Виктория Холт - The Battle of the Queens

‘Perhaps, after all, Thibaud was the wise one,’ suggested the Count of Blois. ‘At least he escaped this.’

‘He will repent his folly,’ said the loyal Philip.

It was only a few days later when the governor of the town sent a messenger to the King. The town was ready to make peace, for it could hold out no longer.

This was victory – but a dearly bought one.

Louis had no wish to send his soldiers to rape, murder and pillage. He shrank from such procedure. He could not but respect such valiant men. He therefore decreed that the people should be spared but it would be construed as weakness if some punishment were not meted out to a town which had cost him so much in men, arms and money.

He ordered that the walls of the city should be demolished but the townspeople unharmed.

His work was done at Avignon. It could be carried out by others whom he appointed. He could go back to Paris.

Blanche would be waiting for him and there he would enjoy a time of recuperation in her soothing company.

He needed it.

So he began the journey.

The siege had ended at the close of August but there had been a great deal to arrange and it was the end of October before he could begin the journey back.

He felt very tired and a day spent in the saddle often exhausted him so much that it was necessary for him to rest the following day.

It was when he reached the Castle of Montpensier that he took to his bed and found, when he attempted to rise the next day, that he was unable to do so.

‘Alas, my friends,’ he said, ‘I fear I shall be obliged to rest here for a few days.’

* * *

Blanche called the children to her … her adored Louis, who grew more handsome every day, Robert, John, Alphonse and Philip Dagobert. Isabella was too young of course; she must remain in the nursery where another little one would soon join her.

‘Your father is coming home,’ she told them, ‘and we shall all go to meet him and give him welcome. That will give him as much pleasure as his victory.’

Young Louis said: ‘What will happen to the people of Avignon, my lady?’

She looked at him sharply. There was compassion in his voice and she wondered why it should have occurred to him first to ask after the defeated.

‘Your father will know best how to treat them.’

‘He’ll cut off their hands perhaps,’ said Robert, ‘or their feet. Perhaps put out their eyes.’

‘Our father will do no such thing,’ declared Louis.

‘He will punish them for having a siege, won’t he?’ demanded Robert.

‘It is their leaders who were to blame,’ pointed out Louis. ‘The people should not be punished for that, should they, my lady?’

‘When your father returns,’ said Blanche, ‘you may ask him what happened to the people of Avignon. Then you will hear that justice was done.’

‘Is our father always right?’ asked Robert.

‘Your father always does what God tells him is right,’ answered Blanche.

‘God does not always answer,’ Louis pointed out.

‘But He guides, my son,’ replied Blanche.’ You will understand one day, when you are King. That will not be for many many years. First you will have learned from your father how best to reign.’

How proud of them she was as they rode out together. It was fitting that they should be there to greet him after the victory at Avignon. How glad she was that it was over, for there had been a time when she feared that the siege might have to be abandoned and that would have been bad for France and for Louis.

As they came near to the Castle of Montpensier she suggested that Louis with his party should ride on ahead so that he should be the first to greet his father.

This the young boy was eager to do. At twelve years old he already had the bearing of a hero. His blond good looks and his regal bearing attracted men to him for his bearing was enhanced by a certain gentleness. Blanche did not think it was disloyal to Louis to notice that his son was the more kingly of the two. Louis himself had remarked on it.

The young boy rode a little ahead of his attendants in his eagerness to see his father and he had not gone very far when he saw a party of horsemen coming from the château.

He pulled up and cried, ‘Where is my father? I have come to greet him.’

‘My lord,’ said the leader of the group, ‘where is the Queen?’

‘She is a little way behind. I rode on ahead. She wished it.’

‘Will you return to your mother and tell her to come with all haste to the château?’

‘But my father….’

‘It would be well, my lord, if you would come with your mother.’

Louis turned and rode back.

When she saw her son a terrible fear came to Blanche. She spurred up her horse and galloped to the castle.

Philip Hurepel was waiting for her there. There were tears in his eyes and she knew before he said: ‘My lady, the King is dead. Long live Louis IX.’

* * *

Blanche was in command now. The new King was a boy of twelve and, though possessed of great gifts, but a boy.

She must set aside her personal grief. There was no time for it. Later she would think of Louis, the understanding between them, the affection, the respect they had always had for each other, the happy married life – almost as felicitous as that of her own parents; but now she must think of the future.

When a King died and left an heir not of an age to govern, there was always danger.

‘The King is dead. Long live the King.’ It was an old cry; but that King was not truly recognised as King until he was crowned.

So before she sat down to grieve, she must get Louis crowned. And then she knew that there would be little time for grief. Louis was too young; he would need guidance. She had good friends and Louis would have loyal subjects, but on her would rest the main burden.

From Philip Hurepel, the Counts of Bourbon and Blois she heard the story of Louis’s last days. He had exhausted himself before Avignon; they had known he was ill but not how ill – and could be said to have died fighting for a holy cause, so they need have no fear for his soul.

‘I never had fear for his soul,’ cried Blanche. ‘He was a good man. There are few as good in this world or in the next, I assure you.’

The men bowed their heads and said: ‘Amen.’

‘Indeed we need have no fear for him,’ said Blanche. ‘He is at peace. Now we must think what he would wish us to do. We have a new King, Louis IX. He is a promising boy … but a boy. My lords, the late King would wish us to make sure that he is crowned without delay.’

They agreed that this was so.

‘Then, my lords, let us see that this is done.’

She should rest a day at the château, Philip Hurepel told her. ‘You need your strength to support him. You must not be ill.’

She agreed to rest there and in her room her grief and desolation swept over her.

Dear, good, kind Louis … dead! She could not believe it. Never to speak to him again. She needed him now … so much she needed him.

Her women came to her and found her seated on her bed staring ahead of her, the tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

‘My lady,’ said one, ‘is there something we can do for you?’

She shook her head. ‘There is one thing I would you would do for me and that is bring a sword and run it through my heart.’

‘My lady!’

‘Oh, that is foolish is it not? But if I could make a wish it would be to be lying in a tomb beside him. He has been my life. We have been together in love and understanding. Do you realise what that means?’

‘To have seen the King and you together, my lady, was to understand.’

‘I have no wish to live without him.’

‘There is the young King, my lady.’

‘Yes, the young King. Could it be that others could guide him better than I?’

‘None can guide him as you can, my lady.’

‘I know that to be true and it is for this reason only that I wish to live.’

‘You must live, my lady. You must not harm yourself with grief. You must remember, the young King needs you.’

‘It is true,’ she said. ‘Send the King to me.’

Louis came and throwing himself at her feet gave way to weeping.

‘My beloved son,’ said Blanche, caressing those shining blond locks, ‘you have lost the best of fathers, I the dearest of husbands. But we have work to do. We must not forget that.’

‘No, my lady, I do not forget it.’

‘His death which has made me a sorrowing widow has made you a King. He would want you to be worthy of him, my son.’

‘I will be. I promise you, my lady. I will never do anything that would make him ashamed of me.’

‘May God bless you always.’

They were silent, weeping together.

Just this night, thought Blanche. Just this little time to mourn him. Then there will be work to do. My dear young King – so beautiful, so vulnerable – it will not be easy for you.

But he would have her beside him – and she knew she would be strong.

Six years of marriage had not had the effect of lessening Hugh de Lusignan’s passion for his wife – rather had it increased it. Uxorious, adoring, he had allowed her gradually to take over his life; he rarely made the most insignificant decision without consulting her and if she disapproved of it, that was an end to it.

His reward was a life of such eroticism as would have been beyond his belief had he not known her and the knowledge that – as far as it was possible for her to love anyone – she loved him.