The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean - Страница 17

He could not take his eyes from her. He told her that he had not lived until he saw her, that he rejoiced that he had waited for marriage until now – although he had been tempted to undertake it before. The fates had saved him for this, because he had known as soon as he had set eyes on Eleanor, no one else would suit him.

All this was intoxicating, as was the admiration of his courtiers, and her contentment added to her beauty. She could talk freely with Henry for he spoke her native Provencal. Then she tried her English which he declared was enchanting and he wanted to issue a law that all the English should speak their tongue as she did.

There was only one who was not susceptible to her charm and that was the old Archbishop of Canterbury. Much did she care. Poor old man. He was supposed to be a saint and all knew how dull they were. It was said that he ordered monks to beat him with horsehair thongs; that knotted rope cloth was tied about his body where best it could torment it; that he never went to bed but spent nights sitting in meditation or on his knees.

A most uncomfortable man and one she hoped she would see little of.

But he was the Archbishop of Canterbury and it was he who married them in the great Cathedral – Henry told her that this most impressive edifice and Westminster Abbey were the first two churches to be built by the Normans in England. How solemn was the ceremony. Eleanor was deeply conscious of her uncle William and remembering what he had said to her, was overwhelmed by the importance of what was happening and when they went to the palace for the wedding banquet she was somewhat grave. So was Henry, but none the less loving.

She sat beside him and he fed her the best pieces of the food which had been put on his platter. He was very tender and assured her that his greatest wish was that she should be happy.

She told him that as soon as she had heard he had chosen her for his bride she had felt exalted, and then a little fearful that she might not please him. Now that he had shown her that she did, she could experience only happiness.

The next day they were to leave for London where the real celebrations would begin.

‘The people of London are jealous of their privileges,’ he explained. ‘The marriage of course should take place in Canterbury and be celebrated by our premier churchman. But it is London which will decide whether it is going to love you or not.’

‘What do I have to do to make it?’ she asked.

‘All you need to do, my Queen, is to sit on your white horse and smile at them.’

‘They are easily pleased,’ she replied.

‘Nay, they are the most difficult people to please in my country. And woebetide the ruler who does not please them. They have memories as long as their river Thames and no compunction in showing their displeasure.’

‘Then I must indeed put forth my best smile. But you are a King and would not allow them to dislike me, I know.’

‘I can see you already have a good opinion of your husband.’

And so they talked while his fond eyes never left her.

When they were alone in the chamber prepared for them he was a little uneasy.

He said: ‘You are very young. I would not displease you for the world.’

‘You please me greatly, my lord,’ she answered.

‘I fear that your opinion might change.’

‘I do not fear,’ she answered, ‘so why should you?’

‘You are but fourteen years of age. It is very young,’ he said.

‘Princesses are ripe early, my lord. I understand full well. As your wife, the Queen, I am expected to give you an heir to the nation. I am ready.’

‘You can know nothing of these matters, child that you are.’

She put up her hands and taking his face in them kissed it.

‘When I was very young I read the works of our poets. They always seemed to write of love. Unrequited love; fulfilled love. I observed much, my lord. I know there is even more that I do not know, but you will teach me. That is a husband’s duty, is it not? I can only say, Henry, my King and husband, that I am ready.’

Then he held her tightly in his arms and said that he had never dared dream of such delight.

And she knew that from henceforth he would be her slave.

Side by side they rode to London.

As they passed through the country men, women and children ran from their cottages. The weather was cold for it was January, but wrapped in her cloak lined with vair and edged with miniver Eleanor did not notice this. The frosty air put a pinkness into her cheeks and a sparkle into her eyes. It seemed to Henry that she grew more beautiful every day.

As they approached the city of London the crowds intensified.

‘Long live the King! Long live the Queen!’ The loyal cries of the people were something she would remember throughout her life, particularly on less happy occasions.

And so they came into the capital city.

Across the streets banners had been fixed; silk hangings fell from the windows. There were gleaming lamps and tapers; everywhere were displayed the two crowns – those of the King and the Queen. Most marvellous of all the citizens, proud of their city, had swept away all the dirt and refuse which usually marred it; many of them had scrubbed the cobbles clean and what was most startling to those who knew it well was the sweet cleanliness everywhere.

All the dignitaries of the City were present and they were determined to impress the new Queen with their splendour. They followed the procession from the City to Westminster where, the King told the Queen, they would act as butlers.

‘It is a custom for the leading citizens to do this on a coronation,’ he added. ‘They are very jealous of their traditions and determined to cling to them.’

‘This seems a good one,’ said the Queen.

They certainly presented a colourful sight in their silk garments and gold-woven mantles. Their horses had been newly caparisoned and between them they carried three hundred and sixty gold and silver cups; and the King’s trumpeters rode before them sounding their trumpets while the people cheered.

And with all the pomp and ceremony of a royal coronation Eleanor of Provence was crowned Queen of England.

After the ceremony, the feast. Eleanor had never seen such splendour. She wondered whether Marguerite’s coronation had been as splendid. She doubted it. Louis would not have cared for so much extravagance – as for Blanche she would have wanted to play the central part and as she could scarcely do that at Marguerite’s coronation she would want as little display as possible.

How different was Henry! Henry could not do enough for his Queen. He loved the spectacle because it was for her.

How thrilling it was to walk beside the King, wearing her newly acquired crown, while over her head was a silk canopy held up with four silver lances carried by four knights – two on either side of her. Over the King was held a similar canopy, his supported by barons of the Cinque ports.

There she sat beside the King at the high table and on their right were the archbishops, bishops and abbots and on their left the earls and highest nobles of the land.

Eleanor particularly noticed the Seneschal because of his air of distinction. He was a man who would stand out in any company.

‘Who is he?’ Eleanor asked the King.

‘Oh … the Seneschal. He is Simon de Montfort – an ambitious young man.’

‘I have heard his name.’

‘It would be doubtless his father of whom you heard. He was Simon de Montfort l’Amaury, Captain General of the French forces in the war against the Albigensians. A man of much military skill and cruelty.’

‘And is the son like the father?’

‘Nay, but he is a man of good sense, I believe. He will climb through a shrewd mind rather than a sword. There is a battle of sorts going on now between him and Norfolk. This office of Seneschal which he now fulfils he insists belongs to the Earls of Leicester. He, through his grandfather’s marriage into the Leicester family, has claimed the title. The Earl of Norfolk declares the office belongs to him.’