There was a great deal of talk about Richard Cœur de Lion, who was Duke of Aquitaine of which the Angoumois was a part. She learned that Richard was a great fighter. He had left his country to go to the Holy Land in an effort to restore Jerusalem to the Christians and the world seemed to think he was some sort of hero saint. Not so her father. He hated Richard.

Isabella used to listen to the talk between her father and mother, for she was allowed to go into their bedchamber in the morning and sit on the bed while they gloated on their beautiful child. This appealed to her greatly; she lapped up their admiration but at the same time she liked to keep her ears open for interesting gossip and they were not entirely discreet before her, thinking her too young to understand. But although she was young she could always store up these comments and brood over them later and ask naïve questions which very often gave her the answer she needed.

Isabella liked to know what was going on.

According to her father, Richard was an arrogant overlord, and a king who left his kingdom to go to another land to fight – even in a holy cause – was not a good one and a bad king was not a good duke. Therefore, Aquitaine was ill-governed and the Count of Angoulême was not going to swear allegiance to such a man. He preferred to do so to the King of France.

Of course the Countess was in agreement with her husband. She was always ready to lean towards what was French, which was natural enough since that was the country of her birth.

There was always a great deal of talk about the Lusignans, an important family who lived in Poitou which bordered on the Angoumois. At one time this family had been bitter enemies of the dukes of Normandy but they were great crusaders, and in the Holy Land they had come into contact with Richard Cœur de Lion. In a common interest, the enmity had disappeared and during the Holy War Guy de Lusignan and Richard Cœur de Lion had become such close friends that Richard had supported Guy’s claim to the crown of Jerusalem – when it should be regained – against the King of France who had supported Conrad de Montferrat. Guy and Richard had fought side by side, and as a result their friendship had strengthened and this had extended to the whole family. Thus the Lusignans of Angoulême were supporting a different side from their close neighbour in the perennial quarrel between the kings of France and England. There was another reason for rivalry and disagreement between them. Both families coveted the rich territory know as La Marche which lay to the east of the Angoumois.

Richard had been secretly pleased that the desire to possess La Marche kept those two powerful families suspicious of each other and therefore turned their thoughts from planning forays into neighbouring Anjou.

When Richard had died, Hugh de Lusignan, the eldest son of the House, had with great temerity managed to capture Queen Eleanor while she was out riding one day and with even greater daring had declared to her his intentions of keeping her prisoner until she gave him La Marche.

With Richard dead and all her tact and skill needed to put John on the throne, Eleanor had given way and had bought her freedom for the surrender of La Marche.

The Count of Angoulême was angry that Hugh de Lusignan had that which he had coveted; he had to be placated and the Lusignans had had the clever notion that the best way of settling their differences was by a marriage contract.

Hugh was in his twenties – a young man of pride and strength, worthy to be the head of his house. The Count of Angoulême had a daughter. She was not yet twelve years old, it was true, but her lack of years could soon be remedied. With every passing week she grew nearer to maturity and it was only a matter of waiting a year or so before she would be ready for matrimony.

Isabella knew there was something afoot. Members of the Lusignan family rode over and at their head was Hugh. Isabella watching from a window saw him arrive and when he looked up, she smiled at him. He stood there, legs apart, watching her for a few seconds, and she was excited because she knew that he was thinking – as almost everyone else did – how pretty she was.

Her mother came to her room and dismissed the servants.

‘I have something to say to you, Isabella,’ she said. ‘Now listen carefully. Some very important gentlemen are visiting us. You will meet them and I want you to be very charming to them.’

‘Why?’ asked Isabella.

‘There is a very special reason.’

‘What reason?’

‘You will know all in good time.’

‘But if I am to be especially nice to them I want to know now.’

‘You are too young to understand.’

Too young! This was absurd. She was not too young for anything. She knew a great deal. She listened; she asked questions; she trapped people into admissions. She knew about the maids who went out into the shrubbery when it was dusk to meet the menservants. She had hidden herself and been at first greatly astonished by their activities and although she had seen them repeated many times she always liked to watch. This excited her more than anything she knew. So she was certainly not too young to know why she had to be particularly attractive to the Lusignans.

‘Is it something to do with my betrothal?’ she asked slyly.

Her mother stared in astonishment. ‘How could you know?’

‘Because you said I was too young to understand. When one is considered too young it is usually something to do with men and women together.’

The child was astonishing, thought her mother.

‘What do you know of such things?’ she demanded.

‘Not as much as I should like to, I fear.’

‘It is nothing to be fearful about. Such knowledge will come in due course. When you have a husband you will know what is good for you to know.’

‘Am I to have a husband then? Who is it? Hugh de Lusignan?’

The Countess hesitated. Then she said: ‘Yes. You have guessed aright.’

Isabella clasped her hands together and said: ‘I like him.’

‘Then that is well.’

‘He is a beautiful man,’ cried Isabella. ‘He looked up at the window when he was entering the castle and smiled at me. I think he liked me.’

‘Of course he liked you. Did you expect him not to?’

‘Of course not,’ said Isabella.

‘Now you will be dressed in a gown I shall choose for you and I shall take you down to the hall and present you to Hugh.’

‘Will he take me away with him now?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not, my dear child. He will meet you and if he likes what he sees there will be a betrothal.’

‘And if I do not like what I see?’

‘You have already said you like him.’

‘But if I had not?’

‘Girls in your position must marry where their family wishes them to.’

‘So you wish me to marry Hugh?’

‘It will be good for our families if you do.’

‘Is that why Hugh wants it?’

‘He will only want it if you are charming to him and he thinks you beautiful.’

‘I will be charming and he will think me beautiful because everybody does.’

‘This betrothal will please your father. It is very important that there is friendship between our families.’

‘So I shall be a wife now.’

She was thinking of the servants in the shrubbery and she thought: I shall know now. Her observations had taught her that it was not only servants who behaved in such a manner. Her turn would come and something told her that she was going to find the exercise highly diverting and every bit as enjoyable as they clearly did. She couldn’t wait to indulge in such pleasures.

‘My dear child, it will not be for a year or two yet.’

‘Not for a year or two! Why should I wait?’

‘Because you are but a child.’

‘Bess the kitchen girl is but a few months older than I …’

‘What are you saying? Bess. Kitchen girl! My dear Isabella, you are not giving me your serious attention.’

But she was of course and she was very disappointed that she must wait for her marriage.

Now she set about the task of charming Hugh. He was tall and looked very strong. He was wonderful. He was very handsome and was, her mother had told her, a great soldier. He thought she was beautiful; she saw that at once by the way in which he kept looking at her. He laid his hands on her shoulders and she smiled up at him.

He said, ‘Your daughter is indeed a beauty, Count. Would to God she were but three years older.’

She wanted to shout: I am as wise as others who are three years older. I am not a child … except in years. I know about marriage and I don’t want to wait for it. Forget I am not yet twelve years old.

But even she dared not say that, with her father and mother looking on.

Her mother said she could go to her own chamber. She pouted a little and said could she not stay?

‘Your father and our guest have business to discuss,’ she was told.

She tried to linger but her mother had taken her by the arm and was leading her gently away, leaving the two men while her father and her husband-to-be talked together of the union between Lusignan and Angoulême, the dowry, when the wedding would take place and what was to happen in the meantime.


Her mother came to her chamber and sat on her bed. Isabella, rosy from sleep, raised herself. How lovely she was! thought the Countess. It was small wonder that Hugh had found her irresistible and deplored the fact that she was so young.

‘You are to leave us, my child,’ said the Countess sadly.

‘I am going to be married?’ cried Isabella.

‘In due course. But first you are to leave your home and go to that of your future husband.’