Queen Of Four Kingdoms, The by HRH Princess Michael of Kent Page A

given birth to a son. My Louis has even given him a title. Don’t look so surprised; it is quite the norm for royal princes!’ she says with a wry laugh.
    Not mine,
Yolande thinks to herself.
Not mine.
    With the coming of summer, they have arrived in Anjou, with everyone ready for the birth of her first child. Valentina has told Yolande in great detail how it has been for her and what to expect. Juana has not had a child, so although she knows a lot, she cannot know how it actually feels. Yolande’s birthing rooms are made ready, something she enjoys supervising; and Marie de Blois has produced beautiful lace from a huge trunk in the nursery wing for the crib.
    When Yolande’s labour begins, she cannot help wishing:
If only my mother could be with me!
But the Queen of Aragon has still not recovered from her broken leg and can hardly walk.
I am blessed to have dear Juana; I can hear the birds singing and rejoice in our child’s birth, despite the pain.
    The midwife rushes about, maids carry clean towels and sheets, buckets of warm water, watered elderflower juice for Yolande. Time seems to stand still. And then, at last, the cry of the newborn baby brings smiles of relief to all the anxious faces.
    As Louis III d’Anjou greets the world and the midwife holds up the screaming child to be washed and swaddled, Juana whispers, ‘Thanks be to God the birth was uncomplicated.’ Louis is admitted, and sinks to his knees beside Yolande’s bed. He kisses her palm, nuzzles her neck and buries his head next to hers on the pillows, wiping tears from their eyes while she sinks back exhausted, happy for Louis, for herself, for the baby, for Anjou!
    The new father appears overwhelmed – as if no child has ever been born but his. He kisses Yolande’s hand again and again, and strokes the tiny one of his son, sleeping happily after his first feed from the bright-eyed local girl brought in as the baby’s wet nurse.
    Now that all has gone smoothly, the midwife delights in telling Yolande horror stories of all the stillbirths she has attended, and the wet nurses waiting ready for a newborn that does not live. Juana is busy counting the baby’s fingers and toes, and cannot stop smiling at her mistress.
    The summer passes sleepily and with the contentment that only a healthy growing baby can bring. When the weather starts to turn chilly, the family begins the long, peaceful journey to Provence with the little boy held snugly in Yolande’s arms.
    The joy of motherhood – writing letters and playing with the baby – has so totally absorbed Yolande that she has not appreciated what has been happening in the country since their return to Tarascon in the sleepy south. Carlo has remained in Angers this time and Vincenzo has come with her instead, but, involved with the baby, she has not taken the time to question him. She is aware that Louis and Charles confer constantly and quietly with their mother, which does not seem unusual, and it is to be expected that visitors come to see the baby, including a number of Louis’ people from Paris, who, she presumes, also have business to conclude. But slowly, Yolande begins to notice Louis’ absent looks and preoccupation with something, though when she asks, he brushes her questions aside with kisses for mother or baby. No, something is happening; Yolande has recovered from the birth and her antennae are alert. She knows that couriers arrive frequently, perhaps too frequently, from Paris, and she is beginning to feel that there may be trouble of some sort brewing.
    Finally, she summons her agent to see her privately. ‘Vincenzo – I have been so blissfully distracted in the nursery, I have not called you to ask if you have anything to tell me.’
    ‘Madame, Your Grace, I also have not dared to approach you, but there is much movement at the court in Paris of which I think you should be aware, as it will affect my lord.’
    ‘Well, I am strong and well now, so do not spare me any