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

by J. P. Reedman

  She could not hear us. We clapped our hands in her face, Edmund blew a horn by her ear…she did not respond.

  She also could not speak, made only mewling sounds. She was a fair as spring flowers, with curling gold hair and eyes like sapphires, but my little daughter was both deaf and dumb. She would never amount to anything; we did not even think of a marriage for her…but, Christ Jesu, we loved her nonetheless. Almost desperately so.

  But it was Margaret’s situation that tormented me now. What if the Scots were treating her ill, hoping she might die so they could break the terms of the marriage treaty? What…what if she were already dead? Not even my best spies reported ever seeing the young Scottish royals together in public. Whatever was happening to my daughter, it was hidden behind the grim, grey walls of Edinburgh Castle.

  “Henry, I must see Margaret…” I approached the king with true desperation, after many sleepless nights where I tossed and turned, plagued by evil dreams. “Such silence is not normal between mothers and daughters, even when they dwell far apart. I do not trust the Scots to keep our daughter well. Let us insist on a meeting. Write to John Baliol and Robert de Ros, who keep the royal couple during their minority.”

  Henry gestured to me to sit. I did so, and he gazed at me in silence for a long while, stroking his beard while taking in my uncharacteristically dishevelled and worn appearance. “Be at peace, Eleanor. I am sure your fears are only heightened because of Katharine’s illness. But I will write to the Scots and propose we meet with Margaret and her husband Alexander at York.”

  York was miles away, a long, hard journey up the Great North Road. But it would be better than nothing. I had to see Meggie, no matter what.

  As the messengers to Scotland rode away from Windsor, I watched them go, with trepidation. You are being foolish, I told myself. Good news will come. Margaret will write and tell me how silly I am being. Yes, good news will come….

  It did not.

  Within a few weeks, the dusty couriers returned, presenting a rolled parchment to the King. He read it through and I saw the colour drain from his face; his lips were compressed into hard lines.

  “What is it, my lord?” I asked, breathless, my heart thumping against my ribs. “I can tell by the look on your face that something is amiss! Tell me of my daughter!”

  “Come with me!” Henry leapt from his high seat and escorted me into his private closet, dismissing his squires and servants as we entered. “We cannot discuss this before all.”

  “Henry, you frighten me.” Tears pricked my eyes. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? What news did the messengers bring?”

  “The Scots have refused to meet in York. They say it is impossible for the Queen to travel so far…even to meet with her parents. No reason was given.” Henry’s teeth were gritted with rage and frustration.

  My hands fluttered to my face. “I knew within my heart of hearts that the Scots were playing us false! The Scottish lords hold my daughter and likely hope she will perish in their cold castle, so that they may start their hostilities towards England once more while keeping all she brought to the marriage!” I then rounded on my husband, strident in my desperation, maddened beyond reason with fear for my missing daughter. “This is unacceptable, Henry! My child…unable to visit or communicate with her royal parents! What are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I do?” Henry cried, holding out his empty hands. “They refuse to bring her to England. She is married, Eleanor…she belongs to Alexander, not us!”

  “She is treated as a prisoner, that much is obvious!” My voice rose dangerously. “We should go north with an army! At once!”

  Henry slammed his hand on his desk. “Don’t be stupid, woman! You would see the borders of England burn? Like it or not, the wellbeing of the country comes before that of Margaret. It pains me too, Eleanor, but so it must be. There is no reason to believe she has been harmed, after all. ”

  Tears ran freely now, diamonds on my cheeks. Would Henry be moved by tears? I was not a woman who normally wept to get what I wanted. “There must be something that can be done. At the very least, my mind would be eased if an emissary from England could see her. They could then report back as to her treatment and let us know if she seems content.”

  “It may be possible but we must be careful, we must not offend.” Henry chewed his lip thoughtfully. “The physician, Reginald of Bath…Do you know him?”

  “Yes. What of him?”

  “I could send him to Edinburgh. He is renowned throughout the country for his great learning, and I doubt they would refuse him entry to the castle. Upon arrival, he could then request an audience with Margaret; there would be no good reason to deny him his request. If they will not send Margaret to us, we will send our people to Margaret. Once Reginald has seen her, he can then report back on her condition…”

  I would have rather sent the army…but I knew that Henry’s ploy was the best that could be hoped for. “Send Reginald of Bath, then. Send him as soon as possible. I must know that my daughter is well or I will go mad!”

  Reginald went and Reginald returned.

  Embalmed and wrapped in cere cloth, lying in a coffin.

  On his way home after leaving the Scottish court, the good doctor had halted at an inn on the borders of Scotland. He had eaten, drank, gone to bed. That night, a terrible deadly flux came upon him, and he died before dawn’s light.

  “I am sure it was poison, your Grace,” one of his attendants said. The man was weeping; Reginald of Bath had been much loved. “He was hale when we departed Edinburgh, though eager to reach your Grace. Too eager; he made the mistake of stating his name and business at the inn where we stopped for the night. I am sure they slipped poison into his meat…but proof? We have none.”

  “And my daughter, what did he say of my daughter?” I asked. “What did he find out when he was in Edinburgh? Do not hold back, I beg you. I must know, even if my heart is shattered!”

  The man’s face was grim. “The doctor was appalled by the treatment of Queen Margaret, your Grace. Her guardians allowed him to meet her, but with bad graces, and the Scots lords stood around them like gaolers and listened in on every word they spoke. Reginald said the Queen was thin, and sickly, depressed in mood and full of melancholy. She managed to communicate that she kept apart from his husband, King Alexander, while Baliol and de Ros did as they pleased. She had no proper ladies-in-waiting; her only real companion was the woman de Cantilupe, who was so cowed by the likes of Baliol, that she was unduly harsh towards her charge.”

  “Gentle Jesu, have mercy on my daughter,” I whispered. “And on the soul of loyal Reginald of Bath. No doubt he was poisoned because of what he knew.”

  “That is also my belief, your Grace,” said the man. “I am convinced Master Reginald did not die a natural death. The Scots were desperate to keep his tidings from reaching your Highness’s ears.”

  “I am sure they were...those hard-hearted knaves.” The motherly tears that had afflicted me for days suddenly dried in my eyes. Anger replaced sorrow.

  I had confirmation that my daughter, a princess of England, was being mistreated by her husband’s so-called advisors. I would impress upon Henry that he must act, least he seem a useless king and uncaring father. If he refused…well… I had a large contingent of Savoyard and Provencal relatives, many with large households full of stout young men. I would march on Scotland alone if I had to! Any animal protects its young—why would I not do the same for my child?

  Full of righteous wrath, I stormed to Henry’s quarters, as warlike as his grandmother, that other Eleanor who caused her husband so much strife. “Henry! You have heard the news. Reginald of Bath is dead, treacherously slain at the hands of Scots poisoners. Margaret is ill-kept and pines alone in the cold castle of Edinburgh. She is even shut away from her own wedded husband—they are both prisoners while De Ros and Baliol dine like pigs at the trough. We must ride forth with an army, even if it breaks the peace. I fear for the safety of both children!
”

  Henry groaned; he would not look me in the eye. “Wife, be seated, calm yourself…I will have wine brought. We must be calm and sensible about this situation. Look, I have held talks with my brother Richard and with the Lord Treasurer. There is, I fear, not enough money to mount an invasion. To say nothing of the fact, the Barons would never agree to it.”

  “You will leave our daughter in distress?” My voice shrieked like a mad woman’s, all decorum forgotten. I fought the urge to throw something.

  “No, no, of course not, but I am sure this problem can be solved diplomatically, without need for bloodshed…or angering the barons. I will send the Earl of Gloucester to Scotland, along with an armed retinue. On my behalf, Gloucester will insist that the regency be ended and Alexander and Margaret take their rightful place as rulers of Scotland.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  Henry slumped in his chair, looking miserable and rather aged. “Then war it will be, baron’s opposition or no. I will just have to raise taxes…again….to pay for it.”

  Fortunately, it did not come to war. Upon Gloucester’s arrival, the Scottish lords capitulated; he was a man that brooked no insolence and the soldiers he took with him were highly skilled in the arts of war. Baliol and De Ros lost their power, and the young royal couple emerged from their virtual imprisonment to the cheers and acclamation of the people of the city.

  Hastily, they removed from Edinburgh’s gloomy, windswept halls to a more cheerful palace in the lowlands. There they announced that they would soon begin a royal progress, during which they would visit Roxburgh and the castle of Wark.

  Wark was near the border of England and Scotland, standing slightly on the English side.

  “I will go to my daughter at Wark,” I said to the King with great determination. “I know the miles from here to there are great, but I beg you, do not try to stop me.”

  “I would not dare do so, wife,” Henry replied, a wry smile tilting the corner of his mouth, “because I will ride with you. I want to see Margaret too, and make sure she is now well.”

  I kissed him fervently, which made him laugh. “You are a good father and a good husband.”

  “A soft one, I think sometimes. But when could I ever deny you, Eleanor? We will set off as soon as possible to meet the royal party from Scotland!”

  So we rode north, the wind in our faces, blowing cold from those desolate regions.

  I did not care that my cheeks were burned by the wind. All I could think of was my daughter Meggie, gone from my side for what seemed an eternity.

  Wark castle was a desolate place, frowning from the grassy summit of a man-made mound that stood like a fat boil above a bend in the river Tweed. Many times in its history, the Scots had attacked and burned the stronghold to the ground. Its bleak battlements rose like fangs against the sky, shrouded in low, fluttering clouds. The day was so dark, the light so tenuous, I wondered if the sun ever shone with proper strength here.

  Riding beneath the heavy portcullis, where the stiff wind made little shrieks as it rushed around the barbs, my heart began to flutter. Would Margaret be glad to see me? I hardly knew what to expect after all this time. Perhaps she would be angered that we had left her so long to reside in misery in Edinburgh.

  Reverently I was escorted by the white-haired castellan through the dank and winding passages of the castle, lit by torches that sent up showers of black ash to stain the walls. The air smelt fuggy and damp; I wrinkled my nose in dismay—pomanders should have been strung up for the royal visit, but there was no helping it now. Nor could anything now be done about the dirty floor, with its mud-clumped rush mats that should have been cleared out by the servants months ago.

  At length, I was led into the presence of my daughter and her husband, the King of Scotland. They sat stiffly on a pair of wobbly-looking chairs under a rather threadbare canopy, in what was a dismal great hall, with stern, bare walls and only a few vast iron candelabras to shed light. Alexander had grown into a thin, wary-eyed young man with a shock of curled reddish brown hair, while Margaret…ah, Margaret, I hardly recognised her! She had grown tall, outstripping me in height, but the roses had been washed from her cheeks by the bitter Scottish rains, and her expression was both serious and haunted. She looked like a pale doll, wrapped in cloth-of-silver and marten fur.

  After pleasantries had been expressed, the young Queen beckoned me to attend to her in private. Henry and Alexander began a discourse about the peace treaties between England and Scotland as we fled away.

  Margaret took me to her chambers. They were cold, but faced the east so they had more daylight than many of the others. “It’s not much of a place…” I said, glancing around at the unadorned room. Even the bed was plain, the only thing of worth its rich green and gold draperies with the Scottish lion roaring upon them.

  “Yes,” said Margaret, “but not as cold as Edinburgh. The wind screamed almost every night upon that dark hill, and the castle was so huge, it was like a maze. I never saw Alexander. Matilda de Cantilupe was my one companion, and she was beneath the thumb of de Ros and Baliol; she did nothing but chide and criticise. I felt so alone…” A little sob caught in her throat. “I thought you had forgotten me, lady mother.”

  “I would never forget you, Margaret,” I said, with maternal fierceness. “I would have come to you aid even if it meant war. Your father was the problem; he would not cast caution to the wind. But it is of no matter now—we are here, and you and your husband are free from the cruel and unnatural regency.”

  Margaret nodded, heaving a great sigh. She was so drawn, great dark circles under her eyes. She almost resembled a little old woman, not a young girl. I thought how happy and radiant I had been when I wed Henry, and felt deep sorrow for her. However, having seen the boy-king Alexander, he seemed a serious and intelligent lad and eager to speak in peaceful terms to his father-in-law. Without the interference of the Scottish lords, perhaps the marriage could be made good after such an unhappy start.

  “How is Edward?” asked Margaret, a wan little smile crossing her features. She was closest in age to Edward and had great affection for him. “I have heard he is married now. To the daughter of Alfonso of Spain.”

  “Yes, another Eleanor. Maybe one day you shall meet her; you are not dissimilar in age, and she seems a kind, biddable girl. Edward is enamoured of her, and she is the same with him.”

  “Well, he is so handsome, is he not? Even if he is my brother! So tall and with his golden hair.”

  “You might find him changed. Even taller now…and the golden hair…Well, as he has grown from youth to man, so too his hair darkened. It is nigh on black, almost as dark as mine.”

  “I do long to see him, and Beatrice and Edmund too…and the new baby, Katharine. How strange to think I have a new sister that I have not ever seen.”

  I bowed my head, thinking of silent little Katharine, bound forever in her quiet world. What would become of her? She could not marry, and she did not seem suitable for a nun’s life either, although the sisters might take her in out of charity.

  “You look so sad, mother…What is it?” Margaret threw off any queenly pretence and came to me, putting her arms around my waist, while her ladies in waiting moved discreetly to the opposite side of the chamber.

  “It is nothing. And I am not sad, Margaret. I am gladder to see my eldest daughter than you will ever know.”

  Wark castle had belonged to Robert de Ros, who, along with his ally John Balliol, had made my daughter’s life miserable.

  Now it was his no longer.

  The King had taken it.

  Red-faced, shaking with rage and fear but trying to contain himself, de Ros knelt before Henry’s throne at the end of the great hall.

  “Your behaviour…was just not good enough, de Ros,” snapped Henry, prodding at the kneeling lord with the sharp toe of his boot. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  “I did my best, your Grace,” said de Ros defiantly. He was a short, pig-faced man with
a thick bowl of chestnut hair.

  “Did you? Did you truly? When my daughter, the Queen of Scotland, was kept isolated, and her husband the King barred from her side? When we were told we could not see her, and when our physician was murdered?”

  De Ros made a choking noise. “The couple were too young to be together, let alone rule. Baliol and I were to govern in their innocent years. You know that, your Grace.”

  “I know that you and bloody Baliol thought you would have an extended period of ruling their kingdom for them! Enjoying wines off their tables and food from their kitchens, while they languished as near prisoners, eating the dregs and wearing old garments!” Henry bawled. He looked nigh crazed with anger, reminding me once more of his foul-tempered father… a side I seldom saw, God be praised.

  “Your Grace, you misjudge me!”

  “No! You misjudge me! You thought I’d seek the Scottish peace above my own daughter’s happiness. You thought, far away in the north, you could do as you pleased and live like a king along with Baliol! Well, you will pay the price for your folly, de Ros. Your lands…they will revert to the crown, including this castle. I want you and yours gone by the morrow. Oh…and I think a monetary fine is in order as punishment for your misdeeds. 100,000 marks sounds fitting.”

  “100,000 marks!” Robert de Ros fairly screamed. Shocked, he tried to lurch up from his knees; two guards prodded him down with the butts of their spears.

  “Yes, you heard me, de Ros. You’re not deaf, are you? Just stupid.”

  Defeated, Robert de Ros stormed from the hall. I could hear women weeping in the corridors, and saw the startled, frightened faces of his servants. Little sympathy was within me, however; not after seeing my languid daughter, aged by her experiences, directionless without careful nurturing, sitting next to her equally pallid and maltreated husband.

  “It is a just punishment, is it not?” Henry looked pleased with himself once de Ros had departed from Wark.