The Red Rose of Anjou Read online

  Yolande was half sorrowful, half proud. She was after all the centre of the activity. She had to have new clothes and was given special lessons on how to behave.

  It was particularly hard that she should have to go now that their father was home. When Margaret pointed this out to Theophanie she said somewhat mysteriously: ‘Well, it’s just because...’

  And try as she might Margaret could get no more out of her.

  In due course Yolande went away and Margaret missed her very much although her father was with them again and that made life very pleasant. He had changed. There was a scar on the left side of his forehead which was where the arrow had struck when he had been captured by the Maréchal de Toulongeon which was the reason why Yolande was no longer with them.

  René was very different from their mother. He liked to be with them. He would paint and sing and read poetry and that was very interesting. He talked to them all about how he had been captured and had painted on glass in the Château of Dijon; he was entirely frank with them and he was giving them all an interest in music and poetry.

  ‘It is well enough,’ said the Dowager Duchess Margaret who was with them. ‘They will be cultivated; but we must not forget that they must learn other things besides an appreciation of the arts.’

  Margaret was fond of her son-in-law but she was now and then exasperated with his attitude. He was a considerable artist it was true; his poetry and music gave pleasure to the entire household and even the youngest pages would listen entranced when René sang his own compositions in the great hall after dinner.

  ‘But what of this ransom?’ demanded the Dowager Duchess of her daughter. ‘Fine poetry and paintings are not going to pay that, are they? And will Burgundy wait much longer?’

  There was an additional disaster. The Maréchal de Toulongeon had added his claims to those of his master Burgundy.

  He was the one who had actually captured René. He was therefore claiming a further eighteen thousand crowns as his share of the ransom.

  ‘There you are,’ said the Dowager Duchess. ‘Time is passing and nothing is being done.’

  ‘I don’t think René gives it a thought,’ said Isabelle. ‘He is so happy to be here with his family and to pursue those pleasures which are such a delight to him.’

  ‘In that way he is merely putting off the evil day. It is more than two years since he returned and nothing has been done except to send Yolande to the Vaudémonts. Believe me, Burgundy will not wait much longer and now that Toulongeon is adding his demands René will find himself in great difficulties. Something must be done.’

  ‘I will speak to René,’ said Isabelle.

  Margaret shook her head. ‘That is no use. I will speak to the Emperor of Germany.’

  ‘Sigismund?’

  ‘Why not. He has great power. He might be able to persuade Burgundy to be more moderate. There is just a possibility that Burgundy would listen to him.’

  ‘It is worth trying,’ said Isabelle. ‘No harm can be done.’

  The more the Dowager Duchess considered this the more pleased she was with the idea. She would send messages to the Emperor who, as he was her brother-in-law, could scarcely refuse to help her. She was getting old, she said, but thank God she could still make decisions.

  ‘On the day I could not do that,’ she told her daughter, ‘I would wish to depart this life.’

  ‘My dearest mother,’ said Isabelle, ‘you have always been a woman of power. Sometimes I think the women of our family should have been the ones to govern. Everywhere we are cursed by this ridiculous Salic Law.’

  ‘It is an added obstacle for us to overcome, my dear. Now we will see what Sigismund can do for us with Burgundy.’

  It was some time before she discovered. The messengers had to reach Sigismund and he had to decide how to act. He wanted to help and sent messengers to the great Duke to tell him that he considered the terms he had arranged with René were too harsh. They must in the name of reason be modified. He knew the state of René’s affairs and that he was not in a position to meet demands such as the Duke had made.

  A few months passed. The pleasant life continued. René asked nothing more than to be with his sons and Little daughter; and his only regret was that Little Yolande had had to go away. He could blissfully forget that he must find the ransom and that Burgundy’s patience might be getting exhausted.

  The Dowager Duchess was feeling very pleased with herself. She had received a message from Sigismund to say that he would do all he could to make Burgundy see reason and had already approached him. She was congratulating herself on her ability to solve her son-in-law’s problems far better than he could himself when she had an unpleasant shock. Emissaries from the Duke of Burgundy arrived at Nancy.

  Their message was that the Duke was incensed that René should have had the temerity to appeal to Sigismund. As for the Emperor, he would do well to mind his business. As a result of this meddling, Burgundy would negotiate no longer. René must return to captivity and this time bring his two sons with him as hostages.

  René was astounded. He did not know what Burgundy meant.

  He expressed his bewilderment to his wife and mother-in-law. I do not understand what Burgundy is talking about,’ he said. ‘Sigismund! What has he to do with it?’

  The Dowager Duchess had turned pale. She put her hand to her heart. Isabelle laid an arm about her shoulders and whispered: ‘You must not upset yourself It is bad for you. You were only trying to help. René will understand.’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘It is my fault,’ she said. ‘Oh René, how can you forgive me? I could not bear to see you doing nothing and it was I who asked Sigismund to help.’

  ‘Ah,’ said René slowly. ‘I see now what has maddened Burgundy.’ He shrugged. ‘You must not reproach yourself, my lady. I know all you did, you did for me and Isabelle. Well, it is an end to our life here at Nancy but only for a while. All will be well in time.’

  ‘René,’ said Isabelle, ‘stay and fight. Let us see if we can defeat this arrogant Duke.’

  ‘With what?’ asked René. ‘We cannot pit ourselves against him. I must perforce go and take the boys with me.’

  ‘René...stay. Let us find some means...’

  But he shook his head. ‘The laws of chivalry demand that I honour my commitments. I was taken in fair battle; I must therefore pay the ransom demanded or remain a prisoner.’

  They could see that it was impossible—he being René—for him to take any course but the honourable one.

  ‘When you take the boys with you,’ said Isabelle, ‘there will only be little Margaret left to me.’

  René took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  ‘She is a beautiful child. You will find great comfort in her.’

  Within a few days Isabelle, with little Margaret on one side and the Dowager Duchess on the other, waved goodbye to René as he rode off into captivity.

  ###

  It was a sorrowful household. The Dowager Duchess was wrapped in gloom. She could not forget that she had brought this about and she could not forgive herself.

  ‘Sometimes I think,’ she told her daughter, ‘it is better to be as René. He reviews his captivity with calm and without shame. If they will supply him with paints he will be happy.’

  ‘Dear Mother,’ replied Isabelle, ‘you must stop grieving. You are making yourself ill. You were right to do all you could. Who would have believed that Burgundy would be so angry that he takes his revenge in this way?’

  ‘I think Sigismund must have approached him without tact. I should have thought of that. But for me René would be here now and although you are poor and without the means to extricate him from this humiliating position, at least you were together.’

  There was nothing Isabelle could do to comfort her mother. Each day the Dowager Duchess grew more pale, wan and listless. Her appetite had deserted her and she could not sleep at night thinking about the havoc her inte
rference had caused.

  When August came it was stiflingly hot and she was obliged to take to her bed. Within a few days Isabelle had grown really anxious. The old lady had lost that tremendous verve which had made her seem immortal and because she had lost it, Isabelle knew that she was very ill indeed.

  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 es
tates 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.’