The Sister Queens (52 page)

“My Lord Edward,” he says, clapping my son’s shoulder affectionately.

“Uncle.” Edward is always familiar with Peter, a habit he picked up from me but one that also suits their cordial relationship.

“Edward,” I say, intervening, “did I not ask you to bear a message to your brother?”

The boy sighs. He is clearly interested in the conversation and knows he is being sent out of the way of hearing any more of it. “Fine. I will go, but first I would make a suggestion for the governance of England in Father’s absence.”

“Indeed?” I am curious how my son would manage the country that will one day be his.

“Lift the ban on tourneying. Such action would make you much beloved in some quarters.”

“I thought you loved me already.”

This comment, and the prospect that I might follow it with an embrace, is enough to set Edward’s feet in motion.

When the sound of his footfall has died away, my uncle continues. “His Majesty has made a testament.”

I cross myself and take a seat on a stone bench. I know that such things are important, particularly as Henry will be on the sea and then in battle, but I cannot bear to think of anything happening to him.

“Custody of all the children is given you.”

“Why here is a thing more important than the governance of England,” I exclaim. Though I do not believe anything under heaven save my imprisonment or the use of arms could keep me from seeing my children, to have that right legally and unquestionably bestowed upon me is gift indeed.

“The two are inseparable,” my uncle replies sensibly. “And so too you shall have custody of all His Majesty’s territories until the Lord Edward reaches his majority.”

“Would that Henry were here so that I could thank him properly!” As soon as the words are spoken I blush as if my uncle could imagine the type of scene that might well result from my pleasure. For the first time in eight years I am past the early, doubtful, months of a pregnancy, and the prospect of a new babe makes Henry and me feel young again.

“When you thank him,” my uncle says, oblivious to my embarrassment and the direction of my thoughts, “do not fail to mention his generosity as to your dower rights. For these he has also increased, and greatly.”

My eyes begin to tear. Whatever disappointments I have
experienced over Henry’s conduct as ruler, he is ever and always a generous husband to me. If he must brave death, he will not be easy about it until he knows that I will not be left in want should things end badly.

HENRY CRIED WHEN HE LEFT
us on the sixth of August. Edward wept as well, though whether in response to his father’s sentimental tears or because he continued to lament being left behind, I cannot say. I kept a cheerful countenance then, but I feel like crying now.

“How can prices be so high?” I look up from the pages lying before me, setting forth the cost of grain, wine, and other commodities crucial to maintaining an army in the field.

“The bad fall harvest caused famine in Gascony, driving up the cost of everything.” Philip Lovel presses his palms together in that nervous way he has when contemplating something displeasing. I have become quite familiar with this gesture in the two months I have been regent. “And even as prices swell, the treasury does not.”

“And His Majesty must have money to pay bribes,” I say. “Full stomachs alone are not enough to guarantee his army satisfactory progress in Gascony.”

Lord Richard nods in approbation. He is of more use and less trouble to me than I ever expected, though I saw him swallow hard the first time I took Henry’s customary seat at this council table. “Your Majesty, we must raise more funds.”

“My Lord de Langley, you are a man handy at extracting silver from His Majesty’s Jews.” I pause for a moment and shift in my seat, trying to make myself more comfortable. Only weeks away from delivering my husband’s child, my belly is enormous, and my back, so much older than it was when I carried my Edward with
ease, aches both day and night. “Pray see if you cannot find a way to wring some more money out of them. There must be something yet we do not tax or fine.”

De Langely smiles. “There is
always
something, Your Majesty. We might borrow from them.”

“No. The Queen of England does not borrow from Jews. My Lord Lovel, see which of the Florentines will lend to me and at what terms.”

“How much does Your Majesty have in mind?”

“I heard from the Count of Poitiers this morning. The King of France’s brother will be paid to stay out of this war. But, as he is a man of honor, he will not come cheap. It seems that three thousand pounds will be needed to make him easy in this matter.”

William of Kilkenny gives a low whistle and mutters, “Heaven forefend” under his breath.

“Your Majesty wishes to borrow three thousand pounds?” Lovel asks.

“No. I
wish
we could persuade His Majesty’s barons to offer more men and more money for the king’s use,” I say impatiently, “but we have not been particularly successful in that vein, so I must borrow what I cannot secure through less onerous means.”

I do not mean to snap at my treasurer. He, as well as each of the other men seated around the table, works as hard as I to do what is necessary to promote Henry’s success in Gascony. But my temper grows shorter as does the time betwixt myself and my confinement.

“And now gentlemen, what do I overlook? Is there some matter yet to attend to, or is our business for the moment at an end?” I pray no one raises any new issue, for I am desperate to stand and stretch my back and legs—perhaps even to lie down for a few minutes in a darkened room.

AND TO THINK
I
HAVE
long been considered headstrong and stubborn! I am the mildest, the most persuadable of souls when compared with my husband’s noblemen. The Earl Richard and I have spent the afternoon at their parliament, trying to convince them to grant Henry additional moneys, and finding questions and excuses where we hoped for compliance. The January wind that howls outside is not colder than the reception we received from them.

“His Majesty has succeeded in bringing half a dozen castles back into the Crown’s possession in the five months since he left us. What more proof do those old women need that he makes progress?”

Richard takes a glass of wine from Sanchia and drains it before replying. “They are tightfisted to be sure but—with Your Majesty’s permission I would be plain—”

“Be plain then. You above all have a duty to be, as you are more than brother at the moment, you are counselor.”

“The barons know Henry is not, at heart, a military man. They believe he can purchase castles and even the loyalty of some men, but now he talks of laying siege to La Réole and they will want to see him win it, or at least not lose it, before they open their purses.”

I rise in exasperation, inadvertently jostling the cradle at my feet. Darling Katherine, my little princess, begins to cry.

“Let me take her,” Sanchia offers, scooping up the babe with practiced ease. Nothing calms this new child like walking. With all my others ’twas singing, but that has no effect whatsoever on Katherine.

“Pray counsel me, sir. What is to be done?”

“Henry ought to surround himself with men hardened in battle with reputations for fierceness.”

“He has your half bothers with him.” It is difficult to speak of these men in such moderate terms; when I consult with my uncle, they are always “those loathsome Lusignans.”

“They are able fighters indeed,” Richard replies, “when it is in their interest to fight. Perhaps Henry might offer them a better share in the spoils. A promise that they may keep whatever lands they take will spur them on.”

“You mean leave them in possession of the castles as Edward’s vassals?”

“Who would be more loyal to him than his family?”

I nod, keeping my skepticism to myself. This may be the one instance in which my need for the Lusignans outweighs my dislike for them. “But, my lord, the barons do not like your Lusignan relations overmuch. Why not draw someone into this campaign whom the barons respect and the noblemen in Gascony fear?”

“Simon de Montfort.”

“Exactly. He is in France but surely would answer if Henry called for him.”

“Providing that call is accompanied by payment of what the Earl of Leicester is still owed for his last service to the Crown in Gascony, I feel certain Your Majesty is right.”

“Why then, my lord, here is something on which to spend whatever money we can wring from the baronage and whatever is left of my loans too.”

Sanchia returns to my side and places a sleeping Katherine in the cradle. “You have such a gentle nature that you soothe her with great ease,” I say. My sister appears grateful for my kind words and the look that goes with them, and my heart saddens to see that her husband does not so much as glance at her, let alone smile. The ardor of Richard’s first desire for Sanchia long ago cooled beyond rekindling. Cooled though she gave him a goodly son and is as
devoted a wife as I have ever seen. Henry says it is because, as does he himself, Richard likes a spirited woman—someone to argue with him and to give her opinion. His first wife was like this, and Sanchia cannot compare. So, after a decade of marriage, Richard treats her with respect but no interest and feeds his passions, whether for political discussion or for the comforts of the flesh, elsewhere. There is nothing I can do to remedy this, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. Before I am carried away by that melancholy thought, I remind myself that at least marriage to my sister has kept Richard loyal to royal interests and that was its primary purpose from the beginning.

“Will Your Majesty write urging the king to recall de Montfort?” Richard, quite correctly, apprehends that any suggestion from me on the subject of de Montfort will be easier for my husband to accept than would one from himself.

“I will do so at once.”

Richard offers Sanchia his arm, and she takes it so lightly that her hand appears to be a skittish bird on a limb, ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.

I do not tell Richard ere he goes that I mean to put more in my letter than what pertains to the pursuit of victory in Gascony. I have had word from Albert of Parma, the papal nuncio. The Holy Father proposes commuting Henry’s crusading vow, which he has not yet fulfilled—raising money for an excursion to the Holy Land was no easier than raising money for this business in Gascony, and the money we did raise has been since diverted to the present campaign—and which, given the disastrous results of the French crusade, I would by all means see set aside. In return, Henry would accept the crown of Sicily in his own name or Edmund’s and help to secure that kingdom by military means using money that I am very happy I am not taxed with finding at this present moment.

This Sicily business is a proposition I embrace eagerly. Our first son will surely be a king, so why not our second? After all, Marguerite and I are both queens. Yet, though Richard seemed unwilling to be King of Sicily himself when he was made an offer of the crown by the Holy Father, I suspect he will not be happy to see my son have it and thus be of a greater rank than he. On this matter, therefore, I seek none of his counsel and keep my own.

“I HAVE GIVEN DIRECTION FOR
the necessary transfer of lands and estates.”

Uncle Boniface has just arrived from Canterbury, come to assist in my preparations to sail for Gascony with Edward. With the arrival of March and a break in the weather, word has come from Henry that our son will be husband to Alfonso of Castile’s half sister—if that king keeps his word, and I have my doubts.

“What will Edward be given?” My uncle waves away my offer of wine.

“Gascony he has already, of course, but His Majesty transfers Ireland, the Channel Islands, castles in the Welsh March, Bristol, the county of Chester, and some lesser English lands.”

“The father makes much of the son.”

“You sound like His Majesty’s barons. They complain Henry weakens the kingship, never mind that nothing is presented without a guarantee of reversion to the Crown.”

“Eleanor, you know me better than that! I merely mean the boy will be a serious force in English politics, and none of us can afford to overlook the importance of his favor hereinafter.”

“His favor!” I laugh lightly and pour a glass of wine for myself, suddenly feeling the need of fortification. “When and wherefore should a mother worry about the favor of her child?” But in the
recesses of my mind I consider for the first time that Edward the man and Edward the boy will not be one and the same. I cannot send Edward to Windsor to dispel a sullen mood when he is a married man.

As if he knows that we speak of him, my son bursts into the room without knocking. “Mother! They are destroying my ship!”

“Who?”

“The men who are building yours.”

“By God’s coif, I will see them hanged!” I say. “What could cause them to behave in such a manner?”

“Apparently they are jealous that the work on my vessel outshines their own.”

I turn toward my uncle. “Your Grace—”

“I will deal with it.” The archbishop moves swiftly from the room, but Edward remains, looking distressed.