The Queen from Provence (45 page)

‘I can never have a moment’s peace after what has happened,’ said Henry. ‘I cannot always be with you. You realise, do you not, my love, that we are fast moving towards war?’

‘Can nothing be done to avert it?’

‘The barons are determined on it. They are rallying to de Montfort. I am going to ask you, my dear, to go to France. Go to your sister. I could not do what I have to do if I thought you were here in danger. You must go. I beg of you.’

‘If you are in danger, Henry, my place is with you.’

‘You could not follow me into battle, my love, and I should be able to fight the better if I knew that you were in safety. Go to France, I beg of you. Perhaps you can plead your cause with Louis. Marguerite might help you. We may well need his assistance.’

She was thoughtful, but the memory of the mob on London Bridge remained vividly with her. She had nightmares when she dreamed that those murderous people were about to close in on her.

Henry was right. She should leave England. She would be of greater use to the cause in France. There she could raise money for Henry. She would not cease to work for him simply because she was not beside him.

So finally she agreed to go. Henry insisted on accompanying her to the French Court and there he left her as he said in the best possible hands.

He then returned to England and war.

Henry had taken up his headquarters in the Castle of Lewes. He knew that conflict was imminent, but he was hopeful. He had a good army. His son Edward was beside him and his brother Richard, King of the Romans, who had hastened to England when he knew that war threatened his brother, was there to fight with him. The Queen was safe in France, and he was certain that his chances were good.

The two brothers conferred together in one of the rooms of the castle with Edward and Richard’s son Henry. They knew that the barons’ army was encamped close by, and that only a miracle could prevent a conflict.

Richard was saying that they had the superior men, better trained, better equipped. Only the greatest ill fortune could bring them defeat.

‘Defeat,’ cried Edward. ‘I am surprised, my lord uncle, that you can use such a word. Let us rather talk of victory.’

‘I believe,’ replied Richard, ‘that it is better to consider every contingency.’

‘Save that of defeat,’ cried Edward.

He smiled at his cousin Henry, somewhat conspiratorially. They were the young ones with a belief in themselves which their elders lacked. Edward had no doubt of victory.

The King spread a map on the table and they studied it. Edward was to take up the right flank while Henry would be serving with the main forces under his father’s command.

‘The Londoners have sent a force to serve under Hastings for de Montfort,’ said the King.

‘They’ll have little quarter from me,’ cried Edward, his eyes flashing. ‘When I contemplate that they might have killed the Queen I promise myself revenge. They did not succeed in that evil design, praise be to God, but they insulted her. Think of that. The Queen. Our beautiful Queen to be treated so! I am glad they are here today. It gives me even greater heart for the battle.’

‘What we have to think of,’ said Richard, ‘is making the barons see that because once they rose against a king they cannot make a habit of it.’

‘They were powerful then,’ said the King.

‘They are powerful now,’ answered Richard.

He went to the window and looked out. ‘Something is happening,’ he said. ‘It looks like a messenger from the enemy.’

There were footsteps on the stairs. Edward flung open the door and one of the guards entered.

‘A messenger, my lord, from Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.’

‘Bring him in,’ said the King.

The messenger bowed. He was one of the minor barons.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I have come on behalf of the Earl of Leicester.’

‘Anyone who comes from our enemy is not welcome here,’ said Edward sharply.

‘My lord Leicester would put a proposition to you, my lord. He deplores that the country should stand divided. He believes that a settlement of differences should be discussed around a table and that this would be a more satisfactory way of dealing with them than through war.’

Henry said: ‘In that I am in agreement with him but it seems our conferences have come to naught.’

‘My lord,’ cried Edward hotly, ‘we know what this means. De Montfort is afraid of defeat. It is the only reason why he would wish to talk.’

‘The barons, my lord, would give thirty thousand marks to the treasury if an agreement were reached.’

‘Thirty thousand marks,’ mused the King, his eyes glistening. It would be a victory, for all would believe that de Montfort was eager to avoid the fight. And thirty thousand marks!

Edward was hotly indignant.

‘I would avenge the insult to my mother,’ he cried.

‘It did not come from de Montfort and the barons.’

‘Out there the men of London have come to support de Montfort’s army,’ cried Edward. ‘They have been our enemies these many years. Have they not shown their antagonism to you? And their insults to our lady Queen will never be forgiven. I would hold myself in contempt this day if I did not stand and fight.’

How noble he looked with his tall figure and his flaxen hair. A god come to earth, thought the King. My son! My son Edward!

Yet thirty thousand marks and peace …

Edward was beside him. ‘It would be an uneasy peace,’ he said. They would plague us as before. Nay, Father, let us settle this matter. We are set for victory. It is only because they fear us that they would make these terms. Do not let us be deluded.’

Young Henry of Cornwall was looking to his father. He believed that it would be wise for the King to parley with de Montfort for he knew the Earl was a man of courage and integrity who genuinely desired to make England a wellgoverned country. If the King had not been his uncle, Henry might have seen fit to support de Montfort, but he could not, of course, go against his own family. He looked to his father now. Richard was wise. He would know.

But the King of the Romans was undecided. He felt ill and the familiar lethargy had come to him. It was after all not really his battle. He had come to Henry’s aid because he was his brother and it was necessary to keep him on the throne. Perhaps it might be wise to make terms with de Montfort, to avoid slaughter. But he was not sure and he lacked the vitality to interfere.

Young Henry understood. He had been worried about his father’s health for some time; but periodically there would be those bursts of action when Richard showed himself as the able leader he might have been.

He was not going to act now, Henry realised; and Edward was talking in his fiery fashion to his father. Nothing must stop them. Victory would be theirs. People would remember the battle of Lewes while history lasted.

The King, of course, was carried away by his admiration for his son.

‘You have heard my lord Edward,’ he said to the messenger. ‘Go to your masters and tell them we will have none of their offer.’

The battle had gone well for the King’s forces which were so much more numerous than those of the barons. They had been right not to parley, thought the King. Richard was a good soldier; his young son Henry was with him. And best of all there was Edward. What a leader he made – the sort of King men would follow to the death!

This was going to be victory. He was certain of it.

So was Edward. The day was all but won. He led the cavalry and his men could make no mistake that he was there. His height set him above others. ‘Edward Longshanks,’ they cried as they went into battle.

This was what he wanted. To lead men. To show his father that he would serve him well. He wanted to wipe out for ever the memories of that time when the King had doubted him.

In the thick of the fight he suddenly found his cousin Henry of Cornwall beside him for in the mêlée of battle he had been separated from his father.

Edward gave him a nod of welcome. He was glad to have his cousin close, for of all the boys who had shared their early days they had been the two who were closest together.

Then Edward noticed a body of men riding forward to attack them. They were led by Hastings shouting the battle cry of London.

Edward’s heart leaped. These were his greatest enemies. These were the men he had determined to destroy.

He dashed into the attack with such fury that in a short while the Londoners, in disorder, turned to retreat.

‘Follow them!’ cried Edward.

Henry wanted to protest. They had driven off the Londoners, who were retreating from the field. There was nothing to be gained by following them. Nothing but revenge.

‘Forward!’ shouted Edward.

Henry rode beside him … at full gallop, Edward’s faithful followers with them shouting their battle cry.

On and on rode the remnants of the scattered London force but Edward would not give up the pursuit. He was determined that they should be punished for what they had done to his mother.

‘In the name of Queen Eleanor … vengeance!’ he cried. ‘Death to the Londoners. In the name of the Queen.’

The road was littered with fallen bodies but Edward was determined that none should escape if he could help it. Shouting the Queen’s name he was killing men all about him; but still there were some to ride on.

They had come as far as Croydon before the band of Londoners was exhausted and could go no further. Many of their horses had fallen. They begged for mercy but Edward would show them none. The slaughter was merciless.

‘This is for the Queen!’ he cried. ‘The noble lady whom you dared insult.’

There was quiet all about them. On the bloodstained grass lay the victims of his revenge. His men were tired; their horses were showing signs of fatigue.

Edward then remembered the battle.

They had come far from Lewes but must return without delay. They must be there to rejoice in the victory. How he would enjoy telling his father of the vengeance he had wreaked on those who had dared insult the Queen.

The cousins rode side by side back to Lewes.

‘We should never have left the field,’ said Henry.

‘Not left the field! What mean you, cousin? There at my mercy were my mother’s enemies. They will know now what happens to any who insult my family.’

‘The King would expect us to be there.’

‘Nay … the battle was won. Now we go back and claim the spoils.’

But Edward was wrong.

The battle of Lewes had not been won when he left and the loss of Edward and his cavalry had proved disastrous for the King’s side.

Henry had been taken prisoner with his brother Richard and when Edward and Henry returned they were surrounded, captured and told they would be held as hostages.

Oh yes, the battle of Lewes had been almost won but because the heir to the throne had withdrawn on his own private war of vengeance he had left his father’s flank exposed – and the victory had gone to Simon de Montfort.