The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean - Страница 7

• Предыдущая
• 7/76
• Следующая

The fact remained that Henry was no longer very young and still had no bride. He was a little humiliated by this and wanted to marry. He did, however, show very little sympathy for Richard’s predicament. Richard had behaved like a fool was his judgement, and must take the consequences.

But Richard was not a man to accept his fate. He had already sent feelers to Rome with the usual plea of consanguinity, but the Pope was not sympathetic; so at this stage Richard, being married to a woman who no longer pleased him, could view with interest a crusade to the Holy Land.

Such a project needed a great amount of preparation and it would be some time before he could leave, probably a year or more; in the meantime he could enjoy the preparation.

He was surprised when a messenger arrived from Les Baux with a package for him and he was amused and somewhat intrigued when he discovered the letter written in a good hand, but obviously by a young person which explained that the narrative poem was a gift to him from the daughter of the Count of Provence. She sent it because she had set her scene in Cornwall, a land which fascinated her and she knew that it belonged to him so it seemed to her that because of this he might consider her work with kindness.

Puzzled he questioned the messenger.

‘It was given to you by the Count’s daughter?’

‘That is so, my lord.’

Richard smiled. ‘I believe the Count has several daughters.’

‘He has four, my lord.’

‘And one, not so long ago became the Queen of France. It was the second eldest who gave you this?’

‘The Lady Eleanor, my lord.’

‘She is a young girl –’

‘Very young, my lord.’

‘So must she be for the Queen of France is but a child and the Lady Eleanor is younger.’

‘By some two years I believe, my lord.’

Richard nodded and dismissed the man to his servants that he might be refreshed after his journey. Then he read the poem.

It was good. It showed a style which was mature and the adventures of the knights were told with a verve and authenticity which was really amazing coming from a girl who could not be more than thirteen and had never set eyes on the terrain of which she wrote. An unusual girl, one might say a brilliant girl. Richard pictured an ardent little scholar peering at her books.

He must write a gracious note of thanks and compliment her on her skill. Skill! For a girl of that age to write such a poem about a land she could never have seen was little short of genius.

He sent for the messenger and when the man came to him he said: ‘Tell me about the Lady Eleanor. Is she handsome?’

‘My lord, she is said to be the most handsome of all the sisters and I doubt a more good-looking family could be found in France.’

‘Is that so?’ mused Richard.

‘My lord, it is. The lady is called Eleanor la Belle. Yet her sisters are beautiful girls also.’

‘The lady has done me much honour. I should welcome the chance of thanking her in person. Ride back to Les Baux and tell the Count of Provence that I shall be passing through his land and should feel honoured if I might call at the castle.’

‘The Count will be overjoyed, my lord, I doubt not.’

‘Then when you are refreshed ride off. I doubt not I shall be close behind.’

Eleanor saw the messenger returning and hurried down to question him.

‘What said the Earl of Cornwall when he saw what the package contained?’ she demanded.

‘He wishes to come here in person to thank you.’

She was elated. She turned and went without delay to search for Romeo.

She found him with her father and she felt that there was no time for delay, so she blurted out what the messenger had said.

‘The Earl of Cornwall,’ cried the Count. ‘We must give him a good welcome. But how did this come about?’

Eleanor looked at Romeo who said: ‘The lady Eleanor sent her poem to the Earl. It seemed it would please him since it was set in his country.’

The Count looked from her to Romeo in disbelief.

‘It was on my advice,’ said the Lord of Villeneuve quickly. ‘I saw no reason why the Earl of Cornwall, being in the neighbourhood, should not be made aware of the lady Eleanor’s talent.’

The Count gave a short laugh. ‘My dear Romeo, is this another of your schemes?’

Romeo opened his eyes wide and said: ‘But it seemed so natural. The poem is set in Cornwall. The Earl of Cornwall is close at hand. I am sure he was delighted. He will be able to tell you, my lady, whether your descriptions of his country were good.’

Eleanor was looking from the minister to her father. The Count looked vaguely uneasy. Of course she was thinking Richard was not Henry, but he was his brother and soon he would be returning to England. It was a way in. It appealed to her nature to do something – however wild – rather than to do nothing at all.

The Count said: ‘The Countess must be told without delay. It will be necessary to make preparations for the brother of the King of England.’

She was a beautiful child, thought Richard, for child she was in spite of the fact that she was so self-possessed. Eleanor la Belle indeed! And when he considered her poem which he had at first thought he must skim through and then had become excited about, he was astonished. She was not only beautiful but clever.

She made him feel more and more dissatisfied with his marriage. By God’s eyes, he thought, were I not already married I would ask for her myself.

There was a banquet in the great hall given especially for him and he expressed himself so enchanted by the Count’s daughter that he asked that he might be presented to the others.

Sanchia and Beatrice, with Eleanor, were a charming trio; and if perhaps Eleanor surpassed her sisters in beauty and poise the others were not far behind.

He made himself very agreeable and talked to them of Eleanor’s poem about Cornwall which he said amazed him by the manner in which it expressed the atmosphere of the place.

Then he told them about Corfe Castle where he had spent much of his early life and how he had been most strictly brought up under the care of stern tutors. He spoke of Cornwall – that most westerly part of England which tapered into a bony ridge of land pushing its way far out into the ocean. He told of the moors and the rugged coast so treacherous to ships and the queer brooding mystery of the land where in the past so many strange deeds had taken place. He believed that King Arthur and his knights had roamed those moors.

He turned to Eleanor. ‘With your imagination, dear lady, you would find much to write of in my land of Cornwall. You would find many such as the brave knight Blandin. I would I could show it to you.’

‘How I long to see it,’ cried Eleanor.

‘Mayhap you will one day,’ replied Richard; and he looked at her so intently that the colour came into her cheeks and she cast down her eyes lest he should read her thoughts.

‘I should like to come too,’ said Sanchia, who was too young to hide her admiration for their guest.

‘Let us hope that in some way this will come to pass,’ said Richard. ‘Why should I not invite you all?’

‘It is so far,’ said Sanchia. ‘Over the sea.’

‘I should like to go on a boat,’ put in Beatrice. ‘You came on one, my lord.’

‘’Tis true I did and the sea was so unkind to us that more than one of my men wished himself dead.’

‘But you did not,’ said Sanchia.

‘I am a tolerable sailor,’ he answered, ‘which is a mercy for in my family we used to spend our lives crossing the sea. It may well be that we shall return to the habit.’

Eleanor was the only one who knew that he was referring to the regaining of the lost possessions. She was silent because her whole attention was centred on what he had to tell. She wanted to hear more and more of England, and hearing of England meant hearing of its King.

• Предыдущая
• 7/76
• Следующая