The Red Rose of Anjou

A STOLEN PORTRAIT

The meeting was ecstatic. It was long since Margaret had seen her mother. Eight years, Isabelle reminded her. It was four since her father had been in Anjou.

Although it was such a joyous reunion, René had a sorry story to tell. When he had arrived in Naples he had been warmly welcomed by the people but as soon as his rival, Alfonso of Aragon, had started to invade it became clear that René was no match for him. He had quickly realized that if he wanted to go on living he must get out of Naples. He had no money with which to continue the fight; he hated the war; he had no great desire for the crown. Even his wife Isabelle realized that they were fighting a losing battle.

‘When a Genoese galley was available we took it and were brought back to France, said René. ‘And, my dearest daughter, how glad I am to be with you.’

There was so much to talk about, and family matters were so much more absorbing to René than the quest for a crown. He was titular King of Naples still, even if he could not stay there and win the crown, and Margaret was a Princess, a fact which she knew would be important when the time came to find a bridegroom for her.

Margaret wanted to know so much. How was John now that he was married to Marie de Bourbon? Had they heard how Yolande was faring at the home of her betrothed, Ferri de Vaudémont? When was Louis joining them? It was wonderful to be once more with her parents.

It occurred to Margaret that they could have been together all the time, for what good had any of René’s attempted conquests done them? He was wise perhaps after all. It was only the opinion of the others and the need to submit to the laws of chivalry which had sent him out to fight. If he had obeyed his own inclinations he would have stayed at home, painting, writing music, singing to delighted audiences and building roads and bridges which he had always wanted to do. His great idea was to turn his towns into seats of culture, to which people came from all over the world to see fine paintings and hear good poetry and music.

He had plans for Angers which would need a great deal of reconstruction as would the whole of Anjou when it was finally taken out of the hands of the English.

They went to the castle of Angers and from there to Tarascon for René was also the Count of Provence and he had responsibilities in that part of the country as well as in Anjou.

For a few months Margaret felt she could forget everything but the joy of being united with her parents. But there were sorrows in the world which could not be ignored.

Her brother Louis had died suddenly of dysentery. The news was a shattering blow for they had been planning that he should come and join them.

It was a household of mourning. René became more and more absorbed in his painting. Isabelle decided that it was no use trying to persuade him to set out on any more ventures which would inevitably end in disaster.

Life went on quietly until emissaries from the Duke of Burgundy arrived at the castle.

After a long consultation with the messenger from the Duke of Burgundy, René and Isabelle sent for Margaret. This concerned her and she was old enough now to be prepared for what must be inevitable.

That René was uneasy was obvious. Isabelle was less so but then she was always more politically minded than her husband.

‘Margaret my child,’ said René, ‘as you know our visitors have come from the very noble Duke of Burgundy and he has put a certain proposition before us.’

Margaret’s heart began to beat rapidly. She guessed what the proposition must be.

‘The Duke has suggested an alliance which would certainly be good for us.’

She waited for him to go on and he hesitated. He had no desire for such a union. Isabelle might say it would be advantageous and in any case they dared not offend the Duke of Burgundy, but René did not want to see his daughter married to an old man. Margaret should have someone young and beautiful like herself.

He sighed. He must not be foolish. He had been foolish so many times.

‘He suggests that you should give your hand in marriage to his nephew Charles, Count of Nevers.’

‘I see,’ said Margaret.

‘He will be a good husband. He has already proved that to his first wife. It will be good for us to form such a close alliance with the House of Burgundy and the great Duke himself wishes the match to take place. In fact it is he who has proposed it. I think we should rejoice in this. Your marriage has long been a subject which has absorbed your mother and myself. Now here is the solution.’

He was looking at her anxiously, wanting her not to be upset by the proposal. She knew this and she smiled at him reassuringly although she was feeling very uneasy.

She had often thought of marrying, but a middle-aged husband did not fit in with her dreams. She had visualized someone young and handsome, someone who needed her to lean on, someone like her father—clever, charming, pleasant to be with and yet at the same time needing her care. A middle-aged Count, a nephew of great Burgundy, did not fit in with her dreams.

‘It is really a very good match,’ said René.

‘Yes, my lord, I suppose it is.’

‘What an important lady you will be. Countess of Nevers.’

‘I am a Princess already.’

‘A Princess... Yes, your father is a King. It is rather a hollow title but a King nevertheless. They are asking a dowry of fifty thousand livres.’

‘You will never be able to pay that!’ cried Margaret with a hint of relief.

‘Oh, we will think about that when the time comes,’ said René with customary abandon.

So it seemed that Margaret was destined to marry the Count of Nevers.

It was a few days later when there was a visitor at the castle of Tarascon. He came with two manservants only. He had ridden far, he said, and craved a bed for the night.

Such travellers were never turned away and this one proved to be an entertaining gentleman.

He was Guy de Champchevrier, a gentleman from Angers. He entertained them as they sat at the table with his stories of the war in which he had served for some years until he had been captured and taken prisoner. He had been held to ransom by an English soldier, Sir John Fastolf. Did they know of him? They would have heard of the Battle of the Herrings outside Orléans. He had been the hero of that little adventure.

‘His one claim to fame,’ said the visitor. ‘Unless the other was capturing Guy de Champchevrier...’

He had been in England for some time and had been at the Court there. He had conversed with the King of England, who had seemed to take a fancy to him. ‘He liked to hear me talk of France,’ he said.

‘And what manner of man is this Henry of England?’ asked René.

‘A good man...very religious. Handsome in a way, though not like the Plantagenet Kings with their long legs and their yellow hair. He does not bluster or swear, nor does he make sport with the women. I would say that first of all Henry of England is a good man.’

‘They will be seeking a wife for him soon,’ said Isabelle.

‘Oh yes, my lady, negotiations are going afoot. It will be a daughter of the King...or a daughter of the Count of Armagnac. A French marriage. It will be a seal on the peace.’

‘There is nothing like a marriage between two enemies to make a peace,’ said René.

‘Yet Henry the Fifth married Katherine of France and there was nothing but war after,’ Margaret reminded them.

‘That was a shameful marriage,’ said her mother. ‘Our poor crazy King gave away France at that time.’

‘Well, we’re winning it back,’ said Champchevrier, ‘and a marriage will put an end to war. I know that a painter has been sent to the Court of Armagnac for the express purpose of painting the Count’s daughters. There are three of them and they say the King will take the one most to his taste. I know the painter well. A Dutchman named Hans who has a deft hand with the brush. He has had instruction that they shall be painted in simple garments just as he sees them and in no way is Hans to think of making pretty pictures, but to paint exactly what he sees.’

‘Ah, it seems as though the King is serious. And he will take the one he Likes best.’

‘It’s humiliating,’ said Margaret. ‘If I were one of the Count of Armagnac’s daughters I should refuse to be painted.’

‘What, my lady, and deny your chance of being Queen of England?’

‘If it meant submitting to such a test, yes.’

‘My lord, you have a spirited daughter,’ commented Champchevrier. Then he went on to delight them with stories of the Court of England and it was a very agreeable evening.

He left early next morning with many protestations of gratitude. It was a few days later when René discovered that a picture he had painted of Margaret was missing.

It was a charming portrait of the girl in a simple gown with her lovely hair falling about her shoulders and showing to perfection those reddish tints. It was one of René’s favourite paintings.

His anger quickly passed and he became highly amused.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I think that rogue Champchevrier stole the picture of Margaret. He must have been very much impressed by her.’

Guy de Champchevrier was congratulating himself on the manner in which he had achieved what he had set out to do. The King would be pleased with him. It was a delightful picture; and what was more important than the King’s approval would be that of my lord of Suffolk. William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, was, after the Cardinal, the most powerful man in the land; the great enemy of both the Duke and the Cardinal was the Duke of Gloucester and every day the latter was becoming more and more ineffectual.

No, it was the Cardinal who ruled England with Suffolk close on his heels and so it would be for although England had a King and he was now past twenty years of age he was not meant to be a ruler. He was too gentle to his enemies; he hated the sight of bloodshed; he never wanted to harm his enemies; he liked to be with his books and he was constantly engaged in prayer. He showed no interest in the ladies of the Court many of whom would not have hesitated to indulge in a Little frolic with the King and when he had seen some of them, as he thought, immodestly dressed he had turned shuddering away crying for shame.’ His strongest oath was ‘Forsooth and Forsooth’, and ‘By Jove’. He would have made a better priest than a King, thought Champchevrier.

And as he was riding along he suddenly realized that he was being followed. He called to his servants to move faster and they broke into a gallop, but it was not long before they were surrounded.

Champchevrier protested but he was told that he was arrested in the name of the King.

‘The King of France...’ cried Champchevrier.

‘Indeed the King of France. What other King could there be on French territory?’

Champchevrier said: ‘I can explain.’

‘That you are an escaped prisoner. We know that already. It is on that count that you are now under arrest.’

There was nothing Champchevrier could do but submit.

But when he reached the Court he managed to assure his captors that he was engaged on a mission of some secrecy and one which he could only divulge to the King himself.

‘You are mad if you think the King will see you,’ he was told.

‘You will be in trouble if you refuse to take my message to the King. I come from the King of England.’

After some preamble Champchevrier’s claim was put before the King and Charles, intrigued, agreed to see him.

Champchevrier bowed low before Charles and begged that he might speak to him in private for the nature of his mission was very secret.

Those about the King were suspicious but Charles insisted that he would hear the man and his guards retired to wait at the door and Charles said: ‘Well, proceed.’

‘Sire, I am on a very private mission for my lord Duke of Suffolk and the King of England. It is true that I was taken in battle by Sir John Fastolf and the ransom demanded has not been paid.’

‘Then you have offended against the laws of chivalry and I must hand you over to Sir John.’

‘Let me explain, Sire. I have had conversations with the King of England for I have been treated most honourably in England. I am a native of Anjou and have on several occasions seen the fair daughter of King René. The Lord Cardinal has also seen 1 her. You may know, my lord, that there are negotiations going on for a marriage between the King and one of the Count of Armagnac’s daughters. The Duke of Gloucester wishes this marriage but the Cardinal and my Lord Suffolk do not believe that such a marriage will help to bring about a peace.’

The King nodded. ‘I think I agree with that.’

‘My lord Gloucester wishes that marriage to take place because he is all for prolonging the war. He is a man of unsound judgment, my lord.’

‘There you speak truth.’

‘The Cardinal was much impressed by Margaret of Anjou.’

‘I begin to .see what this is all about,’ said the King with a smile.

‘Yes, Sire. Being a native of Anjou, I know the country well. I was able to add my opinion of the lady Margaret’s beauty to that of the Cardinal. Sire, you know what a delicate matter this is. The English do not wish the Count of Armagnac to know that the King is looking elsewhere. It is disastrous that having completed my mission I should be arrested. As I saw it, the only solution was to put the case to you.’

‘And what was your mission?’ asked the King.

‘To secure a picture of the Princess Margaret, my lord. Her father is a fine painter. It seemed likely that he would have made a portrait of his beautiful daughter.’

‘You procured it?’

‘Stole it, Sire. I am on my way to show it to the King of England.’

‘You have it with you? It would prove your story.’

Champchevrier brought the picture from a pocket in his cloak.

The King took it and studied it intently. ‘A beautiful child,’ he said. ‘I think her father has painted her well. I am fond of her father. I was very fond of her grandmother. I liked the girl, too. She made quite an impression at my Court.’

‘Sire, it is bold of me to ask but your sympathy and understanding tempts me to. Would you approve of a match between Margaret of Anjou and Henry of England?’

The King was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘I think it would have pleased her grandmother.’

Ho was very sad thinking of Yolande. He had suffered a terrible blow in the loss of her. Of course Yolande had been old and he should not have been surprised at her death but that was no consolation.

But what was this matter? Champchevrier stealing a portrait of Margaret and getting caught with it, and Sir John Fastolf getting angry because his prisoner was at large, and demanding that he be handed back to him.

Sir John would be disappointed. It would pay him back for the Battle of the Herrings which had been such a disgrace to the French. Besides, a marriage between Margaret and the King of England might be very advantageous to France.

And how pleased Yolande would have been. She had often fretted about the lack of Margaret’s chances. And here was an opportunity which was too dazzling for Yolande ever to have dreamed of.

Charles said: ‘I give you permission to travel freely through France. You shall be released at once to return to the King of England. Guard the picture of my niece well. It is a very fine one and exactly like her. I think Henry might like that well.’

René was uneasy. Ho could not concentrate on his painting and that was a sure sign that something weighed heavily on his mind.

It was Margaret’s marriage. He really did not want her to go to the Count of Nevers. She was far too young; and far too dominating a character for a match like that. He knew that Nevers would expect a docile young girl whom he could mould to his ways and whose only important task would be to bear him children.

Margaret was an unusual girl. It was not merely because she was his daughter that he thought so. She was like her mother and his mother. They were strong, dominant women— and there were signs that Margaret was the same.

Why had Champchevrier stolen the portrait? It was quite clear that his arrival at the château had not been an accident. He had had some purpose. To steal Margaret’s picture. For whom? That was the question.

There was gossip that Champchevrier had been arrested, that he had been taken to the King himself and that Charles had given him permission to go on his way even though he was in fact a prisoner for whom a ransom was being asked.

It was all very mysterious and René had a shrewd idea that the mission had been to procure a picture of Margaret surreptitiously so that no one would guess for what reason.

And she was to go to Nevers.

He could not stop the match. Nor did he wish to until he was sure there would be a better; but he could delay matters.

Nevers—and Burgundy with him—was eager for a contract to be signed and the Count had sent word that his emissaries would be arriving very shortly.

I must do something, thought René.

Then he had an idea. His daughter Yolande was to marry Ferri de Vaudémont and there would be a dowry to provide for her.

He must consider this very carefully. All he had to offer was promises. They must know how impoverished he had become. His only asset of any worth was his daughters.

Although he could not cancel the contract with Nevers without arousing the fury of the House of Burgundy he could introduce a clause which would make the contract distasteful to someone, and he would have to work through the Vaudémonts. He agreed that Margaret’s children should inherit Sicily, Provence and Bar excluding any children Yolande and Ferri might have. He added that if Yolande married again any male of the second marriage would come before Margaret’s children as far as Bar was concerned.

This was, as René had known it would be, construed as an insult by the Vaudémonts and they protested. They were going to take the matter to parliament, they declared. They were going to set it before the King and see what he thought about such injustice.

All well and good, thought René. Delay...delay...that is always a good policy.

‘Why have you done this?’ Margaret asked him. ‘You must have known what the result would be.’

‘I did it for that reason.’

‘But why. Father?’

‘May I ask you a question. Do you want to marry the Count of Nevers?’

Margaret considered calmly. ‘I have to marry someone,’ she said.

‘But you can imagine someone younger...someone more romantic...than a middle-aged Count, perhaps?’

‘Why, yes, of course.’

‘Then you don’t want to marry him? You would rather wait awhile. Who knows what gallant suitor might come forth? Is that so, dear child?’

‘Yes, Father. I do not want to marry the Count of Nevers.’

‘So I thought,’ said René. ‘Now we will settle down to wait.’