The Queen from Provence (20 page)

But perhaps there was a certain regret. Perhaps the tears were genuine. Perhaps he was remembering the early days of their passion. But she was too tired to wonder any more.

Her great concern was their son.

‘Henry,’ she whispered.

Richard’s face was close to hers now.

‘Have no fear for Henry. I love him as I love my life. He is my son. Never fear but that I shall do everything for him.’

She nodded. She could believe that.

She closed her eyes and departed from this life in peace.

So his marriage was over and he was free. Only the direst hypocrite could pretend he was not relieved. For years now – in fact after the first two years of marriage – he had known he had made a bad mistake in marrying Isabella. He thought of Henry with his young Queen and how excited he, Richard, had been at the Court of Provence among those young girls and now he envied Henry.

Well, now he was no longer encumbered. Poor Isabella. She had been a beauty in her youth. But youth passed her too quickly and her melancholy brought on by his infidelities did not add to her charm. Had she accepted the inevitability of his dallying with other women, he might have been inclined to visit her more frequently.

But what was the use of going over it? It was over. He was a free man.

She had expressed a wish to be buried at Tewkesbury beside her first husband. That was a reproach to him, being a suggestion to the world that her first marriage had meant more to her than the second. He was not going to have that. She should certainly not be buried at Tewkesbury. He would bury her at Beaulieu, the proper place for a wife of his to lie.

It was unwise however to ignore the wishes of the dead, and Richard was adept at compromise. He knew what he would do. Her heart should be taken from her body, placed in a silver casket and buried before the great altar at Tewkesbury. That should satisfy both the dead and the living.

Having made this decision he dismissed the matter from his mind.

Isabella was dead. He would go on from there.

He had, since the birth of Prince Edward, been preparing for his crusade. Before that he had hesitated, because it had seemed that Henry might not have children, in which case if he were to die suddenly Richard would be King. It would have been extremely unwise to leave the country when such a contingency was possible. But now there was an heir to the throne who showed every sign of growing up into a healthy man. Richard had taken a step back from the throne; therefore he could continue with his plans to leave the country.

He sent for his son and when the boy was brought to him he dismissed his attendants that he might be alone with the child.

He drew the boy to him and taking his chin in his hand turned his face upward. A skin fair and flawless, strong brown hair, bright eyes and well marked brows; and above all an alert intelligence which delighted his heart.

‘Henry, my child,’ he said soberly, ‘you have no mother now.’

‘She is dead,’ agreed Henry.

‘But you still have your father who loves you dearly.’

Henry nodded and waited.

‘Never fear, my son, that I shall forget to care for you.’

‘But you forgot to come and see my mother.’

How innocent he was. He did not seek to please. He spoke the truth as he saw it naturally as though it were the only thing to do.

‘I had much with which to occupy myself. I have been fighting in the King’s war.’

‘Shall I fight the King’s war?’

‘When you are old enough. But first, son, you have to grow up, and that can take a long time. You are but five years old but seem older. You have worked well at your lessons and at your sport. Your riding master tells me you took to the saddle as though you had been born to it.’

‘I like much to ride, father. I no longer have the leading rein.’

‘That is good.’

‘Would you like to see my falcon?’

‘Later. Now I want to talk to you.’

Henry nodded gravely.

‘Where has my mother gone?’ he asked.

‘Did you not understand, my son? She has gone to Heaven.’

‘When will she come back?’

‘She has gone to stay with the saints. She will be so happy with them that she will not wish to come back.’

‘She will want to come back for me,’ said Henry confidently. ‘Perhaps she will take me back with her.’

‘God forbid,’ said his father, suddenly catching him to his chest in a firm grip.

‘Yes, she will,’ said Henry confidently. ‘She never liked me to be away from her too long. I wonder what it is like in Heaven. There would be a lot of horses … white ones I think.’

‘Henry my son, there is something we must talk of. It will be different here … now that your mother has … gone away. You will miss her so I am going to take you away for a while.’

‘With you?’ cried Henry.

‘Nay. I am going to fight the Saracens. I have long planned to do this but have been delayed again and again. Now I shall go.’

‘I could come with you and fight the Saracens.’

‘You have to grow up before you can do that. But perhaps you will one day. But first there is much to be done, and I am going to take you to London and there you will be in the King’s palace. You see he is your uncle and there comes a time when we who belong to the Court must be of it.’

‘Is that King Henry?’

‘It is indeed. Your uncle King Henry, who has heard much of you and would welcome you at his Court.’

‘What should I do at his Court, father?’

‘Much as you do here. Take lessons, play games, learn to joust and tilt, study the laws of chivalry, become a knight worthy of your birth and standing.’

Henry listened attentively.

‘Then I shall come back and by then my mother will be here.’

Richard did not answer. It was as well, as yet, to let the boy think that his mother’s departure was not permanent.

‘We shall set out tomorrow for the King’s Court,’ he said. ‘You will like that, little son. You and I will ride together. You are going out into the world.’

Henry thought he would like it. He wished his mother was coming with them; but in time he would come back and tell her all about it. That would be something to which he could look forward.

The King was something of a disappointment to young Henry. He was a little frightening because one eye was half hidden and the boy could not stop looking at it. The Queen was different. She was beautiful and smiling and he loved her at once.

‘This is my son,’ said Richard.

The King bent over him and said: ‘Welcome, nephew, to the Court.’

The Queen knelt down and put her arms about him. She kissed him and, overwhelmed by her beauty, Henry put his arms about her neck and kissed her.

‘You are the most beautiful lady I ever saw,’ he said.

A diplomat already? thought Richard. There was nothing the boy could have said which would have better pleased the King or the Queen.

Eleanor had taken his hand and sitting down on the ornate chair beside the King’s, put her arm about the boy.

‘You are going to stay at our Court, Henry. Do you think you will like that?’

‘Will you be there?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes, I … and the King and our little son. You must meet our little son, Henry. You and he are going to be such friends.’

‘What sort of horse does he ride?’

‘He is too little as yet to ride at all. You will have to be patient with him, Henry.’

Henry nodded. ‘Is he only a baby?’

‘Only a baby,’ said the Queen. She looked at her husband. ‘Let us take Henry to the nursery so that he can meet his cousin.’

Still holding his hand they went, his father and the King following. And there in a cradle lay a baby whom the Queen picked up with great care, indicating to Henry that she thought him very precious indeed.

‘Come look, Henry. This is your little cousin, Edward. Is he not a beautiful baby?’

Secretly Henry did not find babies beautiful but he said nothing as he did not want to contradict the Queen.

‘Take his hand, Henry,’ said the Queen. ‘Gently. Remember he is but a baby. There. Now say: Edward I will be your friend.’

‘Can I be friends with such a little baby?’ asked Henry.

‘He won’t be a baby always. He’ll grow up very quickly, then you won’t notice that he is younger than you. Come. Say it. Say you will be his friend.’

‘I will be your friend … if I like you,’ said Henry.

Everyone laughed and the King said fondly: ‘Our nephew is too young yet to swear fealty.’

‘Kiss his hand,’ insisted the Queen.

Henry took the baby’s hand and kissed it.

And the Queen seemed satisfied.

He was then given to the nurses who were told that he would stay in the royal household until such time as his father wished him to depart. As there were other boys of noble families living at Court – after the custom – no one was very surprised to see the son of the Earl of Cornwall among them.

Richard went away to make his last preparations for the crusade with the conviction that Isabella’s death had really been a happy release not only for herself but for her son and husband.

Chapter VIII

A SOJOURN IN PROVENCE

T
he King accompanied Richard to Dover where on a hot June day he set sail for the Continent. Among those who left with him was Peter de Mauley who had been his old tutor and governor in the days of his childhood at Corfe Castle. Many distinguished knights, eager to win honours and a remission of their sins in the Holy War, formed his company. So it was an impressive party that left the castle to take ship for France.

The King watched the departure with mixed feelings. He could not in honesty say that he wished he were going with them. The thought of leaving Eleanor and their son filled him with horror. Of course Eleanor might have accompanied him as his grandmother Eleanor of Acquitaine had once gone with her first husband to the Holy Land and created such a scandal there that it had never been forgotten. But little Edward could certainly not have gone and one of the great joys of Henry’s life was to slip away into the nursery and gaze at that wonderful child with the perfect limbs and the healthful looks – his son, who would one day be King of England.

Moreover he was glad to have Richard out of the country. He knew that Richard disapproved of much that he did and that chiefly he objected to the favour he showed to foreigners – foreigners being Eleanor’s relations and retainers.