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

There were shouts from without. The King came running into the room.

‘My dearest …’ He was on his knees. He had the Queen in his arms and was reaching for Margaret. The three of them clung together.

‘Where are the children … Edward …’ began the Queen.

‘They are safe. This is where the damage is. And you two here … My dearest Eleanor.’

‘All is well. We are not harmed.’

‘Let us get out of here,’ said the King. ‘We don’t know what damage may yet be done.’

He had his arms about them both. Knights, attendants, men and women were everywhere. They all expressed their joy at the sight of the Queen. In the great hall they assembled. All the children were safe. The Queen uttered up prayers of thanks. Henry was gazing at his family, his eyes ranging over them as though to assure himself that not one of the precious band was missing.

It turned out that the thunderstorm had done a great deal of damage. Not only had the Queen’s apartment been struck by lightning but many sheep had been destroyed in the fields and even some of the great oaks in Windsor Park had been uprooted.

Contemplating the damage, Margaret shivered.

‘Is it an omen?’ she wondered.

The cavalcade made its way to York. Margaret rode between her father and mother and every now and then she would throw a poignant glance in their direction as though she wanted to remember exactly what they looked like so that they would live vividly in her mind when she was no longer with them.

Both King and Queen made a great effort to be merry but they could not hide their sadness from their daughter, who shared it; and even Eleanor, who would have been prepared to oppose any law of the kingdom for the sake of her children, realised the necessity for this marriage and tried to console herself that the bridegroom was even younger than the bride and Margaret was of a strong enough nature to be able to look after herself.

Eleanor could not but find some glory in the grandeur of the occasion. On the surface there was no hint of the King’s pecuniary difficulties. All along the route people had gasped at the splendour of the royal entourage for accompanying the King were a thousand knights and each of them appeared to have attempted to outdo the others by the magnificence of his garments. Gold and silver ornaments adorned their persons and everywhere was the glitter of jewels.

None looked more splendid than the Queen, her beautiful hair gathered into a golden net, the trailing skirts of her quintise gown held lightly in her hand so that the skirt might not impede her progress.

The young King of Scots and his attendants were less elegant, but his six hundred knights, though slightly less grand than the English, made a fine spectacle.

People crowded the streets of York and there was talk of nothing but the coming wedding. Everywhere there was excitement; the only two who did not seem to share in the excitement were the two little principals.

Henry and Eleanor though were very much aware of their daughter’s ordeal and what worried them most was the fact that she must leave them.

Henry said: ‘If they make her unhappy I will wage war on them. I will make them regret it if they hurt our daughter in the smallest way!’

Eleanor put her arm through that of her husband and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to ask him to call off the marriage. It would be impossible now … even to please Eleanor.

He said suddenly: ‘The marriage must take place early in the morning, before the people realise it. Otherwise the press will be disastrous.’

Eleanor thought this a good plan. She had a feeling that once Margaret was married she would begin to accept her fate as inevitable and feel better about it.

So early in the morning of that grey December day, Alexander and Margaret were married by Archbishop Walter Grey of York and as she walked through the southern transept, which was the pride of Archbishop Grey’s heart because it had been built by him over twenty years before, she felt as though there was a dead weight where her heart should have been and she prayed for another thunderstorm to shatter the Archbishop’s transept so that the ceremony would not be able to take place.

Alas, if it did not now, it would at another time.

There was no escape.

She had to say good-bye to home – to her beloved parents, to Edward, Edmund, Beatrice and all the cousins. She had to go to a strange bleak land with this boy who had become her husband.

The ceremony over, the feasting began.

The King of England must show the Scots how powerful he was and what a happy day it was for them when their King made an alliance with his daughter.

The wedding celebrations had coincided with those of Christmas so the feasting was doubly lavish. They would pay for it afterwards, Henry promised himself. Were there not all those rich Jews? And the merchants of London could always find money for what they wanted and why not for their King?

Royalty should not be bothered with such mundane matters as paying for its fancies. This, however, was a matter of state. Was not the daughter of England marrying the son of Scotland? Were not the two countries being united and did this not mean peace between them which was to the benefit of all?

He crowned the occasion by knighting Alexander. A fine boy. He would make Margaret a good husband in a few years’ time.

At the ages of ten and eleven they were scarcely ready yet; but it was an understood thing in royal marriages that the ceremony should take place and after that the young pair wait for a suitable time for the consummation.

When he had knighted Alexander, a ceremony which was loudly applauded by the Scots, he said: ‘My dear son, this is indeed a happy occasion. I know you will make my daughter happy. To complete this momentous occasion you should pay me homage for your kingdom.’

Alexander was young but he had been brought up to regard himself as a future King and his advisers warned him to be very careful in his dealings with the King of England.

He hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Then he said:

‘I have come here peacefully and for the honour of the King of England, that by means of the marriage tie I might ally myself with him. But I could not deal with such a solemn matter until I had held deliberation on this matter with my nobles, or taken proper counsel as to so difficult a question.’

Henry realised that the boy had wisdom beyond his years and it would be no use trying to take advantage of his youth, so he waved aside his request.

At length the time came for farewells.

Margaret clung to her parents and the Queen wept with her daughter.

‘All will be well, my love,’ whispered Eleanor. ‘Alexander will be kind to you and anyone who is not will have to answer to your father.’

How bleak the country seemed as they rode north! The wind was keener and wrapped up as she was in her cape lined with vair she still felt the cold. Beside her rode her husband – a boy of ten, his face stern set and she knew that he, like herself, was trying to make the best of this thing which had happened to them.

In the company were a few of her attendants but she knew they would not be allowed to stay with her. The Scots were different from the English. They were dour, hardly ever smiled, and were far more serious.

She thought of home – and the games they used to play and how Edward lorded it over them all and how he was constantly quarrelling with the de Montfort cousins who were always telling everyone they were as royal as the King’s children. They had the Conqueror’s blood in their veins too, they maintained. King John was their grandfather just as he was Longshanks’ and Margaret’s and the rest. And the elder Henry, son of Uncle Richard, had always tried to make the peace. He used to say that there were so many of them with royal blood that they shouldn’t boast of it to each other. How she longed to be with them!