named.
Margaret, blissfully unaware of the importance of the ceremony, accepted it with serenity and in due course was carried off to her nursery in Theophanie’s waiting arms. René was paying one of his rare visits to the Château. He had just acquired the title of Duke of Bar on the death of his great-uncle and this had contributed in some degree to his income and importance, particularly as with the Dukedom came the Marquisate of Pont-à-Mousson. Before this as a younger son he had had nothing but the little county of Guise.
He talked earnestly with Isabelle of the change in his fortunes.
‘I may now be able to do a little towards helping Charles,’ he said.
Isabelle nodded. Like everyone in France she was looking to the future with a great deal of hope. What had happened at Orléans had indeed seemed like a miracle. Isabelle was not sure that she believed in the special powers of the peasant girl who had been guided by Voices from Heaven. The fact remained that this girl had marched into Orléans and somehow defeated the English, thus saving the city and as a result Charles was now going to be crowned at Rheims.
It would not have seemed possible a few months ago. But the fortunes of France had really changed and strangely enough so had those of the family. René was a man of some importance
now. He would have the means to raise men and arms; and naturally he wanted to place himself beside his brother-in-law and help him to regain all that had been lost to the English.
He had proclaimed himself an Armagnac supporter—which of course the Dauphin was—and this meant that he was the enemy of the Duke of Burgundy, whose actions in allying himself with the English must be deplored by all true Frenchmen.
‘I can only hope that we do not antagonize Burgundy too strongly,’ said Isabelle.
‘Burgundy would consider us beneath his notice,’ René reassured her.
‘Let us hope so, but it is my belief that he is aware of every Armagnac and regards him as an enemy.’
‘Burgundy will be changing his tune ere long; it would not surprise me. Things have changed, Isabelle. Changed most miraculously.’
‘René, you have become bemused by this Maid like so many others.’
‘You would be impressed if you saw her, Isabelle. They jeered at first but gradually they began to see her in a different light. I trust my mother’s judgment. She at first was skeptical but when she examined the Maid she changed her mind and persuaded my sister to do the same—not that Marie needed much persuasion. She too began to believe in the Maid.’
‘And the King’s wife and mother-in-law persuaded him’
‘Yes, but he too quickly realized that she had some power within her...something divine...and you see it worked. She frightened the English... there is no other way of describing it. And although defeat was staring us in the face at Orléans we turned it into victory.’
‘I can only rejoice. And now Charles is to be crowned. I am glad of that. After the ceremony he will no longer be known merely as our Dauphin but our King.’
‘Life will be different, you will see, for France...for us...’
‘Perhaps it will mean that you can be with us more. Perhaps when this war is over people will be able to settle down with their families. But it is not over yet, René. The breaking of the siege of Orléans and the crowning of the King do not mean that the war is over.’
‘Indeed not,’ agreed René. ‘But who would have believed a few months ago that we should have achieved such success.’
It was true. But Isabelle was more realistic than her husband and she knew that the English would not be driven out just because of one French victory—spectacular though it was.
There was bustle throughout the castle as René made his preparations to leave for Rheims. Even the children were aware of it and young John wanted to know why his father was with them.
‘He’ll not be here for long, my lord,’ Theophanie told him. ‘He’ll be off again soon. He’s going now to put a golden crown on the King’s head.’
‘Why?’ asked John.
‘Because he’s the King of course.’
‘I want a golden crown.’
‘You can’t have one, my little master, and that’s flat, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that. Crowns,’ muttered Theophanie more to herself than the child, ‘they never brought much good to anyone as far as I can see.’
John was inclined to whimper until Agnès took him into her lap and explained to him that crowns could be heavy things that sometimes hurt the head that carried them. He should not crave for one. Those who had them had to wear them and sometimes did not very much enjoy it.
John went to sleep and as she sat holding him Agnès wondered about the King. What she had heard of him had not been very flattering. He had made a bad impression on the people and few had any hope in him except the strange peasant girl who was supposed to have had instructions from Heaven to have him crowned and to win France back for him.
‘His father was mad,’ people said. And yet there were some who said he was a bastard and no son of the mad King after all. He was now about twenty-six years old. ‘But he looks all of forty,’ was another comment. ‘It’s the life he lives. They say the ladies of the Court won’t look at him—Dauphin though he is and true King you might say—so he contents himself with serving-maids who welcome him to their beds for the sake of the royalty he brings with him.’
Agnès was wise enough to realize that these stories must be exaggerated—and on the other hand there was possibly a grain of truth in them.
‘His mother told him he was a bastard...not the King’s true son. They say that has upset him more than the loss of his kingdom.’
Poor Charles, thought Agnès.
He was a husband though and a father. Surely he found some comfort in his family.
‘His lips are thick and he has hardly any brows and lashes; he was born with an exaggerated Valois nose which is bulbous and most disfiguring in his blubbery face...’
Oh no, thought Agnès, he cannot be as bad as all that. The Lord René was fond of him, and extremely happy because he was going to his coronation. Perhaps I shall see him one day and judge for myself, and as I am prepared for a monster I might have an agreeable surprise.
Theophanie came in and took the sleeping John from her. ‘A crown indeed. God preserve you from that, my precious,’ said Theophanie kissing the sleeping face.
René was ready to leave and the whole household was in the courtyard to wish him godspeed on his journey to Rheims.
Theophanie was there beside him—the specially privileged nurse who remembered the days when she held him in her lap and taught him his first tottering steps.
‘Now you take care, my lord René, and don’t you get caught up in any of these troubles. Keep well away from those Burgundians...a nasty lot them...going against their own country. And tell Marie I’m thinking of her and not to forget to keep her temper. Tell her she’s a Queen now...in very truth. Tell her that Theophanie wants to be proud of her.’
René smiled at her and kissed her hand. Dear René, the best of the bunch—always so kind and courteous, a real gallant knight. She only hoped he would be able to look after himself if he came into contact with those wicked Burgundians or the even more wicked English.
Two years had passed since René went riding to Rheims to assist at the coronation of Charles the Seventh. The war was not over as so many people had optimistically prophesied it would be. The Maid had been captured by the Burgundians and sold to the English who had burned her in the square at Rouen. That brief glory was over—but not quite. Joan had made her impact.
The fortunes of France had changed and although there were still English in France—and in dominant positions—Orléans had been saved, several towns had been recaptured by the French and there was a crowned King of France. The English had wanted to bring the little King of England over to crown him and they had done so, but not at Rheims. Oh, no, that was still in the hands of the French. They had had to be content with
Paris and everyone knew that a crowning at Paris was not the same as one in Rheims.
René was often with his family at the Château Keure. They were wonderful days when he came to the nursery and played with the children and told them stories. He was far more gentle than their mother and they all adored him. Even two-year-old Margaret waited for his coming and shouted with delight when he appeared.
René said to Isabelle: ‘This is the life for me. How much happier I am with my family than attending Court.’
‘You are happy to be with your sister though.’
‘It is good to see Marie. She is well able to take care of herself.’
‘And Charles, too, it seems.’
‘Well, she and my mother have a strong influence on him. He has changed, Isabelle. The coming of the peasant girl from Domremy had a marked effect on him. It is said that she assured him he was the King’s legitimate son.’
‘A mixed blessing,’ commented Isabelle. ‘To be the son of a mad father and have every right to the crown or to be free of taint and no right at all. A difficult choice to make.’
‘Not for Charles. He is convinced now that he has a right to wear the crown and it seems of late that he is rousing himself from his previous lethargy. He is really giving his mind to freeing his country and bringing prosperity back to it.’
‘Perhaps he will do it...with your sister to help him.’
‘Don’t forget my mother.’
‘Ah yes, indeed. Well perhaps there are better days ahead for France.’
Occasionally René left on some military exercise. Then there was gloom in the Château; but when he returned the joy of reunion was so great that, said Theophanie, it was almost worth the sadness they had suffered through his absence.
