The Queen From Provence

‘So they have fought over the honour to serve us?’

‘That is so.’

‘And Simon de Montfort won. That does not surprise me.’

It had occurred to her that he was a man to watch so she would learn all she could of him. At this moment the King was a little restive to see her interest in another man so she dismissed the subject of de Montfort and asked Henry to explain the formalities of the banquet. This he was happy to do.

He told her that Walter de Beauchamp, who had laid the salt cellar and the knives would claim them, after the banquet, as his fee. The Lord Mayor, Andrew Benkerel, was officiating in the butlery with the three hundred and sixty gold and silver cups which had been brought so ceremoniously through the streets.

All those who served would take away some item from the table – it might be a gold or silver knife, one of the Seneschal’s robes, or the cup from which the King and Queen had drunk … whatever it was, they fought for what they considered their rights and Eleanor commented that perhaps it was out of the desire for gain rather than loyalty which made them so eager to serve the King.

But it was a merry banquet and the new Queen was very conscious of her uncle’s eyes upon her. It delighted her to be so admired. She was not only beautiful but she was wise. Uncle William had suggested that she could do much to help her country – and Savoy in which he was naturally mainly interested.

The future seemed very bright to her. She had wanted to vie with Marguerite. But she had done more than that.

It was true that many would say Louis was the more handsome husband of the two. He was nearer Marguerite’s age and Henry was double Eleanor’s. Never mind. What cared she? There was no dominating mother-in-law to be grappled with here. It seemed to Eleanor that in England she had a clear field.

After the banquet the tables were cleared away and the company sat about the hall – some on the stone seats cut out of the wall; others on chests which contained some of the King’s gold and silver; some sat on stools. The King and Queen were close to the fire in their chairs of state; and the minstrels and jongleurs were brought in to amuse the company while the squires served sweetmeats and hot spiced wine.

On a stool close to the Queen sat the Princess Eleanor, the King’s sister, a young woman of about twenty-one, and she was joined by her brother Richard who never lost an opportunity of being near the young Queen.

Richard asked Eleanor what she thought of English hospitality to which she replied that it was the most lavish she had ever encountered.

‘A Queen is not crowned every day,’ Richard reminded her.

‘A mercy,’ retorted Eleanor. ‘A country needs only one Queen and once she and her husband are crowned there is an end to coronations for many years to come.’

‘Amen,’ murmured Richard.

The Princess Eleanor looked at her brother with some amusement, the Queen noticed.

She studied Eleanor – her namesake. In nothing else did they resemble each other.

The Queen asked her sister-in-law if she would remain at Court for she believed she had recently come from the country.

The Princess replied that the Queen was right. She had been staying at the house of her sister-in-law. She looked at Richard. The Queen had heard that Richard was married to an ageing wife of whom he was tired. News travelled swiftly round courts and Uncle William had already discovered this. He had said that it was well that she should be kept informed of all matters concerning the country and her new family. It made her feel like a conspirator.

‘That must have been pleasant,’ said the Queen and there was a question in her voice.

The Princess hesitated. ‘The Countess of Cornwall is very sick, my lady. She is often downcast because of this …’ another look at Richard … ‘and other matters.’ The Princess was of a rebellious nature. She was clearly fond of the sister-in-law and deplored her brother’s attitude – nor did she hesitate to show it. Interesting! thought the Queen. She threw a slightly coquettish glance at Richard for she knew he admired her, and she guessed that he would have delighted to have her as his bride in place of this ageing woman he had married.

The Princess Eleanor went on: ‘But she has a most beautiful boy. That’s true is it not, brother?’

Now there was animation in his face. He doted on the boy at least. ‘He is a fine little fellow,’ said Richard. ‘Advanced for his age. Is that not so, sister?’

‘I thank God for him for Isabella’s sake,’ said Eleanor, and that was a reproach again.

That the Princess Eleanor was an outspoken and forthright young woman was becoming clear and being about seven years older than the Queen she was inclined to regard her as a child.

No matter, thought the Queen. As yet that would be well enough. She glanced about the room and saw coming towards the royal party, the Seneschal of the banquet, the man who had been pointed out to her as Simon de Montfort.

He made his obeisance to the King first, then to the Queen.

Henry said: ‘Have you settled your differences with Norfolk, Simon?’

‘My lord, I had right on my side. He could not dispute that.’

‘I knew you would be the victor, Simon,’ said the King.

Clearly, thought Eleanor, her husband had a feeling of friendship for this man.

Richard, who had noticeably been a little depressed by his sister’s reference to his marriage, began to talk to Simon de Montfort and as the King turned to one of the barons on his right – the Queen and Princess Eleanor with Simon and Richard formed a small group.

They talked of the banquet and the richness of it and how the various servers would demand their reward in the gifts they would carry off from the King’s table. Richard had seated himself at the Queen’s feet and discussed with her the crusade on which he intended soon to embark. Simon was talking to the Princess.

Richard asked if the Queen had heard from Provence and said he would never forget sitting in the great hall there and listening to the minstrels and the content he had found in the home of the Count and Countess, and their three beautiful daughters.

‘Each one worthy to be a Queen,’ he said. ‘The Queen of France … the Queen of England … What awaits the lovely Sanchia, think you, my lady?’

‘I can only hope that she is as fortunate as her two elder sisters.’

‘The Queen of France … do you think she is as content with her lot as the Queen of England with hers?’

‘I do not think that would be possible. Besides, she has a very domineering mother-in-law. I fortunately have escaped that.’

‘By the skin of your teeth. It would have been a different story if my mother had not decided to marry out of the country.’

‘Ah, but she did. So we need not consider her.’

‘She is a woman one would always have to consider while she lived.’

‘But at least she is not here to order me … as Mar …’

She paused. Uncle William had said that she must be diplomatic and never forget that she was no longer merely a child in a nursery. She was a queen … and so was Marguerite.

‘Madam,’ said Richard smiling into her eyes, ‘me-thinks you would never be one to be so ordered.’

‘I think you may be right.’

‘You know I am right.’

The Princess Eleanor had undergone a change; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed and she looked very pretty. Simon de Montfort had had his effect on her.

There is so much to learn, thought the Queen, and although I am clever, I am very young and inexperienced. Fortunately she had Uncle William at hand to help her.

She kept thinking of Richard’s words. ‘Me-thinks you would never be one to be so ordered.’ Admiration was there, but speculation too. Yes, Uncle William was right. She had a great deal to learn; she must curb the impulse to say what pleased her. She must be watchful of everyone around her.