The Queen from Provence (26 page)

Sanchia said: ‘I can see that you really are concerned.’

He nodded. ‘I was too young to see what happened to my father, but Heaven knows it was drummed into me enough. Peter de Mauley and Roger d’Acastre explained it to me continually when I was at Corfe. I think they believed then that I might one day be King. The way my father went was the way not to go.’

‘You don’t think Henry is going that way, do you?’

‘Not so blatantly. Henry is a good man … a religious man, a faithful husband and a good father. He is not always wise in his kingship though and that is what I am afraid of. One step out of line and you can hear the whisper Magna Carta in the very air.’

‘What shall you do, Richard?’

‘Everything I can to keep him on the throne.’

Yes, that was it. A few years ago he would have been less loyal to his brother. He would have talked of these matters with Clare, Chester, any of his friends who were determined that the King should not have too much power. He was the King’s man now and his main object was to keep his brother on the throne.

He was often at Windsor because that was where the children were and his own son Henry was there. So far Sanchia had given him no children which was sad, but while he had Henry he could be grateful. Henry was a fine boy – bright, intelligent and handsome. He was now about ten years old and it was a joy to see him. What a son did for a man! And he owed Henry to Isabella.

The young Edward was growing up steadily although plagued by one or two minor ailments which sent his parents frantic with anxiety. The two little girls were pleasant and Henry seemed set fair to have a fine family.

If only he would be a little more discreet in welcoming his wife’s relations and when they came showering them with gifts, which had to be paid for by his subjects. It was folly. It might well be madness.

He found Eleanor working at her tapestry with several of her women. There was an air of smugness about her, he thought.

My God, he thought, I believe she is pregnant again.

‘My dear brother.’ Her welcome was genuine. She had always had a fondness for him since in a way she owed her presence here to him; and now that he was her sister’s husband he was doubly dear to her.

‘Dear lady,’ he murmured, kissing her hand.

He raised his eyebrows in a manner to indicate that he would like to speak to her alone and she immediately waved a hand to dismiss the women.

‘How is my sister?’ she asked.

‘Very well.’

‘It seems long since I saw her though I suppose it is not. I am so happy that she is in England.’

‘She is happy to be here.’

He seated himself on a stool close to her.

‘You seem particularly content this day,’ he said looking at her interrogatively.

‘Did you guess then?’

‘So it is indeed so. Henry is delighted, I know.’

‘He is beside himself with joy. It should be a boy this time.’

‘Ha, that will put young Edward’s nose out of joint.’

‘He said he would like a brother. He is a little contemptuous of two sisters. Your Henry is a great friend of Edward’s already.’

‘He is a good diplomat, my Henry.’

‘Oh Edward has the sweetest nature.’

‘Madam, I know from Henry that you are blessed with the paragon of all children.’

She laughed. ‘Come, Richard,’ she said, ‘you have a very good opinion of your son Henry.’

‘What fortunate people we are to possess such children! I wish we could go on talking of them all through the day for I swear we should never get tired of the subject. But there is something else I have come to say.’

‘Say on, Richard.’

‘It is easier to talk to you …’ A little flattery did no harm and she was very susceptible to it. ‘I am concerned.’

‘On what?’ she asked sharply.

‘There is a lot of dissatisfaction throughout the country … and particularly in London.’

‘The Londoners are always making trouble.’

‘They are a proud people.’

‘They think London is England, and that no city in the country compares with theirs.’

‘Nor does it, my lady, for trade, for riches, for importance. We have to remember that these people who are murmuring are the merchants … the traders … important to the wealth of the country.’

‘The Jews perhaps.’

‘Perhaps the Jews.’

‘They have no right to be here. They should pay for the privilege.’

‘If we lost them we should lose a great deal besides. But I have not come to talk to you of the Jews. There is this matter of the Queenhithe which is causing such dissatisfaction in London.’

‘Oh I know. They grumble every time they pay their dues. The dues at Queenhithe have always been the perquisite of the Queens of England.’

‘With this difference,’ insisted Richard, ‘that you have induced Henry to command that all the richest cargoes are landed at Queenhithe and that the price of the dues has been considerably raised.’

‘It is no more than they owe me.’

‘They do not see it as such. It is one of those seemingly unimportant matters which can be the beginning of big trouble.’

‘Do you want me to go to the people and say I am sorry. I should never have taken these dues?’

‘No. But I will buy Queenhithe from you.’

‘You, Richard! It would be very costly.’

‘I am not poor. I am very serious on this. I believe that if something is not done about this matter the next we hear will be of rioting.’

‘The rioters will be punished.’

‘It is not as easy as that, Eleanor. The mob can be terrible. It is never wise to arouse it for once it is there one can never be certain where it will end.’

She was silent. He would have to pay a large sum for the Queenhithe. He could do so, for it was true that he was very rich. One rarely heard of his being short of money, which was Henry’s continual complaint. Richard was different from Henry. He lacked his generosity. Uncle Boniface had asked him for money and Richard had said that he could not give it but would lend it, if he wished.

Uncle Boniface had not wished.

Henry would have given the money generously, to please her.

To give up Queenhithe! Well, it would be a test. There was constant complaint. When she rode out into the streets people whispered it. She knew it was a matter which caused great displeasure.

She would sell. Richard should take over Queenhithe. Then he would see that the venom of those grasping merchants was turned on him.

Once it was in Richard’s hands he let it to the Mayor of London for a rent of fifty pounds a year. The Mayor could deal with it as he thought fit; and if the London merchants did not like what he did the matter was between them and their mayor.

He had lifted the royal family out of the quarrel.

Chapter X

CEREMONY AT BEAULIEU

W
hile Eleanor was awaiting the birth of her baby there was sad news from Provence.

Her father was very ill.

Sanchia immediately came to Windsor where Eleanor was at this time. The sisters embraced and Eleanor took Sanchia to her private chamber where they might be alone together.

‘Our mother said how ill he was when she came for your wedding,’ said Eleanor.

‘Yes, I know. He wanted to come … oh how he wanted to come, but he was too feeble.’

‘Do you think,’ said Eleanor, ‘that he is already dead?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Our mother would warn us first. She would think it would lessen the shock.’

They stared blankly at each other. It was a long time since Eleanor had seen her father but her memories of him were still very fresh and in their minds both she and Sanchia could easily slip back into those happy days of their childhood.

‘It is so difficult to imagine it without him,’ said Eleanor. ‘Our poor mother will be desolate. I shall bring her over here.’

Sanchia was silent thinking of what Richard had said about the people of England and their attitude to the Queen’s relations.

‘There is still Beatrice left,’ said Sanchia.

‘Our father will not be able to find a husband for her now. Romeo will help.’

‘Poor Beatrice, how sad for her.’

While they talked another messenger arrived at the castle.

It was as Eleanor had feared. The Count was dead.

Eleanor was mildly irritated when she heard that her father had left everything to his unmarried daughter Beatrice.

‘He had forgotten that he had four daughters,’ she said with some asperity.

‘Oh no,’ replied Sanchia. ‘Marguerite and you and I are happily married to rich husbands. Beatrice has yet to find one.’

‘There will be no dearth of offers for her now.’

The matter of the inheritance took the edge off Eleanor’s mourning, and when she heard suitors were arriving in Provence every day she was cynically amused.

The Countess however did not consider any of them of sufficient merit and Henry came to her one day in great excitement because he had received news that Jaime, the King of Aragon, had besieged the town of Aix which he determined to hold until the Countess of Provence gave her daughter Beatrice in marriage to his son Pedro.

What a romantic situation! It was worthy of one of the poems she used to write. And Beatrice was at the centre of the drama – all because she was the youngest one and unmarried, still at home and had therefore received her father’s inheritance.

There was a letter from Marguerite to her sisters.

They must not be alarmed on Beatrice’s account. It was true that the King of Aragon was invading Provence in the hope of winning Beatrice. They called him the Conqueror because of his victories, but Louis had decided to step in.

The fact was that Louis’ brother Charles of Anjou had a great desire to marry Beatrice and had always believed that he would in due course. Therefore Charles was riding into Provence to send the so-called Conqueror Jaime about his business.

It was very exciting and each day she and Sanchia waited for news of the battle for Beatrice.

In the meantime Eleanor was brought to bed. What rejoicing there was when this time she produced a bonny boy.

They called him Edmund and this addition to their nursery so delighted the King and Queen that Eleanor forgot her resentment at being cut out of her father’s will. News came of the victorious campaign waged by Charles of Anjou. It had been an almost foregone conclusion that the King of Aragon – Conqueror though he might call himself – could not win against Charles of Anjou who had the support of his mighty brother.

In due course the wedding of Beatrice and Charles was celebrated in Paris. There was now a new Count of Provence – Beatrice’s husband.