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

Simon de Montfort, who had decided to join the crusade, arrived at Acre and Richard was pleased to greet his brother-in-law. Once he had recovered from the shock of his marrying his sister, Richard had decided that Simon would be a good ally, and both of them appeared to have forgotten the antagonism which had existed between them at the time of Simon’s marriage.

Richard discussed his plans and how he intended to return home as soon as possible.

‘That is what I should like to do,’ said Simon, ‘but as you know the King was incensed against me.’

‘Henry’s anger soon passes,’ Richard assured him, ‘though it can be dangerous when it arises. He would have had you in the Tower and God knows what would have happened to you if we hadn’t acted promptly.’

‘For which I have to thank you.’

‘Well, are we not brothers-in-law?’

Richard busied himself in Acre, first by offering to take into his ranks all those pilgrims who wished to go home and had not the means to do so. He marched to Ascalon where he reconstructed the fortifications of that city, and made a treaty with the Sultan of Krak which brought about the release of many prisoners. He went on to Gaza where many Christians had been slain and roughly buried. He had their bodies dug up and given Christian burial.

He considered then that he had done his duty, earned the remission of his sins and was now justified in returning home.

He had reached Sicily when he heard from the King that his presence was needed at home without delay as Henry was planning an expedition to France.

Richard arrived in London in time to take part in the arrangements for the expedition. He told Henry that their brother-in-law de Montfort should be ordered to join them in Poitou.

‘He will be pleased to do so,’ said Richard, ‘and it will be a fitting end of your quarrel if he acquits himself well in your service, which I am sure he will.’

Henry agreed to this.

In view of the situation the marriage with Sanchia would have to be delayed for a while, but that was inevitable because of the war. When Henry had regained his possessions he, Richard, would be an even more desirable husband.

It was a warm May day when the fleet sailed from Portsmouth. The King was accompanied by the Queen, Richard and seven other earls, and three hundred knights. The King had also brought with him thirty casks of money. He was in high spirits so sure was he of success. There was only one sorrow. He had had to part from his children.

They were in the best of hands, of course, as was the Kingdom in the hands of the Archbishop of York. There was no Archbishop of Canterbury yet. He was awaiting the election of the Pope for the installation of Boniface.

He held Eleanor’s hand as they watched the coast of England fade away.

‘When we return,’ he told her, ‘I shall have shown the French the stuff of which I am made. And the barons at home too. When I have regained that which my father lost they will have to think twice before comparing me with him. This is not only a war against the French, my dearest. It is a war against my own barons.’

She nodded. She was imagining victory. The greatest King in the world. She would be kind and gentle with Marguerite, the wife of the conquered. ‘My dear sister,’ she would say, ‘rest assured no harm shall come to you. Henry would never do anything that would make me unhappy. You are safe.’

And so they came to France.

What a different story it was from that which they had been led to expect.

The King’s mother Isabella de Lusignan greeted him with an affection which was surprisingly warm and emotional considering she had not seen him for more than twenty years and had during that time seemed to have ceased to remember his existence.

Bitter disillusion was to await Henry. The French were by no means unprepared. Louis was ready for him; moreover Henry had been misled by his mother who unknown to her husband had misrepresented the situation.

It was a disillusioned King who retreated before the French, as the realisation that he was not the one who was to win the victory was brought home to him. He had been used by his mother whose feud with the Queen Mother of France would take her to great lengths – and which would in time result in her self-destruction.

In the meantime there was nothing for Henry and his army to do but retreat to Bordeaux and there hope to make some truce with the French.

There was one incident to lighten their melancholy.

Since they had left England, the Queen had once more become pregnant, and at Bordeaux she gave birth to another daughter.

‘I will call her Beatrice after my mother,’ declared Eleanor.

The little girl was beautiful and healthy and the King was able to forget his failure. He ordered that there should be great rejoicing and feasting in the castle of Bordeaux in spite of the fact that much of his treasure had gone in waging this unfortunate war.

When he returned, he said, he would impose a tax on all those who had not accompanied him to France. It was only right that they should pay for the privilege of staying at home.

He would find money somewhere.

And there were always the Jews.

Now that the war was over and a treaty made with Louis it was time for Sanchia to come to England that she might be married to the Earl of Cornwall.

Eleanor was beside herself with delight for Sanchia had sent a message to say that her mother had decided to accompany her.

‘That makes you pleased, my love,’ said Henry. ‘You will have your sister and your mother at the same time.’

‘Oh Henry, I am longing to show them our babies. I want them to know how happy I am.’

‘I tell you this,’ replied Henry. ‘There are going to be such celebrations, such rejoicing that never was seen before.’

Eleanor threw her arms about him and told him he was the kindest and best of husbands in the world.

He was complacently happy. With such a wife it was easy to forget recent humiliations in France.

The arrival of Eleanor’s mother and sister absorbed him. It must indeed be an occasion which would be remembered for ever. No expense must be spared, but where was the money coming from? Already there was grumbling throughout the land. No more taxes, said the citizens of London. No more poor and needy foreigners to be brought into England to live off the fat of the land provided by Englishmen.

‘It will have to come from the Jews,’ said Henry.

And from the long-suffering Jews it came.

Groaning over the iniquitous laws of taxation yet they paid, for they feared expulsion and going from bad to worse.

Not very long ago the tallages levied on them were fifteen thousand marks – a sum which would have been expected to cripple them. Yet they had paid, worked harder and continued to amass more money. Two years later the taxation had been raised to eighteen thousand marks.

‘What can we do?’ they asked each other. It was either pay or expulsion. And they could expect little sympathy from their less industrious neighbours. If they did not want to be exploited they should work less; they should not be so concerned with making money. If they hadn’t got it they couldn’t pay it.

The next imposition had been a third of their worldly goods and even after that they were called on to raise twenty thousand marks.

It was heart-breaking for these people who while they loved work, loved even more the rewards it brought and must see this frittered away by the King on the friends and relations of his wife. It would have been intolerable if they had no alternative but to endure it.

Moreover, few had any sympathy for them. ‘The Jews!’ was the comment accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. ‘They have it. Let them pay it.’