‘If they had tried to separate us, Margaret, I should have refused this marriage.’

Poor child, thought Margaret. And what would that have availed?

But it was well that she had the royal consent to accompany her charge.


* * *

After Isabella had left them, Henry said: ‘Let us hope that I have found a husband for her at last.’

‘Poor Isabella. It has been a string of disappointments for her – though I doubt she sees it as such. If Joan hadn’t come home in time she might have been Alexander’s wife. How is Joan?’

‘Not well. She declares that she never has been since she went to Scotland. The harshness of the climate is not good for her. Each winter she is ill.’

‘Poor Joan! She would have been better in Lusignan.’

‘But our mother decided otherwise.’

‘Our mother! Little she has done for us. She is more loyal to her family by Hugh than to that by our father.’

‘Well, she hated our father, did she not? And who could blame her? She seems to have some affection for Hugh – because he allows her to lead him where she would have him go. Our father would never have had that.’

‘One of these days, Henry, we are going to win it all back.’

‘I have vowed to do so,’ agreed Henry.

‘Alliances help.’

‘It was a pity that you chose to marry as you did.’

‘It was a great mistake, I grant you.’

‘A woman so much older than yourself.’

‘Isabella is one of the beauties of the day.’

‘Was, brother. She is an old woman now.’

‘Still an attractive one … and not so old. We do not seem very fortunate in our matrimonial adventures, Henry. Joan in Scotland … that is not bad, except that her health suffers. Eleanor a widow …’

‘And you are married to an old woman!’

‘And you not married at all.’

Henry’s lips tightened. He wanted to marry. It was time he produced an heir to the throne. What was wrong that all his efforts to do so came to nothing? Was he not the King of England? One would have thought that every ruler with a marriageable daughter would have been eager to present her to the King. Yet every attempt had come to naught. People would be saying soon that there was something wrong with the King of England.

‘Eleanor should be brought back to court,’ said Henry. ‘We should find a husband for her.’

‘Isabella and she are good friends.’

‘Eleanor has a role to fill in life other than that of keeping your wife company while you go off on other adventures.’

‘If it is your command,’ said Richard with a bow.

‘Let her come back then. I will send for her. And there is another matter. I myself intend to marry soon.’

‘You could not do better. You owe it to the country.’

‘I know that well. I have spoken to the Archbishop.’

‘And the lady?’

‘The daughter of the Count of Provence. His daughter Marguerite, as you know, is already married to the King of France.’

‘Why, brother, it is a stroke of brilliance. I am sure your choice will win approval. The Count will be sore put to it to give his allegiance to France when one of his daughters is the Queen of England.’

‘A similiar situation would arise if he thought of giving it to England.’

‘It will render him neutral, brother. And think of the harm he could do our cause.’

‘It seems to be a wise choice and I intend to give the country an heir at the earliest moment.’

‘Let us pray that you will do so.’

‘The first thing is to get married. Which I shall do as soon as satisfactory treaties have been drawn up.’

‘May you have luck in your marriage, Henry,’ said Richard.

‘Better than you had in yours, I hope,’ retorted Henry, not without a certain gratification.


* * *

It was a beautiful May day when the Princess Isabella travelled with her brothers and her sister Eleanor to Sandwich.

Through Canterbury they passed, calling at the cathedral to ask the blessing of St Thomas and then on to Sandwich where Isabella, in the company of the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, would set sail.

Margaret was beside her so she was not unhappy. Margaret pretended to be in high spirits but Isabella knew that they were a little false. Margaret was wondering what sort of man her darling was going to and if he would be a good husband. They watched orange-tipped butterflies sporting among the ladysmocks and cuckoo flowers along the banks; they smelt the scent of hawthorn blossom on the air, and Isabella said sadly: ‘It is a beautiful country to be leaving.’

‘It may be, my love, we are going to a more beautiful one.’

‘More beautiful than this! Impossible!’

‘Your native land is always the sweetest. But Germany will be our home, dearest child; and we’ll grow to love it.’

‘I have thanked God every morning on rising, since I knew, that you are coming with me.’

‘Your gratitude was no more fervent than mine.’

They were together so it was not too sad an occasion.

Eleanor rode side by side with a young man who appeared to be about six years older than herself. He was handsome, charming and lively in his conversation and she had rarely enjoyed anyone’s company more. She was beginning to think that she was shut away from the pleasures of Court life with her sister-in-law and there was a great deal that she was missing.

The young man told her that his name was Simon de Montfort and that his father was that Simon de Montfort l’Amaury who had made a name for himself in the war against the Albigensians.

The King had been good to Simon and had restored to him all the lands which had belonged to his father, and he had what he had long sought, a secure position in England and the favour of the King.

Eleanor was delighted to hear that Henry was his friend and she told him freely of her marriage to William Marshal and how she was a widow of some years standing.

He had said that he was surprised she had been allowed to remain so for so long.

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘I had no inclination to remarry. Not that the decision would rest with me.’

Simon de Montfort looked at her rather quizzically and said: ‘Do you know, I believe that if you were so inclined you are of a nature to insist that the decision should be yours.’

That remark impressed her deeply.

Was it really so? She had always been so meek with William Marshal. But then she had been but sixteen at the time of his death.

Simon de Montfort had made her realise something. She was growing up; her character was forming and it was going to be that of a strong-minded woman.


* * *

Isabella and Margaret Biset said good-bye to those who had escorted them to Sandwich and set sail for Antwerp.

The four days at sea were far from pleasant and during them Isabella thought little of what was awaiting her. Of one thing she was certain: nothing could be worse than being at sea.

When finally they did land it was to find friends waiting for them to tell them that there was a French plot afoot to capture Isabella and prevent her marriage to the Emperor. They stayed at an inn, where Isabella was said to be a young noblewoman travelling with her governess, and under cover of darkness they left the town. It was several days before they could be assured that they had outwitted their would-be kidnappers and by that time Frederic had sent a strong guard to protect and bring her to Cologne.

There was a halt in that city. It was dangerous to proceed because the Emperor was at war – strangely enough with his own son who at one time had been put forward as a husband for Isabella – so she and Margaret had six weeks’ respite during which they began to learn the ways of the country.

In due course the Emperor arrived to greet his young bride with great rejoicing. He exclaimed at her charm and beauty and declared himself to be absolutely delighted.

He embraced her warmly and told her that he was determined to care for her and make her happy. Margaret clucked with delight. She was glad they had not given her charge to some brazen young man. From the Emperor she would receive tenderness and consideration.

The wedding celebrations were magnificent and continued through four days, for the Emperor wanted his subjects to know how delighted he was with his bride.

Isabella found that her marriage was not nearly as distasteful to her as she had feared it might be. The Emperor, delighted with her youth and freshness, was anxious not to frighten her. He told her that he had loved her from the moment he had seen her and her beauty exceeded all reports of it. She was his treasure, his sweet young bride; and his great desire was to please her.

However, he did propose to send back all her English attendants and when she heard this she was filled with fear.

She threw herself at his feet and wept bitterly and when he raised her and asked what was wrong she burst out: ‘Margaret Biset and I have been together all my life. I cannot let her go. If you send her away I shall never be happy again.’

Then he kissed her and said that although he had wanted all her English attendants to go and she to become his little German wife, he would show his love for her by allowing Margaret to stay with her for as long as she needed her.

At that Isabella dispensed with all ceremony, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him fervently.

‘It seems that you love the old Emperor then?’ he asked.