look, warning me to hold my tongue. He need not worry. Angered as I am by Richard’s intimation, I am even more afraid to be drawn into this nasty quarrel. I move closer to Henry’s side, between him and a large stone pillar.
“Get out of my sight.” My husband spits his words at his brother with vehemence.
“I shall do better than that. I will away from London, to see the Marshals and hear what they will say that you marry the widow of their august brother to Simon de Montfort.”
And with that, Richard turns on his heels and storms from the hall. For a moment or two Henry and I stand quietly. I can hear the music and the footfall of the dancers one aisle over, and also the beating of my heart.
“Pompous fool,” Henry mutters under his breath. But I can see he is shaken. Then, in a falsely bright voice, he says, “Eleanor, come and dance with me.”
I take his hand, but, as he leads me back to the assembled court, my eyes linger on my uncle, who remains unmoving in the shadows, lost in thought.
THE TOWER IS SO OBVIOUSLY
a fortress,
I think as we approach it this pale February day. I hope my husband and my uncle know what they are about. Will not the rabble of rebellious barons think we make more of them than they deserve by our change of residence?
Once I am inside my chambers, my mood lifts. How could it not, surrounded by hundreds of pink and white roses?
Uncle Guillaume enters late in the afternoon while my ladies are still unpacking. “Niece.” He nods, and by his manner of doing so I know that he would speak with me privately, so we withdraw to my chapel where only God can hear us.
“This thing multiplies all out of proportion,” he says as soon as we are alone.
“The number of earls and barons who have risen up in support of Lord Richard scares Henry even if he will not say it.” I wonder, as I speak the words, if it is a betrayal of my husband to admit this. But no, how can it be when my uncle is the head of His Majesty’s council? He seeks always to aid Henry in governing.
“These English are so fastidious about their rights and precedence. The points they choose to stand on, and perhaps to fight over…” Guillaume shakes his head again, this time in dismay.
“If this marriage makes the king stronger, what matter that they were not asked in advance?” I ask. “That was the union’s purpose, to strengthen Henry.”
“Yes, Eleanor, but against whom? Against the possibility of too much baronial power. You cannot expect Earl Richard, his cohort the Earl of Pembroke, or the other barons to appreciate that effect as we do. A letter has come, demanding that His Majesty dissolve the council that currently advises him, and submit matters of state to a new council of barons selected from among those who oppose him.”
“Ridiculous! Why should any man, let alone a king, allow himself to be governed by his enemies?”
“Yet His Majesty considers it.”
“What—?”
“You yourself said he was frightened.”
And now I am frightened. This is not at all how I imagined it would be. My father has such power in his domains, and he only a count. My husband is a king, but his rule seems less absolute. I look up at the brightly colored saints in a window.
“What can be done?” I ask.
“Richard wants to go on crusade. Crusades cost money.”
“You think the Earl of Cornwall can be paid to stop his protest against my husband?”
“In my experience, men can be paid to do or cease doing nearly anything so long as it does not trespass upon their principles, if they have them. Let us hope this is only a matter of wounded pride with the Earl Richard—pride that can be salved with silver.”
THE EARL RICHARD IS ALL smiles as he pushes back from my husband’s table with a satisfied expression. “Brother,” he says, “my compliments to your cooks.”
And Henry, who appears to have forgotten that it took a flurry of negotiation and more than six thousand marks to make Richard so jovial,
“Get out of my sight.” My husband spits his words at his brother with vehemence.
“I shall do better than that. I will away from London, to see the Marshals and hear what they will say that you marry the widow of their august brother to Simon de Montfort.”
And with that, Richard turns on his heels and storms from the hall. For a moment or two Henry and I stand quietly. I can hear the music and the footfall of the dancers one aisle over, and also the beating of my heart.
“Pompous fool,” Henry mutters under his breath. But I can see he is shaken. Then, in a falsely bright voice, he says, “Eleanor, come and dance with me.”
I take his hand, but, as he leads me back to the assembled court, my eyes linger on my uncle, who remains unmoving in the shadows, lost in thought.
THE TOWER IS SO OBVIOUSLY
a fortress,
I think as we approach it this pale February day. I hope my husband and my uncle know what they are about. Will not the rabble of rebellious barons think we make more of them than they deserve by our change of residence?
Once I am inside my chambers, my mood lifts. How could it not, surrounded by hundreds of pink and white roses?
Uncle Guillaume enters late in the afternoon while my ladies are still unpacking. “Niece.” He nods, and by his manner of doing so I know that he would speak with me privately, so we withdraw to my chapel where only God can hear us.
“This thing multiplies all out of proportion,” he says as soon as we are alone.
“The number of earls and barons who have risen up in support of Lord Richard scares Henry even if he will not say it.” I wonder, as I speak the words, if it is a betrayal of my husband to admit this. But no, how can it be when my uncle is the head of His Majesty’s council? He seeks always to aid Henry in governing.
“These English are so fastidious about their rights and precedence. The points they choose to stand on, and perhaps to fight over…” Guillaume shakes his head again, this time in dismay.
“If this marriage makes the king stronger, what matter that they were not asked in advance?” I ask. “That was the union’s purpose, to strengthen Henry.”
“Yes, Eleanor, but against whom? Against the possibility of too much baronial power. You cannot expect Earl Richard, his cohort the Earl of Pembroke, or the other barons to appreciate that effect as we do. A letter has come, demanding that His Majesty dissolve the council that currently advises him, and submit matters of state to a new council of barons selected from among those who oppose him.”
“Ridiculous! Why should any man, let alone a king, allow himself to be governed by his enemies?”
“Yet His Majesty considers it.”
“What—?”
“You yourself said he was frightened.”
And now I am frightened. This is not at all how I imagined it would be. My father has such power in his domains, and he only a count. My husband is a king, but his rule seems less absolute. I look up at the brightly colored saints in a window.
“What can be done?” I ask.
“Richard wants to go on crusade. Crusades cost money.”
“You think the Earl of Cornwall can be paid to stop his protest against my husband?”
“In my experience, men can be paid to do or cease doing nearly anything so long as it does not trespass upon their principles, if they have them. Let us hope this is only a matter of wounded pride with the Earl Richard—pride that can be salved with silver.”
THE EARL RICHARD IS ALL smiles as he pushes back from my husband’s table with a satisfied expression. “Brother,” he says, “my compliments to your cooks.”
And Henry, who appears to have forgotten that it took a flurry of negotiation and more than six thousand marks to make Richard so jovial,
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