The Queen from Provence (32 page)

The King decided that since Simon de Montfort had, as he said, ‘deserted’ he would give young Edward Gascony. Edward was thirteen, a fine healthy boy grown out of his childish ailments completely, full of life and energy, the delight of his parents and the people, who were already saying that in Edward they would have a strong King, which England had discovered through bitter experience, it needed.

So in Westminster Edward was declared ruler of Gascony and received the homage of the Gascons in London. And just as the Court was in the midst of rejoicing over this dispatches came from Rome to the effect that there was some doubt as to the validity of Henry’s marriage to Eleanor.

Henry read the dispatches through and trembled.

This was direct from the Pope. It had been brought to the notice of His Holiness that the King had been betrothed to Joanna of Ponthieu and it might well be that that betrothal was binding, in which case the marriage with Eleanor of Provence was no marriage.

Eleanor found him with the documents in his hands. She snatched them from him and read them.

‘How dare they suggest such a thing! Our marriage not legal! Our children then would be bastards! Edward would not be the true heir to the throne!’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Henry. ‘I shall set this matter right. I shall make this malicious person eat his words … no matter who he may be.’

But Henry was shaken. Horrible ideas crept into his mind. What if they were going to prove he was not truly married? He thought of Philip Augustus of France who was excommunicated for living with a woman whom he had declared was his wife and whom the Church maintained was not.

Couriers went back and forth. If Eleanor and Henry were not truly married, neither were the King and Queen of Castile, for Joanna who had been jilted by Henry had married the King of Castile.

Eleanor was frantic. Her babies, she cried, what of them? She would not allow them to be proclaimed illegitimate. Anything must be done to stop that.

Henry said that he believed it was a trick of Innocent’s to make him pay for expensive bulls and dispensations.

‘So it is only money,’ cried Eleanor immensely relieved.

‘I’ll swear it is.’

‘We shall settle that then.’

Of course they would settle. There were always the people to be taxed; there were always the Jews.

In due course the matter was settled, but most expensively and as usual it was the people of England who paid for the bulls and dispensation.

Each month they grew more restive. It could not go on. Why should it? Experience and that not so long ago had taught them that kings rule by will of the people.

There was bad news from Gascony. Simon de Montfort was no longer there and the Gascons were taking advantage of the situation. Their thirteen-year-old governor was in England and they would not in any case have been much in awe of him. The Gascons were making overtures to the King of Castile and the fact was the King’s presence was urgently needed there.

Henry was disconsolate. He was beginning to see how foolishly he had acted with Simon. He had dismissed the very man who, with support, would have held Gascony for him. Now there was nothing he could do but take out an army led by himself.

What was so upsetting was the fact that Eleanor was pregnant and could not accompany him.

When he told her what had happened she shared his dismay. To be separated was what they most dreaded.

‘I must come with you, Henry,’ she said.

‘Nay,’ he replied, ‘I could not permit it. Think of the crossing alone, which could be rough. I should not have a moment’s peace if I thought you were over there in danger. No, you must stay at home with the children. I shall have to be content with that. It will be better than the continual anxiety.’

‘Henry, when the child is born I shall come out to you.’

He embraced her. ‘That is the answer. Have the child and when it is safe for you to travel you must come. The hardest thing I have to face in my life is doing without you and the children.’

He delayed as long as he could but finally was forced to leave. The Queen with her sister Sanchia and Richard of Cornwall and all the royal children accompanied the King to Portsmouth.

Henry took a tender farewell of them all and it was most touching when it came to Edward’s turn to embrace his father, for the boy broke down into bitter weeping.

‘Edward my dear son,’ cried the King, ‘you must not. You unnerve me.’

‘My place is with you, father,’ said Edward. ‘I want to fight beside you … to protect you … I want to make sure that you are safe.’

‘Oh my son,’ said the King, ‘this is the happiest and saddest moment of my life. Beloved boy, take care of your mother. I leave her in your hands. Soon we shall be together. Rest assured that at the earliest moment I shall send for you.’

They stood there watching the ship sail.

The King was on the deck, his eyes fixed on his family. He told himself that he would carry the memory of Edward’s tears to his grave.

The Queen was compensated for the loss of her husband by the Regency. Power was hers. She had often secretly thought that Henry was too lenient with his subjects and did not exert his royal power enough. It was true the people groaned under taxation but as she said to Sanchia, they must have had the money otherwise they would not have been able to pay it.

Sanchia agreed. She was happy to be in England and to settle under the domination of her elder sister just as she had as a child. She now had a little boy, Edmund. Her firstborn had died a few months after his birth but Edmund was a sturdy child. Richard was devoted to him but she suspected none could compare with his son by his first wife, Isabella. Henry was indeed a noble boy and a great friend of the heir to the throne. He and Edward went everywhere together.

Sanchia worried a little about the Queen’s unpopularity which was manifested every time they rode out into the streets. They were accustomed to sullen looks but now and then there would be a hostile cry and when the guards looked for the offenders they could never find them. Sometimes Sanchia wondered if they tried very hard. She had an uneasy feeling that they did not like the Queen very much either.

Richard had said once or twice that much of the unpopularity directed against the King was due to the Queen.

‘One of these days …’ he began.

But Sanchia laughed. ‘Eleanor always had her own way when we were children. She will continue to get it all her life.’

Richard was uneasy. He had been annoyed when Henry had bestowed Gascony on young Edward. That seemed a stupid thing to do. Edward was after all only thirteen. How much more sensible it would have been to bestow it on him, Richard. The quarrel with de Montfort was stupid also. There was a man Henry should have kept on his side.

Now Richard was co-Regent with the Queen and his main task was to keep Henry supplied with arms and money which he needed for the campaign – not an enviable task for it meant imposing taxes and that was about the most unpopular thing a ruler could do.

Richard had momentary bouts of an undefined illness. He had no idea what is was – nor had the doctors, but every now and then he would be overcome by such lethargy that he did not care to bestir himself. It would pass and his old energy would be back with him.

At this time he did not feel inclined to support Simon de Montfort although his common sense told him he should be on the side of his brother-in-law. Now he should take a firm hand with the Queen and explain to her the mood of the country. Sanchia could not see it any more than the Queen could. They seemed to have the idea that anything that their family did must be right. Eleanor was supreme – the one they all bowed to. They appeared to think that any injustice Eleanor cared to impose would pass simply because Eleanor had imposed it.

There will be trouble, thought Richard. People will be taking sides.

And which shall I be on? Before his marriage there could have been no doubt. The barons had looked to him then but he believed that now they had their eyes on Simon de Montfort.

The King was writing from Gascony. He was finding the task of subduing the Gascons almost impossible. Gaston de Bearn was a traitor. He was trying to get Alfonso of Castile as his ally. ‘If he does,’ wrote the King, ‘that could be disaster. I have sent to Simon de Montfort, who knows the country and the people, and commanded him to come to my aid.’

Richard shook his head.

Henry would never be a great soldier. He would never be a great King.

But if Simon de Montfort was ready to forget his grievances and help the King, there was a hope of victory.

The hatred between the Queen and the citizens of London was mutual. She must raise money. The King needed money for his campaign.
She
needed money for her wardrobe and household expenses. There was never enough money, but the merchants of London knew how to make it.

First of all she revived the
aurum reginae
– the Queengold which was a percentage of the fines which had been paid to the kings for their good will. This had been reasonable enough in small sums, but as the King had inflicted heavy fines to pay for his campaign abroad, the citizens were furious when Eleanor demanded a payment on these.

The citizens stood firm. They would not pay. Eleanor imperiously ordered that the sheriffs should be sent to the Marshalsea Prison.

A deputation presented itself to Richard of Cornwall. The Queen must be told that the City of London was separate from the rest of the kingdom. It had its own laws and dignities and it would not submit to the Queen’s orders. The sheriffs should be released at once or the entire city would rise up and free them. It would not see its ancient privileges swept away by foreigners.

Richard talked to the Queen.

‘You must understand,’ he said, ‘that the City stands apart. If you offend the City you have a strong enemy at your throat. Queen Matilda was never crowned Queen of England but she might well have been if she had not offended the City of London.’

‘So I must release these men?’

‘You must indeed and without delay. If you do not the City will be on the march. Heaven knows where that would end. Henry would be overcome with anxiety, for the country would be in danger and so would you.’

‘It angers me to give way to them.’

‘There are times, Eleanor, when we all have to give way.’

She saw his point and trouble was averted.

But the Londoners’ hatred of the Queen was intensified, and even when she gave birth to her child at Westminster it did not abate. The baby was a little girl and because she was born on St Katharine’s Day the Queen called her Katharine.