The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean - Страница 3

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Marguerite was of a sweeter nature. She was ready to stand aside for her younger sister; no one applauded Eleanor’s efforts more than Marguerite; and the result was that Eleanor was a little spoiled by the family. Eleanor looked for praise; she shared her sisters’ beauty – and many said surpassed it – but she was the clever one. She had seen the looks of wonder in her parents’ faces when she had shown them her poems. They insisted that she read them aloud to the family and when she had finished her parents would lead the applause and in Eleanor’s eyes no one was quite as important at the Court of Provence as she was.

Sanchia the next sister followed her in everything, imitating her way of speech, her gestures, trying all the time, said Marguerite, to make herself another Eleanor. Eleanor herself merely smiled encouragingly. After all she could quite understand Sanchia’s desire to walk in her footsteps.

Beatrice was too young as yet to have much character. As a six-year-old she had only recently joined them in the schoolroom.

‘How goes the poem?’ asked Marguerite pausing in her work and making a very charming picture, seated in the window with her work on a frame before her, her pretty hand daintily holding the needle while she lifted her brown eyes to smile across at Eleanor.

‘It goes well,’ replied Eleanor. ‘I shall read it to my lord and lady tomorrow, I doubt not.’

‘Let us hear it now,’ cried Sanchia.

‘Indeed not,’ retorted Eleanor.

‘It must be launched in a becoming manner,’ said Marguerite with a smile.

Eleanor smiled complacently, already savouring the applause, the looks of admiration in her parents’ eyes, the wonder as they exchanged glances which betrayed the fact that they thought their daughter a genius.

Marguerite had turned to the window. ‘We have visitors,’ she said.

Eleanor and Beatrice immediately rose and went to the window. In the distance but making straight for the castle was a party of men. One of them carried a banner.

The girls stood very still. Visitors to the castle always provided some excitement. There would be special feasting in the great hall which the girls would be able to attend; they would join in the singing and music though if the carousing went on into the night they would be sent to their chambers. Visitors were a great event in their lives and one to which they all looked forward.

‘They come from the Court of France,’ said Eleanor.

‘How do you know?’ asked little Beatrice admiringly.

‘Look at the standard. The golden lilies. That means France.’

‘Then they must be important,’ added Marguerite.

Eleanor was thinking of what she would wear. She had a gown of silk with a tight-fitting bodice and long trailing skirt; the sleeves were fashionable, tight to the wrists where they widened so much that the trailing cuffs reached to the hem of her skirt. These cuffs were decorated with the silk woven embroidery which she herself had worked with the aid of her sisters. It was a most becoming gown. Her mother had given her a girdle which was decorated with chalcedony, that stone which was said to bring power and health to those who possessed it.

She would wear her thick dark hair in two plaits and would refuse to cover it with either wimple or barbette which she had said to Marguerite were for older women or those who had not the luxuriant hair possessed by the sisters.

‘We shall soon hear doubtless,’ said Sanchia. ‘I wonder why they come?’

‘I trust it is not war,’ said little Beatrice, who had already learned that trouble in the neighbourhood could take their father away from them and make their mother anxious, and so disturb the peace of Les Baux.

‘We shall soon know,’ said Marguerite, putting aside her needlework.

‘Should we not wait in the schoolroom until we are summoned?’ asked Sanchia.

‘Nay,’ retorted Eleanor. ‘What if we were summoned to greet the visitors. I would be ready.’

It was significant that the younger girls looked to Eleanor rather than Marguerite for directions.

‘Come,’ said the forceful sister, ‘let us prepare.’

The visitors were led by Giles de Flagy who had come from Queen Blanche on a special mission.

When he heard what that mission was Raymond Berenger could scarcely believe his ears. It seemed that Romeo de Villeneuve was indeed a magician. Could it really be that the Queen of France was seeking a daughter of the Count of Provence to marry her son?

In the Count’s private apartments Giles de Flagy discussed the matter with the Count, the Countess and Romeo de Villeneuve.

The Queen Mother of France had heard much of the excellence of the Count’s daughters. She was well aware of the Count’s financial difficulties, but she had decided that these were not of major importance. The Count’s daughters were beautiful and had been well educated. These were the qualities she would look for in a Queen of France, and the last was of particular importance.

Louis IX was twenty years of age. It was time he married and Blanche had decided that the daughter of the Count of Provence might suit him very well. Terms of the marriage could be gone into later, but the Queen was eager that not too much time should be lost. She understood the Count’s eldest daughter was thirteen years old – young but marriageable. The King of France was a young man of immense ability. He would not want a foolish wife; and the Queen believed that if a girl was to be trained to be a great Queen the training in the royal household could not begin too soon.

Giles de Flagy hoped he would have an opportunity of meeting the Count’s daughters during his brief stay at Les Baux.

The Count and Countess, beside themselves with excitement, assured him that he should see the girls.

It was the Countess who sent for the two eldest, and Marguerite and Eleanor, deeply conscious of the air of tension throughout the castle, eagerly obeyed the summons.

‘We have a very important visitor,’ began the Countess.

‘From France,’ interrupted Eleanor. ‘I saw the lilies on the standard.’

The Countess nodded. ‘You girls will be presented to him when we sup tonight. I want you to look your best, and to behave with your best manners.’

Eleanor looked reproachful. ‘Of a certainty we shall,’ she said reprovingly.

‘My dear child,’ said her mother firmly, ‘I know it well. But this is a very important visitor and perhaps on this night it would be better for you to remain a little subdued. Speak only when spoken to.’

Eleanor lifted her shoulders in a gesture of resignation and the Countess turned from her to her eldest daughter.

‘Now Marguerite, be discreet but ready with your answer should the conversation come your way. Be unobtrusive and yet at the same time …’

Eleanor burst out: ‘Oh dear lady, what would you have us be … ourselves or puppets performing in a show?’

‘Perhaps I am wrong,’ said the Countess. ‘I should leave you to be your natural selves. But understand me. I do want you to make a good impression on the ambassador of the King of France. Now shall we decide what you shall wear?’

‘I have already decided on my blue and my girdle with the chalcedony,’ said Eleanor.

The Countess nodded. ‘A good choice. It becomes you well. And Marguerite?’

‘Oh my grey and purple gown with my silver girdle.’

The Countess nodded. ‘And I shall give you a diamond ring to wear, Marguerite. It will look well with the grey and purple.’

‘A diamond!’ cried Eleanor. ‘Diamonds are said to protect people from their enemies. What enemies have you, Marguerite?’

‘None that I am aware of.’

The Countess seemed suddenly overcome by emotion as she looked fondly at her eldest daughter. ‘I pray you never will have, but if you attain to a high position in the world there would assuredly be those who would not wish you well.’

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