list; neither is Gilbert Marshal’s, nor Hubert de Burgh’s. Henry has chosen men who fully support him—with Uncle Guillaume to lead them.
As soon as he finishes his list, Roger de Quincy begins to shout. “The king’s insolence knows no bounds! First he forces upon us a foreign queen with no dowry and no lands, and now he elevates her foreign uncle above us.”
“Sir Roger, we will send you to the jail if you insult our queen again,” Henry roars. “As for her uncle, Guillaume of Savoy has served us well.”
“He has convinced you to violate your oath of marriage to Joan of Ponthieu, and damn the consequences,” the Earl of Kent says. “He has given to you, instead, the daughter of an impoverished foreigner with neither power nor influence to benefit England.”
“And now we hear that you have put Richmond in his care,” the Earl of Winchester says. “Any one of us might have performed that service for you. But we are not exotic enough, being mere Englishmen.”
Eléonore can restrain herself no longer. “Tell me, Sir Roger—have you been entertained in the emperor’s palace? How often do you dine with the pope? Can you walk into the French court unannounced and be granted an immediate audience before the king?”
Roger clenches his jaw. “The kings of France have invaded our borders and robbed us of lands belonging to our fathers. I cannot imagine why I should wish to pay homage there.”
“Your lack of imagination is why you need my uncle to guide you,” Eléonore says. “He has more expertise in world affairs—and more ideas for how to increase England’s influence—than all the men in this room combined.”
“And his loyalty? Where does it lie? With England, or with Savoy?” This from the Earl of Pembroke.
“Your sister is Queen of France,” Kent says. “To whom are you loyal, O queen?”
Eléonore’s face grows hot. “My loyalty is, and ever will be, to my husband.”
“Enough!” Henry cries. He leaps up from his throne, his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he might need to fight his way out of the room. His eyes look wild and desperate, like a trapped animal’s.
Simon de Montfort steps forth again, into the thick of the fray. He bows to Henry and Eléonore and then to the nobles, whose agitation has all but drowned out the king’s shout.
“My lords. My king and queen.” He kisses Eléonore’s ring, sending a shiver up her arm. “Not all are so fortunate to be born in England.” His voice rings out over the crowd, subduing it. “I hail from France, as you know. And yes, our queen and her uncle have come to us from afar. But I speak for us all, I believe, when I say that, when first we glimpsed England’s green pastures and rolling hills, our hearts became captive to this fair isle. We are as English as if we had been born here—indeed, more so, since we chose this as our home instead of having it chosen for us by the accident of our birth.”
“He makes a good point,” Gilbert Marshal says.
“The wedding and coronation ceremonies we have all enjoyed—yes, monsieurs, enjoyed greatly—were necessary to demonstrate England’s power. I assure you: France was watching. The White Queen observes all that we do. The moment she thinks we are weak, pom !” He smacks a fist into his hand. “She is like a serpent, lying in the grass at England’s feet, waiting to strike.”
“The king has done well to demonstrate his wealth with these feasts,” he says. “The whole world is now in awe of England’s splendor—and the king’s own subjects, having been fêted and fed, will not soon forget his generosity. A united England is a strong England.”
Eléonore sees her opening, and takes it. In like fashion, she says, “All will know if England fails to provide the dowry owed to the Holy Roman Emperor. We must give, gentlemen, in order to receive. If we want the honor and glory due the most powerful nation in the world—if we want to be that nation—we must pay
As soon as he finishes his list, Roger de Quincy begins to shout. “The king’s insolence knows no bounds! First he forces upon us a foreign queen with no dowry and no lands, and now he elevates her foreign uncle above us.”
“Sir Roger, we will send you to the jail if you insult our queen again,” Henry roars. “As for her uncle, Guillaume of Savoy has served us well.”
“He has convinced you to violate your oath of marriage to Joan of Ponthieu, and damn the consequences,” the Earl of Kent says. “He has given to you, instead, the daughter of an impoverished foreigner with neither power nor influence to benefit England.”
“And now we hear that you have put Richmond in his care,” the Earl of Winchester says. “Any one of us might have performed that service for you. But we are not exotic enough, being mere Englishmen.”
Eléonore can restrain herself no longer. “Tell me, Sir Roger—have you been entertained in the emperor’s palace? How often do you dine with the pope? Can you walk into the French court unannounced and be granted an immediate audience before the king?”
Roger clenches his jaw. “The kings of France have invaded our borders and robbed us of lands belonging to our fathers. I cannot imagine why I should wish to pay homage there.”
“Your lack of imagination is why you need my uncle to guide you,” Eléonore says. “He has more expertise in world affairs—and more ideas for how to increase England’s influence—than all the men in this room combined.”
“And his loyalty? Where does it lie? With England, or with Savoy?” This from the Earl of Pembroke.
“Your sister is Queen of France,” Kent says. “To whom are you loyal, O queen?”
Eléonore’s face grows hot. “My loyalty is, and ever will be, to my husband.”
“Enough!” Henry cries. He leaps up from his throne, his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he might need to fight his way out of the room. His eyes look wild and desperate, like a trapped animal’s.
Simon de Montfort steps forth again, into the thick of the fray. He bows to Henry and Eléonore and then to the nobles, whose agitation has all but drowned out the king’s shout.
“My lords. My king and queen.” He kisses Eléonore’s ring, sending a shiver up her arm. “Not all are so fortunate to be born in England.” His voice rings out over the crowd, subduing it. “I hail from France, as you know. And yes, our queen and her uncle have come to us from afar. But I speak for us all, I believe, when I say that, when first we glimpsed England’s green pastures and rolling hills, our hearts became captive to this fair isle. We are as English as if we had been born here—indeed, more so, since we chose this as our home instead of having it chosen for us by the accident of our birth.”
“He makes a good point,” Gilbert Marshal says.
“The wedding and coronation ceremonies we have all enjoyed—yes, monsieurs, enjoyed greatly—were necessary to demonstrate England’s power. I assure you: France was watching. The White Queen observes all that we do. The moment she thinks we are weak, pom !” He smacks a fist into his hand. “She is like a serpent, lying in the grass at England’s feet, waiting to strike.”
“The king has done well to demonstrate his wealth with these feasts,” he says. “The whole world is now in awe of England’s splendor—and the king’s own subjects, having been fêted and fed, will not soon forget his generosity. A united England is a strong England.”
Eléonore sees her opening, and takes it. In like fashion, she says, “All will know if England fails to provide the dowry owed to the Holy Roman Emperor. We must give, gentlemen, in order to receive. If we want the honor and glory due the most powerful nation in the world—if we want to be that nation—we must pay
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