The Silken Rose

by Carol McGrath

  Divided, the great barons perceive weakness within our royal house. They will seek to take advantage. Fortune’s Wheel may, one day, turn against us, so I shall be kind in speech to William of Valence at Christmastide, though I am sorry for his wife, for her marriage cannot be an easy one. The man has a cruel and arrogant manner.

  I wept, my dearest Nell, when I heard Henry had sent Simon away and has installed a lesser man as Seneschal of Gascony. Simon will be safe in Paris for they respect him there.

  Knowing Henry, he will change his mind and beg Simon to return to him.

  I send you my doctor whom I trust because I believe you may have need of him. He brings you this letter which you must put to fire when it is read.

  Ailenor the Queen.

  Henry galloped into Winchester at Christmastide at the head of a large court; all was cordial. The harmony that followed his arrival was accompanied by pleasant crisp weather that allowed them to hunt and walk in the gardens enjoying the winter sunshine.

  Ailenor made herself loving towards him. She apologised for any lack of loyalty he had perceived in her actions of that year. Nothing was to be gained for them, the future, their children, and the crown if an uncomfortable division between them continued. She took his hand which he left in hers and when Henry complained about Earl Simon, remarking he was in Paris, she held her tongue and shifted the conversation to Nell instead.

  ‘I hear Nell has been delivered of a healthy girl whom she calls Eleanor for your grandmother.’

  ‘I hope the child has more sense than to grow up quarrelsome,’ Henry said, but there was a smile playing about his mouth.

  ‘Oh I am sure of it,’ she replied. ‘Look, Henry, there’s a rose on that bush. It’s not been damaged by storms and it thrives even into winter.’ She took him over to the rose bush and they studied it together.

  ‘A Christmastide rose, delicate as silk,’ she said with reverence in her voice.

  That night, after supper with their court, Henry took Ailenor’s hand and led her into her chamber where a fire crackled and candles glowed, customary cakes and wine had been laid out, and the bed cover drawn back to reveal freshly scented linen. ‘Let us mend our differences with a child in the cradle.’ Henry was still a handsome man, if often foolish. Fortunately, there were flashes of insight and, after all, he was one of the most gentle and cultured men in his court. No one was perfect. Henry certainly was not, but she loved him well, for his goodness and his faults.

  Yet anxiety haunted her, despite the return of her family and harmony between her and Henry. There was no further talk of Henry’s crusade. His crusade was to be Gascony. Henry was intent on taking on the Gascon rebels himself.

  36

  Gascony, 1253

  Ailenor kept her silence as Henry made plans to sail for Gascony. He had bought back Simon’s command for seven thousand marks. Considering he owed Simon the sovereigns promised yearly for his command of Gascony in the first place, Henry was fortunate Simon agreed. Ailenor did not comment. She was relieved to be created regent in Henry’s absence and to accept the responsibility he gave her. He granted her custody of the great seal and she would preside over councils whilst regally seated on his throne-like seat in Westminster Hall.

  She took on joint regency with Richard of Cornwall. Before his departure, Henry made a new will granting her the right to rule England, until Edward was of age, if he was killed in Gascony. Her patience and quiet strategy had been rewarded. She had earned his trust by forfeiting her frankness, but she cared deeply for her husband. And she was with child again. Ailenor did not want any more upsets or dramas. When Nell wrote from Odiham that she was joining Simon in Paris as soon as she was ready to cross the Narrow Sea, Ailenor prayed that Henry would not take Odiham away from Nell. He had spitefully confiscated the wealth from Kenilworth, directing it into his own coffers.

  Ailenor remained in the palace of Westminster, intending to stay firmly in the centre of government. She sat in council meetings with her head proudly held high, wearing voluminous gowns, and veils flowing from impressively tall hats which made her look as if she possessed great authority. No queen since Queen Matilda of Flanders was as regal as she, nor, she smiled as she considered this, had any queen since the Conqueror’s Matilda commanded such respect.

  She did not withdraw to the birthing chamber until November. When her ladies fussed around her, she sent them away. When the midwives begged her to rest she ignored them. If her doctor complained, she looked at him imperiously, remarking she was Queen and would decide when she withdrew from court. When she did, she determined to rule from her lying-in apartments in Westminster.

  As her time approached she found herself obsessive about ruling, because she knew that once she went into seclusion her grip on power could be diluted. Power was precious, especially for a woman, and she had almost lost it during her quarrel with Henry. It must not slip into the hands of Richard of Cornwall. She was negotiating a betrothal for Lord Edward with a princess of Castile and she did not want that mission to fall into Richard’s orbit.

  Edward’s right to rule the Duchy, if married to Alfonso of Castile’s sister, Lenora, would persuade Alfonso to give up the ridiculous Castilian claims to Gascony which he claimed through his grandmother, eldest daughter of the second Henry. Henry had reached the conclusion that an alliance with Castile was the answer to the ongoing Gascon problem. What an excellent betrothal this would be for Edward.

  Ailenor expected her negotiators back from Castile very soon and it irked her that for a month she had to push matters of state far to the edges of her mind.

  On the 27th November she gave birth to a little girl.

  Ailenor looked down on her newborn baby’s face and said, ‘Her name is Katherine. St Katherine watched over me during my confinement.’ She leaned back against her pillows, thinking how perfect the baby was. It was difficult for Ailenor to give Katherine over to her wet nurse. ‘Care for her well,’ she said to the woman who was to nourish her baby.

  Taking the baby from Ailenor, the nurse remarked, ‘She is a beauty, but so quiet, not a whimper.’ She looked strangely at Ailenor. ‘Why doesn’t she cry?’ Ailenor could not understand why either.

  Ailenor’s ladies cosseted her back into robust health. Her children came to Westminster from Windsor for the Christmas period. She received a letter from Margaret in Scotland and then worried because Margaret seemed lonely. She sent gifts north to Edinburgh, fabrics, books, a long letter, and decided after she was churched she should send investigators north to inquire into Margaret’s welfare.

  The other children celebrated the festivities of Christmastide privately in their mother’s apartments whilst the court made merry in Westminster Hall. Richard took Henry’s place in the hall but Sancha left her husband’s side to dine on Christmas night with Ailenor and the children.

  ‘You should be with your husband, Sancha. We are happy enough here, celebrating quietly.’ Ailenor said.

  ‘I have come to London to be with you, Ailenor, and the children.’

  Sancha had given birth at last four years earlier but never conceived again. She arrived with her little boy, Edmund, his nurse and a few attendants. Edmund was an engaging dark-haired child. His fourth name day would be celebrated on the day following Christ’s Day. Ailenor’s children anticipated this birthday as much as Christmas itself. They affectionately called him Ed.

  They planned gifts for Ed, secreting them about the royal nursery. Ailenor’s own little Edmund persuaded his nurse take him to the kitchens to order a special box of barley sugar, his favourite treat, for his cousin. The cousins scurried about the Queen’s apartments as their mothers conversed, playing hide and seek in the palace corridors. Occasionally ten-year-old Beatrice joined them but usually she preferred to sit and pore over a pretty Book of Hours with Alix of Lusignan or to disappear into one of the palace’s still rooms. Baby Katherine lay solemnly in her cradle.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ said Sancha.

  ‘She
is exquisite but I fear she cannot hear us, nor will she speak.’ Tears filled Ailenor’s eyes. ‘Henry has ordered prayers for her to be said in the great Cathedral in Bordeaux. I fear it won’t help. God wishes her silence. Sancha, Katherine does not cry.’

  ‘This could change. She is only a month old.’

  Ailenor lifted her baby from her cradle and held her close in her arms. ‘I have forbidden them to secure her to a board. Her life could be short and I want her to be happy. I love her so much.’

  Alix and Beatrice concocted salves, perfumes and soaps. A maid who was talented in the composition of cosmetics helped them and soon they had created gifts for all the family.

  Beatrice presented her aunt with perfume distilled from what she swore were secret ingredients. Sancha exclaimed her delight when she discovered the little vial inside a linen wrapping. She unplugged the wax stopper and delicately held the glass bottle to her nose. ‘Ah, lemon and orange and bergamot. This reminds me of my childhood. What a kind thought.’

  ‘Mama,’ said Beatrice. ‘For you.’ She held out a gift, another perfume vial enfolded in soft linen.

  Smiling at Sancha, Ailenor unwrapped and unstoppered her gift. She held it to her nostrils and sniffed.

  ‘Guess what I used, Mama.’

  ‘I think you have managed to use my favourite roses and something else. Now what could it be?’ She smelled it once again. ‘Almond?’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  Ailenor dabbed it onto her wrists and touched her throat. ‘I have gifts for you all as well but they must wait.’

  As candles flickered and afternoon snow drifted down through the pale light outside the chamber windows, Ailenor presided over a very happy New Year’s feast with her senior ladies, younger children, her sister, and little Edmund of Cornwall who was now used to being named Ed. She thought she had never been so happy.

  If only her children never had to grow up. The older boys were dining in the Great Hall with Earl Richard and the noisy court. As Ailenor bit into a fruit pastry, she thought of how Edward had wept like a small child as Henry sailed off to Gascony, protesting he was old enough to go and fight. He had watched Henry’s ship sail into the distance until eventually he could no longer see its sails and they had to persuade him away.

  He will grow up soon enough and be married to Lenora of Castile. A server poured wine into her glass goblet. She waved him over to Sancha who presided over the other end of the long table and retreated into her musings. Not for long. Musicians burst into the chamber to play for them. Arranging the sleeves of her gown over the arms of her great chair she sat back, leaning into her cushions, and listened to Christmas melodies. Her ladies rose from their benches to strum their lutes.

  The children behaved with dignity fitting the sons and daughters of princes. Ailenor held onto the moment as if a cruel spirit would slip in from outside and steal it from her. Their children were their kingdom’s future, God’s gift to Henry and herself, a gift to the realm. She loved them with all her heart. Margaret, she thought to herself, Margaret will come home to visit us soon, soon as we can arrange it. We shall always be a close family.

  She presented her ladies and children with gifts, calling out their names one by one as she handed them belts, purses, and little velvet-covered books containing a set of poems she had composed. These were tales of elves and goblins, fairy folk and giants, knights and ladies and, to the children’s delight, dragons with fiery smoke, treasures with tiny illuminated capitals and miniature illustrations.

  In January Ailenor celebrated her purification. The whole court attended, all aware she held enormous power. When the council convened again, Richard and Ailenor united to manage the magnates they had summoned to Westminster and appealed for funds to help win the King’s war. For once, they met with success.

  ‘It is admirable that despite the snow, they have come again for our Parliament and have agreed food, horses, and ships for Gascony,’ Ailenor said to Sancha, nibbling at a piece of marchpane left over from her purification feast.

  ‘Is there news from Castile?’ Sancha said.

  Richard frowned at Ailenor. ‘The Castilian marriage will be costly. The Council won’t grant further funds.’

  Ailenor pushed her cup away and said with firmness, ‘This marriage is important for lasting peace in Gascony. We’ll collect a tax from the Jews and the religious orders - as much as we can.’

  Richard stared down at his jewelled eating knife. ‘There goes Henry’s crusading collection. We can’t ask for money for troops and for a royal wedding. The City will rebel, the barons will rebel, and the Church will tell you it’s time we had an inquisition against the Jews.’ He frowned at Ailenor. ‘I believe you have paid Earl Simon three thousand marks to return to Gascony to help Henry, and you promised the rest of the money outstanding from his previous work there?’

  ‘Earl Simon is worth it all, every mark. When Henry wrote how he needed him, I had to beg Nell to persuade him to return to Gascony.’

  Richard leaned back and laughed. ‘Earl Simon knows how to strike a hard bargain.’

  ‘As do you.’ She pushed her plate away, sweetmeats abandoned. Rising from her chair, she sent a servant to fetch Lady Mary and Domina Willelma. ‘We must collect coin from wherever, Jews, merchants, nobles, and even the poor.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘And I am sure you, Richard, will want to organise your own contribution.’

  She swept from the chamber without another word, leaving Richard playing with his eating knife. Sancha looked adrift as if she could not decide whether to follow Ailenor or remain with her husband. She remained seated.

  Richard, after all, was the wealthiest earl in the land, wealthier than Henry. He was so rich that when the Emperor of the Romans died, the Pope offered Richard the crown of Sicily and he refused. Richard might not want Sicily but Edmund, their second son, could become King of Sicily instead. Gascony for Edward. Sicily for Edmund. She must suggest this idea to Henry though it would be an expensive venture. It would not be popular with the King’s council.

  In February, a letter arrived from Gascony with good news. Ailenor was in her chapel praying, as she did daily, for Henry’s safety. Dropping her beads, she left the altar, Sancha scurrying behind her, desperately trying to keep up.

  She read the letter slowly in the painted chamber where a fire blazed in the hearth. Glancing up, she said in an excited voice, ‘It’s happening at last. They want Edward to travel to Castile for the wedding. And, Alfonso wants to knight my son.’ She let the letter drop onto her lap. ‘But that will disappoint Henry. He had hoped to knight Edward himself.’

  Her fingers rapped a small table by her chair. She felt her brow creasing. ‘Alfonso wants a huge dower for his sister. He doesn’t offer a marriage portion for Lenora himself.’

  Sancha’s face coloured as she said, ‘Henry had nothing from our father.’

  ‘Well, marriages are expensive.’ Ailenor said. ‘Alfonso knows we need this union with his House to persuade Castile to drop claims to Gascony.’

  She glanced at the letter again. ‘He wants Edward to be in possession of his own lands. They must be valued at ten thousand a year.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s demanding.’

  ‘Has the King agreed the terms?’ Sancha asked.

  ‘Apparently Henry has agreed terms.’ She sighed. ‘Alfonso wants Edward to be richer than his father. Navarre is the real problem.’

  ‘Why is Navarre an issue?’ Sancha’s brow wrinkled.

  ‘You see, Sancha. It’s difficult. Theobald of Navarre is another suitor for Lenora of Castile. If Navarre joins with Castile to claim Gascony we are undone. With this marriage, we settle with Castile and prevent Gaston de Bearn from securing his own alliance with either state. Cousin Gaston would be outmanoeuvred.’ She read on, her mouth breaking into a smile. ‘It goes well for Henry in Gascony. Earl Simon has put down a rebellion.’ She placed the letter on her table. ‘Where is Richard today, Sancha?’

  ‘Hunting.’

  ‘In
this weather?’

  ‘He chases rabbits over in the warrens across the river.’

  Ailenor thought for a moment. ‘Don’t tell Richard what I have told you. I’ll call a council meeting tonight and tell them about our success in Gascony and that negotiations for Lord Edward’s wedding are going ahead as my husband wishes. As soon as Richard returns, Sancha, send him to me. I shall read him Henry’s letter myself.’ Sancha nodded. Ailenor stood and took her sister’s arm. ‘Now, shall we go and see how our children are? They might enjoy skating on the monk’s fish pond. I need exercise.’

  ‘Edmund loves the skates you had made for his Name Day. Remember how we could never skate in Provence. Well, only if we journeyed to the mountains.’

  ‘That was a rare treat. Uncle William spun us around and around.’ She felt tears gather in her eyes at the memory. ‘God rest his soul.’ She crossed herself.

  It was these moments with Sancha that Ailenor enjoyed most, occasions when they shared recollections of their family history.

  By April, ships sailed for Gascony. Ailenor ensured they were well-provisioned. Henry enjoyed English beef so she sent six cows, plus eight sheep and a gift which was a sleek black Arab stallion called Samson. Henry enjoyed pigs’ trotters so she sent them pickled in brine. For his wardrobe she packed new tunics she embroidered herself with a chequered design whilst resting after Katherine’s birth. She included an oaken chest with family gifts - soap from Beatrice, a pen and ink horn from Edmund, a jewelled dagger from Edward, and a Saxon cross set with garnets from herself. She wondered if now he would ever depart on a crusade since poor Louis had met with terrible disasters in Egypt and was imprisoned, though thankfully ransomed - at enormous cost to France. Marguerite had birthed two children in the Holy Land. They were back in Paris but Louis was ill almost to death.