The Battle of the Queens (47 page)

‘Nay,’ declared Henry. ‘We shall keep you here. You shall not go back to Scotland. My doctors will cure you.’

Joan shook her head and said: ‘Eleanor … sister.’

‘I am here, Joan.’

She took her sister’s hand and held it.

‘God bless you both,’ she said. ‘Be happy.’

‘We shall all be happy,’ Henry assured her.

‘Help me up a little,’ said Joan; and Henry put his arm about her and held her thus.

‘I … am happy to be with you … here in England … I am glad … to have come home to die.’

Both Henry and Eleanor could not speak; they averted their eyes from their dying sister.

‘Henry, I should like to lie in Dorset … in the nunnery of Tarent …’

‘When the time comes so shall you,’ said Henry with a sob in his throat. ‘But it is far off, sister.’

She shook her head and smiled.

For some time there was silence; then Henry looked into her face and slowly released her.

‘She has gone,’ said Eleanor, and she put a hand over her eyes to hide the tears.

It was impossible to keep the marriage of Eleanor and Simon de Montfort secret for long.

When Richard of Cornwall heard of it – and that it had taken place with the consent of the King – he was furious.

He himself was growing more and more dissatisfied with his own marriage. Every time he saw Isabella she seemed to have aged a few years. He did not realise that she understood that he no longer cared for her and this gave her sleepless nights and days of anxiety.

Simon de Montfort was one of the most unpopular men in court circles. He was a foreigner and Henry had always had a tendency to favour foreigners, more so now that his wife was bringing in her friends and relations, and favours which should have gone to Englishmen were going to them.

The barons were beginning to gather round Richard. He had a fine son, young Henry, and the King was, so far, childless. Henry did not have the power to attract men to him. There was a certain weakness in him which they detected and which made him act sometimes most unjustly when at others he was over eager to please.

Richard came to the King and gave way to vociferous indignation.

He would like to know why Henry should have given his consent to a marriage which was clearly displeasing to many of the most important people in the country, who should have had some say in choosing a husband for the King’s sister.

‘It was unnecessary for others to choose,’ said Henry. ‘I gave permission. That was enough.’

‘Clearly it is not! It was important that you should have brought the matter to light. Instead you join in the secrecy.’

‘Know this, brother,’ cried Henry, ‘I shall do as I please.’

‘That’s what our father said.’

This was the kind of remark which had been flung at Henry ever since he came to the throne. It never failed to enrage him because it frightened him.

‘Have a care, Richard,’ warned Henry.

‘It is you who must have a care. There are rumblings of discontent throughout the kingdom.’

‘There always have been and always will. There are too many men who seek riches for themselves and will make trouble hoping to get them.’

‘It is no help to your cause to act like this. Our sister is a royal ward. You know what that means.’

Henry burst out: ‘I had my reasons.’

‘What reasons could there be for giving our sister to an … adventurer?’

‘I will tell you this. He had seduced our sister. I thought it better to set this matter to rights by giving her to him in marriage.’ Henry had turned pale. It was a lie. But if it were true – and who knew it might be? – none could blame him for getting them married.

‘The scoundrel!’ cried Richard, who had seduced many women in his not very long but somewhat full amatory life.

‘She wished for the marriage,’ continued Henry. ‘Let us hope he will make her a good husband.’

‘I shall seek out Simon de Montfort,’ cried Richard.

‘Pray do. Eleanor will not bless you. She is extremely happy with the fellow.’

‘An adventurer … and a royal ward! Our own sister.’

‘Oh, come, Richard. They are fond of each other. You married of your own free will and I forgave you. Eleanor took Marshal at a time when it was necessary to prevent his going to the enemy. Let her live in peace with the man she chooses.’

‘Who seduced her before marriage!’

‘So thought I,’ said Henry cautiously.

Richard stormed out of his presence, leaving Henry angry and at the same time ashamed.

It would seem that he is the King, not I, he thought; and then he laughed inwardly to think of Richard with his ageing wife, of whom he would clearly like to be rid, and his own sweet queen who continued to delight him.

Edmund Archbishop of Canterbury came to the King to tell him that he was very concerned to hear of the marriage of the King’s sister. He had a very special reason for being so …

‘It was a true marriage,’ said the King. ‘I was present myself.’

‘I have something very grave to say to you, my lord,’ the Archbishop explained. ‘Your sister, widow of William Marshal, made a vow of chastity to me. It would seem that she has broken that vow. This is a grave sin in the eyes of heaven.’

Henry was weary of the matter. Why should they not let Eleanor and Simon de Montfort live in peace? Did all these people so hate to see a happy married pair? Were they so envious that they must seek to destroy that happiness?

Of course Edmund was a saint. Hair shirts tormented his skin; he beat himself with knotted ropes; scarcely took enough food to keep himself alive, never went to bed and spent half the night on his knees. One could not expect such a holy man to be overjoyed by the carnal happiness of Eleanor and Simon.

But if it really was true that Eleanor had made a vow, what could she have been thinking of to break it?

‘I know of no such vow, Archbishop,’ he said.

‘Nevertheless it was made in my presence. She has placed her immortal soul in peril.’

‘I do not think God and his saints will be so hard on her. She was married to old Marshal you know when she was only a child, and she truly loves her husband.’

‘My lord, I understand you not. Can it be that you have forgotten your duty to the Church? It is small wonder that our kingdom is in turmoil.’

A plague on these pious churchmen, thought Henry. Then he was afraid of such irreligious thoughts and fervently hoped that the recording angel had not garnered that one.

‘I will speak to my sister,’ said Henry.

‘My lord, that will not be enough. She will need a special dispensation from the Pope.’

Henry sighed and sent for his sister.

Eleanor came in some trepidation. She had been in a state of great uneasiness ever since she had known that the news was out.

Simon had said they must hold themselves in readiness to fly from the country. He himself had gone to Richard and humbly asked his pardon. He had taken gifts and had tried to explain to his brother-in-law how he had been carried away by love for his sister.

Richard listened, accepted the gifts and said that he was in trouble with the Archbishop over some matter of a vow Eleanor had made – and that could provide even more difficulties for them.

There was a certain understanding between the two men and during the interview Richard had relented a little. He began to think that if the barons rallied round him and it became necessary to rise against Henry, Simon would be a good ally.

He said that he understood Simon’s feelings and that he knew Eleanor had grown into a strong-minded young woman. If she had made up her mind to marry Simon, then Simon had little help for it but to obey her. They laughed together and Richard was mollified.

It was not going to be so easy with the saintly Archbishop. Eleanor’s knees trembled as she stood before the old man. His fiery eyes seemed to penetrate her mind and she remembered vividly kneeling with him before the crucifix.

Henry said: ‘The Archbishop brings me grave news.’

Eleanor faced the old man unflinchingly – hoping he could not see how her hands trembled.

‘It would appear,’ said Edmund, ‘that you have forgotten the vow that you made to God.’

‘I did not regard it as a vow, my lord.’

‘So you made a vow which was no vow,’ said Edmund. ‘I beg of you do not add flippancy to your sins.’

‘I was very young and inexperienced of the world. I said I might consider going into a nunnery.’

‘Take care. Your words will be recorded in heaven.’

‘I have a husband whom I love. I do not think God would consider that a sin.’

‘You have broken your vow to Him. Every time you lie with this man you commit a sin against Holy Church.’

‘I do not think so.’

‘You … a foolish girl!’

‘Nay,’ said Eleanor with spirit, ‘a proud and happy wife.’

Henry could not help admiring her. Of course he must respect such a saint, but Eleanor did not seem to care whether or not she offended God. He almost expected the Almighty to show His displeasure by striking her dumb or blind … or barren perhaps. He could not tell about the last but she certainly escaped the first two.

‘You give God … and us … great cause for sorrow.’

‘There are so many nuns,’ said Eleanor, ‘and not so many happy wives.

‘You are without shame,’ cried the Archbishop.

‘Am I?’ said Eleanor.

‘You must have a care, sister,’ Henry warned her mildly. He wanted an end of the scene so he went on before the Archbishop could speak again. ‘What must my sister do, my lord? She is married. We cannot unmarry her. Pray give your advice.’

‘A plea for dispensation must be sent to the Pope with all speed.’

‘That shall be done,’ said Henry.

The Archbishop regarded Eleanor coldly.

‘There is only one who should be sent to His Holiness to make the plea. That is, you will agree, Simon de Montfort.’

How she hated the saintly old man. He could not unmarry them, but he could separate them … for a while.

It was not a bad solution, Henry decided, for with the bridegroom away, the barons could forget their discontent with the marriage.

Eleanor was angry. That could not be helped. She must expect to pay some price for her unconventional behaviour. She had the husband of her choice and in due course he would come back.