And the shameless concubine was Isabella's mother!
Oh, it was a very unhealthy state of affairs.
It was difficult not to like Uncle Louis—who besides being handsome, was always good-tempered and generous; he was amusing and there was always laughter where he was; his clothes were exquisite and he was notorious for his extravagance. He always treated Isabella as though he were very fond of her and when she had first come to France he had professed himself to be very angry at the manner in which Richard had been treated. It had given her great comfort at that time to hear Richard's praises sung and the usurper King of England vilified. "He and his son Harry, I hate them both," she said. "And they tried to marry me to Harry. I would have none of him."
Uncle Louis said. Indeed not! She was far too beautiful and too important. What, a daughter of the King of France to marry the son of an impostor! True he held the title of King at this time, but how long would that last?
"I will go and fight him on your behalf," he declared.
"How can you. Uncle Louis?"
"By challenging him, my dear. He has plundered you of your dowry and he has murdered your husband. I shall challenge him to face me in the lists."
"You would not do this, Uncle," she breathed.
"I would indeed, my dear. I shall send a challenge to him without delay."
In the flamboyant grandiose manner in which Louis of Orleans did everything he sent his challenge.
Her mother was delighted.
"How like him!" she said. "He is a very gallant gentleman." Then she added: "Henry will not accept, I promise you." But she was really promising herself. The last thing she wanted her lover to do was fight in a combat which could end in death.
She was right. Henry treated the challenge with scorn. "I know of no precedent which gives the example of a crowned King going into the lists to fight a duel with a subject," was his cold reply. "No matter how high the rank of that subject."
This made Louis fume and fret. Queen Isabeau was with him when he received the reply and she sent for her daughter that she might realize what a gallant champion her uncle was.
"I shall answer this!" cried Louis. "I shall shame him."
He sat down and wrote with Queen Isabeau standing over him, watching, applauding and stroking his neck as he wrote.
"How could you allow the Queen of England to return to her country desolate with the loss of her lord, robbed of her dowry and everything she carried with her at the time of her marriage? Those who seek to gain honour should espouse her cause. Are not noble knights bound to defend the rights of widows and virgins of virtuous life such as my niece was known to lead? It is for this reason that I challenge you." He added with sarcasm: "I must thank you for the care you have taken of me by refusing this combat which is more than you did for the health and the life of your royal and rightful King Richard."
"That," cried the Duc, "will upset him. I understand there is one thing that never fails to and that is to refer to the murder of Richard in Pontefract Castle. I'll swear the deed will haunt him for the rest of his life. Yet if he had never committed it, how could he have become King of England?"
The note did sting Henry into reply.
Louis laughed over it with Isabeau as he read it aloud. Most indignantly did Henry deny that he had had a hand in Richard's death. "God knows how and by whom my cousin— whom may God absolve—met his death, but if you are hinting that that death was brought about by me then you lie and will lie foully whenever you say so."
Nothing more was done about the matter and the months passed. It seemed to Isabella that there was a perpetual tension as though trouble was ready to burst out at any moment. Her mother and Uncle Louis were quite blatant in their relationship; her father was overcome with melancholy; her father's uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, was constantly urging the King to do something, threatening that if he did not he would lose his crown. Did he want to find himself in the position of the dead Richard of England? he demanded. Isabella wanted to protest. It was no fault of Richard, she wanted to cry out. It was due to the wicked ambitious men around him. But no one would listen to her, of course. She was afraid of the Duke's son, who was known as John the Fearless, Count of Nevers. He was a man of violence, not caring what he said and of whom he said it. He always seemed to be at the centre of some cause and vowing vengeance on someone. She was glad when he was not at Court.
The Duke of Burgundy was for ever trying to persuade the King to take the Regency out of the hands of his brother of Orleans during those periods when he was unable to govern himself. The King wavered, but Isabeau always managed to persuade him. She was a siren who could conduct her smouldering love affair with Louis of Orleans in her husband's presence and somehow delude him.
Isabella would never forget the day the Augustine monk came to the Court to preach. He was named James Legrand and noted for his writings, and the directness of his sermons, and the subject of his sermon was the corruption of power and licentiousness. It was clearly aimed at the Court.
During the sermon the King rose from his seat and went and sat closer to the preacher, being immediately opposite him so that he could watch him while he spoke and not miss a word.
"The King your father," said Legrand, "likewise taxed his people but he did so to build fortresses to defend his country. He saved his treasure and made himself the most powerful of kings. Now nothing of this kind is done. The nobility in this day spend the money on entertainments; they live in debauchery; they wear dresses with ornamental fringes and big cuffs." He turned to the Queen and thundered: "This is the shame of the court, oh Queen. If you do not believe me, dress as a peasant and go into the city and mingle with the people that you may listen to what they say."
The Queen was incensed. She said that the preacher should be arrested. Let him rot in a dungeon and see what brave words he would have to utter then; but for once the King would have his own way.
"Nay," he said. "The man speaks some sense. It is true what he says of my father. I would I were more like him."
The Duke of Burgundy was beside his nephew. "Take warning," he said. "During your illnesses the country is being led to ruin. Your brother is too feckless, too frivolous. His morals are not of the highest standard. His wife frets about him. He has a good wife in Violante Visconti and how does he treat her? He is notoriously unfaithful to her. She is an unhappy woman. Sire, you must take from him the power to govern when you are stricken. There are others more suitable to the task."
"You mean yourself, uncle"
"I am of a more sober age, nephew. You will find there are many who support me."
The King had been so impressed by the sermon and the fact that it was true there were many to support the Duke of Burgundy that he gave way. He knew in his heart it was the right thing to do although he could not allow himself to believe what was so blatantly obvious and that was that his brother was his wife's lover.
When the Queen knew that power had been passed to Burgundy she was furious. So was Louis. They both disliked Burgundy who they knew would keep a firm hold on the reins once he had them in his grasp. Life was not going to be as amusing as it had been.
"A plague on Burgundy!" cried Louis of Orleans, but what was the use of words. It was a fact that under Burgundy a new rule of law and order was imposed. The great Duke set an example to the country by his exemplary family life. He surrounded himself with men of his own kind, whose great desire was to preserve the country, and the people were beginning to see what a difference a good ruler could make. There were no longer the bacchanalian feasts in which the Queen had loved to indulge at the expense of the State. Burgundy could not stop the intrigue between herself and Louis of Orleans, but he could mend so much that was wrong and he had the people behind him.