The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  The message had come two days before the feast day of St Martin. My husband had instructed his officials at York to organise my removal to the north and would in due course inform them whence I was to travel to meet him. I was further informed that his grace had requested the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Joan should accompany me as it would give his grace much pleasure to see his daughters.

  To my regret Thomas and Edmund had to remain at Woodstock where the air was clean and the danger of illness small. Dear Edmund. Such a good baby. He had arrived shortly before the feast day of Our Lady on a morning full of sunshine and the promise of a good harvest. This time, although there was pain and fear, it was short-lived. Lady de Lacy said the birth was nothing compared to those dreadful days at Brotherton when they thought I would die. When she told me it was a boy, I remember thinking how pleased my husband would be. He had been proved right - again!

  Thomas was walking now, unsteady little steps, but each day he grew bolder and I was sad, knowing that when I saw him next he would probably be talking as well. He could make a few attempts at “Mama” but his favourite word was “no”.

  I spent hours on the floor with him to the despair of Sir Stephen and Lady Eveline, the couple who managed the nursery household. I knew they thought it undignified, but Thomas enjoyed having me on a level with his own small self. He was not greatly enamoured with Edmund, shouting at him when he cried and trying to hit him with his tiny fists. But they were so close in age I was sure they would become friends. it would be a delight to see them as they grew together and I couldn’t wait for my husband to meet his youngest son.

  I’d written informing him of Edmund’s birth but it was weeks before I received a reply and then it was polite but curt: yes he was pleased, yes he was glad all was well, but no, he would not be returning, there was far too much to be done.

  The days were drawing in fast by the time Joan, Elizabeth and I had arrived at York. The autumn mists were cold this year but there had been little rain. We wanted nothing so much as to rest but the letter from my husband ordered us to proceed north without delay.

  ‘I have decided to remain in Scotland through the winter for it will annoy my enemies. We shall be here at Linlithgow for the Christmas festivities and it will give me much pleasure to receive you. It is only a small palace but there is a pretty little lake and a church built of many-coloured stones, the like of which I have not seen before. Our Prince of Wales will make haste from Carlisle where he is at present and will be with us for the celebrations. This I know will please you for I am aware of how much care you have for my eldest son.’

  By the time Joan and Elizabeth were safely ashore the dank little room in the old stone tower was crowded with too many wet, dispirited, shivering women. All I could hear was a profusion of snuffling and coughing and muttered complaints.

  ‘We must leave, your grace,’ said the captain of our guard, as he stood in the doorway. ‘There’s little daylight left and I’d not suggest a stay in this benighted place. We must press on to Linlithgow. The man here says it’s only a short journey.’

  I acquiesced happily for I too did not fancy a night by the shores of the Scottish Sea in the damp little fort.

  We rode in single file as the track was narrow and strewn with branches wrenched from the trees by a recent gale. There were puddles, deep enough for a man to drown in, and no sign of people or buildings. It was a bleak place indeed.

  We must have been travelling for about an hour when the man at the front shouted. I peered out from under the hood of my cloak. I could make out lights wavering in the distance. This must be the palace of Linlithgow.

  Never was a place less well named. It was not a palace, rather a poor manor house, but I had to admit it was preferable to the fort at Blackness. As we rode up I could see neither the pretty little lake nor the church built from many-coloured stones but I had no doubt they were there. As my husband had amply proved to me time and time again, he was never wrong.

  The torches flared wildly as we entered the hall. My husband was there to greet us looking, I thought, tired but happy. I hoped it was our arrival which had cheered him rather than his successes with his armies.

  ‘My lady,’ he bent and took my cold little hand in his.

  ‘My lord,’ I said with a smile on my lips, a smile just for him.

  The hall was full of people. Ned was there, exuberant as ever, and I could see Humphrey de Bohun, his eyes alight with what I took to be love at the sight of a tousled and very weary Elizabeth. Joan’s husband greeted her with muted enthusiasm, always unwilling to show too much affection to his wife in front of my husband. And the men of my stepson’s household were barely noticed by my damp miserable collection of women.

  ‘I had not hoped to see you so soon,’ said my husband.

  ‘Nor we,’ I replied politely. ‘But we were blown all the way on a south-easterly, no matter whether we were at sea or on horseback. I think we shall crave your indulgence and remain here till the wind turns, if it pleases you, my lord.’

  He laughed.

  ‘It does, my lady. It pleases me greatly.’

  We stayed several weeks and they were amongst the happiest of my life. It isn’t necessary to have grand castles to be content but it was strange that this mean little place on the edge of a barren land in the middle of an inhospitable winter should have been where I carried some of my fondest memories. Perhaps it was because his first wife had never been there.

  I told my husband about Thomas and Edmund, and he told me about his fury at being unable to take the castle at Stirling because “those fools” had failed to provide him with the necessary means. I told him of Thomas’s first words and he told me of how my brother had brought pressure to bear on His Holiness to release John Balliol, the one-time king of the Scots. I told him how Edmund could smile and how like my husband he looked, and he told me of his plans to call my brother’s bluff and force the remaining rebellious Scottish nobles to make peace.

  In our different ways we were both content.

  ‘A Scottish pearl I have within my grasp this time,’ said my husband, stroking my cheek that first early morning in the privacy of our bed. ‘What do you think, wife? A boy again?’

  I smiled at him, too lazy to contradict him.

  ‘Perhaps I’m being selfish,’ he said, sitting up and twitching the curtain back. ‘Would you prefer a daughter?’

  I struggled to raise myself from the depths of the fur covers.

  ‘God has been good to us, my lord. I fear to ask for more.’

  He regarded me soberly.

  ‘God will always be good to you, my little pearl. You are truly one who deserves God’s blessings.’

  ‘I am not always deserving,’ I protested.

  He leaned over and silenced me with a kiss.

  ‘Remember what you said, my dear. Your husband is never wrong. Now I must up and prepare for the day. I have much to organise.’

  I noticed with a rush of pleasure that he hadn’t mentioned Eleanor once.

  Joan and I were accompanied by Joan’s husband Ralph de Monthermer when next morning we strolled down to the lakeside.

  ‘His grace, my father, was right,’ said Joan. ‘It is a pretty little lake.’

  The water was dark and ruffled with small white waves. Personally I thought it sinister. Perhaps the sun had been shining when my husband first saw it and thought of me. I shivered and pulled my cloak more tightly around my shoulders.

  ‘In the native tongue it is the loch of the black hound,’ said Ralph de Monthermer. ‘They say a man hereabouts, having offended his lord, was tied to a stake on one of the islands and left to die. But the man’s faithful hound swam out each day carrying food to his master. When the lord was told he ordered the animal chained to a post on another island.’

  ‘And is that the hound?’ I asked, as we heard baying in the distance beyond
the trees.

  ‘A nonsense!’ scoffed Joan. ‘A tale to scare children and simple folk. I don’t believe a word.’

  ‘But one to strike fear into people on dark nights,’ insisted her husband.

  ‘It would have been more sensible to use a boat,’ said Joan briskly. ‘Why a hound?’

  She turned her head away and stared at something.

  ‘Look, Marguerite! I do believe that’s Ned. What is he doing? God’s bones! The fool!’

  Bobbing up and down on the choppy waters was my stepson, his golden hair flying in a sudden squall. He was trying with great difficulty to navigate a small boat across the lake. He was stripped to the waist and beside him in the tiny craft was none other than his favourite companion, Master Gaveston. Judging by the waving arms and shouts of laughter they were enjoying themselves but I shivered at the thought of freezing spray on bare skin and decided it was not a pastime I would care for.

  It was odd how Ned relished these easy rustic pleasures which my husband thought wholly unsuitable. Fooling about in boats or swimming the great mere at Kenilworth were not activities expected of a prince who would one day be king but I could only feel a wave of affection for my difficult stepson who so delighted in being different.

  ‘Why does Ned think it amusing to be out on the water in the middle of winter?’ said his sister crossly. ‘And why can’t he dress properly? He complains his grace, our father, treats him badly but he makes no effort to behave.’

  ‘He’s young,’ said her husband mildly. ‘Young men are notoriously wild.’

  ‘Were you wild, Lord de Monthermer?’ I enquired with a smile.

  He laughed. ‘No, your grace, I never had the opportunity. But it’s said your husband, his grace, the king, was very wild in his youth.’

  Aha! I thought, certain that bit of information might be useful one day.

  It was impossible in a place such as Linlithgow, with its cramped little hall and small chambers, to have much privacy. Even my husband gave up trying to conduct his business and relaxed and enjoyed the Christmas festivities. For twelve days we feasted, we exchanged gifts, we sang, we danced, we listened to the minstrels and laughed at the tumblers and play-actors. But towards the end of the celebrations I decided the time had come to broach the subject of Elizabeth’s marriage. Naturally I chose our bed as the only place where we could not be overheard.

  ‘My lord,’ I said as he lay beside me, shadowed in the half-light.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Have you made any decision about your daughter’s marriage?’

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is this your business?’

  ‘No, my lord. It is not but I have a care for the girl and wondered if you were considering another alliance with your friends overseas?’

  ‘I do not think I have many friends overseas at the moment,’ he said dryly. ‘The only person it would benefit me to marry my daughter to right now would be His Holiness. And as that is most unlikely to happen I think you can safely say I have made no decision on the matter.’

  He shifted himself and heaved one of the fur covers over his shoulder.

  ‘Have you a plan in mind, wife?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘I wondered if you would consider one of your nobles, my lord; one who would be of use to you. You said to me once that marriage fosters good relations.’

  He gave a smothered laugh.

  ‘Who are you planning to marry her to, my little pearl? I trust it is not poor John de Warenne. He’s been a bachelor for many years and is not used to a woman in his house. I can’t see him taking a wife.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ I said carefully. ‘I was wondering about the earl of Hereford. He is unwed is he not? And he is wealthy.’

  My husband laughed out loud this time. He seemed to find my suggestion amusing.

  ‘I cannot see why you should laugh, my lord. I thought it a sensible idea.’

  He pulled me into his arms and held me tight.

  ‘I’ve often thought I should sack the lot of my council and have you sitting at my right hand, whispering policy in my ear. Just think, not only would I always make wise decisions, but how amusing it would be when we disagreed. Instead of the shouting matches we have in the council chamber, you and I could retire to bed, draw the curtains and settle our differences in the best way possible.’

  ‘And what way would that be?’ I asked innocently, knowing I had sown the seed and must now be patient and leave the plant to grow.

  After the Feast of the Epiphany we removed ourselves to Falkirk where my husband had ordered a tournament to celebrate the end of the campaign. After four wonderful days of jousting with my husband arrayed as King Arthur and me as Guinevere there was an entertainment about which my husband would tell me nothing. It was, he said, a surprise.

  The candles were lit, the hall was crowded and on the shallow dais was a great circular table of blue and gold. Round the table sat my husband, my step-son and twenty-four specially selected men, all dressed appropriately in the colours of King Arthur and his knights.

  There was a blare of trumpets, the steward called for silence and in she came - the ugliest woman I had ever seen. She was riding a mule, not a well-groomed animal but probably the oldest and most moth-eaten creature in the whole of the kingdom. Its head was lowered in the way mules have and the woman was finding difficulty in making it move. She gave the animal a good kick and a lad from the kitchens whacked it from behind.

  There were huge cheers as she rode slowly up the hall swaying slightly in the saddle. She wore a dirty drab-coloured gown and a dark woollen cloak, and dangling down over the mule’s flanks were two long shapely legs clothed in black hose and stout leather boots. On her head was a russet-coloured cloth and peeping out from this, two coarse braids. At first I thought her hideously deformed but then I realised she was wearing a mask. This gave her huge bloodshot eyes and a nose about half a foot long.

  ‘It’s the damsel!’ cried Ned, jumping up from his seat.

  A great cheer rose from the body of the hall and shouts of ‘A-welcome! A-welcome!’

  ‘Cowards!’ shrieked the damsel in a high falsetto voice. ‘Cowards that would let a wronged maid be so put upon. There she is, imprisoned in a tall tower by a lake. Or perhaps we should say “lochen” to please our newly welcomed friends, those who at last know right from wrong.’

  At this there were smiles from the Scots newly come into my husband’s peace and more banging on the tables by the Englishmen.

  She pointed at my husband’s knights.

  ‘What then, Sir Bedivere? Too afraid she’ll take one look at you and beg her father to bolt the door?’

  The earl of Lancaster flushed, but called good-naturedly, ‘Stay mistress! No-one calls me a coward. I’ll answer your challenge. Where is the maid? I’ll release her from her bonds.’

  It took me a while to identify the damsel on her mule. She was none other than Ned’s friend, Master Gaveston. He made a very fine woman and I wondered whose idea it was that he should play the role of the loathly damsel in this evening’s charade. The guise was brilliantly done.

  ‘So brave Sir Bedivere wishes to release this lady from her tower, does he? Now let me see where it might be for methinks I have forgotten.’ She stroked her whiskery chin and put her head to one side. ‘Might it be the castle at Pickering?’

  The words were hardly out of her mouth when the hall erupted with laughter. There were very few who were ignorant of the earl’s problems with his wife.

  The damsel wagged her finger. ‘Nay I am mistaken, for the lady there, needs no father to bar her door. It must be the tower at Linlithgow. I’ve heard there is a likely lady chained there. It must be she. How say you, Sir Bedivere? Will you release her from her torment?’

  I felt sorry for Earl Thomas. He was not a man with a ready wit. While he was
trying to think what to say, Guy de Beauchamp, the tall black-haired earl of Warwick whom I had first met in Paris, leapt to his feet, and bowed courteously to the damsel.

  ‘Sweet damsel,’ he said as the hall was again rocked by a gale of laughter and the damsel bridled at the compliment. ‘If my fellow knight-in-arms is too bedazzled by your beauty to take up the challenge, then I most certainly will. On the morrow I will ride for Linlithgow and seek out the lady.’

  The damsel slipped off her mount and, using a stout stick which had been concealed beneath her cloak, approached her new victim.

  ‘What!’ she cried in her high cracked voice. ‘Another brave knight. Who comes here? Why Sir Galahad, you wish to unchain the lady do you?’

  ‘I do,’ said Sir Guy.

  ‘What could be more fitting? A black hound in search of a black bitch! A cold swim it’ll be for you in search of your mate. I wish you well, Sir Knight, and trust the lady learns to put her tail aside for you.’

  By the time we had finished laughing and a red-faced Sir Guy had sat down, the damsel had taken apart two further knights. My husband was laughing so much I thought he might choke on his wine. This was the kind of evening the men deserved after the privations of the campaign and they were determined to enjoy it to the full.

  ‘What have we here?’ she said, pointing at the elegantly reclining figure of Humprey de Bohun.

  ‘Pretty Sir Perceval, I do believe. Now, what have we got for you? Another maiden? Nay, I’ve heard you hunt for royal quarry in the greenwoods. I’d not presume to offer you less.’

  I thought our damsel was risking my husband’s wrath. It was one thing to mock the men but this sort of jest could land Master Gaveston in a great deal of trouble. However my husband was mellow this evening and in no mood to be irritated and let it pass.