The Queen from Provence

Chapter XVIII LONDON’S REVENGE

The state of affairs between the King and the barons had deteriorated and the King had found it necessary to fortify the Tower and Windsor Castle against attack which he feared might take place at any moment.

He was accused of having violated the Provisions of Oxford which was the reform laid down by that Parliament which had been called the Mad and which had been held in Oxford in 1258. The members of that parliament had drawn up reforms for the Church and the royal household, which meant that the King’s extravagant spending must be curbed. Later another clause had been added which was designed to exclude foreigners from entering the country and to drive out those who were already there and who were considered responsible for the King’s continual need to tax his people in order to replenish his exchequer.

The fact that the King ignored these rules and was indeed spending more and more, and often on the foreigners, had given rise to such discontent that the leading barons, under Simon de Montfort, were determined that the position should not be allowed to endure.

Henry was depressed. He could not ride out without an armed guard. The barons were turning his subjects against him, he said.

He remembered how his grandfather had, in the depth of his melancholy, caused a picture to be painted of an eagle in a nest with the young eaglets attacking him. Henry represented the eagle, the eaglets his sons. His was not quite such a sorry case. He could imagine nothing as bad as having a man’s own family turn against him. Thank God, that had not happened and that unfortunate matter with Edward had been resolved and had been proved to be due to malicious Gloucester’s envy of Simon de Montfort. Edward was his very good son and if he wanted proof of his family’s affection he only had to think of how Margaret had deceived her husband and his ministers because of her great desire to come to England and be with her family.

Now it was the people who were traitors to their King – the barons led by that man who had menaced his peace of mind for so long – Simon de Montfort.

He went to pray in the Abbey of Westminster and when he was returning to the palace he passed one of the monks who was painting a picture of the Abbey. He paused to admire it. It was exceedingly clever how the monk had caught the gleam of the stone.

‘A fine picture, William,’ he said.

The man bowed his head in pleasure.

‘You are indeed an artist.’

‘God has been good to me,’ said William. ‘All that I have comes from Him.’

‘That’s true. But that He has chosen you as His instrument redounds to your credit.’

The King stood for a few moments studying the picture.

‘You shall paint one for me, my good monk,’ he said. His eyes narrowed. ‘You shall depict me with my subjects who are endeavouring to tear me to pieces; but I shall be rescued … rescued by my own dogs. Would you do that then, good William?’

‘My lord, I could paint a picture no matter what the subject.’

‘Then here is a subject for you. It will show future generations what I had to endure from those who should have served me best. Rest assured, you will be paid well.’

The monk bowed his head and the King passed on. As he continued to paint the picture of the Abbey William was thinking that the King was overwrought and small wonder if rumours he heard were true. There was trouble brewing, and when a King’s subjects were restive and ready to rise against him it needed only one little spark to set the conflagration going.

The King would forget he did not doubt and he was surprised when the following day he was summoned to appear before him. That very day the picture was begun.

When it was finished, the King declared himself well pleased. There was no mistaking the meaning there.

Henry said: ‘It shall be placed in my wardrobe here in Westminster. I come here when I wash my head and I shall never fail to look at it and marvel at the ingratitude of those men whose duty it is to obey me. I have commanded my treasurer Philip Lovel to pay you for your work. You have done well.’

So the picture was hung and for several weeks the King would look at it every morning when he came into his wardrobe. After a while he forgot, for Simon de Montfort, realising that the country was as yet unripe for rebellion, left for France.

There was trouble in Gascony and the King’s presence was needed there.

He told the Queen that he would have to go and he could not bear to be parted from her.

‘Then I will come with you,’ she said.

Henry frowned. ‘I could not contemplate going without you but I am afraid to leave the country.’

‘That wretched de Montfort is no longer here. The people seem to be coming to their senses.’

Henry shook his head. ‘It is not quite the case. People do seem to hate us less, but we have enemies all about us. We cannot afford trouble in Gascony now. I want at the same time to see Louis … to sound him … perhaps to get his help.’

‘You think he would give it?’

‘No king cares to see another deposed.’

‘Deposed! You don’t think they would dare?’

‘They tried to do it to my father. That was the worst thing that ever happened to the monarchy. It lives for ever in their minds. I think Louis would not wish to see me toppled from my throne. It sets a precedent. He might help.’

‘He should help,’ said Eleanor. ‘After all he is Marguerite’s husband.’

‘Alas, my love, all have not such strong family feeling as you are blessed with.’

‘I must come with you, Henry. I insist. You have not been well of late.’

‘The thought of going without you makes me desolate indeed.’

‘We have a son. Let Edward return to England. He is of an age now to take the reins in your absence. Oh, my dear Henry, you hesitate. No child of mine would ever stand against his father.’

Henry took her hand and kissed it. ‘I see you are right as you so often are. I should let myself be guided by you. Edward shall return. Our son will take charge of matters here in our absence; and you and I will not be parted.’

The Queen was to be grateful that she had accompanied the King for it seemed that luck was against him. When in France he was smitten with a fever which rendered him very feeble and even endangered his life, and but for the untiring nursing of the Queen he might have died. Without her, he admitted, he would have felt listless and in no mood to fight for his life. But she was here to make sure that he had doctors and attention and everything possible to sustain him. Most of all she assured him that he must live for the sake of her and the family.

She reminded him how Edward had sobbed when he had sailed for France years ago when Edward was but a boy; she recalled Margaret’s recent visit. Did it not show how loved he was?

Was it so important that his subjects were ungrateful and easily led astray when he would always have his beloved family beside him? He must think of them, for if he did not fight for his life and keep his hold on it he was condemning them to such misery as he could well understand, for what misery would he know if she, his wife and Queen, were taken from him.

He began to recover under the Queen’s ministrations but he had not achieved the purpose of his visit. He had been several months in France; the trouble in Gascony had resolved itself but Louis was not inclined to offer material help. All he could give was advice which was something Henry thought he could do well without. Henry returned to England.

Simon de Montfort was back and his absence had endeared the rebels to him. They had feared that he had wearied of the struggle and had left them to fight the battle with the King, and on his return he was welcomed with such enthusiasm that it seemed the moment was ripe to start bargaining with the King.

They agreed to meet the King and Simon arrived with a party of barons led by himself and Roger Bigod of Norfolk.

The Provisions of Oxford must be adhered to, said the barons. These have been laid down by the Parliament and even the King must accept the wishes of his people.

Roger Bigod said: ‘My lord, since your return from France you have brought even more foreigners into the country. This is against the wishes of your people.’

‘My lord Norfolk,’ answered the King, ‘you are bold indeed. You forget whose vassal you are. You should go back to Norfolk and concern yourself with threshing your corn. Remember, I could issue a royal warrant for threshing out all your corn.’

‘That is so,’ retorted Bigod. ‘And could I not reply by sending you the heads of your threshers?’

This was defiance, and Henry was never quite sure how to act in such situations. He looked angrily at the barons who were watching him closely. One false move and that could be the spark to start the fire.

A curse on Bigod and a greater one on de Montfort!

Henry knew they were poised for action.

He shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the meeting. But he had betrayed his weakness.

‘The time is near for us to strike,’ said Roger Bigod.

There was tension throughout the land. Neither the King nor the Queen dared ride out unless they were protected by armed bands. Henry was fast fortifying his castles and those which were of the most importance, the Tower of London and Windsor Castle, were equipped as for a siege.

London was ready to rise. The citizens had had enough taxation. There was no possibility of getting rich, for as soon as their trade increased the King or the Queen would invent a new tax as a means of taking their profits from them.

Those who suffered most were the Jews, but this did not endear them to the other citizens who were irritated by the Jewish ability to rise above persecution, to pay the exorbitant taxes and then in a short time become rich again. It was not natural, said the London merchants.

Punitive measures had been introduced against the Jews. There should be no schools for them; in their synagogues they should pray in low voices so that they did not offend Christians. No Christian should work for a Jew. No Jew should associate with a Christian woman or Christian man with a Jewess. Jews should wear a badge on their breasts to denote their race. They must never enter a Christian church. They must have a licence to dwell in any place. If any of these rules were disobeyed there should be an immediate confiscation of their goods.

All these rules the Jews could overcome; what made life impossible for them was the excessive taxation. Yet even so they would make the most of the periods when they were left alone and always seemed to prosper quickly.

This gave rise to great envy and there were constant skirmishes when Christians would attack the Jews always in such a way as to enable them to rob them of their possessions.

The Queen was at the Tower and the King at Windsor with Edward. She was aware of unrest in the streets and did not venture out because she was told that the mood of the people was uncertain and as always it would be against her.

She told her women that she would be easier in her mind if she were with the King and she thought it might be an excellent idea the next day to take a barge to Windsor. This suggestion met with the immediate approval of all whose duty it was to protect her.

Unfortunately that very night there were plans afoot to attack the Jews. The mob had arranged that at the sound of St Paul’s bell at midnight they would assemble and march against them surprising them in their beds so that they would not have time to hide their possessions.

The Queen in her chamber heard the bell strike and almost immediately there was shouting and screaming in the streets. The attack on the Jews had started.

Into the houses occupied by Jews streamed the mob, shouting and screaming vengeance. Throats were cut, bodies mutilated, but the main purpose was to appease envy and greed by robbery.

The Queen dressed hurriedly and sent for guards.

‘What goes on?’ she demanded.

‘My lady, the people are running wild in the streets. They are robbing and murdering the Jews. There will not be many left in the city of London this night.’

‘We should not be here. Who knows where such violence will end.’

The guards agreed that the people, knowing she was at the Tower of London, might, when their evil work was done with the Jews, turn to her. They were in a violent mood and the lust for blood was on them. It could be said that the people’s hatred of the Queen was as great as that they bore towards the Jews.

‘Let us go then,’ said the Queen. ‘Let us lose no time.’

She had begun to tremble, remembering the venomous looks which had often been turned towards her; she had always known that the people of London would do her injury if they dared. They would never forget the Queenhithe she had demanded from them; they blamed her for the heavy taxes they had been forced to pay to reward her relations.

‘Have the barge made ready,’ she cried. ‘We will slip down the river to Windsor.’

Her women wrapped her cloak about her. She was eager to be gone without delay.

At the stairs the royal barge was ready. With great haste she boarded it.

‘Let us go without delay,’ she cried.

They moved along the river and then suddenly there was a shout from the bridge.

‘Look you there. It is the Queen. It is the old harpy herself.’

Faces appeared looking down from the bridge. Some spat.

‘Oh God save me from the mob,’ prayed the Queen.

Now came a deluge of rotting food and filth. It spattered the Queen’s garments.

‘Drown her!’ came the cry. ‘Drown the witch.’

‘They will kill us,’ said the Queen. ‘Oh my God, is this the end then?’

‘My lady, if we go on they will sink us,’ said the bargeman.

It was true. The mob was tearing up wood from the bridge. It was rough justice. The bridge was in a state of decay and had been declared to be a danger. The reason was that the King had given the bridge tolls to the Queen who had collected the money but had not attended to the repairs. One large boulder splashed into the river just missing the barge. It sent the water high all over the occupants.

They could not go on. ‘We might reach St Paul’s and stay at the Bishop’s palace there,’ said the Queen desperately. ‘He must offer us sanctuary. We shall be safe there. The King will hear of this and there will be some who will suffer for it.’

It was a good suggestion. In fact it was their only possible hope. The bargeman brought the vessel to the steps and they scrambled out.

In terror, filthy and dishevelled the royal party arrived at the Bishop’s Palace.

There they were admitted. It was sanctuary.

The next day the Queen left very quietly for Windsor. When the King and Edward heard what had happened their fury was great.

‘This is an insult I shall never forgive,’ cried Edward. ‘The Londoners shall pay for what they have done to you. I shall remember it.’

The King also vowed vengeance on his capital, and the Queen felt a little mollified. It had been the most frightening ordeal of her life.

‘I can never have a moment’s peace after what has happened,’ said Henry. ‘I cannot always be with you. You realise, do you not, my love, that we are fast moving towards war?’

‘Can nothing be done to avert it?’

‘The barons are determined on it. They are rallying to de Montfort. I am going to ask you, my dear, to go to France. Go to your sister. I could not do what I have to do if I thought you were here in danger. You must go. I beg of you.’

‘If you are in danger, Henry, my place is with you.’

‘You could not follow me into battle, my love, and I should be able to fight the better if I knew that you were in safety. Go to France, I beg of you. Perhaps you can plead your cause with Louis. Marguerite might help you. We may well need his assistance.’

She was thoughtful, but the memory of the mob on London Bridge remained vividly with her. She had nightmares when she dreamed that those murderous people were about to close in on her.

Henry was right. She should leave England. She would be of greater use to the cause in France. There she could raise money for Henry. She would not cease to work for him simply because she was not beside him.

So finally she agreed to go. Henry insisted on accompanying her to the French Court and there he left her as he said in the best possible hands.

He then returned to England and war.

Henry had taken up his headquarters in the Castle of Lewes. He knew that conflict was imminent, but he was hopeful. He had a good army. His son Edward was beside him and his brother Richard, King of the Romans, who had hastened to England when he knew that war threatened his brother, was there to fight with him. The Queen was safe in France, and he was certain that his chances were good.

The two brothers conferred together in one of the rooms of the castle with Edward and Richard’s son Henry. They knew that the barons’ army was encamped close by, and that only a miracle could prevent a conflict.

Richard was saying that they had the superior men, better trained, better equipped. Only the greatest ill fortune could bring them defeat.

‘Defeat,’ cried Edward. ‘I am surprised, my lord uncle, that you can use such a word. Let us rather talk of victory.’

‘I believe,’ replied Richard, ‘that it is better to consider every contingency.’

‘Save that of defeat,’ cried Edward.

He smiled at his cousin Henry, somewhat conspiratorially. They were the young ones with a belief in themselves which their elders lacked. Edward had no doubt of victory.

The King spread a map on the table and they studied it. Edward was to take up the right flank while Henry would be serving with the main forces under his father’s command.

‘The Londoners have sent a force to serve under Hastings for de Montfort,’ said the King.

‘They’ll have little quarter from me,’ cried Edward, his eyes flashing. ‘When I contemplate that they might have killed the Queen I promise myself revenge. They did not succeed in that evil design, praise be to God, but they insulted her. Think of that. The Queen. Our beautiful Queen to be treated so! I am glad they are here today. It gives me even greater heart for the battle.’

‘What we have to think of,’ said Richard, ‘is making the barons see that because once they rose against a king they cannot make a habit of it.’

‘They were powerful then,’ said the King.

‘They are powerful now,’ answered Richard.

He went to the window and looked out. ‘Something is happening,’ he said. ‘It looks like a messenger from the enemy.’

There were footsteps on the stairs. Edward flung open the door and one of the guards entered.

‘A messenger, my lord, from Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.’

‘Bring him in,’ said the King.

The messenger bowed. He was one of the minor barons.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I have come on behalf of the Earl of Leicester.’

‘Anyone who comes from our enemy is not welcome here,’ said Edward sharply.

‘My lord Leicester would put a proposition to you, my lord. He deplores that the country should stand divided. He believes that a settlement of differences should be discussed around a table and that this would be a more satisfactory way of dealing with them than through war.’

Henry said: ‘In that I am in agreement with him but it seems our conferences have come to naught.’

‘My lord,’ cried Edward hotly, ‘we know what this means. De Montfort is afraid of defeat. It is the only reason why he would wish to talk.’

‘The barons, my lord, would give thirty thousand marks to the treasury if an agreement were reached.’

‘Thirty thousand marks,’ mused the King, his eyes glistening. It would be a victory, for all would believe that de Montfort was eager to avoid the fight. And thirty thousand marks!

Edward was hotly indignant.

‘I would avenge the insult to my mother,’ he cried.

‘It did not come from de Montfort and the barons.’

‘Out there the men of London have come to support de Montfort’s army,’ cried Edward. ‘They have been our enemies these many years. Have they not shown their antagonism to you? And their insults to our lady Queen will never be forgiven. I would hold myself in contempt this day if I did not stand and fight.’

How noble he looked with his tall figure and his flaxen hair. A god come to earth, thought the King. My son! My son Edward!

Yet thirty thousand marks and peace …

Edward was beside him. ‘It would be an uneasy peace,’ he said. They would plague us as before. Nay, Father, let us settle this matter. We are set for victory. It is only because they fear us that they would make these terms. Do not let us be deluded.’

Young Henry of Cornwall was looking to his father. He believed that it would be wise for the King to parley with de Montfort for he knew the Earl was a man of courage and integrity who genuinely desired to make England a wellgoverned country. If the King had not been his uncle, Henry might have seen fit to support de Montfort, but he could not, of course, go against his own family. He looked to his father now. Richard was wise. He would know.

But the King of the Romans was undecided. He felt ill and the familiar lethargy had come to him. It was after all not really his battle. He had come to Henry’s aid because he was his brother and it was necessary to keep him on the throne. Perhaps it might be wise to make terms with de Montfort, to avoid slaughter. But he was not sure and he lacked the vitality to interfere.

Young Henry understood. He had been worried about his father’s health for some time; but periodically there would be those bursts of action when Richard showed himself as the able leader he might have been.

He was not going to act now, Henry realised; and Edward was talking in his fiery fashion to his father. Nothing must stop them. Victory would be theirs. People would remember the battle of Lewes while history lasted.

The King, of course, was carried away by his admiration for his son.

‘You have heard my lord Edward,’ he said to the messenger. ‘Go to your masters and tell them we will have none of their offer.’

The battle had gone well for the King’s forces which were so much more numerous than those of the barons. They had been right not to parley, thought the King. Richard was a good soldier; his young son Henry was with him. And best of all there was Edward. What a leader he made – the sort of King men would follow to the death!

This was going to be victory. He was certain of it.

So was Edward. The day was all but won. He led the cavalry and his men could make no mistake that he was there. His height set him above others. ‘Edward Longshanks,’ they cried as they went into battle.

This was what he wanted. To lead men. To show his father that he would serve him well. He wanted to wipe out for ever the memories of that time when the King had doubted him.

In the thick of the fight he suddenly found his cousin Henry of Cornwall beside him for in the mêlée of battle he had been separated from his father.

Edward gave him a nod of welcome. He was glad to have his cousin close, for of all the boys who had shared their early days they had been the two who were closest together.

Then Edward noticed a body of men riding forward to attack them. They were led by Hastings shouting the battle cry of London.

Edward’s heart leaped. These were his greatest enemies. These were the men he had determined to destroy.

He dashed into the attack with such fury that in a short while the Londoners, in disorder, turned to retreat.

‘Follow them!’ cried Edward.

Henry wanted to protest. They had driven off the Londoners, who were retreating from the field. There was nothing to be gained by following them. Nothing but revenge.

‘Forward!’ shouted Edward.

Henry rode beside him … at full gallop, Edward’s faithful followers with them shouting their battle cry.

On and on rode the remnants of the scattered London force but Edward would not give up the pursuit. He was determined that they should be punished for what they had done to his mother.

‘In the name of Queen Eleanor … vengeance!’ he cried. ‘Death to the Londoners. In the name of the Queen.’

The road was littered with fallen bodies but Edward was determined that none should escape if he could help it. Shouting the Queen’s name he was killing men all about him; but still there were some to ride on.

They had come as far as Croydon before the band of Londoners was exhausted and could go no further. Many of their horses had fallen. They begged for mercy but Edward would show them none. The slaughter was merciless.

‘This is for the Queen!’ he cried. ‘The noble lady whom you dared insult.’

There was quiet all about them. On the bloodstained grass lay the victims of his revenge. His men were tired; their horses were showing signs of fatigue.

Edward then remembered the battle.

They had come far from Lewes but must return without delay. They must be there to rejoice in the victory. How he would enjoy telling his father of the vengeance he had wreaked on those who had dared insult the Queen.

The cousins rode side by side back to Lewes.

‘We should never have left the field,’ said Henry.

‘Not left the field! What mean you, cousin? There at my mercy were my mother’s enemies. They will know now what happens to any who insult my family.’

‘The King would expect us to be there.’

‘Nay … the battle was won. Now we go back and claim the spoils.’

But Edward was wrong.

The battle of Lewes had not been won when he left and the loss of Edward and his cavalry had proved disastrous for the King’s side.

Henry had been taken prisoner with his brother Richard and when Edward and Henry returned they were surrounded, captured and told they would be held as hostages.

Oh yes, the battle of Lewes had been almost won but because the heir to the throne had withdrawn on his own private war of vengeance he had left his father’s flank exposed – and the victory had gone to Simon de Montfort.

Five thousand men had been slain at the battle of Lewes; and the King was no longer a free man.

Simon de Montfort received him with great respect and assured him that he meant him no harm.

‘I shall never forget that you are the King,’ he told him.

‘Yet you make me your prisoner,’ cried Henry.

‘You shall be treated with respect. But you will understand that the country must be governed with more justice than we have hitherto seen. The taxation which is crippling our industries must cease. The aliens must not be allowed to suck our prosperity. This is what we have fought for and it is what we intend to have.’

‘You tell me I am your King and then you continue to rule me.’

‘I am determined to bring law and order to this country and that it shall be ruled by its Parliament.’

‘So you would depose the King?’

‘By no means, but I would have him work with his Parliament not against it.’

Simon then said that he proposed to call a parliament in the King’s name. Two knights from each county, two citizens from each city and two burgesses from each borough should be summoned, and they should represent the people from the districts whence they came.

‘I never heard the like of this,’ said Henry.

‘Nay and it may be that it would have been better if you had. This form of parliament makes sure that the country is represented. It means we must make laws which do not offend the people.’

‘And you are asking me to agree to this?’ demanded Henry.

‘I am asking you to, my lord,’ replied Simon, ‘while at the same time I must point out that, as the barons’ prisoner, you have no alternative.’

Thus Simon de Montfort brought into existence a form of parliament which had never been known before this time.