‘It may be, my love, we are going to a more beautiful one.’
‘More beautiful than this! Impossible!’
‘Your native land is always the sweetest. But Germany will be our home, dearest child; and we’ll grow to love it.’
‘I have thanked God every morning on rising, since I knew, that you are coming with me.’
‘Your gratitude was no more fervent than mine.’
They were together so it was not too sad an occasion.
Eleanor rode side by side with a young man who appeared to be about six years older than herself. He was handsome, charming and lively in his conversation and she had rarely enjoyed anyone’s company more. She was beginning to think that she was shut away from the pleasures of Court life with her sister-in-law and there was a great deal that she was missing.
The young man told her that his name was Simon de Montfort and that his father was that Simon de Montfort l’Amaury who had made a name for himself in the war against the Albigensians.
The King had been good to Simon and had restored to him all the lands which had belonged to his father, and he had what he had long sought, a secure position in England and the favour of the King.
Eleanor was delighted to hear that Henry was his friend and she told him freely of her marriage to William Marshal and how she was a widow of some years standing.
He had said that he was surprised she had been allowed to remain so for so long.
‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘I had no inclination to remarry. Not that the decision would rest with me.’
Simon de Montfort looked at her rather quizzically and said: ‘Do you know, I believe that if you were so inclined you are of a nature to insist that the decision should be yours.’
That remark impressed her deeply.
Was it really so? She had always been so meek with William Marshal. But then she had been but sixteen at the time of his death.
Simon de Montfort had made her realise something. She was growing up; her character was forming and it was going to be that of a strong-minded woman.
Isabella and Margaret Biset said good-bye to those who had escorted them to Sandwich and set sail for Antwerp.
The four days at sea were far from pleasant and during them Isabella thought little of what was awaiting her. Of one thing she was certain: nothing could be worse than being at sea.
When finally they did land it was to find friends waiting for them to tell them that there was a French plot afoot to capture Isabella and prevent her marriage to the Emperor. They stayed at an inn, where Isabella was said to be a young noblewoman travelling with her governess, and under cover of darkness they left the town. It was several days before they could be assured that they had outwitted their would-be kidnappers and by that time Frederic had sent a strong guard to protect and bring her to Cologne.
There was a halt in that city. It was dangerous to proceed because the Emperor was at war – strangely enough with his own son who at one time had been put forward as a husband for Isabella – so she and Margaret had six weeks’ respite during which they began to learn the ways of the country.
In due course the Emperor arrived to greet his young bride with great rejoicing. He exclaimed at her charm and beauty and declared himself to be absolutely delighted.
He embraced her warmly and told her that he was determined to care for her and make her happy. Margaret clucked with delight. She was glad they had not given her charge to some brazen young man. From the Emperor she would receive tenderness and consideration.
The wedding celebrations were magnificent and continued through four days, for the Emperor wanted his subjects to know how delighted he was with his bride.
Isabella found that her marriage was not nearly as distasteful to her as she had feared it might be. The Emperor, delighted with her youth and freshness, was anxious not to frighten her. He told her that he had loved her from the moment he had seen her and her beauty exceeded all reports of it. She was his treasure, his sweet young bride; and his great desire was to please her.
However, he did propose to send back all her English attendants and when she heard this she was filled with fear.
She threw herself at his feet and wept bitterly and when he raised her and asked what was wrong she burst out: ‘Margaret Biset and I have been together all my life. I cannot let her go. If you send her away I shall never be happy again.’
Then he kissed her and said that although he had wanted all her English attendants to go and she to become his little German wife, he would show his love for her by allowing Margaret to stay with her for as long as she needed her.
At that Isabella dispensed with all ceremony, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him fervently.
‘It seems that you love the old Emperor then?’ he asked.
‘I do,’ she answered fervently. ‘You are so good to me.’
‘And you can be happy here?’
‘I can be happy if you do not take Margaret away from me.’
‘So Margaret remains.’
The Emperor grew so enchanted with his wife that he wanted nothing but to be with her all the time. He took her to his palace at Hagenau and surrounded her with all the luxury he knew of. The furnishings of her apartments were as rich as anything she had ever seen. He brought her more jewels than she could possibly wear. There were silks and fine clothes for her servants to make into any garments she fancied, and there were rich meats and wines to suit her taste. But he could not bear that anyone should see her lest they take her from him.
She and Margaret were together as they had been at her brother’s court; and the Emperor’s fondness for her was remarked on throughout the land.
In due course she was pregnant and merchandise was sent to her that she might choose what she fancied for her child. Margaret liked to make most of the garments herself and it was their pleasure to sew and talk together of the child.
It was pleasant to be so petted by her loving husband; and at this time Isabella was content to be shut off from the world in her silken cave. Margaret was with her and they played the guessing games they had played during her girlhood. It was all so like her childhood – apart from visits from the Emperor – that she did not feel in the least like a prisoner.
When her child was born it was a girl. If the Emperor was disappointed he did not say so, but she knew he would have preferred a boy. When she jokingly told Margaret that she would name the child after her and mentioned it to Frederic he made no protest. If that was what his little darling wanted, so should it be.
So the child became Margaret and so did the nurse dote on her namesake that Isabella declared the baby was taking her old nurse away from her.
‘What nonsense!’ cried Margaret. There’s enough love in this old body of mine for you both.’
So the pleasant life went on – except that one cage was changed for another. The Emperor had to visit his Italian subjects so he moved her to Lombardy and there she with Margaret and her baby and the few maids who attended on their needs lived once more in a luxurious palace, with their beautiful gardens – high-walled where no one came but the Emperor.
He rarely let anyone see his bride.
And there Isabella’s son was born. She called him Henry after her brother. And the Emperor said he had never known such joy.
It was a strange life, but one which was not unhappy.
The old ageing Emperor and his beautiful young wife had become something of a legend in the land.