same.’
‘But,’ she stammered, ‘I had heard he was betrothed to Joanna of Ponthieu.’
‘A marriage is no marriage until it has been solemnised. Everything is over between England and Ponthieu. Negotiations have ceased, the offer has been withdrawn. The King’s messengers, and they are men of great standing, tell me that he is so eager for this match that he wishes there to be no delay.’
‘What does it mean?’ said Eleanor. ‘That I shall leave at once? Should I prepare?’
‘My dearest, are you so eager to leave us?’ asked her mother almost reproachfully.
‘Oh no, dear Mother. But I would know what is expected of me.’
‘You are not afraid …’
‘Afraid? Ever since Marguerite went I knew that I should. I doubt she was ever so happy before her marriage as she was after – although no one could have had a better home.’
‘It’s true,’ agreed the Count. ‘And that is how I would have it. If you find the happiness at the Court of England that Marguerite has at the Court of France, I shall be content.’
‘I shall. I know I shall.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said the Count, ‘we came to prepare you. We now have to talk of the terms which are a necessary part of contracts like this. But we wanted you to know at once what this mission is about, so that you can prepare yourself for a new life.’
Her mother took her into her arms and kissed her tenderly.
‘I am proud of my girls,’ she said.
When she had left her parents she went straight to the schoolroom where her sisters were awaiting her.
They looked at her expectantly as she entered. That something very important had happened was obvious and Sanchia who remembered Marguerite’s departure was very apprehensive.
‘What is it?’ she cried, as soon as her sister came in.
‘It is an embassy from England. The King of that country is asking for my hand in marriage.’
‘Eleanor!’
Her sisters stared at her with wondering eyes and she was silent for a moment savouring their admiration.
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I think he must have heard of me through his brother.’
‘Richard, Earl of Cornwall, the most handsome man I have ever seen,’ sighed Sanchia. ‘Wouldn’t you rather marry him, Eleanor?’
‘He is not a King.’
‘He would be if his brother died.’
‘Oh Sanchia, don’t be so … young. The King of England is not going to die. I am going to marry him and be the Queen. It is every bit as good to be the Queen of England as it is to be the Queen of France.’
‘It’s better really,’ said Sanchia, ‘because Richard will be your brother.’
Eleanor laughed with happiness and excitement.
‘I shall have such a grand wedding … There has never been a wedding as grand as the one I shall have. I shall be a Queen. You have seen Marguerite in her crown; mine will be bigger, more glittering … full of stones that are far more precious.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Beatrice.
‘Because I do. I wanted to marry the King of England and although he was almost married to someone else … all that changed and I am to be his Queen. It’s like magic. It is magic. And yet I planned it …’
They were looking at her expectantly and she took their hands and led them to the window seat.
Her eyes were brilliant. She started to describe the English Court to them just as though she were writing a poem. She told them of her husband. He was rather like Blandin the Cornish knight. He was ready to do all sorts of impossible tasks to gain her hand.
‘What sort of tasks?’ demanded Beatrice.
So she sat there in the window seat and talked of some of the tasks Blandin had had to perform to win the hand of the fair Princess Briende. Only in this case instead of being Blandin and Briende it was Henry and Eleanor.
While she was weaving her stories, there were more arrivals at the castle.
From the window Eleanor saw three of their uncles riding into the courtyard in great haste. They had clearly heard the news. They
‘But,’ she stammered, ‘I had heard he was betrothed to Joanna of Ponthieu.’
‘A marriage is no marriage until it has been solemnised. Everything is over between England and Ponthieu. Negotiations have ceased, the offer has been withdrawn. The King’s messengers, and they are men of great standing, tell me that he is so eager for this match that he wishes there to be no delay.’
‘What does it mean?’ said Eleanor. ‘That I shall leave at once? Should I prepare?’
‘My dearest, are you so eager to leave us?’ asked her mother almost reproachfully.
‘Oh no, dear Mother. But I would know what is expected of me.’
‘You are not afraid …’
‘Afraid? Ever since Marguerite went I knew that I should. I doubt she was ever so happy before her marriage as she was after – although no one could have had a better home.’
‘It’s true,’ agreed the Count. ‘And that is how I would have it. If you find the happiness at the Court of England that Marguerite has at the Court of France, I shall be content.’
‘I shall. I know I shall.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said the Count, ‘we came to prepare you. We now have to talk of the terms which are a necessary part of contracts like this. But we wanted you to know at once what this mission is about, so that you can prepare yourself for a new life.’
Her mother took her into her arms and kissed her tenderly.
‘I am proud of my girls,’ she said.
When she had left her parents she went straight to the schoolroom where her sisters were awaiting her.
They looked at her expectantly as she entered. That something very important had happened was obvious and Sanchia who remembered Marguerite’s departure was very apprehensive.
‘What is it?’ she cried, as soon as her sister came in.
‘It is an embassy from England. The King of that country is asking for my hand in marriage.’
‘Eleanor!’
Her sisters stared at her with wondering eyes and she was silent for a moment savouring their admiration.
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I think he must have heard of me through his brother.’
‘Richard, Earl of Cornwall, the most handsome man I have ever seen,’ sighed Sanchia. ‘Wouldn’t you rather marry him, Eleanor?’
‘He is not a King.’
‘He would be if his brother died.’
‘Oh Sanchia, don’t be so … young. The King of England is not going to die. I am going to marry him and be the Queen. It is every bit as good to be the Queen of England as it is to be the Queen of France.’
‘It’s better really,’ said Sanchia, ‘because Richard will be your brother.’
Eleanor laughed with happiness and excitement.
‘I shall have such a grand wedding … There has never been a wedding as grand as the one I shall have. I shall be a Queen. You have seen Marguerite in her crown; mine will be bigger, more glittering … full of stones that are far more precious.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Beatrice.
‘Because I do. I wanted to marry the King of England and although he was almost married to someone else … all that changed and I am to be his Queen. It’s like magic. It is magic. And yet I planned it …’
They were looking at her expectantly and she took their hands and led them to the window seat.
Her eyes were brilliant. She started to describe the English Court to them just as though she were writing a poem. She told them of her husband. He was rather like Blandin the Cornish knight. He was ready to do all sorts of impossible tasks to gain her hand.
‘What sort of tasks?’ demanded Beatrice.
So she sat there in the window seat and talked of some of the tasks Blandin had had to perform to win the hand of the fair Princess Briende. Only in this case instead of being Blandin and Briende it was Henry and Eleanor.
While she was weaving her stories, there were more arrivals at the castle.
From the window Eleanor saw three of their uncles riding into the courtyard in great haste. They had clearly heard the news. They
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