The Hammer of the Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  So he had left the Holy Land and in Sicily the heart-rending news was brought to him. First the death of his eldest son John. Poor Eleanor had been stricken with grief. She had asked herself whether she had been wrong to go and leave her children, and could not stop contemplating what a bitter choice a wife had to make when it was a question of leaving her children to be with her husband.

  There had followed the news of his father’s death. That had prostrated him indeed. He shut himself away from everyone, even Eleanor, and brooded on the loss of the kind parent who had loved him so dearly. He remembered how in the days of his childhood they had played together; when he had been ill – and oddly enough he had not been a strong child – the King with the Queen had been at his bedside. Matters of state could be neglected, important ministers made to wait in order that a sick child might be comforted. Never to see his father again! Never to talk with him! Never to stroll arm in arm with him in the palace gardens! Never to find comfort in that bond between them which only death had been able to break.

  The Sicilians had marvelled at him. He had such a short time earlier heard of the death of his eldest son but it had not affected him as deeply as the death of his father.

  ‘The loss of children can be repaired by the same God that gave them,’ he had said. ‘But when a man has lost a good father it is not in the course of nature for God to send him another.’

  And he knew of course that he must go home. He must comfort his sorrowing mother, for he guessed how she would take this bereavement. The death of his father had aged him, sobered him, set him looking back and thinking of the death of his great-grandfather, Henry II, who would be judged one of England’s most worthy kings and he thought of how he had died, deserted by his sons, sadly aware of it, and hated by his wife – in fact a lonely old man, friendless, and with few to wait at his bedside and offer him comfort. Yet he was a king who had done much for England. And that other Henry, Edward’s beloved father, who had brought the crown into danger and indeed had come near to losing it through men such as Simon de Montfort, had died mourned and regretted to such an extent that his children and his wife would be prostrate with grief and would keep his memory green for ever. Ironic, thought Edward, and wondered what his own fate would be. But it was not a matter of choice. Why should not a man be a good king and a good father? He knew that his Eleanor would stand beside him; she would not attempt to rule him as his mother had ruled his father. He loved his mother dearly but that did not mean to say that he did not realise her faults. Now that he was King he would have to curb her extravagance. He was not going to run into trouble with the barons as his father had done.

  In a sudden rush of affection he took his wife’s hand and pressed it as they stood there on the boat deck watching the white cliffs come closer.

  From the moment of his father’s death he had become the King, but he had not after all hastened home. He had better work to do on the Continent. This was not a time to indulge his grief but to consolidate his position. He visited the all-important Pope to ensure good relations with Rome; then he and Eleanor stayed awhile with her family in Castile, and then they came to Paris where he was entertained by the French King, Philip III, and Philip’s mother who was Edward’s Aunt Marguerite; he had even met the Count of Flanders at Montreuil and settled a dispute which had stopped the export of English wool to Flanders.

  He had made good use of his time and behaved, he believed, in a kingly manner by setting matters of state before his inclinations.

  Now the Queen had turned to him and she said, ‘Soon we must embark.’

  ‘It is a new life beginning for us,’ he replied. ‘When we step onto English soil again it will be as King and Queen.’

  ‘I wonder if the children will be there. Oh, Edward, our own babies and we may not recognise them.’

  There were tears in her eyes and he knew that she was thinking of Baby Joanna. He said gently, ‘You must not fret. It is not for long. She will come back to us.’

  ‘I should never have begged you to allow it,’ she said.

  ‘Think of your mother’s delight.’

  ‘I try to. Oh I must not be selfish. I have my two darlings waiting for me. It should have been three.’

  ‘You must not brood on that. Children die. But they can be replaced. We’ll have more. I promise you a round dozen.’

  ‘I pray to God that it may be so. But I cannot forget Joanna.’

  It was natural that her mother should have doted on the child. Joanna had been bright and lively from her very youngest days. It was strange how people were particularly drawn to their namesakes. So it had been with Eleanor’s mother. She had adored the baby from the moment she had seen her. She had carried her off to her own apartments and would not relinquish her to her nurses or to her mother; and when it had been time for Edward and Eleanor to leave the Castilian Court, she had become so desolate declaring that when they had gone, taking the baby with them, she would have nothing to live for. What could a loving daughter do? Poor Eleanor, her tender heart had been deeply touched by her mother’s lonely state. ‘We owe her something,’ she had said to Edward. ‘Your father made her waste her youth when he was pretending he would marry her. And afterwards he jilted her for the sake of your mother, and no one asked for her hand until my father came along. I was the only child there was time for then, and I am married and gone far away from her.’

  Edward understood. Poor Eleanor, she was called upon once more to make one of those decisions which fall to people such as she was. A selfish woman would have had no difficulty. She would simply have done what she wanted. But Eleanor must always do what was right for others before she considered herself.

  So they had left Baby Joanna with Eleanor’s mother who seized the child hungrily and had all but hidden her away lest her parents should change their minds.

  And now here they were – home in England, Baby Joanna left behind in Castile.

  But on the shore the children whom they had left in England were waiting for them.

  There was a shout of joy as the King stepped ashore, quickly followed by his Queen.

  ‘Long live the King.’ The loyal cries went up.

  Edward stood for a moment, his wife beside him, listening to their cheers.

  Then he saw his mother, erect, her outstanding beauty scarcely impaired at all by the years and her grief. She was holding two children by the hand and the Queen’s eyes went immediately to them. She gave a little cry and held out her arms.

  They were running to her – Princess Eleanor, the daughter who had been named after her, and the little boy, Prince Henry, pale and breathless.

  ‘My darlings.’ The Queen had knelt down, her arms about them, tears in her eyes.

  ‘My lady,’ cried the Princess, ‘you are home at last. It is years and years ago that you went away …’

  She could only hold them to her.

  ‘Henry, my darling …’ Oh God, she thought. How pale he is! He is too small, too frail …

  Then Edward had picked up his son. He set him on his shoulder. He held his daughter close to him and stood there.

  A touching sight. This great king who towered above his subjects, dismissing ceremony, in that profound emotion engendered by his reunion with his family.

  The Queen – more beautiful than they remembered – standing there beside him. A happy omen. A king come home. Old Henry was gone; his extravagant wife was relegated to the background. King Edward had come into his own.

  ‘Long live the King.’

  Everyone who witnessed that affecting scene was sure that it was a good augury for England.

  Edward was proud as he rode up the steep hill to the castle keep. The road was lined with cheering subjects who were determined to let him know how pleased they were that he had returned, and in their cheers was the hope that in him they had a strong king who would set right all that had gone wrong during the mismanagement of the previous reigns.

  Dover had been aptly named by the early Britons D
vfyrrha, meaning the steep place. And what an inspiring sight it was to look down on that magnificent harbour and out to sea where he knew that on fine days the coast of France could be seen. Part of the castle was the work of the Romans and beside it was the ancient Pharos to remind people of their occupation. The castle was three hundred feet above sea level – perfectly placed for defence. No wonder it was called the Key to England.

  Here his ancestors had lived. The Conqueror had taken possession of it immediately after the Battle of Hastings and Edward’s great-grandfather, Henry II, had rebuilt the keep. Oh yes, it was undoubtedly a great moment when he passed into the castle.

  The Queen was beside him but she had eyes only for her children, and was longing to discuss the state of Henry’s health with her mother-in-law.

  There was a chill in the castle in spite of the fact that it was August. She, who had spent so long in warmer climates, noticed it, and her first reaction was to wonder whether Henry suffered from this cold.

  In their apartments Edward turned to her.

  ‘Home at last, my love,’ he said. ‘I trust it will be long before we have to go on our travels again.’

  She nodded. A forlorn hope. When had any King of England been allowed to live peacefully in England?

  The Queen Mother came to them. Instinctively the Queen knew that her mother-in-law was eager to assert her power and to let them know that she was as important now as she had been when her husband was alive.

  ‘What joy it is to have you home,’ she cried. ‘The loyalty of the people was heart-warming.’

  Edward looked at his mother a little cynically. There had been no cheers for her and their absence had been rather noticeable at times.

  ‘They are so happy to have you home and so they should be.’ Her eyes glistened. She was proud of having produced such a kingly son. ‘Why, Edward,’ she went on, ‘had I not seen you before, I should have known that you were the King. You stand out among all men.’

  His wife nodded in agreement.

  ‘We must celebrate your return,’ went on the Queen Mother. ‘There must be a banquet in Westminster and then we shall have to prepare for the coronation.’

  ‘We will dispense with the banquet, my lady,’ said the King. ‘The coronation will be costly enough.’

  ‘Dear Edward, you must not forget you are now the King. You must act in a kingly fashion.’

  ‘That I intend to do. That is why I do not propose to squander the exchequer.’

  The Queen Mother laughed aloud. ‘Your father would have given a most splendid feast,’ she said reproachfully.

  ‘I have no doubt. But I must go my own way. The coronation will be grand. The people expect that, and will be ready to pay for it. But there is no need to involve them in more expense than is necessary.’

  The Queen Mother was sober. ‘Why, my son, what has happened to you during your travels? Your father …’

  ‘It distresses me to hear his name mentioned,’ said Edward. ‘I was never so unhappy as when I heard the news, but I tell you this, my lady: there will be no wasting of money on feasts. We shall concentrate at once on the coronation.’

  His wife was proud of him. He was indeed kingly. He could even subdue his formidable mother. The Queen Mother lifted her shoulders helplessly.

  ‘The London merchants are rich. The Jews still flourish. They could easily be taxed …’

  ‘New taxes so early in a reign could tend to make a king very unpopular,’ said Edward. ‘I want to keep the people with me.’

  He bowed to his wife and his mother and left the chamber.

  The Queen Mother smiled lightly at the Queen.

  ‘He is anxious to show us he is the King,’ was her comment.

  The Queen, who could be bold where her loved ones and her duty were concerned, retorted, ‘He is the King, Madam, and determined to rule well.’

  ‘His father never denied me anything. He always saw from my point of view.’

  ‘Edward will see from his own point of view.’

  ‘Of course he has been away so long. Perhaps it will be different when he has grown used to us all again.’

  The Queen was silent for a few moments and then she said, ‘I am concerned about Henry.’

  The Queen Mother’s face was immediately grave.

  ‘He is not strong,’ she admitted.

  ‘I was frightened when I saw him. I thought of little John …’

  ‘I have watched him constantly. I have seen that he eats what he should. My dear daughter, when he has been ill I have been at his bedside night and day.’

  The Queen took the Queen Mother’s hand and pressed it warmly. ‘I know well how much you love him.’

  ‘The dear, dear child. He has been the centre of my life since the King went.’

  ‘I know it. But he is too thin. Too frail. I could have wept when I saw him.’

  ‘I feared it. The journey to Dover tired him.’

  ‘Perhaps he should not have made it.’

  ‘I feared to leave him behind. I do not think it is good for him to be aware of his weakness. It worries him and he tries to keep up with others.’

  ‘Was it so with little John?’

  The Queen Mother nodded.

  ‘Oh, I could not bear it if …’

  The Queen Mother said, ‘We must do everything that we can without calling attention to his weakness. I have had wax images of him burned at the shrines.’

  ‘And no good came of it?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘Sometimes he seemed to be stronger for a few days and then he was ill again.’

  ‘Perhaps we should hire some poor widows to perform vigils for his health.’

  ‘I fear that would call attention to his state.’

  The Queen nodded. And the Queen Mother, all softness because the welfare of the family was in question, said gently, ‘Let us hope that now his mother is home he will grow out of his weakness. You know I had my anxious moments with Edward. I remember a time when we went to Beaulieu Abbey for the dedication of a church. He had a cough which worried me and during the ceremony he developed a fever. I insisted on keeping him at the Abbey and staying to nurse him. Oh what a pother there was! A woman sleeping in the Abbey! It was unheard of. It was offending the laws of God they said. I was ready to set aside the laws of God for my son I tell you. And stay I did and nurse him I did. I tell you this, my daughter, because you have only to look at Edward today. Can you ever believe that he was anything but a healthy child?’

  ‘You comfort me,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Let us hope that Henry will grow out of his delicacy as his father grew out of his.’

  ‘I intend to do everything possible to bring that about.’

  ‘You can depend on me to stand beside you.’

  The Queen felt drawn towards her mother-in-law. It was true that the latter was extravagant and she understood through Edward that she had been responsible for much of King Henry’s unpopularity; but she was a woman whose unswerving loyalty to her family never wavered.

  Whatever else she was, Eleanor of Provence gave the utmost devotion to her family.

  The royal party must not linger at Dover. They must make their way to London or the Londoners would be displeased. As Edward remarked to the Queen, he could not afford to be unpopular in the capital. He had seen what that had done to his parents. There was a little tightening of his lips and the Queen was proud and pleased that he was determined not to allow his mother to rule him. She had been a little afraid that this might be the case, for she had seen the power of that determined woman and she knew full well that a strong bond of affection existed between them. But no, Edward was not going to forget he was the King and he would be the sole ruler of his country.

  It was a joyful procession all along the route. Edward knew he must not pass too hurriedly. All his loyal subjects wished to see him and a great deal depended on first impressions. He must show them all – even the humblest – that he had their welfare at heart. At this time their loya
lty was his and he must keep it so; he must remember that though he was the undoubted son and heir of the late King, the best of all claims to the throne came through the will of the people. That was a lesson he had learned through his father, whose example had taught him how a king should not behave towards his subjects. It seemed strange to him that loving his parents as he did he could see their faults so clearly.

  It was a good plan to have the children riding with them. There was nothing that appealed to humble people like children. He could see too that they liked the Queen. It was to her advantage that they had so disliked the previous one that they were inclined to think any successor was preferable; but there was something about Eleanor’s gentle demeanour and her obvious care for her children which entirely won their hearts.

  The scene was set fair. He was sure of it. And it was for them to keep it thus.

  Everywhere there were cheers and flowers strewn in their paths.

  ‘Long live the King! Long live the Queen.’ It was music in his ears.

  He could not suppress a sly smile when his mother passed in the procession and an almost sullen silence fell on the crowd. Dear lady, he thought indulgently, she could never see that the people blamed her for everything that had gone wrong because she would bring her poor relations into the country. She could so easily have won their approval. But she simply had not bothered to do so. He loved her tenderly. He remembered her maternal care for him and her passionate devotion to her family; yet at the same time his reason had always told him that she had brought her unpopularity on herself. He remembered that time when the Londoners had pelted the barge, in which she was trying to escape, with refuse and heavy stones in the hope of drowning her. None of the family had ever forgiven the Londoners for that; and yet he understood their reasons. Beloved mother, she was so clever in so many ways, but she could never understand that kings and queens must have the approval of their subjects if they are going to stay safe on the throne.

  They halted at the Castle of Tunbridge where Gilbert de Clare, called the Red on account of the colour of his hair, was waiting to receive the royal party and declare his fealty to the King.