The Queen from Provence

Chapter X CEREMONY AT BEAULIEU

While Eleanor was awaiting the birth of her baby there was sad news from Provence.

Her father was very ill.

Sanchia immediately came to Windsor where Eleanor was at this time. The sisters embraced and Eleanor took Sanchia to her private chamber where they might be alone together.

‘Our mother said how ill he was when she came for your wedding,’ said Eleanor.

‘Yes, I know. He wanted to come … oh how he wanted to come, but he was too feeble.’

‘Do you think,’ said Eleanor, ‘that he is already dead?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Our mother would warn us first. She would think it would lessen the shock.’

They stared blankly at each other. It was a long time since Eleanor had seen her father but her memories of him were still very fresh and in their minds both she and Sanchia could easily slip back into those happy days of their childhood.

‘It is so difficult to imagine it without him,’ said Eleanor. ‘Our poor mother will be desolate. I shall bring her over here.’

Sanchia was silent thinking of what Richard had said about the people of England and their attitude to the Queen’s relations.

‘There is still Beatrice left,’ said Sanchia.

‘Our father will not be able to find a husband for her now. Romeo will help.’

‘Poor Beatrice, how sad for her.’

While they talked another messenger arrived at the castle.

It was as Eleanor had feared. The Count was dead.

Eleanor was mildly irritated when she heard that her father had left everything to his unmarried daughter Beatrice.

‘He had forgotten that he had four daughters,’ she said with some asperity.

‘Oh no,’ replied Sanchia. ‘Marguerite and you and I are happily married to rich husbands. Beatrice has yet to find one.’

‘There will be no dearth of offers for her now.’

The matter of the inheritance took the edge off Eleanor’s mourning, and when she heard suitors were arriving in Provence every day she was cynically amused.

The Countess however did not consider any of them of sufficient merit and Henry came to her one day in great excitement because he had received news that Jaime, the King of Aragon, had besieged the town of Aix which he determined to hold until the Countess of Provence gave her daughter Beatrice in marriage to his son Pedro.

What a romantic situation! It was worthy of one of the poems she used to write. And Beatrice was at the centre of the drama – all because she was the youngest one and unmarried, still at home and had therefore received her father’s inheritance.

There was a letter from Marguerite to her sisters.

They must not be alarmed on Beatrice’s account. It was true that the King of Aragon was invading Provence in the hope of winning Beatrice. They called him the Conqueror because of his victories, but Louis had decided to step in.

The fact was that Louis’ brother Charles of Anjou had a great desire to marry Beatrice and had always believed that he would in due course. Therefore Charles was riding into Provence to send the so-called Conqueror Jaime about his business.

It was very exciting and each day she and Sanchia waited for news of the battle for Beatrice.

In the meantime Eleanor was brought to bed. What rejoicing there was when this time she produced a bonny boy.

They called him Edmund and this addition to their nursery so delighted the King and Queen that Eleanor forgot her resentment at being cut out of her father’s will. News came of the victorious campaign waged by Charles of Anjou. It had been an almost foregone conclusion that the King of Aragon – Conqueror though he might call himself – could not win against Charles of Anjou who had the support of his mighty brother.

In due course the wedding of Beatrice and Charles was celebrated in Paris. There was now a new Count of Provence – Beatrice’s husband.

One of the greatest joys of Eleanor’s life was to be with her children and of all of them she could not help loving her firstborn best.

Whenever she could be with him, she was; and Henry shared her feelings. It was not so easy for him, of course. He had other duties to perform, but he never tried to persuade her to accompany him because he knew how she longed to be with their children.

When they were together they talked of Edward continually. Henry wanted to endow him with lands and castles, and even Eleanor laughed at him and said that would come later, the child was too young as yet.

One thing she did promise herself was that Edward should accompany her when she made the dedication of a new church in Beaulieu Abbey.

‘He cannot start too soon to show himself in public,’ she said. ‘And everywhere he goes people will love him.’

It was true that when the little boy accompanied his parents the populace showed a more kindly attitude towards them, and Henry thought it an excellent idea that his mother should take Edward to the dedication.

Her heart thrilled with pride as she stepped into the nursery and he bounded forward and threw his arms about her knees.

‘My darling, is this the way to greet the Queen?’ she asked.

Then she lifted him in her arms and covered his face with kisses.

‘How is my Edward this day?’

‘I am well,’ he answered.

She examined him intently. Were his hands a little feverish, his eyes a little too bright? Or was that due to the excitement of seeing his mother?

Robert Burnell, who was his chaplain and confidential servant, was hovering.

‘The Lord Edward has been suffering from slight rheum this last few days, my lady.’

Terror gripped her heart as it always did when any of the children suffered some ailment.

‘How has he been, Robert? Are you sure this is nothing serious?’

‘My lady, he is subject to these rheums.’

She did not like him to be subject to rheums. They frightened her.

‘I rode out with Henry this morning, my lady,’ said Edward. ‘My horse was faster than his.’

Oh God, were they letting him ride too fast? What if he fell? Should he not have been kept indoors with such a rheum?

She looked anxiously at Robert Burnell. ‘Lord Edward will vie with everyone and do his best to win,’ he told her.

‘And always does, my lady,’ declared Edward.

‘Not always, my lord,’ warned his mentor and religious instructor Burnell.

‘Well very often,’ said Edward stoutly.

His mother ruffled his hair.

‘I have messages from your father,’ she said. ‘The King wants to know whether you have been good in your manners and your lessons. What shall I tell him?’

‘That I am very good,’ said Edward.

‘Sometimes,’ added Burnell.

Eleanor wished Burnell would let the dear boy enjoy his triumphs in peace but of course she knew that it was good for him to be curbed and he could not have a better tutor than Robert Burnell.

‘My dearest, I am going to take you with me to Beaulieu Abbey.’

‘When?’

‘In a short while. We are going to be present at the dedication of the church.’

‘It will be a very solemn ceremony, my lord,’ said Burnell.

‘Oh, must I be solemn then?’ Edward coughed slightly, and Eleanor’s fears rose again.

‘It is a small cough, my lady,’ said Burnell. ‘It goes and comes.’

‘We must see that it goes and does not come,’ she answered tersely.

Were they caring for him? Did they realise how precious this child was? Oh, some might say, he had a brother and was not so important now. They were wrong, wrong. No one could ever mean to her what her beloved Edward did … not even Henry.

How proud she was of him riding by her side on his little white palfrey. His cousin Henry, four years his senior, rode on the other side of him – a handsome boy but in her eyes insignificant compared with the flaxen beauty of her own son.

He coughed a little as they rode and she became more and more uneasy as they approached Beaulieu; she felt almost angry with young Henry for being in such obvious good health.

The Abbey had been founded by Henry’s father, King John. It was one of his more laudable acts which he performed from time to time, more, Henry said, from a sense of placating Heaven than for his own virtuous inclinations. Set among beechwoods it was a beautiful sight and the Cistercian monks would be delighted at this sign of royal patronage with their Queen and their future King gracing the dedication of the newly erected church.

The tolling of the bells and the sombre-clad monks clearly fascinated Edward, but as his cough persisted his mother grew less and less interested in what was happening about her.

The monks filed into the church chanting as they came. The Queen with her son beside her and Henry and Edward’s knights seated behind – among them Robert Burnell – witnessed the ceremony of the dedication.

When it was over the Queen took her son’s hand and to her dismay found that it was burning hot.

She turned to Robert Burnell and said: ‘The lord Edward has a fever.’

‘It is the rheum, Madam,’ answered Burnell. ‘It would be a good plan to get back to the castle without delay.’

‘It is too dangerous,’ said the Queen. ‘He must not go out. He shall stay here and the doctors shall come to him. Please send for them at once.’

‘My lady, he cannot stay here. This is a very strict order.’

‘I care not how strict it be!’ retorted the Queen. ‘My son is to run no risks whatever the order.’

‘It will give great offence to the Abbot.’

‘Then pray let us give offence to the Abbot. Send for the doctors without delay. Then let a message be delivered to the King.’

Robert Burnell knew that it would be unwise not to obey the Queen when she was in such a mood. It was useless to remind her that the boy often suffered these fevers and that doubtless they were a childhood weakness that he would grow out of as he became older.

The monks who had heard what was going on immediately went to the Abbot to tell him. He came out without delay.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I hear you want to nurse the lord Edward here. The monks will care for him.’

‘I have sent for the King’s doctors.’

The Abbot bowed his head. ‘My lady, you may safely leave him in our care.’

‘Leave my son! Oh no, my lord Abbot. When my son is ill, I am the one who cares for him.’

‘My lady, women cannot stay in this abbey. The order is very strict.’

‘Then the order shall be changed,’ declared Eleanor imperiously. ‘I am not merely a woman, my lord Abbot, I am your Queen. You would be wise to show me more hospitality. Take me to a bed that my son may be made comfortable. And let me tell you this: I shall stay here until he is well enough to travel. I shall look after him, so you and your monks had better get accustomed to housing a woman in your abbey.’

The Abbot was nonplussed. He could not allow her to stay. It was unprecedented. The boy could be cared for, yes indeed, but the Queen must go.

He tried to explain but her fear for her son sent her into a raging fury. How dared this fool of an Abbot quibble about his Cistercian laws when the heir to the throne was sick and might die? The thought sent her into a frenzy.

‘I will hear no more,’ she cried. ‘Remember that you owe your existence to the favours of kings. My husband’s father founded this place. The Queen can as easily destroy it … ay, and she will if aught happens to her son through your negligence. I want every comfort for the lord Edward and that includes having his mother to nurse him.’

The Abbot knew himself beaten. It would go ill with them all if the boy was taken away and died. Everyone would say it was due to his action. So it was wise to waive rules and allow the Queen to stay with her son.

The doctors arrived and were a long time with Edward. The Queen said she insisted on knowing the truth which they assured her they had told her. The boy was suffering from a slight fever – nothing which good nursing could not cure. The Queen was unduly disturbed.

But she was taking no chances. She was at her son’s bedside for several days and nights and not until he had lost his fever did she sleep a little.

Then she gave thanks at the altar of the newly dedicated church for her son’s recovery and with great joy she rode back to the castle, though she insisted that her son be carried part of the way in a litter. Edward protested loudly at the idea of being carried. He was able to ride, he cried. He was the best rider of all the boys. People would laugh at him for being carried.

Very well, she said, he should ride awhile but if she saw the least hint of fatigue he should go into a litter.

She was so happy to have him beside her, the healthy colour back in his cheeks, his flaxen hair glinting in the sunlight while he chattered about his new horses and falcons.

The effect of Henry’s weak rule was beginning to be felt throughout the country. It had always been so. In the days of the Conqueror, England had been made safe for travellers simply because the Conqueror severely punished any man or woman who was caught stealing. No one thought a purse of gold worth the loss of ears, nose or eyes – or a foot or a hand. The punishment instigated by the Conqueror might have been harsh but it was effective. He had determined to make England safe for travellers and he had done so. In the reign of Rufus law and order disappeared but it was brought back by Henry I. Weak Stephen allowed it to lapse again and the robber barons sprang up. Travellers were waylaid, taken to the residences of the robber barons and held to ransom, robbed of everything they had, tortured for the barons’ amusement and that of their guests and lawlessness prevailed. Henry II was another such as Henry I and the Conqueror. He wanted a prosperous land which could only flourish within the law. The disaster of John’s rule had been felt far and wide but under the wise direction of William the Marshal and Hubert de Burgh the law had once more been enforced. Now it was lagging again and the signs of disruption were beginning to be seen throughout the land.

The country needed a strong King supported by strong men; and since Henry’s marriage, his one idea seemed to have been to bring his wife’s friends and relations into the country and lavish every favour upon them.

So bad were the roads becoming that when the King and Queen were travelling in Hampshire with a small retinue they were set upon by a band of robbers; much of their baggage was stolen and their lives were in danger. They were saved by the realisation of who they were for even robbers must be afraid of what could result if they murdered the King and Queen.

An example of how the authority of the law was fast waning was given by one man who, when summoned to appear before the King’s Bench, forced the King’s officer, who delivered the royal warrant, to eat it.

There was growing anxiety and it was becoming obvious that many of the barons were meeting to discuss the state of affairs and they were setting themselves against the King and what they called his foreigners. The conflict would have come to a head before but for the marriage of Richard of Cornwall with the Queen’s sister, for since that time his wife had subtly brought him round to her way of thinking which was of course to support the Queen and her relations.

But with or without Richard’s support the barons were beginning to feel that something would have to be done.

The people of London were the most vociferous and rebellious. They had a personal grudge against the Queen because of memories of the Queenhithe and whenever the royal pair needed money – which seemed to be all the time – it was to rich London that they looked to supply it.

Henry and Eleanor began to dread going to Westminster, for there they were made more aware of their unpopularity than anywhere else.

News came from France of the death of Henry’s mother Isabella of Angoulême. Her turbulent life had ended in the Convent of Fontevrault and it was a relief to everyone.

Henry’s mind was taken off the troubles in his kingdom when rebellion broke out in Wales. There was no money with which to conduct a campaign and Henry would have attempted to raise it from the Londoners. Richard saw that the citizens of the capital were getting towards the end of their patience and he himself supplied the means for conducting the campaign by pawning his own jewels.

This campaign proved fruitless and after the destruction of Welsh crops which meant privation for the Welsh and by no means increased their friendship with the English, Henry left the field of action with nothing gained and the situation worse than it had been in the beginning.

‘The King is another such as his father,’ was the grumble throughout the land. Because he was a good father, a loving husband and a religious man did not mean that he was a good King, and every serious-minded man in the country knew that what England needed more than anything was a wise ruler.

In the midst of these troubles Eleanor gave birth to another son. He was called Richard after his uncle the Earl of Cornwall and his great uncle Coeur de Lion. Alas, the child was sickly at his birth and he died within a few months.

Eleanor was very melancholy, and Henry gave himself up to comforting her. They spent a good deal of their time in their nurseries. They had four healthy children – two boys and two girls, he kept telling her, but it was difficult to console Eleanor for the loss of her baby. She watched over Edward even more assiduously than before and any minor ailment could throw her into a frenzy of anxiety.

A year after her panic at Beaulieu the same fever attacked Edward again and this time he was really in danger. Eleanor was frantic. So was Henry. They sat by the boy’s bed day and night; they neither slept nor ate. They remained on their knees throughout the long hours pleading with Heaven to spare this boy who was the delight of their lives.

In every monastery and church prayers were offered up for his return to health. Promises were made to Heaven. What monasteries should be built, what churches dedicated. God had only to name his price.

And it seemed God answered for one night the fever passed and the doctors declared Edward would live.

Henry and Eleanor clung together in their relief. Their darling lived. There was nothing else at that moment that they wanted in life. They were completely happy.

Moreover in a few weeks Edward emerged as bright and energetic as ever, as though he was some superhuman being who could throw off a fever as others did a common cold.

Every morning for a month the Queen went to his chamber as soon as she arose just to assure herself that her beloved child was really there.

Edward, forceful by nature, a little arrogant in his youth, had naturally come to the conclusion that he was a very important person indeed.

He was clever as well as able to excel at sport. He spoke French and Latin fluently and had a fine command of the English language. For some reason he had developed a slight stammer but even this the Queen found enchanting. He was very fond of the outdoor life – far more so than he was of learning, although his tutors said he could have been a scholar with application. But Edward liked better to joust, to outride his companions, to excel at ball sports and in his training for knighthood. He could always be seen among his companions because he was so much taller than they were and his bright flaxen hair was readily recognisable. His parents called him affectionately, Edward Longshanks, and they marvelled at his healthy good looks while they were terrified of that childhood fever which had been the bogy to haunt their lives. When a whole year passed without a return of it they were gleeful. Robert Burnell was right. It was a childhood complaint and he would grow out of it.

The Queen’s mother, the widowed Countess of Provence, paid another visit to England.

It was a great joy for Sanchia and Eleanor to be reunited with their mother and to hear from her all the excitement there had been over Beatrice’s marriage. They laughed to think how cleverly everything had worked out. Beatrice had married the brother of Marguerite’s husband and Sanchia the brother of Eleanor’s.

Such a closely knit family could not but rejoice in an arrangement like that.

Eleanor wanted her mother to be fêted as lavishly as she had been when she had come over for Sanchia’s wedding and the Countess seemed to take everything that was done for her as her due. And of course Henry must please Eleanor, who had now won Sanchia to her side and Sanchia did her best to persuade Richard that her family were the responsibility of the English crown.

Eleanor had come to England, had given the King great happiness, had provided the people with Edward the heir who, however unpopular his parents might be, was cheered wherever he went. Therefore the House of Provence should be rewarded.

There was a further obligation. In the death of Isabella of Angoulême her children decided to pay a visit to their half-brother. News had come to them that the Queen’s family were doing very well in England and they did not see why some of the pickings should not come to their family – after all they shared the King’s mother.

Within a year of Isabella’s death there arrived Henry’s half-brothers Guy de Lusignan, William of Valence – who became known as such after the death of Eleanor’s uncle – and Aymer de Valence. Not only did they come but they brought their sister Alicia with them. She needed a rich husband and the young men needed wives who could bring them lands.

Henry was delighted to discover his family and he welcomed them warmly. However not only did they add to his financial burden but in their train they brought their friends and attendants, all hungry for what they could find from what seemed to them the King’s inexhaustible coffers.

In desperation he found a husband for Alicia in the Earl of Warrenne who was rich and by no means averse to allying himself with the royal family. The great asset of the Lusignans was that they were the King’s half-brothers.

Henry immediately arranged for William to marry Joan de Munchensi the only surviving child of a wealthy baron; the girl’s mother had been the fifth daughter of the first William Marshal and had brought to her husband her share of the very rich Marshal inheritance. Henry promised that there should be equally good opportunities for the others and as Aymer was in Holy Orders his advantages could come through the church.

All this which was so gratifying to the recipients was sullenly watched by the natives of England who saw the country’s riches being frittered away to foreigners.

The troubles of the country were multiplying. Robbery and violence had increased still more on the high roads. Simon de Montfort, who had undertaken, at the King’s request, the government of Gascony, one of the few remaining English possessions in France, was continually asking for help to pay his men and keep order there. His pleas were constantly ignored. It began to dawn on the English that if this state of affairs continued Gascony would be added to the list of lost possessions.

But Henry seemed to be intent only on playing the fairy godfather to his wife’s friends and relations, his half-brothers and sisters and their friends.

There were constant demands for money and Henry simply did not know where to look for it. He could only think of the Jews and there began a persecution of the members of this unfortunate race as yet unprecedented in England.

They were the easiest people to mulct as they did not attempt to form mobs and march against the King as the London merchants were inclined to do. They were aware of being aliens and they knew that their plight received little sympathy. Moreover they continued to prosper even though they were so unfairly taxed. The richest of the Jews, a certain Aaron, paid three thousand marks of silver and two hundred marks of gold in the course of a few years. The people were turning more and more against the King. And because of his appearance made unusual by his drooping eyelid he was recognised wherever he went and the Londoners nicknamed him ‘The Lynx with eyes that pierced all things.’

Only the barons knew how unpopular the King was becoming – and the Queen was more so. They were biding their time.

Henry in desperate straits sought about for means of getting money in addition to taxation and he hit upon the particularly unpleasant habit of asking for presents from everyone who came for an audience, and this was even more to be deplored when if the gifts were not costly enough he complained and asked for them to be exchanged.

It was a greater act of charity to give money and goods to their King, he told the people, than to beggars who waited for them at church doors with their begging cups.

During this time Eleanor was pregnant again and gave birth to another son, christened John – an unfortunate name and so it proved, because it was not long before little John followed his brother Richard to the tomb.

Two little boys and both dead! The Queen was very depressed and needed costly presents to raise her spirits. These must be provided by any means and as she was inordinately fond of fine garments and rich jewels these were procured for her.

Richard remonstrated with his brother but not as firmly as he had once done. He was to a certain extent under the influence of his wife who herself was persuaded in the way she should think by the Queen. Eleanor and Sanchia were constantly together and as their mother was also at Court with many of her friends there was a Provençal coterie at the head of which was the Queen.

The barons were watchful. Their moment would come as it had in the last reign and when it did they would be ready.

Richard at length did persuade the King that his extravagance to foreigners was becoming an issue of complaint with many of the leading barons and that he should curb his expenditure. Henry decided to cut short the allowances for the royal servants and not to eat in his royal castles and palaces but in the homes of his friends. He would travel from castle to castle with the Queen and often Edward and many of his foreign friends, and there expect to be feasted in royal manner at the expense of others.

The King’s attempt at economy was regarded as a joke by all those who were not obliged to feel the force of it. What was becoming clearer and clearer was that with each day the King and Queen – particularly the Queen – added to their list of enemies.

‘It was a bad day for the royal house,’ said Henry, ‘when father allowed them to force him to sign Magna Carta.’

Magna Carta! It was talked of constantly. People in the streets of London spoke of it without knowing exactly what it set out. All they knew was that it was the Charter to preserve the liberty of the people and curb the power of Kings.

There was great excitement in the royal apartments when news came that a fire had broken out in the Pope’s palace and destroyed the contents of one of the rooms, for in this room was the original of Magna Carta.

‘Praise be to God,’ said Eleanor, ‘that infamous document is destroyed. Now we have done with it.’

The King immediately levied a tax on the Londoners for harbouring, as he said, a man whom he had sent into exile.

Richard came with all haste to Westminster.

‘This must be stopped,’ he said. ‘The people are all quoting Magna Carta.’

‘But Magna Carta has been burned,’ cried Eleanor. ‘It no longer exists. I see the hand of God in this.’

‘You are mistaken,’ explained Richard. ‘The principal document has been destroyed. But there are copies and these are safe in England. Once a King has signed away his rights it is unlikely that they will ever be regained. The fact of the fire has no bearing on this. The Charter remains.’

‘It is time the people were taught a lesson,’ said Eleanor.

Richard frowned. Once he would have been firmly on the side of the barons. He realised with a sudden horror that there might come a time when it would be necessary to take sides.

‘Henry,’ begged Richard, ‘I pray you explain to the Queen. I have never seen the people in such a mood as they are now. It is unwise … unhealthy … and unsafe for us all.’

The Queen listened and shrugged her shoulders. The people of England, she declared, were so ungrateful. They had a King who would be good to them if they would but mend their ways. They had a Queen who had given them the finest family of children ever seen.

‘They should rejoice in Edward,’ she said. ‘He grows every day. He is taller than all his companions, our dear, dear Longshanks. Do you know Burnell is constantly reminding me of how he always said Edward would outgrow his childish ailments. He is saying I told you so to me. But I like him for it. He is a good man. He loves Edward as his son.’

Richard said: ‘I pray you go carefully that there may be a kingdom for Edward to rule when his time comes … which I trust will be many years yet.’

‘You are in a serious mood today, brother,’ said the Queen.

‘Some of us must be serious at some time,’ replied Richard.

And he began to ask himself whether he would always be able to stand beside the King.