The Prince of Darkness

Chapter V ISABELLA

It was some years before John had seen her in the forest that Isabella had become betrothed to Hugh de Lusignan. She would never forget the day when her parents had sent for her and explained that a husband had been found for her, and his family wanted her to go to them that she might be educated in the manner expected of a Lusignan and grow to love her husband before she became his wife.

At that time Isabella had known very little of the world outside the Angoumois over which her parents ruled. In some measure she ruled them. That she was beautiful in no ordinary way had quickly become obvious to her. She heard it whispered; she saw it in people’s eyes when they looked at her; in fact she was always a little shocked if people failed to react to her beauty which they did only on rare occasions. Perhaps some old bishop would look upon her just as though she were an ordinary child. Poor old thing, she would think, I suppose he’s half blind.

She never lost a chance of looking at her reflection. It delighted her even when she was very young. Those beautiful long eyes with the thick black lashes; eyes that were of a blue so deep that it was almost violet; her thick dark hair was a cloud about the perfect oval of her face. She had been born a beauty and would remain one to the end of her days.

It was natural that there should be a certain imperiousness about her. Her mother used to say to her: ‘Never forget that you are descended from the kings of France and the French Court is the most elegant and most intellectual in the world.’

Naturally her mother would think so because she was the daughter of Peter de Courtenay, who was a young son of King Louis VI of France. Isabella knew that her mother considered herself of higher social standing than her father. He, however, being Count of Angoulême, was a man of influence and because she was their only child she was of great importance to them.

When she was very young Isabella learned that they had hoped for a son; she was very glad that they were unable to get one because she knew that if they had she would have been of less importance to them, and one thing Isabella hated was not to be the centre of attraction.

She believed that at the Court of Angoulême she was the most important figure even though she was only a little girl. Her mother watched over her with the greatest care; her father gave instructions to her attendants and governesses that she was never to be left alone. That was a nuisance, but because it meant they were so anxious for her she accepted it and would have been put out to see it slackened.

She worked hard in the schoolroom because she had a natural aptitude for learning and she liked everyone to know how clever she was. She wanted to be first in everything. There was no doubt that she was the most beautiful child any of them had ever seen; but she wanted also to be the cleverest. True, she had to work a little harder to achieve that, but she was purposeful and made a point of getting what she wanted.

There was a great deal of talk about Richard Cœur de Lion, who was Duke of Aquitaine of which the Angoumois was a part. She learned that Richard was a great fighter. He had left his country to go to the Holy Land in an effort to restore Jerusalem to the Christians and the world seemed to think he was some sort of hero saint. Not so her father. He hated Richard.

Isabella used to listen to the talk between her father and mother, for she was allowed to go into their bedchamber in the morning and sit on the bed while they gloated on their beautiful child. This appealed to her greatly; she lapped up their admiration but at the same time she liked to keep her ears open for interesting gossip and they were not entirely discreet before her, thinking her too young to understand. But although she was young she could always store up these comments and brood over them later and ask naïve questions which very often gave her the answer she needed.

Isabella liked to know what was going on.

According to her father, Richard was an arrogant overlord, and a king who left his kingdom to go to another land to fight – even in a holy cause – was not a good one and a bad king was not a good duke. Therefore, Aquitaine was ill-governed and the Count of Angoulême was not going to swear allegiance to such a man. He preferred to do so to the King of France.

Of course the Countess was in agreement with her husband. She was always ready to lean towards what was French, which was natural enough since that was the country of her birth.

There was always a great deal of talk about the Lusignans, an important family who lived in Poitou which bordered on the Angoumois. At one time this family had been bitter enemies of the dukes of Normandy but they were great crusaders, and in the Holy Land they had come into contact with Richard Cœur de Lion. In a common interest, the enmity had disappeared and during the Holy War Guy de Lusignan and Richard Cœur de Lion had become such close friends that Richard had supported Guy’s claim to the crown of Jerusalem – when it should be regained – against the King of France who had supported Conrad de Montferrat. Guy and Richard had fought side by side, and as a result their friendship had strengthened and this had extended to the whole family. Thus the Lusignans of Angoulême were supporting a different side from their close neighbour in the perennial quarrel between the kings of France and England. There was another reason for rivalry and disagreement between them. Both families coveted the rich territory know as La Marche which lay to the east of the Angoumois.

Richard had been secretly pleased that the desire to possess La Marche kept those two powerful families suspicious of each other and therefore turned their thoughts from planning forays into neighbouring Anjou.

When Richard had died, Hugh de Lusignan, the eldest son of the House, had with great temerity managed to capture Queen Eleanor while she was out riding one day and with even greater daring had declared to her his intentions of keeping her prisoner until she gave him La Marche.

With Richard dead and all her tact and skill needed to put John on the throne, Eleanor had given way and had bought her freedom for the surrender of La Marche.

The Count of Angoulême was angry that Hugh de Lusignan had that which he had coveted; he had to be placated and the Lusignans had had the clever notion that the best way of settling their differences was by a marriage contract.

Hugh was in his twenties – a young man of pride and strength, worthy to be the head of his house. The Count of Angoulême had a daughter. She was not yet twelve years old, it was true, but her lack of years could soon be remedied. With every passing week she grew nearer to maturity and it was only a matter of waiting a year or so before she would be ready for matrimony.

Isabella knew there was something afoot. Members of the Lusignan family rode over and at their head was Hugh. Isabella watching from a window saw him arrive and when he looked up, she smiled at him. He stood there, legs apart, watching her for a few seconds, and she was excited because she knew that he was thinking – as almost everyone else did – how pretty she was.

Her mother came to her room and dismissed the servants.

‘I have something to say to you, Isabella,’ she said. ‘Now listen carefully. Some very important gentlemen are visiting us. You will meet them and I want you to be very charming to them.’

‘Why?’ asked Isabella.

‘There is a very special reason.’

‘What reason?’

‘You will know all in good time.’

‘But if I am to be especially nice to them I want to know now.’

‘You are too young to understand.’

Too young! This was absurd. She was not too young for anything. She knew a great deal. She listened; she asked questions; she trapped people into admissions. She knew about the maids who went out into the shrubbery when it was dusk to meet the menservants. She had hidden herself and been at first greatly astonished by their activities and although she had seen them repeated many times she always liked to watch. This excited her more than anything she knew. So she was certainly not too young to know why she had to be particularly attractive to the Lusignans.

‘Is it something to do with my betrothal?’ she asked slyly.

Her mother stared in astonishment. ‘How could you know?’

‘Because you said I was too young to understand. When one is considered too young it is usually something to do with men and women together.’

The child was astonishing, thought her mother.

‘What do you know of such things?’ she demanded.

‘Not as much as I should like to, I fear.’

‘It is nothing to be fearful about. Such knowledge will come in due course. When you have a husband you will know what is good for you to know.’

‘Am I to have a husband then? Who is it? Hugh de Lusignan?’

The Countess hesitated. Then she said: ‘Yes. You have guessed aright.’

Isabella clasped her hands together and said: ‘I like him.’

‘Then that is well.’

‘He is a beautiful man,’ cried Isabella. ‘He looked up at the window when he was entering the castle and smiled at me. I think he liked me.’

‘Of course he liked you. Did you expect him not to?’

‘Of course not,’ said Isabella.

‘Now you will be dressed in a gown I shall choose for you and I shall take you down to the hall and present you to Hugh.’

‘Will he take me away with him now?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not, my dear child. He will meet you and if he likes what he sees there will be a betrothal.’

‘And if I do not like what I see?’

‘You have already said you like him.’

‘But if I had not?’

‘Girls in your position must marry where their family wishes them to.’

‘So you wish me to marry Hugh?’

‘It will be good for our families if you do.’

‘Is that why Hugh wants it?’

‘He will only want it if you are charming to him and he thinks you beautiful.’

‘I will be charming and he will think me beautiful because everybody does.’

‘This betrothal will please your father. It is very important that there is friendship between our families.’

‘So I shall be a wife now.’

She was thinking of the servants in the shrubbery and she thought: I shall know now. Her observations had taught her that it was not only servants who behaved in such a manner. Her turn would come and something told her that she was going to find the exercise highly diverting and every bit as enjoyable as they clearly did. She couldn’t wait to indulge in such pleasures.

‘My dear child, it will not be for a year or two yet.’

‘Not for a year or two! Why should I wait?’

‘Because you are but a child.’

‘Bess the kitchen girl is but a few months older than I …’

‘What are you saying? Bess. Kitchen girl! My dear Isabella, you are not giving me your serious attention.’

But she was of course and she was very disappointed that she must wait for her marriage.

Now she set about the task of charming Hugh. He was tall and looked very strong. He was wonderful. He was very handsome and was, her mother had told her, a great soldier. He thought she was beautiful; she saw that at once by the way in which he kept looking at her. He laid his hands on her shoulders and she smiled up at him.

He said, ‘Your daughter is indeed a beauty, Count. Would to God she were but three years older.’

She wanted to shout: I am as wise as others who are three years older. I am not a child … except in years. I know about marriage and I don’t want to wait for it. Forget I am not yet twelve years old.

But even she dared not say that, with her father and mother looking on.

Her mother said she could go to her own chamber. She pouted a little and said could she not stay?

‘Your father and our guest have business to discuss,’ she was told.

She tried to linger but her mother had taken her by the arm and was leading her gently away, leaving the two men while her father and her husband-to-be talked together of the union between Lusignan and Angoulême, the dowry, when the wedding would take place and what was to happen in the meantime.

Her mother came to her chamber and sat on her bed. Isabella, rosy from sleep, raised herself. How lovely she was! thought the Countess. It was small wonder that Hugh had found her irresistible and deplored the fact that she was so young.

‘You are to leave us, my child,’ said the Countess sadly.

‘I am going to be married?’ cried Isabella.

‘In due course. But first you are to leave your home and go to that of your future husband.’

‘When, Mother?’

‘Within a few days.’ The Countess shook her head sadly. ‘It is always thus with daughters. They must leave the family with whom they have spent their childhood and go to that which will be theirs for the rest of their lives. You won’t forget us, Isabella?’

‘Forget you, Mother! How could I? And my dear father too. Oh no, I shall never forget you.’

She threw her arms about her mother’s neck but even then she was thinking of the strong body of Hugh de Lusignan and wondering what his embraces would be like.

‘You must not fret, my darling.’

Fret. She was all eagerness to go.

‘I shall see you and my father often, shall I not, Mother? We shall be near neighbours.’

‘We must make sure that comes to pass.’

‘We will, we will. I shall insist.’

Her mother smiled fondly. ‘It will be as your husband wishes,’ she reminded her.

Oh no, thought Isabella. It shall be as I wish.

She smiled complacently. She had no doubt that she would get her way with Hugh as she had with her parents.

‘Now we must busy ourselves with preparations for your departure. It is inconvenient that there is so little time.’

She was not inconvenienced at all. She was excited. She wondered how long she would have to wait before they considered her old enough to marry.

In a few weeks she left her father’s castle and was escorted by her parents and some of the men-at-arms to the castle situated in the heart of Lusignan country between Poitiers and Niort.

The stone walls of the castle glittered in the sunshine and although she had seen other castles there was a special quality about this one because it was going to be her home. Within those walls she would become the bride of Hugh de Lusignan who was also known as Hugh le Brun. He was rich, he was clever and he was strong. She was delighted with her bridegroom and as she rode towards the castle with her parents she was determined to prove to him that although she was not yet twelve years old she was ready for marriage; she might be innocent but she was not ignorant. She might be a virgin but she was anxious to cast off that not very exciting state; and because she was already aware that the arts of seduction would be second nature to her, she was going to set herself the task of making Hugh the Brown forget that she was only a child, and she had every hope of success.

The family of Angoulême were given a very warm welcome in the ancestral home of the Lusignans and those present marvelled at this since they had always been natural enemies – always fighting for possession of La Marche, always trying to take a little territory from each other, seeking, it seemed, reasons for quarrels. And now because of this beautiful child’s betrothal to the son of the clan all was peace.

It was certainly a time for great rejoicing.

Isabella was given a bevy of attendants only a little older than herself; and Hugh declared to her parents that in this household she would be treated with all honour. He would be absent for long periods, but his brother Ralph would take his place in the household, and Ralph swore to the family that he would make it his personal duty to see that no harm came to his brother’s betrothed whose beauty and charm had already won all their hearts.

Isabella’s family, though sad to part with their daughter, rode away without misgivings knowing that the Lusignans were to be trusted on such a point of honour.

They comforted each other as they rode back to Angoulême.

‘It has to happen,’ said Count Aymer. ‘All parents must face it.’

‘If there had been others it would have been easier to endure,’ replied his wife Alice.

‘Alas, that we had but one child.’

‘It makes her a considerable heiress though,’ said Isabella’s mother, ‘and if we only had one, at least the one we had must be the loveliest girl in the world.’

‘You speak with a mother’s fondness which may obscure her vision slightly.’

‘Nay, I heard said by one of the Lusignans to another – not meant for my ears: “When did you see a more perfect creature? Thus must Helen of Troy have appeared to those about her.”’

Aymer laughed. ‘I hope our Isabella will not cause as much trouble as that woman did.’

‘Hugh delights in her already. I feel sure he will wish to hurry the marriage.’

‘He must needs wait. She cannot marry at twelve years.’

‘She is not as immature as some twelve-year-olds.’

‘No, my lady, I will not have her forced into the marriage bed before she is ready for it.’

‘You are right. There must be a few years’ wait yet. But perhaps when she is fourteen.’

‘We shall see.’

And so they rode back to Angoulême. But the castle there had lost something with the departure of Isabella.

Isabella set out to charm her new family and succeeded admirably. Hugh was already in love with her and chafed against delay. This delighted her, but she did not want him to know this. She chose a hundred little ways of keeping close to him, of clinging to him, calling attention to her helplessness which she knew he found so appealing; she carefully chose ribbons for her hair which would be most becoming to her unusual colouring and enhanced her beauty in every way. Not that anything so obvious needed to have attention called to it. She exulted in her beautiful face, her perfect little body which irritated her a little because it seemed to her so slow in reaching maturity.

She would prance naked before the young girls who were in attendance on her and demand to know if she was not a little more grown up than she had been the day before. She compared herself with them and demanded to know if they had lovers. Those who had, found favour with her; she would give them ribbons with which to adorn their hair before she sent them off for a tryst; and payment for these favours meant that she wanted a detailed description of everything that had taken place.

She was their adored little mistress; she was unlike any other they had served.

‘What a wife you will make my lord Hugh, my lady,’ they declared.

‘Yes, yes,’ she cried impatiently. ‘But it is all waiting and I am ready now.’

She was obsessed by the subject. She told the girls that Hugh would be so mad for her that he would insist on the marriage taking place without delay.

They laughed and said that would not be difficult. He was halfway to that state already and they swore it was only because he feared to offend her parents that he did not insist on the wedding.

Each day she contrived to be with Hugh; her eyes would light up at the sight of him and she would throw herself into his arms which was not very decorous, but he seemed to forget that. She would clasp him tightly about the neck and press her face against his.

‘Is it not wonderful, Hugh, that you and I will one day be married?’

‘I never wanted anything so much,’ he told her earnestly.

‘Do you wish I were not so young?’

‘I think you are perfect as you are.’

‘But wouldn’t I be more perfect if I were of an age to marry?’

‘One cannot improve on perfection,’ he reminded her.

She believed that her very youth was part of her attraction to him. In one way he didn’t want her to grow up. He wanted to keep her as she was – pure, he thought, unsullied by the world which meant she had not yet coupled with a man. That he desired her, she had no doubt; and yet he wanted her to stay as she was.

How contradictory! Perhaps she had something yet to learn of the ways of men.

This was the state of affairs at the time of the encounter in the forest. She could not forget the man who had looked at her so intently. That he thought she was beautiful was obvious, but that was a common enough reaction. There had been something more than that. No one had had quite that effect on her before. She knew instinctively that had she been alone at the time, perhaps the daughter of a woodcutter or a forester, he would not have hesitated for one moment. He would have seized her on the spot. She was aware of an overwhelming sensuality in this man which Hugh lacked; it was a quality – or perhaps one should say a vice – which she understood perfectly because she now knew that she possessed it herself. She had wished – though fleetingly – during those first moments in the forest, that she had been a humble cottage girl.

That man had desired her in a way Hugh never had and the experiences she would have had with him would be different from any she could share with Hugh.

He was not handsome as Hugh was. Hugh was tall, square-shouldered, with a strong jaw and keen eyes; he was a fighter. This man was different. He was not very tall; she calculated that he could not be more than five feet five inches. There were many men who were no taller but she was comparing him with Hugh. He lacked the nobility which she had admired in Hugh; his mouth was sensual; his eyes a little wild; he was dark and swarthy – no, not handsome by any means. But he was a king – King of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou … he was a very important man, far more so than Hugh who had had to leap from his horse and show that he was in the presence of one who was far above him.

King of England! And how he had looked at her! Hugh had never looked like that, even in those moments when she embraced him and thrust herself against him outwardly artless, inwardly artful, he had never looked quite like that.

She had sat there on her horse, her blue hood – the colour of speedwell flowers and so good for bringing out the blue of her eyes, falling from her hair, her cape flowing about her – a lovely picture she knew.

How he had looked at her! As no one ever had before.

Then he had ridden away. Hugh had been silent and she could not lure him from his mood with all her wiles.

‘Tell me about that man,’ she demanded.

‘He is John of England,’ answered Hugh.

‘And Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou.’

‘He has many titles.’

‘He is not exactly well favoured.’

‘He has an evil reputation.’

‘How so?’

‘He has done that which would be beyond your understanding.’

‘You mean … with women?’

‘And others.’

‘He has been cruel in war?’

‘He is to be feared,’ answered Hugh. ‘A man would think twice before he offended him.’

They were silent as they rode back to the castle. All interest in the hunt had left them both.

Isabella dreamed that she met John alone in the forest; in her dreams she saw his face coming closer and closer – hungry, demanding, lascivious.

She awoke in fear and wished that she had gone on dreaming.

I shall never see him again, she thought, and did not know whether she was glad or sorry.

She thought of Hugh, so handsome, so strong. He would be a good kind husband and she would have no difficulty in having her way with him. She smiled to herself to realise how she would rule him.

Why could he not see that it was time they married?

She told her women of the encounter with King John. They whispered of him. Such stories they had heard of him! When he was young he had gone to Ireland. He had had to leave, though; he spent his time jeering at the natives and raping their women.

She listened avidly.

‘Had I been alone in the forest when I met him …’ she began.

They shrieked in horror and silenced her.

‘You would never be allowed out alone, my lady; and even King John would have to respect your rank.’

She was silent imagining it.

The girls marvelled at the obtuseness of those about her and in particular Count Hugh.

Didn’t they see it was time the Lady Isabella was married? True, she was young, but girls such as she was needed to be married young.