The Queen from Provence

by Виктория Холт

  The Bishops, aware of the political significance of the proposed match, were eager to set out at once; but when they heard that Henry would want a large dowry with his bride they were dubious as to his obtaining this.

  ‘The Count of Provence is greatly impoverished, my lord. It will not be possible for him to raise the dowry for which you ask.’

  ‘It is surprising what a father can do for his daughter when the marriage is as grand as this will be.’

  ‘If he has not the means … my lord …’

  ‘Doubtless he will find a way. I should enjoy being there to see his delight when he knows your mission.’

  ‘It will be great, but when he hears what you ask it may well be that he will have to refuse your proposal on his daughter’s behalf.’

  ‘I am eager to have Eleanor as my bride, but I see no reason why I should allow her father to elude his obligations.’

  ‘We will put your proposals to him, my lord.’

  ‘When can you leave?’

  ‘This day.’

  ‘I am glad of that. I eagerly await the outcome. I want it known throughout the land that I am to be married. There will be great rejoicing.’

  He watched the embassy depart and prayed for a good wind that there might be no delay crossing the sea.

  His brother Richard came to him smiling secretly.

  He had arranged this, he told himself. Young Eleanor, if she was crowned Queen of England, would owe her crown to him.

  * * *

  There was great excitement in Les Baux when the embassy from England arrived.

  Eleanor watching them could scarcely wait until her parents summoned her. She had recognised the visitors as coming from England but having heard that arrangements between the King of England and the Count of Ponthieu were progressing, she could not believe that the visit concerned her.

  When she was summoned to her parents’ chamber her heart was beating wildly. It could not be. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps the visitors had not come from England after all. They were not from the Court of France – that much she did know.

  Her mother took her into her arms and embraced her, while her father watched with tears in his eyes.

  ‘My dear daughter,’ he said; ‘this is a great day for us.’

  She looked eagerly from one to another.

  ‘Is it something that concerns me?’ she asked.

  ‘It is,’ said her father. ‘An offer of marriage.’

  ‘We never thought there could be anything to compare with Marguerite’s … but it seems there is.’

  ‘England?’ she whispered.

  Her mother nodded. ‘The King of England is asking for your hand in marriage.’

  Her head was whirling. It had worked then. Richard of Cornwall and the poem! It was incredible.

  Romeo had come into the room. He was smiling complacently. No wonder. Once again they would owe their good fortune to him.

  She could not entirely believe it. It was like a dream coming true. It was too neat. Marguerite Queen of France. Herself Queen of England. And largely because of the clever juggling of Romeo de Villeneuve. If she had not written that poem … if she had not – on Romeo’s advice – sent it to the Duke of Cornwall … No, it was too much to believe. It was what she had wanted more than anything. Marriage with England was the only one which could possibly compare with Marguerite’s. And it had come to pass.

  ‘You may well be bewildered,’ said the Count. ‘I confess I feel the same.’

  ‘But,’ she stammered, ‘I had heard he was betrothed to Joanna of Ponthieu.’

  ‘A marriage is no marriage until it has been solemnised. Everything is over between England and Ponthieu. Negotiations have ceased, the offer has been withdrawn. The King’s messengers, and they are men of great standing, tell me that he is so eager for this match that he wishes there to be no delay.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ said Eleanor. ‘That I shall leave at once? Should I prepare?’

  ‘My dearest, are you so eager to leave us?’ asked her mother almost reproachfully.

  ‘Oh no, dear Mother. But I would know what is expected of me.’

  ‘You are not afraid …’

  ‘Afraid? Ever since Marguerite went I knew that I should. I doubt she was ever so happy before her marriage as she was after – although no one could have had a better home.’

  ‘It’s true,’ agreed the Count. ‘And that is how I would have it. If you find the happiness at the Court of England that Marguerite has at the Court of France, I shall be content.’

  ‘I shall. I know I shall.’

  ‘Well, my dear,’ said the Count, ‘we came to prepare you. We now have to talk of the terms which are a necessary part of contracts like this. But we wanted you to know at once what this mission is about, so that you can prepare yourself for a new life.’

  Her mother took her into her arms and kissed her tenderly.

  ‘I am proud of my girls,’ she said.

  When she had left her parents she went straight to the schoolroom where her sisters were awaiting her.

  They looked at her expectantly as she entered. That something very important had happened was obvious and Sanchia who remembered Marguerite’s departure was very apprehensive.

  ‘What is it?’ she cried, as soon as her sister came in.

  ‘It is an embassy from England. The King of that country is asking for my hand in marriage.’

  ‘Eleanor!’

  Her sisters stared at her with wondering eyes and she was silent for a moment savouring their admiration.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I think he must have heard of me through his brother.’

  ‘Richard, Earl of Cornwall, the most handsome man I have ever seen,’ sighed Sanchia. ‘Wouldn’t you rather marry him, Eleanor?’

  ‘He is not a King.’

  ‘He would be if his brother died.’

  ‘Oh Sanchia, don’t be so … young. The King of England is not going to die. I am going to marry him and be the Queen. It is every bit as good to be the Queen of England as it is to be the Queen of France.’

  ‘It’s better really,’ said Sanchia, ‘because Richard will be your brother.’

  Eleanor laughed with happiness and excitement.

  ‘I shall have such a grand wedding … There has never been a wedding as grand as the one I shall have. I shall be a Queen. You have seen Marguerite in her crown; mine will be bigger, more glittering … full of stones that are far more precious.’

  ‘How do you know?’ demanded Beatrice.

  ‘Because I do. I wanted to marry the King of England and although he was almost married to someone else … all that changed and I am to be his Queen. It’s like magic. It is magic. And yet I planned it …’

  They were looking at her expectantly and she took their hands and led them to the window seat.

  Her eyes were brilliant. She started to describe the English Court to them just as though she were writing a poem. She told them of her husband. He was rather like Blandin the Cornish knight. He was ready to do all sorts of impossible tasks to gain her hand.

  ‘What sort of tasks?’ demanded Beatrice.

  So she sat there in the window seat and talked of some of the tasks Blandin had had to perform to win the hand of the fair Princess Briende. Only in this case instead of being Blandin and Briende it was Henry and Eleanor.

  While she was weaving her stories, there were more arrivals at the castle.

  From the window Eleanor saw three of their uncles riding into the courtyard in great haste. They had clearly heard the news. They were Uncle Peter and Boniface and William who was Bishop Elect of Valence. These were her mother’s brothers. She had had eight and all of them were ambitious, adventurous and their mission in life was to advance the fortunes of the House of Savoy. The importance of the present occasion was implied by their immediate arrival.

  The girls watched their parents greet their uncles and Eleanor eagerly awaited a summons to appear when she expected to
be congratulated; they would be delighted with her for being the means of bringing so much honour to the family.

  But the summons did not come. There was a sombre air about the castle – almost a desperation – and it began to dawn on Eleanor that something had gone wrong.

  All through the day the uncles were with her parents. There was no feasting in the great hall as there should have been on such an occasion; early next morning the Countess sent for Eleanor. Her expression was gloomy and she was clearly very depressed.

  ‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘you must not just yet think too much about this English marriage.’

  ‘What has happened? Oh pray tell me quickly,’ begged Eleanor.

  ‘The King of England asks for such a dowry as your father cannot possibly provide.’

  ‘You mean he wants to be paid to take me.’

  ‘It is customary for brides to bring a dowry to their husbands, my dear.’

  ‘Do you mean that we cannot afford this marriage?’

  ‘That is what we fear, Eleanor. You see it is a great marriage … as important as that of Marguerite.’

  ‘The King of France did not ask for a dowry.’

  ‘No. He was content with your sister and knew full well that it was not in your father’s power to provide it.’

  Eleanor stared blankly at her mother. She saw her beautiful dream evaporating.

  Wild thoughts came into her mind. ‘Perhaps I could go to England. If I could see the King, speak with him … let him see me, know me …’

  ‘My dear child,’ said her mother quickly, ‘that is out of the question. Do not despair. It may well be that you would be happier in another marriage.’

  ‘I shall not,’ she cried. ‘If this fails I can never be happy again.’

  ‘You talk like the child you are,’ said her mother. ‘If there is no marriage I shall not be sorry. It will give you time to grow up … to learn something of the world … what marriage means …’

  Eleanor was not listening.

  Of course, she was telling herself, it had been too good to be true. It was like one of her epic poems. Real life was rarely like that.

  * * *

  Her uncles were not men to relinquish such a prize without a fight. Messengers went back and forth to England. The Count of Provence found it quite impossible to meet the demands of the King of England while the King of England felt that what he asked was small indeed compared with the honour which he was bestowing.

  ‘This King of England would seem to be a most mercenary man,’ said the Count.

  The Countess agreed. ‘Perhaps after all it would not be such a good marriage. It would be asking too much to expect another bridegroom like Louis.’

  ‘Louis is not only a king but a great man,’ replied the Count. ‘His goodness shines from his face. I would reckon Marguerite lucky to have such a husband if he were the humblest count.’

  ‘It is clear that Henry of England is of a different nature. It is to be expected. Remember his father.’

  The Count smiled at her affectionately. She was telling him not to be depressed because this marriage would not take place. So she had made up her mind that it would not. Henry had entered into several negotiations and it was significant that none of them had ever come to fruition.

  ‘It might well be,’ said the Count, ‘that Henry is a man who likes to contemplate marriage but when the time approaches for it to take place he shrinks from it.’

  ‘Do you really think this?’

  ‘It would seem so. There have been so many plans. He is no longer young. In fact I feel he is a little old for Eleanor.’

  Oh yes, they were comforting themselves.

  But the uncles were reluctant to give up in view of what was involved, and negotiations went on. A gleam of hope came when Henry reduced the amount for which he was asking.

  ‘It is still too much,’ said the Count. ‘Even what he asks now is far beyond my means.’

  ‘He will come down further,’ Uncle Boniface assured him.

  ‘And I,’ replied the Count with dignity, ‘do not care for this bargaining over my daughter. She is a princess, not a piece of land to be bartered for. I tell you this, Boniface, grand as I am well aware this marriage is, I am beginning to have had enough of it.’

  As far as he was concerned he would have put an end to the haggling, but the uncles were determined to continue with it.

  * * *

  Richard was amused by the prolonged arguments. Because he felt himself to have been the cause of the proposed marriage, he was eager to see it carried through. Eleanor was an unusual princess; he knew that his brother would be delighted with her; moreover she would be grateful to him and since he was often in disagreement with the King it could be good to have an ally in the Queen.

  ‘So the marriage plans hang fire,’ said Richard when he and his brother were alone together.

  ‘These matters always do.’

  ‘Not always. I believe the marriage between Eleanor’s sister and Louis suffered no such hindrance.’

  ‘It is my opinion that she should receive a reasonable dowry.’

  ‘You ask too much, Henry. The most beautiful girl in the world and her weight in gold!’

  The most beautiful girl in the world! That had shaken him. The bride of the King of England should be the most beautiful girl in the world, of course – but also she should bring a dowry worthy of her bridegroom.

  ‘I think they will give me what I want,’ said Henry.

  ‘My dear brother, you do not know the poverty of Provence.’

  ‘You have always spoken in such glowing terms of the Court there.’

  ‘It is a matter of culture, not extravagance. You should understand that, Henry.’

  ‘I do. I respect the Count for his devotion to music and literature. But I cannot believe in this plea of poverty and I think that possibly having three daughters to place in the world he does not want to give the eldest her share but to save it to buy good marriages for the others. I want him to realise that what his daughter is being offered is no ordinary alliance.’

  ‘He will value the alliance for what it is worth. But he is not a worldly man.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘He would consider his daughter’s happiness before her advancement. What I mean is, brother, that he would rather see her a happy countess than an unhappy queen.’

  ‘There is no reason why she should not be a happy queen.’

  ‘He might think there is. You see, in these negotiations you have revealed yourself as a somewhat mercenary man. You have the opportunity of marrying this unusual girl and you barter. Messengers go back and forth and there is no satisfaction. Remember I have met this Count. I have seen him in his own home. He will resent this insult to his daughter.’

  ‘But I mean no insult. How could I insult my own Queen!’

  ‘Yet you do, Henry, by weighing up what she will bring to you. Romantic Louis said of her sister: I want her. She will suffice.’

  Richard could see that his strategy was working. ‘What did the Count say to you in his last message?’ he went on.

  ‘That he could not afford what I asked even though I had reduced it.’

  ‘I mean in what manner did he say it? That is important.’

  ‘I will show you his last communication.’

  Richard read what the Count had written and nodded slowly.

  ‘I understand well. He is a very proud man. His pride is wounded. He shows here quite clearly that he will soon put an end to this haggling. How go the negotiations with Ponthieu? Me-thinks if you have not stopped them …’

  ‘You know full well they have stopped.’

  ‘Open them again. Joanna’s father may be able to provide the dowry you want.’

  ‘I have no intention of taking Joanna. It is Eleanor I want.’

  ‘Do you, brother? Not enough it seems. Soon people will be saying, “Another of the King’s proposed marriages gone astray!”’

 
‘They will say no such thing, because this is not going astray. I shall marry Eleanor of Provence. I am determined on it.’

  ‘But what of the dowry?’

  ‘I have made up my mind. I shall ask for no dowry … only Eleanor. I shall summon Hubert and tell him this. I want Eleanor sent to me without delay.’

  Richard smiled.

  ‘You won’t regret this,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’

  * * *

  What excitement at Les Baux when the messengers arrived from England.

  The King was weary of correspondence. He wanted his bride. As for the dowry that was a matter which need not delay them. What he was eager for was the wedding.

  Sanchia said it was like being on a see-saw. Up one moment, down the next.

  ‘Nay,’ cried Eleanor. ‘This time I am going to stay up.’

  It seemed she was right. Messengers from England told of the King’s impatience. Just a short while before he was insisting on the dowry, now he demanded the immediate departure of his bride.

  ‘We must leave without delay,’ said Uncle William Bishop Elect of Valence; and to the delight of the Count and Countess he declared his intention of accompanying Eleanor to England.

  The Count decided that he and the Countess with their two daughters should go with Eleanor to Paris which would give them an opportunity of seeing Marguerite. It was a gay cavalcade which set out on that autumn day. The sun was still warm though there was a certain chill in the morning. The leaves were still thick on the limes and birches but a few of the fallen ones made a carpet on the grass as a warning that summer was fading. Eleanor was aware of the lush green countryside which she might be seeing for the last time, for although her family assured her that she would come back, the sea would separate her from her childhood home and the new country over which she was to reign as Queen.