by Jean Plaidy
They talked together and during the conversation Reginald somehow revealed that he was a doctor and that he came from Bath. He was a well-known doctor in England, he could not help hinting, and served the great.
The ale was good and after he had drunk well of it he began to feel very sleepy. His bed was a pallet on the floor in the gallery above the alehouse parlour. He slept heavily but awakened in the night feeling rather strange. He was beset by violent pains which his medical knowledge suggested had been brought about by something he had drunk or eaten.
By the morning his friends were alarmed for he could not get up from his pallet. Their new friends who had brought them to the inn departed as they said they must and wished them good speed on their journey.
Before that morning was out Reginald of Bath was dead.
Eleanor, impatiently awaiting news from Scotland, was filled with foreboding. She had come to accept Katharine’s dumbness. The child was so pretty and appealing and she could forget her affliction in her charm.
Now her thoughts were all for Margaret. She knew that something was amiss. She could not imagine what was keeping Reginald. But perhaps she expected too much. Henry kept reminding her that he had not been gone very long and as he had impressed on him her deep anxiety he was sure the good doctor would make all possible speed.
When the party returned without the doctor and she heard that he was dead, she was in great dismay.
She fired questions at his attendants and wanted to know what he had found in Edinburgh Castle. They had not seen the Queen of Scotland, but they did know that Reginald had been horrified by the condition of the young Queen and he had said that she was more or less a prisoner of the Scots.
‘It is because he was bringing this news to us that he has been poisoned! Oh Henry, what are we going to do? We must bring our little girl home.’
Henry was horrified but talking the matter over with his brother Richard he realised that he could not make war on the Scots. Money would be needed for such an operation and he was already committed to helping the Pope in Sicily – a matter which was causing considerable complaint from his subjects who were being taxed to find the money needed.
Henry decided that he would send the Earl of Gloucester to Scotland with a suitable retinue and there arrangements must be made to give Margaret an establishment in keeping with her position, the regency disbanded, and Alexander and Margaret to rule as King and Queen.
This should be done, said the Queen, but it was not enough. She must see her daughter. Nothing would satisfy her until she had.
Since Eleanor was so determined that they must go to Scotland, go they must.
The Earl of Gloucester reported that the King and Queen of Scotland were now living together in their own establishment which was very different from their quarters in Edinburgh Castle. They would be travelling to Wark and Roxburgh and there they would meet Eleanor and Henry.
How delighted Margaret was! There was no ceremony. She must fling herself into her mother’s arms while they wept together.
‘I knew you would come. I knew you would never forget me,’ sobbed Margaret.
Eleanor laughed. ‘Forget one of my children! My darling, that I never would.’
‘Oh I knew everything would be all right if only I could reach you.’
‘It must never happen again,’ said Eleanor sternly, looking at her husband; and he assured her that it never would.
The mother and daughter would not be separated. Eleanor must hear everything that had happened since her daughter had parted from her. She told Margaret of their adventures in France, how she had met her sisters and her mother and how pleasant that had been – marred only because her darling daughter was not with her.
She told about Edward’s little bride.
‘A charming creature. Very young and she adores him already.’
‘Anyone would adore Edward,’ said Margaret; and Eleanor agreed with her.
‘You would like her. We must all be together before long. She has brought with her some tapestry which it seems in Castile they hang on walls and use on furniture. It is very pleasant and we are already using it in England.’
‘Oh, my dearest mother, how happy it makes me to be with you,’ cried Margaret.
They were going to make sure that there was no return of this monstrous behaviour, Eleanor assured her daughter. Those villains de Ros and Baliol had already been dismissed. They would regret the day they had made the Queen of Scotland a prisoner. Young Alexander was acknowledged as King and no petty little lords were going to prevent that.
‘Edward is coming to see you soon,’ said Eleanor, ‘and my love, we shall expect you at Woodstock before long. I tell you this; if you do not come, your father and I will come and fetch you.’
Margaret gazed at her parents with loving wonder. Hadn’t she always known they could put everything right?
Chapter XV
MY SON! MY SON!
Richard had been watching events with a certain bitterness. He was angry with his brother for having bestowed the crown of Sicily on young Edmund without consulting him. He could have told Henry that that crown would have to be won and that it would be a costly matter winning it. Henry seemed to have no financial sense at all. He thought his coffers were magical and refilled as a matter of course as he emptied them. Heaven knew he had been in enough difficulties and should have learned that one of the reasons for his increasing unpopularity was his continual demand for money. Richard was different; he was rich … very rich. He respected money; he rarely gave it away though sometimes he lent it if it was profitable to do so. The foreigner-hangers-on had quickly learned that they could get nothing from Richard.
Since he had been on his crusade he had had some reputation in Europe. He was looked up to as a man of courage and importance, and the Pope had already offered him the crown of Germany. He declined this offer which he knew would have offended his brother-in-law Frederick II; but now Frederick was dead and so was the son Henry he had had by Richard’s sister Isabella.
The situation had changed and Richard did not greatly care for the way events were drifting in England. He could see trouble ahead, if Henry could not. Richard would not take sides in the conflict between Henry and the barons. His loyalty prevented him from siding with the barons and his common sense would not let him agree with Henry. Henry was a fool and his doting fondness for his wife made him eager to give her relations anything they asked; he seemed to have a fondness for foreigners for he showered gifts on them and showed this absurd generosity to his half-brothers and sisters.
He now let it be known that if the office of King of the Romans was offered to him he would stand for election.
There was another candidate for this honour. This was Alfonso of Castile, half-brother of the Infanta who was now Edward’s wife, and Alfonso had the support of the French who did not care to contemplate more English influence in Europe.
Richard’s reputation however carried him through. His valour in the crusade; the wealth he had amassed; his skill in keeping clear of the troubles which beset his brother, won the day for him.
He was elected King of the Romans.
He was exultant. This was his great opportunity. He had always wanted a crown and had resented the fact that he had been born too late to have attained that of England. Now he was a King in his own right.
Sanchia was delighted to be a Queen, of equal rank with her two elder sisters. Romeo had not been far wrong when he had said he would make them all queens.
Richard talked long and earnestly to her of their future. There would be certain trouble with the German Princes. It was fortunate that Alfonso’s half-sister was married to Edward; that would make it difficult for him to show hostility. They must prepare now to leave England.
‘And,’ he confided in her, ‘it could not be at a better time. Trouble is coming very near. The murmurings through the country are growing to a rumble. You should remonstrate with your sister. She could do a great deal to show t
he King the folly of his ways.’
‘It is impossible to advise Eleanor. She has always believed she knows best.’
‘This I fear is one of those occasions when she does not,’ said Richard.
He sent for his son Henry and when he came he told him to make his preparations for he wanted him to be present at his coronation at Aachen.
Henry could see how elated his father was and rejoiced with him. It would be a great pleasure to witness his triumph. He was a little sad at the prospect of leaving Edward, for their friendship had deepened since the mutilation of the youth and Edward’s genuine repentance had touched him.
‘This has come at the best of moments,’ Richard said. ‘Any man of sense must see the way things are going. There will be trouble in England sooner or later, Henry. That much is clear.’
‘The King has a way of avoiding it simply by pretending it does not exist,’ said Henry.
‘It is a method which can work for a while, but sooner or later the truth has to be faced.’ Richard shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well now, we must make ready for our departure.’ He laid his hands on his son’s shoulders. ‘This will further our fortunes, my son, and nothing gives me greater pleasure than to contemplate what I can do for you.’
On a warm May day Richard with wife and son set sail for Dordrecht in a splendid company of fifty ships.
At Aachen he and Sanchia were crowned King and Queen of the Romans.
There was sorrow at Windsor. Little Katharine was dangerously ill.
Nothing could upset the Queen as much as threats to her children. Their health and well-being had been a constant cause of anxiety to her, and even when there had been no cause to worry she had been uneasy.
But there was no doubt that little Katharine was very ill. She had always been a strange child – aloof from the rest because she was dumb. The Queen had loved her the more for her affliction and had taken great pains to ensure that she felt no lack because of it.
Katharine had been exceptionally pretty and Henry used to say that more than any of the girls she had inherited her mother’s beauty.
And now they were going to lose her.
The Queen would not leave the child’s bedside and the King hovered over the Queen.
‘You will make yourself ill, my darling,’ he admonished her, but she only shook her head. It was as though she had some belief that while she was there death would not dare to take her child.
The little girl’s eyes pleaded with her to stay; the hot little hand clung to hers.
But it was no use. Not even the Queen’s fierce determination could save her daughter’s life.
On a bleak May day Katharine slipped away from life as quietly as she had lived it.
Soon after Katharine’s death it became clear that the patience of the barons was becoming exhausted.
Simon de Montfort – the King’s brother-in-law, who never failed to arouse uneasy thoughts in his mind – was back in England and it seemed that the discontented barons were looking to him as a leader.
There had been an outcry when Aymer of Valence, the King’s half-brother, had been given the See of Winchester. This meant that Boniface of Savoy, the Queen’s uncle, had Canterbury, the King’s half-brother Winchester and the most powerful member of the foreign party was William of Valence, another half-brother of the King.
Conferring together the barons decreed that soon not a single position of authority would be left to the English and the King’s penchant for foreigners must be blunted.
There was no doubt that the foreigners were a greedy company of men. The more the King bestowed on them the more they tried to get. Trouble began when William de Valence tried to extend his lands and in so doing encroached on those of Simon de Montfort.
Simon was determined not to let this pass; knowing that he had the backing of most powerful English barons he took the matter up with the council.
William de Valence, arrogant in the belief that he had his half-brother the King behind him, declared before the assembly that he had no desire to parley with a traitor.
Simon cried out: ‘I am no traitor … nor traitor’s son.’ This was a reference to the father of William de Valence, Hugh de Lusignan who had taken up arms against his King. ‘My father,’ added Simon, ‘was not like yours.’
William rushed at Simon; his hand on his sword.
They had to be parted.
The quarrel in itself might have been insignificant. Such quarrels did arise now and then between barons. But this was the leader of the foreign party against the man to whom the barons were looking more and more to lead them.
As Simon left the council chamber he was joined by Roger Bigod, the Earl of Norfolk.
‘My lord,’ said Roger, ‘a halt must soon be called to the arrogance of these foreigners.’
‘I am in complete agreement,’ replied Simon.
‘Praise God. There are thousands like us. What shall be done in the matter?’
‘We must call a meeting of those who share our anxieties. We must make up our minds then what action to take.’
There was no lack of men to join them.
The next meeting of the King and the parliament was a stormy one.
The King began by telling the assembly of his financial difficulties. They knew that there had been a famine due to the poor harvest; the Welsh were giving trouble and he was none too sure of the Scots. He had incurred great expense in the service of the country and he now needed further grants.
He was answered that had he not bestowed great gifts on the Queen’s family, his half-brothers and sisters and their foreign friends, he would have had ample funds for dealing with the country’s needs.
The King’s friends immediately rose in his defence while those barons led by de Montfort insisted on putting their point of view, which was that it was impossible to impose further taxation on the people and that economy might start by sending some of the parasites back to their own countries.
The squabble between the opposing parties might have grown into a fight if the King had not called a halt to the proceedings.
A few days later at Westminster Hall the King was confronted by several barons all in armour. He was startled. He knew now that they were serious in their intentions to curb him.
He noticed that none of them carried a sword. Each man had left his weapon at the door of Westminster Hall to show that this was not an attack, merely a threat.
‘What means this?’ cried the King. ‘Are you trying to make me your prisoner?’
‘Not so, my lord,’ answered Roger Bigod. ‘We but come to tell you that the aliens must be sent away. They are draining the country’s resources. The people will not endure it. If something’s not done the whole country will be in revolt as it was in your father’s day.’
Henry was very serious. The people were becoming restive. He was aware of it. It shocked him when they regarded him sullenly. Worst of all was when they shouted after Eleanor. She pretended to despise them, but he knew she was upset.
‘What we ask of you,’ said Simon, ‘is that you promise to be guided by twenty-four elected magnates. There must be reforms.’
Henry looked at the stern faces of the barons. It was as though he saw the ghost of his father at Runnymede lurking behind them.
He agreed.
Simon moved into action supported by men such as Roger Bigod. Twenty-four men were selected – half by the King, half by the barons. This community was to meet three times a year to bring about reforms in State and Church.
Then the Parliament selected another twenty-four members. Thus it consisted of forty-eight men. From these were chosen a Justiciar, a Chancellor and a Treasurer. It was made clear that the assembly was to be of temporary duration. At the end of one year they would answer to the King and the Council for their actions.
The first act passed by the Parliament was that the aliens should surrender to the King those castles which he had bestowed on them. This brought a protest from William de Valence who r
efused to give up anything. ‘Your castle or your head,’ was the retort of Simon de Montfort. The answer of William de Valence was to take shelter in the castle of Wolvesey which had been bestowed on his brother Aymer.
Henry was in a quandary. He was now expected by his barons to besiege the castle and fight against his own half-brothers. He wanted to refuse but he dared not. He was forced to obey and in due course the castle surrendered to his army.
He felt completely robbed of his power. He discussed the state of affairs with Eleanor who wanted him to stand out against the barons. He was the King, she pointed out, and should make this fact known.
Gently he explained to her the power of these men and that he must be cautious. There was one man he feared more than any other and that was Simon de Montfort.
‘I should never have allowed him to marry my sister,’ he mourned. Yet he knew in his heart that there was nothing else he could have done. Simon had made up his mind to marry Eleanor, just as he had made up his mind to reform England, to bring rule through a parliament which meant of course curbing the power of the King.
His thoughts were heavy as one July day his barge carried him down the Thames. They matched the sky which had suddenly become overcast. In the distance he heard a rumble of thunder. It seemed prophetic.
‘There’s a storm about to break, my lord,’ said his boatman.
‘Aye,’ said the King. ‘I know it well.’
At that moment the clouds opened and there was such a deluge of rain that the boat seemed likely to sink and that moment the sky was illumined by a flash of lightning overhead and the roar of the thunder was deafening.
There had been some violent thunderstorms lately. A few years ago the Queen’s apartments at Windsor had been struck while she was in them. There had been another great storm when Eleanor had been visiting St Albans with the children and lightning had struck the Abbey. The laundry had been burned to the ground and it was said that the monks there had seen an angel with a flaming sword and a torch. It was believed by some that the angel was there to protect the Abbey but others were sure it was a warning against the Queen’s extravagance. Had she not come near to being killed at Windsor? And it seemed God’s vengeance had followed her to St Albans.
