Ashes of the Elements (2 page)

Even if she has not the time to visit the shrine, Helewise decided, then we shall at the very least feed her before she departs. Silently rising and moving to the door, she opened it and crooked a finger at the nun standing in attendance outside.

‘Yes, Abbess?’ Sister Anne asked eagerly. Like all the nuns, she was aware what honour a visit from the King’s mother bestowed on the Abbey. Such was the community’s love for Eleanor that Sister Anne – also like all of them – would have walked barefoot over hot coals if the Queen had demanded it.

Helewise laid a warning finger across her lips. ‘Hush. The Queen is resting,’ she whispered. ‘Sister, please will you go the refectory and ask Sister Basilia to prepare a light meal? The Queen looks so weary,’ she added, half to herself.

‘That I will, and gladly!’ Sister Anne hissed back. ‘Poor lady, it’s no surprise, why, all that travelling, and at her age, too! Why, she should be—’

‘The food, Sister?’ Helewise prompted gently.

‘Yes, Abbess, sorry, Abbess.’ Sister Anne blushed and hurried away.

Helewise went back inside the little room, quietly closing the door behind her. She did most things quietly, with a serene grace of which she was unaware. Even the large bunch of heavy keys that always hung at her belt were quiet, kept from jingling and rattling together by the Abbess’s hand laid on them whenever she moved.

Queen Eleanor opened her eyes and looked at the Abbess as Helewise resumed her seat. ‘You are too big for that stool,’ she observed.

‘I am quite comfortable,’ Helewise lied. ‘My lady, I have taken the liberty of ordering food for you. Even if you must rush off after but one night with us, will you at least take a moment to eat before you go on your way?’

Eleanor smiled. ‘You are too kind,’ she murmured. ‘And, yes, indeed I will.’ She shifted in her chair, with a quick wince of pain. ‘Your sister out there was quite right. I am far too old for all this charging about.’

‘I am sorry,’ Helewise said quickly. ‘She shouldn’t have spoken with such disrespect.’

‘Disrespect? No, Abbess, I heard only kindness.’

Sensing a mild reproof, Helewise said, ‘I meant only that it is not appropriate for us to gossip about how Your Majesty sees fit to conduct her life.’

Even to Helewise, it sounded a pompous and fawning little speech, so she was hardly surprised when Eleanor gave a sudden shout of laughter. With a glance up at the Queen, Helewise grinned briefly and said, ‘Sorry.’

‘So I should think,’ Eleanor murmured. ‘My very favourite retreat, so conveniently placed between London and the coast, and its Abbess’ – she met Helewise’s eyes – ‘also my favourite, incidentally, starts speaking like any other ingratiating subject wishing a boon of me.’ Leaning forward suddenly, she said, ‘Helewise, please,
never
become like everyone else.’

Not entirely sure what the Queen meant, nevertheless Helewise said, ‘No, my lady. Very well.’

There was a timid tap on the door, and, in answer to Helewise’s ‘Come in,’ a novice from the refectory sidled into the room, bearing on one arm a wide pewter dish. ‘Her Holiness’s meal,’ the girl whispered.

‘Majesty will do,’ Eleanor remarked mildly. ‘I am not a pope, merely a queen.’ She frowned briefly. ‘A queen mother, indeed, now,’ she added under her breath.

Helewise had been longing to ask the Queen a hundred questions about that very matter for the past twenty-four hours, but, lacking anything that could possibly be regarded as an opening, had managed to learn little more than the barest details. Now, watching the Queen swiftly demolish the appetising and prettily presented meal – Sister Basilia had put a posy of dog roses on the edge of the dish – Helewise waited until the last piece of bread had wiped up the last drop of gravy. Then she said, ‘The marriage will be a success, do you think, my lady?’

Eleanor leaned back in her chair, patting at the corners of her mouth with a linen square. ‘A success?’ She gave a faint shrug. ‘It depends, Abbess Helewise, what you mean by success. If you mean, will the union prove fruitful, then I can only say that I pray day and night that it will do so. If you mean will my dear son and his bride find joy in one another’s company, then my answer is that I very much doubt it.’

Helewise said softly, ‘Ah.’ There was, she reflected, little else she could say.

‘It had to be done!’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘I knew, as soon as I saw Berengaria, that she was not the ideal bride for him. But what was I to do?’ She spread her long hands, palms up, the fingers heavy with rings, towards Helewise. ‘Richard has been King of England for almost two years, and, but for four months, he has been out of the country.’ Eleanor clenched one of her hands into a fist and, with some vehemence, thumped it down on to the long table which, desk-like, stood in front of Helewise’s chair. ‘Crusading, always crusading!’ she cried. ‘First, he alienates his new subjects by that brazen sale of offices, then he dashes off to France to receive his pilgrim’s scrip and staff! A brief pause while he supervises the mustering of his enormous fleet, and then off he goes to Outremer!’ Eleanor’s wide, dark eyes held passionate anger. ‘Not a thought, Helewise, for what he has left behind him for others to sort out! Not a care that, even before he left, already there was talk that he did not intend to return! That, far from applying himself to the great duty of reigning over England, he had ambitions to become the next King of Jerusalem!’

‘Surely not!’ Helewise exclaimed. The rumours were not, in fact, new to her; she had heard them before, many times. Heard worse, too; some said darkly that King Richard’s conduct since ascending the throne was so ill-considered that surely he must be unbalanced. That he suffered from some secret sickness which affected him in both body and mind, and which would probably kill him before the Crusade was out. But those rumours, Helewise decided, she certainly wouldn’t pass on to Richard’s mother.

Certainly, not while those remarkable eyes still looked so furious.

‘
Why
must he insist on this course!’ Eleanor was saying. ‘What, really, does it matter to the average Englishman
who
rules over the Holy City?’

‘But surely—’ Helewise began.

Eleanor’s eyes fixed on to hers. ‘Helewise, do not try to tell me that you give a jot either way,’ she said. ‘Whilst it is all very laudable to express the opinion that Our Lord’s city must be occupied and governed solely by Christians, I cannot believe that you truly feel that the aim of recapturing it is worth all the effort. The expense of it, Abbess! Not to mention the pain, the losses, the anguish. The deaths.’ Her face fell, as if, speaking of such things, she was imagining them happening to her beloved son.

Helewise leaned towards her. ‘Your son is a great man, my lady,’ she said gently. ‘A superbly brave and capable fighter, even if—’ She broke off.

‘Even if that is all he is?’ Eleanor said.

‘But what a man!’ Helewise, desperate to make up for her gaffe, put all the sincerity she could muster into her voice.

‘You see, Helewise,’ Eleanor went on, as if she had barely noted the interruption, ‘he is a man’s man. A fighting man, as you say, a man who belongs in an army. At the head of an army, leading it to victory!’

‘Amen,’ Helewise intoned.

‘Of course, I’ve been crusading,’ Eleanor said dismissively. ‘When I was married to that fussy old woman, Louis of France.’

‘Indeed,’ Helewise murmured. Should she really be hearing this? Was it not virtually treason, to hear one monarch decry another, even if he
were
dead?

‘Back in 1147, it was,’ Eleanor said, a reminiscent smile on her face. ‘I had a wonderful time. Louis didn’t want me to go, but what he did or did not want was never of great relevance.’ She laughed aloud. ‘Do you know, Helewise, a rich young Saracen emir wanted to marry me? I might have accepted, too, had I not had Louis tagging along.’ She sighed. ‘What was I saying? Ah, yes! The crusading fervour. You see, my dear’ – she reached out to tap Helewise quite sharply on the shoulder, as if to make quite sure she was attending – ‘the way I see it, there are far more important things that Richard should be doing. Rescuing the Holy Land pales into insignificance when compared to the crucial matter of securing the accession.’

‘But King Richard now has a wife,’ Helewise said, ‘thanks to Your Majesty’s efforts.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ Eleanor acknowledged. ‘What a journey it was!’ Then, as if one train of thought had led to another, she said, ‘Naturally, he couldn’t marry Alais of France, no matter how hard King Philip pressed his sister’s case. Betrothed they might be, but Richard couldn’t go through with it. Even if it did create all that unpleasantness, when Richard and Philip were setting out for Outremer.’

‘Indeed,’ Helewise said. There was no need for the Queen to upset herself recounting the reason why Richard could not marry Alais; Helewise already knew.

But, ‘She was damaged goods, that Alais,’ Eleanor said. ‘My husband, the late King Henry, seduced her and impregnated her, although the little bastard that resulted had the discretion not to live.’ Furious indignation and hurt pride were very apparent in the old face. Oh, my lady, Helewise thought, do not distress yourself over matters so far in the past!

‘Not a fit bride for my son,’ Eleanor said, bringing herself under control with an obvious effort. ‘Despite the fact that a union between Alais and Richard would, I was told, have been permitted by the Church, nevertheless, for a man to marry his own father’s discarded mistress smacks, to me, of incest.’

‘I see what you mean,’ Helewise said. Diplomatically trying to change the subject, she said, ‘But what of Berengaria of Navarre, my lady? Is she as beautiful as they say?’

‘Beautiful?’ The Queen considered. ‘No. She is rather pale and wishy-washy. When I arrived at her father’s court in Pamplona and first set eyes on her, I admit I was a little disappointed. But, then, what do looks matter? Besides, there was so little choice – Richard is related to most of the other royal young women of Europe, Berengaria is one of the few who were eligible. Anyway, he did actually express a favourable opinion of her, you know – he saw her at some tournament of King Sancho’s that he attended a few years ago, and he wrote her some pretty verses. And, even if she isn’t beautiful, she’s virtuous and learned.’

There was a small silence. As if both women were thinking the same thing – that virtue and learning were hardly qualities to make a woman appeal to Richard the Lionheart – their eyes met in a brief glance.

Eleanor spoke, too softly for Helewise to be sure of what she said. What it sounded like was, ‘I don’t care for passive women.’

‘Then you took her right across southern Europe to meet her bridegroom,’ Helewise said hurriedly into the awkward pause. ‘My goodness, what a journey! And you crossed the Alps in the depths of winter, I believe it is said?’

‘I did,’ Eleanor said, not without a certain pride. ‘And I’ll give Berengaria her due, not a word of complaint from her, even when the going got really bad. Snow, bitterly cold lodgings, bedding alive with lice, inadequately salted meat, all the dangers of the open road, she took them all with her head held high and her mouth buttoned up. Unlike most of our attendants, I might add, who, to a man, moaned like a group of sickly dowagers.’

‘And, when you finally met up with the King’s party in Sicily, it was Lent, and so the marriage could not take place,’ Helewise said, recounting what the Queen had already told her.

‘I handed Berengaria over into my daughter Joanna’s care, and told her to get the girl wedded to Richard at the next stop, which was Cyprus,’ Eleanor continued. ‘I am reliably informed that they were married in the spring.’

‘I wish them luck,’ Helewise said.

‘So do I,’ Eleanor agreed fervently. ‘So do I.’

‘And now you go back to France, Your Majesty?’ It seemed wise, Helewise thought, to turn Eleanor away from contemplation of the apparently slim chances of her son’s marriage being a successful one.

‘I do. But not until the morrow. This night I stay with my dear friend Petronilla de Severy. Petronilla Durand, I must now call her, for she has a new husband.’ The Queen paused. ‘A new
young
husband. And, Helewise, I have to admit, although it pains me equally much to do so, that there is as little chance of this being a good marriage as there is of my son’s.’

Helewise’s surprise and discomfort at receiving the Queen’s confidences had disappeared. Now, she felt honoured. Deeply honoured. Hadn’t Eleanor said earlier that Hawkenlye was one of her favourite places? If she felt that way because it was only here in the privacy of the Abbey that she was able to speak of private concerns, then Helewise could do no better than offer a discreet and sympathetic ear. ‘You emphasise the youth of your friend’s new husband,’ she said. ‘Is that a factor in the marriage’s chances of success?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘Petronilla is a rich woman – her father left her extremely well provided for – but even those of us who love her couldn’t call her beautiful. She is tall, thin, with an indifferent complexion and those narrow lips which, when a woman grows old, appear to fold in on themselves. And dear Petronilla
is
old.’

‘What is the age difference?’ Helewise asked.

‘Petronilla is, I think, forty-two. Possibly more. Tobias Durand cannot be much over thirty, and I believe I have heard that he is even younger.’

Involuntarily Helewise said, ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Oh, dear, indeed,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘And he is a handsome man, by all accounts, of good height, well-built.’

‘But impoverished,’ Helewise guessed. There seemed no other reason for such a man to have married a plain woman so much older than himself.

‘Again, you guess right.’ The Queen sighed. ‘I doubt she will keep him. She is probably too old to bear him a son, which alone might have ensured the continuance of his attentions. As it is, once he has access to her wealth…’ She did not finish the sentence. There was, Helewise thought, no need.

What sorrow can be ushered into people’s lives by marriage to the wrong partner, she reflected. And, at the opposite end of the scale, what joy when the choice is good. Briefly she pictured her own late husband. Ivo had been a good-looking man, too, tall and broad in the shoulder like this opportunist Tobias. And what a sense of humour he’d had.