The King Without a Kingdom by Maurice Druon Page A

wrote to the pope, he wrote to the emperor, he wrote to all the Christian princes, explaining to them that he hadn’t wanted Charles of Spain’s death, but only to seize him for insults received, and the harm he had suffered at his hand; truly his men had overstepped his orders, but he was prepared to assume responsibility for it all and stand up for his relatives, friends and servants who had been driven, in the tumult of Laigle, by an overzealous concern for his well-being.
    Having set up the ambush like a highway brigand, this is how he portrayed himself, wearing the gloves of a knight.
    And most importantly he wrote to the Duke of Lancaster, who was to be found in Malines, and also to the King of England himself. We got wind of these letters when things began to turn sour. The Bad One certainly didn’t beat about the bush. ‘If you summon your captains in Brittany to ready themselves, as soon as I send for them, to enter in Normandy, I will grant them good and sure passage. You should know, dearest cousin, that all the nobles of Normandy are with me in death as in life.’ With the murder of Monsieur of Spain, our man had chosen rebellion; now he was moving towards treason. But at the same time, he cast upon King John the Ladies of Melun.
    You don’t know whom we mean by that name? Ah! It’s raining. It was to be expected; this rain has been threatening us from the outset. Now you will bless my palanquin, Archambaud, rather than having water running down your neck, beneath your coathardy, and mud caking you to the waist …
    The Ladies of Melun? They are the two queens dowager, and Joan of Valois, Charles’s child-bride, who is awaiting puberty. All three live in the Castle of Melun, that is called the Castle of the Three Queens, or even the Widows’ Court.
    First of all there is Madame Joan of Évreux, King Charles IV’s widow and aunt to our Bad One. Yes, yes, she is still alive; she isn’t at all as old as one would think. She is barely a day over fifty; she is four or five years younger than me. She has been a widow for twenty-eight years already, twenty-eight years of wearing white. She shared the throne just three years. But she has remained an influence in the kingdom. She is the most senior, the very last queen of the great Capetian dynasty. Yes, of the three confinements she went through … three girls, of which only one, the one birthed after the king’s death, is still living … had she given birth to a boy, she would have been queen mother and regent. The dynasty came to an end in her womb. When she says: ‘Monseigneur of Évreux, my father … my uncle Philip the Fair … my brother-in-law Philip the Tall …’ a hush descends. She is the survivor of an undisputed monarchy, and of a time when France was infinitely more powerful and glorious than today. She is guarantor for the new breed. So, there are things that are not done because Madame of Évreux would disapprove of them.
    In addition to this, it is said around her: ‘She is a saint.’ You have to admit that it doesn’t take much when one is queen, to be looked upon as a saint by a small and idle court where singing others’ praises passes as an occupation. Madame Joan of Évreux gets up before dawn; she lights her candle herself so as not to disturb her ladies-in-waiting. Then she begins to read her book of hours, the smallest in the world so we are led to believe, a gift from her husband who had commissioned it from a master limner, 21 Jean Pucelle. She spends much time in prayer and regularly gives alms. She has spent twenty-eight years repeating that, as she had been unable to give birth to a son, she had no future. Widows live on obsessions. She could have carried more weight in the kingdom if she had been blessed with intelligence in proportion to her virtue.
    Then there is Madame Blanche, Charles of Navarre’s sister, second wife of Philip VI, a queen for just six months, barely time enough to get accustomed to wearing a crown.