‘Ill-treated by my uncle!’ cried the Queen. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘They have clearly been ill-treated, my lady,’ was the answer.
Henry turned to the man but Eleanor laid her hand on his arm.
‘Don’t see these monks,’ she whispered. ‘You know what this means. They are protesting against your choice of Archbishop. Didn’t they try to do that before?’
Henry looked at her. So they did.
‘You can depend upon it this is a trick. Tell them to go away.’
‘Tell them to go away,’ said Henry. ‘I shall not see them.’
The attendant bowed and retired.
Henry looked disturbed but Eleanor said: ‘Come and see how Edward throws this dice. I am sure he will be a real little gambler ere long.’
And Henry was glad to push the tiresome monks from his mind.
Meanwhile the people of London were gathering in the streets. Here was a chance to show their detestation of the foreigners. The monks had been ill-treated. Were they going to let this pass?
‘Where is the ruffian?’ they shouted. ‘Where is he who calls himself Archbishop and ill-treats our monks.’
It was a moment of horror for the Archbishop when, from the upper turret of the Priory, he saw the approaching mob.
He was armed and so were his followers but although they could defeat defenceless monks they might not stand such a good chance against an angry crowd bent on destruction.
‘Quick. We must get out of here,’ he shouted.
‘The river, my lord. Let us get down with all speed to the privy stairs.’
The man was right. There were several boats tied at the stairs, and in these there was room for everyone so the alarmed Archbishop accompanied by his servants managed to escape down the river.
At the palace he alighted and went at once to see the King and Queen.
Eleanor ran to him in some alarm.
‘All is well,’ he told her. ‘The monks of St Bartholomew’s should be reprimanded. Do you know they attacked me in their Priory.’
‘This is monstrous,’ cried the King.
‘I told them I would have none of their insolence and I taught the Sub Prior a lesson.’
‘Let us hope that he learned it well.’
‘I think he may do if you give him no pity. I feel sure that he and his fellows will come complaining to you of their illtreatment. I know your wisdom, nephew. You will give them short shrift.’
‘Henry will know how to deal with the rogues,’ declared Eleanor. ‘He knows they are telling him that they believe they should choose their Archbishop when all know it is the prerogative of the King.’
‘They will get no mercy or pity from me,’ said Henry firmly.
Eleanor laughed softly and slipped her arm through his.
Such incidents added to the gathering storm but neither the King nor the Queen seemed aware of this. When money was needed it seemed easy to inflict taxes. Henry indulged the Queen’s countrymen and women because it pleased her that he should. His personal extravagance was building. Architecture gave him a singular pleasure and he liked to plan new buildings and change old ones.
One of his favourite residences was Windsor. Here the countryside was particularly beautiful with the Thames winding its way through meadow and woodland. The very name owed itself to this for it was said by some that the Saxon name Windlesofra meant winding course. Others said that the name came from Wynd is Sore because on the high ground the wind in winter was fierce, while some insisted that Windsor meant Wind us Over and referred to the ferry boat with ropes and pole which was used to take people across.
However the name was derived Henry loved the place. Perhaps he had been drawn to it in the first place because his idol Edward the Confessor was reputed to have kept Court here. William the Conqueror had been there too. So, less happily, had Henry’s father John who had stayed here during that wretched period of his life when he had been forced to sign Magna Carta.
With his passion for building Henry had made alterations to the Castle. He had enlarged the Lower Ward and added a chapel of which he was very proud. He never tired of telling people that it was seventy feet long and twenty-eight feet wide and the wood roof had been lined and painted like stone and covered with lead.
He regarded Windsor as second in importance only to the Tower of London and it was much more pleasant to live in.
So to Windsor he came whenever he could and he and Eleanor both liked the children to be there because they considered it to be most healthy.
It was while they were riding through the streets of Windsor that they noticed a little girl begging by the roadside. Her clothes were tattered and her hair hung limply about her little white face.
The Queen turned to Henry who understood immediately what she meant and he threw a coin to the child. The Queen’s eyes softened as she saw the little creature catch it and the joy which illuminated her face.
In her own nursery while Eleanor gloated over her healthy children the face of the little beggar girl kept rising in her mind.
‘What is it?’ asked the King. ‘You are sad today.’
‘I was thinking of that child. She could not be much older than our Edward. To think that she is often hungry … so dirty and tattered. And there must be many like her.’
The King nodded.
‘There have always been beggars,’ he said.
‘I like not to see little children go hungry,’ replied the Queen.
And every now and then she would remember the little beggar girl and a certain melancholy would linger.
Then the King had an idea which he thought would please her. He came to her beaming with satisfaction.
‘What do you think I have just done, Eleanor?’ he asked, and as she could not guess, he told her.
‘I have sent out an order that all the poor children from the streets of Windsor and the surrounding villages shall be collected and brought into the castle. There in the great hall there shall be such a feast as they will remember all their lives.’
‘Henry,’ she clasped her hands and gazed at him in delight. ‘You are doing this for me,’ she added soberly.
‘What better reason could there be?’
‘You are so good, Henry. I never dreamed … so long ago it seems now … in Provence …’
He put his arm about her. ‘We shall be there,’ he said, ‘you and I, to see their pleasure. We shall sit at the high table and watch them. We’ll have the babies there.’
‘The girls will be too young to know what it is about.’
‘Edward then.’
She was thoughtful, visualising it. ‘The people must love you after this,’ she cried. ‘There has been so much unkindness … we have been so criticised.’
‘I was not thinking of it to please the people but to please you.’
‘I cannot tell you how it pleases me. But will anything please them?’
‘For a day, mayhap.’
The arrangements were made and it must have been the strangest sight the old hall had ever seen when the poor children of Windsor came crowding into it. They looked incongruous there among the grandeur which was the home of kings.
But Henry and Eleanor were delighted. They wore their crowns because they thought the children would expect it and indeed the most inspiring sights in that hall for most of the children were the two glittering figures at the high table. Eyes were fixed on them until the good things they were to eat were set on the trestle tables.
Eleanor had at the last moment been afraid to bring Edward down.
‘Such children might have some disease which could harm him,’ she decided.
No, the little boy was safe with his nurses although she agreed with Henry that it would have been a good experience for him to see how a monarch’s popularity should be courted.