The Queen from Provence (10 page)

As they approached the capital they were met by a cavalcade at the head of which rode the Queen Mother of France. This, thought Eleanor, was the heroine of all those songs the fat troubadour had sung.

She was indeed beautiful – like an exquisitely carved statue, Eleanor thought her. Her features were perfectly chiselled; she looked too young and slender to be the mother of the King – and several others also. Her hair, which Eleanor later discovered was abundant and very fair, was hidden by her silken wimple. It was clear that she was a very forceful woman and owing to the devotion she had inspired in Thibaud, Eleanor was particularly interested in her. Then she realised that her coming brought about a subtle change in the manners of the young King and Queen. Louis paid a great deal of attention to his mother – which she clearly demanded – and less to his Queen.

Eleanor thought indignantly: If I were in Marguerite’s place, I would never allow that.

Everyone deferred to the Queen Mother. The ice-blue eyes surveyed Eleanor with approval. She was glad that her daughter-in-law’s sister was going to marry the King of England because, as Marguerite had mentioned, in France it was considered the marriages of the two sisters would be helpful in maintaining peace between the two countries.

So they rode into Paris where they admired the improvements which had been set in motion by the young King’s grandfather Philip Augustus. It no longer deserved the epithet ‘Mud Town’ which the Romans had bestowed on it, for Philip Augustus had supplied it with hard, solid stone which was washed by the rain and, if that failed, by the people who were proud of their city.

They admired Les Halles, the shut-in market place which he had built, the great Cathedral of Notre Dame and the improvements to the old palace of the Louvre.

And so they came to Paris on the last stage of their journey through France. There they would rest awhile before continuing their journey to the coast.

Marguerite was anxious to be as much with her family as possible and she prevailed on them to spend a few days with her at Pontoise which, she confessed to Eleanor, she and Louis liked better than any other of their residences.

So the party set out, taking with them the necessary furnishings including tapestries to hang on the walls, for most of the royal castles were almost empty when not inhabited. Serving men and women went on ahead to prepare for their comfort.

The King did not accompany them. His mother had said that it was necessary for him to stay in Paris.

‘I am sure Marguerite would enjoy having her sister to herself,’ she said.

Eleanor had quickly realised that when the Queen Mother made such statements, they were meant to be a command. It was disconcerting to see the ability she had for cowing Marguerite, and it was clear to Eleanor then that her sister’s marriage was not quite the ideal alliance she had been led to believe.

Of course Marguerite was Queen of France and wherever she went she was treated with great respect; homage was paid to her every moment of the day. Louis quite obviously loved her. But he obeyed his mother and if that meant being parted from his wife he accepted it.

In the castle of Pontoise, Eleanor had an opportunity of talking to her sister about her marriage and gradually it seemed she gained the ascendancy which had been hers in Les Baux in spite of Marguerite’s status.

She wanted to hear about the wedding and the coronation ceremonies, what Louis expected of her and whether she was truly happier than she had been in her parents’ home.

Marguerite was reticent about what happened in the bedchamber. That, she said, with a certain smugness which irritated Eleanor, was what she would have to find out, and what she would accept because it was her duty to do so. Louis it seemed was a paragon of virtue. She could not ask for a kinder, more loving husband, if only …

There. She had betrayed herself. If only what? Eleanor wanted to know.

‘If only we could be alone more often.
She
is always there.’

‘You mean Queen Blanche?’

‘Of course she is his mother, and he thinks that she is wonderful. You see he was only twelve when his father died and she made a King of him, he says. He always listens to her. I know she is very clever and it is right that he should do so. But she tries to separate us. Sometimes I think that she is jealous of me.’

‘Of course she is. She wants her beautiful son all to herself. Thank Heaven Henry has not a mother living at the Court.’

‘She is far away and from what I hear she leads her new husband a dance. Yes, you should be thankful, Eleanor, that Isabella of Angoulême will not be living at your Court. Though it would please us mightily if she decided to leave Lusignan for England.’

‘We shall see that she remains in Lusignan. I would not endure what you do, Marguerite. If I were you and sure that Louis loved me, I would say it was time for his mother to retire into the background.’

‘You would not,’ said Marguerite, ‘if your mother-in-law was Queen Blanche.’

‘So your Louis is afraid of her.’

‘No, no. But he is so kind, he would never hurt her. He listens to her but if he does not agree with her he goes his own way. He is greatly respected. He is so eager to govern well. He will be a better king than even Philip Augustus. He cares about the people. He gives much to the poor. Sometimes, after Mass, he goes into the woods and there sits on the grass and asks any, however humble, to talk to him and tell him what they think. He listens to what they have to say. He wants to hear if they consider there are injustices in France. I have seen him do this even in Paris in the gardens of our palace there. He does not greatly care about his dress. I have often seen him in a coat of that stuff I hate … half wool, half cotton. They call it tyretaine. He goes hatless, too. He says that he wanted to make the people see him as a man … not a king.’

‘That is not the way to win the people’s respect.’

‘He thinks it is and they do respect him. What do you think he said to me when I complained that he did not look like a king?’

‘He said he would dress richly to please you, I doubt not.’

‘He said something of the sort … but with a difference. Everything Louis does is not what is expected. “To please you, Marguerite,” he said, “I will dress in extravagant garments. But if I dress to please you you must dress to please me. That means that you will wear simple garments and give up your splendour.”’

‘And that I see you declined to do.’

‘’Tis clear is it not?’

‘At least he does not command you to cast off your silks and jewels.’

‘Louis would never command that. He likes people to have freedom. I tell you, Eleanor, there is no man like him in the whole world. France is fortunate to be ruled by such a King.’

‘Who is ruled by his mother.’

‘That is not true. But she is clever … and she would be beside him.’

‘In your place?’

Marguerite was silent.

‘When I reach England,’ said Eleanor, ‘I shall govern with my husband.’

‘If he will allow you to do so.’

‘I shall make sure that he does,’ vowed Eleanor.

Marguerite looked at her steadily. Knowing Eleanor she believed that she would.

Chapter III

THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND

T
he crossing was stormy but Eleanor discovered with relief that she was not a bad sailor. It would have been undignified to have arrived in her new country wracked by the seasickness which had affected some of the company. Her uncle was beside her as they stood on the deck watching as the ship approached England. The cliffs rose white and stark out of that frothy grey sea and there could not have been a land more different from Provence. Uncle William put his hand over hers as though to reassure her, but she did not need his comfort. She was excited. Grey seas and cool winds were unimportant. So long she had wanted this marriage; ever since Marguerite had left them to be the bride of the King of France she had wanted the crown of England as the only one to compare with that of Marguerite, and having seen Marguerite, dominated by her mother-in-law, she no longer envied her. That was why she could stand beside her uncle at the approach to England with the utmost confidence in her future.

Now they had come so close to land that she could see the bold grey towers of that castle perched high on the hill, menacing, formidable, defiant. It had been graphically called the Key to England, and she thought the name apt. That key was being given to her; and she would employ soft words and subtle manners until this land was hers to command. Everything depended on her husband, and she would shortly discover what manner of man he was and whether her task would be easy.

‘You are on the threshold of a new life, my child,’ said Uncle William. ‘So much will depend on you. I trust you realise what this means.’

‘I do,’ replied Eleanor.

‘You will have me to guide you.’

She nodded.

‘I shall do that whatever the opposition,’ he went on.

‘You expect opposition?’

‘There is always opposition in Courts. So much depends on the King.’

Now the castle was taking on definite shape. The great keep which had been built by the bridegroom’s grandfather dominating the great pile of stones. It was impossible not to be impressed by all that magnificence of Kentish rag mingled with that Caen stone which had been brought from Normandy by the same Henry II. As she gazed at those great buttresses rising into turrets, Eleanor could not help but be moved, for they symbolised the might of England. They had arrived.

Henry had decided that he would greet his bride at Canterbury where the Archbishop would be waiting to perform the marriage ceremony. He was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of at last having her with him. So much had gone wrong with his previous attempts that he had begun to believe fate had decided against his marrying; but on this occasion his bride was actually in England and in a short time would be with him.

Everyone was delighted. It had been a source of some dismay that he having reached the age of twenty-eight should not have married so far. He should have had a nursery full of sons by now. Never mind. It was going to happen at last. His bride was very young, only fourteen years of age; but that was not too young for a royal bride. It was a great pleasure – and a change to do something that gratified both himself and the people at the same time.