Brayboc was seized by de Breauté’s men and dragged into the castle where he was roughly treated. He was terrified, knowing the reputation of de Breauté, but fortunately for him one of his servants was able to carry the news of his capture to his wife and she lost no time in sending a message to the King, who was then with the parliament in Northampton. She pointed out that her husband, in his role of justice, had been arrested by a rebel when he was on the King’s business.
Henry was now realising that he must take a strong hand and how wise it was to let none say that he was afraid of his subjects.
He suggested that he would march to Bedford and there himself take de Breauté.
Falkes de Breauté was not the man to despair in such circumstances. In fact they appealed to him. His colleagues had dispersed and he was left to do lonely battle. All right, he declared, the castle could withstand the King’s army. If this was battle let it be; and so the siege began.
It continued all through June and July and into August. Falkes was excommunicated; and his wife declared that she had been forced into marriage with him and implored the King to give her a divorce and free her from the monster she loathed, the divorce was granted; but Falkes continued to hold out against the King’s army. Randulph de Blundervill, Earl of Chester, had begun to deplore Falkes’s methods. He was too crude; he should have known that he was beaten temporarily and withdrawn as Chester had, to fight another day. These bold defiant gestures would bring him no good and he should not have been such a fool as to imagine they would.
Chester joined the King and Falkes realised that he alone was to bear the responsibility of the rebels, for Peter des Roches had become very silent and was also content to wait for a later opportunity to oust Hubert de Burgh from his position.
The castle could not hold out indefinitely and on a hot August day Falkes was forced to surrender. Eighty of the garrison were hanged, but Falkes was held for trial.
He asked for an audience with the King which Henry granted. Then Falkes threw himself at Henry’s feet.
‘I have done wrong,’ he told him. ‘But you are a just king, my lord, and you will remember that there was a time when I fought side by side with your father. I served him well, and because you are a wise king you will remember that a man’s good deeds should be taken into consideration when he is being tried for his bad ones.’
That appealed to Henry and he sent Falkes to the Bishop of London where he was to remain until it was decided what should be done with him.
He was imprisoned for some time before it was agreed that he should be exiled. Then he was sent to France.
‘Let us hope,’ said Hubert, ‘that that is the end of this troublemaker.’
Then he told the King that he had shown himself fit to govern without a regent; and with his permission he would send to the Pope and ask for his blessing, support and permission that the King from henceforth be the ruler of his people.
* * *
The King was savouring his triumph – for all agreed that he had shown himself to have the making of a strong ruler by the manner in which he had dealt with the rebellious Falkes de Breauté and his friends – when Hubert de Burgh came to him with news which he believed to be of the utmost importance to England and to the King.
‘Messengers have arrived from France, my lord,’ he announced. ‘The King of France is dead.’
‘So Louis is now King,’ Henry’s face hardened. He would never forget that for a short time Louis had been in England and was on the point of being proclaimed ruler of his country. If John had not died so opportunely, who could say what might have happened. Henry went on: ‘Perhaps now he will have enough to occupy him in France and will no longer look to England – for I believe that he has never failed to do that since we turned him out.’
‘There has always been conflict between France and England, my lord. It seems hardly likely that the death of Philip will change that.’
‘I am aware that my ancestors knew little peace. They had few opportunities of governing here because there was always trouble in Normandy. It almost proved the undoing of my father.’
‘Your father proved his own undoing,’ said Hubert soberly. ‘You, my lord, will I doubt not regain much that he lost, and not only your possessions overseas but the dignity of the crown through honour and justice.’
‘I pray God this may be so.’
‘That is good, my lord. Now let us look at this matter overseas and consider what it can mean to England.’
‘I can see only good in it. I do not have a great opinion of Louis.’
‘Louis is an honourable man – a good husband and father. Such men do not always make the best kings.’
‘He quickly relinquished his hold on England and went slinking back home.’
‘He knew the country was against him and he took the wise though not the bold action.’
‘Methinks, Hubert, he will want to stay within his own realms.’
Hubert was thoughtful. ‘I was not thinking so much of the King as the Queen. I believe that Blanche, now Queen of France, is the one we have to reckon with.’
‘A woman!’
‘You are too wise, my lord, not to know that they should never be lightly dismissed. There are some – and many of them, thanks be to God – who are content to administer to a husband’s needs, to work beautiful embroideries and decorate his house with their presence. But there have been some who have not been content so to remain. One of these I believe to be the Queen of France.’
‘She is a kinswoman of mine. It was because of her that Louis laid claim to the throne.’
‘She is your first cousin, being the daughter of your Aunt Eleanor who married Alphonso of Castile; her grandparents were therefore yours. It is difficult to imagine a granddaughter of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine as being without spirit.’
‘So you think we must be watchful of Blanche, though she is married to a weak husband.’
‘I am sure you know, my lord, that it is a mistake to confuse a quiet demeanour with a lack of strength. Louis is not warlike. He does not wish to fight where it is not necessary and that could be called wisdom.’
Henry smiled to himself. He noticed how Hubert always prefaced his homilies nowadays with ‘I am sure you know’. Before his defence of him when he had been confronted by the rebellious barons and the Bishop of Winchester, he had delivered them in the form of lessons.
Henry said: ‘So you think we must be watchful of Blanche?’
‘You will agree that the English must always be watchful of the French, and what is happening in France will always be of the utmost importance to us here. We can never forget that. So, now Philip Augustus is dead and Louis and Blanche are on the throne. Let us consider what this will mean to us.’
‘What will it mean, Hubert?’
‘We must wait and see how events develop.’
‘And in the meantime,’ added Henry, ‘remember they are enemies, for that is what they must be. Louis and Blanche … and in particular Blanche.’
FRANCE
1200–1223
Chapter V
A CHANGE OF BRIDES
It was the first year of the new century; King John had been on the throne of England a year and Philip Augustus reigned in France. The affairs of these Kings seemed of little concern to the three girls who chatted together in their father’s court of Castile where the sun shone throughout the long summer days and the greatest excitement was the arrival of a troubadour who would enchant them with new songs which in a short time they would all be singing.
Their father, King Alfonso VIII, and their mother Eleanor, daughter of Henry II of England, were a well-matched pair. They loved the sun and music, and delighted in their court which under their influence was becoming one of the most cultivated in Europe. They enjoyed the company of their daughters, Berengaria, Urraca and Blanca, and took a great interest in their education. All the girls were handsome and intelligent; they were graceful, elegant and because music was of
the greatest importance at the Court of Castile they were well versed in that art.
Contrary to the custom of the times Alphonso and Eleanor spent as much time as they could with their children; and they liked to pass their days in merriment and singing, dancing and the telling of tales.
Eleanor had much to tell and she was determined that her children should not be brought up in the manner she herself had. Life in the nursery of Westminster, Winchester and Windsor had been fraught with tension and it had been no different in Normandy or Poitiers. Wherever she had been her life had been overshadowed by the conflict between her parents and she had quickly learned that this was due to her father’s infidelities and her mother’s forceful nature which would not allow her to accept these with equanimity. When her father had brought his bastard into the nursery that had really been the end of harmony between him and her mother.
Eleanor remembered their shouting at each other and the culmination of their quarrels when her mother had roused his sons against the King their father and as a result had herself been imprisoned for many years.
She was determined that her children should know a happy home and the Court of Castile should be far away – and not only in miles – from those in which she had passed her childhood.
The girls always wanted to hear stories of her childhood and she had thought it good for them to hear that they might appreciate the happiness of Castile and their kindly parents.
Alphonso was proud of them and there was little he liked better than to be in their company. His fond eyes would follow them, admiring, loving and he would smile affectionately at his wife and say God had been good to them.
It was scarcely possible that such a paradise should not have its serpent. When she was very young Blanca thought this was the Saracens, because there was a great deal of talk about them and the name was spoken with awe and fear. Her father had constantly to leave them to fight the Saracens – and alas, he was not always successful. Then there would be gloom in the palace and the sisters would talk about the wicked Saracens and wonder whether they would ever invade the palace and carry them off to be slaves.
None of this happened and when she was nine years old Blanca realised that there could be as great a threat to the peaceful days as the advent of the Saracens.
She was nine years old when, one day, as the girls were at their lessons a message came for Berengaria, the eldest, to go to their parents who had something of importance to say to her.
Urraca and Blanca were a little put out, for usually the girls shared everything. They knew that visitors had arrived at the castle and that their parents had given them a very warm welcome and Blanca immediately said that the summons for Berengaria must in some way be connected with the visitors.
What it could be, they could not imagine, but they were not left long in doubt.
Berengaria came into the schoolroom, her face blank as though something very bewildering had happened and she could not understand what it meant.
Her sisters immediately demanded to know whom she had met and what she had seen and why it was they were not invited to the meeting.
Berengaria sat down and blurted out: ‘I have been seeing the emissaries.’
‘What emissaries?’
‘Of the King of Léon.’
‘But why do you see them and not us?’
‘Because I am the eldest.’
‘But why … why?’ demanded Blanca who, although younger than Urraca, usually took the lead.
‘A terrible thing has happened. I … I’m going to be married to Alfonso of Léon.’
‘Married!’ cried Blanca. ‘You. How can you? You’re not old enough.’
‘They think I am.’ Berengaria flung herself at her sisters, clinging to them. ‘Oh, I have to go away … right away from here. I shall never see you again.’
‘Léon is not so very far away,’ said Blanca.
‘We’ll all come to see you and you must come here to see us,’ consoled Urraca.
‘You won’t be here. It’ll happen to you. You’ll both have to marry too.’
Urraca and Blanca looked at each other in dismay. It would happen, of course. It happened to all. Their long carefree days would cease and their enchanted childhood would end.
‘At least your husband has the same name as our father,’ said Blanca soothingly, ‘so he can’t be so bad.’
‘I wonder what the names of our husbands will be,’ said Urraca.
At which Berengaria cried out: ‘You are so young … too young to understand. What do names matter? I’m going away … right away … It’s never going to be the same again.’
* * *
Nor was it, for understanding had come to them. Like Adam and Eve they had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and they were now aware that life could change.
In due course Berengaria went away and married the King of Léon. Their parents pacified her and told her that all would be well. She was going to be a queen and that was a very pleasant thing to be. She would help to rule with her Alfonso. Think how exciting that would be. And there would be occasions when the King and Queen of Léon would visit the King and Queen of Castile.
But Berengaria could not be easily appeased. She was going to a strange land and leaving the happy home of her childhood.
Her parting words were ominous. ‘Your turn will come.’
They missed Berengaria but after a while they became accustomed to being without her and for three years nothing was said of marriage, but it was inevitable that it must come sooner or later.
This time both girls were summoned to their parents. Eleanor looked a little sad and as she drew them to her and held them close, a foreboding touched them, because what had happened to Berengaria had warned them.
Each girl was afraid – Urraca because she guessed it was for her the next husband had been found, and Blanca because she believed she would be the one to be left behind. They had missed their eldest sister, but at least there had been two of them – now she would be alone.
‘This is really very good news,’ said Eleanor. ‘There could not be a grander match for you.’
She was looking at Urraca who began to tremble.
‘Don’t be afraid, child,’ went on Eleanor. ‘Your father and I assure you that unless this was the best for you we would never consider it. But we should be foolish indeed were we to refuse such an honour. Few princesses could receive a greater. Urraca, my dearest, the King of France has sent messengers to your father. He wants you as a bride for his son, Louis. We shall tell him that we are conscious of this great honour and when the settlement has been arranged there need be no delay in uniting our families.’
Urraca looked as though she would burst into tears and her mother took her hands and cried: ‘Why, my child, you should be rejoicing. Do you realise what this means? Berengaria is the Queen of Léon and that is very fine, but you will be the Queen of France. There is nothing better I could wish for you.’
‘But I must go away and leave you all …’
‘Dearest Urraca, it is the lot of all princesses. You have been fortunate. You have learned how to make a happy home for the family you will have. I know, my dear daughter, that you are going to be so happy.’
‘I’m not, I’m not,’ sobbed Urraca. ‘I want to stay with you and our father and Blanca.’
‘I don’t want her to go,’ cried Blanca. ‘I shall be all alone.’
‘Not for long, my dear. Very soon a husband will be found for you and if he is as suitable as those of your sisters, your father and I will be proud and happy. Now listen to me. Your grandmother is so pleased with the match that she is coming here. She will take you, Urraca, to the Court of France and stay with you until you are safely married – so eager is she for the match and so important does she find the matter.’
‘My grandmother!’ cried Urraca in even greater dismay. It was bad enough to have to face a husband but in the company of that formidable lady it would be an even greater ordeal.
* *
*
The redoubtable Eleanor of Aquitaine – eighty years of age though she was – made the long journey from Fontevrault, where she had hoped to spend her last days in peace and, it was whispered, repentance for a scarcely blameless life.
Great preparations were in progress at the Castile castle for Eleanor of Castile was in awe of her mother now as she always had been; and Urraca and Blanca wanted to hear everything their mother had to tell about their grandmother.
They knew already that she had gone to the Holy Land with her first husband – another Louis who had been a King of France – and how she had come near to death in the midst of battles between Christian and Saracens. She had divorced Louis and married Henry, the King of England, and then had lived that wild and adventurous life with him which had culminated in her becoming his prisoner.
Their mother warned them. ‘You must take the greatest care in your manner towards her. If you offend her she will let you know it. Her temper was often a little uncertain and now she is suffering a great tragedy. Your Uncle Richard has died so lately and I can imagine what great sorrow this has caused her.’ Their mother’s eyes grew misty as she looked back over the past. ‘Richard was always her favourite. How she doted on him. He was very handsome. She taught him to hate our father and he learned his lesson well.’
‘That was not right, was it, my lady?’ asked Blanca. ‘Should a son be taught to hate his father?’
‘My mother did what she considered right for herself. She never obeyed rules. Nay, my child, it would have been better for all if she had taught him tolerance. But she is a proud woman, the proudest I ever knew. She is very old now. Yet she comes here. I tremble fearing that she may not survive the journey. But when her family need her she will be there.’
The Battle of the Queens Page 12