That was an oblique enough command, for who was to say who was disturbing the peace? It was more likely to be the foreign armies than the people of Albi whose simple determination to maintain their freedom was responsible for the trouble.
In the year 1213, Simon de Montfort won the battle of Muret and Philip sent Louis to look on while the crusaders took possession of Toulouse.
Louis came back horrified by what he had seen. The town laid waste was the smallest part of it. Every refinement of cruelty had been perpetrated on the citizens of the town.
Philip took Louis to his private chamber and there they talked. Louis was in his twenty-sixth year at that time – sensitive, brave enough, but liking war even less than his father. He said that he would never forget the fearful atrocities he had seen that day.
Philip clenched his hands and said: ‘I hope before long Simon de Montfort and his men will die at their work, for God is just and their quarrel is unjust.’
However, when the victories of de Montfort were decisive he was forced to accept him as his vassal in place of Raymond but when he died he refused to recognise his son. But by that time Raymond and his son had recaptured much of the territory lost to them and in the year 1218 (two years after the death of Innocent himself ) a shower of stones falling from the ramparts crushed de Montfort to death, when he was trying to recapture the castle of Toulouse.
So Philip was pestered by the Albigensian question, for like all kings he lived in some awe of the Pope and he knew from recent experience over the trouble with Agnes and Ingeburga how uncomfortable popes could make a king’s life.
Now he brooded on the matter. It was not that he was ready to endanger himself or his realm through a sense of righteousness; he had ever been guided by expediency and his discretion had always been a strong point in his favour. He had governed well, he could assure himself; there was evidence of that everywhere; he was a king to be respected, and this was due to his conduct over the years of his sovereignty. He had come to the throne young – a boy of fifteen. He had reigned for nearly forty years and during that time he had learned chiefly when to act and more important when not to act. This was one of the reasons why he had been able to keep moderately aloof from what he considered to be a barbaric war of dubious justice, and at the same time not offend the Pope enough to bring about reprisals.
He had begun to be affected by recurrent fever and his doctors did not know the reason for it. When it attacked him he found it necessary to take to his bed.
There he brooded on the state of the country and often he sent for Blanche that he might talk to her. He found he could do so with absolute frankness. He was concerned about Louis.
He loved his son. ‘He has never willingly caused me a moment’s anxiety,’ he said. ‘He is a good man, but good men can easily be the victims of evil ones, as you well know. My daughter, I rejoice in the day your grandmother brought you to us. It may well be that one day you will stand beside my son and rule this land.’
‘That day, I pray, is a long way off,’ said Blanche fervently.
‘Oh, I am a young man yet,’ replied Philip. ‘Perhaps I shall live for another fifteen years … and a few more … what is that? Young Louis shapes well. And there are the other boys. Young Robert loves his brother Louis well. I hope that affection continues through their lives. As for the others they are too young as yet to show us what they will become. But it rejoices me that you have filled our nursery with good strong boys. As I could not have wished for a better son I could also not have wished for a better daughter.’
Blanche was deeply moved. She said: ‘I have a feeling that once more I am to be enceinte.’
‘Praise God,’ said Philip. ‘And if this time it should be a girl we will bless our good fortune.’
In due course the child was born. He was called Philip, but because his parents were reminded of that beautiful boy who had died in his ninth year, they wished to distinguish between the newcomer and his dead brother and they added Dagobert to his name, so that he was always known as Philip Dagobert – it was considered to be an unusual name at this time though many kings had borne it in the seventh century. Blanche pointed out, so that it was a pleasant idea to revive it, while naming the child after his grandfather.
The King was feeling ill and in no mood to leave his bed when news was brought to him that the Pope had called a council which would take place in Paris.
Philip who was resting at his palace at Pacy-sur-Eure grimaced when he heard the news. The fact that the meeting was to be held in Paris meant, of course, that he was expected to be present. He would like to see the whole matter of this trouble cleared up, but was uneasy because the Church, deciding with great determination to stamp out heresy, was instituting this Holy Office which Philip felt was a dangerous invention. He foresaw that no man would be safe from it, and bearing in mind the Church’s constant need for money, he wondered whether those who possessed it might be selected as victims, as in addition to torturing the so-called heretic they confiscated his wealth which of course went into the coffers of the Church.
Trying to look ahead into a future which he was beginning to think he would not be there to see, he could visualise dangers in this Holy Office or Inquisition. He even wondered whether it would bring good – even if it brought gain – to the Church. He could see men of substance moving away to those countries where it was not upheld. Perhaps he would put these ideas forward at the conference. Perhaps not. It was not for him to concern himself with what went on outside France. It was because he had always followed that belief that France was now in a far better position than she had been when he came to the throne.
So he would go to the conference, speak discreetly, neither condoling nor condemning. He was adept at such manoeuvre.
He felt limp and weak, but nevertheless he was determined to attend. One so often feigned an illness and offered it as an excuse that when one was genuinely sick one was not believed.
He rode on but the heat was too much for him, for it was July and the sultry weather did not suit him.
When they reached Mantes he said he would rest for a while. He took to his bed and it occurred to him as he was helped there by his servants that he might never rise from it.
During the night he awoke and felt the fever was increasing. It had the effect of making his mind hazy and yet as he grappled to keep a hold on his consciousness he was aware all the time that this was the end.
His mind went back to those days which followed the capture of Acre when he had made up his mind to leave Richard and return to France. It was a great decision … the right decision. He had made it for the good of his country. He could remember vividly the excessive heat … the fearful plagues, the mud, the scorpions, all the discomforts on which Richard had seemed to thrive.
France first … that had been his motto. And it had brought rewards. He was leaving Louis a well-governed land; much of that which France had lost for years was now returned. One day, the English should have no claims in France. It was not quite so as yet … but that would come.
Wise government … that was what was necessary. War only when there is no other way. Justice for the people so that they would accept hardship when need be.
Oh, Louis, he thought, you will have Blanche to help you. I pin my hopes on Blanche, my son, for although you are the best of sons I doubt you will be the strongest of kings.