by Jean Plaidy
Often she asked herself if she would have wanted him to have had an unhappy marriage. Of course she would not. What she wanted was for him to have married a nonentity, a silly pretty little wife who was good for nothing but bearing children. It had been a mistake to choose one of the most educated princesses in Europe.
In due course, Marguerite gave birth to a sickly child who died soon after and the Queen herself came near to death. Louis remained at her bedside, so much to his mother’s chagrin that she came to the sick room and told him how much it grieved her to see him stay there. ‘You can do no good, my son, by remaining here,’ she insisted.
Louis stood up and as he did so, Marguerite opened her eyes and looking full at Blanche said with unusual spirit: ‘Alas, neither dead nor alive will you let me see my lord.’
She had half raised herself in her bed and as she spoke these words she fell back, her face ashen pale, her eyes closed, and she appeared to have stopped breathing.
There was intense horror in that room. Louis fell on to his knees at the bedside and said quietly: ‘Marguerite, come back to me … I swear that we shall be together … if only you will come back.’
In those moments, when it seemed that the Queen of France was dead, Blanche suffered an overwhelming remorse.
She could not bear the sight of her weeping son kneeling by his wife’s bedside; she could not bear to think of what the future would be if Marguerite died.
She came to the bed. ‘Glory to God,’ she whispered, for Marguerite was still breathing.
‘She has fainted merely,’ she cried. ‘Go to the doctors, Louis. Bring them quickly. We will save her yet.’
And they did. During her convalescence it was Blanche who insisted that Louis should be with her. ‘Give me grandchildren,’ she told Marguerite, ‘and I shall be content.’
This was as near as she could get to an expression of contrition.
It was a bitter lesson she had learned for she knew that had Marguerite died Louis would never have been close to her again.
She accepted her own selfishness. She faced the truth; she had made him the centre of her life; but she saw now that her love had been selfish. His happiness, his victories were hers, and she must learn to rejoice in his marriage to a wife whom he loved.
Released from her determination to keep her son to herself, she was happier than she had been since his marriage. Marguerite quickly became pregnant again and accepted the new relationship between them with a sweetness which was characteristic of her.
There was so much evidence that Marguerite loved Louis truly, and as a good mother Blanche began to rejoice in their happiness together.
Rumours were coming to court constantly. There were always enemies, and she had never trusted the Lusignans. She talked of them with Louis and Marguerite.
‘Hugh would be a good and loyal vassal,’ she said, ‘but I would never trust Isabella of Angoulême. There is an evil woman.’
‘Hugh is too powerful to be lightly put aside,’ said Louis. ‘He could, if he had a mind to it, stir up great trouble.’
‘He has no mind of his own. That should be our concern. We have to deal with Isabella, and believe me, I know from the past, she is capable of any evil.’
Blanche had always had friends who travelled about the country and reported to her what was happening. Louis knew this and was interested to hear that in Lusignan Isabella made no secret of her determination to take revenge on the King of France and his mother. She greatly resented the desire of Princess Isabella to go into a convent and Alphonse’s marriage had even more infuriated her.
‘I hear that she is stirring up trouble,’ said Blanche.
‘Is that not a perpetual state of affairs?’ asked Louis.
‘Never more than now. I believe the situation is becoming more dangerous there. It is for that reason that I intend to send a man there … He is from Rochelle. He has no reason to love them and I believe him to be loyal to you. His duty will be to listen and to report what he hears.’
‘Another spy,’ said Louis.
‘Yes,’ replied Blanche, ‘another spy.’
The French Court had travelled down to Saumur in Anjou. There the King intended to hold a great display. It would be costly and luxurious although such extravagance was alien to his nature, for his mother had impressed upon him the need for this. It was, she had explained, to show not only the wealth of the King of France, but his power.
She admitted that she had been greatly disturbed by the accounts which had been sent to her by the man from Rochelle. There could be no doubt that Isabella of Angoulême was stirring up trouble. She was impressing on Hugh the need to show the Court of France that they could not be flouted. She was in touch with the powerful lords of Saintonge and the Angoumois and impressing on them the need to hold themselves in readiness to take up arms against the King, for it would soon be necessary to do so.
Louis realised this and agreed with his mother.
‘During the ceremonies,’ she said, ‘it would be well for Alphonse to receive the homage of those counts whose suzerain he is.’
‘Which,’ said Louis, ‘will include those who will be none too pleased to do so.’
‘All the more reason why they should.’
‘Do you think Isabella will allow Hugh to pay that homage?’
‘If we are watchful, yes,’ said Blanche.
Louis looked quizzically at his mother and she said, ‘Our man from Rochelle is a good servant to us.’
Chapter XVIII
ISABELLA’S REVENGE
It was while Isabella had gone to her castle of Angoulême that the summons appeared for Hugh to attend the court at Saumur in order to pay the homage required of him by his suzerain Alphonse.
Hugh could not but be relieved that Isabella was away. He knew that she would have been furious at the summons, but as a law-abiding man and one who had been brought up to study his honour and to do without question what was demanded of him in that respect, he realised that he should in duty bound obey the summons.
When Isabella was not there he could reason with himself. She was wrong, but he understood her anger. She was the Queen Mother of England and as such the equal of the Queen Mother of France, and it was humiliating for her to have to play a humble part in France. He could not imagine his life without Isabella. It had been empty of excitement before he had married her. He never regretted for one moment that marriage. Violent scenes there were, but there always would be where Isabella was. He was a man of peace, but he was only half alive without her; and the truth was he could not live without her. Virago she might be, but she was, to him, the most attractive woman in the world.
And now this summons. He knew he should obey it. It was his duty to. Isabella would be enraged. He would have to try to explain to her that it was his duty to pay homage to his liege-lord and even if he did think the title should not have been bestowed on Alphonse, it would be tantamount to an act of war to refuse to pay homage.
Through years of living with Isabella he had learned that if something should be done it was better to do it first and suffer for it afterwards, for not to do it would mean that he would be persuaded against his judgment; and in this case such an act could plunge him into a war for which he was not ready.
After a good deal of consideration he rode to Saumur and there paid homage to Alphonse.
There was no doubt that Louis and his mother were pleased to see him. They had been afraid that he would not come, but thanks to the man from Rochelle, the summons had been sent when Isabella was absent, which had meant that the sober Hugh had made his own decision, which, of course, was the right one.
Hugh took part in the jousts and tourneys and even though he was no longer young, carried himself through with skill and dignity.
If he had never married Isabella, thought Blanche, how much happier we should all have been. Isabella would have remained in England to plague her son – which would have been good for us too. Alas! But at least we have outwitted h
er this time.
When the royal party left, Hugh was with them and as they passed through Lusignan, it was natural that they should stay at the castle there.
With what trepidation Hugh had led them through the gates.
Blanche had caught sight of the man from Rochelle among those who came out to pay their respects to the King.
The Lady Isabella was not in the castle, for she had not yet returned from Angoulême.
Blanche was amused. She was indeed scoring over her enemy. And she was showing Hugh how much easier life would be for him without his wife.
There was merriment in the castle. The minstrels sang and there was feasting; and the next day when the royal party left, Hugh rode some way with them to speed them on their way.
When he returned to the castle he was dismayed, for Isabella had returned and discovered that not only had Hugh been to Saumur to pay homage to Alphonse, but also that the royal party had stayed in the castle.
Her fury possessed her, and Hugh feared she would do herself an injury.
She – a queen – had been slighted. Her husband had done homage to a mere count and that meant that she must take second place to his wife … a countess when she was a queen. It was unendurable. It was better that she was dead.
She stormed into the castle calling to her servants to do her bidding. The furnishings of those rooms which had been put at the service of the royal party must be torn down and thrown out. Everything they had used must follow. She stood in the midst of the turmoil, her hair unbound – for it had escaped from her head-dress – and fell about her shoulders in glorious confusion. The colour flamed into her cheeks seeming to add to the depth and beauty of her violet eyes. Even the humblest servant was impressed, though conscious that her fascination flowed from something evil.
‘My love,’ cried Hugh, ‘what do you intend to do with these things? If you need them at Angoulême I can buy more …’
‘Out of my way,’ she cried. ‘I want nothing of one who so demeans himself and me.’
‘Tell me,’ wailed Hugh. ‘Tell me what you wish.’
‘I wish this,’ she shouted, ‘that I had never come here to be insulted thus.’
She leaped on to her horse and casting a disgusted look at the goods which had been thrown out, she galloped off.
Hugh was bewildered. Two of his sons, Hugh and Guy, came to join him.
‘She will have gone back to Angoulême,’ said young Hugh.
‘I do not understand …’ began his father.
‘She was in a fine fury when she knew what had happened. She said she would go back to Angoulême.’
Hugh sighed and ordered the servants to carry the furnishings back into the castle and set them up in their old places.
Then he went sorrowfully into the castle.
He tried to explain to his sons. ‘There was nothing else I could do. I was duty bound to pay homage to the Count of Poitiers. Honour demands it of me.’
His sons agreed with him.
But that was small comfort. The quiet of the castle was unendurable to them all.
‘I must bring her back to us,’ said Hugh.
So he set out for the castle of Angoulême.
The castle was barred against him.
‘My lord,’ said the man at arms, ‘my lady has given orders that none shall be let in … and especially you, my lord.’
Some men might have forced their way in and subdued her. Not Hugh. He was overcome with sorrow. He heartily wished that he had refused to pay homage to Alphonse. It would have been an act of war, but anything was better than that Isabella should leave him.
He asked one of her servants to tell Isabella that her husband was at the gates humbly begging to see her.
The answer came back: ‘My lady will not receive you, my lord.’
Miserably he waited outside the castle until night fell and then he had no recourse but to take a lodging in the Knights Templars’ Hostel which was close by.
The next day he was back at the castle. More messages were sent in and more refusals brought out.
It was three days before she consented to see him.
She stood in the hall, her beautiful hair unbound; her gown of soft blue velvet open at the throat to show her magnificent bosom across which her white hands were folded almost symbolically as though she were withholding herself from him.
‘Well, my lord,’ she cried.
‘My dearest wife …’
‘Nay,’ she interrupted. ‘Not your dearest wife. You cannot count me so. I am not dear to you. Have you not allowed me to be humiliated … insulted …’
‘Nay, ’tis not so. I would never allow that.’
‘But you have. You have bowed the knee to my enemies.’
‘I will do everything you ask of me. Only listen, Isabella. Come back to me …’
She looked at him from under the thick dark lashes. ‘Well, she said, ‘you will listen to reason then? And let me tell you this, Hugh: if you do not do as I wish I shall never lie beside you again. I will not suffer you in my sight.’
‘Do not say such things. You are my wife. You know my feelings for you.’
‘At this time I know that you have betrayed me. You will have to show me that you have some concern for me.’
‘You are my concern … you are my life …’
She laid her hand on his arm, her expression softened.
‘So thought I,’ she said. ‘But that woman came … that Spanish woman. I wish she would come back to my castle. I would see that she never left it. I would deliver her such a draught which would send her writhing in agony … and this should be long lasting that she might not die easy.’
‘Isabella, have a care …’
She laughed loudly. ‘Poor frightened Hugh! I tell you this: you will have no need of fear if you listen to me. We are going to regain that which has been taken from us. We are going to have Spanish Blanche on her knees begging before us …’
‘Isabella, let us plan carefully … quietly …’
She looked at him with shining eyes.
‘So you will do as I wish, Hugh?’
‘I will do anything for you,’ he answered. ‘The only thing I cannot bear is that we should be apart.’
Gently she touched his cheek.
‘I knew you would come to me, Hugh. I knew you would help me to revenge.’
Together they rode back to Lusignan. The first plan was to gather together all those barons who were hostile to France.
They would invite them to the castle and lay their plans.
Isabella had an idea which she had decided she would not set before them. In time they would realise that she was more capable of bringing about the defeat of the French than any of them. This was her quarrel. This was obvious when the humiliating subservience of Hugh was considered. As she saw it – two women rode at the head of their forces – one was the Dowager Queen of France and the other of England. Blanche was her enemy. Blanche was the one she wished to see brought low. Blanche who had hated her but not as much as she hated Blanche. Blanche who had contrived to make Hugh bend the knee to her son – and not even her first-born – by bestowing the Poitiers title on him and thus setting him above the Count and Countess of La Marche.
This was going to be a full-scale war. No skirmishing between barons. And she knew how to make it so.
This was her secret.
Why should she not write to her son? He would be eager to come to the help of his mother – particularly when in doing so he could fulfil a lifelong ambition.
The barons of the south would rise against the King and his mother – and meanwhile the English would land and march south.
Louis and his forces would be caught in a pincer movement. Defeat for France. Triumph for England, and the King of England would have his mother to thank. She would not let him forget it.
She would write to Henry in secret. She would tell him how many men she could raise. And when Hugh and his friends of the South realised the Englis
h were joining them, she would admit this happy state of affairs had been brought about by her ingenuity.
She sent messengers in secret to England.
The man from Rochelle was assiduous in his duties. Blanche was informed of the meetings of the Barons at Lusignan and the gist of the conversations which took place there.
A messenger arrived at the Castle of Lusignan.
The new Count of Poitiers was holding court at Poitiers and he commanded all his vassals to attend.
Hugh was shaken when he received the order, for he could only guess what Isabella’s reaction would be.
She laughed when she heard it.
‘What now?’ asked Hugh fearfully.
‘We are going to Poitiers,’ said Isabella.
On the journey there she told him what she planned they should do. It was useless for him to protest that it would be an act of war. She was adamant.
‘One thing I will never allow,’ she said, ‘and that is for you to bend a knee to this man.’
‘But he is my overlord … as I am overlord to so many …’
‘If you pay homage, then that is tantamount to my doing so,’ declared Isabella. ‘I shall never do it, Hugh. If you do, it is the end of everything between us. I shall go to Angoulême and you shall never be admitted to my castle.’
‘My dearest wife, we stand together,’ answered Hugh.
In the town of Poitiers, a lodging of some magnificence, befitting their rank, had been provided for them. Isabella smiled as she studied it
The new Count of Poitiers is afraid of us, Hugh,’ she said. ‘He does not wish to offend us. Well, we shall show him our true feelings …’
‘In view of our plans, is that wise, Isabella?’
‘We are not paying homage to him, Hugh. I have said that if you do so it is the end between us.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Hugh unhappily.
