The Battle of the Queens (46 page)

‘You loved him!’ cried Eleanor. ‘And he married our mother.’

‘Do you remember her, Eleanor?’

‘But little.’

‘She had some allure. I cannot explain it. I never saw it in any other woman. It was a kind of magic. Not good, not kind, but she bewitched people with it. She bewitched Hugh. So I came back and married Alexander.’

‘My poor, poor Joan!’

‘Oh, it is too long ago now to talk of, and here I am the Queen of Scotland.’

‘A poor compensation, you are telling me, Joan.’

Joan held out her thin hands on which blue veins were painfully visible.

‘I am telling you that if you have a chance of happiness you should take it. You do not want to spend your life regretting.’

‘So that is your advice, Joan?’

Joan’s answer was to put her arms about her sister and kiss her gently on the brow.

‘Sound our brother,’ she said. ‘But carefully. It may be that at this time he will feel tender towards lovers.’

Henry regarded his sister with mild affection. He was very contented with his marriage. His bride was very young, the second daughter of the Count of Provence; and her elder sister was already the bride of Louis IX of France. Not only was she beautiful, she was accomplished too. She was noted for the verses she wrote and she could sing and dance in a manner which was enchanting.

Henry was particularly delighted because his brother Richard had made the acquaintance of the Princess of Provence on his travels and had been charmed by her bright intelligence and her beauty; Henry knew he would have liked to marry her himself. No hope of that. He had his ageing Isabella, whom he had insisted on marrying. So this was one of the occasions when Henry could score over his brother.

When Eleanor came to him he was in a state of some euphoria and she, in her newly found wisdom and her awareness sharpened by her desperate need, began by telling him how delighted she was by his happiness and how enchanting the new Queen was, and how fortunate he had been to wait awhile before hurrying into marriage. Whereupon Henry began enlarging on the perfections of his queen and the joys of the married state which made it easier for Eleanor.

‘Ah, I would I had the good fortune to know such happiness!’ she sighed.

‘My poor sister, you were married to old William Marshal. How different that must have been from that state in which I find myself!’

‘My fortunate brother! None could wish you greater happiness than I. I know that, understanding so much, you would, if it were in your power, help me to attain a similar joy.’

Henry smiled expansively. ‘Dear Eleanor, I would the whole world could be as happy as I am.’

‘I could be so … or almost, I think, if only it were possible …’

Henry was looking at her questioningly and she went on: ‘Henry, I am in love. I want to marry and I implore you – understanding so well – to help me in this.’

‘My dear sister, what can I do? Who is this man?’

‘He is Simon de Montfort.’

Henry was silent for a few seconds, while Eleanor suffered agonies of doubt and plans for immediate escape from England began to form in her mind.

Then Henry slowly smiled. ‘He’s a bold fellow. I always knew it. But I did not know how bold.’

Eleanor caught his hands and cried: ‘Henry, you who have achieved such happiness … can you deny it to me, your sister, who has already suffered one unwelcome marriage and years shut away from your court?’

Henry embraced her. ‘I will help you,’ he said. ‘It will have to remain secret for a while … No one must know.’

‘My dearest, dearest brother, if you consent, that is all I ask!’

Henry, smiling benignly, told her that she should have her wish. He would arrange it. But for the time being she must remember … secrecy.

She could scarcely wait to see Simon. There was no opportunity until they rode out with a party in the forest, for she realised the need to keep her coming marriage secret. They were not safe yet. Henry could change his mind if he were prevailed upon and it was certain that he would be if their plans were discovered. Many of the barons were envious of Simon and they would consider that marriage with the King’s sister was a move he had made from ambition. They would do anything rather than see him advance.

They escaped from the party. There again – this would be noticed if they did it much more.

She told him: ‘I have spoken to Henry. He will help us.’

Simon was astounded. ‘Is this really so?’

‘I chose my moment. He is so delighted with his marriage, I flattered him. He is always susceptible to that.’

‘My God!’ cried Simon, ‘then ere long you will be my wife.’

‘It should not be too long delayed. He could change his mind.’

‘That’s true enough. As soon as Christmas is over … Oh, you clever princess!’

‘You will find that I shall always be clever when it is a matter of getting what I want.’

‘I see I shall have a very forceful wife.’

They were too moved to say much and they rode silently through the forest.

They came upon a chapel there and it was Eleanor who said they should alight, tether their horses and go inside to pray at the altar to thank God for His goodness to them and ask for His continued help.

‘We may need it,’ commented Simon.

So they went inside the chapel and at the altar they knelt together. And as Eleanor raised her eyes they came to rest on the crucifix and she was transported back to a time when she had knelt in a bedchamber side by side with Edmund the Archbishop of Canterbury.

She could not control the trembling which came over her. She had said on that occasion that she would take a vow of chastity. Oh, but she had spoken lightly. She had felt that that was what she had meant then, but she had not at the time met Simon.

It was not binding. It was nothing. She must not think of it.

They rose from their knees and as Simon took her arm to lead her from the chapel he said: ‘Why, you are trembling.’

She answered: ‘It was cold in the chapel.’

And that was all.

It was a cold January day when Eleanor stood beside her brother who gave her away, after commanding the priest to swear to secrecy, and she was married to Simon de Montfort.

She could not believe her happiness, but she wished all the same she could rid herself of that niggling fear which had come to her in the chapel.

Again and again she reminded herself that the words she had spoken to Edmund had not been seriously meant. He could not take them in the nature of a vow … or could he?

She thought of that stern aesthetic face. People who subjected themselves to great self-sacrifice could be very harsh on others.

It was foolish of her to allow her happiness to be spoiled when Henry had given his consent and had actually given her away. But then he did not know of that scene between herself and Edmund. And when Edmund did …

She would refuse to think of it.

As they came out of the chapel, Henry looked rather worried.

He had begun to believe that he might have acted rashly. He had been so anxious for his sister to be happy and it had given him a deep satisfaction that he could provide that happiness; but now that the ceremony was over, he was asking himself whether he had acted wisely.

He said sharply: ‘None must know. You must keep your secret for a while.’

Eleanor took his hand and kissed it fervently.

‘Dearest brother, most noble King, I shall never forget what you have done for me.’

That satisfied Henry. Until he began to be uneasy again.

As the weeks passed the cold was intense. The wind whistled through the castle rooms and even great wood fires could not keep the inhabitants warm.

Joan’s cough grew worse and when Alexander sent messages to Westminster to know why she did not return she was very depressed, but she made her preparations.

Eleanor spent a great deal of time with her. Joan was one who knew of her marriage. It was pleasant, as Eleanor told Simon, to be able to talk to someone; and Joan was so pleased that they were happy.

Poor Joan! If only she could have known this bliss. Of course Alexander was not like Simon. It amused Eleanor to contemplate that Joan’s would be said to be a good marriage, whereas hers … well, it was most unsuitable. Oh, but happy, thought Eleanor. How wonderful life was!

She sat talking with Joan in the cold room, Eleanor seated on a stool and Joan lying on a pallet covered by a fur rug because she could not get warm.

‘You cannot leave yet,’ said Eleanor. ‘You will have to wait until the weather is better.’

‘Alexander grows very impatient. I should have gone before the winter started.’

‘Nonsense. Why should you not visit your family?’

‘It has been a wonderful visit. It has made me so happy to see Henry and you contented in marriage.’

Though mine is to be kept secret for a while.’

‘You like that. Confess! Does it not give a zest to it all?’

‘It did not need it,’ replied Eleanor.

‘May you always be as happy as you are now, dear sister.’

‘I intend to be,’ replied Eleanor. ‘When we have our castles you will come and be with us often.’

‘I should like that.’

Joan began to cough and could not stop, and Eleanor was distressed and frightened. When one of these paroxysms seized her sister, Eleanor was afraid she would choke.

Joan lay back on her cushions. Eleanor saw the blood and shivered.

‘Dearest Joan, is there anything I can get for you?’

‘Sit by me,’ said Joan.

Eleanor sat until darkness fell. And she was thinking of poor Joan’s going far away to Lusignan to a husband she had never seen, loving him, and losing him.

Joan said suddenly: ‘Eleanor, are you there?’

‘Yes, sister. What can I get you?’

‘Bring Henry, will you?’

‘Henry!’

‘Please … I think he should be here.’

Eleanor went out. It was half an hour before she could find her brother and bring him to the bedchamber.

They came carrying lighted candles; and the sight of their sister lying on her cushions filled them with deep foreboding.

Henry knelt by the bed and took her hand.

‘Dear brother,’ said Joan.’ You know this is the end, do you not?’