The Battle of the Queens by Jean Plaidy

Countess of Lusignan but a queen. Once a queen was crowned she was queen until the day she died and Isabella had been crowned Queen of England.
    ‘I paid a big price for my crown,’ she shouted once in Joan’s hearing. ‘All those years with that madman. And no one is going to forget my rank.’
    The days passed and still Joan went on living the strange life in the shadows, knowing that they did not want her there and would have been happy to see her go, except for the fact that she was the hostage for the dowry which her brother’s advisers would not send.
    But Stephen Langton and Hubert de Burgh had the power of Rome behind them and one day there was great consternation in the castle, for messengers had arrived from the Pope himself with letters for the Count of Lusignan.
    A terrible silence fell over the castle, for one thing which all men dreaded was that sentence from Rome and it was with this that Hugh was threatened. If he did not return the Princess Joan to her brother he would be excommunicated.
    Isabella laughed aloud when she heard, but rather wildly for even she was afraid of the fires of hell. Of course she was young and, if all went as could be reasonably expected, would have years of healthful life before her, enabling her to slip into a convent for the last few years of her life to bring about the required repentance. But nothing in life was absolutely sure and if she died while under the interdict of excommunication she could expect to go straight to hell.
    She was brazen though. She raged against her son who had called Rome into their dispute. She declared that they would snap their fingers at Henry and his ministers and at Rome too. They would hold on to Joan until the dowry was sent. Hadn’t she a right to her dowry?
    Hugh reasoned with her. She was prepared to face excommunication, she declared. It was not as simple as that, he explained patiently, for when a man was banished from the Church it was not only that he could not expect extreme unction and the services of a priest and so would die with all his sins on him, but the fact was that those who served him would lose faith in him. If it were necessary for him to go into battle he would have lost the battle before he took up arms because all believed that no man could prosper when the good will of God was turned against him.
    Isabella remembered when John had been under a similar ban and how even he, irreligious and defiant, had in time realised that he must escape from it.
    They would lose the dowry then; but at least they would be rid of Joan.
    She listened to what Hugh had to say. Then she went to her daughter’s bedchamber where Joan seemed to spend a good deal of her time. She found the girl looking listlessly out of the window.
    Joan rose and curtsied as Isabella approached. Isabella said: ‘Sit down.’
    Joan obeyed, tense and waiting.
    ‘You must prepare yourself for a journey with all speed. You are leaving tomorrow.’
    ‘Tomorrow!’ cried Joan.
    ‘Tomorrow, yes. You are going home. Don’t tell me that does not please for I have seen how you have been moping here and longing to go. Your brother insists that you go and that with all speed.’
    ‘But I thought that you wished me to stay here.’
    ‘No longer.’
    ‘Then you have your dowry.’
    ‘The rogues still refuse it but you are to go. The Pope has joined in the battle and if your brother were here I would box his ears for his impudence. To call in Rome … against his mother, the ungrateful wretch!’
    ‘You speak of the King, my lady.’
    ‘I speak of a child. Well, you are to go. They have a surprise for you. A husband, no less. You smile. It amuses you.’
    ‘I wondered whether he will be bestowed on someone else before I have time to claim him.’
    ‘That could be. They are talking of betrothing him to your sister.’
    ‘Isabella! She is but a baby.’
    ‘Alexander wants a sister of the King of England. Eleanor has already been promised to the Marshal – so