Then they would walk their horses and talk. It was mostly about themselves.

He was an adventurer, he said. She was the King’s sister. Was it not strange that they should have so much to say to each other, such understanding?

‘I am an adventurer too, I sometimes think,’ she told him.

‘You … a princess!’

‘Why should a princess be doomed to a dull life?’

‘Not all princesses are,’ he reminded.

‘I am determined to live my life as I wish.’

‘I knew there was something unusual about you from the moment I first saw you.’

He told her about his life and she told him about hers.

If his grandfather the Lord of Montfort and Evreux had not married the sister and co-heiress of the Earl of Leicester he would never have come to England. ‘Think of that. But for that marriage you and I would not be riding together here now.’

‘I am glad of that marriage,’ said Eleanor.

He laughed; his eyes gleaming with pleasure. It seemed to her that there was deep meaning behind everything they said to each other.

‘Their second son, Simon, led the crusade against the Albigensians and to him came the title of Earl of Leicester and half the estate.’

‘And you are the son of that crusader.’

‘I am he. My brother Amaury resigned his rights in the estate to me and I came to England to claim them.’

‘It seems you have not been unsuccessful here.’

‘Your brother has been good to me.’

‘He took a fancy to you. I understand why.’

‘The fact that his sister understands why means more to me than the King’s favour.’

‘Then I must change my opinion of you. You are not as wise as I thought.’

‘That, my dear lady, remains to be seen.’

‘How long must we wait for this revelation?’

‘I hope not long.’

Eleanor was exultant. What could he mean? She knew her feelings. What were his?

‘Your brother has given me a pension of four hundred marks,’ he told her. ‘When I recover my estates I shall be rich. But I shall not forget the help I have received.’

‘My brother’s pension must be of great importance to you.’

‘Not so important as the sympathy I see in his sister’s eyes.’

‘Surely to a man of good sense a pension should be of more use than sympathy.’

‘Nay, not so,’ he contradicted. And it was at moments like this that she spurred her horse and galloped away because she had never been so happy in her life before and she knew that it meant she was in love.

She tried to explain to him what her life had been.

‘As a child I was married to old William Marshal. It had to be, because they were afraid he would go over to the French. I was only a child. After the ceremony he went away to Ireland.’

‘Poor little girl!’

‘I stayed in the palace with my sister Isabella and our old nurse Margaret Biset. Isabella is an empress now and Margaret is with her.’

‘They will find a husband for you.’

‘I will not take him … unless he is of my choice.’

‘Ah, when the moment comes shall you be strong enough, think you?’

‘I know I shall be strong enough.’

‘Kings, archbishops, barons, lords … they can be very strong.’

‘I can be strong too. A princess who marries once for state reasons has the right to take her second husband when and from where she pleases.’

‘You think that would be permitted?’

‘I should decide.’

‘Oh, you are a bold princess as well as a beautiful one. You have the qualities I admire most in women – beauty and independence.’

‘I am glad that I please you, my lord.’

‘I hope that the pleasure I find in your company will never give you cause for regret.’

No one had ever talked to her in this way before. She knew that he was telling her he loved her. Was it possible for her to marry a man without a fortune? For he had none and had still to regain his estates. All he had at the moment was a claim to them. What else had he? The King’s friendship; the love of the King’s sister.

And yet because he was Simon de Montfort it seemed that he had a power within him to accomplish what would have been impossible in another man.

She wondered what Henry would say and do if she told him that she wished to marry Simon de Montfort.

Henry would be more inclined to be lenient now because he had a bride of his own. This time he had actually achieved marriage and there was a queen at court. Eleanor – named as she was – was very young and very beautiful and had come from Provence to be Henry’s queen. She was a little spoilt and petulant, demanding her own way, but Henry was so delighted to have a bride and so enchanted by her beauty that he had mellowed considerably and because of this would have some understanding and sympathy for his sister.

It was when they were in the forest and had evaded the rest of the party – a habit which was becoming too frequent not to go unnoticed – that Simon broached the subject.

There could not be many men at court who would dare suggest marriage to a princess, but Simon of course was no ordinary man. He had complete confidence in himself. He was going to make his mark in the world. He was so distinguished. That was clear to himself and Eleanor. So he could therefore do what other men would never dare to.

He said: ‘You know that I love you.’

She was too forthright to pretend. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know it.’

‘And you love me,’ he stated; nor did she deny it.

‘When people love as we do there is one thing they must do, and that is marry. Do you agree with me?’

‘I do,’ she answered.

‘What then?’ he asked.

‘We should marry.’

‘Would you be ready to, Eleanor?’

She held out her hand and he took it. How his eyes gleamed. He was looking to the future.

‘Then one thing is certain,’ he said. ‘We shall marry.’

‘That is certain,’ she agreed.

‘How I love you!’ he said. ‘You and I were meant for each other. We are bold, are we not? Ready to take what we want from life?’

‘It is the only way to live,’ she answered.

‘Well, what next?’

‘We marry.’

‘Secretly.’

‘I could sound the King.’

‘Would he agree?’

‘I think he might … if we were careful. We must not let others know. There would be objections.’

‘Simon de Montfort and the Princess,’ he said. They would tell me I was unworthy.’

‘We know otherwise. I will discover from my brother what his feelings are in this matter. He is inclined to be lenient with lovers just now.’

‘The uxorious husband loves his Eleanor … but not as I love mine.’

‘How can you know?’

That child! What does she know of life?’

‘She knows how to get what she wants of Henry. But then it would not be difficult for a woman to get what she wanted from Henry.’

‘Even his sister?’

‘I will sound him.’


* * *

It was Christmas time and they were at Westminster. The King was very busy with preparations, eager to show his new queen how lavish they could be.

Eleanor hesitated to approach him because if he would not help her he could make it impossible for her to marry Simon. Possibilities occurred to her. He could even imprison Simon, have him mutilated, murdered … Not that Henry had ever showed any signs of behaving in such a cruel manner. He was not like their father. Henry was more of a man of peace. And yet she was taking a risk. Talking to Simon, she had felt so bold and brave; when she was not with him she found herself facing realities.

She made up her mind that there was one person whom she could safely consult and that was her sister Joan who had been with the court since September when she had gone on a pilgrimage to Canterbury with the King and her husband Alexander. Alexander had now returned to Scotland but Joan had made an excuse to stay on in England for a few weeks longer. That stay had extended.

So to Joan went Eleanor and contrived that they should be alone together.

Concerned as she was with her own affairs, Eleanor could not help noticing how wan her sister looked. Poor Joan seemed to be wasting away. She made excuse after excuse to stay in England and so far she had remained. She had spent several weeks in her bedchamber when the weather was cold and seemed to be better for it, but she dreaded returning to Scotland.

Beside her Eleanor looked blooming, knew it, and was a little ashamed of it.

She asked with tenderness after her sister’s health.

‘It is better,’ Joan told her. ‘It is always so in England.’

‘Poor Joan.’ Eleanor was thoughtful. No matter where Simon went she would gladly follow. Joan clearly did not feel the same about Alexander.

‘I want to talk to you, Joan. It is secret … very secret. I want your advice.’

Joan smiled at her sister. ‘I shall be pleased to help if I can, you know.’

Eleanor nodded. ‘I am in love and want to marry.’

Joan looked concerned. ‘It so much depends with whom. Is he what would be considered suitable?’

‘To me he is the only one who could possibly be suitable.’

‘That is not what I mean, Eleanor.’

‘I know it and I suppose he is what would be called completely unsuitable.’

‘Oh, my poor sister.’

‘Not so, Joan. I refuse to be called poor when Simon loves me.’

‘Simon?’

‘Simon de Montfort’

Joan wrinkled her brows. ‘Is he not the son of the General who fought the Albigensians?’

‘He is the same. We are going to marry – no matter what anyone says. If we have to go to France, if we have to escape … we shall do so to be together.’

Eleanor raised her eyes to her sister’s and saw that Joan’s were shining with admiration.

‘You are right, Eleanor,’ she said. ‘If you love … and he loves you … then let nothing stand in your way. You married once for state reasons. Now freedom of choice should be yours.’

Eleanor went softly to her sister and took her in her arms. She felt uneasy because of Joan’s frailty.

‘I did not think you would understand,’ she said.

‘I do understand, Eleanor,’ answered Joan. ‘I loved once … I am glad that I did, although it did not bring me happiness.’

‘You, Joan …!’

‘It was long ago, oh, long long ago it seems.’

‘You were sent away when you were a child. Sent to Lusignan.’

‘To the man who was to be my husband,’ said Joan. ‘I was frightened and I learned not to be. I grew to know him. He was so good … so kind.’

‘You loved him!’ cried Eleanor. ‘And he married our mother.’

‘Do you remember her, Eleanor?’

‘But little.’

‘She had some allure. I cannot explain it. I never saw it in any other woman. It was a kind of magic. Not good, not kind, but she bewitched people with it. She bewitched Hugh. So I came back and married Alexander.’

‘My poor, poor Joan!’

‘Oh, it is too long ago now to talk of, and here I am the Queen of Scotland.’

‘A poor compensation, you are telling me, Joan.’

Joan held out her thin hands on which blue veins were painfully visible.

‘I am telling you that if you have a chance of happiness you should take it. You do not want to spend your life regretting.’

‘So that is your advice, Joan?’

Joan’s answer was to put her arms about her sister and kiss her gently on the brow.

‘Sound our brother,’ she said. ‘But carefully. It may be that at this time he will feel tender towards lovers.’


* * *

Henry regarded his sister with mild affection. He was very contented with his marriage. His bride was very young, the second daughter of the Count of Provence; and her elder sister was already the bride of Louis IX of France. Not only was she beautiful, she was accomplished too. She was noted for the verses she wrote and she could sing and dance in a manner which was enchanting.

Henry was particularly delighted because his brother Richard had made the acquaintance of the Princess of Provence on his travels and had been charmed by her bright intelligence and her beauty; Henry knew he would have liked to marry her himself. No hope of that. He had his ageing Isabella, whom he had insisted on marrying. So this was one of the occasions when Henry could score over his brother.

When Eleanor came to him he was in a state of some euphoria and she, in her newly found wisdom and her awareness sharpened by her desperate need, began by telling him how delighted she was by his happiness and how enchanting the new Queen was, and how fortunate he had been to wait awhile before hurrying into marriage. Whereupon Henry began enlarging on the perfections of his queen and the joys of the married state which made it easier for Eleanor.