Текст книги "The Red Rose of Anjou"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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As the month progressed she grew steadily worse and on the morning of the twenty-seventh when her women came into her bedchamber they thought she was sleeping peacefully and did not disturb her, but before the morning was out it was realized that she was dead.

Isabelle knelt at her bedside and thought of all this vital woman had done for her. She could not believe that she would never see her again. Devoted mother, great ruler, affectionate, clever...how fortunate she had been to have been born to such a woman!

I must be like her, thought Isabelle. I must be strong and particularly so since I am married to a man who is scarcely that.

Deeply she mourned her mother but there was little time for mourning. This was going to mean changes. Margaret Dowager Duchess of Lorraine would be greatly missed. She had been popular with the people and that had been of great use in the fight against Antoine de Vaudémont. Isabelle was going to have to take over much of the work her mother had continued to do until her illness overtook her. Yes, there was little time for grieving.

She must plan. Here she was, without the support of her husband and her mother. She had to get her sons back; she had to free her husband; and she had to rule over Lorraine and prevent Antoine de Vaudémont taking it from her.

Her mother had been a power throughout Lorraine. What would happen now she was dead?

Isabelle was going to need all her resources to keep hold of what she had until René and her sons returned.

Messages came from René’s mother, the redoubtable Yolande of Aragon. She understood the predicament in which her daughter-in-law found herself; she admired Isabelle, seeing in her a strong woman such as she was herself. The only kind for a man of René’s gentle nature, and she was grateful to her daughter-in-law.

Now she wrote to her:

‘You have a great task before you. The only child left in your care is Margaret. She will be five years old now. If you would agree to send her to me I should be glad to take charge of her education. Theophanie could bring her back. I promise you I would do my duty by the child.’

Isabelle was greatly relieved to receive the letter. She had been wondering what she was going to do about Margaret. With her father gone and herself unable to give much time to the child, she had been anxious. Moreover Margaret must have sorely missed her brothers after having lost her sister some time before.

It was a good plan.

Little Margaret was alarmed when she heard she was to go to five with her paternal grandmother but Theophanie was delighted.

‘It will be like going home again,’ she said. ‘We’ll be in that very nursery where I nursed your father and his brothers and sisters.’

There was no doubt of Theophanie’s pleasure and it made Margaret feel less apprehensive.

YOLANDE

Margaret quickly became absorbed in the life of the castle where her grandmother reigned supreme. The child had become accustomed to feminine dominance. Her mother had been far more important than her father in Nancy; and here of course all the men of the household bowed to the will of her indomitable grandmother.

Yolande, handsome, young for her years – she was in her fifties – was a woman who could command immediate obedience, and for good reason. Under her rule the Duchy of Anjou prospered as well as any state could with the constant threat of invasion. It was true that the French were gradually winning back territory which the English had wrested from them, but the English were still a danger and there must be constant surveillance lest they should come raiding the country.

Yolande had watchers at every point and was constantly on the alert.

She received her little granddaughter with affection restrained by dignity and tempered by a certain sternness. Margaret was to be brought up to become as strong a woman as her grandmother. Yolande had no patience with those ladies who remained ignorant of everything outside the domestic needs of a household and who were merely objects of ornament. Women should be able to rule when the need arose and Yolande was of the opinion that very often they made a better job of it than the men.

At the same time her granddaughter must be brought up to enjoy the arts and to practice them if she had any ability to do so. Secretly she hoped she would not have too much talent, as her father had. Yolande often sighed over René. René had taken to his artistic instruction with greater enthusiasm than he had to training in outdoor accomplishments. René had too many talents in the artistic fields. He could paint like the finest artist; he could write poetry and music to compare with any troubadour. Oh yes, René had been talented in many directions, except the one which he most needed to hold his estates together in these troublous times.

So she was very anxious that René’s daughter should be brought up in a fitting manner. The best teachers should be provided for her and she could trust faithful old Theophanie to be a good nurse to her.

During her first week at the castle Margaret had two interviews with her grandmother. They were more like audiences and were conducted with a certain amount of ceremony.

During them Yolande stressed the importance of Margaret’s absorbing all she would be taught. She must learn to appreciate fine arts which was what her father would wish. She must at the same time give due attention to her academic studies. She must practise obedience. She must in fact grow up to be worthy of her grandmother.

Five-year-old Margaret, bewildered after being taken from her family, still mourning the loss of her brothers and above all her kind father, tried to understand all that her grandmother endeavoured to impress upon her. She looked upon Yolande —who seemed very, very old to her—as a goddess in her temple, all powerful, all seeing, all knowing, one who must never be offended and always obeyed. Everyone in the household paid the greatest deference to her and Theophanie spoke her name in that special hushed voice which she used when speaking of the Virgin Mary.

Yolande thought it well that the child should understand the true state of affairs, young as she was.

‘Your father is a captive of the Duke of Burgundy,’ she explained, ‘and you are his fourth child. As the Duke of Bar and Marquis of Pont-à-Mousson he would have had little standing in the country even if he were free. He is deeply in debt and there is a ransom to be paid. So you see your position is not a very glorious one.’

Yolande was determined that the child should learn humility. She must not think because she was the granddaughter of Yolande that in herself she was important. She had been taken into the household as an act of charity because her mother was so busily engaged in trying to hold together her father’s impoverished possessions that someone else must take charge of her daughter.

Margaret looked suitably ashamed and Yolande went on: ‘Never forget that you are my granddaughter. We do not know what lies in store for you. It may be that one day you will be called upon to govern as I have been, and as your mother has been. You must be ready for it.’

Margaret said that she would do her best.

Yolande dismissed her and was thoughtful for a while. Poor child, she thought, what hope will there be of a grand marriage for her. René will never regain his estates and if he did would he be able to hold them?

If Margaret had not been so young she would have explained to her that she, Yolande, was the Regent of Anjou because her eldest son, Margaret’s uncle Louis, was away in Naples trying to make good his claim to that crown. She was a woman who had much to occupy her for she was also on excellent terms with the King himself who was her son-in-law. She had little time to spare for bringing up a child—and the youngest daughter of a second son at that. Still, she had done right in bringing her here. Isabelle, capable as she was, would be too deeply caught up with holding René’s estates and trying to get his ransom together. These were difficult times.

Theophanie was in a state of delight, much as she missed Margaret’s brothers. She often talked of little Yolande and hoped the Vaudémonts were good to her.

‘She will have forgotten about us by now, I doubt not,’ she said to Margaret, fearing and half hoping that she would. Poor little mite, to be torn from her home.

Theophanie hoped they would not be making a match for Margaret...just to settle some of their differences.

‘You’ve let them take the others. Lord,’ she reproached. ‘At least let them leave me this little one.’

The days began to pass slowly at first and then not so slowly as Margaret grew more and more accustomed to living at Saumur.

She began to develop a taste for music and poetry. She read the works of Boccaccio with great delight; her teachers discovered that she had an aptitude for learning; she was becoming pretty and her long lustrous blondish hair with a hint of red in it was her greatest attraction.

She missed her home, most of all her father; but she was remembering him even less with the passing of every day. She liked excitement and was even glad on those days when the castle was in a state of alert because there were English in the neighbourhood. Her grandmother had everything in readiness in case they should be besieged.

One day she was summoned to her grandmother’s presence. These summonses were rare and they must herald some important event, so Margaret went to the meeting in a state of excitement mingled with trepidation.

She curtsied to her grandmother aware that those alert eyes watched every movement and that it would be noted if the curtsey was anything but perfect.

‘Come here, child,’ said Yolande, and when Margaret approached, she took her hand and bade her sit on a stool at her feet.

‘I have bad news,’ she said.

Margaret wanted to cry out for she thought of her father at once, then almost immediately afterwards of her mother and brothers and sister.

‘Your uncle Louis is dead.’

Great waves of relief swept over Margaret. Uncle Louis was a vague figure. She had never met him. She merely knew that he was her father’s eldest brother.

‘As you know, he was in Italy fighting for the crown of Naples which is his by rights.’

Margaret said: ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘He died of a fever. He had a wife, Margaret like yourself, and the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, but they had no children. Do you see what this means?’

Margaret knew that it was something to do with the crown of Naples. It was always some crown or castle which was the cause of controversy when someone died. So she guessed this was too.

‘It means that the crown of Naples will go to...’ began Margaret.

‘His nearest of kin. You are right,’ Yolande nodded with approval. ‘And who is the nearest of kin as he has no son and his wife cannot inherit? It is your father, René. Your father is now the King of Naples, Jerusalem and Sicily.’

‘But...he is in prison...’

‘That makes no difference. Your mother will now have to assert your father’s claim to Naples as he cannot do it himself.’

‘But he has not got it. He has to fight for it.’

‘You will learn that most things in this life have to be fought for, my child. What you have to understand is what this means to you. You are the daughter of a King now instead of being merely the daughter of a Duke. You are a Princess, Margaret.’

‘Oh,’ said Margaret overawed.

‘Pray close your mouth,’ said Yolande, ‘and always remember that you are royal.’

###

In spite of becoming a Princess, Margaret found that life went on very much as it had before. She saw little of her grandmother who spent her time between the castle of Angers and that of Saumur. Margaret herself now and then travelled between these two castles for Angers was less than thirty miles from Saumur and easily accessible. Both castles were magnificent fortresses and if the English were to attempt to take them could withstand a long siege.

Margaret was growing into a handsome girl. She was not tall but well formed, very slender and her features were well defined. She had beautiful blue eyes and a firm mouth.

‘It’ll not be difficult to find a husband for her,’ Theophanie confided to one of the attendants. ‘A Princess and even if her father has yet to regain his kingdom, she has looks enough to make some gallant young suitor forget that.’

She was clever, too, said her teachers. She had a sharp wit and was growing up (Theophanie again) to be another such as her grandmother.

Some would have liked to see her grow taller but Theophanie was not so sure. Petite women often had a way of getting what they wanted more easily than their larger sisters. They could be feminine and appealing when the need arose. Theophanie reckoned that Margaret had the best of both sides of the coin. She was going to be as strong-willed as her mother and grandmother and with her dainty looks she was going to appeal to the masculinity of the men she had to do battle with.

All things considered, mused Theophanie, she would not have had her Princess any other than the way she was.

Margaret had passed her ninth birthday when a great occasion occurred.

She was at her lessons, as she was every morning, when a clatter in the courtyard announced the arrival of visitors. They must be friendly or the alert would have been given. There were always men on the watch towers to look out for the approach of the English.

Without waiting to ask permission she ran from the room and down to the courtyard. A small company of men were there and as her eyes fell on one of them she gave a shriek of delight. She could not wait for ceremony. She flung herself into her father’s arms. There was no mistaking the kindly smile, although he had aged considerably, and there was the scar livid as ever on the left side of his forehead.

‘My dearest child,’ cried René. ‘Why...a child no longer. How you have grown! What a fine lady they have made of you!’

‘Oh my father, dearest, dearest father...’

They clung together. And there was Yolande standing in the courtyard watching them.

René released his daughter and embraced his mother.

‘This is good news,’ she cried. ‘René, my son. You are free.’

‘Free...but with much to tell.’

‘Rooms must be prepared and orders given in the kitchens. How delighted I am to have you with us. You have already seen Margaret.’

Margaret could not remember anything that should be done on occasions such as this. She could only think that her beloved father was with her once more. She just stood with him, her arms encircling him, and even Yolande could not hide her emotion.

They went into the castle. There was bustle everywhere and very soon appetising smells pervaded the place.

There must be a banquet in honour of this son who, since the death of his brother, was Yolande’s eldest.

There was indeed much to tell and it did not all make good hearing. René had insisted that Margaret be with them. He could not stay long and he wanted as much time as possible with his daughter.

‘When must you go?’ asked Yolande.

‘I must not stay more than three or four days at the most.’

Yolande, to Margaret’s surprise, made no attempt to send her away so she heard all that had been happening to her father.

‘So you are really free,’ said Yolande.

‘Completely,’ replied René. ‘The ransom has been paid. Isabelle has been wonderful in raising the money.’

‘You should be grateful to your wife,’ said Yolande.

‘I am. Make no mistake about that. She is a wonderful woman...as you are, my lady mother. She has come from the same mould.’

Yolande graciously inclined her head. She never denied anything in which she believed. It was true that dear weak René had been blessed with a strong wife and a strong mother.

‘And Burgundy?’ she asked.

‘You may be sure he struck a bargain. John is betrothed to his niece Marie of Bourbon.’

‘Indeed,’ said Yolande. She was resentful that a match should have been made without consulting her.

‘Burgundy’s niece,’ said René. ‘And therefore a good connection. Besides, he was adamant. Those were his conditions.’

‘Well, at least it shows that he still thinks well enough of you to want the connection. How old is John now?’

‘Twelve years.’

‘Well, old enough I dare swear. And where is Louis?’

‘With his mother in Naples. Whither I must go with all speed. But I could not resist coming to see my mother and my daughter.’

‘My dear René, may God preserve you and give you strength.’

‘I shall need it,’ said René. ‘I know it does not go so well in Naples.’

‘How happy you must be to feel free again.’

‘To be with my family, yes, but I have been treated well during my captivity. I have been painting a great deal and it is astonishing how quickly that passes the time.’

Yolande smiled at him fondly. Painting when he should have been considering means of ruling his possessions, and first of all getting some of them into his hands.

Ineffectual René. But dear René all the same. None could help loving him.

It was a sad day when he rode off. He was longing to join Isabelle but it was clear that his heart was not in the fighting that would have to be done to gain the crown of Naples.

###

Each day Margaret waited for news of her father, but the months passed and there was nothing. There was less danger now of the English raiding the land, for fortune was favouring the French and the situation was very different from the way it had been when Joan of Arc had come from her village to talk to the King.

One year passed and then another and still no news from Naples.

‘A crown is not easily gained,’ said Yolande. ‘Your father is short of money and I do not believe he is the greatest general in the world. If only he were half as good a soldier as he is a painter it might be a different story.’

Then there was exciting news, but not of René.

The King had sent word that it was long since he had seen his mother-in-law. He was, if she would receive him, thinking of paying her a visit.

Yolande was beside herself with delight; and almost immediately apprehensive. A royal visit! It must be conducted in a fitting manner and that meant that they must begin to prepare at once.

It should take place at the castle of Angers which would be more suitable than Saumur. She would see her dear daughter again but Margaret sensed that the one she really cared about was the King.

For several weeks there was no talk of anything but the coming visit. The castle was cleaned from the tallest turret to the lowest dungeon although as Theophanie grumbled it was hardly likely that the King would go there. She herself would be glad to see young Marie again, but she reckoned she had changed a lot since nursery days. All those children she had had and a Queen too. Oh, she expected to see changes in Marie.

It did her good though to see the lady Yolande so pleased with life. Just of late she had imagined that my lady was getting a Little tired, feeling her age. If she did it would be the first time in her life that she had—but that was what worried Theophanie.

There must be new clothes for them all. Margaret must stand still while rich materials were fitted on her. She had never felt so grown up in her life before.

Then came the great day.

The watchers on the tower gave the signal. The cavalcade was sighted. Everyone was to be ready now to greet them, to let them know what a great honour this was.

Yolande stood at the gates of the castle, Margaret beside her. The heralds blew their trumpets and there were the King and the Queen and a brilliant company of ladies and gentlemen.

The King dismounted. Yolande went on her knees, and Margaret did the same.

‘Rise, rise, my lady,’ said the King. ‘It does me good to see you. I have missed your company.’

And there was the Queen, Margaret’s aunt Marie. She embraced Yolande, and then Margaret was presented to her and the King.

She was too nervous to look at them closely and too busy remembering all she had been taught she must do, but she did have time to glance at the King and she thought he did not seem very much like a King. He was not very handsome. His nose fascinated her; it seemed to hang right over his mouth. However, he spoke very gently to her and she believed that in spite of his unprepossessing appearance he was kind.

And then as Yolande was about to lead them into the hall she noticed someone else. Her hand was taken and held firmly. She turned and looked up into a beautiful and half familiar face. For a moment she was unsure and then she murmured: ‘Agnès.’

‘Yes, it is Agnès. Oh Margaret, how you have grown.’

‘You have changed too.’

A strange look came over Agnès’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I have, have I not?’

There was no time for more talk as they followed the party into the hall.

###

It was a visit Margaret felt that she would never forget. She had never known such entertaining at Angers before. But of course she had not. She had never known what it was like when the King came to visit. Yolande had said that there should be all the splendour of the past in Angers on the occasion of the King’s visit and she had certainly kept her word about that. The banquets, the balls, the players who were called in, the singing, the dancers, it was one spectacle after another. Yolande threw herself into the arrangements with such enthusiasm that at the end of the day she could scarcely stagger to her bed. Margaret knew this, for one night she had gone to her room to take her one of Theophanie’s possets. ‘I used to give it to the children now and then,’ the nurse said. ‘My lady will know what it is. She’s doing too much, that she is.’

Theophanie was right because when Margaret went to her grandmother’s room she found her stretched out on her bed, her eyes closed and a look of utter weariness on her face. She was not pleased with Margaret and made that clear. It was not, as she said, because it was unseemly of her to do a servant’s work, it was because she hated her granddaughter to see her exhaustion.

It was true that Yolande was feeling her age. She could tell herself that she had become too excited, had thrown herself too energetically into the task of entertaining the royal party, but a few years ago these activities would have provided nothing but stimulation.

Sixty! It was a great age. And Yolande had till now unconsciously believed herself to be immortal.

How much longer was left? There were things she would like to see before she died. René settled. Well, she had given up hoping for that. She knew René. He was greatly loved but he was somehow ineffectual. She often wondered how she could have given birth to such a son. No, she was a realist. She must not hope for the impossible. What she wanted more than anything was to see France free and she wanted Charles to bring about that happy state. Some strange instinct within her had always known that he could do it. There had been a time when that would have seemed absurd to some, but it never had to her. She had been drawn to the King when as Dauphin he had married her daughter. He had felt similarly attracted to her. It was a strange relationship having in it none of the elements which the King usually felt towards women. It was an abiding friendship, a rare devotion. If she had been younger perhaps she should have been his wife. No, it was better so. She had watched his progress from afar and she had rejoiced, and she felt that she had had some small part in the surprising advance which he had made.

She was determined to have a private talk with Agnès Sorel because she felt that she could learn a great deal from her, but first she wished to speak to her daughter.

It was not like Yolande to feel uneasy about her actions. She was almost always certain that she was right and that she had been in this case was proved. The change in Charles had been little short of miraculous and Yolande had a shrewd idea of how it had been brought about.

She was on the point of sending for her daughter when she remembered that even she did not send for the Queen of France. Instead she requested her daughter to come to her.

Marie came at once. Like her husband she had the greatest respect for Yolande.

‘Dear child, I will forget you are the Queen for a time and remember only that you are my daughter,’ said Yolande. ‘It is so rarely that I have a chance to be with you alone. Tell me, Marie, how are the children?’

‘In good health, thank you. Mother.’

‘And Louis?’

The Queen lifted her shoulders. ‘Louis will always go his own way.’

‘Something of a trial to his father,’ said Yolande.

‘Poor Charles, he has troubles enough without a rebellious Dauphin.’

‘It is a pity,’ agreed Marie; but Yolande had not brought Marie here to speak of the Dauphin’s behaviour. She went on: ‘Charles has become a different man. That gives me great pleasure.’

‘Oh yes. France is emerging victorious all over the country. We shall soon have driven the English out.’

Yolande nodded. ‘And how do you feel about...Agnès Sorel.’

Again that lift of the shoulders. ‘Charles has always had mistresses,’ said the Queen.

‘Agnès is perhaps...different.’

‘Oh yes,’ said the Queen, ‘quite different. In fact one might say the King no longer has mistresses. He has a mistress.’

‘Agnès is a good girl, Marie, do you agree?’

‘I do.’

‘And you, Marie...you are her friend.’

Marie smiled. ‘I know what you are thinking, my lady mother. You decided that Agnès should be at Court when you saw he was taken by her. And you are wondering what I his wife think of my mother who should introduce him to such a mistress. Do not forget, my dear mother, that it was you who brought me up. Life was wretched before. You know how we lived when his father gave Katherine to the King of England and promised that King his throne on his death. Charles was cast out. Even after his father’s death he was just the Dauphin when he was in truth the King. We had no money...nothing. I had to sell jewels to provide us with food. And he did not care...He went whichever way he was guided. It was humiliating. And then the Maid came. We both believed in her, did we not, and we made him believe and he did. She saved Orléans and had him crowned at Rheims and even after that he was still listless. He has never really forgiven himself for letting her be burned as a witch.’

‘Poor, poor Charles, he needs looking after.’

‘He has someone to look after him. He has his queen...his mother-in-law...and most of all his mistress.’

‘Ah, I knew Agnès would be good for him.’

‘He loves her, my lady. I never thought he could rouse himself from his lethargy to love. But he loves Agnès. She is a good woman. I think he had to persuade her rather forcibly to share his bed and bear his children. She loves him too. In spite of his looks there is something lovable about Charles.’

Yolande agreed with that. She loved him herself. She said ‘Then it was right not to take Agnès away.’

‘Agnès has done more for him than anyone. He roused himself to gain her good opinion. She changed him and in doing that changed France. Dear Mother, ease your conscience. I am his wife but I rejoice in Agnès.’

Yolande’s conscience was now clear on that point. She sent for Agnès.

Agnès came and stood before her. How beautiful she is! thought Yolande. Even more so than when she was a maiden in Isabelle’s household. She has gained with maturity.

Agnès guessed that Yolande wished to speak to her about her relationship with the King and since Yolande was the mother of his wife, she expected some reproaches.

Yolande bade her sit.

‘You have changed since I last saw you, Agnès,’ she said, ‘but you are more beautiful than ever. And happy, I trust.’

‘Yes, my lady, I am happy as any can be in these troublous times.’

‘Growing less troublesome though since the King roused himself and decided to be a King.’

Agnès did not answer; she lowered her head but Yolande caught the smile of satisfaction.

‘Agnès, I hear Charles has built a Château for you in the forest near Loches. The Château de la Guerche I believe.’

‘That is so, my lady. The King has been very kind to me.’

‘I believe you have been very kind to him.’

The delicate colour in Agnès’s cheeks deepened slightly.

‘My lady, I did not wish to find myself in this position.’

‘I know, I know. He fell in love with you and you wished to escape from him. You had no ambition to be a King’s mistress. I believe that, Agnès, so would all who knew you. But you were at his Court and he would not let you go. You were not a young girl who would fall in love for love’s sake. Charles was hardly the sort, to inspire that, was he? You resisted him and you told him that he was indolent, that he was destroying his country, that you could not admire a King who behaved as he did. Is that so, Agnès?’

‘Perhaps I implied that. A maid of honour to the Queen could scarcely be so bold to the King.’

‘But you were bold, Agnès, because you had this effect on him. He changed his ways to please you. He sought you out. He talked to you. And you were always a clever girl. Rarely is one so blessed with beauty and wisdom and when God bestows these He expects them to be used. I brought you here, Agnès, to tell you that I and the Queen are thankful to you. We believe that you have done as much for France as the Maid did. She showed him the way to victory but you led him there. I want you to know, Agnès, that both I and the Queen are grateful to you...as the whole of France should be. You love him now.’

‘It would be impossible not to. I am so often with him. We talk of the affairs of France.’

‘He listens to you.’

‘I am no general, my lady. I am no statesman. But I do know that the King must bestir himself He must rule. My lady, he does rule now.’

‘Yes, he does indeed. And see what results it is having. The English lost Henry and then the Duke of Bedford. That was good for France, particularly as we regained our King. I wanted you to know, Agnès, that we are with you...the Queen and I. France will be with you...if not now one day. It surprises me that France must be grateful to two women, Joan the Maid and Agnès Sorel.’

‘Others too, my lady. Yourself The King sets great store by your opinion. And there is the Queen, too.’