The Loves of the Lionheart

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE LOVES OF THE LIONHEART

  First edition. July 17, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Margaret Brazear.

  ISBN: 978-1393857273

  Written by Margaret Brazear.

  THE LOVES OF THE LIONHEART

  History’s Forgotten Princesses

  By

  Margaret Brazear

  Copyright © Margaret Brazear 2017

  This is a factual novel about the two women in the life of King Richard I, Princess Alys of France, who was betrothed to him at the age of eight and Princess Berengaria, whom he eventually married.

  This book is fictionalised fact, and adheres to the facts as far as the facts are known. It is not about Richard, it is about the princesses who were, or should have been, the loves of the Lionheart.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE - Childhood’s End

  CHAPTER TWO - First Love

  CHAPTER THREE - An Awakening

  CHAPTER FOUR - The Love of a King

  CHAPTER FIVE - A Promise to a Friend

  CHAPTER SIX - Son of the Lionheart

  CHAPTER SEVEN - The Death of a King

  CHAPTER EIGHT - The End of an Era

  CHAPTER NINE - Berengaria

  CHAPTER TEN - Humble Queen of England

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - The Caged Queens

  CHAPTER TWELVE - To Rome

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Alys Again

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - The Reconciliation

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Queen of Nowhere

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  CHAPTER ONE

  Childhood’s End

  LITTLE PRINCESS ALYS was listening at the huge oak door. She had been there for hours and was getting weary and stiff, had even had to sink down and sit on the cold, stone floor with her knees tucked up to her chest. But she was determined to know what the King of England was telling her father on the other side of this door.

  England and France had been at war for years, with intermittent bouts of peace. Even a child like Alys knew that, so it seemed odd to her that they would be having what sounded like a peaceful discussion.

  The two kings believed the door to be firmly closed, but the catch was ancient and worn and a gentle push with Alys’s foot had loosened it just enough for her to hear. When first she took up her position here, the discussion seemed very uninteresting and she wondered if it were worth her time to listen any longer. She could have been practicing the intricate embroidery stitches Lady Michelle had shown her only yesterday, with an assurance that such skills would be needed in the future.

  Alys could not understand why that might be, but she knew all high born ladies embroidered and played an instrument. Now she wondered if her time would be better spent improving her skills at either of those accomplishments.

  So far, all she had heard was talk of lands, castles, and money. She assumed they were discussing some settlement to do with her elder sister, Marguerite, who was already betrothed to Prince Henry, the eldest son of the King of England and heir to the English throne as well as most of the Angevin Empire.

  She had been sent to live in England with him so long ago that Alys had no memory of her. Marguerite was little more than a baby, only two years old. That was the year that Alys was born, the year when her poor mother died giving her life. And her father had no love for her mother, did not mourn her loss. Alys knew that because he took a new wife just five weeks later, a wife who gave him a long desired son.

  Alys did not want that sort of marriage for herself. She read the romances and hoped to have a husband who would love her.

  Dragging her thoughts away from such melancholy thoughts, she tried to think about something else. She always blamed herself when she understood how her mother had died, although everybody told her it was not her doing.

  The cold from the stone floor was seeping through her gown and into her bones, making her even stiffer. It must be almost evening and soon someone would miss her and come looking for her.

  Alys was trying very hard not to fall asleep. What would happen if her father came out of that chamber and found her asleep outside? She was thinking she had better get up, thinking she had better leave and find something more useful to do with her time, when she heard her own name spoken. Suddenly the conversation between the two kings was not so boring anymore.

  It was another hour before she fled weeping when she heard the two men getting ready to leave the chamber. Lady Michelle had told her on more than one occasion that people who listened at doors would never hear anything good about themselves; she wished she had paid her more heed.

  They were sending her away! Her father, the King of France, was going to send her to England to join the sister she had never met and to live in the household of the Witch Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

  Of course, there was no evidence at all that Queen Eleanor was a witch, but her reputation for being harsh and ruthless had reached French ears. And she was once married to Alys’s father herself, was once Queen of France. King Louis had been heard to refer to his former wife as a whore and a harlot; Alys thought they were just different words for witch and that was how she thought of her. The idea of her frightened Alys, frightened her very much.

  She was also the mother of Alys’s half sisters, Princesses Alix and Marie. She had managed to be granted a divorce from their father and had abandoned her children to marry this English King who would now arrange Alys’s life, as he had arranged Marguerite’s.

  Alix once told her that her mother was desperately in love with Henry, the English King, despite him being a lot younger than her. But their father insisted it was lust that drove her, one of the seven deadly sins.

  King Louis was deeply religious. Alys had heard that he even wore a hair shirt beneath his royal robes, just like the monks did, and as such he saw sin in almost everything. Food at the palace was sparse and plain, never anything one could really enjoy, and clothing was to keep one warm, not to make a person look nice. That was even more true for women, because if they dressed up they must be trying to attract a man, especially if they showed their hair. And then they were back to lust again.

  Alys was not certain what lust was, but if it was indeed one of the sins, she thought it wise not to ask. It was the love part she was interested in.

  Alys had been educated and from her reading she had learned that men and women would do almost anything for love. Yet Alys had discovered this day that she was now betrothed and would be sent to England very soon to be raised by the family of her betrothed, Prince Richard, brother of that Prince Henry who was to wed her sister, Marguerite.

  But she was confused. Richard was also Count of Poitiers and she had heard him referred to as Count Richard. Did that mean she would be a princess or a countess? Marguerite was already a countess, Countess of Vexin in her own right, but apparently things were different in England and women never had titles like that unless it was from their husbands.

  It was all very vexing and now she wondered if she would have to give up her own title of Princess when she lived in England, but she had no one to ask because she was not supposed to know.

  Marguerite would be married to Richard’s brother. Alys thought that might be incestuous, but apparently not. She would have the chance to get to know that sister at any rate, and she had seen Prince Henry when he visited once with his father. He was a handsome boy and Alys hoped his brother would resemble him. Perhaps she would fall in love with him; perhaps he would fall in love with her. She would certainly do her best to make that happen.

  These thoughts raced around her young mind as she sat in the bedchamber she shared wit
h her sisters and dried her eyes. She was thankful to be alone here, that none of the others were here when she raced into the room, tears streaming down her face.

  Marguerite had been sent away when she was only two, so Alys should not think it so strange that she was now being sent away as well. They shared a mother, that mother who had given up her life for Alys. She wanted to know if she would be able to take Lady Michelle with her, for she had been her constant companion since Alys was born. She was her nurse, her governess, her devoted lady and Alys could not bear to be without her.

  Later that day, she waited in the great hall for her meal and wondered how long it would be before her father told her of the future he had planned for her. She would have to pretend to be surprised, even a little excited. She could not allow him to know she had been listening, that she knew already. But then, it was quite possible that he wouldn’t bother to tell her at all.

  She might just be packed off to England and had she not listened to the private conversation of two kings, she would be left wondering what she had done wrong to be sent away.

  KING HENRY WAS UNUSUALLY delighted with himself. The orders he was giving for the betrothal banquet for his son to the Princess Alys were extravagant and expensive and young Prince Richard watched with a cynical amusement at the activities of the servants.

  She was due to arrive this afternoon; the banquet would begin in the morning and continue for two or three days.

  “Why such extravagance, Father?” He asked the King. “It is not the first time you have betrothed me to a foreign princess and that progressed to nothing. I don’t recall any such expense on that occasion.”

  “Richard, Richard,” the King said jovially. “She was a minor royal, but this is a much greater opportunity. With your brother already betrothed to her sister, this union will cement our relationship with France as nothing else ever could.” He paused and rubbed his hands together in glee. “She comes with many castles, much of the land in France which adjoins my own.”

  Richard shook his head, that amused grin still on his lips.

  “It might not be so difficult for England to be friends with France, had you not stolen away King Louis’ wife,” he said.

  Henry scowled angrily.

  “I’ll not have that sort of talk,” he snapped. “It is disrespectful to your mother.”

  Since when did you care about disrespecting my mother?

  He thought the question but dared not speak it and for once, he agreed with his father. He should not have said that, should never have referred to his mother’s former marriage to the King of France. Whatever indiscretions she had made in her past, he was sure she had good reason. Eleanor of Aquitaine never did anything without good reason.

  She had gone to her own estate in Poitier since King Henry seemed incapable of being a faithful husband, but she would be here soon to celebrate the betrothal. He did not believe for one moment that his father cared whether he was disrespectful to her or not, only that he came out looking best himself.

  A maidservant interrupted them.

  “Your Majesty,” she said with a curtsey to them both. “Your Highness. Her Highness the Princess Alys has arrived.”

  “Wonderful!” Said Henry. “Show her in. Bring refreshments. She must be weary from her journey.”

  It was but a few moments before the nine year old Princess Alys was escorted into the great hall by Lady Michelle. She looked very frightened, a fact Richard noticed straight away and he felt it his duty to comfort her, to allay her fears. He glanced at his father and saw him gazing at the Princess with admiration in his eyes.

  Yes, she was a comely maid. Certainly as comely as the Princess of Barcelona, to whom his father had betrothed him two years ago. She had thick auburn hair and velvety brown eyes, eyes that at that moment were filled with terror.

  Prince Richard stepped forward, bowed over her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  “Welcome, My Lady,” he said. “Come, rest awhile. The servants will bring refreshments.”

  She looked about the hall at the tables laden with silver and horn bowls, at the bone knives all set out ready for a great feast. Her eyes met those of the young Prince.

  She was exhausted after the journey and would let everyone down if she had to be on her best behaviour this very evening. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  “It is all right, My Lady,” Richard said. “My father has arranged a feast to celebrate our betrothal, but it will not begin until tomorrow. You must go with your ladies and the servants to find your bedchamber. Food and drink will be sent to you there. I will see you on the morrow.”

  Once more he kissed her hand, then turned away and left the hall with a hasty glance at his father, to be sure the admiration he had seen was only fleeting.

  THE BEDCHAMBER ALYS was given was sumptuous and when compared to the furnishings at her father’s court, she could not quite believe there was such luxury in the world. Her father kept the sparsest of furnishings and she had never seen anything like this. Feather mattresses piled high on the bedframe, embroidered velvet curtains hung from the canopy above them and, after the journey she had endured, that bed looked very tempting.

  There were some more beds, smaller but just as comfortable looking, designed for her ladies and a trundle which would pull out from beneath the main bed for the servants. It seemed that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to be sure she would feel welcome and Alys wondered who that was. She hoped it was the handsome young prince whose kiss on her hand she could still feel.

  She raised that hand to her face and breathed in his aroma. He did look like his brother, which is what she had hoped for, and now she wondered how long it would be before she met with Marguerite. She was almost more nervous about that meeting than she had been about meeting her betrothed.

  Marguerite had been so young when she was sent away to be brought up in the English court and Alys had been told very little about her. Perhaps if her own mother had not died in childbirth, she might have objected to her elder daughter being sent so far away at such a young age. But their stepmother cared nothing for that.

  Alys was exhausted from the long sea voyage and subsequent land journey and lay down on the bed, for just a moment, yet she was soon sleeping soundly. Her dreams were silent, the sort of dreams a person does not know they have had, and she awoke in the morning, wondering where she was. She had expected to see her bedchamber when she awoke, and it took her a few seconds to realise she was no longer in France. Today she was to begin her new life.

  But something was wrong. She slipped out of the bed, using the small set of steps which had been placed beside it to enable her to climb onto the high mattresses. She looked about at the empty beds, noticed that the trundle had been pushed back beneath her own bed, and she moved quickly to the window.

  Outside, it was misty, with a fine rain spreading itself across the estate, the meadows and the adjoining forest. The grey outline of the cathedral was barely visible through the mist and she tried to find the sun, to determine what time of day it might be. She must have slept later than normal, if all her ladies had already risen and started their day. But she could not find the sun; it seemed that England had no sun.

  Now what was she supposed to do? She was very thirsty, but there seemed to be nothing to drink. She opened the chest at the end of her bed and pulled out a kirtle and headdress, but she was not sure she could dress herself. It was not something she had ever had to do before and these garments were awkward. She held up the clothes, shook them out and tried to understand the complicated lacings. She was relieved when the door opened and a maidservant entered, curtseyed and handed Alys a small tankard of ale. She almost snatched it out of the girl’s hand, her mouth was so parched, then thought she ought to apologise, then decided that princesses did not apologise to servants. Without Lady Michelle’s guidance, she was really not sure of the proper etiquette in such a situation.

  She sank down on a chair and drank thirstily, taking great gulps until
the tankard was half empty.

  “I will help you to dress, Your Highness,” the girl said. “There is food in the great hall, when you are ready.”

  Alys gazed back at her uncertainly, then she drained the tankard and handed it back. She did not want to go anywhere with this stranger, or any stranger.

  “I will wait for Lady Michelle,” she said.

  The maid curtseyed, took the tankard, then stood still, looking uncertain.

  “Well,” said Alys. “What is it?”

  “Your ladies have gone, Your Highness,” she answered nervously.

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “Her Majesty, the Queen, sent them away early this morning. I know nothing more.”

  Alys tried to stop the tears which rushed to her eyes, tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat, but it was impossible. She glanced at the window, at the dull gloomy sky outside, and longed for the sunshine of home.

  She had no one here. All her life she had been told that she was an important princess and that one day she would leave her father’s court and travel to another land, would marry a handsome duke or count, perhaps even a prince. It sounded very exciting, like one of those fairy tales she had sometimes read or heard of. Those tales went back centuries and they had to be based on the truth. Where else had they come from?

  She found it all rather exciting, the prospect of being the heroine in one of those stories. But now she was here and her ladies had gone; she was all alone and not even big enough to reach the heavy door knobs. Supposing they forgot about her? Supposing someone left her alone in the chamber and forgot to leave the door open? She might even starve to death before anyone remembered her, remembered that she was there.

  She wanted Lady Michelle. She had depended on her to help her through this and now she was gone. Queen Eleanor had sent her away, along with all her other ladies. She had been right all along; she was a witch.