Prologue
My childhood was a happy time of learning and laughter. I remember running around the Château du Louvre with my four blond haired brothers, our mother used to always tell us that we were the image of our father King Phillip. It made me proud to know that I looked like my father who in my eyes at that age was a fabulous ruler.
I run through the palace that is covered in rich cloth, heading towards the gardens which were home to statues made of charcoal rock, there were flowers of many colours and smells and I loved to stand there and inhale it's sweet smell. I ran across the lush green grass not caring that my skirts made of velvet, coloured scarlet were becoming dirtied. I knew I would be scolded but, I did not care. I loved to feel free!
My brothers were hot on my heels as I ran around the gardens trying to find places to hide, we always had little games where we would chase one another and this time they picked me to chase. I could hear their footsteps and their voices as they shouted that they were coming for me. I fought back my giggles as I continued to roam the garden, I saw a figure in the near distancing inspecting one of the statues. The figure was quickly identified as my mother, and I ran towards her. As I reached her I hid behind her, slowly grasping her skirts as I let out a few giggles.
I loved my mother with my whole heart. To the world she was the brave, bold Joan of Navarre but to me she was just my kind mother who taught me how to be gracious. She was not the most beautiful woman in France, with her dull blonde hair - not the vibrant kind that me and my brothers or father had - and her soft brown eyes. My mother was beautiful to me, no matter how many beauties I came across. I loved the way her eyes would glitter every time she saw me, I loved the way she would laugh at my opinions and I even loved the way she scolded me.
My father behind closed doors was a good father, not the emotionless and statue like man he presented to the French people. I did not know him as well as I knew my mother but I loved him anyhow.
I clutched my mother’s coral gown as I tried my best to keep out of sight from my brothers who were nearing us. My mother began to laugh as she stayed as still as ever while our brothers ran up to her asking her where I was. My mother spoke to them in a stern voice, telling them that it was not kind of gentlemen to chase a maiden. I launched out from behind my mother and tried to scare my brothers. Louis did not get a fright nor did Phillip, Charles was the one who was a bit taken back. I chuckled at them as they tried to grasp me again. Robert just stood there laughing, I was closer to Robert.
My mother Joan or Jeanne as they would call her began to laugh again at us, at our 'silly' play as she called it. I always enjoyed my time out in the gardens of the palace with my brothers and my mother. My father did not come out often, though when he did he would always care for us. The hot sun beamed down on me, making my blonde hair look as If it was alight. My blue eyes bright I giggled at my brothers as we ran around the garden, round the statues, the smells of flowers clinging to our bodies.
I could see the colours which were so vibrant, I later learnt from my mother that they placed the flowers in the palace garden according to their meaning. I had always thought it was for show but my eyes had been opened as I soon realized how to interpret meanings of objects. The red roses showed the love we had, the hawthorn represented hope, the ivy represented the marriage of my mother and father, the white lilies represented purity and pink roses represented the grace in which we were to be brought up with.
My brothers and I had separate educations. They were taught how to be men, how to joust, how to fight and how to rule a Kingdom. They were all prepared, even Robert who was the youngest - I was too innocent then to realize that each of them could die and that was why my father taught each of them how to rule. My mother did not teach me as she had done in the past, I had been upset about that as I enjoyed hearing her opinions of the world. I enjoyed hearing the knowledge she possessed, but my mother told me that it was not to be and she became more distant.
A woman came to nurse me and teach me, her name was Mademoiselle Théophania de Saint-Pierre and I grew fond of her. She was like a second mother to me, more-so than my dear mother Joan who had not seen me as often as she used to. Théophania was a well educated Christian woman, one of the best. My mother had ensured that I was going to get a proper education. Mademoiselle Théophania was a stern woman, with features that were sharp, she had piercing blue eyes and jet black hair which made her look even sterner when it was kept up. She was strict and she did not appreciate some of the opinions that came from my mouth. She scolded me and told me that I was to learn how to be a Princess of France, and that was all.
Mademoiselle Théophania taught me how to write, how to read, she helped me develop my love of books. We would sit together reading books and commenting on how well written they were, I loved to learn about history, of the great warriors that had been and gone, I loved broadening my knowledge and every fact I could see seemed to be gobbled up passionately. She taught me how to be a proper woman, how to walk with grace with my head held high and how to act with such a charming demeanour.
She taught me how to control my thoughts, to push past my emotions to try and act calm in situations. I became more religious under her guiding, I would read scriptures and I would attend mass.
She taught me to sing, I did not have the best voice but she taught me how to stay in tune and control my voice so it would sometimes be soft and sometimes high. I would rub rosewater and lavender on my bare body to make myself smell sweeter, I would use other herbs and flowers such as tansy, violets and mint to make my clothes smell fresh.
I grew older and I became more aware of the world, even though I was so young. I was more mature than my brothers. My life had been a joyful time until the time where I would find out that all of my educating, everything that I had ever learnt was me just being built up to be cast off and married to a Prince of a far off land. It came as a shock to me, that I was to leave France one day and bear children for a King. Without the guidance of my mother, I would feel lost.
At first I was angry about it, but my emotions soothed and I soon found myself wanting to become a dutiful wife, one that the country I would go to would love. I wanted to be like my mother and bear many children for the King I would marry. I was coming to terms with how my life was going to be and I would accept it. These were the consequences of being a Princess and I did not regret them.
My brothers were growing older as well, maturing and I often did not see them as well as I once did. They were out on their horses a lot, practising how to hunt and they were at court a lot more than I. The only one whom I saw more of was Robert my younger brother, we grew close at the time where we stayed with each other and developed a special bond. I would tell him how I was nervous and excited about the plan for me to marry a King. We would speak about our elder brothers who were getting married to Princesses to secure alliances.
Was that all we were? Just items used to create political alliances. Items that could just be discarded. Items that would not be marrying entirely for love. I knew most did not marry for love but I wanted to know what love felt like and I hoped that the King I would marry would love me. My father certainly cared for my mother, but there were some times that I doubted that he actually truly loved her.
As I grew I noticed myself to be changing as well as my brothers. My body was changing, I was inheriting some curves in places that I did not know I could have them. My body was still thin and petite but my bosom began to swell and I felt my hips become larger than they were before. My face became more of an oval shape, my lips became fuller and my eyes became a more intense colour of blue. The long pale locks lingering down my back were the same that I had when I was that of a child.
I also began to have these pains inside of me that I could not explain, they were as sore as ever. It felt as If someone was pressing a sharpened blade into my abdomen, and penetrating through my flesh without any mercy upon me. And what came after these pains had frightened me at first, red liquids came out of my body.
I had thought I was dying when the crimson that smelt of metal stained my underskirts, I had not been educated on how a woman’s body worked so I had to ask my tutor Mademoiselle Théophania what it was. I had been very embarrassed about it, since I did not like discussing my being with another. She did not scold me, she just simply told me that it was a way of my body saying that I was becoming a woman.
People began looking at me differently now. They looked at me with respect now; they did not look at me like I was just some child.
I quickly learnt that I was going to be betrothed to the Prince of England. It was a rather complicated match. My country had always had tough times with the English, so perhaps this was a way of creating a truce between our two nations. England was a brilliant nation but it was not as good as France. Or perhaps I was just biased. I had not heard much of the Prince I would be marrying. The only thing I had heard was that he was the son of King Edward the First.
The man who was known to be of very tall stature. He had led his men on a campaign against the Scottish, who were one of our allies. He had failed in his quest to take over Scotland, the land in which the mountains grew tall, where there were great lakes big enough to engulf a whole castle in and where the air was so fresh.
I prayed that Prince Edward would like me, and that we would get on. And even if he did not like me I prayed he would at least tolerate me.
Something happened in the years leading up towards my marriage with Prince Edward, something that left me heartbroken for some amount of time. My dear mother Joan had taken ill for quite a while, her face was as pale and lifeless as ever..almost as if it was turning a grey colour. And her dusky brown hair seemed to have more and more grey strands appearing in it. I hated to see how my mother was wasting away, one day I had a visit from one of my father’s principal men and he informed me of how my mother had passed during the night.
I felt terrible, terrible that I was not there with her in the last moments of her life like I would have liked to be. I locked myself up in my chambers and then I cried and cried and I did not eat for many days. Nor did I let any of my ladies in to see me, I locked myself away from the cruel world. God was so cruel, to take my mother away when I was only nine years old.
Eventually I came around, since I had decided that it was an insult to my mother’s image for me to sulk and sob. I promised myself that I would be like my mother Joan I of Navarre and that I would be a brave and intelligent Queen. I promised myself that I would do all I could for the children I would bear and that I would make my mother proud of me.
I would be Queen Isabella of England, and when my wedding day came I wanted to feel my mother gazing down upon me with joy and satisfaction.