The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [210]
What I planned to do was to leave England in the hands of Longchamp and Hugh Puiset and go to Navarre. There was bound to be delay on the Continent. Both Philip Augustus and Richard had many preparations to make. I must catch up with them somewhere and insist on the marriage. The difficult part would be to see that it was consummated.
I must lose no time in bringing this about.
I left England, taking the Princess Alais with me. I was going to return her to France. We had no further use for her. She was very sad and, I believe, genuinely mourned Henry. He had been, I am sure, very different with her than with me. I supposed she was never provocative. It would have been, “Yes, my lord. No, my lord” all the way. I was a little sorry for her, although her meekness irritated me. Moreover I guessed there would be trouble over her, for Philip Augustus would not want her to be returned to him unmarried. He appeared to be insisting that Richard marry her. He would consider, of course, that whatever Richard’s inclinations—and his must be the same—marriage was outside that. It was the duty of a king to marry and produce children. That need not interfere with his mode of life.
I crossed the Channel in February. It was not a pleasant experience. But when was it ever? I had known it worse in the summer than it was that February. We went to Rouen, where I decided Alais should stay until we knew what to do with her. She was in the kind of captivity which I had endured for so long. I often thought: The tables are turned now, Henry. And I wondered if he could know what was happening now.
I left Rouen and made my way south to Navarre. There I was greeted warmly, for they knew the purpose of my visit, and naturally a little country like Navarre would be delighted for its daughter to marry the King of England.
Berengaria was presented to me. She was not very young. Her father had resisted offers for her hand because when Richard had visited his Court he had hinted that he might marry her, and Sancho had lived in hopes since then; now that it seemed those hopes were about to be fulfilled, he was overjoyed.
I told him that my son had begged me to come and bring Berengaria to him. This was not exactly true, but I could hardly mention his reluctance. Sancho believed me, though he must have wondered why nothing had been done about the matter before.
It was pleasant to be in Navarre. It was not so very far from Aquitaine, and Sancho’s Court was similar to those I had known in my youth. There were the troubadours and the songs that I loved so well. Berengaria played and sang. She was a pleasant creature, but her beauty was not of that wild, tempestuous kind which might have been able to divert Richard from his tendencies. She was simply a charming, fresh-faced girl, and although she was still young enough to bear children, it seemed to me imperative that she and Richard set about the task without delay.
Sancho the Wise was Berengaria’s father, and Sancho the Strong her brother. The minstrels sang of them and of the Princess who was going to marry a great King.
It was all very pleasant and very reminiscent. It was as though the years slipped away as I sat and listened.
Berengaria remembered every detail of her first meeting with Richard.
“I thought he was the most handsome man in the world,” she told me.
“I think he still is,” I replied.
She wanted to talk about him all the time. I told her of his prowess with the sword and how people were already talking of him as the great hero of battle. He was wise too. I told her the story of Benedict of York and of William Marshal who had killed his horse from under him and yet at their next meeting Richard had given him an important post in his realm.
“And he is going now in the name of God to fight the Saracen and restore Jerusalem to Christianity.”
She