The Hammer of the Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we must be ready to greet the King. We shall go to Dover to meet his ship, for the first thing he will wish to see when he steps onto the English soil will be his family. Oh, you are going to have a wonderful time. There will be a coronation … which neither of you have ever seen. Oh, I promise you life will be wonderful when King Edward comes home.’

  Queen Eleanor stood beside Edward her husband as the ship brought them nearer and nearer to the coast. The white cliffs were visible now and Edward was obviously clearly moved by the sight of them.

  He put his arm about her and said, ‘Soon you will see the castle. The key to England they call it. And you’ll understand why. There it stands … offering a menace to our enemies but a welcome to us. It is time we came home.’

  She agreed. She always agreed with Edward. Taller than most men so that the majority of them came only to his shoulders, with his thatch of bright fair hair which was growing a little darker as he grew older, but which when she first knew him had been almost white, with his long legs and arms and magnificent physique inherited from his Norman ancestors, and which had earned him the name of Longshanks, he was godlike. The fact that one eye drooped a little – as his father’s had done, although this was not so noticeable in Edward as it had been in King Henry – gave him a slightly sinister look which she believed had stood him in good stead when he was dealing with his enemies. When Edward stood among other men he could be selected without question as the King and the leader. Edward was magnificent and she often wondered how she – little Eleanor of Castile – should have come to be the wife of such a glorious creature.

  From the moment she had seen him she had been struck with wonder. Edward had been only fifteen years old then and she nearly five years younger. Much too young for marriage but royal princes and princesses were often betrothed at an early age. That was why very often the marriages did not take place. She knew that her family had not expected the English King – Edward’s father – to honour his pledges. Strangely enough her mother had been betrothed to Edward’s father but he had set her aside in order to marry Eleanor of Provence – now her formidable mother-in-law – and her grandmother was that Alice of France who had been sent to England to marry Richard Coeur de Lion, and about whom there had been a great scandal because when she was only a child Henry II had seduced her and kept her as his mistress for years so that she never married Coeur de Lion after all. So the English royal family had not a very good reputation for honouring its pledges. However, she was told that if the marriage did take place it would be a very grand one. She was after all only the half-sister of the King of Castile. Her father Ferdinand, the King of that country, had been old when he married her mother – who had been kept dangling with hopes of Henry of England – and he already had a son, Alfonso, so the marriage with England was highly desirable.

  Joanna, her mother, was determined that her daughter should not share her fate and between them she and Alfonso had arranged that the betrothal should take place at Burgos and had declared that if Edward was not at Burgos to receive the hand of his bride by a certain date the contract should be set aside.

  Somewhat to the astonishment of the Castilians Edward was there at the appointed time and the youthful Eleanor, on seeing her prospective bridegroom, was so overcome with admiration that she determined to grow up quickly, and learn all she could to be worthy of him.

  What festivities there had been. Surely no Infanta had ever been so fêted; and of course it was all due to the importance of the union. She had sat beside Edward and marvelled at his splendid appearance. Moreover he had been so kind to her, so tender. He explained to her that she would have to go away to complete her education and as soon as she was ready he would come to claim her.

  She had been terrified of her mother-in-law – one of the handsomest women she had ever seen – and her fear had not been calmed by her mother’s obvious animosity towards that lady. It was understandable, for the stately Queen from Provence had been the one who had supplanted Joanna in Henry’s affections and news of his uxurious attitude towards his Queen had spread even to Castile.

  But the young girl had immediately loved her father-in-law, Henry King of England, who had received her so warmly and had kept her at his side during the sumptuous feast he had ordered should be prepared to honour her. ‘You are now a member of our family,’ he had told her; and she had learned that that was a privilege, not so much because it was the royal family of England, but because there could not have been a more loving and devoted one in the whole of the world.

  The late King of England and his Queen may not have been the wisest of rulers, but they certainly had a talent for family life.

  In her brother’s Court of Castile it had been pleasant enough, but it was not until she came to England that she realised what a warm and comforting thing family life could be. All she had to do was obey her husband and her mother-in-law; if she did this she would have their unbounded love.

  It had been a wonderful day when she had joined her knightly husband. So kind, so loving and oddly enough so faithful had he been, though she soon heard rumours that while he had been waiting for her to be old enough he had had adventures and that many ladies of the Court were only too willing to surrender to him. Fortunately she only heard these rumours after her marriage, and then only because those who told her were struck by his conversion to a model husband.

  So she had much to be thankful for, and the only time she had really asserted herself was when he had decided to go to the Holy Land. By that time she had shown herself to be a fertile wife – to the delight of the family – and in the nursery were John, Eleanor and little Henry. Edward had been deeply touched when she had stood before him and shown a firmness she had never displayed before.

  ‘Nothing should separate those whom God hath joined together,’ she had said, ‘and the way to Heaven is as near, if not nearer from Syria as from England or from Spain.’

  She remembered the blank amazement in Edward’s face when she had said that. He had laughed aloud and held her firmly in his arms while he explained the discomforts and dangers of the expedition.

  ‘All these things,’ she had replied, ‘I know full well. They have been the subjects of our songs for more than a hundred years. I know of your great-uncle, Richard Coeur de Lion, who was a prisoner until he was rescued by the faithful Blondel. I am aware of the dangers which you will have to face and I, as your wife, would share them with you.’

  He had shaken his head and told her that while he loved her for making the suggestion he must forbid her to carry it out.

  Edward then learned that the seemingly weak can sometimes be strong and that it is as though they give way on the smaller issues reserving the full force of their strength for the larger ones.

  She was determined to accompany him and she did. For he said he would not stand in the way of such love as that, and her father-in-law – good, kind King Henry – had listened with tears in his eyes and her mother-in-law had said that had she been in her place she would have insisted in the same way. Moreover the children would be in the good hands of their grandparents.

  And so they had set out.

  Of course she had suffered hardship and there had been times when she had thought longingly of the cool rains of England and the comforts of the royal palaces, for it was often uncomfortable – wretchedly so – sleeping in tents, pestered by flies and other obnoxious insects. And then she had become pregnant. Perhaps when she lost her little daughter a few days after her birth she had wondered whether she had been wise; but as soon as her depression over the loss had passed she knew she could never have stayed behind because it would have meant losing Edward and to share his life was of greater importance than being with her children.

  And as though there was a sign from Heaven she had almost immediately conceived and this time a healthy child was born. She called this daughter Joanna after her mother, and Joanna had the dark looks of Castile rather than those of the fair Planta
genets; and from the first she was lively and wilful and a daughter to delight in.

  People began to call her Joanna of Acre because of the place of her birth, and Edward said that the child would always remind him and the world of the wonderful wife he had who had accompanied him on his crusade and borne him a child during it.

  There was another reason why she knew she had been right. That was when Edward had been wounded in his tent. If she had not been there would Edward have survived? He said not. His doctors claimed the credit, of course, while admitting that some was due to him for submitting to the painful surgery. But Edward always said it was her action which had saved his life, and Providence was telling them that God liked well a brave wife who would follow her husband no matter where his duty took him.

  She would never think of that occasion without living again the dreadful moment when she thought she had lost him.

  Of course they were surrounded by danger and Edward was notoriously reckless. These bold knights believed it was part of the bravery expected of them to shrug aside danger or refuse to see it. Oh, how relieved she was to see those white cliffs, that impregnable fortress defiant on the cliff. Danger could come to them in England. A king could never lie easy in his bed. Her brother had told her that and again and again it had been shown to be true. But in a Holy War, when they were surrounded by the Saracens, danger was not just a possibility, it was a certainty.

  For as long as she would live she would have memories of the time she had spent in an alien land. Those still, hot nights, when a sudden noise could set her starting from her bed, would never be forgotten. Constantly they had been on the alert, for how could they know what fearful fate might overtake them at any moment, when there were a thousand dangers lurking waiting to spring? Often she had longed for home, and she knew that if she had asked Edward to let her go he would have arranged to send her back. But she had known she could never leave him. What would her life have been without him? She had once come close to discovering the answer to that question. In her nightmares now she would see the dead man lying on the floor of Edward’s tent, and Edward near to death stretched out on the bed. One glance had told her what had happened. The assassin had attempted to kill Edward and Edward had killed him. But in those first moments she had thought that Edward himself had been mortally wounded in the struggle.

  There was evil in that land and rumours were always circulating about the Old Man of the Mountains – a fabled creature who might have existed. Who could be sure? It was said that the Old Man lived in the mountains where he had created a paradise on earth. His palace there was made of chalcedony and marble, and in its gardens luscious fruits and colourful flowers grew in abundance. Men were lured to it, as mermaids were said to lure sailors to disaster. These victims lived in the Old Man’s paradise for many months with beautiful women to wait on them and supply their needs. Then one day the Old Man would send for them and tell them they were banished and must go back to the world. To have experienced this life for so long had affected these men so deeply that they could not contemplate living any differently. The Old Man would tell them that they could win their way back by carrying out his orders, and these dangerous assignments usually involved the murder of someone whom the Old Man wished destroyed. Thus the Old Man created a band of assassins who killed at his will which meant that he was a power throughout the world.

  Many people believed that it was the Old Man of the Mountains who had wanted Edward removed, although ostensibly his attacker came from the Emir of Joppa to whose employ he had recently come. The Emir was negotiating peace terms with Edward at that time and his messengers came frequently and freely to the camp. Thus it was that he aroused no suspicion and was allowed into Edward’s tent where he was lying on his bed without his armour and vulnerable to an assassin who could easily have plunged the knife into his heart, which was of course what had been intended. But Edward was alert, and his quick eye had detected the dagger which was slipped from the sleeve and raised to strike him, and with great presence of mind he had lifted his legs and kicked aside the raised arm. The action saved his life but he had not escaped entirely and the poisoned blade went deep into his arm.

  She shivered and Edward, standing beside her, noticed.

  ‘You are cold?’ he asked in surprise.

  She shook her head. ‘Nay. I was thinking of the assassin.’

  Edward laughed softly. How often had he found her lost in thought and discovered that she was thinking of the assassin?

  ‘It is all over, my dear. Thanks to your action my life was saved.’

  She shook her head. ‘It was the doctors who saved you. They performed that difficult operation …’

  He winced at the memory. He had never experienced such pain. She had wanted to stay in the tent while the operation was performed but they had insisted on her leaving. Once more she had shown that sternness in her nature and they had had to carry her protesting away.

  ‘I shall never forget how you put your mouth to that ugly wound and drained away the poison with your sweet lips,’ he said. ‘Eleanor, my Queen, if ever I forget what you did for me I deserve to lose my kingdom.’

  ‘Do not talk of losing your kingdom. It could be unlucky.’

  He took her hand and kissed it. ‘My grandfather lost his kingdom and all his possessions besides, even the crown jewels he lost in the Wash. My father came very near to losing his crown. What sort of king shall I be?’

  ‘The best the country has ever known.’

  ‘A rash pronouncement.’

  ‘Nevertheless a true one.’

  ‘You look fierce and stern. I believe, my little Queen, that all this gentleness is a disguise. Beneath is a woman of iron strength.’

  ‘I can be strong … for you and our children.’

  He bent and kissed her. She touched his arm … that arm which was scarred with the wound and would never be quite well again.

  ‘You still feel it, don’t you, Edward?’

  ‘’Tis nothing. Only a twinge.’

  But she knew it was not so. There were times when his face was grey with pain. She feared that all his life he would be reminded of that fearful moment in the tent when he had come face to face with death.

  ‘God means you to rule and be a great king,’ she said. ‘I know it. You see how you are protected. Do you remember that night in Bordeaux when we were seated on the couch talking of home and the children and suddenly lightning struck? The two men who were standing close to us were both killed but we were unharmed.’

  ‘They were in the direct path of the lightning.’

  ‘Yes, but we were saved. I believe Providence diverted it so that you should live to rule your country.’

  He smiled at her. ‘You really believe that, Eleanor?’

  ‘I am sure of it,’ she said fervently.

  He could see that she was comforted by the thought and he reminded her of another occasion when he was playing chess and had suddenly risen from the board without any reason – and afterwards could not say why he had done so. Almost immediately part of the roof had collapsed, killing his opponent at the board.

  They both turned their faces to the shore and now his thoughts were going back to his attempts to recover his strength after that poison had entered his body. He remembered the throbbing pain of his lacerated arm and the agony of the knife which had cut away the gangrenous flesh and the looks on the faces of those about him which showed clearly that they believed they would leave him behind in the Holy Land.

  But he had survived. By God, he thought now, there had been so much to survive for. There was England which would be his. There were his wife and his children … his father and mother … the sacred family which he had been brought up to believe was the most important thing a man could possess. But there was something more important if that man was a king. He had known it for a long time. The blood of his ancestors was in him and sometimes in his dreams it was as if those great men of the past came to him. William the Conqueror, Henry th
e Lion of Justice, his great-grandfather Henry II – those men who had cared for England, who had made it great. It was as though they said to him, ‘It is your turn now. You have the qualities we need. You, Edward Plantagenet, with the blood of the Normans in your veins. England – our England – has suffered through the weakness of your forebears. Rufus, Stephen, Richard – that brave man who deserted his country for a dream of glory in the Holy Land – disastrous and devilish John, and lastly – oh, yes, we know you do not like this – Henry, the father whom you loved, and who all but destroyed his country because he was so busy loving his family and pleasing an extravagant wife, who was always begging for luxury and draining away the life blood of the nation’s trade. You know this, Edward. It is for you, who are one of us, to save England.’

  ‘I will,’ he murmured. ‘God help me, I will.’

  He had of late realised his great responsibilities. After the affair of the poisoned dagger, it occurred to him that he did wrong to place himself in danger. His father was ageing and though he, Edward, had two sons in the nursery, John and Henry were but babies. His strength had been impaired; he needed the temperate climate of his own country. He had seen that there was no hope of conquering the Saracen. Others before him had failed in that endeavour. Even the great Coeur de Lion had not succeeded in capturing Jerusalem.

  When an opportunity had arisen to come to terms with the great Sultan Bibars he had taken it. A truce … it was all he had achieved but that could mean a few years’ respite. All that blood, all that danger to achieve that! His arm was painful; it had affected his health, he believed. He ought to go home, for who knew what the barons would be plotting? They were always suspicious of his father and they hated his mother, whose extravagance Edward knew in his heart should be curbed. A nation’s wealth should not be spent on banquets and fine jewels, indulging an extravagant wife and bestowing gifts and pensions on her impecunious relations. Much as he loved his father he could see clearly his shortcomings as a king.