The cause of this iniquity has never been certainly known. Whether Pedro, having allowed himself to be persuaded into this marriage against his will, afterwards regretted it and took this way of revenging himself; whether he was, as it has been said actuated by an insane and perfectly groundless jealousy of his younger brother Don Federico, one of the sons of Eleanor de Guzman, whom he had sent to meet Blanche, and whom in a furious rage he stabbed to the heart; or whether it was simply owing to the baneful influence of his Jewish mistress, must remain doubtful. But the story of Blanche de Bourbon will always be considered one of the most pathetic tragedies which history records.
Her sisters were more fortunate. Bonne, the third daughter of the Duc de Bourbon, who had been married when almost a baby to the younger son of the Duc de Brabant and had shortly afterwards become a widow, was married in 1355 to Amadeo VI., Comte de Savoie, then about twenty-two years old. He had been betrothed to Jeanne de Bourgogne sister of the last Capétien Duke, Philippe de Navarre and then to Jeanne de Bourbon, now Dauphine elder sister of Bonne. At ten years old he had succeeded his father, Aimon,[11] brother of that Comte de Savoie who married Blanche de Bourgogne and left no heirs male. Amadeo VI. was one of the greatest princes of his day, both as warrior and statesman. Bonne de Bourbon, Comtesse de Savoie, was, says an ancient writer, “an ornament to her century, and her goodness caused her to be admired on all occasions.” The wedding was celebrated at Paris in August, and the young Countess set off for Savoy, where she reigned for many years in prosperity and honour. Her life was chequered with many sorrows and also beset by many difficulties, which she surmounted with courage and capacity. As Regent of Savoy during the latter part of her life, she was held in high esteem. She died in the Château de Mâcon in 1402.
In September, 1356, came the disastrous battle of Poitiers. To Jeanne, as to everybody else in France, that must have been a time of fearful anxiety and suspense. Those nearest and dearest to her were with the army; and although the sight of the gallant host that followed the King in such splendid array to meet the enemy might well have filled the hearts of those they left behind with pride and confidence, there was still the remembrance of the time when Paris had waited in breathless expectation for news of Philippe de Valois and his chivalrous army while those who were not prisoners or scattered over the land lay dead on the field of Crécy.