‘Is that what you propose to do?’

Philip nodded. ‘As far as I can. I want John brought low, and because he is as he is, I do not think it will be an impossibility. His enemies are numerous. The Lusignans are raring to get at him. Arthur believes he is the rightful King of England. I shall give them my support – my moral support. Though of course if necessary I shall have to offer practical help. But let them work for us first. I am going to offer your half-sister as a bride for Arthur.’

‘Marie. She is but a child.’

‘That’s true. But she is legitimate. The Pope has agreed on that. Marie is not ready for marriage. As for Arthur he is but a boy … your age, Louis. He can wait for Marie – and if he has the Crown of England by that time I shall be happy to see my daughter Queen.’

‘Does Arthur know?’

‘I have whispered to him that I propose to offer him my daughter. He is beside himself with joy. It means that I give my support to his claim.’

‘He will be going soon.’

‘Any day. The time to strike is now, Louis. Talk of these matters to Blanche. It is well that she should learn with you how affairs of state are conducted.’

‘I will talk to her,’ said Louis.


* * *

Arthur and his sister Eleanor were in mourning, for their mother had died. Eleanor shut herself away to brood in solitude, but Arthur was constantly conferring with the King; messengers were coming to and from Paris and there was always something to discuss, some preparations to be made that there was little time for grieving.

Blanche, aware of what was going on, saw how the excitement of coming events helped Arthur over his sorrow, just as plunging himself into the affairs of his country had helped Philip in his anguish over the loss of Agnes. It was a good lesson learned.

With rulers, she inferred, the good of the country must come first, and personal grief could be and must be set aside for the sake of duty. She wondered how she would fare if she lost Louis whom she was loving more every day; and she thought of the deep affection which had been so obvious with her own parents and she was sure meant more to them than anything on Earth – and it had indeed made a happy home for their children. Her mother wrote to her regularly telling her what was happening at home in Castile and spoke often of her father’s health. The bond between them all would never be broken, but she had a new life now. Louis was more important to her than anyone, and France was her home.

Arthur rode off to place himself at the head of an army and it was with dismay that Blanche heard that her grandmother had left Fontevrault to go to the aid of John.

Louis tried to soothe her.

‘But,’ she cried, ‘your father, you, and therefore myself, are supporting Arthur, and my grandmother is against Arthur and for John.’

‘It happens so in families sometimes,’ Louis answered.

‘But this is different. You see we travelled together. We became very close to each other … we understood each other.’

‘Then she will understand now that you must be on different sides.’

Blanche shook her head in grief.

And this was intensified when the news reached the court that Arthur and his supporters had attacked the castle in which the old Queen was staying and had actually dared take her prisoner; but John had arrived, rescued his mother and captured Arthur as well as Hugh de Lusignan.

‘It was a bitter defeat for Arthur and victory for John,’ declared Philip and he doubted not that the result had been brought about by the old Queen for little success could be expected from John.

But it was a temporary setback. Moreover Arthur was in the hands of John and who could say what the outcome could be.

John gave expression to his venom and derived great pleasure from humiliating Hugh de Lusignan by forcing him to ride in chains in a bullock cart while Isabella, his lost love, witnessed the spectacle; but then he released him, much to the astonishment of all. It was just a sign of John’s unpredictability; and as all his emotions at this time were governed by his feelings for his queen, it appeared that in releasing Hugh he was showing her his contempt for him as an enemy.

But he was not so foolish as to release Arthur, and that was the end of the young Prince. It was not certain what exactly had happened to him, but in a few months he was to disappear from the world, leaving behind him a mystery which added to the rapidly growing evil reputation of his uncle.


* * *

Blanche often thought of her grandmother during the next two years. She knew how desolate she must be living out the last months of her life in gloomy speculation.

She would have loved to go and visit her, to tell her that although they were on opposing sides the affection between them was in no way diminished and she would never forget their journey from Castile to the Loire when they had forged the bond between them which nothing could sever.

Eleanor had conveyed to Blanche how proud she was of the Plantagenet line, how deeply she had loved Richard and how greatly she had feared for John. And rightly so, for if ever a king brought about his own ruin that king was John. Now he was losing those possessions which had belonged to his family since the days of great Rollo. One by one the castles were falling into the hands of his enemies. There were constant murmurs of ‘Where is Arthur?’ and gruesome stories were told of the young man’s end. That he had been murdered by his wicked uncle seemed evident and his enemies – chief of them Philip of France – were not going to allow that to be forgotten.

When Château Gaillard was lost to him that seemed the end of his hopes of holding Normandy, for the castle was the gateway to Rouen and had been known as the strongest fortress of its time.

If he could lose that, he could lose everything.

While the court rejoiced, Blanche could not do so wholeheartedly for she must think of the sorrowing old lady in Fontevrault.

At least she could send messengers to the Abbey to enquire about her grandmother and it was thus that she heard of Eleanor’s decline.

It seemed that she had grown listless when she had heard of the continual defeats of her youngest son and that when Gaillard fell they tried to keep the news from her. But she was imperious to the end and realised that some major catastrophe had occurred so she insisted on being told. And when she had, she covered her face with her hands that none might see her grief.

‘It is the end,’ she said.

And they were not sure whether she meant of John’s hopes or her own life.

She took to her bed and when a fever overtook her she did not seem to care whether it left her or not.

She lay in bed, sometimes murmuring of the past and it was noticed that Richard’s name occurred very often.

She died quietly in her bed and in accordance with her instructions was buried in Fontevrault beside the husband whom she had hated and the son she had loved.

Blanche’s grief was great; she could not forget her grandmother; and although the people around her were rejoicing at the manner in which the King of England was losing his dominions and gloated on the importance of this to France, she was filled with melancholy, knowing full well that that which delighted those around her had brought great sorrow to the old lady whom she had learned to love.

Then something happened to divert her thoughts from her grandmother’s death.

She discovered she was pregnant.


* * *

The King was delighted. Blanche was not yet seventeen and there were years ahead of her for childbearing. Philip congratulated himself that it had been wise not to hurry them. They were in love and it was charming to see them together; Blanche was growing into a beauty and a woman of good sense, and that she was also going to be a mother was a matter for the utmost rejoicing.

Everything must be done for her ease. Her parents and sisters wrote of their delight and pleasure on her account and from her mother came advice on how to care for herself.

Great preparations were made throughout the court and when the time came for the child’s birth it would seem as though, as Blanche said, no one had ever had a child before.

But this child was the heir to France.

There was a certain disappointment that it should be a girl, and a delicate one, and when all the preparations, all the care, all the taken advice had proved futile, for within a few days, the child was dead, Blanche was desolate. Louis consoled her. ‘We are young,’ he reminded her. ‘There will be others.’

‘There must be,’ declared Blanche. ‘I fear that the King’s disappointment will be great.’

She was right; but he did not allow her to see how great. He comforted her and told her that it often happened so – in royal families particularly.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that so greatly do we desire heirs that perverse fate denies them to us. But this is but the first. Perhaps you are too young, my daughter, for you are young, you know. It has ever astonished me how a chance encounter with a woman who has pleased for a day or so will result in a healthy child. There is my own Peter Charles whose mother was a fine young woman I found in Arras and there is Philip whom I named Hurepel because of the way his hair stands up. Where would you find two more sturdy boys? And bastards both! But you will have healthy sons … great sons. I know it. You were made to be a mother of kings.’

Blanche thanked the King and told him that he had done much to soothe her melancholy; but in her sadness memories of her grandmother came back – she who had outlived all her sons, save John, and had little joy brought to her by him.