The Battle of the Queens

by Виктория Холт

  ‘That is certain,’ she agreed.

  ‘How I love you!’ he said. ‘You and I were meant for each other. We are bold, are we not? Ready to take what we want from life?’

  ‘It is the only way to live,’ she answered.

  ‘Well, what next?’

  ‘We marry.’

  ‘Secretly.’

  ‘I could sound the King.’

  ‘Would he agree?’

  ‘I think he might … if we were careful. We must not let others know. There would be objections.’

  ‘Simon de Montfort and the Princess,’ he said. They would tell me I was unworthy.’

  ‘We know otherwise. I will discover from my brother what his feelings are in this matter. He is inclined to be lenient with lovers just now.’

  ‘The uxorious husband loves his Eleanor … but not as I love mine.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  That child! What does she know of life?’

  ‘She knows how to get what she wants of Henry. But then it would not be difficult for a woman to get what she wanted from Henry.’

  ‘Even his sister?’

  ‘I will sound him.’

  * * *

  It was Christmas time and they were at Westminster. The King was very busy with preparations, eager to show his new queen how lavish they could be.

  Eleanor hesitated to approach him because if he would not help her he could make it impossible for her to marry Simon. Possibilities occurred to her. He could even imprison Simon, have him mutilated, murdered … Not that Henry had ever showed any signs of behaving in such a cruel manner. He was not like their father. Henry was more of a man of peace. And yet she was taking a risk. Talking to Simon, she had felt so bold and brave; when she was not with him she found herself facing realities.

  She made up her mind that there was one person whom she could safely consult and that was her sister Joan who had been with the court since September when she had gone on a pilgrimage to Canterbury with the King and her husband Alexander. Alexander had now returned to Scotland but Joan had made an excuse to stay on in England for a few weeks longer. That stay had extended.

  So to Joan went Eleanor and contrived that they should be alone together.

  Concerned as she was with her own affairs, Eleanor could not help noticing how wan her sister looked. Poor Joan seemed to be wasting away. She made excuse after excuse to stay in England and so far she had remained. She had spent several weeks in her bedchamber when the weather was cold and seemed to be better for it, but she dreaded returning to Scotland.

  Beside her Eleanor looked blooming, knew it, and was a little ashamed of it.

  She asked with tenderness after her sister’s health.

  ‘It is better,’ Joan told her. ‘It is always so in England.’

  ‘Poor Joan.’ Eleanor was thoughtful. No matter where Simon went she would gladly follow. Joan clearly did not feel the same about Alexander.

  ‘I want to talk to you, Joan. It is secret … very secret. I want your advice.’

  Joan smiled at her sister. ‘I shall be pleased to help if I can, you know.’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘I am in love and want to marry.’

  Joan looked concerned. ‘It so much depends with whom. Is he what would be considered suitable?’

  ‘To me he is the only one who could possibly be suitable.’

  ‘That is not what I mean, Eleanor.’

  ‘I know it and I suppose he is what would be called completely unsuitable.’

  ‘Oh, my poor sister.’

  ‘Not so, Joan. I refuse to be called poor when Simon loves me.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Simon de Montfort’

  Joan wrinkled her brows. ‘Is he not the son of the General who fought the Albigensians?’

  ‘He is the same. We are going to marry – no matter what anyone says. If we have to go to France, if we have to escape … we shall do so to be together.’

  Eleanor raised her eyes to her sister’s and saw that Joan’s were shining with admiration.

  ‘You are right, Eleanor,’ she said. ‘If you love … and he loves you … then let nothing stand in your way. You married once for state reasons. Now freedom of choice should be yours.’

  Eleanor went softly to her sister and took her in her arms. She felt uneasy because of Joan’s frailty.

  ‘I did not think you would understand,’ she said.

  ‘I do understand, Eleanor,’ answered Joan. ‘I loved once … I am glad that I did, although it did not bring me happiness.’

  ‘You, Joan …!’

  ‘It was long ago, oh, long long ago it seems.’

  ‘You were sent away when you were a child. Sent to Lusignan.’

  ‘To the man who was to be my husband,’ said Joan. ‘I was frightened and I learned not to be. I grew to know him. He was so good … so kind.’

  ‘You loved him!’ cried Eleanor. ‘And he married our mother.’

  ‘Do you remember her, Eleanor?’

  ‘But little.’

  ‘She had some allure. I cannot explain it. I never saw it in any other woman. It was a kind of magic. Not good, not kind, but she bewitched people with it. She bewitched Hugh. So I came back and married Alexander.’

  ‘My poor, poor Joan!’

  ‘Oh, it is too long ago now to talk of, and here I am the Queen of Scotland.’

  ‘A poor compensation, you are telling me, Joan.’

  Joan held out her thin hands on which blue veins were painfully visible.

  ‘I am telling you that if you have a chance of happiness you should take it. You do not want to spend your life regretting.’

  ‘So that is your advice, Joan?’

  Joan’s answer was to put her arms about her sister and kiss her gently on the brow.

  ‘Sound our brother,’ she said. ‘But carefully. It may be that at this time he will feel tender towards lovers.’

  * * *

  Henry regarded his sister with mild affection. He was very contented with his marriage. His bride was very young, the second daughter of the Count of Provence; and her elder sister was already the bride of Louis IX of France. Not only was she beautiful, she was accomplished too. She was noted for the verses she wrote and she could sing and dance in a manner which was enchanting.

  Henry was particularly delighted because his brother Richard had made the acquaintance of the Princess of Provence on his travels and had been charmed by her bright intelligence and her beauty; Henry knew he would have liked to marry her himself. No hope of that. He had his ageing Isabella, whom he had insisted on marrying. So this was one of the occasions when Henry could score over his brother.

  When Eleanor came to him he was in a state of some euphoria and she, in her newly found wisdom and her awareness sharpened by her desperate need, began by telling him how delighted she was by his happiness and how enchanting the new Queen was, and how fortunate he had been to wait awhile before hurrying into marriage. Whereupon Henry began enlarging on the perfections of his queen and the joys of the married state which made it easier for Eleanor.

  ‘Ah, I would I had the good fortune to know such happiness!’ she sighed.

  ‘My poor sister, you were married to old William Marshal. How different that must have been from that state in which I find myself!’

  ‘My fortunate brother! None could wish you greater happiness than I. I know that, understanding so much, you would, if it were in your power, help me to attain a similar joy.’

  Henry smiled expansively. ‘Dear Eleanor, I would the whole world could be as happy as I am.’

  ‘I could be so … or almost, I think, if only it were possible …’

  Henry was looking at her questioningly and she went on: ‘Henry, I am in love. I want to marry and I implore you – understanding so well – to help me in this.’

  ‘My dear sister, what can I do? Who is this man?’

  ‘He is Simon de Montfort.’

  Henry was silent for a few seconds, while Ele
anor suffered agonies of doubt and plans for immediate escape from England began to form in her mind.

  Then Henry slowly smiled. ‘He’s a bold fellow. I always knew it. But I did not know how bold.’

  Eleanor caught his hands and cried: ‘Henry, you who have achieved such happiness … can you deny it to me, your sister, who has already suffered one unwelcome marriage and years shut away from your court?’

  Henry embraced her. ‘I will help you,’ he said. ‘It will have to remain secret for a while … No one must know.’

  ‘My dearest, dearest brother, if you consent, that is all I ask!’

  Henry, smiling benignly, told her that she should have her wish. He would arrange it. But for the time being she must remember … secrecy.

  * * *

  She could scarcely wait to see Simon. There was no opportunity until they rode out with a party in the forest, for she realised the need to keep her coming marriage secret. They were not safe yet. Henry could change his mind if he were prevailed upon and it was certain that he would be if their plans were discovered. Many of the barons were envious of Simon and they would consider that marriage with the King’s sister was a move he had made from ambition. They would do anything rather than see him advance.

  They escaped from the party. There again – this would be noticed if they did it much more.

  She told him: ‘I have spoken to Henry. He will help us.’

  Simon was astounded. ‘Is this really so?’

  ‘I chose my moment. He is so delighted with his marriage, I flattered him. He is always susceptible to that.’

  ‘My God!’ cried Simon, ‘then ere long you will be my wife.’

  ‘It should not be too long delayed. He could change his mind.’

  ‘That’s true enough. As soon as Christmas is over … Oh, you clever princess!’

  ‘You will find that I shall always be clever when it is a matter of getting what I want.’

  ‘I see I shall have a very forceful wife.’

  They were too moved to say much and they rode silently through the forest.

  They came upon a chapel there and it was Eleanor who said they should alight, tether their horses and go inside to pray at the altar to thank God for His goodness to them and ask for His continued help.

  ‘We may need it,’ commented Simon.

  So they went inside the chapel and at the altar they knelt together. And as Eleanor raised her eyes they came to rest on the crucifix and she was transported back to a time when she had knelt in a bedchamber side by side with Edmund the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  She could not control the trembling which came over her. She had said on that occasion that she would take a vow of chastity. Oh, but she had spoken lightly. She had felt that that was what she had meant then, but she had not at the time met Simon.

  It was not binding. It was nothing. She must not think of it.

  They rose from their knees and as Simon took her arm to lead her from the chapel he said: ‘Why, you are trembling.’

  She answered: ‘It was cold in the chapel.’

  And that was all.

  * * *

  It was a cold January day when Eleanor stood beside her brother who gave her away, after commanding the priest to swear to secrecy, and she was married to Simon de Montfort.

  She could not believe her happiness, but she wished all the same she could rid herself of that niggling fear which had come to her in the chapel.

  Again and again she reminded herself that the words she had spoken to Edmund had not been seriously meant. He could not take them in the nature of a vow … or could he?

  She thought of that stern aesthetic face. People who subjected themselves to great self-sacrifice could be very harsh on others.

  It was foolish of her to allow her happiness to be spoiled when Henry had given his consent and had actually given her away. But then he did not know of that scene between herself and Edmund. And when Edmund did …

  She would refuse to think of it.

  As they came out of the chapel, Henry looked rather worried.

  He had begun to believe that he might have acted rashly. He had been so anxious for his sister to be happy and it had given him a deep satisfaction that he could provide that happiness; but now that the ceremony was over, he was asking himself whether he had acted wisely.

  He said sharply: ‘None must know. You must keep your secret for a while.’

  Eleanor took his hand and kissed it fervently.

  ‘Dearest brother, most noble King, I shall never forget what you have done for me.’

  That satisfied Henry. Until he began to be uneasy again.

  * * *

  As the weeks passed the cold was intense. The wind whistled through the castle rooms and even great wood fires could not keep the inhabitants warm.

  Joan’s cough grew worse and when Alexander sent messages to Westminster to know why she did not return she was very depressed, but she made her preparations.

  Eleanor spent a great deal of time with her. Joan was one who knew of her marriage. It was pleasant, as Eleanor told Simon, to be able to talk to someone; and Joan was so pleased that they were happy.

  Poor Joan! If only she could have known this bliss. Of course Alexander was not like Simon. It amused Eleanor to contemplate that Joan’s would be said to be a good marriage, whereas hers … well, it was most unsuitable. Oh, but happy, thought Eleanor. How wonderful life was!

  She sat talking with Joan in the cold room, Eleanor seated on a stool and Joan lying on a pallet covered by a fur rug because she could not get warm.

  ‘You cannot leave yet,’ said Eleanor. ‘You will have to wait until the weather is better.’

  ‘Alexander grows very impatient. I should have gone before the winter started.’

  ‘Nonsense. Why should you not visit your family?’

  ‘It has been a wonderful visit. It has made me so happy to see Henry and you contented in marriage.’

  Though mine is to be kept secret for a while.’

  ‘You like that. Confess! Does it not give a zest to it all?’

  ‘It did not need it,’ replied Eleanor.

  ‘May you always be as happy as you are now, dear sister.’

  ‘I intend to be,’ replied Eleanor. ‘When we have our castles you will come and be with us often.’

  ‘I should like that.’

  Joan began to cough and could not stop, and Eleanor was distressed and frightened. When one of these paroxysms seized her sister, Eleanor was afraid she would choke.

  Joan lay back on her cushions. Eleanor saw the blood and shivered.

  ‘Dearest Joan, is there anything I can get for you?’

  ‘Sit by me,’ said Joan.

  Eleanor sat until darkness fell. And she was thinking of poor Joan’s going far away to Lusignan to a husband she had never seen, loving him, and losing him.

  Joan said suddenly: ‘Eleanor, are you there?’

  ‘Yes, sister. What can I get you?’

  ‘Bring Henry, will you?’

  ‘Henry!’

  ‘Please … I think he should be here.’

  Eleanor went out. It was half an hour before she could find her brother and bring him to the bedchamber.

  They came carrying lighted candles; and the sight of their sister lying on her cushions filled them with deep foreboding.

  Henry knelt by the bed and took her hand.

  ‘Dear brother,’ said Joan.’ You know this is the end, do you not?’

  ‘Nay,’ declared Henry. ‘We shall keep you here. You shall not go back to Scotland. My doctors will cure you.’

  Joan shook her head and said: ‘Eleanor … sister.’

  ‘I am here, Joan.’

  She took her sister’s hand and held it.

  ‘God bless you both,’ she said. ‘Be happy.’

  ‘We shall all be happy,’ Henry assured her.

  ‘Help me up a little,’ said Joan; and Henry put his arm about her and held her thus.

 
‘I … am happy to be with you … here in England … I am glad … to have come home to die.’

  Both Henry and Eleanor could not speak; they averted their eyes from their dying sister.

  ‘Henry, I should like to lie in Dorset … in the nunnery of Tarent …’

  ‘When the time comes so shall you,’ said Henry with a sob in his throat. ‘But it is far off, sister.’

  She shook her head and smiled.

  For some time there was silence; then Henry looked into her face and slowly released her.

  ‘She has gone,’ said Eleanor, and she put a hand over her eyes to hide the tears.

  * * *

  It was impossible to keep the marriage of Eleanor and Simon de Montfort secret for long.

  When Richard of Cornwall heard of it – and that it had taken place with the consent of the King – he was furious.

  He himself was growing more and more dissatisfied with his own marriage. Every time he saw Isabella she seemed to have aged a few years. He did not realise that she understood that he no longer cared for her and this gave her sleepless nights and days of anxiety.

  Simon de Montfort was one of the most unpopular men in court circles. He was a foreigner and Henry had always had a tendency to favour foreigners, more so now that his wife was bringing in her friends and relations, and favours which should have gone to Englishmen were going to them.

  The barons were beginning to gather round Richard. He had a fine son, young Henry, and the King was, so far, childless. Henry did not have the power to attract men to him. There was a certain weakness in him which they detected and which made him act sometimes most unjustly when at others he was over eager to please.

  Richard came to the King and gave way to vociferous indignation.

  He would like to know why Henry should have given his consent to a marriage which was clearly displeasing to many of the most important people in the country, who should have had some say in choosing a husband for the King’s sister.

  ‘It was unnecessary for others to choose,’ said Henry. ‘I gave permission. That was enough.’

  ‘Clearly it is not! It was important that you should have brought the matter to light. Instead you join in the secrecy.’