The Vow on the Heron

by Виктория Холт

  It was amusing that she who had been a woman of no importance should have become the most important in the land. She grew bolder and bolder as she became more and more sure of her power and even joined the King during council meetings and sat beside him giving advice to which he listened with something like awe; she had formed a habit of going to Westminster Hall and taking her place beside the judge that she might tell him what verdict to give. And that verdict would depend on whether the accused had rewarded her in a manner she considered suitable to bring about his acquittal.

  She was seen wearing the late Queen’s jewels when she sat with the King at banquets. She had a passion for jewels and her gowns were ablaze with them, and the fur trimming on each gown was a fortune in itself. Edward could not have chosen a woman more unlike Philippa and just as the people had loved their Queen, their feeling for the woman they called The Harlot carried the same intensity but in the opposite direction.

  Alice Perrers’ name was spoken with venom in the streets of London and she was notorious throughout the country.

  The death of Philippa had undoubtedly brought a great change to the country. She and Edward had stood as pillars of strength and virtue. Edward could scarcely be called that now. Instead of the great warrior the upright noble knight he had been, he had become a doddering old man who could not keep his hands—even in public—from caressing a brazen strumpet. Deeply the people mourned the passing of the Queen. When she had been alive they had been aware of her virtue but they had failed to recognize her strength.

  Yes there was change. Once it had seemed that the war with France was coming to a victorious end when the King of France had been made captive and honourable peace terms had been arranged.

  The Black Prince—idol of the people—had scored successes on the Continent where he had remained with his devoted wife; he had two sons, Edward and Richard, and everything had seemed set fair for prosperity.

  Then came disturbing news. The Black Prince was suffering from ill health. He was attacked by intermittent fever which often meant that he must take to his bed for long periods.

  Moreover a fresh wave of patriotism had come to France. King Jean was dead and his son Charles had come to the throne. He was determined to win back what had been lost in his father’s day and Frenchmen were remembering to whom they owed allegiance. The Black Prince realizing what was happening was forced to send for reinforcements. There were attacks on Aquitaine which he managed to defend but while he was engaged in that quarter trouble was breaking out elsewhere.

  Joan would have been completely happy had it not been for the constant absences of her husband and the fact that she was worried about his health. Her eldest son Edward on whom her husband doted, had been in poor health too. Joan longed to return to England and Court life there. If she could only do that and her husband be restored to health she would be content. But she began to see that one of these wishes if granted would mean that the other could not be for he could only return to England if his health failed and if he were well and strong he would be forced to stay in France.

  She was too realistic to hope for complete contentment. She loved the Black Prince devotedly. He was the national hero; the most chivalrous knight in the world and he was the heir to a throne. He would make her a Queen and the mother of a King. She felt that the hideous murder of her father was vindicated.

  But the anxiety about the Black Prince’s health continued; and when he heard that his greatest friend John Chandos had been killed he was plunged into melancholy which brought on another bout of the fever.

  Joan herself nursed him and when he had recovered a little broached the subject of their return to England.

  ‘It is no use going on in this way,’ she said. ‘These attacks are becoming more and more frequent. Someone else must take over your duties.’

  ‘Who?’ asked the Prince.

  ‘The most likely seems your brother, John of Gaunt.’

  ‘A very ambitious man, my brother John.’

  ‘All sons of kings are ambitious, particularly younger ones.’

  ‘John is the cleverest of them all.’

  ‘And if he came to take your place he would take credit for all your victories, I doubt not,’ said Joan tartly. ‘Even so your health is more important to me than your glory.’

  The Prince smiled at her fierceness. ‘You have been a good wife to me, Joan,’ he said.

  She kissed him lightly. ‘There was much time to be made up,’ she answered lightly. ‘You shillied and shallied and could not be brought to marry me until I forced you to it.’

  He agreed it was so.

  ‘Then you see,’ she told him, ‘I am able to manage our affairs far better than you can.’

  He was too tired to argue; he could feel the fever rising within him.

  These wretched wars! thought Joan. What a curse they were! She remembered Philippa’s attitude to them and how right she was. The difference in them was that Philippa would have kept her irritation with them to herself. Joan was not like that.

  The affair at Limoges had upset Edward more than he would admit. It was a mistake, Joan knew, to become involved in the Castilian war. Pedro was hated by his subjects; many said he had no right to the throne which he had taken from his elder brother’s son, Charles de la Cerda. His half-brother Henry of Trastamara who was the illegitimate son of Pedro’s father and his mistress Eleanor de Guzman now sought to take the crown and when Pedro had sent appeals to the Black Prince he had answered them.

  A great mistake, reiterated Joan. It had given the French the chance they needed.

  And now with the death of the much loved Chandos and the fever returning ... it was time there was change.

  Joan sent for the doctors and questioned them.

  What were these fevers from which her husband suffered and would they increase as time passed?

  The answer was that the disease had been contracted through the Prince’s way of life—camping in damp places and foreign countries; and the nature of the disease was that it must inevitably grow worse as time passed.

  ‘I want you to insist that he returns to England,’ said Joan firmly.

  The doctors agreed with her that a rest away from camps and long days in the saddle would be beneficial to the Prince.

  Brought low by fever, mourning the death of his friend Chandos, realizing that his victories in France were slipping from English hands, he allowed Joan to make the arrangements for their departure.

  He knew he was very sick. He had nightmares and the siege of Limoges figured largely in these. The town had been in English hands and had been treacherously given to the French by Jean de Cros, the Bishop of Limoges, whom he had counted his friend. What a rage he had been in then! Unable to mount his horse he was carried on a litter. He had sworn that he would take Limoges and woe betide the betrayer when he did.

  Nor had he spared himself though the fever almost maddened him. The town was taken and the carnage was terrible. He himself ordered that it should be so. There should be no mercy, he had declared. Every living thing should be slaughtered. He had ridden through the town in a heavy four-wheeled cart because he was too ill to sit a horse. There was blood everywhere, corpses in heaps in every street; hot with fever he surveyed the slaughter. He felt defeated by circumstances which were too overwhelming to control.

  The defaulting Bishop who had surrendered the town to the French was dragged before him. ‘I’ll have his head,’ he cried.

  It was his brother, John of Gaunt, who begged him to consider that the Bishop was a man of the Church. True he had given the town to the French but it could have been to save slaughter. Edward must remember that the Church would be displeased and they could not afford to offend the Church.

  By this time the Prince’s anger was spent. The hot blood which sent him crazy with the need for blood-letting had passed; he was shivering with the ague and longed for the quiet of his bed.

  ‘Take the Bishop,’ he said to his brother. ‘Do what you will.
’

  And he was carried back to Joan.

  Do what you will. Yes, John would do what he would. John was an ambitious man who bitterly resented not having been born the eldest.

  But I have two sons, mused the Prince. My little Edward to follow me and if aught should befall him there is also Richard.

  So back to the peace of his home where he must continue to dream of Limoges—a blot on his shield of glory. He had once been a great Prince who did not need to resort to the killing of women and babies to prove his strength.

  Joan and the doctors said: ‘You must go to England. You must rest awhile.’

  At first he protested but he knew they were right. A warrior did not go into battle in a litter; he did not ride through a captured city in a four-wheeled cart.

  So the preparations went on. As soon as this bout had subsided they would set out.

  One morning just as the loading of the ships was nearing completion, Joan came to him in a state of great consternation. Young Edward was ill.

  The doctors were not sure what ailed him but they were deeply concerned about the child’s condition.

  It proved to be not without cause. Within a few days little Edward was dead.

  This was the greatest blow of all.

  Limoges, the rising of French power, the loss of that of England, the death of Chandos ... and now little Edward.

  Joan was overcome by grief. This young Edward had been her pride; she had looked far ahead into the distant future and seen him mounting a throne. A long long time yet she had promised herself, but it would be one day.

  And now ... he was gone.

  But she was a woman of energetic ambition. She had after a long wait achieved marriage with the Prince of Wales. She had lost their beloved son. But there could be more, she promised herself. They already had little Richard. He was not quite four years old, a tall fair-haired boy with the Plantagenet looks.

  The little boy known as Richard of Bordeaux because of his birthplace was now in direct line to the throne.

  * * *

  How changed was the Court. How everyone missed the presence of Queen Philippa which they had not noticed while she had been there.

  In her place ruled the brazen hussy, sitting in the Queen’s chair, wearing the Queen’s jewels, wrapped in the royal mantle ,edged with ermine and supported in this by the King.

  And most changed of all the King himself. No longer alert, no longer concerned with his country’s welfare, wanting only the comfort his strumpet could offer and letting everyone know it.

  The Prince took in the situation at once. The King had changed. His mind had weakened; he had suffered some illness. This could not be the great commanding figure who had guided the country for more than thirty years.

  The King received his son warmly, condoled with him on the death of young Edward and received his grandson Richard with affection.

  But there was an absent-mindedness about him; and the Black Prince refused to meet Alice Perrers.

  It soon became clear that if he persisted in this attitude he would not be welcome at Court.

  He took the first opportunity of speaking to his sister Isabella who had been closer to the King than any of them.

  Isabella was bewildered. It was no use trying to make their father see what he was doing. He was completely bewitched by the woman.

  ‘All through my life I have only had to ask to see him and I was allowed to,’ she explained. ‘But if that woman says I should not come to him, I am not allowed to.’

  ‘It must pass,’ said the Prince.

  ‘There is no sign of it. She grows more and more outrageous but still he keeps her with him. He cares only for her. I believe he is growing feeble-minded.’

  ‘It would seem so,’ said the Prince. ‘I shall not stay here nor will Joan to be treated thus by a woman of that kind. You will return to France doubtless.’

  Isabella was silent. Those about her often said that she had become a changed woman since her marriage. The imperious Princess had strangely become a somewhat meek wife. The fact was that her youthful husband was less enamoured of her than she was of him, and he was quite content to leave her in England while he went to France. He was reluctant to take up arms against the French King and on the other hand he could scarcely do so against his father and brothers-in-law. The handsome Lord de Coucy was less pleased with his marriage than he had first thought he would be. The tragedy for Isabella was that each day she grew more and more in love with her husband.

  This had had the effect of subduing her and of bringing a certain humility into her nature which had never been there before. She was devoted to her daughters and now that her father was less determined to please her she was discovering a greater affection for him than it had seemed she could be capable of.

  ‘It grieves me,’ she told her brother, ‘to see him thus. There have been times when I have thought of leaving the Court but somehow I feel I must stay. He needs one of us with him and I am the only daughter left and was always his favourite. No, Edward, I shall stay here at Court and I have even gone so far as to make myself agreeable to Alice Perrers. I cannot tell you what joy that gives our father. Moreover it gives me an opportunity to keep my eye on him—and help him escape from the enchantment ... bewitchment or whatever it is.’

  Edward was surprised that Isabella could become unselfish but he was too ill to concern himself with anything but his own needs. Moreover Joan was at hand to hurry him off to their home in Berkhamstead and there she set about nursing him and comforting him for the terrible losses he had sustained on the deaths of Chandos and young Edward.

  The reign of Alice Perrers showed no sign of coming to an end. The King grew more and more besotted. Alice had given birth to a little girl whom she called Jane and although the hatred of the people was intensified with the passing of the time, she kept a firm hold on her power.

  Edward gave great jousts in her honour and at these she would sit beside him far more sumptuously gowned than Philippa had ever been.

  The King was showing his age and many people thought that his end was near. Until the death of Philippa he had looked younger than he actually was and had had more vigour than men half his age, but the life he was living with Alice was beginning to show its effects. Alice herself wondered how long it could last for her.

  If he died that would be the end of her glory and as she remarked to a certain somewhat impoverished knight who had taken her fancy: A woman must take care of the future.

  Alice was doing that very well. As soon as her eyes alighted on a jewel she had the urge to make it hers. She took great delight in finding new ways of enriching herself and she was doing very well. But she had to think of the future.

  The man on whom her fancy had fixed itself was William de Windsor. He was not of high noble birth nor was he possessed of great wealth; but could she have expected some noble knight to marry her? Of course she could not. Her marriage would have to be secret for if it were known that she were married she would immediately be accused of adultery—and so would the King. They would have the meddling prelates talking of excommunicating them—and that was something even drooling old Edward would have to take seriously.

  William de Windsor was nothing loth. He saw a far more brilliant future with Alice than he could hope for without her. Besides she was a woman of wide sexual knowledge which promised to bring some excitement into his colourless life.

  So they were married ... in the utmost secrecy and when Alice gave birth to another daughter it was easy to pass young Joan off as the King’s.

  It was an amusing life and riches flowed into Alice’s pockets.

  The King’s devotion did not diminish and the older he grew the more he was her slave.

  He would give a great joust at Smithfield in her honour. She should be the Lady of the Sun. She would be there as a Queen and all should do honour to her. She would ride from the Tower of London to Cheapside and her garments would come from the royal wardrobes.

 
It was a great day for Alice. There she rode at the head of the cavalcade in a russet and white gown edged with ermine and decorated with gold thread. From under her leather cap her beautiful dark hair flowed about her shoulders; her great dark eyes bright with excitement beamed on the crowd who could only stare in wonder and awe at this low-born woman who had captured the heart of a great King.

  * * *

  England was in a sorry state and the French took advantage of it. The Black Prince was growing weaker every day. There had been no more children born to him and Joan and the heir to the throne was the young boy Richard of Bordeaux.

  John of Gaunt had returned to England and almost all the English conquests in France were now in the hands of the French. The wily John showed friendship to Alice Perrers in order to curry favour with his father and consequently was acting as Regent in the government of the country.

  Isabella’s husband had left her in England and showed no signs of returning to her. She was sad and remained at Court although she knew that to keep close to her father she must placate Alice.

  Lionel had died in Italy; Edmund and Thomas showed no particular talents; and the great and heroic deeds of the King’s earlier years seemed to have been in vain.

  The Black Prince followed events with growing melancholy. Although on his return to England his fever had abated a little the attacks returned and they were becoming more frequent. He was filled with misgiving when he watched his little son Richard. What would become of him? he wondered. How long could the King last? His health was deteriorating rapidly; and what of himself? How long could be continue? He knew that the disease he had contracted would kill him in time. It seemed inevitable that this little Richard would be King before he came of age. John of Gaunt longed for the crown. He was clever and cunning. How would this innocent boy fare against him?