with her attendants round her. Her father was true to his word. She was to be magnificently equipped and for this she must thank the Knights Templars for she knew she owed her rich possessions to them.
‘It was God’s will that I discovered their villainies at this time,’ commented the King with a wry smile. ‘And there is more to come.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee and the Princess smiled at him. Her brothers thought their father was very clever and so did she, but she hated the smell of burning flesh, which seemed to permeate the air. She would not think of it. After all, it was very wicked of them to burn their babies― even though they should never have had them in the first place― and rub their fat over their idols. That image haunted her, sickened her, so that she turned to her treasures and thought how much better it was for a beautiful young girl to think that they should be buried away in chests in some gloomy vault.
She had two golden crowns decorated with magnificent jewels and she knew that the jewels had been taken from the Templars’ store and her father had had them set into the golden crowns for her.
“Remember always, daughter, that you
are
my daughter. You will have a young husband who is not very serious-minded. You must always remember to make him the friend of France.’
“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
‘It was God’s will that I discovered their villainies at this time,’ commented the King with a wry smile. ‘And there is more to come.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee and the Princess smiled at him. Her brothers thought their father was very clever and so did she, but she hated the smell of burning flesh, which seemed to permeate the air. She would not think of it. After all, it was very wicked of them to burn their babies― even though they should never have had them in the first place― and rub their fat over their idols. That image haunted her, sickened her, so that she turned to her treasures and thought how much better it was for a beautiful young girl to think that they should be buried away in chests in some gloomy vault.
She had two golden crowns decorated with magnificent jewels and she knew that the jewels had been taken from the Templars’ store and her father had had them set into the golden crowns for her.
“Remember always, daughter, that you
are
my daughter. You will have a young husband who is not very serious-minded. You must always remember to make him the friend of France.’
“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
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