The Battle of the Queens (45 page)

The young man told her that his name was Simon de Montfort and that his father was that Simon de Montfort l’Amaury who had made a name for himself in the war against the Albigensians.

The King had been good to Simon and had restored to him all the lands which had belonged to his father, and he had what he had long sought, a secure position in England and the favour of the King.

Eleanor was delighted to hear that Henry was his friend and she told him freely of her marriage to William Marshal and how she was a widow of some years standing.

He had said that he was surprised she had been allowed to remain so for so long.

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘I had no inclination to remarry. Not that the decision would rest with me.’

Simon de Montfort looked at her rather quizzically and said: ‘Do you know, I believe that if you were so inclined you are of a nature to insist that the decision should be yours.’

That remark impressed her deeply.

Was it really so? She had always been so meek with William Marshal. But then she had been but sixteen at the time of his death.

Simon de Montfort had made her realise something. She was growing up; her character was forming and it was going to be that of a strong-minded woman.

Isabella and Margaret Biset said good-bye to those who had escorted them to Sandwich and set sail for Antwerp.

The four days at sea were far from pleasant and during them Isabella thought little of what was awaiting her. Of one thing she was certain: nothing could be worse than being at sea.

When finally they did land it was to find friends waiting for them to tell them that there was a French plot afoot to capture Isabella and prevent her marriage to the Emperor. They stayed at an inn, where Isabella was said to be a young noblewoman travelling with her governess, and under cover of darkness they left the town. It was several days before they could be assured that they had outwitted their would-be kidnappers and by that time Frederic had sent a strong guard to protect and bring her to Cologne.

There was a halt in that city. It was dangerous to proceed because the Emperor was at war – strangely enough with his own son who at one time had been put forward as a husband for Isabella – so she and Margaret had six weeks’ respite during which they began to learn the ways of the country.

In due course the Emperor arrived to greet his young bride with great rejoicing. He exclaimed at her charm and beauty and declared himself to be absolutely delighted.

He embraced her warmly and told her that he was determined to care for her and make her happy. Margaret clucked with delight. She was glad they had not given her charge to some brazen young man. From the Emperor she would receive tenderness and consideration.

The wedding celebrations were magnificent and continued through four days, for the Emperor wanted his subjects to know how delighted he was with his bride.

Isabella found that her marriage was not nearly as distasteful to her as she had feared it might be. The Emperor, delighted with her youth and freshness, was anxious not to frighten her. He told her that he had loved her from the moment he had seen her and her beauty exceeded all reports of it. She was his treasure, his sweet young bride; and his great desire was to please her.

However, he did propose to send back all her English attendants and when she heard this she was filled with fear.

She threw herself at his feet and wept bitterly and when he raised her and asked what was wrong she burst out: ‘Margaret Biset and I have been together all my life. I cannot let her go. If you send her away I shall never be happy again.’

Then he kissed her and said that although he had wanted all her English attendants to go and she to become his little German wife, he would show his love for her by allowing Margaret to stay with her for as long as she needed her.

At that Isabella dispensed with all ceremony, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him fervently.

‘It seems that you love the old Emperor then?’ he asked.

‘I do,’ she answered fervently. ‘You are so good to me.’

‘And you can be happy here?’

‘I can be happy if you do not take Margaret away from me.’

‘So Margaret remains.’

The Emperor grew so enchanted with his wife that he wanted nothing but to be with her all the time. He took her to his palace at Hagenau and surrounded her with all the luxury he knew of. The furnishings of her apartments were as rich as anything she had ever seen. He brought her more jewels than she could possibly wear. There were silks and fine clothes for her servants to make into any garments she fancied, and there were rich meats and wines to suit her taste. But he could not bear that anyone should see her lest they take her from him.

She and Margaret were together as they had been at her brother’s court; and the Emperor’s fondness for her was remarked on throughout the land.

In due course she was pregnant and merchandise was sent to her that she might choose what she fancied for her child. Margaret liked to make most of the garments herself and it was their pleasure to sew and talk together of the child.

It was pleasant to be so petted by her loving husband; and at this time Isabella was content to be shut off from the world in her silken cave. Margaret was with her and they played the guessing games they had played during her girlhood. It was all so like her childhood – apart from visits from the Emperor – that she did not feel in the least like a prisoner.

When her child was born it was a girl. If the Emperor was disappointed he did not say so, but she knew he would have preferred a boy. When she jokingly told Margaret that she would name the child after her and mentioned it to Frederic he made no protest. If that was what his little darling wanted, so should it be.

So the child became Margaret and so did the nurse dote on her namesake that Isabella declared the baby was taking her old nurse away from her.

‘What nonsense!’ cried Margaret. There’s enough love in this old body of mine for you both.’

So the pleasant life went on – except that one cage was changed for another. The Emperor had to visit his Italian subjects so he moved her to Lombardy and there she with Margaret and her baby and the few maids who attended on their needs lived once more in a luxurious palace, with their beautiful gardens – high-walled where no one came but the Emperor.

He rarely let anyone see his bride.

And there Isabella’s son was born. She called him Henry after her brother. And the Emperor said he had never known such joy.

It was a strange life, but one which was not unhappy.

The old ageing Emperor and his beautiful young wife had become something of a legend in the land.

Chapter XVI

ELEANOR AND SIMON DE MONTFORT

E
leanor was in love.

The most interesting, exciting man at her brother’s court was Simon de Montfort. Henry liked him, she was glad to notice; but he had many enemies. She lived in terror that one day they would harm him.

He had said to her once: ‘I am considered to be French by the English and English by the French. It does not make either side over fond of me.’

When she rode out with a party she would invariably find him beside her; and on one or two occasions, greatly daring, they would slip away from the others. How she enjoyed those rides, galloping over the grass with Simon a little behind, allowing him to catch up, when he would say: ‘Halt a while, Princess. I would talk with you.’

Then they would walk their horses and talk. It was mostly about themselves.

He was an adventurer, he said. She was the King’s sister. Was it not strange that they should have so much to say to each other, such understanding?

‘I am an adventurer too, I sometimes think,’ she told him.

‘You … a princess!’

‘Why should a princess be doomed to a dull life?’

‘Not all princesses are,’ he reminded.

‘I am determined to live my life as I wish.’

‘I knew there was something unusual about you from the moment I first saw you.’

He told her about his life and she told him about hers.

If his grandfather the Lord of Montfort and Evreux had not married the sister and co-heiress of the Earl of Leicester he would never have come to England. ‘Think of that. But for that marriage you and I would not be riding together here now.’

‘I am glad of that marriage,’ said Eleanor.

He laughed; his eyes gleaming with pleasure. It seemed to her that there was deep meaning behind everything they said to each other.

‘Their second son, Simon, led the crusade against the Albigensians and to him came the title of Earl of Leicester and half the estate.’

‘And you are the son of that crusader.’

‘I am he. My brother Amaury resigned his rights in the estate to me and I came to England to claim them.’

‘It seems you have not been unsuccessful here.’

‘Your brother has been good to me.’

‘He took a fancy to you. I understand why.’

‘The fact that his sister understands why means more to me than the King’s favour.’

‘Then I must change my opinion of you. You are not as wise as I thought.’

‘That, my dear lady, remains to be seen.’

‘How long must we wait for this revelation?’

‘I hope not long.’

Eleanor was exultant. What could he mean? She knew her feelings. What were his?

‘Your brother has given me a pension of four hundred marks,’ he told her. ‘When I recover my estates I shall be rich. But I shall not forget the help I have received.’

‘My brother’s pension must be of great importance to you.’

‘Not so important as the sympathy I see in his sister’s eyes.’

‘Surely to a man of good sense a pension should be of more use than sympathy.’

‘Nay, not so,’ he contradicted. And it was at moments like this that she spurred her horse and galloped away because she had never been so happy in her life before and she knew that it meant she was in love.

She tried to explain to him what her life had been.

‘As a child I was married to old William Marshal. It had to be, because they were afraid he would go over to the French. I was only a child. After the ceremony he went away to Ireland.’

‘Poor little girl!’

‘I stayed in the palace with my sister Isabella and our old nurse Margaret Biset. Isabella is an empress now and Margaret is with her.’

‘They will find a husband for you.’

‘I will not take him … unless he is of my choice.’

‘Ah, when the moment comes shall you be strong enough, think you?’

‘I know I shall be strong enough.’

‘Kings, archbishops, barons, lords … they can be very strong.’

‘I can be strong too. A princess who marries once for state reasons has the right to take her second husband when and from where she pleases.’

‘You think that would be permitted?’

‘I should decide.’

‘Oh, you are a bold princess as well as a beautiful one. You have the qualities I admire most in women – beauty and independence.’

‘I am glad that I please you, my lord.’

‘I hope that the pleasure I find in your company will never give you cause for regret.’

No one had ever talked to her in this way before. She knew that he was telling her he loved her. Was it possible for her to marry a man without a fortune? For he had none and had still to regain his estates. All he had at the moment was a claim to them. What else had he? The King’s friendship; the love of the King’s sister.

And yet because he was Simon de Montfort it seemed that he had a power within him to accomplish what would have been impossible in another man.

She wondered what Henry would say and do if she told him that she wished to marry Simon de Montfort.

Henry would be more inclined to be lenient now because he had a bride of his own. This time he had actually achieved marriage and there was a queen at court. Eleanor – named as she was – was very young and very beautiful and had come from Provence to be Henry’s queen. She was a little spoilt and petulant, demanding her own way, but Henry was so delighted to have a bride and so enchanted by her beauty that he had mellowed considerably and because of this would have some understanding and sympathy for his sister.

It was when they were in the forest and had evaded the rest of the party – a habit which was becoming too frequent not to go unnoticed – that Simon broached the subject.

There could not be many men at court who would dare suggest marriage to a princess, but Simon of course was no ordinary man. He had complete confidence in himself. He was going to make his mark in the world. He was so distinguished. That was clear to himself and Eleanor. So he could therefore do what other men would never dare to.

He said: ‘You know that I love you.’

She was too forthright to pretend. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know it.’

‘And you love me,’ he stated; nor did she deny it.

‘When people love as we do there is one thing they must do, and that is marry. Do you agree with me?’

‘I do,’ she answered.

‘What then?’ he asked.

‘We should marry.’

‘Would you be ready to, Eleanor?’

She held out her hand and he took it. How his eyes gleamed. He was looking to the future.

‘Then one thing is certain,’ he said. ‘We
shall
marry.’

‘That is certain,’ she agreed.

‘How I love you!’ he said. ‘You and I were meant for each other. We are bold, are we not? Ready to take what we want from life?’

‘It is the only way to live,’ she answered.

‘Well, what next?’

‘We marry.’

‘Secretly.’

‘I could sound the King.’

‘Would he agree?’

‘I think he might … if we were careful. We must not let others know. There would be objections.’

‘Simon de Montfort and the Princess,’ he said. They would tell me I was unworthy.’

‘We know otherwise. I will discover from my brother what his feelings are in this matter. He is inclined to be lenient with lovers just now.’

‘The uxorious husband loves his Eleanor … but not as I love mine.’

‘How can you know?’

That child! What does she know of life?’

‘She knows how to get what she wants of Henry. But then it would not be difficult for a woman to get what she wanted from Henry.’

‘Even his sister?’

‘I will sound him.’

It was Christmas time and they were at Westminster. The King was very busy with preparations, eager to show his new queen how lavish they could be.

Eleanor hesitated to approach him because if he would not help her he could make it impossible for her to marry Simon. Possibilities occurred to her. He could even imprison Simon, have him mutilated, murdered … Not that Henry had ever showed any signs of behaving in such a cruel manner. He was not like their father. Henry was more of a man of peace. And yet she was taking a risk. Talking to Simon, she had felt so bold and brave; when she was not with him she found herself facing realities.

She made up her mind that there was one person whom she could safely consult and that was her sister Joan who had been with the court since September when she had gone on a pilgrimage to Canterbury with the King and her husband Alexander. Alexander had now returned to Scotland but Joan had made an excuse to stay on in England for a few weeks longer. That stay had extended.

So to Joan went Eleanor and contrived that they should be alone together.

Concerned as she was with her own affairs, Eleanor could not help noticing how wan her sister looked. Poor Joan seemed to be wasting away. She made excuse after excuse to stay in England and so far she had remained. She had spent several weeks in her bedchamber when the weather was cold and seemed to be better for it, but she dreaded returning to Scotland.

Beside her Eleanor looked blooming, knew it, and was a little ashamed of it.

She asked with tenderness after her sister’s health.

‘It is better,’ Joan told her. ‘It is always so in England.’

‘Poor Joan.’ Eleanor was thoughtful. No matter where Simon went she would gladly follow. Joan clearly did not feel the same about Alexander.

‘I want to talk to you, Joan. It is secret … very secret. I want your advice.’

Joan smiled at her sister. ‘I shall be pleased to help if I can, you know.’

Eleanor nodded. ‘I am in love and want to marry.’

Joan looked concerned. ‘It so much depends with whom. Is he what would be considered suitable?’

‘To me he is the only one who could possibly be suitable.’

‘That is not what I mean, Eleanor.’

‘I know it and I suppose he is what would be called completely unsuitable.’

‘Oh, my poor sister.’

‘Not so, Joan. I refuse to be called poor when Simon loves me.’

‘Simon?’

‘Simon de Montfort’

Joan wrinkled her brows. ‘Is he not the son of the General who fought the Albigensians?’

‘He is the same. We are going to marry – no matter what anyone says. If we have to go to France, if we have to escape … we shall do so to be together.’

Eleanor raised her eyes to her sister’s and saw that Joan’s were shining with admiration.

‘You are right, Eleanor,’ she said. ‘If you love … and he loves you … then let nothing stand in your way. You married once for state reasons. Now freedom of choice should be yours.’

Eleanor went softly to her sister and took her in her arms. She felt uneasy because of Joan’s frailty.

‘I did not think you would understand,’ she said.

‘I do understand, Eleanor,’ answered Joan. ‘I loved once … I am glad that I did, although it did not bring me happiness.’

‘You, Joan …!’

‘It was long ago, oh, long long ago it seems.’

‘You were sent away when you were a child. Sent to Lusignan.’

‘To the man who was to be my husband,’ said Joan. ‘I was frightened and I learned not to be. I grew to know him. He was so good … so kind.’