The Queen from Provence by Jean Plaidy Page A

were Uncle Peter and Boniface and William who was Bishop Elect of Valence. These were her mother’s brothers. She had had eight and all of them were ambitious, adventurous and their mission in life was to advance the fortunes of the House of Savoy. The importance of the present occasion was implied by their immediate arrival.
    The girls watched their parents greet their uncles and Eleanor eagerly awaited a summons to appear when she expected to be congratulated; they would be delighted with her for being the means of bringing so much honour to the family.
    But the summons did not come. There was a sombre air about the castle – almost a desperation – and it began to dawn on Eleanor that something had gone wrong.
    All through the day the uncles were with her parents. There was no feasting in the great hall as there should have been on such an occasion; early next morning the Countess sent for Eleanor. Her expression was gloomy and she was clearly very depressed.
    ‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘you must not just yet think too much about this English marriage.’
    ‘What has happened? Oh pray tell me quickly,’ begged Eleanor.
    ‘The King of England asks for such a dowry as your father cannot possibly provide.’
    ‘You mean he wants to be paid to take me.’
    ‘It is customary for brides to bring a dowry to their husbands, my dear.’
    ‘Do you mean that we cannot afford this marriage?’
    ‘That is what we fear, Eleanor. You see it is a great marriage … as important as that of Marguerite.’
    ‘The King of France did not ask for a dowry.’
    ‘No. He was content with your sister and knew full well that it was not in your father’s power to provide it.’
    Eleanor stared blankly at her mother. She saw her beautiful dream evaporating.
    Wild thoughts came into her mind. ‘Perhaps I could go to England. If I could see the King, speak with him … let him see me, know me …’
    ‘My dear child,’ said her mother quickly, ‘that is out of the question. Do not despair. It may well be that you would be happier in another marriage.’
    ‘I shall not,’ she cried. ‘If this fails I can never be happy again.’
    ‘You talk like the child you are,’ said her mother. ‘If there is no marriage I shall not be sorry. It will give you time to grow up … to learn something of the world … what marriage means …’
    Eleanor was not listening.
    Of course, she was telling herself, it had been too good to be true. It was like one of her epic poems. Real life was rarely like that.

    Her uncles were not men to relinquish such a prize without a fight. Messengers went back and forth to England. The Count of Provence found it quite impossible to meet the demands of the King of England while the King of England felt that what he asked was small indeed compared with the honour which he was bestowing.
    ‘This King of England would seem to be a most mercenary man,’ said the Count.
    The Countess agreed. ‘Perhaps after all it would not be such a good marriage. It would be asking too much to expect another bridegroom like Louis.’
    ‘Louis is not only a king but a great man,’ replied the Count. ‘His goodness shines from his face. I would reckon Marguerite lucky to have such a husband if he were the humblest count.’
    ‘It is clear that Henry of England is of a different nature. It is to be expected. Remember his father.’
    The Count smiled at her affectionately. She was telling him not to be depressed because this marriage would not take place. So she had made up her mind that it would not. Henry had entered into several negotiations and it was significant that none of them had ever come to fruition.
    ‘It might well be,’ said the Count, ‘that Henry is a man who likes to contemplate marriage but when the time approaches for it to take place he shrinks from it.’
    ‘Do you really think this?’
    ‘It would seem so. There have been so many plans. He is no longer young. In fact I feel he is a little old for