Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The (11 page)

I do not know the little girl and have no reason to dislike a child I have never seen, but to be linked by marriage to that man, her father, repels me.
Perhaps she is becoming a little cynical, but she reminds herself that since part of the girl’s dowry will be paid in advance, Louis will also have the necessary funds to mount a new expedition to Naples. Her mind is in turmoil. She knows her duty and it is one she dreads – she knows that she must confront her husband about his decision. Recalling the harmony of his last visit, when their minds seemed as one, she could weep. But face it she must.

On Louis’ next visit home to Angers from Paris, Yolande steels herself to broach the subject. They are in her favourite corner of her sitting room, dinner was delicious, the mulled wine has relaxed him and they talk of this and that concerning his farms, the workers, their health and, most of all, the children. Since she began managing Louis’ estates during his absence in Paris, her confidence has grown immeasurably – she has done well and he is proud of her achievement. Then, when she feels the time is right, gently she taxes him.

‘Louis dearest, I wonder, something has crossed my mind,’ she begins.

‘Yes, my clever wife, what is it?’

She looks at her hands, ‘Could it be that you have it in mind . . .’ and here her nerve almost fails her, though his smile is warm and encouraging, ‘to use some of Catherine’s dowry to mount a new campaign . . . to regain Naples?’

Instantly, there is a chill in the room. The hard, cold look he gives her makes her hold her tongue and lower her eyes at once. It seems that the door in his heart has opened to her only so far; he will discuss family matters, politics, court intrigues and affairs of state with her, but there is one thing that lies in a secret chamber beyond all this, one thing he will not discuss with anyone. His dream of Naples, it seems, is territory she cannot cross. In future, she now knows she will have to learn to find a different approach in order to avoid a conflict with her husband. Louis d’Anjou is not a man even she would dare cross again once his mind is fixed on a particular goal.

But although she holds her tongue, inwardly Yolande is unmoved. She remains convinced that the betrothal of their son and heir to a daughter of the loathsome Toad of Burgundy is not right for their family. And for what? For that accursed kingdom of Louis’ dreams.

T
he royal court of France is peripatetic; the government is based wherever the king is in residence, and sometimes that is in Paris. At these times, it pleases Louis that Yolande joins him at their town palace, and they also receive the great and the good there. Present on this night are Louis d’Orléans and Valentina, as well as the Dukes of Berry and Bourbon. The queen has arrived; the king is unwell. Yolande finds she is rather intrigued by Isabeau. Since their first meeting, when Yolande arrived in Paris on her marriage journey, Isabeau has become even larger, and Yolande pities her sincerely. What insecurity she must suffer.

‘Madame, welcome,’ she says, and, queen to queen, she merely bows her head, though not disrespectfully. Isabeau embraces her warmly.

‘My dear Yolande, it is always a pleasure to see your sincere face – unlike most in my palace,’ she says more softly.

Then there stands cousin Jean of Burgundy: he has come with his son Philippe, whose appearance is the opposite of his father – quiet, polite and secretive. In the three years since Yolande first met him, Jean-sans-Peur has not improved. If anything, he is even more brutish of face and manner, but with a slyness that hints at a certain kind of intelligence. From the way he looks at her – as if measuring her abilities and strength of character – she can tell he sees her as an obstacle to his plans, and he will surely cause trouble.

‘Well met, cousin Yolande,’ he greets her, and she does not pull her hand away this time. ‘How are the affairs of Anjou and Provence?’ he asks, though, it is clear from his face, without any interest in her reply. He is going through the conventions, nothing more, and does not bother even to mentioned the betrothal of his daughter Catherine to their son, a topic that should please him.

‘Well enough,’ she says. ‘Much like Burgundy, I imagine – there is always the threat from England in the air,’ she remarks and watches him carefully; she knows from Louis that Burgundy’s interests are nearer those of England than of France.

‘Ah, yes, the threat from England – I do not see this as being quite
so
serious as my cousins seem to,’ he replies nonchalantly with a raised eyebrow. ‘Why, dear cousin Yolande, do
you
feel threatened by England?’ he almost smirks.

‘No, I suppose we of Anjou do not as yet,’ she answers, ‘but then you have much in common with English interests in Flanders, I understand,’ and moves away at once as she catches his sharp intake of breath.
Am I accusing him of treason? Not yet
. . .

When the king is in his right mind, he is a most engaging man. Whenever Yolande attends the court, he seeks her out and places her beside him at meals. What she can see is a lonely man, as those who were close to him, even the queen, are afraid to be near him now in case his madness suddenly descends and he turns violent. Their eyes show their apprehension, which he too must see – and Yolande does her utmost to ensure that hers do not. His own eyes light up whenever he sees her, and he beckons her to go to him. ‘Welcome, beautiful cousin Yolande! I see you wear my ring. Does it please you?’

‘Indeed, sire, it does, as much as the splendid white stallion you sent me as a wedding gift.’

‘My dear, the horse was indeed a wedding gift; the ring was not. It is your pass key to me and I want you to use it. Now tell me about your children – you have two, do you not? A boy and a girl? We must find marriage partners for them among my own or our cousins’ offspring. I have so many children I cannot keep count any more. Dear Isabeau comes from good Bavarian breeding stock!’ he says with a laugh, not unkindly.

But Yolande finds a poignancy in his words, for in some of their personal audiences together, Isabeau has brought her memories of her beloved homeland to life. How in the summer months she would wander in the beautiful mountain valleys, the cows munching grass with their great brass bells around their necks tolling gently to tell the herdsmen where they were. The mountain flowers – edelweiss and blue gentians; the food – a simple meal of sausage and dark bread in a mountain hut – and then the walk down at sunset before the nights became cold. It is clear she was very happy as a girl. Isabeau becomes quite animated during these conversations and Yolande catches a glimpse of the pretty girl she must once have been. ‘I think hills and mountains are my natural element – not a French court,’ she says bitterly.

They do not, perhaps, quite become friends, but they are friendly. So it is not such a surprise when, on a visit to the court, Isabeau seeks her out by royal messenger. The queen, it soon becomes clear, is troubled, and needs to unburden herself.

‘Dearest Yolande, forgive me sending for you like that, but I do need to confide in you. You see, I feel able to trust you because of our similar backgrounds and you are the only one who will understand what I want to say.’ She stops and looks around furtively, then shifts her great bulk nearer to Yolande on the sofa and takes her slender hand between her own two pudgy ones. ‘I . . . it is hard to say . . . I don’t know what to do . . . but I can no longer be . . . a
real
wife . . . to the king. You must have heard how he behaves when his fits are upon him? His dirty habits, his filthy language and swearing and his violence frighten me – everyone else too.

‘My priest says that I must continue to lie with my husband if he wants, but I cannot. Believe me, I have tried, I have tried.’ She is weeping now. ‘I loved him so much and now he repels me.’

Yolande puts her arm around the queen to comfort her, and Isabeau wipes her eyes. ‘Please, dearest Yolande, give me your support to help me arrange separate quarters in our palaces.’ She looks lost and desperate and clutches at Yolande’s hands. ‘What is your advice, my dear? How can I go on? I have no one of my station but you to ask something so delicate. I would . . . I would welcome your thoughts,’ and Yolande can see the wild desperation in her eyes.

‘Madame, my dear Isabeau, I understand. Yes, I do . . . Allow me a little time to think on this difficulty of yours – which I assure you I will keep between us.’ The relief in the queen’s face is pitiful, and by the time they part, with a smile of gratitude from Isabeau, and warm embraces, Yolande has decided to help her. Nor does it escape her that a grateful Isabeau could be a good ally. The more Louis trusts her with his affairs, the more Yolande is realizing her own ability to manoeuvre. Yes, she must think on this conversation with the queen.

Isabeau’s problem has been exercising Yolande for some days while she stays at their manor by the Seine. Louis is at the King’s Council when she has an idea. One of her husband’s growing concerns has been the way in which the balance at court leans heavily towards the Burgundian faction, with two of the king and queen’s children married into that family. For some time Yolande has been thinking how she can attempt to redress this problem and also find a way of calming the king and improving his state of mind.

It is clear that Isabeau can take no more of the king’s abuse. And yet the priest is right – the king does need someone to console him, comfort and guide him, in particular when he is sane. He is a young man, after all, and must at times have need of a woman to share his bed as well as his table. He listens to Yolande, but she is not there at all times, and he needs more than she can give him.

During several of her attendances at court, and after some time spent pondering this problem, Yolande has observed the queen’s ladies and
demoiselles
carefully. They are all of good family – minor nobility – and most of them are really quite pleasing in appearance. She notices that they are also rather flirtatious with the young courtiers, and rightly surmises that the queen’s court is not as amusing as that of Louis d’Orléans or Jean of Burgundy.

The question occupying Yolande is who from the court could or would be a substitute for the queen. Isabeau has no lady-in-waiting of real character or imagination, or of sufficient devotion to try to fulfil the poor king’s desires. Without a word to Louis, Yolande decides to take on the task of finding a companion for the king, for the sake of France. Among the queen’s
demoiselles
she has been watching a young girl named Odette de Champdivers. She is intelligent, good-looking, gentle, caring, and clearly devoted to her king. Moreover, Yolande has not seen her flirting with the young gentlemen of the court like most of the others – she just seems to get on with whatever is required, in a quiet, gentle way.

Yolande has weighed the options carefully. If she is to fulfil her husband’s directions for the future of the monarchy, then there is, she believes, only this solution. Still, it is the first time she will be acting on her own initiative – and without discussing her intentions with Louis first. How could she? As a man he would never see the logic or the necessity – or even the benefit. And yet. . . .

Her mind made up, she sends for the girl to come to her chambers. When she enters, Yolande is pleased to see she is not afraid, but stands confidently by the table where the Duchess d’Anjou is sitting.

‘Odette, my dear, sit down,’ Yolande begins gently. ‘I have observed your amiable manner with everyone at court, from the highest to the lowest, and this has impressed me.’ The girl blushes – good: she is modest. ‘I have been wondering about your aspirations, my dear. What do you hope to achieve here in royal service?’ Odette looks confused. Yolande continues, sweetly and full of concern: ‘Are you, perhaps, hoping to find a husband?’

Odette studies her hands, folded in her lap. Then she looks directly up at her duchess: ‘Madame, I fear I am not sufficiently well-born, nor do I have a dowry that would attract a member of the court. No, I see my role as making myself as useful as possible and serving the king and queen in any way they require.’

Yolande likes her honest answer, and after spending some more time alone with her, she is convinced that her only interest is the genuine well-being of her king and queen. Confident that she has made the right choice, she says, very gently:

‘Odette, my dear, do you know how lonely and sad your king is at times? How much he needs a kind word, a kind touch?’ Odette nods. ‘He is not always out of his mind, you know, and when he is sane, he longs for a gentle word from a pretty young lady like yourself.’ Odette looks slightly confused, and Yolande realizes that she needs to be clearer. ‘My dear girl, I am asking something of you that is of great importance to the kingdom, as well as to the king. He needs someone like you, someone who really cares for him, to spend time with him – even to the extent of spending the nights as well as the days by his side.’

To Yolande’s surprise, Odette looks up at her, into her eyes, and with her open, frank face says, ‘Madame, I have not thought of that. Forgive me; I do not know what to say. I have seen the king when his illness is upon him and he can be . . . difficult.’ Yolande can see she is anxious, and with reason. This will need a different approach.

‘Odette, listen to me – please. Do you see me as the Mother of Anjou, your home territory – the person who has the well-being of all the people there at heart?’

‘Oh yes, madame, you are almost worshipped in Anjou for your care of the young, the old, the sick – everyone.’

‘Well then, could you imagine my asking you to do something that was in some way against the well-being of your king or the kingdom?’

‘Oh no, madame.’

‘Good. What I am asking of you is something that is extremely difficult, I know, but I am asking for the kingdom, to preserve the country that we love. France must have a king who, although he is not always like others, is comforted and content when he
is
like others.’

Odette is silent for some minutes. Yolande can tell from her expression that she is weighing her options.