The Battle of the Queens

by Jean Plaidy

  Now, in the gardens, he talked to his son of the need to recapture all that France over the centuries had lost.

  ‘We shall never be truly at peace,’ he said, ‘until Normandy is ours. William the Conqueror brought it to England … or England to Normandy which you prefer. But before his day there was strife between us. The Franks should never have given that part of France to the Norsemen. It happened centuries ago and who knows it may be our glory to bring it back. We have a heaven-sent opportunity in John. Think of him. You have seen him. What is your opinion of him, Louis? Would men ever follow such a one? Only those who sought their advantage … and a few to whom loyalty to the crown is a way of life. Nay, son, there never was such an opportunity as now lies in our hands and we shall take it.’

  Louis listened intently, but he was not a warrior; that much was clear. He reminded Philip very much of his own father … another Louis, and a good man, a man who was pestered by his ability to see two sides to every question, a man who was haunted by the cries of innocent men and women slaughtered during the course of a battle. Philip respected such men, but did they make good kings?

  He went on: ‘The time is at hand. The Lusignans are ready to rise against him. He took Hugh’s bride.’ Philip laughed. ‘There is a woman for whom men would go to war. I thank God that our dear Blanche is not of her kind. Isabella will bring John to ruin, I don’t doubt. Though his own nature will do that and it will only be necessary for her to help the process. The Lusignans are a powerful clan. They are waiting to get at him. Then there is Britanny. Arthur and his adherents believe that he should be on the throne.’

  ‘Do you believe that, father?’

  ‘I shall support Arthur, my son, because he is against John and my eyes are on Normandy. Your wife Blanche has a strong claim to the English Crown, you know, Louis.’

  Louis smiled. ‘But John is the King and he will have children.’

  ‘From what we hear he is making every effort to get them,’ retorted Philip. ‘Kings lead precarious lives, Louis. If John should die in battle and Arthur too, why then who would be next in the line of succession? What of Blanche, daughter of Eleanor, sister to John and Richard – the Kings of England?’

  ‘There is of course the connection but it is unlikely that John will die before he gets an heir and then there is Arthur. And do you think the people would accept Blanche?’

  ‘With France behind her – yes. Think of it, Louis. The whole of France in our hands – and the Crown of England thrown in.’

  ‘How should we hold such vast territory?’

  ‘That is what we would think of when the time comes. It is a king’s duty to take the events as they arise, but if possible to be prepared for them and to act one step ahead of his enemies. You will work with me closely on this campaign.’

  ‘You mean I am to go into battle.’

  ‘God forbid. You are far too young. I would not dream of allowing that. But this will be a war of strategy – as all wars are; and it is the man who is cleverest at that wily game who is more likely to defeat his opponent, even though the latter has the bigger army. That is something Richard Coeur de Lion never realised. He was the greatest, bravest fighter in the world but no strategist. If he had been, with his courage and generalship he would have brought Jerusalem back to Christendom and, given time, conquered the world. Now I never cared for battle as I did for strategy. It is a wise policy, for countries perpetually at war grow poor, the people dissatisfied and prosperity elusive. So we should try to let others fight our wars.’

  ‘Is that what you propose to do?’

  Philip nodded. ‘As far as I can. I want John brought low, and because he is as he is, I do not think it will be an impossibility. His enemies are numerous. The Lusignans are raring to get at him. Arthur believes he is the rightful King of England. I shall give them my support – my moral support. Though of course if necessary I shall have to offer practical help. But let them work for us first. I am going to offer your half-sister as a bride for Arthur.’

  ‘Marie. She is but a child.’

  ‘That’s true. But she is legitimate. The Pope has agreed on that. Marie is not ready for marriage. As for Arthur he is but a boy … your age, Louis. He can wait for Marie – and if he has the Crown of England by that time I shall be happy to see my daughter Queen.’

  ‘Does Arthur know?’

  ‘I have whispered to him that I propose to offer him my daughter. He is beside himself with joy. It means that I give my support to his claim.’

  ‘He will be going soon.’

  ‘Any day. The time to strike is now, Louis. Talk of these matters to Blanche. It is well that she should learn with you how affairs of state are conducted.’

  ‘I will talk to her,’ said Louis.

  Arthur and his sister Eleanor were in mourning, for their mother had died. Eleanor shut herself away to brood in solitude, but Arthur was constantly conferring with the King; messengers were coming to and from Paris and there was always something to discuss, some preparations to be made that there was little time for grieving.

  Blanche, aware of what was going on, saw how the excitement of coming events helped Arthur over his sorrow, just as plunging himself into the affairs of his country had helped Philip in his anguish over the loss of Agnes. It was a good lesson learned.

  With rulers, she inferred, the good of the country must come first, and personal grief could be and must be set aside for the sake of duty. She wondered how she would fare if she lost Louis whom she was loving more every day; and she thought of the deep affection which had been so obvious with her own parents and she was sure meant more to them than anything on Earth – and it had indeed made a happy home for their children. Her mother wrote to her regularly telling her what was happening at home in Castile and spoke often of her father’s health. The bond between them all would never be broken, but she had a new life now. Louis was more important to her than anyone, and France was her home.

  Arthur rode off to place himself at the head of an army and it was with dismay that Blanche heard that her grandmother had left Fontevrault to go to the aid of John.

  Louis tried to soothe her.

  ‘But,’ she cried, ‘your father, you, and therefore myself, are supporting Arthur, and my grandmother is against Arthur and for John.’

  ‘It happens so in families sometimes,’ Louis answered.

  ‘But this is different. You see we travelled together. We became very close to each other … we understood each other.’

  ‘Then she will understand now that you must be on different sides.’

  Blanche shook her head in grief.

  And this was intensified when the news reached the court that Arthur and his supporters had attacked the castle in which the old Queen was staying and had actually dared take her prisoner; but John had arrived, rescued his mother and captured Arthur as well as Hugh de Lusignan.

  ‘It was a bitter defeat for Arthur and victory for John,’ declared Philip and he doubted not that the result had been brought about by the old Queen for little success could be expected from John.

  But it was a temporary setback. Moreover Arthur was in the hands of John and who could say what the outcome could be.

  John gave expression to his venom and derived great pleasure from humiliating Hugh de Lusignan by forcing him to ride in chains in a bullock cart while Isabella, his lost love, witnessed the spectacle; but then he released him, much to the astonishment of all. It was just a sign of John’s unpredictability; and as all his emotions at this time were governed by his feelings for his queen, it appeared that in releasing Hugh he was showing her his contempt for him as an enemy.

  But he was not so foolish as to release Arthur, and that was the end of the young Prince. It was not certain what exactly had happened to him, but in a few months he was to disappear from the world, leaving behind him a mystery which added to the rapidly growing evil reputation of his uncle.

  Blanche often thought of her grandmother during the next two
years. She knew how desolate she must be living out the last months of her life in gloomy speculation.

  She would have loved to go and visit her, to tell her that although they were on opposing sides the affection between them was in no way diminished and she would never forget their journey from Castile to the Loire when they had forged the bond between them which nothing could sever.

  Eleanor had conveyed to Blanche how proud she was of the Plantagenet line, how deeply she had loved Richard and how greatly she had feared for John. And rightly so, for if ever a king brought about his own ruin that king was John. Now he was losing those possessions which had belonged to his family since the days of great Rollo. One by one the castles were falling into the hands of his enemies. There were constant murmurs of ‘Where is Arthur?’ and gruesome stories were told of the young man’s end. That he had been murdered by his wicked uncle seemed evident and his enemies – chief of them Philip of France – were not going to allow that to be forgotten.

  When Château Gaillard was lost to him that seemed the end of his hopes of holding Normandy, for the castle was the gateway to Rouen and had been known as the strongest fortress of its time.

  If he could lose that, he could lose everything.

  While the court rejoiced, Blanche could not do so wholeheartedly for she must think of the sorrowing old lady in Fontevrault.

  At least she could send messengers to the Abbey to enquire about her grandmother and it was thus that she heard of Eleanor’s decline.

  It seemed that she had grown listless when she had heard of the continual defeats of her youngest son and that when Gaillard fell they tried to keep the news from her. But she was imperious to the end and realised that some major catastrophe had occurred so she insisted on being told. And when she had, she covered her face with her hands that none might see her grief.

  ‘It is the end,’ she said.

  And they were not sure whether she meant of John’s hopes or her own life.

  She took to her bed and when a fever overtook her she did not seem to care whether it left her or not.

  She lay in bed, sometimes murmuring of the past and it was noticed that Richard’s name occurred very often.

  She died quietly in her bed and in accordance with her instructions was buried in Fontevrault beside the husband whom she had hated and the son she had loved.

  Blanche’s grief was great; she could not forget her grandmother; and although the people around her were rejoicing at the manner in which the King of England was losing his dominions and gloated on the importance of this to France, she was filled with melancholy, knowing full well that that which delighted those around her had brought great sorrow to the old lady whom she had learned to love.

  Then something happened to divert her thoughts from her grandmother’s death.

  She discovered she was pregnant.

  The King was delighted. Blanche was not yet seventeen and there were years ahead of her for childbearing. Philip congratulated himself that it had been wise not to hurry them. They were in love and it was charming to see them together; Blanche was growing into a beauty and a woman of good sense, and that she was also going to be a mother was a matter for the utmost rejoicing.

  Everything must be done for her ease. Her parents and sisters wrote of their delight and pleasure on her account and from her mother came advice on how to care for herself.

  Great preparations were made throughout the court and when the time came for the child’s birth it would seem as though, as Blanche said, no one had ever had a child before.

  But this child was the heir to France.

  There was a certain disappointment that it should be a girl, and a delicate one, and when all the preparations, all the care, all the taken advice had proved futile, for within a few days, the child was dead, Blanche was desolate. Louis consoled her. ‘We are young,’ he reminded her. ‘There will be others.’

  ‘There must be,’ declared Blanche. ‘I fear that the King’s disappointment will be great.’

  She was right; but he did not allow her to see how great. He comforted her and told her that it often happened so – in royal families particularly.

  ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that so greatly do we desire heirs that perverse fate denies them to us. But this is but the first. Perhaps you are too young, my daughter, for you are young, you know. It has ever astonished me how a chance encounter with a woman who has pleased for a day or so will result in a healthy child. There is my own Peter Charles whose mother was a fine young woman I found in Arras and there is Philip whom I named Hurepel because of the way his hair stands up. Where would you find two more sturdy boys? And bastards both! But you will have healthy sons … great sons. I know it. You were made to be a mother of kings.’

  Blanche thanked the King and told him that he had done much to soothe her melancholy; but in her sadness memories of her grandmother came back – she who had outlived all her sons, save John, and had little joy brought to her by him.

  She would have another child soon and when she did this would become just a sad memory.

  In the gardens Philip walked with his son. He wanted him to promise him something.

  Louis was a little puzzled until his father went on: ‘I do not want you to take an active part in a joust, and I wish you to promise me that when you attend these tourneys you will go as a looker-on.’

  ‘But, my lord, how can I?’

  ‘You can do so by making sure that you do not attend in armour. If you are simply present in a light mail jacket without a helmet, all will know that you have no intention of riding in the lists.’

  ‘It will be noticed that I do not enter, Father. It will be said that I am a coward.’

  ‘Let them say that to me! None shall say it twice, I promise you. And you and I will know that you are no coward, for it may well be that it will need greater courage to abstain from the lists than it would be to enter them.’

  ‘Do you mean that I am not to joust ever …’

  ‘I mean that for a while I do not wish you to.’

  Louis understood. He and Blanche had had a daughter who had not lived. He was the heir to the throne – the one on whose rights to inherit the crown none could throw a doubt; and until he had produced a son, he must live.

  Jousting could be dangerous, for although a tourney was supposed to be a mock battle it often became realistic. Poor sad Arthur’s father had ridden out to do mock battle but when he had been surrounded by his opponents he had fallen from his horse and been trampled to death. Yet it was but a mock battle.

  Louis had always been aware of the responsibilities of kingship, but he had never realised them so thoroughly as he did at that moment.

  Four years passed before Blanche was able to give France the hope of another heir. Meanwhile John was losing his grip even on his English possessions. His Barons despaired of him and there was a growing conflict between them; he was still enslaved by his wife Isabella but that did not prevent his infidelities. He became more and more cruel as his power was stripped from him; his enemies were legion and recklessly he added to their number with every passing year.

  Philip had dreamed of recovering all the French territory. That was almost accomplished, and now he was turning covetous eyes on England itself. Why not? His daughter-in-law had a claim through her mother. There was no salic law in England; he did not see why Blanche should not one day be Queen of England and Louis King. France and England under one crown. Even Charlemagne had never been King of England.

  And now Blanche was pregnant.

  If this child be a healthy boy, it is an omen, said Philip. ‘Oh God, give me a grandson and I will be ready to depart in good heart and spirits when ever You see fit to call me.’

  Great was the rejoicing when the child was born – a boy, a healthy heir to the Crown of France.

  The King’s eyes shone with affection for his daughter-in-law and pride in his grandson.

  ‘There have been few days in my life happier than this one,’ he decla
red.

  As he kissed her hand, Blanche said: ‘If it pleases you, I should like to call him Philip.’

  Those were the years of triumph for France. Philip had his spies everywhere and nowhere were they more important than in England. That John was a feeble ruler, a man destined to fail, was becoming more and more obvious to everyone except John, who boastfully declared he would regain all that he had lost.

  When John came into conflict with the Church he was excommunicated; and the Pope implied that the claims of France did not displease him.

  Calling his son and daughter-in-law to him, Philip told them that the time had come to prepare for invasion. He believed that ere long Blanche would have her heritage.

  Four years before, when Blanche was expecting her son Philip, Louis had been presented with his spurs by his father at Compiègne. This ceremony, which was always conducted with the utmost pomp, had been witnessed by even more than usual because on this occasion the heir to the throne would show the company his right to the honour and after that Philip could not longer prevent his son from taking part in the jousting tournaments. Moreover now he had his namesake and grandson who appeared to be growing into a healthy man; and although Blanche was a little slow in producing more grandchildren, the King always consoled himself with the observation that she was young yet.

  At this time with four-year-old Philip a delight in the royal nursery, and King John excommunicated and clearly growing less and less able to hold his kingdom, Blanche was once more pregnant.

  She was larger than was usual and Philip was convinced that she would be delivered of a fine boy.

  She was twenty-five – no longer so young, but her intelligence delighted him; and what was most gratifying was that the affection between her and Louis did not wane as it grew more mature. Louis took after his grandfather, that other Louis, and he never looked at other women, which was very rare. Philip himself had had many loves in his life – not all women, but Louis was a serious young man; anxious to rule well, and with the aid of Blanche to win glory for his country, it never occurred to him to be other than a faithful husband.