Edward thought his father looked far from well and he put this down to all the trouble of which he had heard.
‘I have heard reports of what is happening here,’ he said.
‘We have some tiresome men in this realm, Edward. They give me little peace.’
‘It is true that the barons have formed a parliament which dictates to you?’
‘It is not exactly so. I have some say in choosing the men. Of course it is all a question of money. They think of nothing else.’
‘A kingdom cannot run without it, my lord.’
‘Nay, that’s what I tell them. They think I can conjure it up out of nothing.’
‘Louis does not believe in harsh taxation, Father.’
‘So you have become one of Louis’ worshippers then?’
‘He is very wise and greatly admired. I have always believed he spoke good sense.’
Henry nodded. ‘A very serious man and dedicated King. I think he is less plagued by unruly subjects than I.’
Edward started to say that Louis had won the love and respect of his subjects, but realising that this seemed a criticism of his father, he desisted.
But he did feel this criticism and it shocked him a little. The family had always stood together. But what happened when one felt the head of it was leading it to disaster?
Henry then explained what had been happening during his son’s absence: the quarrels between William de Valence and Simon de Montfort, the sharp words which had been spoken in the council chamber.
Edward was very disturbed.
‘I am glad to say that there is a difference of opinion among the barons,’ went on Henry. ‘Gloucester seems to be falling out with de Montfort. If they quarrel among themselves perhaps they will disperse and we shall get back to normal. That would be a happy state of affairs.’
‘Father, are you prepared should there be trouble?’
Trouble! What do you mean, son?’
‘What if the barons should rise against you as they did against your father?’
‘That is a thought which is constantly in everyone’s mind. I have never been allowed to forget my father’s misdeeds. Am I responsible for them?’
‘I think it is feared that you might repeat them.’
Henry looked at his son with amazement. Was there just the hint of reproach there? Could it really be that one member of this family was not exactly behind another?
His son’s homecoming had given the King some uneasy qualms.
Simon de Montfort came to see Edward. He had heard of his arrival in England and believed that the young man was sensible.
It might be easier to convey the danger to him than to Henry, and surely he would want to do something about it, for the crown his father wore would one day be his.
‘My great desire,’ said Simon earnestly, ‘is to avoid an outright war.’
‘You think there is a real danger of that!’
‘I think there is an imminent danger.’
‘But now that you have this parliament …’
‘In which there is not agreement, I fear. Your father must abandon the Sicilian project. The title for your younger brother would be an empty one and very costly to this nation to acquire. It seems that the King and Queen are dazzled by this crown.’
‘Then if that is so there must be no more thought of Sicily.’
‘My lord, I knew you would see reason. There is much I have to tell you. You must join us and then you will understand what all this trouble is about and, pray God, help us to avoid it.’
‘I will with all my heart,’ Edward assured him.
It began to be noticed that the heir to the throne and Simon de Montfort were often in each other’s company and an understanding seemed to have arisen between them.
It was sad, said Eleanor, that all the children were growing up. Particularly so with daughters who must leave their home and family.
John de Dreux, the Duke of Brittany, had offered for Beatrice and as it was a good match and one which would be advantageous to England and it was time Beatrice was married, there could be no excuse for not accepting it.
What had happened to Margaret had made the Queen very apprehensive. She said she wished she had had all boys and then there would not have been the same need for them to leave the country.
However, the alliance was accepted and Beatrice prepared to leave for Brittany.
The King, who had business in France, was to accompany her but in view of the state of the country it seemed unwise that the Queen should go also.
‘You will have Edward to help you, my dearest,’ said Henry, ‘and rest assured that I shall return as soon as possible.’
The Queen was in a way not sorry to remain. By accompanying the party she would have had a little longer with her daughter but at least she was spared that harrowing moment when Beatrice was formally handed over to a stranger. That seemed to her most distressing and she would never forget seeing little Margaret married to Alexander of Scotland.
She said good-bye to the King and her daughter and went back to Windsor where she was finding pleasure in the company of Edward’s young wife, a docile, pleasant creature who adored Edward; and therefore they had something in common.
Soon after Beatrice’s wedding had taken place the Duke of Gloucester joined the King in Brittany. Gloucester was an ambitious man who had shown himself to be jealous of Simon de Montfort’s power in the barons’ party and had therefore set himself up in opposition to him.
He had come to the King with a special purpose and he lost little time in making Henry aware of the reason for his visit.
‘My lord,’ he began, ‘what I have to tell you fills me with distress for I know what pain it will cause you. I ask in advance for your forgiveness for bringing this to your notice but I believe it to be something you should know.’
‘Pray tell me without more delay,’ commanded Henry.
‘It is that your son Edward has allied himself with Simon de Montfort.’
‘That is impossible,’ cried Henry.
‘I fear, my lord, it is so.’
‘I will not believe it.’
‘Others will confirm it.’
Henry shook his head. ‘There is some mistake,’ he insisted.
‘No, Sire. The lord Edward is constantly in de Montfort’s company listening to what de Montfort tells about what are, in his opinion, the wrongs committed against the people.’
Henry covered his face with his hands.
This was more cruel than anything. He could endure the loss of his crown but not that of the love and loyalty of his family.
He would listen to no more. He dismissed Gloucester and sat alone.
There must be some mistake. Edward … his son, Eleanor’s son … to stand against him! It was not possible.
Oh God, he thought, is history repeating itself? His grandfather Henry II had likened himself to an eagle who, when he was old and weary, was attacked by the eaglets whom he had fathered. He, Henry III, had gloried in his own children, had thanked God for them and greatly pitied his grandfather. Now could it be that his son had turned against him?
It could not be true. It was a malicious lie. He would never believe it. Eleanor would never allow it. He would trust Edward with his life.
There was only one thing to do and that was to return to England.
How cruel it was. It was true. Edward was seeing de Montfort and had declared that he understood the reason for his grievances.
The King could not bear to see anyone. He went to the Tower of London and remained there. His grief was making him ill.
Richard, the King of the Romans, hearing rumours of England’s trouble, had come to see his brother.