“I have no way to do so, even if I wished it,” Alphonse said, “and despite the prince’s present mood, I am not without hope. What I wish to do is calm him enough so that he will listen to some decent compromise.” He then praised Barbara again for skillfully reducing Edward’s suspicions about them, and added slowly, “I think it likely that the terms Leicester has proposed are not fair to the prince. Perhaps the pope’s legate will—”
“Do not hope for that,” Barbara said. “The papal legate was Queen Eleanor’s best hope for pushing Louis into actively supporting the invasion. She is very clever and has subtly convinced him that Leicester and the bishops who support him are contemptuous of the pope. And I must admit that refusing to allow the legate’s messengers into the kingdom in June, seizing his letters, and throwing them into the sea was not the wisest way to deal with him.”
“I wonder if more damage has been done to Leicester’s cause by his friends than by his enemies?” Alphonse remarked dryly. “Certainly after the handling we received at Dover, what little sympathy I had for his ideas was burned away by anger.”
“But you cannot blame Leicester for what Richard de Grey did,” Barbara protested. “We were freed as soon as Leicester had news of us.”
Alphonse was not at all sure that was true, but he saw no sense in arguing the point, which could not be proven and would only mark his political differences with Barbe. He said instead, “Poor Leicester. He is so very good and noble really, that his few faults stand out like black warts on a handsome face. What you would hardly notice in another man draws one’s whole attention in his case. It is not fair, but it is true.”
“But—” Barbara began, then stopped and shook her head. Alphonse was perfectly right, as he always was. How many times she had excused indulgence to their children in others, but was enraged because Leicester did not see fault in and curb Guy and young Simon. “I never thought of it,” she continued slowly. “How dreadful. Poor man.”
“I did not mean to increase your sympathy for him,” Alphonse pointed out. “I had better get back to the main point. My Aunt Eleanor did not mention her dealings with the pope’s legate to me. In this case, I could wish she was not so clever for even with the legate’s approval she will not be able to persuade Louis to help her invade England. He is too well aware of the disaster that followed his father’s ‘holy crusade’ in King John’s time, and from the tales that have come down to us, John was far more hated than Henry. Damn!”
“Was that what you were trying to hint to Edward? That the pope’s legate might find a compromise? But what has fighting in tourneys to do with—”
“Nothing. I was only reminding Edward that rage and hate are useless. I was not hinting anything to him other than that Louis had not abandoned him. He must have hope. Without hope, all Edward has to think about is his own mistake at Lewes of pursuing the Londoners, who were already beaten, and by his absence allowing Leicester to win the battle. No doubt such thoughts build a black rage in him that makes him desire punishment.”
Barbara’s eyes opened wide. “So he tries to kill Henry de Montfort and attacks his guards and possibly tries to escape when he knows perfectly well it is impossible to do so… And then Henry must put greater and greater restrictions on him. Yes, I see. How clever you are, Alphonse.”
“Worst of all, he probably does not realize what he is doing. He is trapped in a round of self-hate, which is covered by hatred of everything and anyone to do with Leicester and makes him provoke them to offend him so that he can hate them still more. If I can break into that with hope, he may be able to think more clearly so that if fair terms are offered he will not reject them out of spite.”
“God willing,” she said.
Her voice was so warm and the admiration on her face so clear that Alphonse stood up suddenly. “Would you like to ride out?” he asked, then laughed. “If I am to keep my promise, I fear I must also keep my distance.”
“I would love to, but I will not,” Barbara replied, laughing also. “Otherwise, my wedding dress, which is only rough stitched, is likely to come apart—”
“Oh, do ride out,” Alphonse pleaded, laughing also.
“No!” Barbara exclaimed. “Go away, you evil man.”
“Very well, cruel woman.”
Alphonse made a mournful face, but he was not really sorry. During their talk he had come to a decision about how to present his request that Edward be allowed to attend his wedding if the guards had not already told Henry de Montfort about what he and Barbe had said. That was what he had hoped for when he used Barbe as an excuse to avoid discussing the visit to Edward with Henry. Then he had felt that the suggestion that Edward attend the wedding should come from Henry himself or should not be made. Now he was ready to push the point himself, but when he returned to the castle he found the place in turmoil. King Henry, Peter de Montfort, the chancellor Nicholas d’Ely, and the rest of the court had ridden into Canterbury.
Before Alphonse could decide what to do, Chacier found him and told him Norfolk was looking for him, and he was soon being introduced to the king’s new attendants as Barbe’s betrothed and a courtier to King Louis of France. All were eager for news from France, so Alphonse did not find time to hang heavy, and just before the evening meal Louis’s emissaries rode in from Dover where they had come to port the previous day. Simon de Claremont drew him away at once to ask for a report on the situation in Canterbury, and approved heartily of Alphonse’s plan to pacify Edward, but he admitted that he saw little hope that Louis’s mediation would have much effect on Leicester.
Later Peter the Chamberlain, the other French envoy who had presented Louis’s authorization to King Henry, joined them and told Alphonse that, in his opinion, there was even less hope than before he left that any invasion would take place. Louis was as set as ever against breaking his promise to be neutral, and the inefficiency and quarreling of Queen Eleanor and King Henry’s half brothers had discouraged the men who had gathered. The invasion force was breaking up. Queen Eleanor’s purse was almost empty, and King Henry had written forbidding her to raise funds by selling his lands on the Continent to France. Seeing little hope for the future, the mercenaries were leaving as their pay ended. The knights who had come for the sake of adventure or a hope of lands as reward were also drifting away to more promising opportunities.
Then Alphonse had to repeat to Peter what he had said to Claremont and he heard for the first time that a preamble had been added to the Peace of Canterbury that extended Leicester’s new form of government for some undefined term of years into Edward’s reign.
There was no question, Peter said, that Louis would utterly reject that provision, and since the pope had already declared null and void the Provisions of Oxford, which were the basis of the government outlined in the Peace of Canterbury, he and Claremont were wasting their time.
The situation did seem hopeless. It depressed Alphonse thoroughly and he wished he could put the whole thing out of his mind. His conscientious countrymen, however, still wanted advice on whom they might approach with Louis’s more reasonable opinions. Alphonse named Norfolk at once and explained how he had been kept in Dover so that he had met no one and could suggest nothing else. Even so, he was not able to free himself until the evening meal was being served.
Alphonse was relieved when he saw Henry de Montfort with a large crowd around him. To his surprise, Henry excused himself to those waiting to speak to him, grasped his arm, and dragged him up to his own chamber on the third floor.
“I cannot thank you enough,” he said as soon as they were private. “Edward has been like a new man ever since you and Lady Barbara spoke to him.”
“I am not sure you should thank me,” Alphonse said. “I have now heard of the extension of the Peace of Canterbury any unnumbered years into Edward’s reign. I do not blame him for being angry. Edward is neither weak nor foolish. And I merely reminded him that calculation is a sharper weapon than the bludgeon of hate. Are you sure, Henry, that you
want Edward thinking about how to get his own way by cleverness?”
“Yes!” Henry de Montfort exclaimed. “That is the whole point. Edward is not weak and foolish, so the provision that the king take no action without the consent of the council would become meaningless. The council would not interfere with Edward’s rule. Their purpose is only to prevent the squandering of money and the royal estate. Edward would not do that in any case. If only he would stop to think, he would soon realize that the provisions designed to stop King Henry’s excesses and foolishness would not really apply to him.”
Alphonse looked into the hopeful eyes, the open, almost innocent face. Here was honor without the black warts of the father. He shook his head. “That would be true if you were the council, but there are not two like you in the world, Henry.” He hesitated, then added, “And Edward is not like you, Henry.”
Henry de Montfort smiled. “I know what you mean, but I do not care. If we can prevent King Henry from dragging us all to ruin, we will not try to hold the King Edward of the future to the terms. By then the reform of the courts and the sheriff’s office will be set, and I do not think Edward was opposed to cleaning out the corruption anyway. He will not allow it to grow again for his own sake. As to foreign ventures which cost so much because of King Henry’s foolishness, I cannot imagine anyone, even the pope, getting the better of Edward.”
“That is true enough,” Alphonse agreed, frowning. “You should take it as a warning.”
“No, because Edward has looked on us as friends in the past and will do so again.” Henry raised a hand to stem the protest Alphonse was about to make. “He is trembling on the edge of agreeing already. I swear it. You and Lady Barbara showed him that I did not wish him ill, and then his father came and pleaded with him in tears to yield. I knew we were near winning when King Henry began to whisper that force would be used, and the prince assured him that no one would hurt either of them.”
Alphonse’s frown grew deeper. “I hope you do not think another visit from me would push Edward into the decision you desire.”
“No, no. I know your coming to him again today would make him suspicious, but tomorrow—” Henry hesitated and looked uncomfortable but went on doggedly. “You know the guards report on what is said to Edward by visitors. I know about Lady Barbara’s invitation to the prince and what you said, also. I thank you for that. Would you tell him that I would be overjoyed to allow his attendance at your wedding at no greater price than his promise to return to his chamber in the castle without any delay at my request?”
“Yes, I am willing to do that.”
“Then will you hold yourself ready in the morning? I hope it will be possible for you to visit the prince soon after breaking your fast so that you may be free the rest of the day, but if there is other business…”
“That does not matter,” Alphonse said. “You will find me in the great hall whenever you need me. Lady Barbe is busy with her wedding dress, and I think she will wish to visit the ladies who have come to Canterbury. She will not mind if I do not attend her.”
Henry de Montfort again offered his thanks and they parted. Alphonse was uneasy. He could not believe that the small assurances he and Barbe had offered could have had so large and immediate an effect on Prince Edward, and he had tried to warn Henry. There were none so blind and deaf as those who would not hear and see, however, and it was quite clear that Henry de Montfort had deliberately pushed out of his mind the tenaciousness of his prince’s nature.
The following morning Alphonse was wakened by Chacier, who then drew aside while Claremont’s page said that his master wished to see Alphonse at once. As soon as he was dressed, Alphonse followed the boy to the lodging of Louis’s emissaries at the White Friars. There he learned that Barbara’s warning about the legate’s attitude was all too accurate. The previous morning, Claremont told him, in the Church of St. Mary in Boulogne—in King Louis’s presence—the legate had publicly called on the Earls of Leicester, Gloucester, and Norfolk and their accomplices to admit him to England by September 1 or appear before him in Boulogne to show cause why he should not be admitted. He had also set a fixed time for them to renounce formally the Provisions of Oxford, on which the form of government they had devised was based, and to suffer excommunication and interdict if they refused.
“Why? Why now?” Alphonse asked, and related what Henry de Montfort had said the previous evening about not holding Edward to all the terms when he became king.
“Sir Henry believes himself to be in his father’s confidence,” Claremont replied with a shrug, “but I doubt Leicester would be willing to yield the power to Edward. As to why the legate chose this time, perhaps to prevent the compromise with Edward that young Henry hopes for. All I can say for certain is that the legate wanted the news of his total rejection of Leicester’s peace terms to come here before August seventeenth, which is the date set for their formal presentation.”
“So that no matter what King Henry swears or before whom he swears it, the legate can declare the oath void.”
Claremont nodded. “If his support cannot prevent King Henry from swearing—and the legate knows Henry’s malleable nature—his denunciation of the whole rebellion will make revocation of the oath easy. There is more news too, although this is no more than a whisper from one of Queen Eleanor’s ladies to her lover. The whisper is that the Marcher lords have been driven back by Leicester and Gloucester. The Marchers have not yet yielded, but probably they will be forced to ask for terms very soon.”
“Peste!” Alphonse exclaimed. “I can see my aunt’s hand in this. She had the news about the defeats in Wales and set to work on the legate. I suppose by now even she is convinced that no invasion will be possible. It is too bad that King Louis did not wait a few days before sending you. Surely this trip was a waste of time.”
To that Claremont agreed wryly. “I thought you had better know everything,” he added. “The news may change Henry de Montfort’s desire for you to see Edward, but if it does not, Peter and I wanted to be sure you were aware of what has happened.”
Having thanked him, Alphonse returned to the castle and his belated breakfast. As he ate he thought about how much to tell Barbe of what he had heard and decided, when he saw a page in Montfort colors bearing down on him, to tell her everything. She had a right to know her father was about to be excommunicated and, more important, Alphonse was eager to hear what she thought about the legate’s move.
As he expected, the page took him to Henry de Montfort, but he was not told that it would not be necessary for him to see Edward. Instead, Henry repeated what Claremont had already told him about the papal legate and asked if Alphonse would be willing to break this news to the prince.
“You want me to tell Edward that the legate has again condemned the Provisions of Oxford, that he is threatening to excommunicate your father?” Alphonse asked. “Is there not the danger that news of the legate’s support will make Edward more stubborn?”
“No, it will not,” Henry replied. “The legate’s ruling is a death knell to any hope of compromise. Once Edward is aware of that, he will set his mind to accepting the terms as they are.”
Alphonse opened his mouth to point out what had leapt immediately to his mind—that swearing would be pointless because the Church would certainly absolve the prince of his oath. But Henry was not stupid. Alphonse had to assume, taking into consideration what Henry had said the previous night, that he did not care whether Edward repudiated his oath in the future so long as he swore it now.
So what he said was “I had this news earlier from Claremont. He also told me that the rumor in France is that your father has all but defeated the lords of the Welsh Marches. Is this true?” Henry nodded but did not speak, only looked enquiring, so Alphonse went on, “Claremont also said that any expectation of an invasion grows less each day. Do you want me to pass this news also?”
Henry clasped Alphonse’s hand. “God bless you! I was afraid to ask so much, but from me, Edward would
take that news as a taunt.” He hesitated and then said, “I do not wish to make trouble between you and the prince. Are you sure it will not make Edward think you are betraying him?” His hand tightened on Alphonse’s. “It will be best for him to yield, Alphonse. He will be watched, of course, until he really does accept that we desire only the good of the realm and his good too, but once peace is agreed he will be able to ride and hunt and walk about as he wishes.”
Alphonse made one last attempt to warn Henry. “I do not doubt it will be best for him,” he said, “but take time and think if it will be best for you.”
Henry laughed and let go of Alphonse’s hand to clap him on the shoulder. “Of course it will.” He beckoned to his clerk, who came to them. “My man will take you down to the prince if you are ready now.”
Alphonse delayed only a few minutes to send Chacier to Barbe with the news of the arrival of the court and Louis’s emissaries and a warning that he was not sure when he would be free. He bade her keep Chacier by her until she could beg a man from her father to run errands and escort her. “And tell her,” he said to Chacier, “that unless the Second Coming intervenes, I will be waiting by the altar of the cathedral at tierce on the fifteenth.”
Chapter Twelve
When Alphonse sent that message to Barbe, he was only offering a jesting apology for not hanging about her as a lovesick swain was supposed to do. Actually, he expected to eat his dinner with her or, if that was not possible, to share their evening meal. He had no idea, even when Edward welcomed him with unusual warmth, that he was about to become a royal attendant.
“I am glad to see you again,” Edward said, rising from his chair and stretching a hand to Alphonse. “Your earlier visit did me so much good. I could always depend on you for sound advice without any honeyed flavor.”
“As I sincerely respect and love you, my lord—and have no reason either to fear you or hope for gain from you—you might well count on my disinterestedness. Also, I would have come just to talk and give you what ease I might; however, I have news, which I am permitted to tell you.” Alphonse hesitated, then said slowly, staring steadily into Edward’s eyes, “Some you might think good news and some you will think ill, but I beg you to consider very carefully before you decide what to do, if anything.”
A Silver Mirror Page 19