‘You’ve let them take the others. Lord,’ she reproached. ‘At least let them leave me this little one.’
The days began to pass slowly at first and then not so slowly as Margaret grew more and more accustomed to living at Saumur.
She began to develop a taste for music and poetry. She read the works of Boccaccio with great delight; her teachers discovered that she had an aptitude for learning; she was becoming pretty and her long lustrous blondish hair with a hint of red in it was her greatest attraction.
She missed her home, most of all her father; but she was remembering him even less with the passing of every day. She liked excitement and was even glad on those days when the castle was in a state of alert because there were English in the neighbourhood. Her grandmother had everything in readiness in case they should be besieged.
One day she was summoned to her grandmother’s presence. These summonses were rare and they must herald some important event, so Margaret went to the meeting in a state of excitement mingled with trepidation.
She curtsied to her grandmother aware that those alert eyes watched every movement and that it would be noted if the curtsey was anything but perfect.
‘Come here, child,’ said Yolande, and when Margaret approached, she took her hand and bade her sit on a stool at her feet.
‘I have bad news,’ she said.
Margaret wanted to cry out for she thought of her father at once, then almost immediately afterwards of her mother and brothers and sister.
‘Your uncle Louis is dead.’
Great waves of relief swept over Margaret. Uncle Louis was a vague figure. She had never met him. She merely knew that he was her father’s eldest brother.
‘As you know, he was in Italy fighting for the crown of Naples which is his by rights.’
Margaret said: ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘He died of a fever. He had a wife, Margaret like yourself, and the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, but they had no children. Do you see what this means?’
Margaret knew that it was something to do with the crown of Naples. It was always some crown or castle which was the cause of controversy when someone died. So she guessed this was too.
‘It means that the crown of Naples will go to...’ began Margaret.
‘His nearest of kin. You are right,’ Yolande nodded with approval. ‘And who is the nearest of kin as he has no son and his wife cannot inherit? It is your father, René. Your father is now the King of Naples, Jerusalem and Sicily.’
‘But...he is in prison...’
‘That makes no difference. Your mother will now have to assert your father’s claim to Naples as he cannot do it himself.’
‘But he has not got it. He has to fight for it.’
‘You will learn that most things in this life have to be fought for, my child. What you have to understand is what this means to you. You are the daughter of a King now instead of being merely the daughter of a Duke. You are a Princess, Margaret.’
‘Oh,’ said Margaret overawed.
‘Pray close your mouth,’ said Yolande, ‘and always remember that you are royal.’
In spite of becoming a Princess, Margaret found that life went on very much as it had before. She saw little of her grandmother who spent her time between the castle of Angers and that of Saumur. Margaret herself now and then travelled between these two castles for Angers was less than thirty miles from Saumur and easily accessible. Both castles were magnificent fortresses and if the English were to attempt to take them could withstand a long siege.
Margaret was growing into a handsome girl. She was not tall but well formed, very slender and her features were well defined. She had beautiful blue eyes and a firm mouth.
‘It’ll not be difficult to find a husband for her,’ Theophanie confided to one of the attendants. ‘A Princess and even if her father has yet to regain his kingdom, she has looks enough to make some gallant young suitor forget that.’
She was clever, too, said her teachers. She had a sharp wit and was growing up (Theophanie again) to be another such as her grandmother.
Some would have liked to see her grow taller but Theophanie was not so sure. Petite women often had a way of getting what they wanted more easily than their larger sisters. They could be feminine and appealing when the need arose. Theophanie reckoned that Margaret had the best of both sides of the coin. She was going to be as strong-willed as her mother and grandmother and with her dainty looks she was going to appeal to the masculinity of the men she had to do battle with.
All things considered, mused Theophanie, she would not have had her Princess any other than the way she was.
Margaret had passed her ninth birthday when a great occasion occurred.
She was at her lessons, as she was every morning, when a clatter in the courtyard announced the arrival of visitors. They must be friendly or the alert would have been given. There were always men on the watch towers to look out for the approach of the English.
Without waiting to ask permission she ran from the room and down to the courtyard. A small company of men were there and as her eyes fell on one of them she gave a shriek of delight. She could not wait for ceremony. She flung herself into her father’s arms. There was no mistaking the kindly smile, although he had aged considerably, and there was the scar livid as ever on the left side of his forehead.
‘My dearest child,’ cried René. ‘Why...a child no longer. How you have grown! What a fine lady they have made of you!’
‘Oh my father, dearest, dearest father...’
They clung together. And there was Yolande standing in the courtyard watching them.
René released his daughter and embraced his mother.
‘This is good news,’ she cried. ‘René, my son. You are free.’
‘Free...but with much to tell.’
‘Rooms must be prepared and orders given in the kitchens. How delighted I am to have you with us. You have already seen Margaret.’
Margaret could not remember anything that should be done on occasions such as this. She could only think that her beloved father was with her once more. She just stood with him, her arms encircling him, and even Yolande could not hide her emotion.
They went into the castle. There was bustle everywhere and very soon appetising smells pervaded the place.
There must be a banquet in honour of this son who, since the death of his brother, was Yolande’s eldest.
There was indeed much to tell and it did not all make good hearing. René had insisted that Margaret be with them. He could not stay long and he wanted as much time as possible with his daughter.
‘When must you go?’ asked Yolande.
‘I must not stay more than three or four days at the most.’
Yolande, to Margaret’s surprise, made no attempt to send her away so she heard all that had been happening to her father.
‘So you are really free,’ said Yolande.
‘Completely,’ replied René. ‘The ransom has been paid. Isabelle has been wonderful in raising the money.’
‘You should be grateful to your wife,’ said Yolande.
‘I am. Make no mistake about that. She is a wonderful woman...as you are, my lady mother. She has come from the same mould.’
Yolande graciously inclined her head. She never denied anything in which she believed. It was true that dear weak René had been blessed with a strong wife and a strong mother.
‘And Burgundy?’ she asked.
‘You may be sure he struck a bargain. John is betrothed to his niece Marie of Bourbon.’
‘Indeed,’ said Yolande. She was resentful that a match should have been made without consulting her.
‘Burgundy’s niece,’ said René. ‘And therefore a good connection. Besides, he was adamant. Those were his conditions.’