The Queen from Provence (46 page)

Five thousand men had been slain at the battle of Lewes; and the King was no longer a free man.

Simon de Montfort received him with great respect and assured him that he meant him no harm.

‘I shall never forget that you are the King,’ he told him.

‘Yet you make me your prisoner,’ cried Henry.

‘You shall be treated with respect. But you will understand that the country must be governed with more justice than we have hitherto seen. The taxation which is crippling our industries must cease. The aliens must not be allowed to suck our prosperity. This is what we have fought for and it is what we intend to have.’

‘You tell me I am your King and then you continue to rule me.’

‘I am determined to bring law and order to this country and that it shall be ruled by its Parliament.’

‘So you would depose the King?’

‘By no means, but I would have him work with his Parliament not against it.’

Simon then said that he proposed to call a parliament in the King’s name. Two knights from each county, two citizens from each city and two burgesses from each borough should be summoned, and they should represent the people from the districts whence they came.

‘I never heard the like of this,’ said Henry.

‘Nay and it may be that it would have been better if you had. This form of parliament makes sure that the country is represented. It means we must make laws which do not offend the people.’

‘And you are asking me to agree to this?’ demanded Henry.

‘I am asking you to, my lord,’ replied Simon, ‘while at the same time I must point out that, as the barons’ prisoner, you have no alternative.’

Thus Simon de Montfort brought into existence a form of parliament which had never been known before this time.

Chapter XIX

EVESHAM

A
t the Court of France, Eleanor heard news of the disaster. The King, Richard, Edward … all the prisoners of Simon de Montfort! A new form of government being imposed on the land! Representatives from the various parts of the country to help in its government! It was monstrous.

‘What can I do?’ she demanded of Marguerite.

‘You can pray,’ said Marguerite.

‘Pray! My dear sister, I must do more than that. I must raise money. I must raise an army. I will never allow that traitor de Montfort to hold Henry prisoner.’

‘You are clever I know, Eleanor, and although you long to do everything for your husband and son, you must be cautious. It is a very dangerous situation.’

Eleanor shook herself impatiently. Did Marguerite think she could tell her!

‘Louis is of the opinion that you should await the outcome of events,’ went on Marguerite.

‘Louis!’ retorted Eleanor almost contemptuously. What had Louis done to help Henry? He had known that the barons were massing to make war and he had offered no help. He had implied that it was Henry’s own behaviour which had brought about the calamity.

But, of course, she could say very little about her sister’s husband since she was enjoying their hospitality. And where would she go if they would not receive her?

Marguerite was docile enough except when any criticism was levelled at Louis. Then she could become very fierce.

In spite of Marguerite, Eleanor busied herself with raising money. She was constantly sending messengers to England to those whom she believed to be her friends. She was confident that in due course she would raise an army and she would place herself at the head of it. She smiled at the thought of the admiration in Henry’s eyes when he realised what she had done.

He would be pleased, however, that she was safe in France. For her to be humiliated as a captive would have hurt him far more than suffering that fate himself.

She brought all her energies to her campaign and she began to get some responses in France and from England.

She was going to build up her army. But how long it took! She was sustained though by the knowledge that she would in time free her family and she comforted herself by imagining the indignities she would heap on Simon de Montfort and their enemies.

How frustrating it was. Marguerite tried to help. She knew how she would feel if Louis were a captive in the hands of his enemies.

‘You must be patient, Eleanor,’ she said. ‘When we love we must suffer.’

‘What have you ever known of suffering?’ demanded Eleanor almost contemptuously.

‘A great deal,’ replied Marguerite.

‘Oh you are so meek … so pliable … ready to go this way or that. You never had much will of your own.’

‘The meek often suffer as much as the strong.’

‘Then if they do nothing about it it is their own fault.’

‘You rarely saw any point of view but your own,’ said Marguerite. ‘You have had your own way too much in life.’

‘Only because I have fought for it.’

‘Sometimes it takes more strength to endure. Can you imagine how I felt living under the shadow of my clever mother-in-law Queen Blanche? She did everything so well. She was so respected, so admired. She came before me … right until the time she died.’

‘You were a fool to allow it. I should have made Louis understand …’

‘Louis did understand how I felt. He once told me he loved me so much because of the way in which I did not make strife between him and his mother. It would have been so easy to. Often it was my inclination, but I knew that could only bring pain to him … and to me. So I stood aside for her. And I think she came to be fond of me, too.’

‘Of course, since you let her have her way! Oh you were always so mild, Marguerite. You don’t know what it is to have deep feelings.’

‘I have had great adventures in my life, Eleanor,’ Marguerite defended herself, ‘and I think I have lived more dangerously than you ever did.’

‘I was near death in London. I shall never forget the evil faces of the mob as they looked down on me from the bridge. I knew they intended to sink my barge. It was awful. Sometimes I dream of them now … I hear their voices shouting “Drown the Witch.” You could not understand, Marguerite.’

Marguerite laughed.

‘I will tell you something, sister. You have forgotten that when Louis went on his crusade to the Holy Land, I accompanied him. The fear you experienced during one night in London, was with me constantly for months. I was a woman in that strange land. We were in perpetual danger from the Saracens. Do you know what they did to women if they captured them? They might torture them; they might merely cut off their heads; but what was most likely was that they took them off to serve in some harem. You dream of London Bridge. My dear sister, I dream of the Christian camp where I, heavy with child, waited night after night for some fearful fate to overtake me. Often the King left me. I was in the camp with only one knight to protect me. He was so aged that he could not join the others. I made him swear that if ever the Saracens came to my tent he would cut off my head with his sword rather than let me be taken.’

Eleanor was subdued. It was borne home to her that her own joys and sorrows had always seemed so much greater than those of others that she had rarely thought theirs worth considering.

Now to think of Marguerite, pregnant, lying in a desert camp, was sobering.

‘But that is all in the past,’ she said. ‘My trouble is here right before me.’

‘All troubles pass,’ Marguerite assured her. ‘Yours will no less than mine did.’

‘Does that mean I should not do everything I can to disperse them?’

‘Nay, you would always work for your family. But be patient, dear sister. All will be well.’

But it was not in Eleanor’s nature to sit down and wait for miracles. She redoubled her efforts.

One day Edward de Carol, the Dean of Wells, arrived in Paris. He had letters from the King, he said, and joyfully Eleanor seized on them.

When she read what the King had written she was filled with a dull anger. He begged her to desist in her efforts to interfere with the course of events. What she was doing was known in England. It could do no good.

The Dean did not have to tell her that the letter had been dictated by her enemy Simon de Montfort, because she knew as soon as she read it.

She remembered Marguerite’s admonition to be patient. She wrote back to the King assuring him that she would respect his wishes.

When the Dean had left she went on with her work. She was certain that in time she would raise an army.

Messengers continued to come to the Court of France and they brought news of the royal captives. It was thus that she learned that they had been taken to Dover. The nearest port to France. Wild ideas filled her mind. Would it be so very difficult to get a party to land, to storm the castle, to rescue the captives and bring them to France? There they could place themselves at the head of the army she was sure she would raise. They would be free to win back the crown.

While she was turning this over in her mind and making plans to bring it about, more messengers came.

The barons felt that Dover might be a dangerous spot in view of its proximity to the Continent. They were therefore being moved to Wallingford.

She could have wept with rage, but very soon she was making fresh plans.

Her indefatigable efforts had won the admiration of a number of people and her devotion to her family was touching. Even those who found her overbearing were ready to work for her and thus there were plenty to bring her news of what was happening in England. The royal prisoners, she learned, were not so well guarded at Wallingford as they had been at Dover. One of Edward’s favourite knights had sent word to her that he would do anything to help the royal cause and she immediately decided to keep him to his word.

Sir Warren de Basingbourne was a young and daring fellow who had often jousted with Edward and whom she knew was devoted to her son.

‘Gather together as many men as you can,’ she wrote to him. ‘Go to Wallingford, lay siege to the castle – which I know to be ill defended. Rescue the lord Edward. He can then come to me here and place himself at the head of the army I am preparing.’

Eleanor excitedly settled down to await the arrival of her son.

Edward had never ceased to reproach himself. This disaster was due to his folly. It was no use his father’s trying to comfort him. It was clear that if he had not pursued the Londoners the victory would have gone to the King.

What folly! What harm inexperience could do!

Edward was a young man who quickly learned his lessons.

He thought often of his young wife with whom he was in love. It had been a marriage after his own heart. She had been so young at the time of the ceremony and he had seemed so much older to her that she had begun by looking up to him. They had been separated, it was true, while she completed her education and grew old enough to be his wife in truth. And then he had not been disappointed in her.

He believed she was now pregnant.

Poor little Eleanora – or Eleanor as they insisted on calling her, for their future Queen must have an English name – she would be fretting now, as he knew his mother was.

He was glad his cousin Henry was with him, although it would have been more satisfactory if he could have been free to work for the King. They played chess together; they were even allowed to ride out although only in the castle surrounds and in the company of guards. Simon de Montfort treated them with respect. He was always anxious for them to know that he had no intention of harming them, and that he merely wanted to see just rule returned to the country.