Read Online The Queen from Provence by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online
Authors: Jean Plaidy
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again. Joanna’s father may be able to provide the dowry you want.’
‘I have no intention of taking Joanna. It is Eleanor I want.’
‘Do you, brother? Not enough it seems. Soon people will be saying, “Another of the King’s proposed marriages gone astray!”’
‘They will say no such thing, because this is not going astray. I shall marry Eleanor of Provence. I am determined on it.’
‘But what of the dowry?’
‘I have made up my mind. I shall ask for no dowry … only Eleanor. I shall summon Hubert and tell him this. I want Eleanor sent to me without delay.’
Richard smiled.
‘You won’t regret this,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’
What excitement at Les Baux when the messengers arrived from England.
The King was weary of correspondence. He wanted his bride. As for the dowry that was a matter which need not delay them. What he was eager for was the wedding.
Sanchia said it was like being on a see-saw. Up one moment, down the next.
‘Nay,’ cried Eleanor. ‘This time I am going to stay up.’
It seemed she was right. Messengers from England told of the King’s impatience. Just a short while before he was insisting on the dowry, now he demanded the immediate departure of his bride.
‘We must leave without delay,’ said Uncle William Bishop Elect of Valence; and to the delight of the Count and Countess he declared his intention of accompanying Eleanor to England.
The Count decided that he and the Countess with their two daughters should go with Eleanor to Paris which would give them an opportunity of seeing Marguerite. It was a gay cavalcade which set out on that autumn day. The sun was still warm though there was a certain chill in the morning. The leaves were still thick on the limes and birches but a few of the fallen ones made a carpet on the grass as a warning that summer was fading. Eleanor was aware of the lush green countryside which she might be seeing for the last time, for although her family assured her that she would come back, the sea would separate her from her childhood home and the new country over which she was to reign as Queen.
Surrounded by her family, she felt almost gay although it would be sad leaving them. Sanchia was ready to burst into tears at the thought and Beatrice would do the same.
Sanchia said it seemed so much more important than Marguerite’s marriage had been, perhaps because of all the fuss there had been about it.
‘Or perhaps we were younger then,’ she added sagely.
Eleanor told them that when she was Queen of England she would insist that they come to stay with her.
‘What if the King does not want us?’ asked Sanchia.
‘I shall tell him it is my wish,’ was the reply.
Perhaps she would do even that, thought Sanchia. Eleanor had always been the one to get her way.
As they came to the borders of Champagne they were met by its Count who was notorious throughout France as the Troubadour King. Some said he was the greatest poet of the age.
He offered them lavish hospitality and rode to his castle with them between the Count and Countess of Provence, at the head of their cavalcade.
There was something attractive about Thibaud de Champagne, which was scarcely due to his appearance. He was so fat as to be almost unwieldy. But he had a merry good nature and when he spoke it was said his voice was silver and when he sang it was golden.
Even as he rode along he could not refrain from breaking into song and all listened with admiration.
Moreover the songs he sang were of his own creation; he excelled with both words and music.
He was enchanted by Eleanor. He whispered to her that her husband would love and cherish her. He had read one of the poems she had written and thought she had a fine talent.
‘I am a poet and of some merit they tell me. But as you see, my looks do not match the beauty of my words. How different it is with you. You have been doubly endowed, my lady Eleanor, and your husband will love you so dearly that he will not be
‘I have no intention of taking Joanna. It is Eleanor I want.’
‘Do you, brother? Not enough it seems. Soon people will be saying, “Another of the King’s proposed marriages gone astray!”’
‘They will say no such thing, because this is not going astray. I shall marry Eleanor of Provence. I am determined on it.’
‘But what of the dowry?’
‘I have made up my mind. I shall ask for no dowry … only Eleanor. I shall summon Hubert and tell him this. I want Eleanor sent to me without delay.’
Richard smiled.
‘You won’t regret this,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’
What excitement at Les Baux when the messengers arrived from England.
The King was weary of correspondence. He wanted his bride. As for the dowry that was a matter which need not delay them. What he was eager for was the wedding.
Sanchia said it was like being on a see-saw. Up one moment, down the next.
‘Nay,’ cried Eleanor. ‘This time I am going to stay up.’
It seemed she was right. Messengers from England told of the King’s impatience. Just a short while before he was insisting on the dowry, now he demanded the immediate departure of his bride.
‘We must leave without delay,’ said Uncle William Bishop Elect of Valence; and to the delight of the Count and Countess he declared his intention of accompanying Eleanor to England.
The Count decided that he and the Countess with their two daughters should go with Eleanor to Paris which would give them an opportunity of seeing Marguerite. It was a gay cavalcade which set out on that autumn day. The sun was still warm though there was a certain chill in the morning. The leaves were still thick on the limes and birches but a few of the fallen ones made a carpet on the grass as a warning that summer was fading. Eleanor was aware of the lush green countryside which she might be seeing for the last time, for although her family assured her that she would come back, the sea would separate her from her childhood home and the new country over which she was to reign as Queen.
Surrounded by her family, she felt almost gay although it would be sad leaving them. Sanchia was ready to burst into tears at the thought and Beatrice would do the same.
Sanchia said it seemed so much more important than Marguerite’s marriage had been, perhaps because of all the fuss there had been about it.
‘Or perhaps we were younger then,’ she added sagely.
Eleanor told them that when she was Queen of England she would insist that they come to stay with her.
‘What if the King does not want us?’ asked Sanchia.
‘I shall tell him it is my wish,’ was the reply.
Perhaps she would do even that, thought Sanchia. Eleanor had always been the one to get her way.
As they came to the borders of Champagne they were met by its Count who was notorious throughout France as the Troubadour King. Some said he was the greatest poet of the age.
He offered them lavish hospitality and rode to his castle with them between the Count and Countess of Provence, at the head of their cavalcade.
There was something attractive about Thibaud de Champagne, which was scarcely due to his appearance. He was so fat as to be almost unwieldy. But he had a merry good nature and when he spoke it was said his voice was silver and when he sang it was golden.
Even as he rode along he could not refrain from breaking into song and all listened with admiration.
Moreover the songs he sang were of his own creation; he excelled with both words and music.
He was enchanted by Eleanor. He whispered to her that her husband would love and cherish her. He had read one of the poems she had written and thought she had a fine talent.
‘I am a poet and of some merit they tell me. But as you see, my looks do not match the beauty of my words. How different it is with you. You have been doubly endowed, my lady Eleanor, and your husband will love you so dearly that he will not be
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