They both know that this ceremony is a farce, but according to the council it is a necessary one. Together in the soaring cathedral of Chartres, with its tall pointed arches resembling praying hands, they witness the sham settlement between the rival royal factions. Burgundy and his followers stand on one side of the aisle, the Orléans supporters on the other. Duke Jean’s mediator asks for – and obtains – a pardon of sorts, and by virtue of this travesty the king and his court can return to Paris. The result? The Duke of Burgundy takes over the government. The remaining wise and helpful Marmosets are banished at once, and he appoints himself guardian of the dauphin, a role that belongs by seniority to the old Duke of Berry. And no one murmurs! Yolande dares not vent her feeling to her husband, but to herself she thinks: We of Aragon would not have been so spineless!
Chapter Twelve
The murder of their beloved Louis d’Orléans has left not only a political tangle, but a domestic one as well. And here, Yolande realizes, she can be of help. As well as Valentina and their children, he has left behind his illegitimate son, the seven-year-old Count Jean de Dunois. Since fathers ‘own’ their illegitimate children and there are no other men left of the Orléans family who could care for him, Yolande has been in contact with his mother, a most pleasant lady, and offered to take her son into her keeping so that he may be brought up according to his position, something his mother could never do. Yolande understands it would be too painful for Valentina to take the child to bring up with her own, and since the boy is the son of their dearly loved cousin, she feels it’s the least she can do for his memory. With Valentina’s consent, it is arranged.
When Jean Dunois arrives at Angers, the children are visiting neighbours and Yolande has him alone for half a day. As she waits for him, she surprises herself by feeling nervous – how will she react to this young boy, the son of someone she held so dear? What memories will he stir in her, and can she put Valentina’s hurt out of her mind enough to love him as her own? But his entrance disarms her completely. Although he is the king’s nephew, he greets her on one knee as would the son of one of her employees, or a village lad. She raises him, and with her hands on both his shoulders, she looks him in the eye and says:
‘Welcome, young cousin Jean, and you are most welcome indeed. There is no need ever again to be on one knee to me or my husband – you are the king’s nephew and we recognize you as such. Also, we loved your father, and you are made in his image,’ she says with a smile, and embraces him.
‘Madame, I thank you for those generous words,’ he says in a very grown way for such a young lad. She takes to him at once; likes his frank look and honest eyes.
‘I am sure you have begun to ride to hounds? Well, tomorrow, if it does not snow, that is what we shall do. In the stables you will surely find a pony to your liking, and my eldest, Louis, who is almost your height, will help you. None of the children will go far, but it’s such fun to be at the meet. Tell me, how is your mother? I had the pleasure of meeting with her in Paris to ask if you would like to join my young family here.’
‘Madame, again I thank you. She is well and most grateful for your kindness. She has asked me to give you this letter.’
Yolande takes it to read later in her room. ‘Now young Jean, although you will be treated as one of ours, never forget your dear mother who loves you and will miss you. It would make me happy to know that you remain in close contact with her, and should you want to meet, that can also be easily arranged. Our wonderful Juana has prepared your room and a supper is waiting. You cannot have eaten all day.’
He nods, bows to her with his father’s natural elegance, then walks backwards three steps and turns towards Juana. Yolande casts an appreciative look after him. Yes, he is very much like his father, and she can detect a great strength in him too – his mother has brought him up beautifully, from what she has seen so far.
Later, he watches her own son greet Jean. ‘Well met, good cousin,’ she says as he puts his own arm around Jean’s shoulders. ‘What fun it is to have you to play with and chase and be chased by. I can see you are stronger than me or my sister – are you much older? Do you have your own pony? No? I have several and you may choose which you like the best. Did Maman tell you, we are going on the chase tomorrow! You will love that here. This is my little brother René, too small to be fun yet, and this is my sister Marie, who is five and definitely fun to be with! Oh, I am pleased that you have come to stay with us!’
This is quite a long speech and it comes bubbling out naturally from six-year-old Louis. Yolande is touched and proud that he is so pleased to have a cousin, and one to play with him as an equal. Jean’s eyes shine and she can see that the boys will become fast friends.
Juana comes to claim the children, and they follow her upstairs to the nursery, the new nursemaid, Tiphane, carrying baby René. Tiphane is a good strong country girl, fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked and smiling – typical of the local lasses. Juana assures her mistress that she is almost as tough as ‘we of Aragon’! This she will wait to see! Juana has become quite stout since coming to Anjou, and Yolande has had to let her ride one of her very strong Andalusians, sitting on its back in a wicker basket facing sideways. She complains of aching bones in the winter, but her room is warm and she sits with Yolande often in hers. Yolande has offered to send her home to her mother the queen, but Juana simply won’t leave her or the children and says she has no family left in Aragon. Wherever Yolande is, that is her home. She still sees well and reads, although she does have fewer teeth.
Unlike many mothers of her station, Yolande spends a lot of time with her children – talking, joking, playing games – and in the following days and weeks she notices that Jean Dunois’ personality and physique are stronger than any of her children’s, but also that he never abuses that privilege. He follows when he could easily lead: on horseback – already at seven he rides well; at games – she can see he actually tries not to win too often, instead helping Marie and often Louis as well, but not so that anyone would notice. And if there is a job to be done, he is the first to quietly offer to do it. Somehow, instinctively, he knows his place, and defers to the others, as would a guest. It does not take them long to love this boy, who shows enormous talent and goodness even at his very young age.
However much Yolande loves to spend time with the children, she accepts that her duties must also take her elsewhere. Louis has done her the honour of appointing her his regent in Anjou while he remains with the court. And so she sets about her tasks – repairing roofs in the city, building where necessary, not least a substantial bridge over the Loire, the first to allow traffic between Nantes and Saumur. The Loire can be a raging river especially in springtime, and often bursts its banks. There are few crossing places for this reason, and the need for a strong stone bridge to gain access to the other side is essential.
From Provence come shipments of seeds for crops, and Yolande puts more and more virgin land under the plough. The country needs food and children, and she encourages her villagers to sow and to breed. As mistress of all she surveys, she enjoys the work of improving their land, of helping the people become productive and healthy, but all the while she knows that the more confidence Louis places in her judgement to govern his French holdings, the keener he becomes to reconquer his kingdom of Naples and Sicily and she hears from her agents that his plans are gathering apace. It mystifies her how he finds the time during his work on the King’s Council even to imagine conducting a campaign in Italy.
Despite all the distractions of her work as regent of Anjou and undertaking preparations for the defence of their territories against the inevitable English invasion, Yolande still struggles with the moral dilemma of the betrothal of their eldest son and heir to the daughter of Jean of Burgundy. It is with considerable unease that she steels herself once more to confront her husband when he joins her at Angers. She begins subtly, softly, a plea in her voice:
‘Dearest husband, may I unburden myself to you about a matter which trou
bles me?’ And of course his dear face melts from whatever was absorbing him, and he takes her hand and sits her down next to him.
‘What is it, my darling?’ he asks gently.
Yolande well knows how angry he can become when she interferes in family business, and that is exactly what she is about to do. Rather nervously, she proceeds.
‘As you know, my beloved, all your desires are also mine, whatever you command I am ready to obey, and I do this with all my heart and energy.’ Still she hesitates.
‘Yes?’ he says sweetly, kissing her palm.
‘Beloved, I do not sleep well when you are not by my side, but also, during your absence at court . . .’
‘Yes?’ he prompts.
‘I have been searching my heart and mind to find a way to accept . . .’ Immediately she senses him stirring, and hears his intake of breath, ‘the betrothal of our son Louis.’ There – it is said – and she looks down at once, afraid to meet his eyes.
Louis’ hand tightens on hers, then lets it fall. ‘And why is that?’ he asks, in a different tone of voice and with an expression of almost feigned surprise.
Her focus is again on her hands in her lap, like a child in the nursery. She looks up. ‘Dearest, be not angry with me for discussing what I am aware is truly your business, but as you well know . . .’ She pauses, then finally blurts it out: ‘Since none of your family is in any doubt that the shocking murder of Louis d’Orléans, the cousin we all loved and the king’s staunchest supporter, was orchestrated by Jean of Burgundy.’ She can hardly believe she has managed to say as much, and almost pants for lack of breath.
There is a moment of silence.
‘And?’ he says, with an edge that could cut glass, ‘we have spoken of this before.’
‘Well . . .’ Again she wavers. ‘I am of the opinion that . . . it would not be correct to have our eldest son and heir . . . align our house with that of your cousin’s murderer.’ With that she sets her jaw and looks him direct in the eyes.
Louis’ face is dark with suppressed anger.
‘Madame’ – and she trembles; he rarely addresses her formally – ‘do you imagine that I am prepared to cause even greater strife within my family by publicly humiliating my powerful cousin of Burgundy in this way? By cancelling this official betrothal? An agreement made between our two royal houses?’
She quakes and bites her lip, but takes courage from somewhere and dares to continue. ‘But surely,’ she stutters, ‘the . . . the shame of joining our family to that of a murderer is greater than that of cancelling even a royal betrothal?’ She says this as firmly as she can, while shaking inwardly. She knows her husband’s temper well.
She catches a look in Louis’ eyes she has not seen before, as if he is far away with his thoughts. Then he faces her squarely and says crisply, barely controlling his anger:
‘No, my dear, I cannot agree to this, although I do understand your misgivings. As Duke of Anjou, I simply cannot afford to alienate the Duke of Burgundy.’ And with that he walks away from her. Yolande feels crushed and humiliated, shut out from his mind – and his heart.
The next day Louis leaves Angers for Paris as planned, but she is bid only a formal farewell, and in public – no private goodbyes for her at all.
The result of their altercation is that her husband sends a courier to Angers from Paris with a letter:
‘My dear wife and most effective regent! I hear daily from various sources how well you manage my estates and I am thankful for it, particularly as I am in the process of preparing to mount a second expedition in order to reclaim my kingdom of Naples and Sicily. I know you will wish me luck when the time comes.’
How can he be so sure? Yolande is thoroughly dismayed. She has always known in her heart that he will try again – why does it affect her so much now? And a little voice inside says: because you love the man you married with all your heart, and fear for him fighting far from home.
The expedition to Naples is to be a large undertaking, and will require a substantial fortune to finance it. As she suspected, this money is to come from the dowry of Catherine of Burgundy, second daughter of Jean-sans-Peur, now officially betrothed to their eldest son and heir, Louis III d’Anjou.
Despite her pride, Yolande strongly feels the need to confide in someone. It is at times like this that she is aware of the solitude of her position. But, as always, there is her dear, trustworthy Juana, who she finds tidying the nursery while the children play outside. Juana’s dark hair, which she wears in the same bun at the nape of her neck, is now streaked with grey; her cheeks are rounder, but as rosy and shiny as ever, and her brown eyes are still full of expression. Yolande throws herself on little Marie’s bed, hugging a pillow to her chest to stop herself from shaking with silent sobs.
‘Juana, Juana, what kind of a man have I married?’ she cries in dismay. ‘Has he no moral compass within to guide him against taking this murderer’s money for his own selfish ends?’
Juana puts her arms around Yolande’s shoulders as she weeps out her frustration and sadness on the older woman’s ample chest.
‘Do not cry, my little one.’ She still, somehow, thinks of Yolande as a little girl, despite all they have been through together. ‘Have you not realized yet, after so many years of marriage, what it is that drives your beloved husband?’ She takes Yolande’s face in her hands and wipes her tears. ‘His one real goal is, and has always been, his Italian kingdom. Surely you have understood that by now? This dream realm of Naples, which killed his father, draws him relentlessly. It is like the sirens in the ancient myths I told you about when you were young. Yes, he loves you, and the children, and his home, and his country. But his kingdom of Sicily and Naples has a greater hold on his mind and heart than all the rest put together. Once you accept that, you will be able to manage your life and your heart’s desires.’
And Yolande’s sobs shake her body as the truth of Juana’s words, of her own inadequacy and of his betrayal fills her being.
Reluctantly she accepts Louis’ decision. What choice does she have? To herself she admits her deep disillusion that this man who until now could do no wrong in her eyes is still prepared to go ahead with what she considers the dishonourable betrothal of his son and heir. It presents her with a whole new aspect of her marriage with which she must come to terms. Do I love him less for what I regard as a moral lapse? No, I could never love him less than unconditionally. But am I disappointed? Yes, yes I am.
Chapter Thirteen
On 12 March 1410, Louis d’Anjou, Yolande and their three children, Louis, Marie and fourteen-month-old René, as well as Jean Dunois, journey up the Loire to Gien, a chateau belonging to Louis’s dear old uncle, Jean of Berry. They are there to collect the seven-year-old Catherine of Burgundy, taking her into their family and their care.
She is a splendid sight, a tiny figure in a cloak made of cloth of gold, edged with ermine. With both hands she carries her marriage crown studded with precious stones as she walks gingerly towards them. Her trousseau contains many elegant clothes, jewels, dinner services of gold and silver, tapestries, furniture, horses, birds in cages, dogs and much else.
Yolande detects a slight tremble of the little girl’s bottom lip as she curtseys and gives her hand, surely terrified as her new guardian towers over her. And despite her misgivings, despite the child’s parentage, despite the hurt she bears in her heart, Yolande finds herself bending down and saying, with genuine warmth: ‘Welcome, my child.’ She embraces the small frame, feeling the girl shaking inside. Stroking her hair, Yolande tells her with sincere feeling: ‘You will be very happy with us, my dear, because we will love you as one of us, which you will be when you marry Louis. Here he is.’ The two children kiss stiffly on the cheek. ‘And this is Marie’ – who hugs her – ‘and my baby René.’ They turn to look at the sleeping baby. ‘And this is our cousin and yours, Jean Dunois’ – who gives her an impish smile which she finally returns.
Yolande can see that the child has relaxed
a little, and ventures: ‘Catherine my darling, we have a surprise waiting for you.’ The little girl’s eyes begin to shine. ‘A pony – and some baby rabbits!’ And Marie adds at once: ‘You can choose which one will be yours and only you will feed him – would you like that?’ Yolande wants to hug her daughter for this sweet gesture. Catherine nods and her little face transforms at last. She is a pretty child, very small for her age, but Yolande can see already that she will grow into a beauty. The betrothal is still a bitter pill, but Catherine herself? Yolande and the children have taken her sweetness to their hearts.
Louis has decided that Yolande will return to Angers tomorrow with her suite, the children and her new charge. He too will leave tomorrow and take part of Catherine’s dowry south to Marseilles, to assemble his army and sail for Naples. Without any idea how long he will be gone and what kind of dangers he will face, Yolande has forced herself to accept his departure. He is a man who takes his own decisions, and does not always discuss his plans with her. She knows her role: take care of his children, rule his territory, and wait. Patience and fortitude said Marie de Blois. Well, I have need of them now.
Tonight, as every night, he comes to her room. Gien is a pleasant enough chateau, warm and well appointed and full of exquisite objets d’art chosen by Uncle Jean with his renowned taste. Her room has a large chimney piece and the fire will last all night. It is not home, but it is near enough, and it is kind of Louis’ uncle to have accommodated them so well in his absence. The bed is large and the mattress is comfortable.
‘Why so anxious, my love?’ says Louis as he takes her in his arms, brushing her hair from her face.
‘Why not?’ she replies softly. ‘I have believed since we met that I am your only lover; the one who rules your heart . . . as you have told me so often.’
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