The Battle of the Queens (44 page)

She thought of Isabella and Richard and she cried out: ‘No.’

‘The married state is not to your liking?’

She shook her head.

‘You were a young wife once. Has that made you feel that you would not wish to enter into marriage again?’

‘Perhaps, my lord, what I have seen of marriage makes me feel I should be happier without it.’

There seemed to come to pass an understanding between them, for he knew that she was thinking of the romantic passion of Isabella and Richard and how quickly it had changed.

‘It may be, my daughter, that you would wish to take your vows of chastity.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Ah. Then in due course you must do so. You are sure it is what you wish?’

She looked at the crucifix, which seemed to glow with an inner fire, and it was as though some stranger spoke through her.

‘It is what I wish,’ she heard herself say.

The Archbishop took her hand.

‘You have given yourself to God,’ he said. ‘You have made your promise to me. You are not ready yet but the time will come. Now you must stay here with Isabella, care for her. She needs you and you can best serve God by looking after her at this time. But the time will come …’

‘Yes, my lord,’ she said.

Edmund Rich left that day. When he had gone she began to feel uneasy. There was something mesmeric about his presence. He had made her feel she wanted to shut herself away from the world, but now she was not so sure.

In November Isabella’s baby was born and, joy of joys, was a healthy boy.

The whole household rejoiced and everyone was smiling and happy. They called the baby Henry.

Richard came. He was wildly happy. His little son was healthy in every way. He cried lustily, smiled, was bright and happy even in the first months of his life.

Richard seemed to have fallen in love with Isabella all over again and everyone was happy.

Eleanor thought: To marry, to have children. What a happy state.

Margaret Biset was alarmed. It could not go on thus, she knew. The day would come when a husband was found for her charge and then there would be separation. Margaret could not imagine herself apart from the Princess Isabella. It had been a wrench when the others had gone but it seemed fate was on their side for the marriages arranged for Isabella – as for the King himself – always came to nothing.

Margaret at times felt illogically indignant. What did they think they were doing, bargaining for her darling – and then these fine gentlemen daring to change their minds.

But Isabella was now in her twentieth year. Unless they had decided not to marry her off at all, they would have to do something soon.

Therefore she was not entirely surprised when Isabella was sent for by her brother the King.

Isabella shared Margaret’s apprehension and it was with misgivings that she bowed to her brothers – first to Henry, then Richard – for Richard was at court at this time.

Henry was no longer so young, being twenty-seven years of age and still without a wife himself. Richard and Joan were the members of the family who were married – and Eleanor of course, who was now a widow.

Henry said: ‘Good news, sister. Let us pray that this time our hopes will not be foiled.’

Then she knew that the dreaded thing had happened and they had found a husband for her. She waited.

‘A very great match for you,’ said Henry. ‘The Emperor of the Germans, Frederic II, is asking your hand in marriage.’

‘The Emperor of Germany!’

Henry smiled. ‘You see, Richard, our sister is overcome by the honour. Well, it is a good match for you, Isabella, although doubtless the Germans will consider that their emperor has done very well in securing the sister of the King of England.’

‘He does indeed,’ said Richard. ‘I have had it from his own lips. He is eager that there shall not be any delay.’

Isabella felt dizzy. Of course he was in a hurry. He was an old man. It was nearly ten years ago that she had been betrothed to his son.

‘He will be kind to you,’ said Richard. ‘He is experienced in matrimony. You need have no fear, Isabella.’

‘You mean he has been married more than once.’

‘He has been twice widowed and so enchanted is he by the thought of another marriage that he will hear of no delay.’

‘When … am I to go?’

Richard came and laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Ah, your eagerness matches that of your bridegroom. There will be certain matters to be arranged. The Emperor says that he will send the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant to escort you to Germany. They are already on their way.’

Henry said: ‘You do not look as pleased as I thought you would.’

‘It is a big undertaking to leave one’s native land.’

‘I know it well,’ said Henry. ‘But it is a fate of princesses. Would you wish to spend your life in the company of Margaret Biset?’

‘My lord,’ cried Isabella, ‘may I ask one favour? I could only go if Margaret came with me.’

The brothers exchanged glances and Richard nodded his head. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You will take some attendants. If you choose to take your old nurse, why should she not be one of them?’ Henry was beginning to look annoyed, and knowing him well Isabella said quickly, ‘It is for the King to decide. Henry, I beseech you. I know you have a kind heart. To leave here without Margaret would break mine.’

Thus appealed to, Henry’s good humour was restored.

‘My dear Isabella, of course Margaret Biset may go with you.’

‘She must make sure not to offend the Emperor or he might send her back,’ warned Richard.

‘She will not offend him, knowing what is at stake.’

‘Now there is much to be done,’ said Henry. ‘Go back to Biset and tell her that you will ere long be leaving.’

Isabella left them and ran to the old nursery where she flung herself into Margaret’s arms.

‘There,’ cried Margaret. ‘What is it, my love? What did they say to you?’

‘You are coming with me,’ said Isabella. ‘My brother has promised it.’

‘Then we can face the rest. Where is it?’

‘Germany … to the Emperor.’

‘An old man! Well, it is not so bad as I feared. Old men can be kinder than young ones … and we shall be together.’

‘If they had tried to separate us, Margaret, I should have refused this marriage.’

Poor child, thought Margaret. And what would that have availed?

But it was well that she had the royal consent to accompany her charge.

After Isabella had left them, Henry said: ‘Let us hope that I have found a husband for her at last.’

‘Poor Isabella. It has been a string of disappointments for her – though I doubt she sees it as such. If Joan hadn’t come home in time she might have been Alexander’s wife. How is Joan?’

‘Not well. She declares that she never has been since she went to Scotland. The harshness of the climate is not good for her. Each winter she is ill.’

‘Poor Joan! She would have been better in Lusignan.’

‘But our mother decided otherwise.’

‘Our mother! Little she has done for us. She is more loyal to her family by Hugh than to that by our father.’

‘Well, she hated our father, did she not? And who could blame her? She seems to have some affection for Hugh – because he allows her to lead him where she would have him go. Our father would never have had that.’

‘One of these days, Henry, we are going to win it all back.’

‘I have vowed to do so,’ agreed Henry.

‘Alliances help.’

‘It was a pity that you chose to marry as you did.’

‘It was a great mistake, I grant you.’

‘A woman so much older than yourself.’

‘Isabella is one of the beauties of the day.’

‘
Was,
brother. She is an old woman now.’

‘Still an attractive one … and not so old. We do not seem very fortunate in our matrimonial adventures, Henry. Joan in Scotland … that is not bad, except that her health suffers. Eleanor a widow …’

‘And you are married to an old woman!’

‘And you not married at all.’

Henry’s lips tightened. He wanted to marry. It was time he produced an heir to the throne. What was wrong that all his efforts to do so came to nothing? Was he not the King of England? One would have thought that every ruler with a marriageable daughter would have been eager to present her to the King. Yet every attempt had come to naught. People would be saying soon that there was something wrong with the King of England.

‘Eleanor should be brought back to court,’ said Henry. ‘We should find a husband for her.’

‘Isabella and she are good friends.’

‘Eleanor has a role to fill in life other than that of keeping your wife company while you go off on other adventures.’

‘If it is your command,’ said Richard with a bow.

‘Let her come back then. I will send for her. And there is another matter. I myself intend to marry soon.’

‘You could not do better. You owe it to the country.’

‘I know that well. I have spoken to the Archbishop.’

‘And the lady?’

‘The daughter of the Count of Provence. His daughter Marguerite, as you know, is already married to the King of France.’

‘Why, brother, it is a stroke of brilliance. I am sure your choice will win approval. The Count will be sore put to it to give his allegiance to France when one of his daughters is the Queen of England.’

‘A similiar situation would arise if he thought of giving it to England.’

‘It will render him neutral, brother. And think of the harm he could do our cause.’

‘It seems to be a wise choice and I intend to give the country an heir at the earliest moment.’

‘Let us pray that you will do so.’

‘The first thing is to get married. Which I shall do as soon as satisfactory treaties have been drawn up.’

‘May you have luck in your marriage, Henry,’ said Richard.

‘Better than you had in yours, I hope,’ retorted Henry, not without a certain gratification.

It was a beautiful May day when the Princess Isabella travelled with her brothers and her sister Eleanor to Sandwich.

Through Canterbury they passed, calling at the cathedral to ask the blessing of St Thomas and then on to Sandwich where Isabella, in the company of the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, would set sail.

Margaret was beside her so she was not unhappy. Margaret pretended to be in high spirits but Isabella knew that they were a little false. Margaret was wondering what sort of man her darling was going to and if he would be a good husband. They watched orange-tipped butterflies sporting among the ladysmocks and cuckoo flowers along the banks; they smelt the scent of hawthorn blossom on the air, and Isabella said sadly: ‘It is a beautiful country to be leaving.’

‘It may be, my love, we are going to a more beautiful one.’

‘More beautiful than this! Impossible!’

‘Your native land is always the sweetest. But Germany will be our home, dearest child; and we’ll grow to love it.’

‘I have thanked God every morning on rising, since I knew, that you are coming with me.’

‘Your gratitude was no more fervent than mine.’

They were together so it was not too sad an occasion.

Eleanor rode side by side with a young man who appeared to be about six years older than herself. He was handsome, charming and lively in his conversation and she had rarely enjoyed anyone’s company more. She was beginning to think that she was shut away from the pleasures of Court life with her sister-in-law and there was a great deal that she was missing.