To add to their joy the Countess of Provence, hearing that Eleanor and Sanchia were to be in Paris, had decided to join them. So that the four sisters and their mother were together.
‘There is only one missing,’ said Marguerite. ‘Our dear father.’
‘We must not grieve,’ said the Countess of Provence. ‘He would rejoice to see us thus, and perhaps he can. Let us, while remembering him, be happy in each other.’
Henry, determined to court popularity – and also to let the French know that he was a rich King – spent his first morning in Paris distributing alms to the poor. This ensured his popularity and meant he was cheered wherever he went.
‘I know how happy you are, my dearest,’ he said to Eleanor, ‘and I am going to give a grand banquet to which I shall invite all the nobility of France. It will show the world how I honour your family.’
‘You are the best husband in the world,’ cried Eleanor. ‘The more I see of the men my sisters have married the more blessed I know myself to be.’
This was the sort of remark which delighted Henry and Eleanor was adept at making such. She was implying criticism of Louis and Charles of Anjou and of Richard of Cornwall, her sisters’ husbands. Of course he and Louis were the Kings and therefore desirable and he was a little piqued by hearing the compliments which seemed to be showered on Louis and to witness how his people seemed to revere him when he rode out.
‘His people are more demonstrative than they are at home,’ he said. ‘My people are not so affectionate towards me.’
‘Louis has just returned from a crusade,’ replied Eleanor. ‘That makes the people regard him as a saint.’
But it was not only that. There was a humility about Louis IX which, coupled with a dignity, set him apart. There was compassion in him. This was a King who cared for his people. He would never harry them with taxes for his own needs. Louis set little store by the splendour of his rank; he did not care greatly for festivals. He cared about the people, what they were thinking, how he could better their lot.
It was rather trying, Eleanor thought, when her sister Marguerite talked to her of him. Marguerite was completely devoted to her saint and continually singing his praises, when it was clear to Eleanor that Louis did not dote on her in the same way that Henry did on his Queen.
The four sisters sat together, they walked together, they shared the tapestry which Marguerite was making and they talked and were transported back in their thoughts to Les Baux.
It was like being young again and it was amazing how they slipped back into their roles of subservience to Eleanor.
‘Do you remember …’ The phrase was constantly occurring and they would talk of the old days, laughing, being young again.
Then they talked of the present, and the change in their lives since the days in Provence. Marguerite had adventured most for she had been with Louis to the Holy Land.
‘I would not let him go alone,’ she said. ‘I insisted. His mother did not want him to go. No one wanted him to go. They thought he should stay at home and govern his kingdom. I remember the day he was so ill that we thought he was dead. I remember how he lay on his bed and one of the women wanted to draw the sheet over his face because she thought he was dead. But I would not let them. I would not believe that he was dead. I forbade them to cover up his face. I cried: “There is life in him yet,” and then he spoke … in a strange hollow voice as though he were far away. He said: “He, by God’s grace, hath visited me. He who comes from on High hath recalled me from the dead.” Then he sent for the Bishop of Paris and said to him: “Place upon my shoulder the cross of the voyage over the sea.” We knew what this meant. His mother and I looked at each other and although she tried to shut me out and I did not like her, for I feared that she resented his love for me and wanted him all for herself, we were at one in this for we knew what Louis meant. He was going on a crusade. We begged him to make no vows until he was well, but he would take no food until he had received the cross. I remember how his mother mourned. Her face was blank and she was as one who has the sentence of death on her. He took the cross and kissed it and when she had drawn me from the chamber, she said to me: “I must mourn him now as though he were dead for soon I shall lose him.” She meant of course that if he went on a crusade she would die before he returned.’
‘You did not like her overmuch,’ said Eleanor. ‘She was always determined to shut you out.’
‘At first I resented her. But later I understood. She loved him so much … could not bear that anyone should come before her with him. He was her life. It had no meaning for her if she lost him.’
‘And then he went away,’ said Sanchia, ‘and you went with him.’
‘It was not until three years after that, but I knew it was in his mind. He used to talk to me about it. He had had a vision when he was lying close to death and he believed he had been sent back to Earth to fulfil a purpose. He had to go to the Holy Land, because it was ordained by God.’
‘They say he is a saint,’ said Sanchia.
‘They are right,’ replied Marguerite.
‘I would prefer to be married to a man,’ retorted Eleanor.
‘Louis is a man,’ replied Marguerite. ‘Doubt it not. He can fly into a rage but it is mostly over injustice. He does not want to hurt anyone. He wants to make people good and happy …’
Eleanor yawned slightly. She began to tell them about the wonderful feasts Henry had given at Bordeaux to celebrate the marriage of Edward and the little Infanta.
Beatrice whose husband had gone on the crusade with Louis brought the subject back to the great crusade and said how happy they had all been when it was over.
‘It was a frightening time,’ Marguerite told them. ‘Often I thought we should all be killed. Louis was torn between his need to take part in the crusade and to govern his country. He said that his grandfather had felt the same when he went to the Holy Land with his Queen.’
‘She had some gay adventures, I believe,’ said Eleanor. ‘I was always interested in her because we shared the same name.’
‘Eleanor of Aquitaine,’ murmured Beatrice.
‘My husband’s grandmother,’ added Eleanor. ‘I think I should enjoy going on a crusade.’
‘It is so exciting when you plan to go,’ said Marguerite. ‘Less so when you arrive.’ She shivered. ‘I hope Louis never decides to go again. I shall never forget his mother’s anguish when he left. She knew she would never see him again. It was a premonition. I can hear her voice now and see her blue eyes, usually as cold as ice, misty then soft with love for him. She said: “Most fair son, my tender boy, I shall never see you more. Full well my heart assures me of this.” Nor did she. Four years later she died and we were still there. It was because of her death that we came home. Louis knew that that was where his duty lay. He thought it was a sign from God that he should return home.’
‘And all the time you were there, poor Marguerite, Sanchia and I were living comfortably in England.’
‘It is wonderful that the two of you are together,’ said Marguerite.
‘Is it not like some fateful pattern?’ demanded Beatrice. ‘Two sisters for two brothers, and two more sisters for two more brothers. I wonder if it has ever happened before in families?’
‘We elder ones had the Kings,’ said Eleanor.
‘Romeo used to say that he would have Kings for all of us,’ Beatrice reminded them.
‘Romeo was boastful,’ said Sanchia.
‘Well, we can all congratulate ourselves,’ put in Eleanor, ‘for after all we were very poor were we not and had little to recommend us but our beauty and our brains.’