The Battle of the Queens (28 page)

The King and Queen and a few of their chosen followers were given a loyal welcome at the Lusignan castle and the King’s men were in the town or encamped in its environs.

It had seemed right to come thus, for it would show Hugh de Lusignan – if he was of a mind to be intransigent – that the King was ready to enforce his commands.

Hugh showed no sign of a lack of loyalty and Isabella did not curtsey but opened her beautiful black-fringed violet eyes and smiled at the King as she bowed her head. Blanche was watching, though hoping none saw how intently. The beautiful eyes had no effect on Louis.

Now it was Blanche’s turn. Isabella bowed, every gesture implying: If you are a queen, so am I, for once a queen always a queen and I was longer Queen of England than you have been Queen of France.

‘We are greatly honoured to receive you,’ said Isabella, and she and Hugh led them into the castle.

Hugh walked beside the King, Isabella beside Blanche.

‘How desolate you must be,’ said Isabella. ‘I know well how you loved the late King. And your responsibilities have become great.’

Her eyes were on Blanche’s gown of blue velvet which was becoming; it flowed to the ground and the sleeves were long and tight after the fashion of the day and over them she wore a super-tunic and a mantle; her wimple was made of fine silk, blue to match her gown. She was beautiful. But Isabella was complacent. Without effort she could outshine any other woman she had ever met.

Her own gown long flowing with similar tight sleeves was of scarlet – flamboyantly rich and demanding attention; her hair flowed about her shoulders and about her brow was a gold circle which glowed with a single ruby.

Blanche thought: She has changed very little. If anything she is more wily because she is older.

When the royal party was refreshed there was a feast in the great hall. On the dais was a table smaller than that in the main hall and at this small table sat Hugh with Isabella, Louis and Blanche. At the great table in the centre of the hall sat the most noble of the King’s followers and those of Hugh and below the great salt-cellar, those of lesser rank.

Blanche was conscious that Isabella was eager for them to realise that, although they were vassals of the King of France here in Lusignan, in England she had been a queen and if she returned to that country would be received as the mother of the reigning King.

The table was laden with good food – venison, beef, mutton and pies of all descriptions and the wine which was produced in the nearby vineyards was of the best.

As the company sat drowsy from good food and wine the
jongleurs,
or minstrels, arrived. These were those men who travelled the country and came in search of castles and great houses where their performances would be rewarded by food and a night’s shelter.

The company was always eager to see and hear them perform and they would pass judgment on the songs, which some of the minstrels had composed themselves, and pay accordingly. They were a sad company for they were despised as strolling players and it was not unknown that after having heard their performances the masters and mistresses of the big houses would begrudge their payment.

But this would not be the case on this night for they would sing before the King and in great castles such as this one, payment could be relied upon.

So it was a happy band of minstrels who performed for them.

They sang of their travels and stressed that they were poor minstrels in great company.

But I know how well to serve a knight
And of fine tales the whole sum
I know stories; I know fables,
I can tell fine new tales.

The company listened to the tales and fables – mostly concerning the hopeless lover’s plaint for his mistress; and the applause was led by Isabella, whose beautiful eyes sparkled as she listened.

I am a minstrel of the viol
I know the musette and the flute
And the harp and the chifonie
The gigue and the armonie
And the salteire and the rote
I know well how to sing a tune.
I know many fine table tricks
And from prestidigitations and magic
Well know how to make an enchantment.

Isabella clapped her hands and Hugh looked at her indulgently.

‘Good minstrel,’ she cried, ‘tell me how
you
make an enchantment.’

‘With my song, my lady,’ was the answer. ‘But not as sure as you can make them with your beauteous eyes.’

Then he made a song, on the spur of the moment he implied, and it could well have been one which he had in readiness for ladies whom he knew would enjoy it – which told of the fatal beauty of a lady which exceeded that of all others in the world.

Blanche looked on a little cynically and thought that here was one minstrel who would not go unrewarded.

Then Isabella declared that there had been enough of the minstrels and they should be taken to the kitchens and there given food for they had done their work well; and they would play the game of questions and commands and she would claim the privilege, as lady of the castle, of asking the first question.

She walked into the centre of the hall and called to one of her women to tie a silken kerchief about her eyes. Then she stood there with her arms outstretched looking so beautiful that none of the men – Blanche noticed – could take his eyes from her. Even Louis watched her with indulgence.

She put a white bejewelled hand to her lips as though she were thinking, then she said: ‘Alas ladies, our lords must often leave us and when they leave us are they faithful to us? We know their natures, ladies. Should we be blamed if we, sorely tempted and alone, fall into temptation such as they find irresistible?’

There was a hushed silence in the hall as Isabella began to move forward, her arms outstretched, feeling her way towards the tables. Ladies held their breath as she passed them and Blanche knew at once that she would be the one on whom Isabella would lay her hands and who, according to the rules of the game, must answer.

It was not a game. It meant something. Whatever peace should be made between their husbands, it was war between Isabella and Blanche.

Nearer to Blanche came Isabella and the outstretched white hands came to rest on the shoulders of the Queen of France.

This is the one who will answer me,’ said Isabella. ‘If she be a lady I trust she is wise for we hang on her words.’

Of course she could see, Blanche knew. She would have arranged that with her woman. She knew on whom she had laid her hands.

‘If whoever I have touched does not wish to answer,’ said Isabella, ‘that knight or lady must pay a forfeit.’

Blanche stood up and said coldly: ‘There is an obvious answer to such a straightforward question.’

Isabella tore the kerchief from her eyes and pretended to be overcome with embarrassment.

‘It is the Queen!’ she stammered. ‘My lady … I most humbly beg …’

‘There is no need to beg humbly or otherwise,’ said Blanche briskly. ‘The answer is that if the husband is so foolish as to ignore his marriage vows no good would come of his wife’s repeating the folly.’

There was applause throughout the hall. Blanche felt her usual calmness desert her. She did not know what it was about Isabella that affected her so strongly. It was as though all her senses warned her against the woman. The question was meant to imply that Louis was necessarily often away from her and could not be expected to be faithful and it was a sly way of asking whether she, Blanche the Queen, took the occasional lover. We know, thought Blanche fiercely, that Isabella Queen of England was not averse to the practice since her first husband was known to have hung at least one of her lovers on her bed tester.

She said: ‘I believe the rule of the game is that I am the next to be blindfolded. Pray bind my eyes.’

So she went to the centre of the hall and her eyes were bound as Isabella’s had been and she made sure that the kerchief was so loosely bound that she could see below and she made up her mind that she would grope her way forward until she came to a rich scarlet skirt and then she would lay her hands on the owner of it and ask her question.

She spoke clearly: ‘Should a parent put the welfare of his or her child before personal desire and pleasure?’

She was aware of the depth of the silence. Everyone would know this was a criticism of Isabella’s conduct in taking the man her daughter had come out to marry and sending the child back to an unknown fate.

All present shrank into their seats fearing to be asked such a question, for the obvious answer that self-sacrifice must be made would be a deliberate slight on Isabella who had thought differently.

But Blanche picked her way carefully and there was a deep sigh as her hands rested on Isabella’s shoulders.

Isabella burst into laughter. ‘Why, my lady, see whom you have chosen. How strange it is, for I picked you and you have picked me. I will not pay the forfeit for I will answer the question. My lady, there is only one answer. We must all do what is best for our children no matter what the cost to ourselves.’

Everyone applauded with relief and none dared smile behind their hands for Isabella had sharp eyes and she could be vindictive.

‘I shall ask no more questions,’ she declared, ‘so shall pass on the kerchief to another. Ah, Hugh, my husband, let me bind your eyes.’

The game went on – questions were asked and answered. Isabella smiled at Blanche. ‘A childish game, is it not?’ she said. ‘But it would seem to amuse some. I should like more singing and then we will call the
jongleurs
back to do tricks for us. If that is your wish, my lady?’

Blanche said that she thought the game somewhat childish and that the most amusing were usually the first questions; after that it could pall.

So Isabella clapped her hands and declared that she would name some of the knights to play for them and perhaps sing if they could and that she had heard that the Count of Champagne was a very skilful songster. Would he enchant them with his music?

The Count rose from the table and bowing low declared his pleasure.

He then sang of the beauty of one whom he had long admired from afar. She was beyond his reach but so fair was she that he could find joy in no other.

It was a song which, it was whispered, he had written to the Queen; but she being so virtuous had not been aware that it was written of her.

Everyone applauded when he had finished and none more fervently than Isabella.

‘A beautiful song, my lord,’ she cried, ‘and well sung. I am sure if your lady heard you sing with such feeling she would be unable to deny you.’

‘Ah, my lady,’ replied Thibaud, ‘if she did my song would have no meaning.’

‘Then you could write another,’ declared Isabella, ‘and I’ll swear it would be even more beautiful.’

She then called the
jongleurs
back and they performed acrobatic feats of great dexterity to the delight of all; and so passed the night.

In their bedchamber Isabella, her hair loose about her shoulders, her eyes blazing with excitement, was laughing with Hugh.

‘Dear, dear Hugh,’ she cried, ‘I believe I shocked you greatly tonight.’

‘My love,’ he replied reproachfully, ‘the Queen was put out.’

‘The Queen. I hate that woman. Haughty, cold, reminding all that she is the Queen.’

‘She
is
the Queen, my dear,’

‘She is the Queen of a few months. I have been a Queen for years. I will be treated as such. In marrying you I am but the wife of a count but I am a queen nonetheless.’

‘Blanche is a reigning queen.’

‘Poor Louis! He has to do as he is told. And poor little Louis, the son … and the rest of them. I tell you she is a woman who will be obeyed.’

‘Some women are,’ replied Hugh.

She laughed at him and running to him put her arms about his neck. She pulled him to the bed and lay down with him. She could always bring him to her way of thinking at any time … but it was easier thus.

‘They have different methods. Can you imagine Blanche and Louis like this?’

‘Never.’

She laughed. ‘My beautiful Hugh,’ she said, ‘you don’t know how often I thought of you when I was with that odious John. And you love me, do you not? You would do anything to please me. What should I make you do, Hugh? Go to the royal chamber and take a cushion and hold it down over that haughty face until, it is still and cold …’

‘Isabella, what are you saying!’

‘Nothing of importance. How could you do that? And to what purpose? But they must do what
we
want, Hugh. They are afraid of us.’

‘I think not, my love. Louis is the King, Blanche the Queen. You have seen the army they have encamped around.’

‘But why do they come here thus, if they are not here to placate you? Why should they come here … first to you. Louis is recently King and he says, “I must go and speak with Hugh de Lusignan.” They are afraid of us, Hugh. We must keep them afraid.’