The Battle of the Queens

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘You know that I am twelve years old as you are. We have still to study; and for me life will go on much as it did before … except that I shall have a wife.’ He smiled charmingly, implying that this fact pleased him; and she glowed with pleasure which was partly relief. He told her how he lived in his father’s castles and palaces; how he had to study for a number of hours a day and his tutors had told him that when he married his wife would share his lessons. He wondered what subjects she had studied in Castile. Those she studied in France would probably be the same. They would ride a great deal. Did she enjoy riding? He meant really enjoy it apart from the fact that it was a necessary part of one’s life. He loved horses. He glowed with enthusiasm when he talked of his stables and he discussed his favourite horses as though they were human. She had not cared for them so much, but determined to from henceforth.

  She would not be lonely at the French Court, he told her, apart from the fact that she would always be with him once they were married, for there were so many people there. There were his little half-brother and sister and the sons and daughters of noblemen of whom his father was the guardian.

  ‘You must not be afraid of my father.’ He frowned slightly. ‘People do not always understand him. But he really does care about young people … particularly his family. He will love you as he does the others, for he is very eager to see me married.’

  Louis looked a little embarrassed and conversation with her grandmother enabled her to realise the reason which would have escaped her before her encounters with the old lady. Now she knew that Louis meant the King of France wanted them to produce an heir to the throne.

  The thought would have alarmed her but there was something entirely reassuring about Louis and she dismissed the matter.

  She asked him questions about little Philip and Mary, his half-sister and brother and discovered that they were the children of Agnes, the lady on whose account the King had been excommunicated.

  She told him of Castile and her sisters and how she had believed, almost until it was time for the journey to begin, that it would be her sister who was coming to France.

  Louis touched her hand lightly.

  ‘I am glad,’ he said, ‘that it was you who came.’

  A few days later the marriage ceremony took place in the Abbey Port-Mort. It was as grand an occasion as it could be, considering that the King of France was not present to see his son married. Many people thronged the Abbey however and although there was much shaking of heads over the quarrel of the King of France with the Pope, all agreed that the bridal pair looked suitably matched – a good-looking youthful couple with a look of happiness in their faces which indicated that, young as they were, they were happy to be united.

  There was to be no consummation. The King of France had indicated that that was to come about naturally which it would if the young people were often together.

  And so Blanche of Castile was married to Louis of France and together they left Normandy for Paris.

  As they rode along by the Seine, Blanche was conscious of a silence in the villages and little towns. It would have been natural to suppose that when the heir to the throne passed through with his bride there would have been some sign of rejoicing; it was surely customary to ring the church bells to announce such a joyous occasion.

  ‘It is the Interdict,’ said Louis. ‘The people feel it deeply. All church services and benefits are forbidden by the Pope. They are longing for it to end, but it can’t end until my father gives up Agnes and that is something he will not do.’

  ‘So it will go on and on and there will cease to be a church in France.’

  ‘They say it cannot go on, that no one can hold out for long against the Pope. The people fear that God will turn against them. As you see there is a certain sullenness in their manner. They blame all their ills on the Interdict and say that it is my father’s lust for Agnes which has brought them to this state.’

  ‘And he loves her dearly.’

  ‘He loves her dearly,’ repeated Louis. ‘As you will see.’

  ‘It is a terrible position for him.’

  ‘They would say he should never have put Ingeburga away, for he did so before he saw Agnes. None of us know why he so turned against Ingeburga. He married her and they say seemed content enough and then the next morning he was pale and trembling – so I heard – and declared he would have no more of her.’

  A faint twinge of fear came to her then. He had liked his bride before the mysterious happenings in the bedchamber. Louis liked her now but what if he should later feel towards her as his father did towards Ingeburga?

  She had a momentary vision of herself being sent from convent to convent, castle to castle, without ever knowing in what way she had offended; and Louis taking another wife and her family appealing to the Pope and the Pope’s saying: ‘I will put the Interdict on your kingdom until you take back Blanche.’

  That was folly. Louis liked her. She liked Louis. She did not know how she would come through the bedchamber ordeal, but when it came she would exert all her powers to make it a success. She was relieved that she had time to find out something about it. In the meantime she rode on through a France which resentfully suffered under the Pope’s Interdict.

  At last they crossed the Seine and came to the Isle of the Cité which Caesar had called Lutetia – the City of Mud – because he declared there was more mud to be found there than in any city he had known.

  Louis grew voluble as he regarded the city. It was clear that he loved it and greatly admired his father.

  ‘My father has done much for Paris,’ he said. ‘It has changed more in the years of his reign than it did in centuries. He told me once that when he was at the window of his palace looking down on the town – which he loved to do – he saw some peasants riding below in their carts and as their wheels churned in the mud there rose such a fetid smell that my father was sickened. The idea came to him that if the streets were paved with stone there would be no mud, so he called together the burghers of the city and told them it would be his endeavour – and they should join him in this – to rid Paris of the name of Mud Town by paving the streets so that the mud would disappear and he needed their help in the matter. They saw how right he was, for there was much disease in the city and the people had begun to realise that it could be due to the obnoxious mud, the smell of which attracted flies and other vermin. There was one rich merchant – I have heard my father speak of him often – he was Gerard de Poissy and he contributed eleven hundred silver marks to the making of pavements, and now as you will see Paris is a most agreeable city.’

  ‘The people must be grateful to your father.’

  Louis smiled. ‘Ah, you know how it is. When it is first done they can talk of nothing else but the change in their city and after a while they forget the foul mud and cease to be grateful for their stone pavements. My father cares greatly for his kingdom. His one dream was to enrich it and bring it back to what it was in the days of Charlemagne. So you see how he loves Agnes when he says that he would rather lose half his dominions than lose her.’

  ‘I like him the better for loving her so much,’ said Blanche.

  ‘When you meet him you will not realise the kind of man he is. He does not show his feelings but they are there … for all his family. He has ever been a kind father to me. He can lose his temper quickly but he can as quickly forget his rage. And he is a great king, I tell you that. He has been to the Holy Land.’

  ‘I know. He was there with my uncle Richard,’ replied Blanche. ‘My grandmother told me that at one time there was a great friendship between them.’

  ‘That is true. He ever had a fondness for Richard, although they were natural enemies – as all kings of France and England must be … while England holds territory which once belonged to France.’

  ‘Perhaps they will not always be enemies.’

  ‘They will be until all these possessions come back to the French crown. That is something we must accept, Blanche. Look a
t the wall of the city. My father had that built before he went off on his crusade. He wanted to fortify all his cities and particularly Paris. When we take our rides I will show you what he has done for the city.’

  They came to the Palace of the Cité and there Blanche met for the first time her formidable father-in-law.

  He was tall with a fine figure and an air of great dignity so that she would have known him immediately for the King. There was a russet tinge to his hair and beard; it showed in his eyes and suggested quick temper. There was a look of hardness about him which, she imagined, would have made anyone think twice about displeasing him.

  He regarded her steadily and seemed to like what he saw. Then he embraced her and calling her daughter said he welcomed her to the Court of France. He said that he believed she would be a good wife to his son and if she was she would have nothing to regret.

  Beside him was his Queen – Agnes, the gentle and beautiful young woman for whom he had placed himself and his country in a precarious position. She greeted Blanche warmly but Blanche could see that although she adored her husband she was too sensitive not to realise that she was at the core of the uneasy state of affairs which existed.

  Because there were no church ceremonies it seemed a strange introduction to her new home; but the King was determined that she should receive a good secular welcome.

  In the great hall he had her sit on one side of him and Agnes on his other, Louis was seated beside his wife and showed by his manner that he was eager to look after her.

  The table was full of dishes of food, some of which she had never seen before; the serving men and women hurried to and fro; while minstrels played soft music throughout the feast.

  Among the dishes was that rich delicacy, lampreys, in which her ancestor Henry I had fatally indulged; they were served differently here from the manner in which they were in Castile. The French used rich sauces containing herbs unknown to Blanche; there were also salmon, mutton, beef, venison and great pies the contents of which she could only guess at. Much flavouring of onions and garlic was put in the food which was new to her. She liked the cheeses and the sweetmeats and all these were washed down with wines – some drunk sweet, some dry. ‘None can make wine as the French can,’ Louis told her.

  King Philip made much of her and talked constantly to her of the customs of his country and made it clear to everyone present that he was greatly pleased with his new daughter.

  She quickly adjusted herself to life at the Court of France where Louis was her constant companion. They were in the schoolroom together for Philip was a firm believer in education and was constantly reminding his son that a king must study history above all subjects, for he would in due course play a part in it; geography must be mastered too, for events in various parts of the world might well be his concern some day. Literature and music must also not be neglected, for a king should be able to express himself not only with skill but with grace.

  Because they learned together they learned quickly. They were two children growing up side by side and Louis supplied the companionship which she had enjoyed with her sisters. She heard from home frequently, for her parents were eager for her to know they thought of her constantly; Berengaria also wrote to her; and she was pleased to learn that Urraca was going to marry into Portugal where she would in due course become Queen.

  ‘I am proud of my three girls,’ wrote her mother, ‘and one day I know I shall be even more proud.’

  There were many young children in the palace. Philip liked children and the sons and daughters of many a noble were brought up there, for the King called them his godchildren and they lived under his roof. There was not a nobleman in France who did not consider it the highest honour for his children to be brought up at court and beside Philip’s two by Agnes, there were one or two illegitimate sons of his. He liked all children and was particularly fond of his own. It was easy to see that he doted on Louis and once when he was alone with Blanche he said to her: ‘You will have to take care of Louis. He was never very strong. When he was two years old we nearly lost him. I left the crusades before I intended to because I feared he would die. I have always had a watch kept on his health since.’

  Blanche assured him that she would look after him well.

  They rode a great deal together; she allowed herself to be drawn into his enthusiasm for horses and the King said to Agnes that it was always wise to let the children grow up together rather than thrust them into bed when they were strangers.

  The method seemed to be working well with Blanche and Louis for each day they grew more and more fond of each other.

  He liked to show her Paris. He would take her through those streets – paved at his father’s orders – past the silent churches up the narrow alleys where the dyers and tanners were at work. People watched them covertly and cheered them now and then. They could not visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, they said. It was not the fault of those innocents that the land was under the Interdict and there was no church comfort to be had for love or money.

  He took her to the cemetery of Paris close by the Church of the Holy Innocents and the street of St Denis. It was enclosed by a high wall and there were gates which were shut every night.

  ‘This is my father’s work,’ Louis pointed out. ‘He saw that the burial grounds were treated without respect. At one time this was open land and the traders used to come here and set up their stalls between the tombs. It seemed to him profane, so he had the wall built with the gates which were shut up every night. Then there could be some privacy and respect for the dead.’

  ‘Your father is a very good king,’ said Blanche.

  ‘I pray to God I shall be as good when my time comes, but I fear not.’

  ‘Why should you not, Louis? You are good and kind and more gentle than your father.’

  ‘I lack his kingly qualities.’ He looked very sad, then brightened suddenly. ‘But I shall have you to help me.’

  ‘And I will help you.’ She stood there in the cemetery among the graves of the dead and raised her hand. ‘I swear it, Louis. I will stand beside you and when the time comes we shall rule France together.’

  He looked at her with great love and said: ‘The thought of reigning had always frightened me until you came.’

  There was nothing he could have said which could have given her more delight.

  They rode on through the town and Louis showed her Les Halles, the great market place enclosed by walls and again with gates which shut at night.

  ‘My father, while he is a great commander of armies and wins many battles by clever diplomacy, has an eye for the life of the ordinary people. He thinks constantly how best to make life easier for them. He has now allowed all bakers to have their own ovens, for before he made this law the ovens which were used by the trade belonged to certain large establishments, many of them religious. The people do not fully realise what a great king he is.’

  ‘People never recognise a great king until he is dead and they have a bad one,’ said Blanche. ‘And I tell you, Louis, they will have such another good king after Philip.’

  ‘I pray so, and that it will be many years before they have a new king. My father is not old. He has perhaps thirty years left to him.’

  ‘Thirty years!’ cried Blanche. ‘It is a lifetime. Just think of us in thirty years’ time.’

  ‘Does it alarm you?’

  ‘Not now I am married to you.’

  They came back again and again to that satisfactory state of affairs. Those about them noticed that they were falling in love. Soon, they said, they will be lovers in truth.

  The King noticed. Some members of his court thought they should be lovers in fact. Thirteen years old. Why not? And they were both mature for their ages.

  ‘Nay,’ said the King. ‘When they are ready it will come. Let us not disturb their innocent pleasure in each other.’

  So the weeks passed – lessons, riding to the hunt in the forests, riding quietly through the streets
of Paris, watching the progress of the mighty church which Philip was building and which would be Notre Dame de Paris, and then going to the Louvre to see how the builders were getting on with the improvements to that palace where a fine strong tower was being added.

  ‘My father is altering the face of Paris,’ said Louis, ‘and who can say it is not for the better?’

  Blanche, who had loved her own parents devotedly, took Louis’s affection for his father as natural, not realising how rare it was. It was true her grandmother had told her of the terrible conflict which had raged between her grandfather, Henry II of England, and his sons but she had thought that was a regrettable infrequent state of affairs.

  She was learning at a great rate but she still wondered why a king like Philip Augustus who was so concerned for his people that he built walls about their markets and studied their needs should have let them suffer as they did from the Pope’s Interdict, which they must endure because of his actions.

  Two young people had come to the court. This was the very interesting handsome young Prince Arthur who was the same age as Louis, and Arthur’s sister Eleanor who was a few years older.

  Arthur was that Count of Brittany, son of Geoffrey, elder brother of John, about whom there was a great deal of controversy because many people believed that he, instead of John, should be the King of England. Philip was very anxious to have him there, and Louis told Blanche that his visit was in a way political and far more important than those of the King’s wards who played and learned to joust and ride in the courtyards and the gardens.

  ‘My father does not trust John,’ he told Blanche. ‘He may decide to help Arthur to the throne. So much depends on what happens.’

  Blanche liked to hear everything that was going on and she rarely forgot anything. She told her little maid Amincia, who had come with her from Castile and acted as her personal attendant, that she too must keep her ears and eyes open and let her know what was said throughout the court. If she was going to help her husband she must know everything that happened.