The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean (книги онлайн полные .txt) 📗

Her eyes were brilliant. She started to describe the English Court to them just as though she were writing a poem. She told them of her husband. He was rather like Blandin the Cornish knight. He was ready to do all sorts of impossible tasks to gain her hand.

‘What sort of tasks?’ demanded Beatrice.

So she sat there in the window seat and talked of some of the tasks Blandin had had to perform to win the hand of the fair Princess Briende. Only in this case instead of being Blandin and Briende it was Henry and Eleanor.

While she was weaving her stories, there were more arrivals at the castle.

From the window Eleanor saw three of their uncles riding into the courtyard in great haste. They had clearly heard the news. They were Uncle Peter and Boniface and William who was Bishop Elect of Valence. These were her mother’s brothers. She had had eight and all of them were ambitious, adventurous and their mission in life was to advance the fortunes of the House of Savoy. The importance of the present occasion was implied by their immediate arrival.

The girls watched their parents greet their uncles and Eleanor eagerly awaited a summons to appear when she expected to be congratulated; they would be delighted with her for being the means of bringing so much honour to the family.

But the summons did not come. There was a sombre air about the castle – almost a desperation – and it began to dawn on Eleanor that something had gone wrong.

All through the day the uncles were with her parents. There was no feasting in the great hall as there should have been on such an occasion; early next morning the Countess sent for Eleanor. Her expression was gloomy and she was clearly very depressed.

‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘you must not just yet think too much about this English marriage.’

‘What has happened? Oh pray tell me quickly,’ begged Eleanor.

‘The King of England asks for such a dowry as your father cannot possibly provide.’

‘You mean he wants to be paid to take me.’

‘It is customary for brides to bring a dowry to their husbands, my dear.’

‘Do you mean that we cannot afford this marriage?’

‘That is what we fear, Eleanor. You see it is a great marriage … as important as that of Marguerite.’

‘The King of France did not ask for a dowry.’

‘No. He was content with your sister and knew full well that it was not in your father’s power to provide it.’

Eleanor stared blankly at her mother. She saw her beautiful dream evaporating.

Wild thoughts came into her mind. ‘Perhaps I could go to England. If I could see the King, speak with him … let him see me, know me …’

‘My dear child,’ said her mother quickly, ‘that is out of the question. Do not despair. It may well be that you would be happier in another marriage.’

‘I shall not,’ she cried. ‘If this fails I can never be happy again.’

‘You talk like the child you are,’ said her mother. ‘If there is no marriage I shall not be sorry. It will give you time to grow up … to learn something of the world … what marriage means …’

Eleanor was not listening.

Of course, she was telling herself, it had been too good to be true. It was like one of her epic poems. Real life was rarely like that.

Her uncles were not men to relinquish such a prize without a fight. Messengers went back and forth to England. The Count of Provence found it quite impossible to meet the demands of the King of England while the King of England felt that what he asked was small indeed compared with the honour which he was bestowing.

‘This King of England would seem to be a most mercenary man,’ said the Count.

The Countess agreed. ‘Perhaps after all it would not be such a good marriage. It would be asking too much to expect another bridegroom like Louis.’

‘Louis is not only a king but a great man,’ replied the Count. ‘His goodness shines from his face. I would reckon Marguerite lucky to have such a husband if he were the humblest count.’

‘It is clear that Henry of England is of a different nature. It is to be expected. Remember his father.’

The Count smiled at her affectionately. She was telling him not to be depressed because this marriage would not take place. So she had made up her mind that it would not. Henry had entered into several negotiations and it was significant that none of them had ever come to fruition.

‘It might well be,’ said the Count, ‘that Henry is a man who likes to contemplate marriage but when the time approaches for it to take place he shrinks from it.’

‘Do you really think this?’

‘It would seem so. There have been so many plans. He is no longer young. In fact I feel he is a little old for Eleanor.’

Oh yes, they were comforting themselves.

But the uncles were reluctant to give up in view of what was involved, and negotiations went on. A gleam of hope came when Henry reduced the amount for which he was asking.

‘It is still too much,’ said the Count. ‘Even what he asks now is far beyond my means.’

‘He will come down further,’ Uncle Boniface assured him.

‘And I,’ replied the Count with dignity, ‘do not care for this bargaining over my daughter. She is a princess, not a piece of land to be bartered for. I tell you this, Boniface, grand as I am well aware this marriage is, I am beginning to have had enough of it.’

As far as he was concerned he would have put an end to the haggling, but the uncles were determined to continue with it.

Richard was amused by the prolonged arguments. Because he felt himself to have been the cause of the proposed marriage, he was eager to see it carried through. Eleanor was an unusual princess; he knew that his brother would be delighted with her; moreover she would be grateful to him and since he was often in disagreement with the King it could be good to have an ally in the Queen.

‘So the marriage plans hang fire,’ said Richard when he and his brother were alone together.

‘These matters always do.’

‘Not always. I believe the marriage between Eleanor’s sister and Louis suffered no such hindrance.’

‘It is my opinion that she should receive a reasonable dowry.’

‘You ask too much, Henry. The most beautiful girl in the world and her weight in gold!’

The most beautiful girl in the world! That had shaken him. The bride of the King of England should be the most beautiful girl in the world, of course – but also she should bring a dowry worthy of her bridegroom.

‘I think they will give me what I want,’ said Henry.

‘My dear brother, you do not know the poverty of Provence.’

‘You have always spoken in such glowing terms of the Court there.’

‘It is a matter of culture, not extravagance. You should understand that, Henry.’

‘I do. I respect the Count for his devotion to music and literature. But I cannot believe in this plea of poverty and I think that possibly having three daughters to place in the world he does not want to give the eldest her share but to save it to buy good marriages for the others. I want him to realise that what his daughter is being offered is no ordinary alliance.’

‘He will value the alliance for what it is worth. But he is not a worldly man.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘He would consider his daughter’s happiness before her advancement. What I mean is, brother, that he would rather see her a happy countess than an unhappy queen.’

‘There is no reason why she should not be a happy queen.’

‘He might think there is. You see, in these negotiations you have revealed yourself as a somewhat mercenary man. You have the opportunity of marrying this unusual girl and you barter. Messengers go back and forth and there is no satisfaction. Remember I have met this Count. I have seen him in his own home. He will resent this insult to his daughter.’