The Lancastrian Queen

Chapter 2

The Tarascona castle had never been so crowded and with such exciting atmosphere. English ambassadors walked around freely, and Queen Isabella had ordered tailors to arrive a few days after the contract was signed. They offered only the very best cloths of gold, ermine and velvet for the young Queen-to-be. Marguerite was excited with all the attentions, everyone praising her beauty and wishing her fortune and happiness.

“You must not be too proud, Marguerite,” her mother warned as Marguerite chose the fabrics for the dress she would wear for her entrance in London. “It isn’t proper for you.”

“I see no reason why not. After all, I shall be Queen of England.”

“You are marrying a King; you shall be the center of all court’s attentions. It would be very improper that the Queen of England was vain and foolish, especially if this Queen is French.”

“Mother, now you worry too much,” she replied with a smile.

Queen Isabella sighed. “Leave us,” she ordered the tailors, who obediently bowed and left mother and daughter alone. “Now, you listen to me, Margaret.”

The Princess looked away from the golden silk she was holding, worried about her mother’s sudden urgent and secretive tone.

“Your marriage is grand and it will make both parties quite happy,” Queen Isabella said. “However, it is very important that you please the court and the people. The King of England has agreed to not demand a dowry for you.”

“Beg your pardon?” It seemed quite strange to Marguerite; England would never lose a chance to put hands on French money.

“Also, as part of the agreement, the King has agreed to give France the lands of Maine and Anjou. The English do not know about it yet. Only the King and his most trusted counselors know.”

Marguerite shook her head. “I do not understand. The English will hate me, why was it done?”

“It is a great deal for us. And we trust you to keep the English happy and content with their Queen. You are French, therefore there will be suspicions and even some hostility in the beginning.” Isabella took Marguerite’s hands and put them between hers, looking at the sapphire eyes of her daughter. “We trust you the task of keeping them happy, so we can put our interests close to the King’s heart without causing them to rebel. Do you understand?”

The Princess gasped. “How am I to do that? I do not know!”

“You are a beautiful girl, and the Londoners love a pretty face. Smile to them, be gracious. Speak in English to them, avoid speaking in French. Be modest, pious and merciful to them. Let them know they can count on their Queen to protect them in times of need.”

Marguerite nodded, for the first time considering the bargain. Being Queen of England sounded exciting at first, but she had not yet thought about her duties as the Queen of a country who would hate her for being French, and hate her even more after they were aware of how much they had paid for her. Could she handle so much hatred?

“I am scared,” she admitted, looking down.

Queen Isabella held her daughter’s chin, admiring her beautiful fair face, usually so merry and unworried, but now full of fear and insecurity. It was beautiful to see the woman she was becoming. “I know,” she said, tenderly, stroking the delicate waves of her fair hair. “But you can do it, ma petit creature.”

Marguerite nodded, a renewed vigor shining in her pretty face. “Tell me, mother, what does the King’s badge look like?”

“He is from the House of Lancaster. They wear red roses in their coats.”

“Oh, the better,” she turned once again to the fabrics. “You should call the tailors back in, mother, it is rude to let them wait.”

Queen Isabella raised an eyebrow to her daughter, wondering what did she have in mind; finally, she agreed, and called the tailors back to the room.

“I will have my dress made with red velvet,” the Princess announced clearly. “Lancaster red.”

There was a noise of quiet approval among everyone, and Marguerite glanced at her mother, who was smiling proudly at her. “And please, if you will, make them in the English fashion,” she added.

****

“Your Grace, the ship is ready.”

“Oui, oui, I know, just one minute!” Marguerite said, impatient, to the captain, who bowed his head and turned away. The wharfage never felt so cold nor looked so intimidating before. The salty smell started giving her nausea. “Mother, please, I am scared!”

“Marguerite, what is it now?” Queen Isabella had never seen her youngest daughter so distressed and pale. “Are you ill?”

“No, I am afraid. What if they hate me? I do not want to be hated!” The princess let a tear fall down. “I cannot do this.”

“Stop it, Marguerite,” her mother replied, wiping the tear away. “Do not cry. Be strong.”

“I shall be alone. I have never been alone. You will not be with me, not Theophanie or Papa. What am I to do? Who will protect me if people hate me?”

“Well, you must make them like you, then.” Queen Isabella looked around, as if to make sure everyone was ready. “Besides, you shall not be alone.”

“Who will I have there? I know nobody,” she lamented.

“Not yet, but there is someone who will be your friend. A kinswoman, a cousin of yours.”

“In England? Who is she?”

“Her name is Jacquetta of Luxembourg, and she is the Dowager Duchess of Bedford. She will be your chief lady-in-waiting, and your friend.”

“The Duchess of Bedford? Was her husband John of Lancaster?”

“Yes. But she has remarried, to Sir Richard Woodville. Either way, address to her as you would do to a Duchess. She is a very influential woman, and she understands how it is to marry an English man and leave France. She can advise you on how to conquer people’s heart.”

“Is she old?” Marguerite was wondering if Jacquetta Rivers would be an annoying elderly woman complaining about the weather and the pains of the age.

“I believe she is around thirty. Jacquetta Rivers will be your mentor. Befriend her and trust her.”

That was enough to cheer Marguerite’s spirits; she took a deep breath and smiled.

“Will you write?”

“I will,” Queen Isabella promised. “Now, go. They are waiting for you.”

Marguerite curtseyed to her mother, respectfully. Queen Isabella put her hand on her daughter’s head, in a silent bless.

“Goodbye, mother.”

The Queen touched Marguerite’s face with both her hands, admiring her most beautiful daughter, her biggest joy and companion. She let her fingers go through the Princess’ golden hair while she tried to absorb every tiny detail about her: her big eyes, watery and blue as the ocean; her rosy cheeks; her delicate pug nose; her perfectly drawn lips. “Good luck, my child. Go with God. Bon voyage.”

With a last kiss on her forehead, Queen Isabella let Marguerite go. The ship was ready, and everyone was waiting for her; that was the beginning of her life. Holding back the tears, she smiled to the captain and walked in.