The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean. Страница 67

‘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.

EVESHAM

At 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.