The Queen From Provence

The Queen pouted and declared he had transferred his affections from her to their son. Seriously he assured her that this was not so at which she laughed and said she shared his adoration for that wonderful little creature who was so entirely theirs and could quite understand his feelings.

What should they call him?

There was one name above all others which the King preferred. His greatest hero had been Edward the Confessor – that King who had been more of a saint than a King. Henry had always been a deeply religious man; some of his courtiers had likened him to the Confessor with the comment that it was all very well to be a saint when there was not a kingdom to be governed but that it was kings who made the best leaders, not saints.

‘So,’ said the Queen, ‘you would have the child named Edward.’

‘That is my wish,’ replied the King.

So the little Prince was christened Edward, and at his baptism Simon de Montfort, newly returned from Rome, stood as godfather and acted as High Steward.

London went wild with joy, for the citizens had begun to fear that the Queen was barren. Now they had an heir – a boy – and as was sometimes the case, when a Queen started bearing children she often continued.

Many presents were sent to the King for the child, but Henry spoilt the occasion by sending back those which he did not consider grand enough and demanding better of the donors, so that they ceased to be free gifts and were an imposition.

The people grumbled. ‘God gave us this infant,’ they said, ‘and the King would sell him to us.’

But in spite of that England rejoiced in its little Prince.

It could hardly be expected that Richard of Cornwall was as delighted with the birth of the baby as some. He, like others, had begun to believe that the Queen was barren in which case he was next in succession to the throne. Now he had been displaced and if the Queen had more children the farther away would be his hopes of the crown.

He grew more disgruntled with his own marriage, while it was impossible not to admit that this was his own fault. Then he saw his sister and Simon de Montfort revelling in their mésalliance and felt that he was the only one who seemed to be called on to answer for his follies.

Thus the marriage of Simon and Eleanor had angered him considerably. Henry, he told himself and others, had no right to give his consent to it. Henry was a fool – always so firm in the wrong cause; so weak when he should be strong. One would have thought he would be grateful to his brother, but for whom he would never have had his Queen.

If he had a chance to discountenance Henry he would seize it. He liked to prove him wrong and to show how much more wisely he would have acted if he had been in his brother’s place.

Richard had always had an ear and an eye alert for what was happening on the Continent and he had been wondering for some time how it was that Simon de Montfort had been able to acquire the dispensation with such speed.

He discovered how it had happened. Those about the Pope were not averse to a little bribery and Simon had bought his way to favour. But Simon was not a rich man, so how had he been able to manage this? The answer soon became clear. He owed debts on the Continent and he had given as his sponsor the name of the King of England.

The month of August had set in hot and sultry. The churching of the Queen was to take place at Westminster on the tenth day of the month and Simon and his wife came riding into London from Kenilworth on the ninth.

Richard called a few days earlier to see the King and after he had paid his respects to the Queen and admired the baby he found himself alone with Henry.

‘De Montfort stands in high favour with you, brother,’ he said.

‘Is he not now our brother?’ replied the King.

‘Alas, due to this mésalliance.’

‘Perhaps not so. Our sister is happy. And Simon now has the earldom of Leicester.’

‘And the confidence of his King … which some might say he does not deserve.’

‘Why say you so?’

‘I have learned how he so speedily acquired his dispensation. He offered bribes.’

‘Well, ’tis done often enough.’

‘By those who have the means mayhap. Simon does it in your name.’

‘What say you?’ cried the King.

‘Oh, he is your brother-in-law now. He uses your name. He is royal. Has he not been accepted into our family? His son could be an heir to the throne. He is proud of this.’

‘Heir to the throne! How could that be?’

‘A few deaths … That is all.’

‘That’s nonsense. But what is this about using my name?’

‘I can prove it to you. You may well find bills presented to you. It may be that you will be asked to pay for the bribes which gave Simon the dispensation.’

Henry’s face was crimson with anger. His anger was the greater because Richard had brought him this news and once more proved himself to be more cognisant of what was going on than he was himself.

When the King came face to face with Simon de Montfort his fury overwhelmed him and he was quite unable to control it.

Eleanor, beside him, waiting for the ceremony of churching to begin, laid her hand on his arm but for once he was less aware of her than his anger against this man.

Simon had made him look a fool. It was something he could not forgive.

‘You adventurer!’ he cried. ‘How dare you come back here? How dare you come into this church? Do you think I am not aware of what you are? So you have offered bribes, have you? This is how you repay my friendship to you! Where is the money to pay for those bribes? You think I shall pay them, do you?’

‘My lord,’ stammered Simon, taken completely by surprise, for at the baptism of little Prince Edward the King had shown him the utmost friendliness, ‘I understand you not …’

Henry laughed loudly and unpleasantly. The silence in the church was intense but he seemed to be unaware of the place and the unseemliness of conducting this family quarrel at the churching of his wife.

‘Nay, you understand not,’ he cried, and his voice echoed eerily. ‘Take care, Simon de Montfort who call yourself the Earl of Leicester. Yes, take care that that which has been given you may not be taken from you.’

‘Pray tell me, my lord,’ said Simon recovering a little from his surprise and dismay, ‘what tales have you heard? You have been good to me, giving me your sister’s hand in marriage … making a brother of me …’

‘You know why I consented to the marriage,’ interrupted Henry. ‘It was a mésalliance was it not? A Princess, a sister of the King given to a pe

‘It is a lie,’ shouted Simon.

‘It is no surprise to me that even in a holy place you have little respect for the truth.’

‘It is you …’ began Simon.

His wife was laying a hand on his arm. ‘Let us go,’ she said. ‘Let us not stay here to be insulted.’

‘Yes, go,’ cried Henry. ‘Go … go … and never let me see your face again.’

Henry’s own face was scarlet with rage; his drooping eyelid completely covered the pupil. There was a twitch at the side of his face.

Many barons in the hall were remembering when he had drawn his sword on Hubert de Burgh, who had served him faithfully, and how he might have killed him had not the Earl of Chester stepped between them.

Perhaps it was the Queen who delayed him giving full vent to his anger then. She swayed a little and the thought that she might faint turned Henry’s thoughts momentarily from Simon. He caught her in his arms.