The Battle of the Queens

by Jean Plaidy

  His sergeant-at-arms was waiting for him at the house which was to have been honoured by his occupation, his expression woebegone, as he gesticulated wildly in explaining to his master what had happened.

  ‘My lord, I arrived here. I took up residence. I had your standards flying and the mayor and some of his men came to the house and demanded that the standards be removed … ay, and that I remove myself and all our servants from this place.’

  ‘God in Heaven,’ cried Thibaud. ‘I’ll have his blood.’

  ‘My lord, he pleaded that he acted on orders.’

  ‘On orders! Who would dare give such an order?’

  ‘The Queen, my lord.’

  ‘It can’t be so. Does she not know …? Why, I am the most faithful of her servants.’

  ‘Her orders were that you were to have no lodging in Rheims and that your servants were to be turned into the streets when they came to prepare one for you.’

  ‘But I am to go to the coronation.’

  ‘The Queen’s man said that the presence of one who had deserted the King’s father when he was in dire need, would not be welcome at the coronation.’

  Thibaud was silent.

  Then he clenched his fists. He realised he had allowed himself to dream too wildly. She was as remote as ever she had been.

  A great rage possessed him.

  ‘We will go then,’ he said at length. ‘Doubtless there will be some who welcome us if the King does not.’

  It was a moving sight when the boy King rode to the cathedral on a large white horse. The women among the spectators wept for him. He looked so young, so defenceless with his thick blond hair free of any covering, and so handsome were his beautifully chiselled features and his smooth fair skin.

  One of the monks assisted him to alight and led him inside the cathedral. There was great dignity about the boy which was immediately noticed and commented on. Blanche, watching her son, was proud of him. He looked so vulnerable; he would need her guidance.

  Had she been wise, she wondered, in refusing Thibaud of Champagne permission to attend? She was unsure now. A rumour had reached her that some were saying he was her lover and the thought had filled her with such anger that she had allowed her personal resentments to take precedence over her common sense.

  The prospect of seeing that fat man at this time, when she was feeling the loss of Louis so acutely, was more than she could endure. But she did understand that the last thing she must do was antagonise any of the powerful lords who could make her position – but mainly that of her son – untenable.

  A young king, a regent queen … that situation was filled with dangers. She would have to act carefully and quell her personal feelings in the future. Merely because the foolish troubadour had mentioned her in his songs in such a manner that she was immediately recognisable, people had started to circulate this slander. If she could discover the source she would let someone feel the weight of her anger.

  In the meantime she must curb her feelings. It was disconcerting to contemplate that already she had acted recklessly.

  She turned her attention to the ceremony. The Abbot of Saint-Rémi was approaching the platform on which young Louis sat and he carried the sacred oil with which the King would be anointed before he was crowned.

  ‘O God, keep him,’ prayed the Queen. ‘Long may he reign and well.’

  He sat there on the platform before the chancel where all could see him, and gathered about him were the most important noblemen of France who had come from far places to assist at the coronation and afterwards to give the oath of allegiance.

  They were dressing him now in the long purple hose which were decorated with the fleur-de-lis and then the tunic and cloak which also bore the golden lilies of France.

  How beautiful he looked. All must agree to that. It was not merely that she saw him through a mother’s eyes. He was going to be a great king – a greater king than his father, a greater king than Louis or Philip. People would mention his name with that of Charlemagne.

  Was that a premonition, a hope, a plea to God? She could not be sure. She could only say with fervour: ‘God save the King.’

  The Bishop had placed the crown on his head and he was mounting the steps to the throne now; he sat on the silk encovering which was embroidered with the fleur-de-lis.

  There could have been few in the cathedral who were not moved by the sight of their young King.

  The Bishop came first to kiss him and then followed the noblemen in order of precedence … there to kiss the King and give him the oath of allegiance.

  Thibaud of Champagne was missing. Others were missing too.

  Where were Hugh and Isabella de Lusignan and their neighbours?

  Suddenly the thought struck Blanche that the source of the rumours concerning her and Thibaud of Champagne could have come from Lusignan.

  She could clearly picture the mocking evil eyes of Isabella.

  And as she listened to the cheering as the little King rode through the streets of Rheims, she knew that, although there were many loyal men to support him, he would have powerful enemies.

  As soon as the coronation was over the Queen must give her thoughts to the imminent birth of another child. This proved to be Charles.

  She had believed that it would be a difficult birth, for she had received such a shock during the pregnancy, but the child arrived promptly and in good health and she herself, knowing that a quick recovery was essential, made one.

  At the coronation many had been moved by the appearance of the beautiful young King, but how many of them, she wondered, would remain faithful to him if they thought they could best serve their own interests by being otherwise.

  That was something she would soon find out.

  She was still a little weak from her confinement when Brother Guérin came to see her. His gravity alarmed her, for she knew Guérin to be a man of unswerving loyalty. He had given a long and trusted service not only to her husband but to Philip Augustus before him and both had recognised his worth. This man, a hospitaller, who lived humbly, though because of his position at court could have amassed great wealth, had had one desire: to serve France well. Philip Augustus had singled him out for his confidences and had appreciated his skills. Louis VIII had made him his chancellor, and Blanche’s one anxiety about him was that his health might fail, for he was old.

  So when he came to her and his concern was obvious, Blanche knew that he did not bring good news.

  She received him in a private chamber and there he came straight to the point of his visit.

  ‘There are certain to be ambitious men who seek to profit from a situation such as that in which we now find ourselves – a young king who is not of an age to govern, and there will be those who wish to take the reins of government into their own hands.’

  ‘Such as myself?’ she asked.

  ‘My lady, you are the Queen and the King’s mother. It is fitting that you should place yourself at the head of affairs. There are many loyal men and women who appreciate your worth.’

  ‘And you are one of them, Brother Guérin?’

  ‘I am indeed, Madam.’

  Then I feel great comfort,’ said the Queen.

  ‘But, my lady, you are surrounded by enemies. Some of them are strong and very powerful …’

  ‘I know that Hugh de Lusignan is my enemy.’

  ‘I regret it,’ said Brother Guérin. ‘It would not have been so but for his wife.’

  ‘Ah, Isabella. She has been responsible for much mischief. I would to God she had never decided to bring her daughter out to Hugh. If she had stayed in England methinks we should have been spared much trouble.’

  ‘You must know, my lady, that much discontent has been fermented.’

  ‘And she is at the bottom of it. You do not have to tell me that.’

  ‘Lusignan and Thouars have been joined by Peter Mauclerc,’ said Brother Guérin quietly.

  Blanche put her hand to her head and groaned. Peter Mauclerc was a tr
oublemaker. It was a great misfortune that he was related to the royal house and had descended from the Count of Dreux, one of the sons of Louis VI. As a younger son he had not been so well endowed as his brothers. How much trouble came from impoverished sons whose parents had had more of them than goods to share out! This always seemed to have a bad effect on the person concerned. John Lackland, King of England, was an example – and even when such people gained possessions their characters seemed to remain warped and for ever rapacious.

  Peter Mauclerc had acquired his nickname because at one time he had been in holy orders. He had long left that behind him, but it was remembered and since he was noted for his ill deeds he became known as Peter Mauclerc.

  Since a marriage had been arranged for him with the heiress of Brittany there had been a rise in his fortunes. His countess had died leaving him three children – John, Arthur and a girl, Yolanda.

  As soon as he had Brittany he began making the reputation which had earned him his name; and all knew that he was a man who must be watched for he was capable of deception, self-advancement and any villainy that he could think up to further his own ends.

  So when Peter Mauclerc’s name was mentioned Blanche was prepared for trouble.

  Well she might have been.

  ‘His first claim is to the throne,’ said Brother Guérin.

  ‘To the throne. He must be mad.’

  ‘Perhaps merely puffed up with pride,’ admitted Guérin. ‘He declares that the first Count of Dreux was not the second son of Louis VI but his first son.’

  ‘What nonsense. Had he been he would have been King!’

  ‘His theory is that that Robert of Dreux was passed over because his father considered him to be less clever and capable of governing than his brother Louis who, though younger, was made out to be the elder and as Louis VII inherited the crown. In which case he, as one of the descendants, claims the throne.’

  ‘But this is absurd. Even if it were true he has elder brothers who would come before him.’

  ‘He reckons that if he fights for the crown it will be his. He is preaching that no good can come to a country which is governed by a boy and … your pardon, my lady … but I tell you what he says … a boy and a woman.’

  Blanche laughed derisively.

  ‘When a minor comes to the throne there will always be such nonsense. We could send troops to capture this man. What he talks is treason. He should be in prison.’

  ‘I am of like mind,’ said Guérin. ‘But he has acted promptly.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He has allied himself to powerful men. Thouars, Lusignan, and I hear that Thibaud of Champagne has joined the malcontents.’

  Blanche put her hands over her eyes. What a mistake to turn Thibaud from his lodgings! She had expected that he would be faithful to her. What a fool she had been! He was a poet. What he wrote in his verses meant nothing to him. He chose words for their beauty more than their meaning.

  She noticed that Brother Guérin was watching closely. O God, she thought, does even he believe these rumours?

  ‘Hugh de Lusignan is the most to be feared,’ she said.

  ‘He was once a tolerant man.’

  ‘Oh, but he married,’ she cried, ‘and since then has no mind of his own. He is one who does what he is told. It is not Hugh whom he must consider but she who guides him in all things. That woman! She will lead him to disaster in time. I know it.’

  ‘At this time,’ said Guérin gently, ‘they are to be feared. I have not told you all. Mauclerc has betrothed his daughter Yolanda to the King of England.’

  ‘Brother Guérin,’ she cried, ‘pray tell me all quickly. The situation becomes more and more gloomy as you proceed to give me disaster piecemeal.’

  ‘That is all I have to tell you, my lady. I think you will agree that it is a situation fraught with foreboding.’

  ‘I do. Powerful barons rising against the King. And one of them allying himself through marriage with England.’

  ‘Forget not that Isabella is the mother of the King of England. Her sympathies will be with him.’

  ‘And where hers are so are her husband’s.’

  ‘’Tis true. If the English King were to choose this moment to attack us, he would find strong support here.’

  ‘And these are the traitors we know. How many are there who keep their secrets, Brother?’

  ‘One day we shall find out unless we can put an end to this.’

  The last thing I wish is for my son to be plunged into war so early in his reign.’

  ‘The position is dangerous, my lady, as it always is when a young king mounts the throne. He has not yet proved himself. He is but a child. Ambitious men are waiting to seize power.’

  ‘I do not wish to go to war,’ said Blanche.

  ‘There is only one other alternative.’

  She nodded. ‘Negotiations. That is the alternative I intend to use.’

  ‘Mauclerc’s claim … ?’

  Blanche gave an impatient exclamation. That is the least important. Who will take that seriously? It is the Lusignans who are making the trouble. From the day Isabella of Angoulême married Hugh de Lusignan I expected it. She saps his spirit. She makes him go the way she wants him to.’

  ‘It is perhaps natural that she should support her son.’

  ‘There is nothing natural about that woman. She is obsessed by herself.’

  ‘How will you overcome her obsession?’

  ‘Perhaps by offering her something better than she could get from her son.’

  ‘You will buy her loyalty?’

  ‘She has no loyalty to give to any but herself. I can perhaps buy her withdrawal. For if what one must have for the safety of the realm cannot be given there is only one alternative and that is to buy it.’

  ‘What will you use for currency?’

  ‘I will consider, Brother, and inform you of my decision. There is one bright hope in this sorry business and that is that those with whom we have to deal will give their allegiance to the highest bidder – for as long as it can do them good, of course.’

  She would speak to him again later, she told Brother Guérin. Then she prepared to have done with her convalescence.

  There was work to be done.

  She must lose no time. The rebels were gathering against Louis. They were asking why France should be governed by a woman – a foreigner at that. Even those who wished to remain loyal to Louis did not want a foreigner ruling them – and a woman.

  Forces were gathering at Thouars; they would attack in the spring. But she must stop the fighting. There must not be civil war in France.

  ‘Have we not enough to do to defend ourselves from the English?’ she asked. ‘How long will it be before they attack us?’

  Brother Guérin said that he believed that Hubert de Burgh was urging the King not to think of regaining French possessions just yet. They had not enough men and ammunition to make it a success. It was true that the King’s brother, the Earl of Cornwall, was still in England and they must pray that he would not join up with rebels.

  She set out and travelled south towards Thouars and set up her camp between that town and Loudun, She then sent messengers to Thouars and asked that one of their company should meet her that they might discuss their differences.

  Then she waited in trepidation. So much depended on this meeting. Would they take her seriously? They must have known that her husband had taken her into his confidence, that she was as much a statesman as he had been, and how often he had benefited from her judgment. They must know that – foreigner though they called her – her one desire was for the welfare of France, that country of which her son was now the King.

  Who would come? she wondered. Would it be Hugh de Lusignan? His wife would surely not be with him. How could she be in the camp! But he would know her wishes and be afraid to act against them.

  It was not Hugh who came as the enemy’s ambassador.

  She felt a flutter of excitement tinged with
apprehension and a certain annoyance when he was brought to her, for the man who was bowing before her was Thibaud of Champagne.

  So they were face to face – the heroine of his fantasies and the man who had told the world that above all things he longed to be her lover.

  He was prepared, for he must have begged to undertake the mission, while she was taken completely by surprise; but it was she who was in complete control.

  ‘So you come here as my enemy, Count,’ she said briskly.

  He lowered his eyes and murmured: ‘My lady, that is something I could never be.’

  ‘Let us keep to the truth,’ she retorted. ‘It will avail us nothing to reject that. You have joined those who stand against the King and they have sent you here to parley with me.’

  ‘My lady, I begged for the chance of doing so.’

  ‘That you might receive my scorn for you all in person.’

  ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘that I may have the joy of seeing you.’

  She shook herself impatiently. ‘My lord, have done. Let us be sensible. You have come here to parley, have you not? To make terms with me that you and your fellow rebels may not harm the King and his lands.’

  ‘I promise you, my lady, that I will serve you with my life.’

  That made her laugh.

  ‘So it seems, my lord! Pray keep your flowery phrases for your verses.’

  ‘You have read my verses, my lady?’

  ‘A few of them. When they have been brought to my notice,’

  ‘I will tell you the truth,’ said Thibaud, ‘for in your presence I could do nothing else. When I was banished from Rheims I turned to your enemies.’

  ‘Before that,’ she said. ‘I remembered how you had deserted the King and for that reason would not have you at the coronation of his son.’

  ‘I warned him. I had served my time. I was a loyal servant of the King but I had no love for him. That was impossible.’

  She ignored the implication.

  ‘And now what have you to say? What threats have you come to offer against the King?’