Chapter 14
Eleanor of Provence, queen of England, had lived five and a half decades. She was still a beautiful woman, with silver-streaked auburn hair and amber eyes that missed little. In her youth she, and her equally comely sisters, had been considered the most beautilul women in Europe. Her eldest sister, Margaret, had married King Louis IX of France. Her younger sister, Sanchia, was married to her brother-in-law, Richard of Cornwall, king of the Romans. Her youngest sister, Beatrice, was the wife of Charles of Anjou, the king of Naples and Sicily. Eleanor's mother, Beatrice of Savoy, and her father, Raymond Berenger V, count of Provence, had reigned over a brilliant court renowned for its patronage of the troubadours. The count himself was one of the last of the great Provençal poets.
At the age of nineteen Eleanor had traveled to her sister's court in France, and from there across a winter sea to marry King Henry III of England. From the moment the couple laid eyes upon one another, it had been a love match. The queen had borne her husband six sons and three daughters. Two sons and two daughters had reached adulthood. While there were some who resented her Savoyard kinsmen-who, along with the king's French half brothers, had come to England to seek their fortunes-the queen's chief care was for her family. Now her husband was slowly dying. She nursed him devotedly. Their kingdom was prosperous and secure. England was not involved in any wars. Their life was peaceful. And then there came from that rebellious Welsh prince a letter that the queen knew was going to cause difficulties.
She sat with the king in their dayroom. About them her ladies sat tending to various small tasks, their sewing and mending, the repair of a small tapestry. The queen's eyes scanned the letter, and she swore ever so softly beneath her breath. This caught the attention of her husband who lay upon his daybed, resting from the exertions of his morning bowel movement.
"What is it?" the king asked his wife weakly.
"Do you remember last year when Edward de Beaulieu returned home from Acre? His wife was alleged to have died, and he requested that she be declared dead so he might remarry?"
The king nodded.
"Well, she isn't dead. The prince of the Welsh's daughter appeared home this spring to find her husband no longer her husband, and his new wife full with a child, ap Gruffydd is outraged that his daughter has been so insulted. The prince requests justice for his child, but says she will not have de Beaulieu back now, for she would not put the stain of bastardy upon his newborn son. Now isn't this a nice kettle of fish, Henry? Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn will come to Westminster at Lammastide for your justice. What are we to do?"
"What does ap Gruffydd want?" the king asked cannily.
"His daughter's dower back from de Beaulieu. A new husband for the girl. And a penalty levied upon de Beaulieu for the affront. The Welsh prince suggests that some of Haven Castle's lands be given to his daughter to recompense her for the insult," the queen replied.
"It seems fair," the king said slowly.
"There is more to this than meets the eye, Henry," the queen told him astutely. "For one thing, what happened to the lady Rhonwyn that she became separated from her husband and our son's forces? We must send to Haven. Edward de Beaulieu should be allowed to speak for himself in this matter. Even if he believed his wife dead, he did remarry again in a rather hasty manner."
"Agreed," the king said.
"According to the Welsh prince, his daughter was declared dead. That oversight can be rectified immediately, but the rest will have to wait until we can hear a fuller story from both sides in this dispute."
Again the king nodded his agreement. His wife took a cool cloth and wiped his forehead, which was beaded with perspiration. Henry grew weaker each day, and every small task he must perform was difficult for him now. She had recently heard from their son Edward. He had only narrowly escaped an assassination attempt in Acre, and he was discouraged. The crusade had literally fallen into disarray. Mounting an expedition to retake Jerusalem was proving impossible. He was, Edward wrote, planning to return home with his wife shortly, after Eleanor recovered from the rigors of her recent childbirth. The baby, a little girl who had already been baptized Joan, was strong and healthy, unlike the infant who had been born and died the year before. They would come via Sicily and Provence, visiting relatives along the way. The queen was relieved, for while she knew she could hold England for her son, once Henry died her life would have little meaning. She was of a mind to retire to the Benedictine convent in Amesbury for the remainder of her life.
"I will send off messages to both Edward de Beaulieu at Haven Castle and to the lady Rhonwyn, who is with her aunt, the abbess of Mercy Abbey, in Wales," the queen told her husband, and again he nodded his assent.
Edward de Beaulieu was outraged to receive the royal summons to Westminster. "How dare the vixen complain to the king!" he said angrily.
"What did you expect?" his brother-in-law Rafe said. "While I am delighted that Katherine is your wife and the mother of your heir, you did marry her in some haste, cousin."
"I do not recall hearing you complain about my haste at the time," Edward replied dryly. "You could hardly wait for your sister to become the lady of Haven Castle."
"Our families have always hoped for the union," Rafe responded. "I was pleased that it was to be a reality at long last. You did not say how the lady Rhonwyn died, Edward. I did not press the issue because I believed her loss pained you or that possibly you had killed her yourself for her high spiritedness. Only the fact that the lady is generous has prevented my sister from being burdened with a terrible shame. What if Lady Rhonwyn demanded from the church that your marriage to Kate be declared null and void under the circumstances? Your son would then have been declared a bastard. A vindictive woman would have taken great delight in revenging herself on you for what you did."
"She cannot appeal to the church under the circumstances of her adventures," Edward said in assured tones. "Do you think the church would restore her to my side when she so merrily whored for another man? An infidel? When I expose her perfidy, she will be lucky they do not burn her at the stake for her adultery."
Rafe de Beaulieu looked closely at his cousin. "Do you love her then so much that you would destroy her, cousin?"
"I do not love her," Edward said honestly.
"Do you love my sister?" Rafe probed.
"Aye, I do. Kate is the perfect wife for me. I want no other," he said. "She is sweet natured and obedient to my will, as well as a good breeder. Look at our wee Neddie. What a fine lad he is."
"If you are happy with Kate," her brother replied, "then why does your anger burn so hot toward the lady Rhonwyn?"
"Because she betrayed me!" he said coldly. "Because she would destroy the happiness I now have."
"She believes you betrayed her," Rafe countered. " Tis an interesting conundrum, Edward. I will go with you to Westminster in order that you do not cost my sister and her child too much by your ire."
" I will tell the king the truth," de Beaulieu said stonily.
“You must tell the king the entire truth," the abbess counseled her niece. "It will not be easy, but it will save you from Edward's outrage. In the end it will all boil down to the fact that while you struggled to overcome great odds and return home to your husband, your husband hurried home and contracted another marriage."