Текст книги "The Red Rose of Anjou"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
‘Do you think a King of England would be guided to act against his own country in favour of France?’
‘Not really, of course, nor could we expect him to. What I mean is a little gentle persuasion eh, when some matter arises.’
‘I shall have to wait and see what matters arise.’
‘You will delight him I know. And he must want this marriage very much to consider giving up Maine and Anjou for it.’
A few days later her father was disturbed. Since her betrothal he had taken her into his confidence. It was as though he regarded her as already Queen of England and if she were going to work for the good of France she must be kept cognizant of affairs.
‘The Vaudémonts will attend the wedding and they say that it is high time that your sister Yolande and Ferri were married. Yolande is older than you and yet you are to be a bride. They want a double wedding.’
‘It will be wonderful to see Yolande again.’
‘Margaret, I always intended that this wedding should never take place. Yolande...my daughter...to marry my great enemy.’
‘But it was the terms of peace. Father. You agreed to this marriage.’
‘Because I was forced to.’
‘But it was for this reason that you were released.’
‘Yolande was only a child then. I was determined that the marriage should never take place. I am still determined. And now the Vaudémonts will be coming to your wedding and they are making plans for Ferri de Vaudémont to marry Yolande at the same time.’
Margaret was astounded. She was very uneasy when she saw the look of determination in her father’s face and she wondered whether he was planning some wild action to prevent the marriage of Yolande and Ferri de Vaudémont.
###
Margaret said a sad farewell to Theophanie, who was in tears knowing that it was highly improbable that they would ever meet again, and with her parents set out on the journey to Nancy.
The whole neighbourhood was en fête. This was going to be the grandest wedding they had seen for a long time. It was true the bridegroom would not be present and there would be a nobleman of high rank to stand in for him but the King and all the Court would be there, among them the famous beauty and counsellor of the King, Agnès Sorel, who, it was said, he loved more than his life.
There would be festivities which would last for days and already the traders in the neighbourhood had profited by all the work this had brought them.
Crowds of people were converging on the town of Nancy from all over France and the people even cheered the English delegation.
When Margaret appeared riding between her father and mother the people went wild with joy. ‘Long live the beautiful bride!’ they shouted; and Margaret was thrilled for the first time by the acclaim of the people. It was then that she realized the importance of the occasion. She was going into a new country as its Queen and silently she vowed that she would never forget her native land.
The King and the Queen were already in the castle. Margaret sank to her knees and was lifted up by the King and warmly kissed. Her aunt Marie glowed with affection too and there was Agnès standing beside the King, dazzling as ever with that rather unearthly beauty of hers.
They were making a very important occasion of it.
Then she was presented to the English embassy headed by Suffolk. He introduced her to his lady to whom she immediately took a great fancy. She liked Suffolk too. There was a kindliness about him and he had such a protective air.
The King told her that jousts and all sorts of entertainments were being planned to celebrate her nuptials.
‘Dear niece,’ he said, ‘this is going to be an occasion you will never forget.’
‘I suppose, Sire,’ said Margaret, ‘that few forget their wedding days.’
‘This is but a proxy marriage and there will be the official ceremony when you get to England. I want you to remember this as your last ceremonial occasion as a Princess of France.’
He placed his hand over hers and patted it. She sensed that he was very pleased with the wedding.
It was a great delight to see Yolande again.
At first the sisters did not recognize each other, which was natural since it must be twelve years since they had been together. They both remembered though vaguely the upheavals in their lives which young as they were had made a deep impression. There was that journey to France undertaken when Margaret was two and Yolande three to go with their mother to plead with the King. They remembered how shortly afterwards Yolande was taken away to go to live with the Vaudémont.
‘And now we are both to be married,’ said Yolande.
‘You too?’ asked Margaret.
‘Ferri is determined on it. He has said we have waited over-long. Every time it is suggested our father makes some excuse why it should not take place.’
‘You want to marry then, Yolande?’
‘But of course,’ said Yolande. ‘Ferri and I have grown up together. We have always been good friends. It is different for you, Margaret. You have never seen your bridegroom.’
‘The Marchioness of Suffolk tells me a great deal about him. She says he is handsome though gently so...if you know what that means. In fact, everything about him is gentle. He is kindly and hates being cruel to anyone even his enemies, and he is a great scholar and interested in poetry, painting and music’
‘That should suit you,’ said Yolande, ‘and if you are anything like our mother and grandmother—which I suspect you are– you will be able to tell him what he ought to do.’
‘The more I talk of him the less apprehensive I become. What of Ferri?’
‘Ferri is bold and romantic and I would not have him otherwise. I am fortunate not to be going to a man I do not know.’
‘But I feel I already know Henry through Alice.’
‘Who is Alice?’
‘She is the Marchioness. I call her Alice. She asked me to. She is a very pleasant woman. I have taken a fancy to her and I think she has to me.’
‘Most people would be ready to take a fancy to their Queen.’
‘I have no doubt, but I do feel friendship for Alice. She is different from any woman I have met. Perhaps it is because she did not descend entirely from the nobility. Her father, she tells me, was Thomas Chaucer, the eldest son of Geoffrey Chaucer who made a name for himself with his writing. He married a sister of Catherine Swynford who was John of Gaunt’s third wife. You see the connection.’
‘Ah, she climbed into the nobility.’
‘Her father was a very rich man. He was Speaker of the House of Commons and the Marquess of Suffolk is her third husband.’
‘What a lot you know about her.’
‘We talk and it comes out. She was an only child and I suppose she had a fortune. She was married to the Earl of Salisbury before she married Suffolk. I like her very much. In fact I like Suffolk too. I feel in them I shall have good friends in my new home.’
‘You are excited about this marriage, Margaret. I wish mine could be settled. Father is going to stop it again, I believe.’
‘Perhaps if you spoke to him...’
‘I have done so. He hates the Vaudémont, Margaret.’
‘I suppose it is natural. They were really the beginning of his troubles. If they hadn’t claimed Lorraine...’
‘They had a right to,’ declared Yolande. ‘The Salic Law does exist and their claim for Lorraine comes before his.’
‘You will never get our father to see that.’
‘But he agreed to the terms...marriage for Ferri and me.’
‘I am sure Father will relent. It would be pleasant to have the two marriages together.’
‘We are going to insist on it.’
‘Then I am sure it will take place.’
But René was adamant when it was suggested.
‘There is so much that has to be arranged first,’ he insisted.
But those who knew him well fully understood that this was another example of his procrastination. The fact was that he did not want his daughter to marry into a house which he considered an enemy. That he had promised, that the marriage had been one of the terms of an agreement did not worry him. René was accustomed to waiving an agreement when it suited him.
But he had reckoned without a hot-blooded, romantic lover. Ferri was making plans and if he could get no satisfaction from his prospective bride’s father he intended to carry them out.
The dark November weather had no effect on the ceremonies.
In fact it accentuated their brilliance and crowds witnessed the proxy marriage of Margaret with the Marquess of Suffolk standing in as her bridegroom when the Bishop of Toul performed the ceremony in the church of St. Martins in Nancy and in the presence of a most illustrious assembly presided over by the King of France.
The King had said that this should be an occasion to be remembered and he was determined to make it so. René was nothing loth. He was eager that no expense should be spared– even if it was the expense of others—and with the King of France giving the orders it was very grand indeed.
There must be a tournament in honour of the new Queen of England and all the most famous champions of France must perform in it. Margaret could not help being thrilled by the sight of the pavilions flying their pennants and the numbers of chivalrous knights who wore the daisy. She had chosen this symbol because her name was Margaret which meant a daisy and she had always loved the flower because of that. From now on it should be her emblem and this exhibition of chivalry should be the Field of Daisies.
She sat with the two Queens—her mother and her aunt Marie of France and watched the jousting. The King himself took part more than once and René also rode into the lists.
Margaret had never seen anything like it in the whole of her life and the fact that it should all be in honour of herself—a fifteen-year-old girl—was overwhelming.
There must be eight days of revelry the King had decreed, and each day should be better than the one before. There was one occasion when a figure clad in armour set with jewels appeared at the tournament and when the visor was thrown back the most beautiful face in France was revealed. Agnès Sorrel had appeared thus at the request of the King who wished the whole of France to know how much he revered her.
Charles rode round the field with Agnès and even the Queen joined in the applause.
It was while this was happening that there was a sudden commotion around the royal loge where the ladies were seated. Ferri de Vaudémont had stepped up to Yolande and taking her hand had walked with her across the field. Intent on the glittering Agnès and the homage done to her by the King, few had noticed. And then Ferri had set Yolande on a horse and himself mounting behind her, with a company of five or six friends began to gallop away.
René was the first to notice. He shouted: ‘After them!’ And several of his men gave chase.
The King was astonished. Instead of admiration for his beautiful Agnès there was a tittering in the crowd and everyone was agog to know what had happened.
He ordered that a troop of guards be sent out to see what the disturbance meant and to bring back the fugitives.
Ferri’s attempt to abduct his bride was short-lived; perhaps he had intended it should be so and his motive in making it had merely been to call attention to his case. Within a few hours he was brought before the King.
‘What did you mean by behaving in such a way at my tournament?’ demanded Charles.
‘Sire,’ replied Ferri, ‘I had to call your attention and that of others to the situation in which King René has placed not only me but his daughter. Yolande was sent to us as a child. We have grown up together. She wants to marry me as I do her and yet again and again the ceremony is put off simply because the King of Naples does not wish to honour his agreement.’
‘I will speak to the lady,’ said Charles and ordered that Yolande be brought before him.
‘You have been the victim of an abduction,’ said Charles. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘I was very willing that the abduction should take place. Sire.’
Charles began to laugh. ‘And doubtless planned it with your abductor?’
‘You are right. Sire.’
‘And you want to get married. You are a year older than your sister, eh, and she is now marrying. Is that what you feel?’
‘It is, my lord.’
‘For my part I see no reason why we should not have a double wedding. Perhaps I should speak to King René.’
The two young people fell on their knees and kissed the King’s hands.
‘Enough,’ said Charles. ‘I know you will be grateful if I persuade René to allow the marriage to take place. So, let me see what I can do.’
He sent for René. Agnès was with him when René arrived.
‘So your daughter was abducted?’ he said.
‘It is an outrage. It changes everything. It releases me from my bond. I shall take my daughter back with me.’
‘Nay, nay. You go too fast. In the first place it does not release you from your bond. The marriage was at the root of the agreement you made with the Vaudémont when you were beaten in battle by them. You must remain faithful to the laws of chivalry, brother-in-law.’
René was silent. He had always prided himself on keeping those rules.
‘Be reasonable. The marriage must take place if you value your honour. The young people are eager for it. Why delay?’
‘There are certain matters which have to be arranged.’
‘Oh come, René, how many years have you had to arrange those matters?’
Agnès said: ‘If I may say it, my lord, it would seem to me that much expense would be spared if Yolande and Ferri were married now. Margaret could share her celebrations with those of her sister.’
Charles laughed inwardly. Trust Agnès to find the right answer.
René was wavering. The expenses of a daughter’s wedding were great. He was deeply in debt everywhere. Of course if the wedding took place now Charles would be paying for everything.
He said: ‘To abduct her in that way...’
‘Poor young man. He was desperate.’
‘You must forgive him,’ said Agnès gently. ‘Remember it was for love of your daughter.’
‘Well,’ said René, ‘since it appears to be your wish, Sire, and yours my lady...’
‘Let us send for the happy pair and tell them the good news,’ said Agnès.
So Yolande and Ferri were married and the jousts and the entertainments continued.
###
Charles talked to Agnès about the alliance of Margaret and Henry. He was sure it was a good thing for France.
‘It is an indication of the change which has come about since his father married a French Princess. The Fifth Henry had the daughter of the King of France. Our dear Margaret is a very minor Princess—in fact some would say no true Princess at all.’
‘Well, her father is the King of Sicily and Naples.’
‘Poor René, do you think he will ever see Sicily again?’
‘No, but it gives him some satisfaction to call himself King.’
‘And it has brought a crown for his daughter. I doubt she would have been considered if she had not borne the title of Princess...minor though it is.’
‘I hope the dear child will be happy.’
‘She will rule Henry, I am sure of that. He is a weakling, you know, and she is the sort of woman to rule. I shall never forget her grandmother...’
Agnès put her hand over his. ‘I know how dear she was to you.’
‘She was such an extraordinary woman. I was sad to lose her. Thank God I had you, Agnès, then.’
‘I shall always be beside you.’
‘It must be so,’ he said. ‘It would be too hard for me to live without you.’ He was thoughtful for a while. Then he said: ‘It is very good for France to have a strong Frenchwoman Queen of England.’
‘Remember she is very young.’
‘I do. But she is clever, and I think she will remember her duty to France. I will send for her and talk to her, and then you shall tell me if you think she will be good for France when she is in England.’
Margaret was pleased to be summoned by the King. She had become very fond of him. He was always kind and treated her as though she were his daughter. He had made a great effort to give her a splendid wedding and, although she knew that this was to impress the English, at the same time he had delighted to please her. Moreover he had brought about the marriage of Ferri and Yolande, for if he had not made it his business René would have found excuses to put it off again.
He received her informally and kissed her tenderly. Agnès did the same.
‘So,’ said the King, ‘we now have before us the Queen of England. How does it feel to be a Queen?’
‘I am scarce that yet.’
‘‘Tis true you have not seen your bridegroom and have had to take old Suffolk in his stead.’
‘The Marquess of Suffolk has been a good friend to me, as has the Marchioness.’
‘It is well that you make friends. You may need them when you get to your new home. So you have taken a fancy to the Suffolks. And the Talbots too, I believe.’
‘I have found them to be very kind to me.’
‘So they should be...to their Queen. It is going to be a difficult path you have to follow. Sometimes it is necessary to pursue a devious policy. You are very young and there are those who will seek to exploit your youth. You will have to be watchful, Margaret.’
‘I know that it is not going to be easy...’
‘But you are a clever girl. Often I see your grandmother in you and your mother has always had my greatest admiration. You are another such as they are, and I can tell you that you will find the King easily led. Margaret, make sure you are the one to lead him.’
‘Do you think he will listen to me?’
‘Of a certainty he will. You will be the nearest to him. He is a gentle person, they tell me. He does not care for brilliant ceremonies and all the pomp of kingship. He is a good young man. You will have no difficulty with him. It is those around him of whom you will have to be watchful. You must influence him in the choice of those close to him and let me tell you something I have learned: walk very warily at first. Let them see you as the young girl...the child...a little bewildered by her new home, anxious to please. But all the time you will be watchful. Make sure you are friendly with those closest to the King. At the moment he is ruled by them. One of whom you will be particularly careful is the Duke of Gloucester. He was against the marriage, and he will be unfriendly to you. He will try to prove that it was a mistake. Watch him but do not be afraid of him. If you are clever there will be nothing to fear from him. He is popular—for some odd reason—but his wife was accused of witchcraft which she was using to destroy the King. He is losing his power, but watch him.’
‘I will do as you say, dear uncle. I can see I shall have to learn a great deal.’
‘Then you have made the first step. Is that not so, Agnès?’
‘Yes,’ said Agnès, ‘the first lesson is always learning that there is much to be learned.’
‘It is never wise,’ went on the King, ‘to give too much power to the nobles. Then they will vie with each other. It sets up rivalries between them. It is better to give posts of authority to those who come from less exalted beginnings and have shown by their talents that they can excel in them. Above all, dear child, remember that you are French. Never forget your native land.’
‘I could never do that. I shall always love France. England will be my adopted country but France is my own.’
‘That is right,’ said the King. ‘And your marriage has brought about a truce between us. They wanted a peace but they shall not have that until they withdraw all claims to the crown of France. In the meantime they are holding on to Maine and Anjou. Margaret, they must give up these provinces and in particular Maine. Only when Maine is in our hands can we be certain of driving them out of France. You must persuade the King to give up Maine.’
‘You could not take it?’
‘At great expense of life and money and then perhaps not succeed. No, I want them to give it back to us in exchange for peace.’
‘I will do what I can...for France,’ said Margaret.
‘Bless you, my child,’ said the King. ‘Our love and faith go with you.’
###
It was time to leave and her father very solemnly handed her over to the Marquess and Marchioness of Suffolk. The King was present and he was seen to wipe away a tear when he took his niece into his arms and kissed her tenderly.
He whispered to her as he held her against him, ‘Remember us. Remember France.’
And she replied: ‘I will. Oh, I promise I will.’
When the cavalcade went out from the castle, the King rode with Margaret for two leagues and then he said he must take his last farewell of her. They embraced and they were both weeping.
‘You are going to one of the greatest thrones of Europe, my dear niece,’ said Charles, ‘but it is scarcely worthy of you.’
‘I will try to do what is right,’ she told him. ‘And I shall always love you and France.’
The King was genuinely moved and after one last embrace turned and rode sadly back to Nancy.
René and Isabelle rode on with her. The parting with them would come later; and as they rode along it occurred to them that their daughter was very young and that they were placing her in the court of intrigue in a country which was not entirely in favour of receiving her.
They reached Bar where they were to part and when the moment came they could not speak—not one of them. They could only look mutely at each other lest their pent feelings should escape and they give way to grief.
As she rode away, not daring to look back at her father, Alice brought her horse to ride beside her. She said nothing but her sympathy and this gesture touched Margaret deeply. It meant that she had said goodbye to her family but she still had friends.
There was a long way to go yet. Her party consisted of the most important people in England, led as it was by the Marquess and Marchioness of Suffolk and the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. The Earl of Wiltshire was also there with the Lords Greystock and Clifford. The English were as determined as the French had been to make a good impression and had sent not only guards but all the servants which the young Queen might have need of on her journey; and besides knights and squires there were carvers, grooms and servants to perform any task which she might require of them. The wages of these people in addition to the food which had to be provided for them had cost the King of England more than five thousand pounds which had to be found from a very depleted exchequer and showed, said those who knew the state of his finances, how very eager he was for the French marriage.
When the party arrived in Paris the people were out to cheer and there was a meeting in the streets between Charles Due d’Orléans and the Queen. The people were delighted and cheered madly. The Queen was so young, so appealing, so beautiful. Our little Daisy, they called her and everyone carried daisies—some of which were made of paper; and it was all in honour of the little Queen. There was a service in Notre Dame where a Te Deum was sung and there was great rejoicing in the street for the people saw in this marriage a prospect of peace; and that was what they longed for more than anything.
When the party left Paris the Due d’Orléans rode with it to Pontoise. This was an important point of the journey because it was at the border between the French and the English possessions in France. And there waiting to welcome her was Richard, Duke of York.
This was her first meeting with a man who considered himself as royal as the King. He was descended from Edward the Third by both parents, for his father had been the son of Edmund Langley, the King’s fifth son; and his mother was the daughter of Roger Mortimer, grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence. He had come to join the party and conduct her to England.
He was immensely proud and although he was courteous, Margaret thought him arrogant and she did not like him as she had the Suffolks and Shrewsbury. However, he was a man of great importance in England and must be close to the King. She remembered what her mentor the King of France had told her and tried to win the friendship of the Duke of York.
At Pontoise she must say goodbye to the last of her personal attendants, also to her brother John and the Due d’Alençon who had accompanied her so far. She was now entirely among the English.
In a barge decorated especially for her with a fine display of daisies she sailed down the Seine to Rouen and there she was received with great acclaim.
She was taken into the city in a litter lavishly decorated with more daisies. The Marquess of Suffolk, who had stood for the King in the proxy ceremony, rode ahead of her litter, and the Duke of York and the Earl of Shrewsbury were on either side of her. The other members of the party followed behind.
She must rest awhile in Rouen and therefore perform the ceremonies which were expected of her.
Alice proved to be a good friend for Margaret was very soon in difficulty over money. René, always financially pressed himself and with many debts which he could never hope to settle, had not been able to provide her with the money she would need to defray the cost of the journey which it was her responsibility to pay.
When Alice told her that it was the custom in Rouen for royal brides to give to the poor certain articles of clothing according to her age, she was bewildered.
‘Clothing,’ she cried. ‘What sort of clothing?’
‘A gown of some sort and a pair of shoes...the shoes are very important. You must give these. The people expect it.’
‘But how many garments and pairs of shoes must I provide?’
‘As many as the years you have lived. In your case it will be fifteen. Oh, do not worry. We have arranged everything and the gowns and the shoes are all ready. They will be handed over as soon as they are paid for. The people of Rouen never trust anyone...even Queens.’
‘I can see they are a wise people,’ said Margaret a little grimly, ‘for frankly, Alice, I cannot pay for these things. If I do I shall not be able to continue the journey. There are other expenses yet.’
‘Your father will pay, I doubt not.’
‘Alice,’ said Margaret slowly, ‘my father can never pay. He is deeply in debt now and has been for as long as I can remember.’
‘I shall have to lend you the money,’ said Alice.
‘I will put some of my silver in pawn with you. You shall hold it until I can pay you back.’
‘There is no need...’ began Alice.
But Margaret silenced her. ‘I do not want to build up debts,’ she said firmly. ‘I do not want to be careless with other people’s money. I fear my father has always been like that and see what has happened to him. He is always warding off some creditor. Not that he minds. He is sublimely indifferent to such matters. Oh, he is the dearest man, the finest man...I love him very much, but he does have this characteristic...and I do not want to be like that.’
So Alice took the silver and found the money for the garments and shoes, and more also for there were all sorts of people to pay on the way and the Queen could not begin by making a bad impression by not paying her dues.
At last they came to Barfleur where two ships lay in the bay awaiting them. One was the Cokke John of Cherbourg in which Margaret and her immediate entourage were to sail and the other, Mary of Hampton, was for the rest of the party.
It was a short journey across the Channel for the strong southeast wind blew them over, but it was exceedingly uncomfortable and almost as soon as they had left the shore Margaret was dreadfully sick.
Most of the party were ill but not as violently so as Margaret. Alice, feeling dreadfully ill herself, tried to minister to her but Margaret could only murmur: ‘I never before felt so ill. I just want to die.’
It was a great relief to all when land was in sight.
Alice bent over Margaret and whispered: ‘We have arrived. This sickness will rapidly pass once we are on dry land.’
All the same she went to call her husband for the Queen seemed to her to be suffering from something more than the effects of the sea.
There was great consternation for spots were beginning to show themselves on Margaret’s face. Alice opened her gown and saw that they were also on her chest.
‘God help us,’ she cried. ‘The Queen is suffering from a plague.’
The Marquess told his wife to wrap the Queen in a blanket and he would carry her ashore. Alice did as she was bid and taking the Queen in his arms Suffolk waded through the sea with her to the beach. From the town came the sounds of revelry and many people having seen the ship lying off the land had come down to greet her.
There was a hushed silence as Suffolk placed her in a litter and took her with all speed to a convent in the town of Portsmouth. This convent was known as Godde’s House, and there the doctors attended her and under their instructions the nuns nursed her.
There was great consternation for it was believed that the Queen was suffering from the dreaded small pox which would almost certainly mean her death or at best her disfigurement, so it was with tremendous relief that after a few days Margaret appeared to be suffering not from small pox but a mild form of chicken pox and the spots began to disappear without leaving any mark behind them and she herself, under the care of the nuns, began to recover.
Meantime Henry, all impatience, came riding to Southampton and immediately sent for Suffolk to hear the latest news of the Queen.
‘She is recovering, my lord,’ said Suffolk. ‘We have all been so anxious, but the Queen’s illness was not what we feared. There is nothing but a minor outbreak of some pox and she is recovering fast.’
‘I wish to see her. Does she know I am here?’
I think not, my lord. But you may rest assured she is as eager to see you as you are to see her.’
Fearful that he might find her hideously disfigured and might not be able to hide his revulsion, Henry said on impulse: ‘I will not come to her as the King. I wish you to tell her that I am a squire who has brought a message for her from the King. Then I may see her as she is...naturally...without ceremony, you understand.’
‘Perfectly, my lord. I will tell her that the King’s squire has brought a letter from him.’
Margaret was seated in a chair. She was pale and wan and had a rug wrapped round her. Suffolk came to her and told her that the King had sent one of his squires with a message for her. Did she feel well enough to receive him?
‘But I must receive the King’s squire,’ she said.
