‘I have sent for the King’s doctors.’

The Abbot bowed his head. ‘My lady, you may safely leave him in our care.’

‘Leave my son! Oh no, my lord Abbot. When my son is ill, I am the one who cares for him.’

‘My lady, women cannot stay in this abbey. The order is very strict.’

‘Then the order shall be changed,’ declared Eleanor imperiously. ‘I am not merely a woman, my lord Abbot, I am your Queen. You would be wise to show me more hospitality. Take me to a bed that my son may be made comfortable. And let me tell you this: I shall stay here until he is well enough to travel. I shall look after him, so you and your monks had better get accustomed to housing a woman in your abbey.’

The Abbot was nonplussed. He could not allow her to stay. It was unprecedented. The boy could be cared for, yes indeed, but the Queen must go.

He tried to explain but her fear for her son sent her into a raging fury. How dared this fool of an Abbot quibble about his Cistercian laws when the heir to the throne was sick and might die? The thought sent her into a frenzy.

‘I will hear no more,’ she cried. ‘Remember that you owe your existence to the favours of kings. My husband’s father founded this place. The Queen can as easily destroy it … ay, and she will if aught happens to her son through your negligence. I want every comfort for the lord Edward and that includes having his mother to nurse him.’

The Abbot knew himself beaten. It would go ill with them all if the boy was taken away and died. Everyone would say it was due to his action. So it was wise to waive rules and allow the Queen to stay with her son.

The doctors arrived and were a long time with Edward. The Queen said she insisted on knowing the truth which they assured her they had told her. The boy was suffering from a slight fever – nothing which good nursing could not cure. The Queen was unduly disturbed.

But she was taking no chances. She was at her son’s bedside for several days and nights and not until he had lost his fever did she sleep a little.

Then she gave thanks at the altar of the newly dedicated church for her son’s recovery and with great joy she rode back to the castle, though she insisted that her son be carried part of the way in a litter. Edward protested loudly at the idea of being carried. He was able to ride, he cried. He was the best rider of all the boys. People would laugh at him for being carried.

Very well, she said, he should ride awhile but if she saw the least hint of fatigue he should go into a litter.

She was so happy to have him beside her, the healthy colour back in his cheeks, his flaxen hair glinting in the sunlight while he chattered about his new horses and falcons.


* * *

The effect of Henry’s weak rule was beginning to be felt throughout the country. It had always been so. In the days of the Conqueror, England had been made safe for travellers simply because the Conqueror severely punished any man or woman who was caught stealing. No one thought a purse of gold worth the loss of ears, nose or eyes – or a foot or a hand. The punishment instigated by the Conqueror might have been harsh but it was effective. He had determined to make England safe for travellers and he had done so. In the reign of Rufus law and order disappeared but it was brought back by Henry I. Weak Stephen allowed it to lapse again and the robber barons sprang up. Travellers were waylaid, taken to the residences of the robber barons and held to ransom, robbed of everything they had, tortured for the barons’ amusement and that of their guests and lawlessness prevailed. Henry II was another such as Henry I and the Conqueror. He wanted a prosperous land which could only flourish within the law. The disaster of John’s rule had been felt far and wide but under the wise direction of William the Marshal and Hubert de Burgh the law had once more been enforced. Now it was lagging again and the signs of disruption were beginning to be seen throughout the land.

The country needed a strong King supported by strong men; and since Henry’s marriage, his one idea seemed to have been to bring his wife’s friends and relations into the country and lavish every favour upon them.

So bad were the roads becoming that when the King and Queen were travelling in Hampshire with a small retinue they were set upon by a band of robbers; much of their baggage was stolen and their lives were in danger. They were saved by the realisation of who they were for even robbers must be afraid of what could result if they murdered the King and Queen.

An example of how the authority of the law was fast waning was given by one man who, when summoned to appear before the King’s Bench, forced the King’s officer, who delivered the royal warrant, to eat it.

There was growing anxiety and it was becoming obvious that many of the barons were meeting to discuss the state of affairs and they were setting themselves against the King and what they called his foreigners. The conflict would have come to a head before but for the marriage of Richard of Cornwall with the Queen’s sister, for since that time his wife had subtly brought him round to her way of thinking which was of course to support the Queen and her relations.

But with or without Richard’s support the barons were beginning to feel that something would have to be done.

The people of London were the most vociferous and rebellious. They had a personal grudge against the Queen because of memories of the Queenhithe and whenever the royal pair needed money – which seemed to be all the time – it was to rich London that they looked to supply it.

Henry and Eleanor began to dread going to Westminster, for there they were made more aware of their unpopularity than anywhere else.

News came from France of the death of Henry’s mother Isabella of Angoulême. Her turbulent life had ended in the Convent of Fontevrault and it was a relief to everyone.

Henry’s mind was taken off the troubles in his kingdom when rebellion broke out in Wales. There was no money with which to conduct a campaign and Henry would have attempted to raise it from the Londoners. Richard saw that the citizens of the capital were getting towards the end of their patience and he himself supplied the means for conducting the campaign by pawning his own jewels.

This campaign proved fruitless and after the destruction of Welsh crops which meant privation for the Welsh and by no means increased their friendship with the English, Henry left the field of action with nothing gained and the situation worse than it had been in the beginning.

‘The King is another such as his father,’ was the grumble throughout the land. Because he was a good father, a loving husband and a religious man did not mean that he was a good King, and every serious-minded man in the country knew that what England needed more than anything was a wise ruler.

In the midst of these troubles Eleanor gave birth to another son. He was called Richard after his uncle the Earl of Cornwall and his great uncle Coeur de Lion. Alas, the child was sickly at his birth and he died within a few months.

Eleanor was very melancholy, and Henry gave himself up to comforting her. They spent a good deal of their time in their nurseries. They had four healthy children – two boys and two girls, he kept telling her, but it was difficult to console Eleanor for the loss of her baby. She watched over Edward even more assiduously than before and any minor ailment could throw her into a frenzy of anxiety.

A year after her panic at Beaulieu the same fever attacked Edward again and this time he was really in danger. Eleanor was frantic. So was Henry. They sat by the boy’s bed day and night; they neither slept nor ate. They remained on their knees throughout the long hours pleading with Heaven to spare this boy who was the delight of their lives.

In every monastery and church prayers were offered up for his return to health. Promises were made to Heaven. What monasteries should be built, what churches dedicated. God had only to name his price.

And it seemed God answered for one night the fever passed and the doctors declared Edward would live.

Henry and Eleanor clung together in their relief. Their darling lived. There was nothing else at that moment that they wanted in life. They were completely happy.

Moreover in a few weeks Edward emerged as bright and energetic as ever, as though he was some superhuman being who could throw off a fever as others did a common cold.

Every morning for a month the Queen went to his chamber as soon as she arose just to assure herself that her beloved child was really there.

Edward, forceful by nature, a little arrogant in his youth, had naturally come to the conclusion that he was a very important person indeed.

He was clever as well as able to excel at sport. He spoke French and Latin fluently and had a fine command of the English language. For some reason he had developed a slight stammer but even this the Queen found enchanting. He was very fond of the outdoor life – far more so than he was of learning, although his tutors said he could have been a scholar with application. But Edward liked better to joust, to outride his companions, to excel at ball sports and in his training for knighthood. He could always be seen among his companions because he was so much taller than they were and his bright flaxen hair was readily recognisable. His parents called him affectionately, Edward Longshanks, and they marvelled at his healthy good looks while they were terrified of that childhood fever which had been the bogy to haunt their lives. When a whole year passed without a return of it they were gleeful. Robert Burnell was right. It was a childhood complaint and he would grow out of it.