‘And you, Philip … ?’
‘When the time comes I’ll not stand aside. You know it has always been a dream of mine to bring Normandy back to France where it belongs. I would make my country great as it was under Charlemagne.’
Agnes said, ‘I know.’
He took her hand and smiled. ‘And talk of war disturbs you, and I will not have you disturbed. Come, we will be happy. I will make you happy as you have made me.’
And she thought: But not France. Our happiness in each other has not been the contentment of France.
She brooded a great deal and without telling the King she sent a message to the Pope in which she pleaded with him to withdraw the Interdict. ‘I love my husband,’ she wrote, ‘and my love for him is a pure love. When I married I was ignorant of the laws of the Church. I believed that I was truly Philip’s wife. I beg of you, Most Holy Father, to raise the Interdict and give me leave to remain at the side of the man I call my husband.’
Innocent replied that he believed in her innocence, and that he had sympathy with her, but the truth was that Philip was in fact married to Ingeburga and for that reason while he lived with Agnes the Interdict could not be lifted.
Agnes was in despair. She wrote again to the Pope that she had two children, her young Philip and Marie, and if she left Philip she would be acknowledging those children as illegitimate. That was something she could not do. She would die with all her sins on her rather than harm her children.
The Pope’s reply was prompt. He believed her to be a good and pious woman who had been caught up in all innocence in this matter. He understood her loyalty to her children and if she would leave the King and go into a convent, he would declare her children legitimate since she had believed them to be so when they were born.
But remove the Interdict he would not, until Agnes and Philip had parted.
The palace was plunged in gloom. The King shut himself in his apartments and would not speak to no one. Agnes had left Paris.
She had made up her mind that she must save France from the disaster which she was sure the continuance of the Interdict would bring her to. War was imminent. No army could believe in victory when the approbation of Heaven was turned against it.
Agnes had made the great sacrifice.
Philip pacing up and down his bedchamber knew that she had done that which was best for France. He had dreaded going into battle with an army which would have decided before the fighting began that it was defeated. And yet … he had lost Agnes.
He cursed his fate. He was doomed to lose those he loved. Had he loved Isabella of Hainault, Louis’s mother? Not greatly but she had been an amiable spouse – a lovely creature; sometimes Louis looked very like her. She had been sixteen years old when he was born – not much older than he was now and she had died when the boy was two. So theirs had been a brief married life; and he had mourned her. He had lost Richard Coeur de Lion, whom he had loved more passionately than he had loved Isabella. He often thought of Richard now … moments of tenderness, moments of anger. Love and hatred had played strong roles between them. And he had lost him … But perhaps when he had almost lost his son he had suffered most. It was shortly after Isabella’s death when the child had come near to dying too and he had come home from the Holy Land, leaving Richard for the sake of his child. Louis had been preserved and how he had loved the boy. He still did. He could not explain what joy it was for him to be near this son of his. That Louis was gentle both delighted and dismayed him. He often wondered what sort of king he would make. He was like his grandfather really, too sensitive for kingship. But he was a lovable boy and Philip thanked God that Blanche showed signs of strength. He would talk to Blanche some time. He would make her understand how she must grow stronger and always support Louis, for Louis would need her. Thank God they had taken to each other. He had not wanted to spoil it. That was why he had let them live innocently together until that time when they should mate naturally. If it was, as it appeared, that the time had come, he rejoiced. It would mature them both and then he could talk to Blanche and make her understand.
But now he had lost Agnes.
The Interdict would be raised and there would be rejoicing throughout the land, but to gain the contentment of France had cost him Agnes.
He supposed he could have ridden to Poissy whither she had gone, could have implored her to come back, and he knew that she would not have been able to resist him.
But a king is a king, he told himself.
He had not thought that in the heat of his passion for her. Had he not known that he was in truth married to Ingeburga and because she was a princess the Pope would not allow her to be set aside.
Ingeburga. He shivered. Never never again …
Then he thought of Agnes and wept. But there would be war.
He was going to finish John – that foolish, reckless braggart. Brother of Richard … son of great Henry! God in Heaven, how did Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry Platagenet get such a creature?
But thank you, God, for bringing him into this world. Thank you for making him King. This is my chance. I shall bring back all that France has lost. I shall be as great a king as Charlemagne. And Agnes, dearest Agnes, I could not have done it without you beside me.
And while the King of France made plans for war, in the convent of Poissy Agnes wept and tried to forget the past. This was the best … for the King her lover, and for their children. This was the sacrifice demanded of her.
She grew listless. She could eat nothing. She spent hours in prayer.
There was no happiness left in life. She longed for the peace of Heaven. She prayed for it.
‘Oh Holy Mother of God, my life is over. There is nothing left to me now. In your mercy let my sorrows pass away. In death I shall find peace.’
Her prayers were granted. A few months after she had entered the convent of Poissy, Agnes was dead.
The Interdict was lifted but Philip refused to have Ingeburga back. That was one thing he stood firmly against. The Pope might have parted him from the woman he loved but he could not make him live with one he loathed. So Ingeburga continued her peregrination from castle to castle, convent to convent; she might go where she pleased as long as it was not where Philip was.
To soothe his unhappiness he plunged into preparations against John, for John was gathering enemies fast which was a matter for rejoicing; and the prospects for France had never looked so bright. Philip was not an old man – not yet forty. He had time before him and he wanted to leave a flourishing country for Louis.
He liked to talk with his son, to train him, as he called it, for future kingship, and at the time of Agnes’s death he grew closer and closer to his son.
He walked with him in the gardens and there he would speak to him as he said in secret, which made a pleasant intimacy between them.
He studied Louis anxiously. Ever since that terrible illness he had been concerned for his health. He set his doctors to watch his son without letting Louis know it. ‘For,’ he said, ‘I do not wish him to imagine he is ill, which he is not. But in view of the fact that he has a delicate constitution, I want to be absolutely sure that if he should need attention it be promptly given.’
It was important for France that the heir be strong, he was often telling himself. And if anything should happen to Louis he could see great conflict, for Agnes’s boy would not be accepted by some even though the Pope had made him legitimate. He knew in his heart that one of the factors in the case from Agnes’s point of view had been the legitimisation of young Philip, for if she had remained with him, it was certain that the Church would have upheld the point of view that the child was a bastard.