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

‘And then he went away,’ said Sanchia, ‘and you went with him.’

‘It was not until three years after that, but I knew it was in his mind. He used to talk to me about it. He had had a vision when he was lying close to death and he believed he had been sent back to Earth to fulfil a purpose. He had to go to the Holy Land, because it was ordained by God.’

‘They say he is a saint,’ said Sanchia.

‘They are right,’ replied Marguerite.

‘I would prefer to be married to a man,’ retorted Eleanor.

‘Louis is a man,’ replied Marguerite. ‘Doubt it not. He can fly into a rage but it is mostly over injustice. He does not want to hurt anyone. He wants to make people good and happy …’

Eleanor yawned slightly. She began to tell them about the wonderful feasts Henry had given at Bordeaux to celebrate the marriage of Edward and the little Infanta.

Beatrice whose husband had gone on the crusade with Louis brought the subject back to the great crusade and said how happy they had all been when it was over.

‘It was a frightening time,’ Marguerite told them. ‘Often I thought we should all be killed. Louis was torn between his need to take part in the crusade and to govern his country. He said that his grandfather had felt the same when he went to the Holy Land with his Queen.’

‘She had some gay adventures, I believe,’ said Eleanor. ‘I was always interested in her because we shared the same name.’

‘Eleanor of Aquitaine,’ murmured Beatrice.

‘My husband’s grandmother,’ added Eleanor. ‘I think I should enjoy going on a crusade.’

‘It is so exciting when you plan to go,’ said Marguerite. ‘Less so when you arrive.’ She shivered. ‘I hope Louis never decides to go again. I shall never forget his mother’s anguish when he left. She knew she would never see him again. It was a premonition. I can hear her voice now and see her blue eyes, usually as cold as ice, misty then soft with love for him. She said: “Most fair son, my tender boy, I shall never see you more. Full well my heart assures me of this.” Nor did she. Four years later she died and we were still there. It was because of her death that we came home. Louis knew that that was where his duty lay. He thought it was a sign from God that he should return home.’

‘And all the time you were there, poor Marguerite, Sanchia and I were living comfortably in England.’

‘It is wonderful that the two of you are together,’ said Marguerite.

‘Is it not like some fateful pattern?’ demanded Beatrice. ‘Two sisters for two brothers, and two more sisters for two more brothers. I wonder if it has ever happened before in families?’

‘We elder ones had the Kings,’ said Eleanor.

‘Romeo used to say that he would have Kings for all of us,’ Beatrice reminded them.

‘Romeo was boastful,’ said Sanchia.

‘Well, we can all congratulate ourselves,’ put in Eleanor, ‘for after all we were very poor were we not and had little to recommend us but our beauty and our brains.’

‘Not only,’ said Beatrice, ‘did you two marry Kings but those Kings loved you and have been faithful husbands. That is what seems strange to me. One does not expect a King to love his wife and be faithful to her.’

‘Louis is a saint,’ said Marguerite.

‘And Henry will tell you that I am the perfect woman,’ added Eleanor lightly.

Then they started to talk of their men; Marguerite of Louis’ piety; Eleanor of Henry’s devotion to her and his family; Sanchia of Richard’s lethargy which would suddenly beset him and as suddenly depart leaving him eager for some action which would probably be defeated by a return of the lethargy; Beatrice of her husband’s temper which was sudden and violent. Marguerite nodded. It was clear that she did not greatly like Beatrice’s husband. Eleanor suspected that Sanchia’s husband was not always faithful and she marvelled that the two who had made the most brilliant marriages should also have made the most happy ones.

But she could not help feeling a sense of rivalry with Marguerite. She wanted the King of England to shine more brilliantly than the King of France. She wanted his feasts and banquets to be the more extravagant. She knew that they would be because she would convey this to Henry and he would do everything to please her. Moreover Louis had no great regard for splendour.

Oh, it was wonderful to be with her sisters, to talk and talk over the old days, the present and the future.

And as ever it seemed that Eleanor was the brilliant one, the one who had her way.

In spite of their marriages and all their experiences, they still looked up to Eleanor, the most beautiful and the cleverest member of the family.

Edward was happy. He had ceased to think of the mutilated boy. If he did it was to regard him as a burning beacon in his life. Through him he had seen the folly of his ways. He was going to begin a new life, learn to be a great King. He had a little wife who was beginning to adore him. She was only a child and he was glad of that because her youth made him seem mature and splendid in her eyes. He was kind and gentle to her; he was chivalrous, courteous, all that a knight should be to his lady. He rode beside her, ready to defend her, make sure that she was treated with the utmost courtesy; he talked to her of England and how he would care for her and told her how she would never have anything to fear with him to look after her.

The little Infanta had never been so cherished. It was small wonder that she was in love with her handsome bridegroom.

Henry and Eleanor were delighted and Henry told the child that she was now a member of their family which was the finest family in the world because everyone in that magic circle was loved by everyone else.

The Queen was less effusive but she showed quite clearly that she doted on Edward and that if Edward was fond of his little wife and was happy with her, then the Queen would be fond of her too.

It was a wonderful revelation for the little girl.

As for Edward he wanted to talk incessantly of the crusade. He admired the King of France, not because of the stories he heard of his goodness to his people, but because he had taken up the cross and been to the Holy Land.

He begged the King to tell him of the crusade and Louis would sit with him or walk with him in the gardens of the palace and talk.

He told Edward how, after having received the oriflamme, the scrip and the staff at St Denis, he took leave of his mother and went to Aigues Mortes where his fleet was assembled and how he set sail arriving first at Cyprus which was the meeting place for the forces of the expedition. His ship was the Mountjoy and on this flew that banner of red silk split into points and borne on a gilt staff which was the oriflamme – the royal standard of France. They set sail and the gales were so violent that many of the ships were dispersed. It was June – one year after he had left France – when they arrived before Damietta. ‘All the leaders came aboard the Mountjoy,’ said Louis, ‘and there I spoke to them. They looked to me as a leader because I was the King of France and I told them I was but a man, as vulnerable as they were. It might be that God would choose to take me in this struggle. It could as easily be me as any man. “If we are conquered,” I said, “we shall win our way to Heaven as martyrs and, if we are conquerors, men will celebrate the glory of God. We fight for Christ. It is Christ who will triumph in us, not for our sake but for the blessedness of His Holy name.”’

‘And you made war on the Saracens and you won the battle. You brought great glory to France.’

‘I came back,’ said Louis. ‘But it was no great victory. Men leave for the Holy Land full of good intentions. Often they are surprised by what they find. Great suffering has to be endured. Victory is elusive. I have heard disappointed men say that it seems God fights on the side of the Saracens not on that of the Christians.’