Alys Clare: Ashes of the Elements

Helewise leaned towards her. ‘Your son is a great man, my lady,’ she said gently. ‘A superbly brave and capable fighter, even if-’ She broke off.

‘Even if that is all he is?’ Eleanor said.

‘But what a man!’ Helewise, desperate to make up for her gaffe, put all the sincerity she could muster into her voice.

‘You see, Helewise,’ Eleanor went on, as if she had barely noted the interruption, ‘he is a man’s man. A fighting man, as you say, a man who belongs in an army. At the head of an army, leading it to victory!’

‘Amen,’ Helewise intoned.

‘Of course, I’ve been crusading,’ Eleanor said dismissively. ‘When I was married to that fussy old woman, Louis of France.’

‘Indeed,’ Helewise murmured. Should she really be hearing this? Was it not virtually treason, to hear one monarch decry another, even if he were dead?

‘Back in 1147, it was,’ Eleanor said, a reminiscent smile on her face. ‘I had a wonderful time. Louis didn’t want me to go, but what he did or did not want was never of great relevance.’ She laughed aloud. ‘Do you know, Helewise, a rich young Saracen emir wanted to marry me? I might have accepted, too, had I not had Louis tagging along.’ She sighed. ‘What was I saying? Ah, yes! The crusading fervour. You see, my dear’ — she reached out to tap Helewise quite sharply on the shoulder, as if to make quite sure she was attending — ‘the way I see it, there are far more important things that Richard should be doing. Rescuing the Holy Land pales into insignificance when compared to the crucial matter of securing the accession.’

‘But King Richard now has a wife,’ Helewise said, ‘thanks to Your Majesty’s efforts.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ Eleanor acknowledged. ‘What a journey it was!’ Then, as if one train of thought had led to another, she said, ‘Naturally, he couldn’t marry Alais of France, no matter how hard King Philip pressed his sister’s case. Betrothed they might be, but Richard couldn’t go through with it. Even if it did create all that unpleasantness, when Richard and Philip were setting out for Outremer.’

‘Indeed,’ Helewise said. There was no need for the Queen to upset herself recounting the reason why Richard could not marry Alais; Helewise already knew.

But, ‘She was damaged goods, that Alais,’ Eleanor said. ‘My husband, the late King Henry, seduced her and impregnated her, although the little bastard that resulted had the discretion not to live.’ Furious indignation and hurt pride were very apparent in the old face. Oh, my lady, Helewise thought, do not distress yourself over matters so far in the past!

‘Not a fit bride for my son,’ Eleanor said, bringing herself under control with an obvious effort. ‘Despite the fact that a union between Alais and Richard would, I was told, have been permitted by the Church, nevertheless, for a man to marry his own father’s discarded mistress smacks, to me, of incest.’

‘I see what you mean,’ Helewise said. Diplomatically trying to change the subject, she said, ‘But what of Berengaria of Navarre, my lady? Is she as beautiful as they say?’

‘Beautiful?’ The Queen considered. ‘No. She is rather pale and wishy-washy. When I arrived at her father’s court in Pamplona and first set eyes on her, I admit I was a little disappointed. But, then, what do looks matter? Besides, there was so little choice — Richard is related to most of the other royal young women of Europe, Berengaria is one of the few who were eligible. Anyway, he did actually express a favourable opinion of her, you know — he saw her at some tournament of King Sancho’s that he attended a few years ago, and he wrote her some pretty verses. And, even if she isn’t beautiful, she’s virtuous and learned.’

There was a small silence. As if both women were thinking the same thing — that virtue and learning were hardly qualities to make a woman appeal to Richard the Lionheart — their eyes met in a brief glance.

Eleanor spoke, too softly for Helewise to be sure of what she said. What it sounded like was, ‘I don’t care for passive women.’

‘Then you took her right across southern Europe to meet her bridegroom,’ Helewise said hurriedly into the awkward pause. ‘My goodness, what a journey! And you crossed the Alps in the depths of winter, I believe it is said?’

‘I did,’ Eleanor said, not without a certain pride. ‘And I’ll give Berengaria her due, not a word of complaint from her, even when the going got really bad. Snow, bitterly cold lodgings, bedding alive with lice, inadequately salted meat, all the dangers of the open road, she took them all with her head held high and her mouth buttoned up. Unlike most of our attendants, I might add, who, to a man, moaned like a group of sickly dowagers.’

‘And, when you finally met up with the King’s party in Sicily, it was Lent, and so the marriage could not take place,’ Helewise said, recounting what the Queen had already told her.

‘I handed Berengaria over into my daughter Joanna’s care, and told her to get the girl wedded to Richard at the next stop, which was Cyprus,’ Eleanor continued. ‘I am reliably informed that they were married in the spring.’

‘I wish them luck,’ Helewise said.

‘So do I,’ Eleanor agreed fervently. ‘So do I.’

‘And now you go back to France, Your Majesty?’ It seemed wise, Helewise thought, to turn Eleanor away from contemplation of the apparently slim chances of her son’s marriage being a successful one.

‘I do. But not until the morrow. This night I stay with my dear friend Petronilla de Severy. Petronilla Durand, I must now call her, for she has a new husband.’ The Queen paused. ‘A new young husband. And, Helewise, I have to admit, although it pains me equally much to do so, that there is as little chance of this being a good marriage as there is of my son’s.’

Helewise’s surprise and discomfort at receiving the Queen’s confidences had disappeared. Now, she felt honoured. Deeply honoured. Hadn’t Eleanor said earlier that Hawkenlye was one of her favourite places? If she felt that way because it was only here in the privacy of the Abbey that she was able to speak of private concerns, then Helewise could do no better than offer a discreet and sympathetic ear. ‘You emphasise the youth of your friend’s new husband,’ she said. ‘Is that a factor in the marriage’s chances of success?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘Petronilla is a rich woman — her father left her extremely well provided for — but even those of us who love her couldn’t call her beautiful. She is tall, thin, with an indifferent complexion and those narrow lips which, when a woman grows old, appear to fold in on themselves. And dear Petronilla is old.’

‘What is the age difference?’ Helewise asked.

‘Petronilla is, I think, forty-two. Possibly more. Tobias Durand cannot be much over thirty, and I believe I have heard that he is even younger.’

Involuntarily Helewise said, ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Oh, dear, indeed,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘And he is a handsome man, by all accounts, of good height, well-built.’

‘But impoverished,’ Helewise guessed. There seemed no other reason for such a man to have married a plain woman so much older than himself.

‘Again, you guess right.’ The Queen sighed. ‘I doubt she will keep him. She is probably too old to bear him a son, which alone might have ensured the continuance of his attentions. As it is, once he has access to her wealth…’ She did not finish the sentence. There was, Helewise thought, no need.

What sorrow can be ushered into people’s lives by marriage to the wrong partner, she reflected. And, at the opposite end of the scale, what joy when the choice is good. Briefly she pictured her own late husband. Ivo had been a good-looking man, too, tall and broad in the shoulder like this opportunist Tobias. And what a sense of humour he’d had.