Виктория Холт - The Battle of the Queens

This sounded significant, but she continued to refuse to believe it possible.

When they rode away she felt melancholy. Their brief stay had been one of the happiest times of her life, which was a sad confession for a widow to make. But what was the point of lying to herself? She had never been in love with Gilbert and if the choice had been left to her she would not have married him. How different he was from this royal prince.

And herself? A matron, yes, the mother of six children, but still handsome. Had she not been known as one of the most beautiful girls in the country before her marriage? She still was beautiful, and her good looks had become accentuated by an inner radiance which she heard came from being in love.

There! She had confessed it. She was in love with the King’s brother.

* * *

Richard was the most impatient of young men. He knew what he wanted and determined to get it.

He told Henry: ‘I am going to marry Marshal’s sister.’

‘What! Gilbert de Clare’s widow?’ cried Henry.

‘None other.’

‘You must be joking. She is an old woman.’

‘Indeed she is not.’

‘What? The mother of how many children is it?’

‘She is beautiful. You would never guess that she has borne six children. It is an added virtue. She will give me sons.’

Henry was thoughtful. He knew that if he raised objections Richard would thrust them aside. He had no desire to quarrel with him again.

‘Well?’ said Richard.

Henry shrugged his shoulders. Marriage was a sore point with him. It was time he had a wife, but he seemed cursed in this, because every time a suggestion was made for him, there was some reason why it was impracticable. Marriage negotiations had a way of petering out. A marriage with the daughter of Leopold of Austria, another with the daughter of the King of Bohemia; then marriage with Yolanda, daughter of Peter of Brittany … nothing came of them. At one time he had been ready to consider the daughter of the King of Scotland, but the Archbishop had pointed out to him that as the Justiciar had already married the elder daughter, the King could scarcely marry the younger. Hubert again! He was beginning to feel more and more resentful of him.

And now Richard wanted to marry this mother of six. Well, let him. Richard was a fool and would soon realise that. It would do him good; it would show him that he was not always so much wiser than his brother – which Henry was beginning to suspect he really thought.

‘It is your affair, brother,’ he said. ‘If you asked my advice, I would say it is folly but if you wish to act so, pray do so. She is rich and handsome you tell me, and Marshal’s sister, and he already has our sister for a wife. One thing, it should assure Marshal’s loyalty to us and that has at times been something I have been led to doubt.’

‘It will indeed,’ agreed Richard. ‘In fact, brother, it is an alliance which will do us much good.’

‘And you are looking for the good it will do you. Go then and marry your widow.’

Richard was pleased, although had Henry been against the match he would have made it all the same.

He went at once to William Marshal, who delightedly agreed to ride with him down to Tewkesbury.

Isabella was in a state of excitement as she welcomed them and Richard lost no time in coming to the point. William left them together and Richard immediately asked her to marry him.

It was an unusual situation. How many women in her position had ever received a proposal of marriage? It was the general rule that she should be told by her family that she was to make such and such a marriage and she would be obliged to fall in with their wishes. This was most romantic, but she wished she were younger, at least a little nearer to his age.

Richard told her that he had fallen in love with her the first time he had met her. Then of course she had had a husband and he could not declare himself, but now that obstacle had been removed there was no impediment to their happiness.

She attempted to protest. ‘I am so much older than you.’

‘You do not look so. Nor would I want a young and foolish girl. You are to my fancy – and what more could I ask than that?’

Still she hesitated. ‘I am the mother of six …’

‘Another of your virtues. You have been so generous to de Clare, you will be so to me. We will have a nursery full of boys.’

Still she shook her head. ‘Now perhaps you feel it will be good. But in a few years’ time the difference in our ages will be more apparent.’

He kissed her and immediately she was ready to throw aside all her objections. Even if in time he grew tired of her, why should she not be happy for a while?

* * *

They were married in April – a beautiful month, thought Isabella, with the trees full of buds and the joyous birdsong in the air.

Young Eleanor, her sister-in-law, Richard’s sister, was with her and the two were very happy together.

Eleanor was sixteen years old and certainly not in love with her elderly husband, but she was aware of the happiness which Isabella was experiencing and perhaps a little wistful. To choose one’s husband! That must be wonderful and Richard was such an attractive adoring lover that it was an experience to watch them together.

‘I wonder,’ said Eleanor, ‘if it will ever be like that for me.’ Then she realised that for it to be so, William would have to die, and she was ashamed to have spoken. But all her shame could not stop the thoughts in her mind. It was unfair to William who had been a kind husband and happy to be married to her – though largely she was knowledgeable enough to realise it was because she was the King’s sister.

Isabella prepared for her wedding, discussing with her young sister-in-law the clothes she would wear. The gold mesh snoods, the wimples of silk, the embroidered gowns, they were all a delight to see. Isabella was like a young girl and even her own children scarcely recognised their mother in this gay bride.

It was wonderful, thought Eleanor, that while the bride and groom were so happy in each other, everyone said what a good match it was; and nobody could have been more pleased than William.

The marriage was celebrated. William gave away the bride; and Richard and Isabella were left together while Eleanor with William rode back to Marlborough.

William was somewhat exhausted by the journey, and she was glad when it was all over. He went straight to his bed for he said he felt very tired.

Like the good wife she had been taught to be Eleanor looked to his comfort. She herself prepared the possets. She sat by his bed and he told her how delighted he was by this marriage, for it bound the families even closer together. Eleanor said yes indeed, and if Henry failed to have children, Richard would be King and the son he might have by Isabella would follow him to the throne.

William smiled at her. ‘That is so, little wife,’ he said. ‘My father would be pleased by this match.’

‘It is a rare match,’ said Eleanor, ‘for not only is everyone pleased but the husband and wife also.’

William looked at her a little sadly. She was such a dainty child – and beautiful too. All the daughters of Isabella of Angoulême had had some beauty – though none could compare with their mother. When he rose from his sick bed they must give themselves to the matter of having children.

She herself had always seemed to him such a child that his efforts in that direction had not been many. He had promised himself that there was time.

He was mistaken, for a few days later he died, and sixteen-year-old Eleanor was a widow.

The relationship between Hubert de Burgh and the King had never regained its old footing since that unfortunate episode at Portsmouth. It continued to rankle with Henry who had displayed a violence in his nature which he had been ashamed of, and he could not forget that Hubert had proved him to be in the wrong when the expedition failed. Instead of being grateful to a wise man who had been frank with him, so unsure of himself was he that it irritated him to contemplate he had been less than wise himself; and he imagined that Hubert was remembering it too.

Hubert’s enemies were aware of what was happening and they sent a message to his old enemy Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester, to the effect that it was time he returned to England.

Meanwhile trouble flared up between the Archbishop of Canterbury and Hubert over the town and Castle of Tonbridge which Hubert had been holding for the young Earl of Gloucester, since he had been put into his charge. The Archbishop declared that they did not belong to the Earl but should be held by the See of Canterbury. The Archbishop, Richard Grant, took the matter to the King who gave the ruling that they were held through the crown and that the See of Canterbury had no claim on them.

Incensed at this verdict Richard Grant set out for Rome to set his case out before the Pope, and as the Archbishop was one of Hubert’s greatest enemies he decided to make the most of the occasion by bringing more complaints against the Justiciar.

Hubert de Burgh, he told the Pope, governed the country and tried to set the King above Rome. This was obvious because he had encroached upon the rights of Canterbury. Moreover he had married the daughter of the King of Scotland who was too closely related to his previous wife, Hadwisa, who had been the first wife of King John, and repudiated by him in order that he could marry Isabella of Angoulême. Hubert was a much married man, pointed out the Archbishop. He chose wives from that quarter which could bring him most good. His first had been Joan, daughter of the Earl of Devon and widow of William Brewer, his second Beatrice, daughter of William of Warenne and widow of Lord Bardulf; his third Hadwisa, divorced by John. So it would be seen that he had had a fondness for those who had been previously married providing they were also wealthy. Then he had turned his attention to the daughter of the King of Scotland, whose royalty doubtless made up for her lack of a previous husband. But His Holiness would see that this was a man who seized every opportunity. The closeness of the ties of Hadwisa and Margaret of Scotland therefore made his last marriage invalid.