CHAPTER XV
ISABEL OF ANGOULÊME
It was not, as has been mentioned, under the very happiest auspices thatKing John, in the autumn of 1200, celebrated his marriage with Isabel ofAngoulême, at Bordeaux, when he was rather more than double her age, andwith a reputation and temper decidedly the worse for the wear.
Isabel, however, had just the kind of imagination to be dazzled by thebrilliancy of her position as wife of a man on whose head had beenplaced, not only the crown of England, but the coronal of golden roseswhich formed the ducal diadem of Normandy, and who, moreover, was heirto the provinces over which the old Counts of Anjou and the old Dukes ofGuienne had reigned with power and authority. At first, therefore, shewas highly gratified with the fortunate accident which had thrown her inKing John’s way, and substituted him, as a husband, in the place of theCount de la Marche; and, after the royal pair came to England, matterswent pleasantly enough for years, so far as could be judged byappearances, and Isabel became the mother of two sons and threedaughters--Henry, the eldest of her children, being a native ofWinchester, where he first saw the light in 1207, while his father waspursued by the enmity of the Pope, and threatened by the hostility ofthe French king and the Anglo-Norman barons.
So far life went smoothly enough, to all appearance, with the King andQueen of England. But ere long their domestic affairs assumed a muchless satisfactory aspect. In fact, Isabel did not find her positionquite the bed of roses she had probably anticipated when she consented,for the sake of a crown, to give the Count de la Marche the slip. With atemper which became worse under the influence of trials and reverses,John not only proved a very disagreeable companion to the young ladywhom he had carried off, so much to the mortification of the Continentalmagnate to whom she was betrothed, but he involved himself with women ofvarious ranks, whose memories are still preserved in chronicle ortradition--from Constance, Countess of Chester, to the miller’s wife ofCharlton, whose frailty is annually commemorated by the Horn Fair, atthe Feast of St. Luke--in a series of vagrant amours, which, besidesbeing of a scandalous kind, could not fail to wound the queen’s vanityand alienate her regard. Moreover, the splendour which had tempted herwas fast disappearing. The coronal of Normandy was gone; the crown ofEngland was in great danger of following. It really must have seemedthat the glory was departing from the House of Plantagenet; and, aftermany musings and reflections, Isabel, doubtless, began to think verypensively of the sacrifice she had made to unite her fate with one whoshowed so little respect for her feelings. Unfortunately, she was not awoman to act with much discretion and dignity in very tryingcircumstances; and the serious domestic quarrels of John and Isabel gaverise to rumours and stories which were far from raising the king’scharacter for humanity, or the queen’s reputation as a wife, in theopinion of the world. “His queen,” says the chronicler, speaking ofJohn, “hates him, and is hated by him, she being an evil-minded woman,often found guilty of crimes, upon which the king seized her paramours,and had them strangled with a rope on her bed.”
It is to be hoped, for Isabel’s sake, that this story was merely theinvention of an enemy. But little doubt can be entertained that thedomestic quarrels were serious. Indeed, during the year when Johnsubmitted to Rome, matters reached such a stage between the royal pair,that the queen, then twenty-seven years of age, was consigned to thecastle of Gloucester, and there kept, by command of her husband, in safecustody as a captive. A reconciliation, however, did take place, andthere was some prospect of a better state of feeling in future. But whenthe scandal about John and Maude, the daughter of Robert Fitzwalter,reached the queen’s ears, the matrimonial feud was renewed; and Isabel,almost frantic with jealous rage, declined to see her husband’s face.Subsequently, however, a second reconciliation was brought about; and,after some correspondence, a meeting between the king and queen had beenappointed to take place, when the sudden seizure of London by theconfederate barons threw all John’s plans into confusion, and forced himnot only to postpone his visit to Isabel till a more convenient season,but to take measures for her security, lest she and her son, PrinceHenry, should fall into the hands of the barons, and be used asinstruments to complete his ruin.
It was at Savernake that Isabel was residing while the barons assembledat Stamford, and marched, by Brackley, and Northampton, and Bedford, toLondon. Only vague and indistinct intelligence as to their movementsreached her in her retreat; and, buoyed up by the king’s confidentassurance that he would crush any attempts at insurrection, shedelighted her soul with visions of reigning as a queen in reality, andoccupied her time with repairing the palace of Savernake, and appears tohave meditated housekeeping on a very extensive scale, since she addedkitchens with fires for roasting oxen whole. It was not pleasant to bedisturbed in the midst of such projects by news that her husband’s crownwas at stake; and, when Isabel had been conveyed home after her frightand her escape, and sufficiently restored to be informed that a knightand squire sent by the king were awaiting an audience to deliver amessage, she felt instinctively that something was wrong; she wrung herhands, and exclaimed to her ladies--
“My heart misgives me; I fear me they bring tidings of woe.”
But, at the same time, her impatience to know all made her anxious toreceive them without delay; and, having arrayed herself so as to appearto the best advantage--for her vanity as woman was quite as strong asher ambition as queen--she ordered them to be conducted to her presence.
It was in a spacious chamber, royally adorned after the fashion of theage, and magnificent, according to the ideas of that generation, thatIsabel of Angoulême, seated on an elevated chair resembling a throne,with two of her ladies behind her, received the knight and the squire.Her taste was displayed in her dress, which was such as to set off hernatural charms. She wore a green robe, lined with sarcenet, and girdledround the waist with a belt sparkling with precious stones, and a collarof gold round her neck, which was graceful as the swan’s, and her hair,not concealed, as that of ladies then usually was, with kerchief orveil, but inclosed in a caul of golden network, and ornamented with anelegant chaplet. Her bearing was majestic in the extreme, and as she satformally waiting their coming, she looked every inch a queen. But nosooner did Collingham approach, and bend his knee, than she stared as ifshe had seen a ghost, and fluttered perceptibly.
“William de Collingham!” said she, after a pause, during which sheseemed to examine her boots, which were curiously embroidered in circlesround the ankles, “I deem that you were in exile or----”
“Or dead, you would have added, madam,” said Collingham, smiling.“However, I am alive and in England, as you perceive, and, let me add,wholly at your service.”
Isabel’s colour went and came so as to make Oliver Icingla look andwonder; but the knight took no notice of her agitation. As if to relieveher from the embarrassment which she appeared to feel, he drew forth theking’s letter, and, with great respect, presented it on bended knee.Isabel took it, tore it open, ran her eye over the contents, and uttereda cry of disappointment.
“Alas! alas!” exclaimed she, looking the picture of distress, “I havebeen deluding myself with the hope of receiving a far different message.It was but yesterday, as it seems to me, that my lord the king wrotethese words:--‘I have now made peace with Philip of France, and I havethe means of putting mine enemies under my feet, and making myself bothking and lord in England;’” and, as Isabel repeated the words used bythe king, she wept, and looked so lovely in tears that both the knightand squire were deeply moved.
“Madam,” said Collingham in a voice expressive of sympathy, “be not castdown by adversity, but take comfort. Fortune is much given to change.To-day she favours the king’s enemies; to-morrow she may declare for theking. But anyhow, royal lady, it is best to meet the future with a braveheart; and, for the present, the king deems it expedient that yoursafety and the safety of your son should be insured by a removal toGloucester, which is a strong and loyal city, and to which I have ordersto conduct you; so t
hat, tide what may, you may feel that you and theprince are secure against the king’s enemies and your own.”
“Gloucester is a place associated in my mind with no pleasant memories,”said the queen with a sigh; “but it is vain to strive against fate, andI submit. I will be prepared to set out on the morrow, sir knight. Oh,vanity of vanities!” exclaimed she, sighing more deeply; “all is vanityand vexation of spirit.”
And, sinking back in her chair, Isabel of Angoulême looked the pictureof disappointment.
Next day Isabel of Angoulême and her son, Prince Henry, left Savernakeunder the escort of William de Collingham and Oliver Icingla, andjourneyed by rapid stages to Gloucester, a city so strongly fortifiedand garrisoned that the queen might, within its walls, congratulateherself on the fact that there at least she was, in some degree, secureagainst any attempts on the part of the baronial party to interfere withher personal liberty, or any attempt on their part to get possession ofher son.
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 17
