Flowers of Languedoc

By Judith Thomson

Philip Devalle's new adventure takes him from the battlefields of Ireland to the vineyards of Southern France.

It is the last decade of the eventful 17th Century. It is also a period of constant war between William, the King of England and the French Sun King, Louis XlV. But Philip is half-French and his loyalties are divided.

Weary of war and politics, Philip has a new plan. However, there are those who will not want him to succeed.
Philip's latest enterprise, in the mountains and sunny slopes of Languedoc, will make him new enemies as he becomes involved in the plight of the French Huguenots and the struggle for power between two monarchs.
He will need determination, ingenuity and courage, as well as his loyal friends, if he is to safeguard his inheritance and the future of his family.

For these are uncertain years.

"This is like you, Philip, but have you truly thought it out? These are dangerous times. You would be hazarding everything, not only your estate and your favour with Louis but quite possibly your freedom, even your life."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judith Thomson
• Release date: Jan 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215013922

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Brought up in Lincolnshire, Judith Thomson studied Art in Leicester before moving to Sussex, where she still lives. She is passionate about the seventeenth century and has gained much of her inspiration from visits to Paris and Versailles. In her spare time she enjoys painting, scuba diving and boating.

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Copyright © 2020 Judith Thomson

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CONTENTS

About the Author

1642

Prologue

1689

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Also by the Author

1642

PROLOGUE

Cardinal Richelieu forced a smiled as the King approached him in the company of a beautiful young woman. Richelieu had seen her before, of course, for Madeleine Pasquier, with her tumble of blonde curls and her vivacious manner, had made quite an impression since she had come to Court, and the Cardinal noticed everyone, particularly those who King Louis liked.

The only fault he could find with Madeleine was the fact that she was a Protestant, and from Languedoc, the most rebellious region in France.

All Protestants were protected by an edict established by the King’s father, which had granted them the right to worship as they chose, but the Pope had many times urged Richelieu to have it repealed.

However, the Cardinal’s interest was in France, not in Rome.

There were European wars to fund, and the Protestants, for all their religious shortcomings, were hard-working and successful businessmen. They were the backbone of the country’s economy – and they paid their taxes. Many had converted voluntarily, of course, following the example set by some of the Protestant aristocrats, who realised that it was the only way they could keep their positions at Court, since the Court’s religion was the King’s. That was the very reason the Cardinal encouraged them to send their sons and daughters to Court, but Madeleine, despite enjoying the favour of the King, showed no signs of complying.

If she could only be married into a good Catholic family, he thought as he looked at her. What a coup it would be if just one of the proud, defiant Pasquiers converted. He still had hopes.

Those hopes were dashed as soon as King Louis spoke.

Alas, it would seem we are soon to be deprived of one of the jewels of our Court, your Eminence.

Indeed?

Madeleine curtsied to him, raising her bright blue eyes boldly to his, almost as though she was reading his thoughts.

She has asked my permission to wed our English envoy, Lord Sidney Devalle.

Richelieu had no particular regard for the English and scant sympathy for their King, who had sent Lord Devalle with a report upon the troubled situation which was beginning there. The Cardinal had not forgotten that it was the interference of the English which had encouraged the Protestant town of La Rochelle to defy King Louis fifteen years before. Now King Charles was having problems of his own. Fortunately, his Queen was Louis’ sister and a staunch Catholic, so the Cardinal knew he could rely upon her to exert the best possible influence over her husband.

A fine young man, and from a noble family, I understand, he said smoothly. How soon will you be leaving us, mademoiselle?

Lord Devalle is to travel home next month, your Eminence. I hope to accompany him, if my father will agree to it.

But I have to agree to it first, King Louis reminded her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, and I am not sure I can bear to let you go!

Madeleine laughed, but Richelieu suspected that persuading the King to let her leave France and marry a Devalle was going to be the least of her problems.

And he was right!

***

It is out of the question. Pasquier glared at his daughter.

But why?

For many reasons. To begin with, his father is a madman. I have heard he is kept chained to his bed.

I am not marrying his father.

And what of your children? Would you bring the Devalle sickness into our family? It has been with them for many generations. This could taint our line.

Sidney and his brothers do not have it, Madeleine reminded him.

And there’s another thing, he is the third son. What will he inherit after they have taken the best from the estate?

It is a wealthy family, Madeleine said, wealthier than ours. Some would reckon him to be a good catch.

Well I do not. Pasquier went over to the window. Look out there, daughter. What is before you? He indicated the sunny slopes, stretching before them almost as far as the eye could see, neatly planted with ripening vines. Our vineyard. Yours and your brother’s inheritance. You have no need of anything the Devalles can offer you. We are an honourable family who can rival any in France for breeding.

And we are Protestant, she flashed back. You don’t know what it is like at Court now. The Catholics look down their noses at us. The only way to advance there is to become one of them.

The Pasquiers will never be apostates.

I know that, father, and I have kept the promise I made to you when I went to Paris, but it is hard. The King is good to me, he is kind and pays me compliments but I know that, if I am to remain at Court, he will have me marry a Catholic.

Then come home, her father said simply. I sent you to Court in the hopes of your making a good match but, if that is not to be without selling your soul to the devil, I will find you a husband here. There are plenty in Languedoc who will be proud to join their families with ours, and none will ‘look down their noses’ at you here.

But I don’t want to be here, Madeleine said stubbornly. I have already found the husband that I want and I wish to follow him to England.

Why would you want to go to England now, of all times? Her father asked. The place is in turmoil. Even down here the news reaches us that half the country is fighting a war against their King.

Madeleine shrugged. It will not last long, so Sidney says. There are plenty loyal to King Charles. Sidney and his brothers intend to fight with the Royalists, and you should admire him for that.

I do not admire him for proposing to put my daughter in danger, her father said, or is it the thought of that which appeals to you? You think this will be a fine adventure, I suspect, joining the fight for a noble cause.

Madeleine kept silent, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that was a part of it. She had found life in Languedoc too dull and life at Court too shallow and frivolous at times. It was as though a doorway to the rest of the world had suddenly opened for her, with the prospect of a husband, a new country and the possibility of a little excitement.

Well? her father demanded. Have you nothing to say, for a change?

Only that he is a Protestant and from as good a family as mine, or any at Court, and that you should at least do me the favour meeting him and judging him for yourself.

I have no wish to meet him, nor do I ever intend to meet him. her father said coldly, and I tell you now, Madeleine, that if you go ahead with this match against my will then, not only will you marry him without a dowry but, from that day I shall never agree see you again, nor will you be permitted to have contact with your brother or any other member of this family. Furthermore, I will refuse to acknowledge any issue from the marriage to be my grandchildren.

Madeleine looked at him, stunned. She had expected resistance from her father, knowing him as she did, but not such harshness. The lack of a dowry did not trouble her, insulting though it was, for the Devalles were rich and she knew that Sidney would be prepared to take her as his wife without her portion, but to have to break completely with her own family was a blow. It was of no use to appeal to her mother, she knew, for her mother always did as her father said. They all did. They always had. She fought back the tears that were rising in her eyes, determined to show no weakness in front of him but gradually the shock at hearing his words was replaced by anger at this unjust treatment from a parent who was prepared to cut her out of his life forever if she disobeyed him.

So be it, she said quietly.

The tears came when she got back into her own bedchamber, the room that had been hers since she was a little girl and which she would now be leaving forever, and they came in the form of great shaking sobs. Nanon, her maid, put her arms around her and held her close until they had subsided.

Nanon was only fifteen years-old, three years younger than Madeleine, but she had proved herself to be not only reliable and discreet but a true and loyal friend, who adored her young mistress.

It seems I must choose, Nanon, Madeleine said sorrowfully, when she was able to speak again. It is to be my family or Lord Devalle.

Do you love him? Nanon asked.

He is a good man, and he will make a loving husband, I am sure of it.

Nanon put her head upon one side and studied her without replying.

Madeleine was not able to pretend, not to Nanon, at least.

"The truth? I think I could love him, she said slowly. What I think I will love most is to see a little more of life. Won’t it be exciting, Nanon, to go to another land, to meet new people, to be away from Languedoc and the vineyard, and the Court too, where the Cardinal looks at me as though I was a piece of horse manure stuck beneath his boot!" She imitated the supercilious way Richelieu had of peering down his long nose.

Nanon giggled at that. You are dreadful! she reproved her.

I know, but I don’t like him, Nanon, and I don’t trust him. The King is sweet and has been good to me, and yet I am uneasy there. I know it is but a matter of time before I am persuaded into some match that he thinks is suitable. If I don’t do this, I shall have to remain in Languedoc and marry the son of one of my father’s friends or, worse, spend the rest of my life in the Louvre, at the mercy of a Catholic husband and his family. I would still be estranged from my own family then, for you know my father would not accept that proposition any more than he has the one I made him. At least this way I get to choose my own fate.

Just so long as you have properly reasoned this out, Nanon said demurely.

Madeleine glanced over at her and caught her maid’s knowing smile.

And yes, it would be a fine adventure too, she admitted, laughing. Shall you come with me?

Wherever you go, I go, Nanon said staunchly.

Then, my dear Nanon, we go to England!

***

Sidney was wrong. The Civil War in England raged for another eight years and claimed the lives of both of his brothers, so that he and Madeleine eventually became master and mistress of High Heatherton, the family’s large estate in Sussex. She bore him two sons although, sadly, she did not live long enough to see either of them grow into manhood. The oldest, Henry, showed early signs of being cursed with the family sickness.

The second son was Philip Devalle.

1689

ONE

Philip was a soldier, and he was going back to war.

He looked across the fields towards High Heatherton. Philip had grown to love that house, even though his childhood there had been so miserable, terrorised as he had been by his older brother, Henry. Henry was locked away in Bedlam now, where he could do no more harm, and the estate belonged to Philip.

Parts of it had been destroyed by fire by the time it finally became his, but he had restored it all, as well as setting up a profitable business selling the timber from High Heatherton’s vast acres of woodlands to the boat builders at nearby Shoreham. He was proud of his efforts, and well he might be for he had made those who lived and laboured on his estate into a happy community. He had given High Heatherton back its spirit.

His own small family was happy there too. He looked down fondly from his horse at his seven-year-old daughter, Maudie, sitting confidently upon the plump little pony he had recently bought her. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to remain here with her and his wife, Theresa.

What do you see? he asked Maudie.

I see our house and our fields and our sheep up on the Downs.

She was right. From their vantage point they could see all of those things.

And I see John Bone, she added, laughing. He is waving to us!

Philip saw him too. Indeed, the giant of a man was hard to miss, even from a distance. John had been his boyhood companion during the dark days when he had been allowed no friends outside of the estate for fear that folk would learn the truth of his brother’s sickness. John was his farm manager now, as loyal to him as he had always been and a great favourite with Maudie, who was waving back at him enthusiastically.

All this may be yours one day, Philip told her as they trotted their horses down the hill to meet John. He was beginning to fear that perhaps Theresa would be able to bear no more children after her recent miscarriage.

John took the reins of Maudie’s pony when they reached him, although he stayed well clear of Philip’s horse, Ferrion. The magnificent black stallion had been trained for war and was never really docile with anyone but Philip or with Philip’s manservant, Thomas, who was the only other person who ever dared to ride him.

So you are leaving us tomorrow, Lord Philip?

John still used the title with which he had addressed him when they were boys, and Philip was fine with that, even though he was now a duke. John, as his first friend, would always be allowed a little familiarity.

Sadly, yes, he said.

He had hoped to spend Christmas at High Heatherton this year and invite every worker on the estate to share a feast in the great hall, a tradition that would be kept by other landowners across the length and breadth of England. It was a tradition that had not been kept by his own father for fear of Henry’s unpredictable nature displaying itself, and for the few years that Philip had owned the property it had never been possible. The previous year he had been in London at Christmastime with the King, helping to keep the peace in the capital, which was still unsettled from the events which had so recently caused King James to flee the city and ‘Dutch William’ to take charge. He had even spent one Christmas in the Tower, awaiting trial for treason!

Next year, perhaps? Philip never considered the possibility that he may not return from a campaign, but this campaign in Ireland was going to be unlike any he had fought during his time with the French army. This time, as well as King James’ Catholic Irish troops, it was French soldiers he would be fighting, and that was not a prospect that he relished, for Philip was half-French himself and felt as much at home in France as he did in England.

I’ll take care of everything whilst you are away, John assured him. He never allowed himself to consider that Philip would not return either.

I know you will. Philip said gratefully. It was good to feel that he could safely leave his estate in John’s dependable hands.

Give those Irish bastards hell!

I’ll certainly try to send a few there, John!

Back at the house he saw his trunks being carried out by Jonathon and Ned, his Negro coachmen, to be loaded onto the coach ready for the next morning’s journey. Theresa came through after them, carrying a thick woollen cloak, and she greeted him with a smile.

I thought you might need this tomorrow. It will be cold in the morning when you leave, she said. Thomas has packed your trunks, since, according to Bet, I am too fragile to do anything at the moment!

Bet was the housekeeper at High Heatherton but she had once been Theresa’s maid and was insisting on taking care of her mistress at the moment, even though she had only recently given birth to a baby girl herself.

Philip knew well enough that, despite his wife’s delicate build, she was strong and had always been far tougher than she looked, but he was taking no chances with her health after what had happened. Theresa meant the world to him and he had been desperately worried about her when she had lost the baby she had only just begun to carry.

He tucked a wayward strand of her red hair behind her ear. Just do as you are told and let Bet take care of you whilst I am away.

Thomas still wants to go with you, she reminded him as they walked out to the stables together, where Philip removed Ferrion’s saddle and wiped the mud from the horse’s legs himself.

Well he’s not going, Philip said decidedly and neither are you, my faithful friend. He stroked Ferrion’s forelock affectionately. He had decided that his companion from so many battles in the past was growing too old now to cross the sea and help him fight this latest war. Thomas will look after you whilst I am away, he told his beloved warhorse.

Thomas was waiting for him when he went in, as Philip had been expecting that he would be.

Won’t you change your mind, my Lord, he pleaded, as soon as he saw him.

Philip shook his head. Sorry, no,

Although Thomas was only in his early twenties, the servant had been with him for a long while, for Philip had taken him in when Thomas was a boy, an urchin of the streets, being chased by the law for cutting a purse. He had repaid Philip’s kindness many times over, proving himself to be a loyal member of his household, and the truth was that Philip had grown fond of him, far too fond to risk taking him into what promised to be a bloody skirmish.

I’m not afraid to come, Thomas protested.

I know that, but I would be afraid for you, every minute, Philip said. He had trained Thomas to ride with the army he had raised to help King William when he first landed in England, the previous year, but that had been a very different proposition than the one he was facing now. You’ve never been to war and I fear that Ireland will be no place for any man not tried and tested in battle. Morgan, though, is a different matter, he said, as his Welsh steward came in, with his own possessions packed and ready for the journey.

He had met Morgan whilst they were both serving in the French army and Philip had never gone into battle without him by his side. Nor would Morgan have allowed it.

It was still dark when they left the following day, a foggy November morning. Theresa and Maudie were there to see them off, and Morgan’s wife, Bet, holding their baby in her arms. Thomas was there too, and he put a comforting arm around Maudie, who could not stop two tears running down her little face. The two women did not cry, for they had seen their menfolk off to fight before, although they had both hoped that those uncertain years were behind them, but neither could find the words to say, now that the time had come.

It was Thomas who broke the tension of the poignant moment. You’d better come back soon, he told them. I can’t look after everyone all by myself!

Philip smiled at him gratefully. He knew full well that if the worst happened Thomas, despite his youth, would do his level best. He picked up his daughter and kissed each of her damp, rosy cheeks, then held Theresa to him feeling the beating of her heart against his chest. Goodbye, Tess, he said quietly. Do as Bet tells you. And take good care of yourself.

"You’re telling me that? Theresa said, with a shaky little laugh. You’re the one off to fight."

He kissed her forehead, her eyelids and, finally, her lips, then determinedly pulled away from her. Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s only the Irish!

Morgan’s goodbye to Bet was swift and silent. Neither were people who ever openly showed their emotions, and yet, Philip knew, they were a devoted couple, even more so since their tiny baby had finally made them into family after six childless years of marriage.

Before he climbed into the waiting coach he turned back to his young manservant and put a hand on each of his shoulders. Forgive me, Thomas?

This time, Thomas said with grin. But don’t ever try leaving me behind again.

I won’t, Philip promised him.

He sincerely hoped that he would never again be called upon to take up arms for his country. Philip had quite another plan for his future, a plan which would have to wait for a while, he feared.

At least until King William put paid to the hopes of his father-in-law, King James, ever regaining the throne of England.

***

Philip watched the hills of Ireland growing ever closer as they approached the bay of Belfast.

What the hell are we doing here, Morgan?

Fighting James again it seems, Morgan said morosely.

I seem to have been doing that half of my damned life. I thought to be rid of the bastard when I helped him flee the country.

Philip, with King William’s approval, had been instrumental in aiding James’ escape to France the previous year, when James’ continuing presence in England had become somewhat of an embarrassment to William, who had been invited to come over to take James’ throne. James might still have been in France had not King Louis equipped him for war and sent him over to Ireland to fight to regain that throne.

The results had been disastrous, so far as Philip was concerned, for William had used the move as a reason to declare war with France. He had joined an alliance of other European countries who feared France’s increasing powers and now the allied forces were fighting on France’s borders. For Philip, to fight against his mother’s countrymen was bad enough, to fight them in her country was unthinkable, and he had made that plain to King William.

So he had been posted to Ireland.

He had brought with him 500 men. They were reinforcements for the ten thousand troops that Marshal Schomberg had taken over with him in the Summer, but Philip knew that Schomberg had lost more of those men through dysentery than he had from the fighting they had done. As he watched his own soldiers disembarking from the troop ships in the Bay of Dundalk, near to Schomberg’s camp, Philip could not help but wonder how many of them he was leading to their deaths, from disease or from the battles still to come.

Philip and Morgan were met by a pleasant young English captain, called Armitage, who was to escort them to the camp. He was leading two horses.

I have purchased these for you, he said. I hope you will find them satisfactory for the time being. There were few decent ones to be had here.

Does the cavalry not have some horses to spare? Philip asked in surprise.

I fear not, Colonel. The Irish officers have hired most of them out to the local farmers, Armitage explained. A lot of the carts we had have disappeared as well but I have managed to find a few to transport your equipment.

Philip exchanged looks with Morgan, who raised a bushy eyebrow.

I know this is probably not what you expected but I have done the best I could, Colonel, Armitage said hesitantly.

I am sure you have, Captain, and we are grateful for it, believe me, Philip assured him. And, if it makes you feel a little better, my expectations were not particularly high!

He learned a bit more about the state of affairs at the camp as they rode along, and it did not sound good. The men were apparently still dropping like flies from disease and many of those who had been shipped to the hospital at Belfast had died before they had even reached it.

The camp itself appeared to be situated in the middle of a marsh, which Philip thought might be partly responsible for the spread of the sickness. He lost no time in reporting to his commanding officer, Marshal Schomberg.

The Marshal had also served in the French army, although Philip had never previously served under him. The battle-hardened veteran was in his late seventies now, but he still cut a powerful figure.

Schomberg put him at his ease right away.

I am delighted to see you, Colonel Devalle. Your reputation as a soldier is well known to me, which is why I particularly asked for you to join me in this godforsaken place.

Philip was flattered that Schomberg thought so highly of him as to have specifically requested to have him on the campaign. Whether he was grateful for it, though, was another matter!

How bad are things here? he asked him.

You may judge when I tell you that, in a lifetime of military service, I have never known troops as untrained or undisciplined as these Irish. A career soldier, Schomberg had fought for many different countries during his adventurous life. As for the officers, I told the King that he would be better served if these Irish Colonels were as able in war as they are in pillaging the country. I needed a commanding officer who has been properly trained in the French army. Perhaps, now, we can instil some discipline into this ragtag bunch they have given me.

Philip grimaced. It appeared he was going to have his work cut out if he was to going to knock these troops into any kind of shape. Will the men fight?

I believe they would if they were properly led and equipped. They didn’t even have shoes when I first arrived here and the pikes with which they had been issued were so rotten that they broke in your hand. To makes matters worse, the soldiers I brought with me from England are succumbing daily to this flux. It seems to me that the English are so delicately bred they die as soon as you take them out of their own country.

Philip smiled at this tactlessness, whilst Morgan, standing behind him, muttered something barely audible in his own Celtic tongue.

He’s Welsh, Philip explained, so he is probably agreeing with you!

I intended you to accompany me when I first came here but I was informed that you had gone to France, Schomberg said. I was even told that you were dead!

There was an attempt upon my life, Philip said, and it was put about that my attackers had succeeded but, as you plainly see, they did not.

What the devil were you doing in France anyway? We are at war with them.

It was declared whilst I was there. I went at the invitation of King Louis.

And what did he want with you?

He graciously offered me the vineyard which had belonged to my late mother’s family, the Pasquiers, before they were dispossessed. They were Huguenots.

Philip knew that Schomberg, who was a German Protestant married to a French Huguenot, had left France after the Revocation of the edict which had protected the rights and properties of French Protestants, even though Louis had been prepared to make an exception in his case.

Schomberg nodded. "He’s no fool, King