The Red Rose of Anjou

RENÉ

Bleak March winds buffeted the walls of the Château Keure and the two women who sat together in the large draughty room huddled closer to the fire. They were both busily sewing.

The elder of the two paused suddenly and held up a small garment. ‘I never thought,’ she said, ‘that it would come to this. A child to be born and here am I hard put to it to find clothes worthy of it. Who would have thought that a son of the King of Anjou would ever be in such straits?’

Her companion lifted a strikingly beautiful face from her work. Her expression was of a serenity unusual in one so young.

‘The whole of France must be prepared to accept these differences, Theophanie,’ she said.

‘Oh, ‘tis all very well for the young,’ was the reply. ‘Remember I was with the King and Queen of Anjou for years until I came here. I brought the children up...every one of them.’

‘Well, you have not really left the household.’

‘No...no. Here I am with my lord René and his little family. May God preserve them. Oh, Agnès, my child, there are terrible things happening in France at this time. I often think of those poor souls in Orléans.’

‘We must hope and pray that succour will come to them soon.’

‘God seems to have deserted us. You don’t remember, Agnès, but when I was young there were not these troubles. Life was peaceful. Then it started. First it was the Armagnacs against Burgundy.’

‘It still is,’ said Agnès.

‘But our real enemies are the English. They are the ones who are tearing this country apart. It is because of the war...because they say we are defeated that I have to make over my lady Yolande’s little things for this new baby.’

‘There could be worse troubles,’ suggested Agnès.

She returned to her sewing, but Theophanie, nurse to the five children of the King and Queen of Anjou and now transferred to the nursery of their second son René to take charge of his offspring, was in a reminiscent mood.

‘He was always my favourite...René,’ she mused. ‘A lovely boy he was, and a lovely man. He was one for the poetry...for the singing of the troubadours. He was more interested in that than in doing all those fancy tricks on his horse. His mother Queen Yolande used to fret about it a bit. His father was rarely in the castle. "René likes reading books better than shedding blood," she used to say. "Admirable but books won’t hold his estates together if someone casts a greedy eye on them." "Oh, don’t you fret, my lady," I used to tell her, "when the time comes my lord will know the right way to act."‘

That is all any of us needs,’ said Agnès, ‘to know the right way to act when the time comes.’

Theophanie regarded her steadily. She had come to look on the girl as one of her charges. Agnès had been sent by her family to be brought up in a noble household as so many girls of good family were. One could not help liking her. She was quiet, unassuming and ready to make herself useful. She was fond of the children and as they were so young Theophanie was glad of her help in the nursery. John was not yet four and then there was Louis who was three and Yolande not much more than eighteen months. She had had a twin, Nicolas, who alas had died a few weeks after his birth. It was a pleasant little clutch, thought Theophanie; and my lady was young yet. My lord was away a great deal as all noble lords were, but they managed somehow to accumulate families. Theophanie sometimes thought the good Lord very obligingly made such ladies especially fertile so that the long absence of their lords did not hold up the filling of the nurseries.

The lady Isabelle was very young still and already this new child would be the fourth—and would have been the fifth but for the death of poor little Nicolas.

She looked about the room with pride. This was one of the finest castles in Lorraine and was part of the lady Isabelle’s dowry. René had done well in his marriage, Theophanie considered. He had married a strong-minded young woman. In fact all the women in the household were of a forceful nature—more so than the men, Theophanie often thought it should have been the men who stayed at home and the ladies who went into battle. René would have been a wonderful companion for his children; he would have patiently initiated them into the delights of poetry and music. As for the lady Isabelle, one could imagine her leading her troops into battle.

‘Is this one of Your little jokes. Lord?’ Theophanie asked. Her faith was simple and she often conversed with God, treating him as though he were human like the rest of us—a sort of King above the King of France of course, but not without his foibles, and as her role in life was that of a nurse she was sometimes apt to adopt her nurse’s manner to her Lord.

Of course it was a privilege to work for the House of Anjou. She greatly admired the lady Isabelle just as she had the lady Yolande. The lady Yolande was the daughter of the King of Aragon; and her daughter Marie, sister of René, had married the Dauphin of France.

‘Mind you,’ said Theophanie to Agnès, ‘the Dauphin is a poor creature by all accounts. Sometimes I pity poor Marie. A good girl she was and deserving a better fate. Poor Marie...we thought she would l)e a Queen and what is she now...married to a Dauphin...one who should be King and they are calling a little English baby the King of France. It’s pitiful when affairs get to that state, Agnès.’

Agnès bent her head over her sewing. She wondered about Marie and how she felt in the midst of such conflict, for although his mad father had accepted the English and allowed his daughter Katherine to marry the King of England, the Dauphin did not agree with him and put up a resistance, although in a rather feeble way. But perhaps it was those about him who resisted and used him as a figurehead.

What would be the outcome? It looked gloomy; more bleak than the cold March winds which swept across Pont-à-Mousson and angrily hit the walls of the Château Keure.

There was a tension throughout the country. Orléans, the key to the Loire, had been under siege since October. If it fell there would be little hope for France to extricate herself from the yoke the English had put about her neck. And how could it be saved? It was asking for a miracle.

‘But You could do it. Lord,’ Theophanie admonished. ‘It’s not past Your powers. I thought You could move mountains. Well, if You can do that why don’t You drive the English from Orléans?’

So there was waiting throughout the country and waiting in the Château at Pont-à-Mousson.

In the castle they were rewarded before the people of Orléans.

That very day when Theophanie and Agnès sat sewing over the fire, the Lady Isabelle’s pains started. And on the twenty-third day of March she gave birth to a healthy girl.

She was called Margaret.

Times might be hard but the baby must be given a worthy christening. Theophanie brought out the elaborate christening robes which had been worn by generations of the House of Anjou and in the Cathedral of Toul, Margaret was baptized. Her sponsors were René’s elder brother, Louis King of Naples, and her maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Lorraine after whom she had been named.

Margaret, blissfully unaware of the importance of the ceremony, accepted it with serenity and in due course was carried off to her nursery in Theophanie’s waiting arms. René was paying one of his rare visits to the Château. He had just acquired the title of Duke of Bar on the death of his great-uncle and this had contributed in some degree to his income and importance, particularly as with the Dukedom came the Marquisate of Pont-à-Mousson. Before this as a younger son he had had nothing but the little county of Guise.

He talked earnestly with Isabelle of the change in his fortunes.

‘I may now be able to do a little towards helping Charles,’ he said.

Isabelle nodded. Like everyone in France she was looking to the future with a great deal of hope. What had happened at Orléans had indeed seemed like a miracle. Isabelle was not sure that she believed in the special powers of the peasant girl who had been guided by Voices from Heaven. The fact remained that this girl had marched into Orléans and somehow defeated the English, thus saving the city and as a result Charles was now going to be crowned at Rheims.

It would not have seemed possible a few months ago. But the fortunes of France had really changed and strangely enough so had those of the family. René was a man of some importance

now. He would have the means to raise men and arms; and naturally he wanted to place himself beside his brother-in-law and help him to regain all that had been lost to the English.

He had proclaimed himself an Armagnac supporter—which of course the Dauphin was—and this meant that he was the enemy of the Duke of Burgundy, whose actions in allying himself with the English must be deplored by all true Frenchmen.

‘I can only hope that we do not antagonize Burgundy too strongly,’ said Isabelle.

‘Burgundy would consider us beneath his notice,’ René reassured her.

‘Let us hope so, but it is my belief that he is aware of every Armagnac and regards him as an enemy.’

‘Burgundy will be changing his tune ere long; it would not surprise me. Things have changed, Isabelle. Changed most miraculously.’

‘René, you have become bemused by this Maid like so many others.’

‘You would be impressed if you saw her, Isabelle. They jeered at first but gradually they began to see her in a different light. I trust my mother’s judgment. She at first was skeptical but when she examined the Maid she changed her mind and persuaded my sister to do the same—not that Marie needed much persuasion. She too began to believe in the Maid.’

‘And the King’s wife and mother-in-law persuaded him’

‘Yes, but he too quickly realized that she had some power within her...something divine...and you see it worked. She frightened the English... there is no other way of describing it. And although defeat was staring us in the face at Orléans we turned it into victory.’

‘I can only rejoice. And now Charles is to be crowned. I am glad of that. After the ceremony he will no longer be known merely as our Dauphin but our King.’

‘Life will be different, you will see, for France...for us...’

‘Perhaps it will mean that you can be with us more. Perhaps when this war is over people will be able to settle down with their families. But it is not over yet, René. The breaking of the siege of Orléans and the crowning of the King do not mean that the war is over.’

‘Indeed not,’ agreed René. ‘But who would have believed a few months ago that we should have achieved such success.’

It was true. But Isabelle was more realistic than her husband and she knew that the English would not be driven out just because of one French victory—spectacular though it was.

There was bustle throughout the castle as René made his preparations to leave for Rheims. Even the children were aware of it and young John wanted to know why his father was with them.

‘He’ll not be here for long, my lord,’ Theophanie told him. ‘He’ll be off again soon. He’s going now to put a golden crown on the King’s head.’

‘Why?’ asked John.

‘Because he’s the King of course.’

‘I want a golden crown.’

‘You can’t have one, my little master, and that’s flat, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that. Crowns,’ muttered Theophanie more to herself than the child, ‘they never brought much good to anyone as far as I can see.’

John was inclined to whimper until Agnès took him into her lap and explained to him that crowns could be heavy things that sometimes hurt the head that carried them. He should not crave for one. Those who had them had to wear them and sometimes did not very much enjoy it.

John went to sleep and as she sat holding him Agnès wondered about the King. What she had heard of him had not been very flattering. He had made a bad impression on the people and few had any hope in him except the strange peasant girl who was supposed to have had instructions from Heaven to have him crowned and to win France back for him.

‘His father was mad,’ people said. And yet there were some who said he was a bastard and no son of the mad King after all. He was now about twenty-six years old. ‘But he looks all of forty,’ was another comment. ‘It’s the life he lives. They say the ladies of the Court won’t look at him—Dauphin though he is and true King you might say—so he contents himself with serving-maids who welcome him to their beds for the sake of the royalty he brings with him.’

Agnès was wise enough to realize that these stories must be exaggerated—and on the other hand there was possibly a grain of truth in them.

‘His mother told him he was a bastard...not the King’s true son. They say that has upset him more than the loss of his kingdom.’

Poor Charles, thought Agnès.

He was a husband though and a father. Surely he found some comfort in his family.

‘His lips are thick and he has hardly any brows and lashes; he was born with an exaggerated Valois nose which is bulbous and most disfiguring in his blubbery face...’

Oh no, thought Agnès, he cannot be as bad as all that. The Lord René was fond of him, and extremely happy because he was going to his coronation. Perhaps I shall see him one day and judge for myself, and as I am prepared for a monster I might have an agreeable surprise.

Theophanie came in and took the sleeping John from her. ‘A crown indeed. God preserve you from that, my precious,’ said Theophanie kissing the sleeping face.

René was ready to leave and the whole household was in the courtyard to wish him godspeed on his journey to Rheims.

Theophanie was there beside him—the specially privileged nurse who remembered the days when she held him in her lap and taught him his first tottering steps.

‘Now you take care, my lord René, and don’t you get caught up in any of these troubles. Keep well away from those Burgundians...a nasty lot them...going against their own country. And tell Marie I’m thinking of her and not to forget to keep her temper. Tell her she’s a Queen now...in very truth. Tell her that Theophanie wants to be proud of her.’

René smiled at her and kissed her hand. Dear René, the best of the bunch—always so kind and courteous, a real gallant knight. She only hoped he would be able to look after himself if he came into contact with those wicked Burgundians or the even more wicked English.

Two years had passed since René went riding to Rheims to assist at the coronation of Charles the Seventh. The war was not over as so many people had optimistically prophesied it would be. The Maid had been captured by the Burgundians and sold to the English who had burned her in the square at Rouen. That brief glory was over—but not quite. Joan had made her impact. The fortunes of France had changed and although there were still English in France—and in dominant positions—Orléans had been saved, several towns had been recaptured by the French and there was a crowned King of France. The English had wanted to bring the little King of England over to crown him and they had done so, but not at Rheims. Oh, no, that was still in the hands of the French. They had had to be content with

Paris and everyone knew that a crowning at Paris was not the same as one in Rheims.

René was often with his family at the Château Keure. They were wonderful days when he came to the nursery and played with the children and told them stories. He was far more gentle than their mother and they all adored him. Even two-year-old Margaret waited for his coming and shouted with delight when he appeared.

René said to Isabelle: ‘This is the life for me. How much happier I am with my family than attending Court.’

‘You are happy to be with your sister though.’

‘It is good to see Marie. She is well able to take care of herself.’

‘And Charles, too, it seems.’

‘Well, she and my mother have a strong influence on him. He has changed, Isabelle. The coming of the peasant girl from Domremy had a marked effect on him. It is said that she assured him he was the King’s legitimate son.’

‘A mixed blessing,’ commented Isabelle. ‘To be the son of a mad father and have every right to the crown or to be free of taint and no right at all. A difficult choice to make.’

‘Not for Charles. He is convinced now that he has a right to wear the crown and it seems of late that he is rousing himself from his previous lethargy. He is really giving his mind to freeing his country and bringing prosperity back to it.’

‘Perhaps he will do it...with your sister to help him.’

‘Don’t forget my mother.’

‘Ah yes, indeed. Well perhaps there are better days ahead for France.’

Occasionally René left on some military exercise. Then there was gloom in the Château; but when he returned the joy of reunion was so great that, said Theophanie, it was almost worth the sadness they had suffered through his absence.

One January day two months before Margaret’s second birthday, messengers arrived at the Château.

They brought sad news. Isabelle’s father, the Duke of Lorraine, had died.

Isabelle’s grief was tempered by the sudden realization that she, as her father’s heiress, should inherit the Dukedom of Lorraine. The possession of this rich territory would make all the difference to them. René would of course take the title and this would mean that Lorraine and Bar would be united and that René instead of being a not very affluent nobleman would become a wealthy and influential one.

Her assumption proved to be correct. The Duke’s estates passed to his only child and the family fortunes changed overnight.

The first step would be to leave Pont-à-Mousson for Nancy. There they would take over the late Duke’s Château and live in a style afforded by their new position.

‘This,’ said Theophanie, ‘is more like it. This is how it should be for my lady Yolande’s son.’

There was great excitement in the nurseries when the children realized they were to leave for Nancy. John plied everyone with questions and Louis and Yolande listened wide-eyed to the answers. Even baby Margaret was aware that something was afoot. Theophanie was very glad of the help that Agnès gave her.

‘That one is so good with children,’ she commented to the lady Isabelle. ‘I rely on her. She will make a good mother when her time comes, mark my words. The Lord intended her to be a mother.’

‘She is a good girl,’ said Lady Isabelle, ‘and now that we have the means we shall look to finding a husband for her.’

‘I’ll ask the Lord to find her a good one,’ said Theophanie. ‘She’s worthy of the best, that one.’

It was all very pleasant while it lasted. Everyone was enchanted by the château in Nancy and all the new treasures they were able to acquire. They hadn’t realized until now how shabby everything had been in the Château Keure. Nancy was very grand.

‘Little more like what we had when I was with my lady Yolande,’ commented Theophanie. ‘My lord René would remember.’

Lady Isabelle might have commented that she had been brought up in grand surroundings also and that indeed they owed their new good fortune to her side of the family.

But disaster was lying in wait.

One day travellers arrived at the castle. As René and Isabelle watched their approach they felt a twinge of alarm for they recognized the colours of the Duke of Burgundy.

He was not present himself. They would not have expected the great man to call without some herald warning them first; and in any case, he was one of the enemies. He had made it known that he had deeply deplored René’s arriving with his men to help the Orléannese at the time of the siege.

The visitors were received with the customary hospitality.

and while they were drinking wine in the great hall they came to the point.

The fact was that René and Isabelle were being asked to leave the Château as soon as they could conveniently do so and René must also give up his title of Duke of Lorraine. In accepting this and Isabelle’s believing herself to be her father’s heiress, they had overlooked one important point. The Salic Law prevailed in France and that meant that she could not inherit her father’s estates. The title and estates of Lorraine in truth belonged to the late Duke’s eldest nephew, Antoine Count of Vaudémont, who was the nearest male heir.

‘That is not so,’ cried Isabelle. I am my father’s daughter. He meant everything to go to me.’

‘My lady,’ was the answer, ‘the Count of Vaudémont does not agree with this. Nor, I must tell you, does the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘The Duke of Burgundy! This is not his affair.’

‘He disagrees.’

René was deeply depressed. His brief respite was over. He knew what was in Burgundy’s mind. This was punishment for supporting the Armagnacs. It was more than that. Burgundy wanted his way in Lorraine. Burgundy wanted to control the whole of France.

Isabelle’s eyes were flashing with fury. ‘You may go back and tell your masters that Lorraine is mine...ours. We will not give up one part of it.’

‘My lady, I would ask you to consider carefully...My lord Duke is determined.’

‘Go back to the Duke of Burgundy and the Count of Vaudémont,’ cried Isabelle. ‘If they want Lorraine, tell them to come and take it.’

Thus it was that the idyll was over and the battle for the estates of Lorraine began.

Theophanie shook her head over the turnabout in their affairs.

‘My lord René had no heart for it,’ she told Agnès. ‘If it had been left to him he would have handed it all back to that Vaudémont. There’s a saying, Agnès my dear, that if you want to live in peace keep friendly with Burgundy.’

‘I have no respect for a Frenchman who works against Frenchmen.’

‘It goes back a long way, my dear. The Duke’s father was murdered by the Dauphin’s men...That started it. Well, more or less, but before that the Duke of Orléans was murdered by Burgundy. It’s these family quarrels. I never did like them. If I was the Lord I’d just pick up that Burgundy and Armagnac and give them a smart smack where it hurts most.’

Agnès laughed, visualizing such nursery tactics from the Almighty.

But there was disaster in the air, she knew. She had become interested in their nation’s affairs since the coming of Joan of Arc. She liked to hear how the Maid had restored his confidence to the Dauphin. But this was of course a private quarrel—a battle for Lorraine. ‘They should amend this Salic Law,’ she said to Theophanie.

‘Of course they should,’ agreed the nurse. ‘When I think of the women in my family...’ She meant of course that of Anjou in which she had served since she was a girl. ‘Well, when I think of our women, I’ll say this, Agnès, they’d do as well in battle as any man...and bring more sense to it too if you ask me. The Lord saw it when he sent the Maid. Look what she did. What if they’d started talking about this Salic Law to her, eh?’

‘It would scarcely have applied to her,’ Agnès pointed out.

‘Salic Law,’ went on Theophanie. ‘As if the lady Isabelle hasn’t got every right to what her father left her. And what has it to do with this Burgundy? That’s what I should like to know.’

The days passed. The lady Isabelle was clearly anxious. She would go to the topmost turret and there look out for signs of René and his men returning, she hoped victorious from the battle to uphold their rights.

She did not have to wait long. The battle had been over quickly and it was decisive.

She was in the turret watching when she saw several men riding fast and making for the castle. Hurrying down she was in the courtyard before they arrived. One look at them was enough to tell her that her worst fears were realized.

‘My lady,’ gasped the leader of the band. ‘Ill tidings. We were completely overcome at Bulgnéville. We put up a brave fight but none could withstand Burgundy’s troops. They were everywhere and we were outnumbered. Vaudémont would not have succeeded without the help of the great Duke.’

Isabelle cried impatiently: ‘My lord...René...Oh God help us they have taken him. He is dead...’

‘No, no, my lady. He lives. But yes, they have taken him. He was badly wounded...but he lives...in the hands of the Burgundians.’

Isabelle closed her eyes. Theophanie was beside her. ‘There, my lady. The news is not that bad. He lives...that is what matters most. The rest we’ll sort out.’

‘A prisoner...’ murmured Isabelle. ‘Burgundy’s prisoner...’

‘The good Lord won’t let that wicked man keep a good man like Lord René long. I know that. He’ll be back, my lady. You’ll see. Here, Agnès, take my lady’s arm. Let’s get her to her chamber. This has been a great shock for her.’

Isabelle smiled wryly. ‘Oh stop treating me like one of your children, Theophanie.’

Theophanie said, ‘You’re right. You’re not one of my children. You’ll know what to do, my lady. Don’t I always say it’s the women who manage these things best?’

So they went into the castle and the soldiers were housed and fed and later on more came, with more news, news of how René had fought bravely and it was only when most of his force had been destroyed and he himself was badly wounded by an arrow on the left side of his forehead which had half blinded him, that he had allowed himself to be taken.

But accounts of his bravery could bring little solace to his family. He was a prisoner in the hands of the enemy.

Isabelle was not one to sit down and accept disaster. She was not going meekly to hand over to her cousin the estates which she considered were rightly hers.

She knew what she was going to do. She was going to raise an army and she herself would lead it against the Count de Vaudémont. What of the children? She sent a messenger to her mother the Dowager Duchess Margaret, the godmother of little Margaret, and begged her to take charge of her children while she set about releasing her husband from captivity and keeping what her father had left her.

The Dowager Duchess, as strong-minded a lady as her daughter, immediately came to the rescue. She would take over the care of the children while Isabelle set about working for her husband’s release.

Isabelle had been greatly upset by the fact that it was her own cousin who had acted in this way. They had known each other as children and she was surprised, for he had always appeared to have been amiable and reasonable and she had thought would have been a good friend to her.

It suddenly occurred to her that she would see him. Perhaps she could arouse some pity in him, some sense of honour.

Her mother was uncertain whether it was wise for her to go. She was after all placing herself in the hands of the enemy. Let someone go for her, suggested the lady Margaret. But Isabelle thought that only she could shame her cousin and was determined to make the journey herself.

Her mother knew that it would be useless to attempt to dissuade her. In her daughter’s place she herself would have done the same. They were neither of them women to cower behind the might of their husbands. It had been they who had made decisions in their families, for women such as they were invariably gained the ascendancy over their men. So Isabelle set out and in a short time was confronting her cousin.

She was pleased to see that Antoine de Vaudémont was a little ashamed of himself

‘It surprises me,’ she told him, ‘that we should be facing each other as enemies.’

‘A sad affair, I grant you.’

‘And brought about by your greed,’ Isabelle reminded him. ‘You know full well that my father wished his estates to pass to me. It was always understood.’

‘My lord of Burgundy thinks otherwise.’

‘It is not the affair of the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘He believes that the affairs of Lorraine are his.’

‘I am surprised, Antoine, that you allow yourself to be his creature. He is a traitor to France.’

‘Have care what you say, cousin. If those words were to be repeated...’

‘Oh, save your fear of that man for yourself I will tell him what I think of him if I ever have the misfortune to come face to face with him. But I have come to talk of my husband René.’

‘Alas, he suffered bitter defeat. He has recovered from his wounds though. You need have no anxiety on that score.’

‘Then we will talk of my other anxieties. I want him released.’

‘That is out of the question.’

‘Why? Have you forgotten, Antoine, that we are cousins? Our fathers were brothers. There must not be this strife between us. Release René. Forget this greedy claim of yours.’

‘My dear cousin, if I wished to release René I could not. He is not my prisoner. He is in the hands of the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘Why so! Why did you hand him over to that man?’

‘René was captured by Maréchal de Toulongeon, the commander of the forces Burgundy sent to Bulgnéville.’

Isabelle felt limp with dismay.

‘Then what can I do?’

Antoine shrugged his shoulders. ‘Burgundy will make terms, I doubt not.’

‘And those terms will doubtless be that I give up my estates. Where is René?’

‘He is at Dijon. I hear he is a prisoner in the castle there.’

Isabelle covered her face with her hands and briefly gave way to her emotion. Then she faced Antoine steadily. ‘It surprises me that you can behave in this way. I am sure my father will curse you from Heaven. His great concern was for my welfare and that of my family. Think what you have brought on us, Antoine.’

Antoine said sullenly, ‘The Salic Law prevails in France.’

‘A curse on the Salic Law! My father’s estates should go where he wished them to and that was to his daughter. Antoine, your conscience must be sorely troubling you.’

She had hit the right note. His conscience was troubling him.

‘Isabelle,’ he said, ‘please understand that there is nothing I can do. This is in the hands of the Duke of Burgundy. But perhaps alter all there is one thing...’

‘Yes?’ she asked eagerly.

‘I could call a truce...say for six months.’

Six months’ respite! she thought. That was something.

She would accept that for she could see she could get nothing more from her cousin.

Isabelle returned to her family. Six months. It was a very short time and what could she hope to achieve?

But she was not the woman to sit down and brood. There must be some action she could take and when she had decided what was the best thing to do she would do it.

Then the idea came to her. René had shown friendship to King Charles. He had gone to Orléans at the time of the siege and had taken with him a troop of men to fight for the town—a small one it was true but it had been all that he could muster and Charles had known that and been grateful. He had assisted at the coronation. He had always been loyal to the King and now that the country was emerging a little from the English yoke perhaps Charles would do something for René and his family.

She would go to the King.

She called Theophanie to her and told her that she planned to make a trip to Vienne in Dauphine where the Court was at this time.

‘I shall need time to get the children ready,’ said Theophanie.

‘You are not coming, Theophanie, nor are the children...except the girls.’

Theophanie stared at Isabelle in amazement. ‘You are taking the little girls, my lady?’ she said. ‘Why my lady Margaret is only two years old.’

‘I know well her age, Theophanie, but I am taking her and Yolande and I want you to look after the boys while we are gone.’

‘Of a certainty my boys will be safe with me but have you thought, my lady, that it is no easy task to take two little girls...no more than babies...on such a long journey?’

‘I have considered and decided,’ said Isabelle coldly. She was not so much inclined to accept Theophanie’s familiarity as René was. Theophanie had not been her nurse. And, Isabelle often thought, it was time she was reminded that she was no longer René’s. But she was so good with the children and Isabelle really could trust them with her. René’s mother had said that Theophanie was an excellent nurse and it was wise to keep such people in the family.

‘The point is,’ went on Isabelle, ‘that I shall need someone to look after Yolande and Margaret and I have decided to take Agnès.’

‘Oh, Agnès is a good girl. You’ll not be disappointed in her. It’s the poor little mites I’m thinking of...going all that way...’

‘There is no need to concern yourself with them. Find Agnès and send her to me. I will tell her what preparations she should make.’

Isabelle went back to her chamber. She wondered what good it would do. It must do something. She was pinning her hopes on the King’s gentle nature and the possibility that he would be moved by the sight of Yolande and little Margaret. They were such charming children.

Agnès came to her. A beautiful graceful creature, Isabelle thought. And useful in the household, Theophanie had said.

‘Agnès,’ said Isabelle, ‘we are going on a journey. Did Theophanie tell you?’

‘She mentioned something. I was not very clear about it.’

Isabelle decided to explain to this serene and sensible girl.

‘You know the terrible plight of my lord René,’ she said. ‘He is the prisoner of the Duke of Burgundy. I am going to the King to ask him to help me.’

‘Oh, my lady. I do hope that he will.’

‘I shall talk to him and explain and try and persuade him. It is a hope...perhaps a forlorn one...but I think the sight of my two little girls without a father might move him to act. But I must hope, Agnès. Our situation here is desperate. Now I want you to come with us and help look after the children.’

‘With the greatest pleasure I will do that, my lady.’

‘I thought so, Agnès. Now you must make your preparations.’

Agnès listened. So she was to go to Court. She would perhaps see the King and Queen. She had thought so much about Charles at the time of the coronation and how the Maid had been so loyally devoted to him. She could not believe he was really as unattractive and as helpless as people represented him to be.

At last she would see for herself.

‘You’re dreaming, Agnès,’ said Isabelle sharply. ‘I suppose like most girls you want to go to Court. I can tell you ours will be a somewhat sombre visit and I doubt that even now the Court will be the least bit what you imagine it will be.’

Agnès was thoughtful. ‘I shall be prepared for anything,’ she answered.

So they set out.

It was an exhausting journey, but the children, under Agnès’s supervision, were too excited by the novelty of everything to complain.

In due course they reached the Court and Isabelle had no difficulty in gaining an audience with the King. Charles was depressed. He was recognized as the King at last after that miraculous crowning at Rheims, but events had not moved very fast since then.

He was so tired of everything. He almost wished he were a country nobleman and could retire to his estates and have done with all the troubles which surrounded him.

Joan of Arc was on his conscience, and often that strange episode would intrude on his thoughts and try as he might he could not forget her. Luxembourg, Burgundy’s man, had captured her and had sold her to the English. It was the English who had burned her as a witch but his remorse must be as great if not greater than theirs—for he had done nothing to save her. He should have fought with all his might... and he had turned away. He had rejected her; he had tried to tell himself that she was after all some sort of witch.

He hated war. Bloodshed was revolting. He had to admit it brought gain to some. He thought of Harry of England at Agincourt. But where was Harry of England now? And if the war had brought misery to France how had England fared? They were still struggling for the crown of France. They were groaning under taxation to pay for the war and there was many a widow in England mourning her husband, and children grieving for a father who had gone to France and would never return.

Oh for peace! thought Charles.

And now here was Isabelle of Anjou come to ask something from him. He was sorry for René. He liked René. He was especially fond of René’s mother who was his own mother-in-law. She was one of the most enlightened and interesting women he knew. He found pleasure in her society and regarded her advice with a greater respect than that which he felt for many of his ministers. Yes, he would like to have helped Isabelle. But how could he, against Burgundy? How he hated Burgundy. Burgundy was the bogey of his life.

Her little girls were adorable. Isabelle was a beautiful woman and she pleaded most eloquently, but as he had told his mother-in-law Yolande, there was nothing he could do against Burgundy. The Duke’s resources were far greater than his own; and much as he would like to he could hardly involve even what he had in a private quarrel between two families.

He was desperately sorry. He would have liked to help. Yolande understood. Isabelle must.

Oh, what a wearying business it was being King of a country that was in such a dire state as France was at this time!

He liked to walk alone in the gardens about the castle. One day as he sat down under a tree brooding in his melancholy way, he saw a girl. She was walking through the gardens and stopping now and then to admire the flowers. He watched her for a few moments before she was aware of him. She was unlike any other girl he had known. She was of the Court he supposed but he had never seen her before. He would have remembered if he had, because there was something so distinctive about her.

He called: ‘Well a day, my lady. Are you enjoying the gardens as I am?’

She paused and smiled at him.

‘They are very beautiful, my lord.’

It occurred to him that she could not know who he was because she showed no sign of the great honour he did her by speaking to her.

‘Would you care to sit awhile and talk?’ he said.

She came and sat beside him. The purity of her features startled him. He admired beauty, he admired women. He guessed by her clothes that she was not a lady of high rank. She could not be for if she was he would surely know her. She was not a serving-woman either. His adventures with women had been many. He had never hesitated to indulge himself, and because of that sense of inferiority which his mother had inspired in him those of the lowly kind attracted him. With them he had been able to feel superior. He despised himself and often wished he did not know himself so well. This was different though. He admired her beauty but had no desire for a quick seduction this day and to forget her by tomorrow.

‘I have not seen you at the Court before,’ he said.

‘It is not surprising since I am lately come,’ she answered.

‘And what think you of it?’

‘It is a sad Court in a way. The threat of the English invaders hangs over it still.’

‘Ah yes,’ he sighed. ‘But it has improved has it not? In the last two years there has been change.’

‘A slow change,’ said Agnès.

‘And you think it should be quicker?’

‘But of course, my lord.’

‘The King should bestir himself, you think?’

‘Aye, that he should. He should rid himself of ministers who impede him, and act for himself.’

‘You are not of the Court, but lately come, you say, yet you tell the King’s minsters how they should act.’

‘Not his ministers. But I think the King should rouse himself. He should take the governing of the country in hand. He should be a King in truth.’

‘Which he is not at the moment?’

‘As you said I am a simple girl from the country, but I listen, I think; and I know what has happened. We had a brief glory when the Maid came and drove the besiegers from Orléans and had the Dauphin made King at Rheims...and then...’

‘Yes, my lady, and then?’

‘Then it stopped.’

‘There were no more miracles, you mean. The Maid lost her powers and then the English burned her as a witch.’

‘They should never have been allowed to.’

‘Nay, you speak truth there. And do you think that is why God no longer seems on the side of the French?’

‘He is not on the side of the English either.’

‘In fact He has shut the gates of Heaven and is leaving us to our own devices.’

‘I think...’

‘Yes, my lady, what do you think?’

‘I think that God would help France again if France helped herself

She stood up.

‘So you are going now?’

‘Yes, I must return to my charges.’

‘Who are your charges?’

‘The children of the Duchess of Lorraine. Yolande and Margaret.’

‘So you are in that lady’s train. Shall you be in the gardens tomorrow?’

She looked at him steadily.

‘I would be here, if you wished it.’

‘That is gracious of you.’

She laughed then. ‘Nay, all would say it is gracious of you. I know who you are. Sire.’

He was amazed. She had not behaved as though in the presence of the King. And all the time she had known him!

She was quite unabashed by her own temerity. ‘I have known you long,’ she said. ‘I thought of you often...during the difficult days. I should have been very happy to have been at Rheims on the day they crowned you.’

‘You are a strange girl,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’

‘It is Agnès Sorel.’

‘Agnès Sorel,’ he repeated. ‘I have enjoyed our talk. I shall see you again.’

She saw him again. He was attracted by her. She was in the first place outstandingly beautiful, and in a serene way, quite different from the flamboyant beauties of his Court. She cared about the country. That was what amazed him. There was no sign of coquetry. She must have thought him extremely ugly, which he undoubtedly was, and old too, for he appeared to be older than his years and she was very young. He was astonished by how much she knew of the country’s affairs.

By the end of the second meeting he was more fascinated than he had been at the first. Her frank manner, her complete indifference to his royalty enchanted him. He could not stop looking at her. He discovered she was more beautiful every time he saw her. But chiefly he discovered a peace in her company which he had never known before.

He talked to the woman he admired more than any other. She was his mother-in-law Yolande of Anjou who was a frequent visitor at the Court and who had been one of his closest friends ever since he had known her. He was closer to her than to his wife. He was in fact glad that he had married Marie because the marriage had brought him Yolande.

‘Do you know the young girl who travelled in your daughter-in-law’s train? She is in charge of the little girls.’

‘Oh, Agnès, you mean. She’s a delightful creature is she not?’

He was relieved that his mother-in-law shared his views.

‘I find her so,’ he said.

‘You have made her acquaintance...personally then?’

‘Yes. But not as you might think. She is not the sort of girl for a quick encounter today and to be forgotten tomorrow.’

‘I would agree with that.’

‘Her conversation is amazing in one who has lived her life in the country.’

‘She has a bright intelligence and a rather unusual beauty.’

‘That was my opinion.’

‘Have you...plans concerning this girl?’

The King was silent.

‘I find myself thinking of her often but not...in the usual way.’

‘I see,’ said Yolande thoughtfully. She was thinking that it would be good for him to have a mistress of good reputation. If Charles were ever going to win the respect of his people he would have to change. He would have to develop confidence in himself; he would have to act more forcefully; he would have to be extricated from ministers whose one aim was to enrich themselves. He was fond of women; he listened to women. Yolande regarded that as a virtue. She believed that if Charles could be surrounded by wise people, if he could be aroused from his lethargy, if it could be brought home to him that he had the makings of a great monarch in him, he could become one.

She went on thoughtfully: ‘I think the girl would be an asset to our Court. She has a certain grace. I noticed it myself. She could become a member of Marie’s household. I will speak to her.’

‘As always you are my very good friend.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Yolande.

It may have seemed strange, she ruminated, that she should introduce into her daughter’s household a young girl who was very likely destined to become the King’s mistress. But Yolande was far-seeing. How much better for the King to have one good woman to whom he was devoted than a succession of furtive fumblings with serving girls which was ruining his health in any case as well as undermining his dignity. Yolande looking into the future could see the day arrive when Charles could be a great King. She must therefore allow no obstacles to stand in his way. He needed guidance until he found the way he must go; and he would succeed, Yolande believed. She knew men; she knew how to govern; she herself had acted as Regent of Anjou for her eldest son Louis who was in Naples trying to keep hold of the crown there. In her wisdom she believed that Charles needed as many steadying influences as could be found. And it seemed to her that this beautiful and wise young girl could well be one of them. She could mould Agnès, become her friend. Charles was not the only one who sensed rare qualities in this girl. It was worth giving the matter a try.

Isabelle, realizing that no help could be obtained from the King, prepared to return to the palace in Nancy where her own mother was in charge.

When she went she left Agnès Sorel behind. Agnès had become Maid of Honour to the Queen of France.

Meanwhile René was finding a certain amount of enjoyment in captivity. He had never been one to care for battles. His position forced him into a situation which his inclination would have been to avoid if there had been a choice. Yolande had seen that he had been brought up to reverence the laws of chivalry, and these often made heavy demands on a man.

However, at Dijon, he had leisure and he was free of making war. The laws of chivalry demanded that he must be treated with the utmost respect which resulted in the fact that, strictly confined as he was, he was more of a guest at Dijon than a prisoner.

Although he was closely guarded he could go where he liked within the castle and he found pleasure in the chapel where there was a great deal of glass some of which had been decorated with exquisite paintings. René was a painter of some ability; he was also a poet and a musician; how often had he deplored his inability to devote himself to these activities which he loved. Now here was a chance. He had so much admired the paintings in the chapel that he would like to paint on glass himself. Glass was found for him and paints provided and in a short time René was passing the days of his captivity in a very pleasant fashion.

Time flew. He had completed a portrait of the late Duke John of Burgundy, who had been known as the Fearless; and so pleased was he with it that he did another of the Duke’s son, the present Duke Philip.

He then painted miniatures of other members of the family and looked forward to each day when he could continue with his work.

When he heard that the Duke of Burgundy had announced his intention of visiting Dijon he scarcely heard the news; he was so intent on getting the right texture for the hair of the subject of one of his paintings.

Duke Philip arrived and expecting to find an abject René of Anjou begging for his release was surprised to find the captive intent on his work.

The Duke looked at the painting. ‘Why it is beautiful,’ he said. ‘I had no idea you were an artist.’

‘Oh,’ said René modestly, ‘it passes the time.’

He talked of the way he mixed his paints and the subjects who pleased him most.

‘You seem to have found an agreeable way in which to spend your captivity,’ said the Duke.

‘An artist,’ explained René, ‘can never truly become the captive of anything but his own imagination.’

‘So an artist can be content wherever he is.’

‘While engaged in the act of creation most certainly.’

‘It seems to me you do not find all this in the least irksome.’

‘At times, yes. I should like to be with my family. My children are growing up, you know, and it is always a joy to see them changing. But while I paint my work engrosses me. It is so with artists.’

The Duke was amazed. There could not be a man less like himself. It was not that the Duke was not a highly cultured man. He was. He loved beautiful things, but first and foremost he was the Duke of Burgundy and his main object in life was to uphold his power and increase it.

But he was greatly impressed by René’s work and when he saw the pictures which his prisoner had painted of Duke John and himself he declared that they were very fine indeed and should be placed in the window of the chapel.

‘You embarrass me,’ he said. I do not care to hold an artist such as you captive.’

‘There is an easy remedy for that,’ said René with a smile. ‘Let me go free.’

‘Now you know that is not possible. There are conventions to be observed in matters like this. If I freed you without conditions I should have every prisoner I take claiming to be an artist.’

‘That is a matter, my lord Duke, which could be put to the test.’

‘The appreciation of great art is an individual matter. I should be told that my prisoner was a great artist but of a different school from that which I admired. You see my difficulties.’

‘I do, my lord.’

‘On the other hand,’ said the Duke, ‘I would discuss terms with you. You were captured in battle. The dispute over Lorraine has to be settled. Who has the prior claim—you as husband of Isabelle or Antoine de Vaudémont! Are we to enforce the Salic Law or not? I can see an easy settlement to that dispute.’

‘I should be glad to know it.’

‘You have a daughter, have you not?’

‘Two. Yolande and Margaret.’

‘It is of the elder I would speak.’

‘That is Yolande.’

‘My dear man, Antoine has a son, young Ferri. Why should not these two be betrothed? In time Antoine’s son and your daughter would inherit Lorraine. Would you agree to that? I ask you this, but at the same time I must remind you that you will remain a prisoner until you do.’

‘It seems a fair enough solution,’ said René.

‘Then that will settle the main dispute. But naturally there must be a ransom. Certain castles shall we say?’

‘Which?’ asked René.

‘Clermont, Chatille, Bourmont and Charmes?’

‘You strike a hard bargain.’

‘And twenty thousand gold crowns.’

‘Twenty thousand gold crowns! Where shall I find them?’

‘You will have time to find the money. I should advise you to agree. Ransoms have a habit of increasing with the years. I am being lenient. You must admit. It is because of the respect I have for an artist.’

When the Duke had gone René considered the matter. He wanted to be with his family. He longed to see the children. It was true that little Yolande would doubtless be expected to join the Vaudémonts. Well, that was the sort of thing that happened to girls.

He agreed and very soon after was speeding on his way to join his family.

After René had been warmly greeted by his family both Isabelle and her mother considered the terms of his release and declared that they were very harsh.

In the nursery, Theophanie was fuming.

‘A nice state of affairs,’ she said. ‘A little mite like my Yolande to go off and live with strangers. Her cousins they may be, but it’s not right. It’s not right at all. And Agnès. Who would have believed that? A Maid of Honour eh, to the Queen. I reckon she’ll be pining for her nice place in my nurseries before very long. Agnès at Court! I can’t see it. I can’t see it at all.’

But the real tragedy was of course the departure of Yolande.

It was a mercy, she muttered to herself, that the child was so young...too young to realize. She was only four years old, poor mite. She was asking a great many questions about her new home.

‘As if I could tell her,’ mourned Theophanie.

Margaret looked on with wide eyes. ^

‘Why is Yolande going away?’

‘Because she’s going to be betrothed.’

‘What is betrothed?’

‘Married, in time.’

Theo, shall I be betrothed?’

‘You certainly will, my lamb.’

‘Is it a good thing to be?’

‘It’s sometimes very good...for others,’ added Theophanie bitterly.

The boys were interested. ‘You’ll have to go one day, Margaret,’ they taunted her.

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 interference 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.