#louis ix

In January of 1236 a young woman arrived in England from a far warmer climate—Eleanor of Provence had come to be King Henry III’s queen. She is one of two sisters at the heart of my novel THE SISTER QUEENS, the other being Marguerite of Provence who was the queen of King Louis IX of France. In honor of the record cold weather, ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM THE SISTER QUEENS. . .

January 1236—Canterbury, England

The winter winds, it seemed, wished me in England as urgently as His Majesty. As a result, my ship touched ground earlier than anyone expected.  I was sincerely glad of it.  This sea voyage was my first, and I did not enjoy it.  From the moment we left Wissant, Agnes and I took turns being sick. I thought my stomach could not feel more agitated.  I was wrong. As we pass through the gates of Canterbury, word comes that the King is already in the city.

“He must have left London before we landed, for he travelled more than three times our distance,” Uncle Guilllaume tells me.  “He waits for you at the steps of the Cathedral.”

“At the Cathedral?”

“It appears he intends to be married today.”

My ice-cold hands drop my reins in surprise.  Thankfully I am not the type to swoon or I might well be lying on the cold January ground beside my palfrey this very minute.

Still, my countenance must be pale for the King’s proctor, Sir Robert de Mucegros, says bracingly, “I am sure His Majesty will be postponed until tomorrow in deference to his Lady’s fatigue.  It is only His Majesty’s naturally enthusiastic temperament running ahead of him.”

I sit up straight, gathering both my reins and my wits.  I am here to marry Henry of England whether the man or the thought be palatable or no. What must be done is best to be done quickly.  “Sir Robert, I am at His Majesty’s disposal.  If he likes, he may wed me straight from the saddle, though I would beg an hour to warm myself and change my gown.”

When we reach them, the cathedral’s grounds are enormous.  But not large enough for my party, so only a score or so of the most important ride on with me. Even so we spill off the frozen path and overhang the square beside the church where we pull up to dismount.  

Another large party is already there.  All of them are male.  All are noblemen sumptuously dressed and wearing heavy fur-lined cloaks, though I doubt there is enough fur on this island to make the weather bearable. None are young.  I do not allow myself to hope for much, and it is just as well.  As my uncle helps me from my horse, a man outstrips his companions and clasps Robert Mucegros in an embrace.  The gentleman is short and square.  Dear Lord, I know that my husband is old but must he be short as well?  Sure enough, it is Henry of England.  Releasing Sir Robert he turns in my direction.  He is not at all handsome.  His face is ruddy from the cold and one eyelid droops alarmingly, giving him a sleepy look.  But his smile is merry and his curly hair and beard give him a comfortable look.  He is also beautifully and meticulously dressed. If he is a man of fashion we shall at least have something in common.

“Lady Eleanor,” the voice is deep and as warm as his smile, “Our Lord and Saint Edward be praised for your safe arrival!  We have gathered the first among our magnates to greet you and pay their respects.  We have also brought gifts meant to honor you. But we see now that all our efforts pale to insignificance in the shadow of your beauty.”

He executes a bow as easily as a younger man would.  And I find myself, all in all, rather more satisfied than not.  It could certainly be worse.  And as Uncle Guilllaume promised me, he appears to have good teeth. “Your Majesty does me great honor by his compliments and even greater distinction by giving me his hand.”  I curtsy and then, knowing already the King’s inclination I add, “When, Sir, shall we wed?”

THE SISTER QUEENS. Copyright © 2012 by Sophie Perinot. All rights reserved.