The Queen from Provence (50 page)

Henry was delighted. He imposed a fine of 25,000 marks on the Londoners, who surprisingly paid it, and the whole of it was put to the Queen’s use.

‘This is for you, my love, and only now can I begin to forgive those wicked people for their treatment of you.’

Eleanor was ready to be placated as the sum was so large. The people would always hate her – and in particular the Londoners – but she could shrug that aside in the pleasure she took in her family.

News came from France that Louis was contemplating going on a crusade. People were beginning to regard him as a saint and it seemed to the whole world that he was the most fitted to lead such a venture.

Edward reminded his father that they both had at times declared their intention of taking up the cross and now that the country was at peace and Henry was in good health, might be the time for Edward to keep their vow.

The more he talked of it the more the idea appealed to him. He had developed a great skill – and taste – for battle. How better could he use it than in the service of Christ?

The King and the Queen, while they would regret his absence, understood his desires and they believed that it would be good for him and the country if he were to strike a blow for Christendom.

Only his wife, Eleanor, was so stricken with grief and so insistent in her pleas to accompany him that he pointed out in great detail the dangers she would have to face.

‘I would rather face any danger than be without you,’ she said.

He was deeply touched and she went on to point out that other wives had accompanied their husbands. Louis’ own wife, Marguerite, many years ago had been with him on his crusade.

It was true, agreed Edward, but she had suffered great hardships. He would not wish to see his gentle Eleanor in such circumstances.

But his gentle Eleanor showed a sudden hitherto unsuspected strength.

‘If you will not take me as your wife I will disguise myself as one of your soldiers and you will not know I am in your company until we arrive. Then you will have to recognise me.’

He embraced her with fervour. ‘My dear good wife,’ he said, ‘plead no more. You shall come with me. In God’s truth, why did I ever think that I could go without you?’

So it was settled and Edward left for France with his cousin Henry, the son of Richard, for Henry had also taken the cross.

They would go to the Court of France and there make their plans.

It was good to be together. They had always been the closest friends from the days of their childhood when they had been brought up in a household of royal children.

Henry had many fine qualities and Edward would never forget that it was Henry who had shown him the folly of his ruthless cruelty to the boy who at his command had lost an ear. Henry had despised that act and taught Edward to do the same.

There was something quite noble about Henry.

‘God’s truth, cousin,’ said Edward, ‘I am glad you will be with me.’

Henry had recently married the daughter of the Viscount of Bearn – a beautiful girl named Constance. So there they were two happily married men, about to set out on an adventure together – one of which they had often talked in their boyhood when they had vied with each other in describing the valiant deeds they would perform.

They were received with honour at the Court of France but Edward had to plead poverty, for the recent civil war had had such an effect on the English exchequer that there was no money with which to support a crusade. It was agreed that Edward should travel as the Duke of Aquitaine which meant that he would be a vassal of the King of France. As such Louis would offer him financial aid.

This was agreed upon and the two young men returned to England to make their final preparations.

Then Edward and his wife said a farewell to their children and set sail for France.

A shock awaited him when he arrived at Tunis. Louis had died of a fever and sickness raged through the French camp. The new king Philip under the influence of his uncle Charles of Anjou had made a truce with the Saracens.

This changed their plans considerably. Edward was indignant.

‘By God’s blood,’ he swore, ‘though all my fellow soldiers and countrymen desert me, I will go to Acre with my groom only and keep my words and my oath to the death.’

But he was uneasy.

He talked long with Henry.

‘Who would have believed this could have happened? You look sad, Henry. Do you think I am wrong to go on?’

‘Nay. I think you are right. I was but thinking of my father. He lies sick. I have a feeling that I shall never see him again.’

Edward was thoughtful.

‘There is trouble in Gascony. My father will need help. Henry, I am going to ask you something. Will you go home. Tend to your father. I know he loves you as he loves no other. I have seen his eyes light up at the sight of you. We have a capability for loving our families, we Plantagenets. Perhaps it is because my grandfather was so ill-treated by his sons and there is much to make up for. Henry, I have a feeling that you should go back.’

‘Perhaps you too, Edward. This is an unexpected setback.’

‘Nay. I am determined to stay. I shall go on. I have made my vow and I shall keep it. You are young. You will have time yet. At this moment I feel that you must go back, Henry.’

Henry was thoughtful. He was greatly concerned about his father. He had known for some time that he had been ill; but of late his weakness had grown.

‘I will go,’ he decided, and the cousins took an affectionate farewell of each other. Edward went on to Palestine while Henry sailed away to the Mediterranean coast.

Henry had been sad to leave Edward but, as he travelled through Italy in the entourage of the King of France, he felt a great need to see his father.

He feared that Richard might die before he could reach him. Because of the strong bond between them he could not now stop thinking of his father. It seemed to him that his father was trying to reach him, that death was hovering and he wanted to see him while there was yet time.

As he rode Henry was going over memories of the times they had spent together. Richard had loved him, he knew, more than anyone else. He had had a certain passion for his wives – Sanchia had greatly attracted him for a while and it was the same with Beatrice. It must at one time have been so with his mother. But that was before he could remember. He fancied, looking back, that as a child he knew how his mother longed for his father to come to them, and how when he did come, although he showed the utmost affection for his son, he wanted to get away. And then later they had become great friends. They had fought together at Lewes; they had been the prisoners of Simon de Montfort.

Henry often thought of Simon. There was a great man who had dreamed of bringing justice to England. It was a pity that men like Simon de Montfort must die on the battlefield.

He knew that his two sons – Simon the younger and Guy – were now in Italy. They were exiled from England but Guy had married the only child of Count Aldobrandino Rosso dell’ Anguillara and had been made governor of Tuscany by Charles of Anjou. His brother Simon had joined him in Italy, so they could not now be far away.

He wondered whether he could see them, in which case he might bring about some reconciliation between them and the King and Edward.

He was sure that Edward would be ready to forget the trouble between them. After all they were his cousins. The King and Queen, whatever their faults, were not vindictive. King Henry was a man who liked to live in peace.

The thought excited Henry. As the party came into the town of Viterbo he decided that he would do all he could to find his cousins and, when he had, he would try to persuade them that they must bear no more resentment for the brutal murder of their father.

All enmity must be forgotten.

He was sure that the King and his son Edward would be prepared to let bygones be bygones.

It was Lent. The time for repentance and forgiveness.

Tomorrow he would go to church and pray for success.

As the party rode into the town of Viterbo two men were watching from a window of an alehouse.

They had come to this place in disguise for they wished to discover whether a certain man – whom they had reason to believe was a member of that party – was in fact of it.

They talked in low tones.

‘He is bound to be there. I know he left Edward and he would naturally return through Italy with the King’s party. The time is at hand, brother.’

Guy de Montfort nodded. ‘Never fear, Simon, his time is at hand.’

Simon de Montfort said: ‘I can see it still… that ribald crowd. And aloft they held his head. They jeered … they shouted obscenities … and when I think of him … that great man …’

Guy said: ‘Rest assured he shall not escape.’ His eyes glinted with an almost demoniac light. He had always been more bloodthirsty than his brother. He was thinking of those days in the royal courtyards when Henry of Cornwall had, with Edward, been a leader of them all. He had had a great influence on Edward and among all the boys was his greatest friend.

‘He was so virtuous,’ said Guy. ‘He was always right. Noble Henry! Ere long it will be a different story.’

‘I have heard that our father was murdered after Henry of Cornwall and his father were taken prisoner.’

‘It matters not. It was his men who did this foul deed and he must answer for it. Look. Who is that coming into the street?’

‘By God. Truth, it is he.’

Guy caught his brother’s arm. ‘So he is here then. Now all we have to do is wait for our moment.’

There was so much Henry wished to ask of God. His father’s health was uppermost; the success of Edward in the Holy Land; the continued peace at home; his future happiness with his beautiful bride.

In the early morning of that Friday which was to be fatal for him, Henry made his way to the church of San Silvestro. He had dismissed his attendants for he wished to be completely alone. He was in a strange mood that morning.

He knelt at the high altar. There was a deep silence about him and he felt suddenly at peace.

And as he knelt there the church door was thrown open. He did not turn even when the clatter of boots on the flagged floor broke the silence.

Suddenly he heard his name and turning he saw Guy de Montfort with his brother Simon at the head of a group of armed men.

‘This is the end for you!’ shouted Guy. ‘You shall not escape now.’

Henry saw murder in his cousin’s eyes. He began: ‘Guy …’

Guy de Montfort laughed harshly. ‘This is for what was done to my father.’

He lifted his sword. Henry clung to the altar and the sword all but cut off his fingers. Henry staggered to his feet.

‘Cousin …’ he cried. ‘Cousins … Have mercy … I did not harm your father …’

‘Nay. Nay,’ cried Guy, his eyes alight with demoniac glee. ‘He died did he not? Come. What are we waiting for?’

He lifted his sword. Simon was beside him. Henry fell fainting to the floor, his blood spattering the altar.

The de Montfort brothers looked at the dying man.

‘We have avenged our father,’ said Guy.

‘Nay, sir,’ spoke up one of his band. ‘Your father was not so respectfully dispatched.’