The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  ‘And what of you, Sir Knight!’ said the damsel, pointing at Ned. ‘Sir Gawain. A goodly knight, if I am not mistaken, close in kin to our lord, King Arthur.’

  At the cheer which greeted these words, my husband waved his hand to the crowd to acknowledge their applause, and gave Ned a friendly push.

  ‘What would you have of me, wench?’ Ned enquired politely.

  There was a lewd comment from the back of the hall which was drowned out by some table-thumping.

  ‘Why, Sir Knight. Surely you have been told? Has your father not tickled your fancy with tales of my beauty? I am renowned from Falkirk all the way to Berwick and beyond and I believe you are still unwed.’

  She pushed her fearsome face right up to Ned and laid one hand on his chest.

  ‘I am indeed without a wife.’

  ‘Then look no further,’ said the damsel. ‘For here she is, ready and willing and able.’

  Raucous waves of laughter filled the hall and two of my women were in such a state of merriment they disgraced themselves by falling off their bench.

  ‘Have you a challenge for me, my lady?’ said Ned, stepping back.

  ‘Indeed I have, my fine one. A problem to test the keenest of minds.’

  ‘I am waiting then, my wife-to-be.’

  ‘It may have come to your notice, Sir Knight, that I am not so fair of face.’

  ‘Who says?’ shouted a voice from the back of the hall.

  ‘A knight never comments on a lady’s looks,’ said Ned gallantly, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘But suppose on our wedding night I was transformed?’

  ‘Impossible!’ cried out another voice.

  ‘Changed to a beautiful maiden, soft of skin, fair of face with lips like cherries and silken tresses falling down my back. All yours for the taking.’

  ‘That would indeed be a miracle,’ said Ned with a grin.

  ‘Ah,’ said the damsel. ‘But in the morning I would again be as you see me now. Not so pretty, eh, Sir Knight?’

  She paused, assessing the mood of her audience.

  ‘Or, you could have me sweet by day and my true coarse self by night.’

  ‘No choice!’ called a man from the side of the hall. ‘Take the pretty one by night. Who notices a wench in the daytime?’

  ‘Nay,’ called another. ‘Beauty by day! When the sun goes down all cats are grey and you can always close your eyes.’

  My stepson stroked his chin, pretending to give proper consideration to the question.

  ‘Lady,’ he said. ‘Who am I, a mere man, to know the mind of a woman? I will give you the choice. You decide.’

  This was, as we all knew, the correct answer.

  ‘In that case, Sir Knight, my beloved, my sweet one, my betrothed,’ simpered the damsel, nudging herself up against my stepson in a very provocative manner. ‘I shall see you anon in the bedchamber. By giving me the choice you have broken the evil spell under which I have laboured these many years. From henceforth I shall be a beauty both by day and night.’

  And amidst a gale of cheering and clapping and many more bawdy jokes she leapt onto her elderly mule and with a couple of lascivious glances over her shoulder at Ned, trotted off down the hall and out of sight.

  ‘God’s nails!’ said Joan, wiping her eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so funny in my life. I wonder who she was?’

  Elizabeth leaned forward and said, ‘I don’t think it was a woman at all. What do you think, Marguerite?’

  ‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘that some mysteries are better left unsolved.’

  The great tournament was over and soon the men would disperse. The foot soldiers had already departed and now the knights would leave, some to their homes, others to castles in Scotland held by the English, and many accompanying either Ned or my husband back into England. All swords would be sheathed and war banners furled because my husband had announced a truce to last until the autumn. We could look forward to a summer of rest.

  ‘I shall be sorry to leave,’ I said to Elizabeth.

  ‘And I,’ she said mournfully.

  ‘Be patient,’ I counselled her. ‘There is nothing more we can do for the moment. You must wait and so must Lord de Bohun.’

  As we went down the stairs we were met by one of my husband’s clerks, a fussy little man with ink all over his fingers.

  ‘Your grace, my lady,’ he said, bowing courteously to us both. ‘His grace, the king, requests your presence and that of the countess, in the great hall.’

  ‘Is there some problem?’ I enquired.

  ‘One of the rebels has come to submit to his grace. Everyone is gathering. Of course it’s been an arduous task these past weeks for us, hammering out an agreement. There is so much paperwork with the lawyers changing their minds at every turn. And then there is the matter of delay in the delivery of parchment. We are quite overburdened.’

  He was still muttering away to himself as we reached the hall. The vast space was full of people. Three chairs draped in blue cloth had been placed to one side for Elizabeth, Joan and me. My husband’s carved chair with the pointed back was central on the dais. He was surrounded by his friends, looking extremely pleased with himself To one side stood the senior members of his household and lining the length of the hall, hundreds of knights.

  There was a noise of shouting at the door and in came a tall dark-haired man followed by six others. They were bare-headed. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as the leader strode up the hall towards my husband.

  ‘Who is it?’ I whispered to the man at my shoulder.

  ‘The earl of Carrick, your grace. Sir Robert Bruce. The lord of Annandale’s son.’

  I saw men finger their daggers and felt my stomach flutter. This man was our enemy. I’d heard my husband talk of him and how he had defied his father to fight against the English. I wondered what had made him change his mind.

  My husband sat forward in his chair. He fixed the earl with a look which would have made a lesser man quake. The hum of noise in the hall ceased and you could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

  ‘You have come to see me, Sir Robert? I have been told you are ready to lay down your arms and return to my peace.’

  ‘Edward of England, I have come here to do homage for my lands in Carrick and to swear fealty to you as my overlord,’ the man announced in a strong clear voice.

  ‘Very well,’ said my husband. ‘Come close.’

  Sir Robert approached the dais and knelt on the rushes. Clasping his hands together, he offered them to my husband. Then he spoke.

  ‘I Robert Bruce, son of my father Robert de Bruis, and of Marjorie, in her own right countess of Carrick, do swear to you, Edward of England, in the presence of this company here, that I will be faithful to you with regard to your life and the members of your body, in good faith and without deception. I acknowledge that I hold from you, as a fief, the lands in Carrick ...’

  I was surprised. I thought he’d speak roughly but his voice was cultured and his command of language was perfect. He spoke without hesitation.

  ‘... for each and all of which I make homage and fealty with hands and with mouth, to you, my liege lord. I promise to be a faithful vassal to you in all things in which a vassal is required to be faithful to his lord, and I will do you no harm. I promise to observe this homage I do here for my lands against all persons, in good faith and without deceit.’

  My husband leaned forward and covered Sir Robert’s hands with his own, accepting the homage. The earl of Carrick was now one of our men and no longer an enemy.

  When I looked more closely at our newly welcomed friend, I could see, beneath the dust and grime of travel, he was an attractive man. He was young, his eyes were dark and evenly spaced, his skin sallow, his face well-shaped and his forehead high. He was without a wife
but it was said he had a way with women and with those dark good looks and forthright manner I could almost imagine being caught in his coils myself. Almost, but not quite.

  10

  The Year 1303

  It was the feast day of the Circumcision of the Lord and I entered the chamber where the gift-giving ceremony was to take place, full of apprehension. Each year it was the same. I could not rid myself of the memory of Philip mentally weighing and costing each gift as it was presented, fixing the giver with an appropriate icy stare or imperceptible curve of his lips. As I stood next to my mother my belly had lurched in terror lest my meagre gift was not sufficiently worthy to meet with his approval.

  I seated myself beside my husband, aware that between us, as always, hovered the shadow of his first wife. My husband welcomed her presence and sometimes misremembered himself and called me Eleanor. But she never acknowledged my existence, bending her whole attention to the man she loved though she was as real to me as any other woman in the room.

  My husband was not the most imaginative of men in the matter of gifts and I suspected he delegated the task to one of his officials, giving no serious thought to the matter. This year I received another gold cup to add to my collection, beautifully decorated with leaves and flowers like the others he’d given me on previous occasions. At this rate my aumbry would be full and I’d have to commission the carpenter to build me a second one. I ran my fingers over the embossed surface and thanked him prettily for his kind thought, hearing the silent whisper at my shoulder - “Is that all?”

  Ned’s gifts were received with shrieks of excitement from his little nieces and smiles of appreciation from his sisters. To my boys he gave wooden toys and to his father, a jewelled clasp which merited a nod and a formal speech of thanks. Against protocol my stepson had left my gift to the last and now that his servant’s arms were empty of intriguing silk-wrapped packages, he placed himself squarely in front of me. Eleanor’s shadow had melted into the darkness at the sight of him as if she couldn’t bear to meet this son she had abandoned to me.

  In his palm lay a small velvet bag. His fingers burrowed inside seeking what lay within and with a flourish he produced an enormous cabochon ruby set cleverly on a golden band.

  ‘This is for you because you are my dearest and most precious lady mother,’ he said, giving me one of his truly engaging smiles.

  His sisters gave a collective gasp and even Lady de Lacy’s eyes widened at the magnificence of the jewel. Ned took my hand in his and looking into my eyes, slid the ring onto my finger. The polished stone gleamed in the candlelight, casting splashes of shimmering pigeon’s blood onto the folds of my white velvet gown. I was speechless. It was the most beautiful and costly jewel I possessed and far outshone any of those in my great-grandmother’s casket.

  ‘A handsome gift,’ said my husband dryly, a slight edge to his voice which most people would not have noticed. But I knew him too well to miss the jealous undertone.

  ‘Oh let me see,’ said Elizabeth, with undisguised envy. ‘I do think it very mean of you, Ned. This is much finer than my brooch.’

  ‘But you have a husband to buy you rubies.’

  No-one said a word but the meaning was there for all of us to hear: Elizabeth had at last married her Humphrey and had a husband. But so did I. Luckily at that moment Thomas pushed his brother onto the floor. There was a resounding howl from Edmund and the awkwardness of the moment was broken as embarrassed nursemaids rushed to scoop up my little boys and bear them away to the nursery.

  Later that night my husband came as usual to my bed and, saying nothing about the gift-giving, proceeded to claim his rights as a husband. He was not rough or unkind, in truth the pleasure he gave me was as great as ever, but the thought was fixed in my mind and therefore probably also in his that his son might give me jewels of unimaginable value but only he had the right to my body.

  Soon after the Feast of the Epiphany, news arrived from the north. The Scots had attacked my husband’s new castles and the one at Selkirk had fallen. It was a long time since the days of the great round table tournament and the coming in of the earl of Carrick and peace could still not be taken for granted. It was an ever-repeating cycle of campaigning and success followed by victories draining away which I feared would last for as long as there were Scots who would not accept the king of England as their overlord. But my husband was not deterred and immediately began preparations for a new campaign which he believed would defeat the Scottish rebels once and for all.

  ‘My lord,’ I said cautiously, not liking to interfere but greatly curious as to how the money could be found for his expedition when I knew he was deeply in debt. ‘How will you pay for this army?’

  ‘God’s teeth, wife!’ he shouted. ‘Do you think I keep a tally of every debt owed to the Crown? Go and ask my treasurer if you want to know but I warn you, you will not like the answer.’

  I supposed he was squeezing those to whom only a few years ago he had been generous and thought it wiser not to enquire further. From a petition presented to me by a London merchant I discovered dues had been raised on goods brought in by foreign merchants, and Ned said the treasury was clawing in the marriage aid not collected on his sisters’ marriages. It seemed every barrel was being well and truly scraped. It was as well I had refused a coronation otherwise my husband’s debts would be even greater.

  He set out in the late spring while thousands of men were gathering on the border: men from Wales, from the north and from Ireland where the earl of Ulster had gathered a vast fleet to transport his army. This time the English were accompanied by the earl of Carrick who, my husband informed me, was bringing two thousand foot soldiers and as many men on horseback as he could muster.

  All through the summer months I visited my manors and enjoyed precious days with my children, pursued by letters from my husband telling me of his progress. The English army had bypassed Stirling and were plunging deep into the furthermost parts of Scotland but the Scots retaliated, first by laying waste to castles in the south-west and then by marching across the border to attack the castle at Carlisle.

  In August I received a furious letter which looked as if it had been chewed and trampled underfoot in frustration.

  ‘There were no supplies waiting for us here at Perth which there should have been, not a single sack of wheat, and no coin to pay the men. It is monstrous how incompetent my officials are once my eye is off them. I have instructed those fools at Westminster to arrest whatever ships are needed to ferry grain north for how else can I feed my men. We have waited a full month and it is only now we can advance. From now on there will be no mercy shown to those who oppose us and once my armies have passed through I doubt the rebels will find a single stook of corn or living animal to give them sustenance.’

  There were no kind thoughts for me or his two sons which showed how distressed he was by his situation and his lack of coin.

  In early September when I reached Pleshey, the great de Bohun castle in Essex, another letter awaited me. My husband was advancing towards Aberdeen while Aymer de Valence together with the earl of Carrick, had struck out for the south-west to give aid to Ned and the newly-arrived men from across the Irish Sea.

  I stayed two weeks with Elizabeth, admiring her new daughter, before taking ship north to Tynemouth, to the cliff top priory overlooking the Northern Sea where I had been ordered to wait for instructions. The days were tedious but at last I received news. My husband had decided to overwinter in the midst of his enemies at the abbey of Dunfermline.

  ‘This is where they bury their kings, so I will sit and wait. They will bury no more kings of Scotland here, for I will have every one of them on their knees before the year is out, and I will have the traitor Wallace in chains. If there is to be a king in this land from now on, it will be me and mine. The body of my dearest sister lies in the abbey, beside that of her husband, so I shall bide my time here, while I wait,
in praying for her soul. I would like your presence by my side this Christmastide, my dear companion, and will ask my officials at York to make arrangements for your journey. My new son-in-law would also care for sight of his wife.’

  11

  The Year 1304

  Our horses plodded onwards, their heads turned from the light flurries of snow blowing in off the sea. It was thawing and by now the track was a morass of mud and soft ice. On our right the waters were unsettled and brooding, the distant shore a mere dark line between grey sea and sky. As we rounded the headland and turned down into the shelter of the valley I saw the village.

  At first I thought it was deserted but as we drew nearer I realised the appalling truth: almost everything had been razed to the ground. There was blackness amidst the blanketing snow, a blackness of man’s doing. Houses destroyed, torn down, their thatched roofs burned. Barns which had once sheltered animals, in ruins, nothing but piles of rubble. Even the church stood roofless and bare, arched windows shattered, roof beams destroyed, the great oak door ripped off its hinges.

  The ground all around was littered with debris: splintered bones of dead animals, half-charred baulks of timber, blackened stones, and drifts of snow which covered the Good Lord alone knew what. We rode through in silence. The only sound apart from the noise of our horses was the soft slap of sea on the lonely shore and the raucous cawing of black crows circling above. Everything else was mute in a pall of white and grey and black.

  At the end of the settlement near the ruined church was a small clump of trees. As we approached my sense of dread grew. At first I didn’t know what they were but as we drew closer I saw they were corpses, twelve in all, swinging slowly from the snow-covered branches, the ropes creaking to and fro.

  They must have been dead some while as the lower limbs had been attacked by animals, some gnawed away completely leaving nothing but white bone and tattered cloth. Round each neck was a stout noose against which a head lolled and on the bodies themselves, the skin was not yet putrid but firm with frost, features still clearly visible, the faces twisted in those last dreadful moments of life.