by Rachel Bard
My turn now. “It will be a boy, and he’ll come on All Hallows’ Eve, and he’ll be called Geoffrey. My father told me once that he’d named his sons for his brothers. So if he has another son I know he’ll name him Geoffrey, that’s the only one left.”
Joanna came closest. In three days our mother gave birth to a baby girl, and named her Eleanor.
Life went on quietly enough for the next few months. We three older children had occasional lessons in reading and writing Latin from the priest who came up from the village. I thought he was rather bumbling and absent-minded. I doubted if he’d ever had to teach anybody anything before. My mother joined us when she could. Her Latin was better than the priest’s so when she sat with us she saw that we learned a lot more, though we couldn’t fool around so much.
Roderick and I, and sometimes Richard when we’d let him, practiced our jousting in the outer bailey, where Sir Peter had set up a course with a quintain for us to try to demolish.
We did get our ride to the sea. It was calm and sunny when we rode out from Corfe. But by the time we reached Swanage on the Channel the wind was blowing hard and heavy gray clouds were spreading over the sky. I stood on the clifftop and looked out at the sea. It was gray-green, and the waves had white manes like horses. The waters went on and on until you couldn’t tell where the sea stopped and the sky began. Just below us the breakers were dashing against the rocky shore. It was exciting to see the showers of spume they shot up and hear the roars.
“How far to France?” I asked Sir Peter.
“A good two days’ sail. More, for any sailor foolish enough to set out in weather like this. Are you thinking maybe of a voyage across the Channel, Prince Henry?”
“No, I was just wondering if this might be where the French would land if they invaded England, and how long it would take them, and whether we’d try to have an army here to meet them, or if we’d wait for them at Corfe Castle.”
“Good questions, my prince. Most likely they’d choose a shorter crossing, like from Calais to Dover. If they did land here on the Dorset coast we’d probably wait at Corfe, though that would depend on how much advance notice we had.”
“I think we should push them right over the cliff and back into the sea!” cried Richard. “What a great splash they’d make!”
Sir Peter laughed.
“So they would, Prince Richard! That’s one battle tactic that hadn’t occurred to me. I’m glad you’re both thinking about how to defend this land of ours. When your father comes, which I hope will be before long, I’ll tell him his princelings will soon be ready to join him on the field of battle.”
That was the first hint I had that my father might be coming. I knew he was far away in the north, fighting the barons who had been so disloyal and risen against him. If he could find time to come see us that would mean the war was going our way.
I was right. He arrived in June of 1216 with William Marshal and twenty knights.
I hadn’t often seen my father in such a good mood. Much of the time he was either so gloomy he wouldn’t talk to anyone, or so cross that he snapped at the nearest person. Sometimes I was that person. I knew better than to answer back. All I wanted to do was escape. My mother told me I shouldn’t mind this, that he wasn’t cross at me, just very upset about matters of state. I tried to believe that, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d failed him somehow.
As soon as he arrived at Corfe Castle he asked Sir Peter to assemble everybody in the Long Hall. He seated himself on his throne at the far end. William Marshal stood at his right, Sir Peter at his left. My mother and we four children sat at the side. So did the nurse holding Baby Eleanor, and Lady Isabelle with Roderick. Standing below us were Sir Peter’s deputies, my father’s knights, my mother’s ladies in waiting and the husbands of those who had husbands, the castle knights and their squires. We must have been about three dozen. I’d never seen this hall so crowded. As soon as everybody was assembled a group of musicians struck up a tune. It was very lively. A lutist and an oboist played the melody and the drummer beat out the rhythm. I saw some of the ladies begin to tap their toes.
“Will there be dancing later? Oh, I hope there will!” Joanna said to my mother. Joanna loved dancing. I’d been helping her to learn the steps.
“Shhh. Maybe. I hope so.” My mother loved dancing too. “Now be quiet. The King is going to speak to us.”
My father looked different. In the nine months since I’d seen him he seemed to have become fatter and older. He was growing bald and what hair he had was nearly gray. So was his beard that used to be so black. Another thing that was different was his good temper. He was actually smiling while he looked around the room. As usual, he was dressed like a king. His heavy gold chain with the cross was around his neck. Whenever he moved the jewels on his finger-rings and in his crown flashed.
He spoke while seated on his throne. I’d noticed before that my father preferred not to stand in the presence of others who were taller. William Marshal and Peter de Maulay were both much taller.
He raised his voice so everybody in the hall could hear.
“My loyal friends, I bring you good news. Thanks be to God, we have routed the insurgents from the Scottish border, from Yorkshire and the Midlands and Essex. They are penned up in London with their cowardly French allies. Prince Louis beats on our castle walls to no avail. Try as they might, they shall not defeat our brave defenders.
“We are grieved that some of our supporters have seen fit to desert our cause and join the rebels. Yet if they repent and return to our service there will be no penalty. This word is being published throughout the land. We will welcome any good trusty warrior who cares to join us. I ask all of you to spread this message too. With God’s blessing, we shall prevail.”
Some people in the crowd cheered. I heard cries of “We shall prevail!” and “God bless King John and God bless England!”
My father smiled and raised his hand for silence.
“Now, my friends, we shall feast together and if you will, celebrate our good fortune with music and dancing.”
More cheers. I felt like cheering too. It hadn’t been often that our family was all together and all in such good humor.
My mother rose and took baby Eleanor from the nurse. She walked over to my father and held the baby out to him. Since I knew he hadn’t been here when Eleanor was born, I’d have thought he’d want to hold her now, when he saw her for the first time. But he only glanced at her and didn't move to take her. He looked up at my mother. I could barely hear his words, but it sounded like “How do I know it’s mine?” I couldn’t see her face. She walked quickly out of the room, still holding the baby.
Soon after that my father left. I saw him only once more. In July he sent word for my mother and me to join him at Chester in the West Midlands. She was to bring some of the royal treasure that he kept in safekeeping at Corfe Castle. I suppose he had to sell it to pay for this war, which seemed to go on and on. I saw him for only a few minutes when he came out to meet us. He didn’t look well. He was limping with his gouty leg, stooping over the way I do when I have a terrible stomach-ache. We’d hardly arrived in Chester than he was off again. We heard he was fighting all over the Midlands, Essex and Lincolnshire.
Toward the end of October when we were staying at Windsor Castle, William Marshal brought us the awful news: King John had died of a fever at the castle of the bishop of Lincoln in Newark.
“I wasn’t with him at the end, my lady Queen. But he did everything that needed to be done. One of his last acts was to designate Prince Henry as his heir. He ordered his companions and me to swear allegiance to Prince Henry. He sent letters to order his sheriffs and constables to accept Henry as their king. I think you would want to know what message he left for me:
“ ‘My loyal friend: I place my son Henry in your keeping as his protector. He is only nine and will need your guidance. I implore you, for the sake of God, to act in Henry’s interest.’ ”
“Did he leave a w
ill?” my mother asked.
“He did. He named twelve of his longtime loyal friends and supporters as executors.”
“No mention of me?”
Sir William didn’t answer right away. I could see that he didn’t want to hurt my mother.
“None,” he said.
Chapter 48
Isabella
1216-1217
Nine days after John’s death, my eldest son was hastily crowned King Henry III of England. I sat by his side in Gloucester Cathedral for the ceremony.
I’d dressed soberly with only a few jewels. I intended to be seen as the loving caretaker of this child, the Queen Regent who would watch over him and advise him until he was old enough to rule on his own.
During the brief ceremony I managed to look suitably solemn, but I was hardly the grieving widow. I was sorry for John’s sake that he’d died before succeeding in driving out the French invaders, yet I can’t say I missed him or mourned him. Nor did most of his subjects. Everybody was ready to forget the past and to find in their new king, though he was only nine, their hope for a more peaceful and prosperous England.
I hoped nobody watching would laugh when the bishop of Winchester placed a strange-looking crown on Henry’s head. How typical of John! One of his last rash acts was to insist on hurrying to ford a river that would soon be swollen by the incoming tide. He and his men barely got through the flooding waters. His baggage train and all his treasure, including the coronation crown, were lost. We’d improvised a crown of sorts from one of my gold belts and some jeweled brooches.
Perched on two thick pillows, Henry looked very small on the big throne. He knew what was expected of him, though, and did his best to live up to it. He was a handsome boy. The black hair he’d been born with had lightened to a chestnut-brown, with ringlets falling to his shoulders. Already he had dignity and a natural gravity, tempered by his sunny disposition. I hoped and believed he’d turn out to be less choleric and more merciful than his father.
As soon as we were back in Winchester, I received William Marshal, who asked to discuss Henry’s future. John had named William as protector of the kingdom and of Henry. I was glad—he’d be an excellent mentor.
But though the war was winding down, it was far from over. William would be away a great deal, organizing the resistance to Prince Louis and the rebels.
“Because of his youth, I wouldn’t wish to take the King about the country with me. I wish to entrust him to a guardian to supervise his learning and to prepare him, little lad that he is, for kingship. We have named Peter des Roches, the bishop of Winchester, to this post.” Courteous as always, he bent his silvered head deferentially as he waited for my reply. I guessed that the decision had already been made. However, Sir Peter suited me very well since that meant we could make Winchester our main residence. It was the favorite home of my children as well as mine.
“A wise choice, I believe. I don’t know the bishop well, but I remember that he fought on John’s behalf for many years before being named bishop. Thank you, Sir William. And Godspeed as you go out to protect the kingdom.”
Henry took to the bishop at once and he to Henry. He saw that the boy was schooled in Latin, both reading and writing, as well as in soldiering. Sometimes William Marshal sent word that Henry should join the army for some march or maneuver. Then Sir Peter would conduct him to where the action was and stay by his side, as both guardian and instructor. Everybody on the council was eager for Henry to become a warrior and leader of warriors as soon as possible. I was learning that I had very little say in the matter.
In fact, I had very little say in anything these days. Nobody consulted me or informed me about affairs of state. After some time I decided that since Bishop Peter seemed a reasonable man I’d tell him how I felt. I thought it more diplomatic to go to him rather than command him to come to me. So I arranged to meet him in his chambers in the bishop’s palace near the cathedral. After I kissed his ring he asked me to be seated. He looked more like an ordinary priest than a bishop, with no red robes or white stole, just an unadorned purple surplice with a modest silver cross on his breast. A genial-looking man with iron-gray hair and impressive eyebrows, he was courtly but not subservient.
“I’m honored at your visit, my lady Queen. May I assist you in some matter?”
“I hope so, my lord bishop. But first I wish to thank you for your good care of my son Henry. He has a high regard for you and often says so.”
“He’s a fine lad who should prove a worthy king. It’s my pleasure to help point him on the way.”
“Thank you for that. Now, you can help me too if you will. As you have seen, I’m not invited nowadays to be present when the council meets, so I’m woefully ill-informed on the progress of the war. I’ve heard there was a great victory over the rebel barons at Lincoln. Does that mean we’ll have peace?”
“Ay, we’ll have peace, and before long, with God’s aid. Both sides are ready for it. Prince Louis has asked for a truce. He holds little besides London now. We’ll probably meet with him soon to begin talking terms. Would you wish to be present at such a meeting, my lady?” He cocked his head and looked at me shrewdly from under his bushy brows, knowing perfectly well what I wished.
“I would. I’ve come to believe that the council doesn’t want to hear my opinions and is unwilling to grant me the title of Queen Regent. Nevertheless I knew King John’s wishes for his kingdom as well as anyone. I believe I should be present when such important matters are considered.”
“I think William Marshal would agree with you. So do I. So would the papal legate Gualo, in all likelihood, and most of the others. We have only the justiciar Hubert de Burgh to persuade. I’ll do what I can to convince him that inviting Queen Isabella to join us at our meetings with Prince Louis will not do irreparable harm to the Kingdom of England.”
I thanked him for his promised aid. He thanked me for being so gracious as to favor him with my presence. Both of us knew we were playing a game. But I felt that the bishop was on my side in the game now.
I still felt so when I was asked to be present in September 1217 at the signing of the peace treaty with Prince Louis. It was to take place on the neutral ground of an islet in the Thames near Kingston. Along with my son the King, William Marshal and the new papal legate Gualo, I was rowed out to the island in a long, broad boat with a red silk canopy and the Plantagenet pennant flying. Other boats brought other members of the council and supporters of the English King. We watched while Prince Louis approached over the water from the other side of the river. With him were a good number of the dukes and counts of France, all gorgeously attired, besides many of the English barons who’d risen against John.
We too had dressed with care. The barons, earls and knights were all in velvets and fine woolens with well-polished gilded swords at their belts. The legate Gualo was in scarlet even to his biretta.
I’d given some thought to Henry’s costume and my own. I didn’t want him to be in the black his father had favored. We settled on a deep blue tunic and leggings, the former embroidered with golden lions around neck and hem. By now a proper crown had been made, similar to the lost coronation crown though with fewer jewels. I too wore my crown as well as my coronation robe. I wasn’t going to let anyone forget that I was still Queen of England. I was pleased with my appearance. Anne had concurred.
“My lady, you have never looked lovelier. Nobody would guess you were a day over twenty.” I was thirty-one.
The meeting itself was anticlimactic as far as substance went. Both sides had agreed on the provisions ahead of time. First the legate Gualo reminded everybody that England was still a possession of the Pope. So Louis, who had been excommunicated for going into battle against the Pope’s kingdom, knelt before Gualo and swore on the Gospel to be faithful to the Pope and the church from that day forward. Next, he swore to release from their fealty to him all the barons and men of England who had joined his cause. He even promised to try to persuade his father, King Ph
ilip, to restore to King Henry the English rights to their former possessions in France.
“Could that really happen?” I asked Bishop Peter.
“That he tries to persuade his father? Probably. That King Philip agrees? Hardly likely. But it makes Louis sound nicely conciliatory. They’re going to pay him a sizable sum to get himself and his army out of England. He should at least make a gesture toward giving something in return.”
That was my last public appearance in England.
Just before Christmas of 1217 the justiciar, Hubert de Burgh, came to me and told me I was to leave the country.
I was so shocked I didn’t say anything, just stared at him. He must have taken this for acquiescence, and began at once to talk of getting me to Dover for the voyage.
I’d never taken to Sir Hubert. I knew he’d remained faithful to John when many others deserted his cause. To reward him John had named him justiciar, that is, his second in command and chief dispenser of justice in the kingdom. He was, besides, sheriff of Kent and several other counties. He was constable of Dover Castle, which he’d defended with great bravery against the forces of Prince Louis. He was also one of the men John had named to Henry’s council. He was, in short, one of the giants of the baronial community. John had trusted him. That didn’t mean I had to.
“Sir Hubert, wait a moment, I beg you. Why do you tell me I must leave my kingdom? Am I not still Queen? Doesn’t my son need me at his side while he’s of such a tender age? By whose authority do you give this order? Until I hear it from my son and from his protector William Marshal I must decline to obey.”
This huge man, bulging with muscles and authority, wasn’t used to dealing with women, much less argumentative women. His face turned so red I feared he was going to have a fit. He glared at me like a maddened bull. We were alone in the outer chamber of my rooms in Winchester Palace. I began to wonder if I might need to call for help. But I was as angry as he was.
