MY FAIR LADY: A Story of Eleanor of Provence, Henry III's Lost Queen

by J. P. Reedman

  Hugh had chimed in, angrily denouncing Alphonse as having unlawfully stolen his stepson Richard’s title and lands while he was selflessly fighting for God’s cause. A man could not be more evil than that! As Alphonse stared, struck dumb by their effrontery, Hugh had stormed from the hall and set the building aflame in one huge final act of defiance.

  Returning from the Holy Land, Richard had been informed of the dramatic turn of events. He was furious, but seemed to have suddenly lost his taste for fighting—he was more eager to marry Sanchia than to recover his pilfered lands.

  Ignoring the situation in Poitou, he immediately began negotiations to find a new bride for the jilted Raymond so that there would be no hard feelings and he could wed Sanchia unhindered; Hugh kindly stepped in and offered up one of his own daughters, who Raymond accepted in his usual brusque manner.

  I liked to fancy that Richard, who had entranced me so as a green young girl, had had the same effect upon Sanchia, and that he was equally smitten with her. However, unlike Henry, Richard was not content to receive no dowry with his bride…and it was well known my parents were not wealthy people, for all that they were respected as the parents of two Queens.

  “Henry,” I wheedled to the King, plying him with sweetmeats, wine…and my kisses. “Can you not aid my sister Sanchia and your own dear brother in the matter of their marriage? It would be so disappointing for all, if they should not wed. And after the fiasco in Poitou, Richard surely needs some cheering up.”

  Henry had frowned for a bit (the treasurer was always chiding him about his lack of finances!) then relented—he would bestow a handful of manors and three thousand marks to Richard on Sanchia’s behalf. That would suffice as a dowry.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. My sister would not be shamed and the marriage would go ahead.

  “I am coming!” I was angry; Henry looked helpless and dismayed. He had planned to sail to Gascony with his forces…but he seemed to have forgotten one thing. Me.

  “But Eleanor, this is madness, you cannot possibly go. You are with child!” He pointed to the slight swell of my belly beneath my heavy samite robes.

  “I know that, Henry, but there are still months yet before the birth, and my place is at your side, not waiting here like some feeble invalid.”

  “But it…it would be dangerous!”

  “Dangerous? What do you think I will do, go running toward the enemy swinging a sword above my head?”

  Henry paused, obviously imagining such an unlikely scene, then he burst into laughter.

  “I probably indulge you too much, wife, but so be it. You may come, but you must be kept well away from any conflict.”

  I threw my arms around him. “You know I am as stalwart as a any soldier, even though I am a mere woman. I want to be with you, win or lose.”

  Henry sent me to Bordeaux to deliver my child. On the journey, illness overtook me, and I became feverish and afraid I would die. I halted at La Reole, where my ladies bathed me with cool water and begged for the best doctors in town. The local lords were suspicious, surly, making excuses. They did not wish to help; they were playing both sides, unsure of how the forthcoming battle would go.

  Margaret Biset was in a panic, fussing about me. “Your Grace, I heard them whispering….I am fearful they might betray us to the French. Can we not press on?”

  I was too weak to do more than motion with my hand. “Yes… at first light…on to Bordeaux. We must pray to God that nothing untoward will happen before then.”

  I was a little better come sunrise but still weak and shaking. I was placed in a litter and we hastened away before anyone in La Reole might summon our enemies or think on the reward they might get for capturing England’s Queen.

  After many hours’ hard travel, in which rain lashed down, soaking through the canopy of my litter, we reached Bordeaux, only to find it nearly as unwelcoming as La Reole. The castle was strong, but the castellan sullen, and the servants spoke gruffly and without grace, as if they resented our presence.

  Sybil had travelled with me, along with Margaret. “Oh Lady, we should have remained in England!” she wept. “I am afraid to go out the door. The castle residents glare at me, and I am afraid of the food they give us. What if it is…tainted?”

  “You think it might be poisoned?” I was propped up on some cushions in a bed; I had many of my own linens and quilts, hauled with me in the baggage train, but the chamber was unclean, the tiles damp and growing mould and the fireplace black with ash.

  “I do not know what to think, your Grace, only that I fear we may never see England again.” She hid her face in her hands and began to weep bitterly.

  “Hush, Sybil!” I chided. “That will not help.” I shifted uncomfortably in the bed; little cramps were rippling across my belly. Soon we would have more to worry about than Sybil’s fears.

  Beatrice of England was born the next day as dusk fell to night and the stars came out, cold eyes watching over unfriendly Bordeaux. A pair of pouch-faced, sullen midwives attended, carefully watched by my worried ladies. A wet-nurse was dragged in from the local village, as miserable and suspicious as her fellows, and not too clean, but she was plump and hearty and seemed to have plenty of milk to feed the new baby.

  I was exhausted and in much more pain than I was after birthing my last two children. My fever returned and I lay abed for days, in a frightening dream-like state. Once I thought I had died and gone to hell and demons chased me with forks…and I knew not why I should be so punished, for I was a dutiful wife. I called out for my mother, and prayed to the Virgin to save me, but even Our Lady seem to shun me; I envisioned her statue from the chapel come alive and rocking menacingly towards me, and she was scowling. “You have been wicked, Eleanor…proud and pushy. Your punishment, Eleanor…”

  And then the fever broke. The nightmares faded. Suddenly I felt cool and my mind returned to its normal state. “Margaret,” I called, “bring me a drink. Where is the baby? How fares Princess Beatrice?”

  “She is fine, your Grace.” Loyal Margaret rushed to my side, cup and pitcher in hand. “But we feared for you. So long you were ill…”

  “How long?”

  She told me. My eyes widened. “Jesu, that long! What news from my husband the King?”

  Margaret chewed her lip uneasily and stared at the grimy floor. “Not good news, I fear. Poitou is lost. Lost utterly.”

  “Lost!” I sighed, and fell back against my pillows. I stared at my hands, so thin, so white. But I was feeling hungrier now.

  “His Grace the King and his brother Earl Richard are making their way here to Bordeaux even as we speak.”

  “I must rise then, Margaret…must be strong for Henry, even in defeat.”

  “Madame, do you think it’s wise to get up?”

  “I must! Bring me some food to give me strength and then bring me my raiment.”

  I was churched without the splendour I was used to, a paltry affair with a few half-hearted nobles in attendance, my women and those who were my guards. I cared not; as long as it was done adequately in the sight of God, that was enough.

  Henry was returning and I was eager to find out what had befallen. As it was, I only heard rumour and evil mutterings, and I could feel the growing hostility of those around us at Bordeaux. They had never been friendly, and now what little warmth they had evaporated like morning mist.

  Great relief flooded me as I saw my husband’s banners fluttering on the horizon. Dusty and weary of aspect, he entered the castle hall in Bordeaux with a grim-faced Richard of Cornwall and the even grimmer-faced Simon de Montfort, who had made a reconciliation of sorts with the King.

  After the initial niceties were over and the great lords and magnates had refreshed themselves, Henry and I sought our own quarters.

  “I worried so for you,” he said to me. “News was sent of your illness.”

  “I worried for you, too. The dangers of your battles were ever in my mind, not my own woes.” I embraced him.

  “Our
child…I heard it was a girl. She is well?”

  “As well as can be, though I was in great fear during her birth. I have named her Beatrice, after my mother, if that is acceptable to my lord. Henry, Henry, let us not talk of my doings…Tell me what happened in Poitou!”

  “Taillebourg…” Henry spat the name as if it were venom. “When we reached Taillebourg to meet my mother’s husband, Hugh de la Marche, we found blasted Louis already there with his forces. We had been betrayed; the townsfolk had let his army in.”

  “Christ, no, that is terrible! Who could have played us false?”

  Henry’s face reddened. “I was furious, as you might imagine, my dearest. Right or wrong, I put the blame on Hugh. I told him that he had allowed us to come too poorly armed; in his letters to me, he had told me he needed my money more than my armies.”

  “And what did he say when you confronted him?”

  Henry’s teeth gritted. “He said it was my damned mother who sent the letters, not him!”

  The King swirled away from me, began to pace the grubby flagstones of the keep. “I would have been lost if not for Richard. He saved me. Amongst the French hordes, he spied some knight who he had freed from imprisonment among the infidels. Summoning him, he asked him if he would do a favour in return for Richard saving his life. He went to the French commanders, laid down his sword in peace, and asked that I be allowed to go free. Thankfully, they were not out for my blood and agreed as long as I departed at once. What shame! We even had to leave our train behind, so great was our speed of departure.”

  I tried to comfort Henry, laying my hand on his shoulder. He gently shrugged me off. “There is more to tell, Eleanor. Hugh tried to rally the men, with de Montfort to aid him…but they were defeated in their efforts; they had no chance against the French. And my mother…that…that she-wolf…”

  “What did she do?” I dreaded to hear, knowing Isabella of Angouleme’s fiery reputation.

  Henry took a deep breath; I could see him shaking with rage as he tried to control his anger. “She tried to poison them.”

  “Who?” My voice came out a shrill, high whisper.

  “King Louis, his mother Blanche…and your sister Marguerite.”

  I pressed my hand to my mouth then let it drop. My sister…but what could I say? My best friend in childhood but now, separated by the politics of war, my enemy.

  “Do not fear, they are all unharmed,” said Henry. “My mother’s ‘plot’ was not terribly well thought out, as usual, born out of rage with no proper planning. She sent her own cooks to the French camp to prepare the evening meal for Louis and his family. As you might imagine, everyone wondered who these strange cooks were, and they were swiftly apprehended and executed. Realising she had failed and made herself look foolish at the same time, mother then tried to down the poison and kill herself, but her ladies managed to wrest the elixir away after she had only swallowed a mouthful. Along with Hugh, she was forced to kneel before Louis and Blanche and suffer taunts and humiliations…although they left her alive. Hugh wept like a woman, as all his castles and lands were stripped away. Mother has now left him and gone to Fontevrault—to become a nun.”

  “A nun? Queen Isabella?”

  “Yes, extraordinary, isn’t it?” sneered Henry, shaking his head, his face bitter as he recalled his unpleasant childhood with the vain and cruel Isabella.

  “What will we do now, Henry? Now that Poitou is lost.”

  “What can we do? We will go home. But, by Christ, I am afraid to do even that. The Barons will be angered because of the loss and wasted expenditure.”

  I was silent. Henry was afraid? What had we come to, where this unfriendly, hostile town felt safer to my husband than our own realm?

  Sadness gripped me as night settled over Bordeaux. Marguerite’s star had risen; France was supreme in Europe, the mightiest country of all. Henry had been made to look an incompetent fool, freed almost through…pity.

  Things were not as I had foreseen. Unwillingly I was brought to the realisation that my husband great at neither statecraft nor war. Many of his policies had no forethought and were damaging to the country…and to his reputation.

  Recently, Henry had spoken of giving Gascony to Richard, for his assistance in saving him at Taillebourg. Although I naturally appreciated the Earl’s intervention, I thought this a foolish move; Gascony should go to the Crown, to our young son Edward. Otherwise, all the traditional holdings in France would be lost. Richard could have…something else as a gift.

  “Henry…” I slipped my arms around my husband, ran my fingers down his chest beneath the loose robe patterned with lions in gold thread that he wore for bed. “You know how you have spoken of giving Gascony to Richard…”

  “Mmmm.” Henry sipped from a gem-encrusted goblet, more interested in what my hands were doing than in what I was saying.

  “I do not think it is a good idea.”

  “Don’t you?” He shut his eyes as my hands slipped even lower. “Why…woman, why?”

  “He…he will be too powerful,” I said bluntly, suddenly halting my ministrations. “Gascony should be reserved for our Edward and Edward alone.”

  “Richard would be furious. After the loss of Poitou, he has his heart set on Gascony.”

  “Let him be furious. He is not the heir presumptive to England any longer. You have a healthy son”

  “You do not know his temper, Eleanor. Richard may have charm, but beneath it, he is a hard man. He would not take a change of plan lightly.”

  “If you speak to him, I will come with you to back you up. Surely, you can find other gifts with which to reward him. But not Gascony.”

  I leaned over, pressed myself against him in my thin shift. My body was still plump, soft, pliant, after the birth of Beatrice. Henry growled, clutched me to him. “So be it…I will speak with him, Eleanor. You are right…you are always right. A lucky man am I to have a wife so clever…and so beautiful…”

  Smiling, I peeled my shift away, let it fall to the flagstones. Shadows from the candle flames dappled my bare flesh. Henry’s eyes were like globes, his breathing ragged.

  I would have my way.

  We met Richard in the dismal, sun-browned gardens of Bordeaux castle the next day. He exuded suspicion from the moment he arrived; his blue eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into thin lines. “You wished to see me, your Grace?” He bowed to Henry, but there was a curt stiffness in his movements.

  Henry fumbled around, playing with the stem of his wine goblet. He could not meet Richard’s probing gaze. Standing behind my husband’s chair, shielded by a cloth-of-gold canopy, I shifted in frustration—I wished my husband would be more forceful, more decisive. Just say, ‘I am the King’ and let no one gainsay him.

  “Richard…” Eventually, he spoke, faltering slightly, almost stammering. “I have come to a decision. One you won’t like overmuch. You will be handsomely compensated, of course…”

  “What?” Richard’s voice tore from his throat, a snarl. I jumped, hid my alarm. It was a dangerous noise, like the growl made by a cornered wolf.

  “Gascony.” Henry was staring into his lap.

  “What of it?” A flush began to grow on Richard’s cheeks.

  “It must go to my heir, Edward. It is only right. I have given it long thought.”

  “It was promised to me!” A muscle jumped in Richard’s jaw and his hands clenched. I was glad he had no weapon; I knew the Plantagenet temper could strike swift as lightning, blotting out all rational thoughts.

  “I know how much you desired it…As I said, I will compensate you.”

  “I do not want compensation, I want what was promised to me! Brother, how could you betray me so? I saved you in Taillebourg! What are you thinking? Why do you insult your own kin? You…you fawn over your wife’s family, more than you care for your own.”

  I was shocked by his harsh words; I had no idea Richard felt so about my uncles and other relatives who Henry had aided in the past. It was right he bui
ld up relationships with them, surely!

  “My family will soon be yours also,” I chided him, keeping my voice calm, “when you marry my sister Sanchia.”

  “Aye, but I swear they will not bleed my coffers dry!” he spat. “My wife will know her place.”

  Henry’s eyes flared now. “You forget yourself, Richard. You speak to your King and Queen. This is not acceptable talk. I demand an apology.”

  “You’re not getting it!” Richard flared.

  “I command you…”

  “No, you will not. I am leaving this vile country and returning to England. I can bear it here no longer. It is full of snakes…” He suddenly whirled, slammed his boot heel on an innocuous little serpent that rustled through the grasses. The creature writhed, spitting, then coiled up, dead. “I don’t like snakes. Treacherous things.”

  Henry’s face was glowing red; we both knew what Richard was implying. “If you leave the army, it will be without my consent!” he roared, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair. “I’ll have you arrested!”

  “Do what you must,” said Richard coldly. “Or should I say, try to do it. Henry, my brother, at the moment you are in no position to threaten anyone. You are a laughing stock; the French think you are a buffoon. Remember what Simon de Montfort called you, to your very face, when you were nearly taken in battle?”

  Henry scowled, suddenly looking as embarrassed as he was angry.

  “Did he not tell you, Eleanor?” Richard turned to me, mouth quirking in an unpleasant, mocking smile. “No, I suppose he would not. He told Henry to stand back out of the way, that he needed to be ‘shut up like Charles the Simple.’ Do you know who Charles was, Eleanor? An old king who abandoned his men, who gave favours to the undeserving at the expense of better men. A King known not only as simple, but stupid and inferior, who spent half his life imprisoned by his nobles!”

  I was mortified, both by the fact de Montfort had spoken such harsh words and that Richard was repeating them. I always felt a certain unease around de Montfort, but to speak such treasonous words and then go unpunished was unheard of! What had Henry been thinking of? True, he had been in grave danger at the time, but he should have quelled de Montfort’s tongue, perhaps permanently. The reconciliation between them had been brief indeed.