The Queen from Provence

Chapter XXI THE POISONED DAGGER

After having bidden farewell to his cousin Henry, Edward with his young wife Eleanor sailed for the Holy Land as soon as the weather permitted them to. Although Eleanor had determined to accompany her husband, she was very sad at having to leave her three young children, John, Eleanor and Henry; but she realised it had to be a choice and she believed that she had made the right one.

Eleanor, though outwardly meek, was possessed of a rare strength of character of which Edward was becoming increasingly aware. He had believed when she had first begged to come with him that her presence might well be an encumbrance, instead of which it had proved to be a comfort. She could be self-effacing when the need arose and always seemed to be on the spot when he needed it. He was beginning to thank God for Eleanor.

In due course they arrived at Acre – the great trading city which although at this time was in decline still retained marks of past greatness. It was one of the centres of Christendom in that area; many times the Saracens had attempted to take it but never succeeded; they knew that before they could effectively do so they must immobilise the outposts of eastern Christendom.

Into the bustling city came Edward and his troops to the great rejoicing of the inhabitants who were in continual need of defenders.

Through the streets they rode – those streets which were alive with traders from all parts of the world. In the market halls their merchandise was set up on stalls; men and women of all nationalities assembled there; and the bargaining went on with only now and then a furtive cocking of the ear at some sound which might herald the approach of the enemy.

The grand churches and palaces still remained, models of Latin architecture. In the narrow streets the pilgrims mingled with the rest, usually discernible by their fanatical expressions. The Knights of St John – those military religious men who had played a large role in the crusades – mixed with the people who lived in the town, enjoying the comfortable existence which could end at any moment. The alert traders watched this medley, coaxing and wheedling them to try their wares.

Edward the heir to England had come. The word spread through the town and beyond. He had an air of his great uncle, Richard Coeur de Lion, who would be remembered as long as the conflict between Christian and Saracen lasted. A new optimism sprang up. Those who had felt the restoration of the Holy Land would never be completed were filled with new hope.

Edward talked to them, inspiring their enthusiasm. They knew that it was due to him that the Barons’ War had ended with victory for the royalists. They had but to contemplate him to know he was a conqueror.

The Sultan Bibars, who had planned a conquest of Acre and had been preparing to lay siege to the town, suddenly abandoned the project as there was trouble in Cyprus, an island which was of the utmost strategic importance to their cause. He therefore was forced to turn from Acre leaving Edward to make forays into Saracen country and wreak a certain damage there.

These were small successes and the heat had become intense. The English could not endure it and were attacked by dysentery and other diseases. The flies and insects pestered them and worse still, many of them were poisonous. There were quantities of grapes which men ate voraciously. Some of them died through this. Edward began to feel the frustration which had come to many a crusader before him, who had learned that the reality was different from the actuality. All those dreams of riding into victory, routing the Saracen army, bringing Jerusalem back to Christendom, were so much fancy. The fact was heat, disease, quarrels within and a ferocious enemy which was as brave and ready to fight for its beliefs as the Christians were.

During all this Eleanor sustained him.

He was anxious about her for she had become pregnant.

Messengers arrived from France. They came from Charles of Anjou who offered to bring about a truce.

‘I refuse to agree to this,’ cried Edward.

But the citizens of Acre were not with him in this. The suggested truce would be for ten years and ten years’ peaceful trading and the opportunity of going on as they were was greatly appealing. The alternative was war – their towns destroyed, the soldiers looting, raping and burning. ‘No, let it be a truce,’ said the people of Acre.

But to Edward it seemed that he might never have come, so futile had the entire operation proved to be.

The truce was signed.

Edmund, his brother, was only too glad to return to England. Edward however stayed on. Though he was anxious about Eleanor’s condition, yet he explained to her that he could not leave.

She understood perfectly. He had come here to win glory for Christianity. He could not go back now having achieved so little. She had understood this when she came, and although she found the climate trying in her state, at least she had the satisfaction of being with her husband. She reminded him that Marguerite of France had stayed with Louis in similar circumstances and had given birth to a child in the Holy Land.

This was what she had chosen and she had no regrets.

Edward shortly was to be grateful that she was with him, for if she had not been this might have been the end of him.

There was a mysterious sect in the East at the head of which was one called the Old Man of the Mountain. The legend was that likely assassins were chosen by the satellites of the Old Man and taken to a wonderful garden, the location of which was known only to the inner members of the sect. The captive was heavily drugged and when he was awoken found himself in a beautiful garden which was the embodiment of Paradise. Here everything that a man needed was provided for him. He lived in a rich palace; he was waited on by beautiful girls who were eager to grant his every whim. After he had spent some months in this idyllic setting, he was sent for by one of the agents of the Old Man of the Mountain and given a task to do. It was generally an assassination. When he had done the deed he would earn another spell in paradise until called upon for his next task. If he refused he disappeared from the world.

Thus the legendary Society of the Old Man had built up a band of assassins.

Edward was feeling ill. It was June the seventeenth, and his thirty-third birthday. The heat was intense and he wore only a light tunic, and his head was without covering.

A messenger from the Emir of Jaffa with letters for him had arrived and was asking to present them to the lord Edward, he having been warned not to put them into other hands.

Edward said the man should be brought in.

The Mohammedan entered and gave Edward a letter. He bowed low and moved his hand as though to take another letter from his belt. Instead of this he drew out a dagger and aimed at Edward’s heart.

In less than a second Edward’s suspicions had been aroused by the man’s movements and as he lifted his arm to strike, Edward thrust the dagger aside. It missed his heart so saving his life but penetrated his arm.

Edward was strong. In a moment he had taken the dagger from his would-be assailant and killed him with it.

The man sank to the floor as Edward’s attendants, hearing the scuffle, rushed in to find their master covered in blood and the messenger dead on the floor.

One of Edward’s attendants picked up a stool and dashed out the assassin’s brains.

‘That’s folly,’ said Edward. ‘And shame on you for striking a dead man.’

With those words he fell back fainting on his bed. It was not long before it was discovered that the dagger was poisoned and Edward’s life in danger.

He was in agony. They did not think that he would live. The flesh around the wound was mortifying.

‘If we cannot remove the poison,’ said the doctors, ‘it will spread throughout his body.’

‘He will die,’ said Eleanor.

‘I fear so, my lady.’

She cried out: ‘It shall not be. I shall not allow it to be.’

They shook their heads.

‘Perhaps if we cut the flesh …’ They conferred together.

But Eleanor said: ‘First I will try.’ She sent for a bowl and placing her lips over the wound she sucked the poison from it, spitting the noisome matter into the bowl.

The doctors looked at her, shaking their heads. Edward through mists of pain was aware of her and comforted.

She was with child, he thought. He must not leave her in this alien place.

She lifted her head and smiled at him. The wound seemed cleaner now.

The doctors conferred together. It did indeed seem that the poison was removed, but an operation would be needed to remove the mortifying flesh. It would mean inflicting excruciating agony but there was hope now that it would be successful.

Eleanor wept bitterly contemplating the pain Edward would have to suffer.

‘It is necessary,’ she was told, and better that she should weep than that all England should do so.

The operation was successful and Edward recovered. Eleanor nursed him and he declared that if she had not been at hand and risked her life by sucking the poison from his wound, he would not be alive that day.

They needed comfort – and they found it in each other – for news reached them of the death of their son John. It was a great blow to Eleanor who was torn with regrets at having left him. Yet she knew that Edward needed her and the fact that she had saved his life – as they both believed she had – pointed to the fact that choosing between her husband and her children she had chosen wisely.

Shortly after Edward’s recovery, she gave birth to a daughter. She was named Joanna and because of her birthplace was ever after known as Joanna of Acre.

It was the month of November. Edward knew as soon as the messenger arrived. He had feared for some time for he had been warned of his father’s weakness. But when the news came he was struck with desolation. Dearly they had loved each other and it seemed the greatest tragedy of his life that his beloved father was no more.

Eleanor came to him. He took her hand and kissed it.

‘We must go home,’ he said. ‘I am needed there.’

She looked at him searchingly, and he answered: ‘You see before you the King of England.’

And they both wept for Henry.