“Oh, I will my lord, I will.’
‘Then you may have these, my child. See how pretty they are. Golden drinking vessels. Shall we wager that they came from the East? Those wicked men picked up many of their treasures there. And see here are silver cups to match. Remember me, dear child, when you drink from them and that you owe your good fortune to your father. Here are golden spoons and look at these porringers, all solid silver.’
‘They are beautiful, my lord.’
‘They are yours, child. Part of your dowry. I would not have your bridegroom think you go to him as a pauper. It is well that he should know the King of France is in a position to send his daughter to her husband in fitting manner. He must know that whether it be a daughter or an army, there is no lack of treasure to fit out what should be done in a costly manner.’
So many beautiful garments she had. There were eighteen dresses― all splendid colours and most becoming to her dark beauty― greens, blues and scarlets, all of the finest materials that man could devise. There were surcoats of satin and velvet. There were wimples and filets for her head and gorgets for her throat.
There were many costly furs to keep her warm in winter, some made into cloaks, some edging her gowns and others to use as coverlets for her bed at night. There was everything she would need, even tapestries to hang on her walls, for these had become fashionable in England since they had been brought in by the late King’s wife, Eleanor of Castile.
The time had come for her to leave for Boulogne, whither she was to travel with her parents and other members of the family. It was a brilliant cavalcade and she was at the heart of it, riding beside her father and her mother who were clearly proud of their beautiful daughter.
The princes and members of the nobility were led by her brother Louis, who was the King of Navarre, a title his mother had assigned to him, and like her father he impressed on her the need to remember that she was a daughter of France and that in her new life she must never forget it. She listened intently and assured them fervently that she would remember.
And in Boulogne, Edward was waiting for her. He was every bit as handsome as they had said. Her heart leaped with delight when she saw the flaxen hair stirred slightly by the breeze and the bluest eyes she had ever beheld.
Moreover, he was tall and held his head like the King he was.
Isabella had fallen in love at first sight with the King of England.
He was charming and courteous to her and her parents looked on at the young couple with unfeigned delight. Dear Aunt Marguerite, who herself had gone to England as a young girl to be the bride of the King, the present one’s father, was clearly moved. Aunt Marguerite was gentle and kind and she whispered that she hoped Isabella would be as happy in England as she had been. If there was a faintly apprehensive look in her eyes as she spoke, Isabella did not notice it.
She noticed nothing but Edward.
He took her hand and told her how enchanted he was by her beauty. He had heard word of it of course but it exceeded all expectations, and he eagerly awaited their marriage.
The preparations had been made with the utmost care, and the ceremony in the church of Notre Dame was most impressive. The handsome distinguished looks of the bridegroom, the fresh and startling beauty of the bride, were marvelled and to those who knew nothing of the King’s infatuation for Piers Gaveston it seemed the perfect match.
Isabella was one of those and she often thought afterwards that had she received some intimation of what she would have to expect she might have been able to handle the situation more wisely. For one thing she would never have allowed herself to fall in love.
Those were happy days— perhaps the happiest of her life. She loved the pomp and ceremony; she loved the homage to her beauty and her rank. In the church of Notre Dame she had become a Queen as well as a wife and Edward appeared to have fallen as deeply in love with her as she with him.
Edward was in fact chafing against his separation from Gaveston. He knew he must accept this because this marriage was necessary. Isabella was a beautiful girl and she was most enamoured of him so he was lucky for he might have had someone he could not take to at all. This beautiful daughter of the King of France must bear him a child and quickly. Both he and Perrot had agreed on that. He was glad therefore that she was not repulsive to him, and that he could, with some conviction, play the part of the devoted husband.
This he did and with such success that Isabella believed herself to be the happiest woman in France. Marriage suited her. She had always known it would. She had always liked to hear about her women’s love affairs. Now she understood so much that she never had before and she was going to have few regrets at leaving France because she was going to Edward’s country which she would rule with him.
She realized quickly that Edward was pliant as well as amiable and that delighted her. She believed he was the kind of man whom she could govern. He clearly wanted to please her. She must keep him thus.
She began to suspect that he was a little lazy. So much the better. She had energy enough for them both. He would discuss everything with her. They would work together but it would be her will which would be done.
Oh, she was deeply content in her marriage.
The King of France walked arm-in-arm with his son-in-law in the gardens of the palace.
‘It gives me the greatest pleasure,’ said Philip, ‘to see your happiness with my daughter.’
‘Your daughter is the most beautiful girl in France,’ replied Edward.
‘I see we were meant to agree.’ Philip gave his sly quiet smile. ‘It is a good augury for the future, my son, when France and England walk together in amity.’
‘There will be many in France and England who will rejoice at this time.’
‘My dear son, let us keep it so. Let us make a vow of friendship.’
They were both ready to swear to that for neither would be entirely scrupulous if the need arose to break a vow or two.
‘You have heard of the wicked doings of the Templars, I doubt not,’ went on Philip.
Edward replied that he had. It was difficult to be in France and not know that they were being arrested all over the country and put to the torture in castle dungeons where they admitted that they were guilty of the most horrifying crimes.
‘There can be no peace in countries where such wickedness is allowed to flourish.’
‘That must be so,’ agreed Edward.
‘What of those who have sought refuge in England? There are many of them.’
‘Oh, many of them.’
‘You must hunt them out. You must not allow them to pollute your country.’
‘Oh no, they shall not,’ replied Edward; he was not thinking of the Templars. He was wondering how Perrot was faring and whether he was having trouble with the barons who had been so jealous about the Regency.
‘Arrest them. Bring them to trial. Make them confess their abominations. It is the only way.’
‘Oh yes, the only way.’
‘Put them to the torture. Nothing is too fierce for them. You will wring the confessions from them. Then you confiscate their goods. They have managed to build up treasures, I can tell you.’
‘I am sure of it.’
‘Why should that wealth not be used in the service of the country?’
‘Why not indeed.’
‘I shall be interested to hear what comes of this.’
‘You shall be kept informed.’
The King of France looked satisfied. They went into the palace together.