‘Dear Father,’ she answered, ‘I have long thought of what I am missing. If I could see you frequently I should be happy to go to Bar.’

Edward embraced her and assured her that ere long there would be a wedding for her.

So it came to pass, for when the Duke of Bar-le-Duc realised that his suit was acceptable he was overjoyed.

Edward was determined that his favourite daughter should not marry a stranger and he invited the Duke to stay in England until the wedding could be arranged, and during the whole of that summer Eleanor and the Duke were constantly in each other’s company. During September the King summoned the whole of his family, the chief knights of the country and every nobleman in the kingdom to Bristol where the ceremony took place.

There were celebrations of great splendour for although, unlike his father and mother, Edward was not extravagant, he did believe that there were occasions when it was necessary to show the people the importance of what was taking place. Moreover this was the wedding of his best-loved daughter and he wanted her memories of England to be pleasant. The bridegroom too must be made aware of the might of the family he had married into, for the King would assuredly need his help at some time.

After that the party travelled to Mortlake to be entertained in the household of Prince Edward. He was now ten years old – tall, good-looking and bearing a strong resemblance to his father. He was inclined to indolence and his attendants and young friends did not always behave with the decorum necessary to his rank, which had given the King some concern, but he believed that this was just youthful high spirits and that Edward would grow more sober as he advanced in years.

The Princess Eleanor was happy. It was true that she must leave England and that was something she had dreaded doing, but now it seemed different; and her husband had promised that whenever possible they would visit England, and the King would always be welcome in Bar.

He would return there now to make preparations for her arrival, for he wanted to make sure that she received a royal welcome and he trusted no one to arrange that but himself.

In a few weeks she would join him.

How excited she was making her preparations. Joanna contrived to spend a great deal of time with her. ‘For,’ said Joanna, ‘when you go away I shall see you rarely then.’

Joanna had given birth to another daughter whom she called Margaret after her sister. So now she had three children. Child-bearing seemed to suit Joanna. Like her mother she came through the ordeals with little inconvenience to herself, and as Gilbert’s devotion did not diminish she was happy in her motherhood.

‘Sister,’ she said one day, ‘I do believe you are with child.’

Eleanor blushed slightly. She had suspected it and the fact that Joanna had noticed confirmed it.

‘It is what I want more than anything,’ she declared.

‘The Duke will be pleased.’

‘Yes, as soon as I am sure I shall send a message to him.’

Joanna laughed. ‘Life is good, is it not, sister? Was I not right in telling you you should marry? Poor Margaret, I doubt she will find it so blissful. It is strange is it not that her Duke allows her to stay away from him? I have heard it said that he prefers it so. Oh, we are the lucky ones, Eleanor.’

Eleanor agreed with this.

She was in fact pregnant, and when her husband heard this he replied that she must leave for Bar without delay. She must make the strenuous journey in the early stages before travelling should be irksome or dangerous. And it was essential that his heir should be born in the Duchy.

A great cavalcade accompanied her to Dover, the King at the head of it.

They took a tender farewell and the King would not leave the shore until he could no longer see the ship which was carrying his daughter away.

In her new home she was welcomed by her husband, who was determined to give her a display to equal that which King Edward had arranged for their pleasure. He had organised a tournament and had invited from all over the Continent, knights renowned for their prowess. Among these was John, the elder Duke of Brabant, the father of Margaret’s husband, who had been known all his life as one of the most accomplished of the knights and had so distinguished himself that he had won the titles of ‘Glory of the World’ and ‘Flower of Chivalry’, which meant that when he jousted people came from every corner of the world to watch him.

‘My dearest,’ said the Duke, ‘you of course must present the crown to the winner of the jousts for they will all perform in your honour.’

She was delighted. She had always been beautiful but seemed to have become more so since her marriage. There was new colour in her cheeks, a new shine to her eyes and a lustre in her hair, which she wore hanging loose about her shoulders.

The old Duke of Brabant was overcome by her beauty and he told her that he was determined to win the crown for the honour of receiving it from her hands.

She wished that Joanna could see her now. Would she be a little envious? Perhaps. But Joanna was in command of her life to such an extent that she rarely envied anyone. There was a niggling disquiet in the recesses of Eleanor’s mind concerning her sister. She had mentioned more than once the possibility of her husband’s dying – and without a great deal of concern – when she would have the husband of her choice.

But she could not think of Joanna on this day. How beautiful it was. The sun was shining, lances glittered and the knights were assembled in their armour ready for the mock battle. She was seated high on her bench with her ladies beside her, under a canopy of scarlet and gold, and all eyes were on her. They marvelled at the beauty of her hair and eyes, her fresh smooth skin. She wished that her father could see her now.

The knights were all eager to win the trophy; there was not one there who was not longing for the honour of having the crown placed on his head by those fair hands.

Yes, she thought, I am happy as I never thought to be. Joanna was right. I needed marriage and children. This is the true life. The crown of England for which she had longed seemed of little importance – a bauble. Here she was: a happy wife, a mother-to-be, the queen of the tournament.

The jousting began and went on throughout the day. The old Duke of Brabant had come successfully through several encounters and she hoped he would win. She wanted this to be his crowning endeavour, for he was clearly too old to joust much more.

She watched him. His opponent was a stranger whom she did not know. But he must be a knight of some repute or he would not be here. He was a tall man and he sat his horse as though he and it were one. Her father was like that. They had the long arms and legs of the Normans, and because of this they had the advantage on horseback.

It was the third turn. She heard the gasp in the crowd; there was a second or so of silence and then people were running onto the field where the old Duke of Brabant lay bleeding on the grass.

His opponent was kneeling beside the old man, imploring his pardon, begging him to use the sword against him, to kill him for what he had done.

The old Duke shook his head. ‘It was a fair fight,’ he whispered. ‘I should have known my day was done.’

He was carried from the field into the castle of Le Bar, where he died shortly afterwards. His death cast a gloom over the celebrations and the Duke and Eleanor agreed that they must put an end to them.

Some said it was not a good augury for the future. Now that the old Duke of Brabant was dead, Margaret’s husband was the new Duke.

In due course Eleanor’s child was born and to her – and her husband’s – great joy, it was a boy. She insisted on calling him Edward as a compliment to her father, and when the news reached England there was great rejoicing there. The King longed to be with his daughter. That was impossible, of course, but although he missed her sadly he was glad that at last she had a husband and child and he prayed for her happiness.

It was not long before she was once more pregnant and this time she produced a girl. She wrote to her sister Joanna telling her how happy she was and that she was going to name her daughter Joanna to remind her of the sister who had been closest to her.

There was no doubt that happiness reigned in the Duchy of Bar-le-Duc and fortunately neither the Duke nor the Duchess knew at that time how short-lived it would prove to be.


* * *

Joanna was now the mother of four children – Gilbert, Eleanor, Margaret and Elizabeth. They had all been born within the space of five years and the novelty of being a wife and mother had vanished.

As with her mother, child-bearing had come easily to Joanna and taken little toll of her looks. Her vitality was as strong as ever. She was twenty-three years old and, although when she was first married it seemed interesting to have an elderly husband, she was now beginning to see him as a very old man whose devotion was so constant that it seemed cloying.

She was becoming increasingly aware of one of Gilbert’s squires, a certain Ralph de Monthermer – good-looking, sturdy and above all young. When she compared this squire with her husband poor Gilbert seemed very old indeed and she wondered what would have happened if she had met Ralph de Monthermer before her marriage. She convinced herself that she never could have married Gilbert then and imagined what her father would have said if she had suggested Ralph as a bridegroom.

A squire for a king’s daughter! He would have thought she was mad. Perhaps she was a little. In any case she certainly felt reckless when she looked at that young man.

It amused her to play little games with him. To look up suddenly and catch his eyes on her and to ask him if he saw aught wrong.

He would become embarrassed, but only slightly, for he was quite a bold young man. ‘Wrong, my lady? Nay, right … far too right for my peace of mind.’

A pleasant allusion to her charms which she liked.

She would make sure that he was placed near her, but not too near. When she sang after supper it would be songs of hopeless love and she very much enjoyed the effect this had on him. When she rode out with a riding party he was invariably of it and she would pretend to be surprised to find herself beside him.

Some would say it was a dangerous situation into which she was sinking more deeply every day, but danger was irresistible to Joanna and she became more and more interested in Ralph de Monthermer.

Who could say how this would have ended and when it would have been brought to Gilbert’s notice if of late Gilbert had not been so easily tired that he had liked to retire early? That his last campaign had taken some toll of his health was obvious.

Joanna played the anxious wife for a while but it was a role she soon tired of. Fortunately for Gilbert he did not live long enough to see that she was wearying of it, for one morning when his attendants went into his bedchamber to waken him they found that he had died in his sleep.

It was not altogether a surprise for it had been obvious to the discerning that Gilbert had grown weaker every day.

Joanna received the news calmly. She found it hard to express any deep sorrow. The marriage had been satisfactory while it had lasted but it had lasted long enough. She could not have gone on being a dutiful wife much longer so it was better for everyone that Gilbert should pass on before he discovered this.

And there was Ralph de Monthermer.

She sent for him and gave him her hand to kiss in greeting. He did not release it but continued to hold it and drew her towards him.

‘What means this, my lord?’ she asked, but he saw the sparkle in her eyes.

‘I think you know, my lady.’

‘My husband is dead,’ she answered.

‘I know it.’

‘And you think that because of this you may with impunity misuse me?’

‘I think, my lady, from what I read in your eyes that I may presume a little on your kindness.’

‘Do you forget that I am the widow of your lord and the daughter of your King, Ralph de Monthermer?’

‘I forget all but one thing, lady, when I am close to you.’

‘You should leave me now. We will talk of this later.’

He hesitated and she half wished he would disobey her, seize her, make love to her. That would have been piquant with Gilbert not yet in his tomb. Instead of which he left, which after all was best.