God, to jostle and jerk me over the pocked and rubbled road. On Romano’s palfrey I could see, and be seen by, our people who lined the road all the way to the palace, twenty miles of cheering crowds, smiling and shouting wishes of long life for Louis and, yes, for me. Love filled me like waters swelling a skin. I wanted to cry but could not, being a queen, so I put the emotion aside to share with Romano—again tonight, perhaps, in my bed.
I had been gone for more than a week. My frantic ride to the castle had taken one day. The siege ended, we tarried for three to repair the Montlhéry walls and add fortifications, then took three more days to return to Paris. With so many walking, and so many more by the roadside tossing flowers and gifts and bestowing kisses, it seemed we might never arrive at the palace. Louis rode in front, reminding me of a peacock in his bejeweled crown and mantles of blue and gold, but causing me also to remember my husband. The likeness astonished me, as it did all the world, but their resemblance was only physical. My husband had placed me beside him in every public display, while my son had scowled when I’d ridden up to join him.
“A king needs a queen,” I reminded him.
“A man,” he said, “needs not his mama.” He spurred his horse, which sprinted to the front of the procession.
“Vanity is to be expected in a lad his age,” Guérin said to me. “Pray that it will pass.”
I cringed, thinking of the horrors my own vanity had brought about. “What, besides prayer, would Francis of Assisi have advised?”
“Brother Francis had himself flogged daily, as a reminder of Christ’s pain. As St. Bartolomeu de Farne said: ‘We must inflict our body with all kinds of adversity if we want to deliver it to perfect purity of soul.’”
I glanced ahead to Louis, who was smiling, waving, taking flowers from girls and blowing kisses in return, glorying in the adoration he had scorned to accept from me. What are you doing here? he had said when I’d arrived. I cringed to recall the surly greeting. Did he think I’d placed my life in jeopardy out of pleasure? A highwayman, it was said, lurked behind every tree along the Orléans road. Did he realize what might have happened to me?
And yet, I hadn’t thought at all about my safety. I’d whipped the horse’s flanks and ridden as hard as I could make it go, and prayed to God for the first time since my husband’s death to keep him safe, dear Lord, don’t let my boy be harmed, you’ve taken the father but leave me the son, O Lord, remember how your own mother suffered when you died at thirty-three, while my sweet Louis is barely thirteen. God had kept my son’s body safe, for which I would ever be thankful, but now it was my task to guard his soul.
He met my gaze, then glanced quickly away as if he had not seen me. I wanted to cry out. What had I done to deserve this abuse? I would flog him myself, by God!
At last we made our way through the clotted streets of Paris, past all the revelers welcoming their king and queen home to safety. Let Pierre and his thugs try again to unseat us. The provost had said more troops had planned to join us from Orléans and Melun and a number of other towns. Never again would we have to fear for our lives, not even if every baron in the kingdom turned against us. We had the love of the people.
And yet I thought only of one man’s love as I dismounted my horse with deliberate slowness, taking care not to let my eagerness for Romano show. On the ground, I turned, and there he was, bowing before me, kissing my ring, sending shivers racing up my arm.
“All those men, sent for us from Paris!” I said. “You saved us, my dear cardinal. And you saved our kingdom.”
He looked down into my face. A lock of hair curled rakishly on his brow. His dark eyes crinkled and I saw, yes, there it was. Love.
“Not I, but you, my lady. I did nothing. Your speech roused them, Blanche. Your passion stirred
I had been gone for more than a week. My frantic ride to the castle had taken one day. The siege ended, we tarried for three to repair the Montlhéry walls and add fortifications, then took three more days to return to Paris. With so many walking, and so many more by the roadside tossing flowers and gifts and bestowing kisses, it seemed we might never arrive at the palace. Louis rode in front, reminding me of a peacock in his bejeweled crown and mantles of blue and gold, but causing me also to remember my husband. The likeness astonished me, as it did all the world, but their resemblance was only physical. My husband had placed me beside him in every public display, while my son had scowled when I’d ridden up to join him.
“A king needs a queen,” I reminded him.
“A man,” he said, “needs not his mama.” He spurred his horse, which sprinted to the front of the procession.
“Vanity is to be expected in a lad his age,” Guérin said to me. “Pray that it will pass.”
I cringed, thinking of the horrors my own vanity had brought about. “What, besides prayer, would Francis of Assisi have advised?”
“Brother Francis had himself flogged daily, as a reminder of Christ’s pain. As St. Bartolomeu de Farne said: ‘We must inflict our body with all kinds of adversity if we want to deliver it to perfect purity of soul.’”
I glanced ahead to Louis, who was smiling, waving, taking flowers from girls and blowing kisses in return, glorying in the adoration he had scorned to accept from me. What are you doing here? he had said when I’d arrived. I cringed to recall the surly greeting. Did he think I’d placed my life in jeopardy out of pleasure? A highwayman, it was said, lurked behind every tree along the Orléans road. Did he realize what might have happened to me?
And yet, I hadn’t thought at all about my safety. I’d whipped the horse’s flanks and ridden as hard as I could make it go, and prayed to God for the first time since my husband’s death to keep him safe, dear Lord, don’t let my boy be harmed, you’ve taken the father but leave me the son, O Lord, remember how your own mother suffered when you died at thirty-three, while my sweet Louis is barely thirteen. God had kept my son’s body safe, for which I would ever be thankful, but now it was my task to guard his soul.
He met my gaze, then glanced quickly away as if he had not seen me. I wanted to cry out. What had I done to deserve this abuse? I would flog him myself, by God!
At last we made our way through the clotted streets of Paris, past all the revelers welcoming their king and queen home to safety. Let Pierre and his thugs try again to unseat us. The provost had said more troops had planned to join us from Orléans and Melun and a number of other towns. Never again would we have to fear for our lives, not even if every baron in the kingdom turned against us. We had the love of the people.
And yet I thought only of one man’s love as I dismounted my horse with deliberate slowness, taking care not to let my eagerness for Romano show. On the ground, I turned, and there he was, bowing before me, kissing my ring, sending shivers racing up my arm.
“All those men, sent for us from Paris!” I said. “You saved us, my dear cardinal. And you saved our kingdom.”
He looked down into my face. A lock of hair curled rakishly on his brow. His dark eyes crinkled and I saw, yes, there it was. Love.
“Not I, but you, my lady. I did nothing. Your speech roused them, Blanche. Your passion stirred
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