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.