The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  ‘But you know where you belong and where you are at peace.’

  He regarded me thoughtfully, weighing his next words carefully.

  ‘I do. But you? Where do you belong, my lady? This was not always your country.’

  ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘But that is the lot of women. We are married and leave behind what was once dear and familiar. I was born a daughter of France but now England is my home.’

  ‘We belong where our hearts lead us,’ he said softly.

  We stood side by side watching my stepson and his friends cavorting on the grass. Sir Robert appeared thoughtful but his mouth was curved in the tiniest of smile as if seeing my husband’s son behave like a fool gave him pleasure. My husband might breed fear in the hearts of men but I feared my stepson raised nothing but contempt.

  With the parliament over, my husband decided to visit some of his favourite castles and holy shrines. We sang as our brightly coloured procession made its way along the road to the little town of Chichester. To one side were low rolling hills of short-cropped grass and on the other a myriad of silent rivers in reed-lined channels and shingle banks cut off by stretches of shimmering silvery water.

  Ahead of me rode my stepson and his friends. They were in high spirits but an angry voice floated back on the breeze.

  ‘They are my parks, Lord Edward, and you did not ask permission. I resent your intrusion.’

  The voice was that of my husband’s treasurer, the bishop of Lichfield, Walter Langton, a man who saw things the king could not see and heard things the king did not hear.

  ‘Your parks, indeed, Sir Treasurer? Why are you making such a fuss? We only took a few deer. How many was it Piers?’

  ‘Seven, my lord,’ Master Gaveston replied.

  Bishop Langton’s eyes bulged and his face turned a violent shade of red.

  ‘You poached seven of my deer? That’s a hanging offence. I’ll have you in the courts, prince or not, and I shall inform his grace, your father, of this outrage.’

  Even at this distance I could sense my stepson’s anger.

  ‘Oh fuck off, you little turd,’ he shouted. ‘Take your miserable arse elsewhere. I’ve no wish to have you near my person.’

  ‘My lord!’ said the bishop. ‘I protest.’

  ‘Protest all you like. Go and bugger a few of your deer. That should keep you amused.’

  My women, who were riding beside me and could hear every word, tittered and covered their mouths in mock horror. Unfortunately for Ned they were not the only ones who heard and before we reached the next village someone had told my husband. The procession halted, Ned was ordered to his father’s side and one of my husband’s men was sent to fetch me.

  ‘His grace requires your presence, my lady,’ he said politely.

  Reluctantly, I rode to where my husband sat rigid with fury on his high black horse with Ned beside him scowling at his hands.

  ‘You will apologise to your stepmother,’ snarled my husband. ‘She does not expect to hear such language in her presence.’

  ‘It wasn’t in her presence,’ muttered Ned. ‘She wasn’t there.’

  ‘Apologise!’ roared my husband.

  ‘I wasn’t…'

  He raised his hand to stop me.

  ‘Apologise,’ he hissed, ‘or I’ll be forced to teach you some manners, here, in front of everyone.’

  Ned’s lips were tight with suppressed fury. ‘I crave your pardon, lady mother,’ he said stiffly. ‘My words were not meant for you and I’m sorry if they offended your ears.’

  ‘Your apology is accepted,’ I said graciously, not daring to say anything else.

  My husband sent me back to my place and later I saw him in deep conversation with the bishop. Ned, looking surly and rebellious, took up his previous position. Nobody spoke of what had happened but I knew there must be plenty of whispered speculation.

  That evening my husband came to see me.

  ‘I am sending him to Windsor,’ he said, lowering himself heavily onto one of the seats by the fire. ‘I can’t have him insult my treasurer in that fashion. It was unforgivable. You heard what he said, I presume?’

  ‘Yes, every word. It was not what my women and I are used to but men often curse and swear when they are provoked.’

  ‘Men can do what they like in private but no son of mine will use words like that to a servant of the Crown on the king’s highway. I despair of him. He behaves like a churl. His friends are louts from the alleyways, labourers, ploughboys. He has no idea how to foster bonds with the men he’ll need when he’s king. And he spends too much money on extravagances.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll learn prudence,’ I said gently but my husband wasn’t listening.

  ‘I have reduced his household. Some of the least desirable have been dismissed. They’re a bad influence. Particularly Gaveston. That was a mistake. I thought he’d set my son a good example but instead he has corrupted him. They are far too close. They spend their time playing the fool and making mischief. So I’ve cut my son’s income and removed his seal. That’ll put a stop to his profligacy. He can sit at Windsor and think on his misdeeds.’

  ‘He’s only young, my lord,’ I said hesitantly. ‘You were wild in your youth, so I heard.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ he snapped.

  ‘I forget, my lord,’ I lied.

  ‘Well whoever it was has a very poor memory and the circumstances were entirely different. I had to fight for what I have. Ned is being handed his inheritance on a silver platter and the boy isn’t even grateful. God’s nails! Why couldn’t it be young Edmund? He’d make a much better king.’

  Two days later we set off, leaving Ned behind. The meadows were flushed with the vivid colours of late spring and everywhere creamy-white drifts of meadowsweet crowded the damp valley bottoms. I should have felt joyful but I was miserable whenever I thought of Ned’s banishment. My husband refused to speak of his son but before long letters began arriving from my stepdaughters.

  Elizabeth wrote,

  ‘Poor Ned is distraught. He is so unhappy now that my father has removed Master Gaveston from his household. You know how attached they are to one another. It really is not deserved. I am certain Ned never meant the words he spoke to my father’s treasurer, who, when all is said and done, is only a servant. Dearest Marguerite, lady mother, please, please see your way to make representations on Ned’s behalf. I know my father, will listen to you. He is always kindly disposed towards you and will surely listen to your pleadings.’

  She carried on in much the same vein for several more lines, claiming that only I could heal the breach.

  Five days later I had a letter from Joan.

  ‘I have had to lend him my seal so that he can purchase his necessaries. It is monstrous that his grace, my father, has treated him like this. To have one’s household reduced in such a peremptory manner is nothing short of persecution. It is the work of the very worst sort of tyrant. It is not that I am particularly enamoured with Master Gaveston, I find him rather too fond of his own opinions and Ralph says he is a conceited young fool, but he is Ned’s friend.

  My brother tells me he is short of funds. I have had to make him a loan. You would think his grace, my father, desired to reduce him to a state of want, begging for alms at the gate. Next he will have him in sackcloth.’

  The following week, one came from Mary at Amesbury.

  ‘I have written to his grace, my father, asking permission to write to my brother. I am aware there has been some great disagreement between them and my brother is very unhappy. So I wish to do what I can. Apparently my brother is also in need of monies as he does not even have sufficient for his household. Certainly in this particular I can assist him as I have more than enough for my own requirements. I do not like to ask you, dearest lady mother, but it would be pleasing to us all if you would see your way to ple
ad with his grace to see reason in this matter. He is always concerned with assuring himself of your happiness and would I am sure indulge you in this small difficulty in which my brother finds himself. I do not know if it is wise for my brother to be so attached to Master Gaveston but surely the affection in which they hold each other can only be strengthened by keeping them apart.’

  And if that was not sufficient to melt my heart and drive me to intervene on my stepson’s behalf, I had at least five letters from Ned himself, each one more desperate than the last. It was difficult to know which distressed him more, the loss of his money or the loss of his friends. He spoke of the anguish he suffered at being parted from Master Gaveston and implored me to take his pleas to my heart and pursue his cause with his father. He spoke of the love he bore me, playing on my heartstrings as cleverly as any minstrel, and I found him quite impossible to resist.

  It was a sunny day when we arrived at Leeds Castle and I knew it was time to say something. I hoped the luxuriant beauty of the surroundings would work their charms on my husband because this was an enchanted place, an Isle of Avalon, a Camelot, where spells could be woven and dreams could come true.

  The lake, which encircled the castle, was a perfect mirror to our colourful progress across the bridge. The abundance of greenery glistened and shimmered like some fairie magic, casting a mysterious emerald light over the water’s edge. I thought I was half way to being bewitched.

  That evening we made merry with some tumblers and a group of fiddlers from Genoa who entertained us with a medley of songs. By the time we retired for the night my husband came to my room intent on keeping me awake a little while longer. Since banishing Ned he had sought my bed more frequently and I wondered if it was the seasonal warmth or if a man found strength in the quelling of his son.

  Louis once told me the story of a fabulous white stag in the forests of Clermont who had fought the younger beasts for his right to the hinds. He roared his challenge through the shortening autumn days and drove away his own sons, proving his superiority with magnificent clashing antlers. Louis said the stag must remain dominant for if he was defeated he would be driven out to die.

  ‘I don’t think your mind is with me, little pearl,’ said my husband, softly. ‘Are you thinking of tonight’s minstrelsy or are you distracted by other matters?’

  I cursed myself for my straying mind. I knew my husband well enough to know he needed to be soothed into a mellow mood if I wanted to succeed in helping Ned.

  ‘You would be wrong, my lord,’ I said quietly. ‘I was thinking of your well-being.’

  ‘That makes me very suspicious for you always have my well-being uppermost in your mind. So what is special about tonight? Are you planning some entertainment in our bed, something we have perhaps seen performed by the acrobats?’

  I smiled. He could be very amusing when he chose.

  ‘When we met first at Canterbury, my lord, did you think me suited to be your wife?’

  He regarded me with even greater suspicion.

  ‘When I first saw you,’ he said slowly, ‘riding towards me on that September afternoon, I remember thinking, dear God, it is forty-five years since I last married a child and here I am marrying another.’

  ‘I was nineteen,’ I replied tartly. ‘Hardly a child.’

  ‘To a man of sixty, my dear, you were a mere babe. But you have proved an agreeable companion and if you are asking if I regret our marriage then you already know the answer. However, if you wish to give me further reassurance as to your desirability and obedience, you know what to do.’

  He slid his hand up inside my nightgown and whispered in my ear, ‘Open yourself up to me, my little pearl.’

  Later, as we lay in each others arms, he stroked my hair and said, ‘Now, what was it you wished to ask me?’

  ‘Did I wish to ask you something?’ I replied sleepily, groping for my nightcap.

  ‘I may be old, wife, but I am not completely gone in my senses. When a woman asks her husband what he first thought of her you can be sure she is after something. So out with it! What do you want?’

  There was no deceiving him so I told him the truth.

  ‘I want you to make peace with your son. It grieves me to see you estranged from each other and it would please me to have you reconciled. I do not ask this only for myself, my lord, but for you also. I know it hurts you to be on bad terms with the prince and I believe your mind would be greatly eased if you could find it in your heart to forgive him. Has he not been punished enough?’

  ‘The trouble with you, my little pearl, is that everything you say makes such perfect sense. Yet why do I feel I am being put in the wrong?’

  I touched my fingers to his lips.

  ‘My lord, you are not in the wrong. It is not a matter of right or wrong. It is a matter of forgiveness.’

  He looked at me and I could read tenderness in his eyes.

  ‘I wish my brother were alive today to see the wisdom of my choice. I could not have a better companion than you, my dear. You keep our family together and attend so well to my many sins. I sometimes wonder what would have become of me if I had not chosen you.’

  Like a wise wife I said nothing. The decision that I should be given to him was not his, nor mine. For him, if he wanted peace, it meant accepting me as his wife. But if it pleased him to believe otherwise, who was I to put him right?

  My husband wrote to Ned soon afterwards and I received no more letters from my stepson other than a formal and very charming note thanking me for my efforts.

  ‘I regret any distress you have endured on my behalf and thank you dearly for the goodwill you have shown to me when dealing with this difficult matter.’

  13

  Autumn 1305

  On our return to the Island of Thorns we were greeted by the news that Sir William Wallace, the captured Scottish traitor had been brought in chains to London and was now imprisoned in St Gabriel’s at Fenchurch. There was an undeniable sense of excitement in the air as this last of the Scottish rebels was finally in my husband’s hands.

  Londoners enjoy a good spectacle and next day they turned out in their thousands to jeer the Scottish traitor. His gaolers placed a circlet of laurels on his head and people in the streets pelted him with rotten eggs. He was a miserable and sorry sight, dirty and bespattered with all kinds of filth, yet he bore himself with a dignity which surprised me. It was only the thought of his many evils, the hundreds of our men he had killed and the foul deed committed on the body of the earl of Surrey’s treasurer, which prevented me from feeling sorry for him.

  ‘So much for the one who boasted he would wear a crown at Westminster,’ said my husband jubilantly. ‘He is nobody, my dear. Just a common man, a Scotsman who thought he could defy me. Don’t give him another thought.’

  He rubbed his neck with his weather-browned fingers, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He looked remarkably well for a man of his years and I was pleased our time in the south-east had done him good.

  ‘I have given my instructions to the mayor and the justices, they know what to do with traitors. Meanwhile you and I will go hunting in the forests of Essex. I have a fancy to seek more prey for clearly at the moment I am favoured by Dame Fortune.’

  I never spoke to my husband about what happened to Sir William Wallace but shortly before Michaelmas I asked Ralph de Monthermer. We were seated together at one of the interminable dinners during the parliament and had exhausted the subject of our children.

  ‘A traitor’s death, your grace. Not a pleasant way to die for a man. Half-hanged, crawling about in his own blood with his guts pulled out before his head is cut off.’

  ‘Where is he buried?’ I said, trying to ignore the sudden waves of nausea.

  ‘He has no grave. His head is spiked on London’s Bridge and the quarters were sent north as a warning. I believe some part of his remains is pinned to the
bridge at Stirling.’

  He turned to me, his long face looking more mournful than ever.

  ‘Are you alright, your grace?’ he said gently. ‘You do not look well.’

  ‘I feel somewhat faint.’

  I excused myself to Sir Ralph and followed by one of my women, hurried back to my chamber where, with no ceremony, retched noisily into a basin. As I wiped my lips she said, ‘Is it?’

  ‘Is it what?’ I asked, raising my eyes from the disgusting mess of my dinner.

  ‘You were vomiting last time,’ she said obliquely.

  I hardly dared admit to myself that I might be with child. I had waited so long and suffered so many dark moments. I had missed my last course but had thrust the knowledge to the back of my mind, not wanting to hope and be disappointed.

  I thought back to that time in the summer, to those magical days at Leeds, to the shining castle and the silver lake, to a place where even a queen could dream and her wishes come true. I thought of the soporific warmth and comfort of our marriage bed and the lazy, languid nights of our passion. I smiled to myself and decided to keep my secret a little while longer. Just in case.

  ‘It is a miracle,’ said Alice, gazing at what had once been a vast open space. ‘A city of tents sprung up overnight.’

  ‘Hardly overnight,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘The air has been choked with dust for weeks and we’ve endured the noise of those carts rumbling across the Tyburn day and night. The carpenters start at dawn and judging from the hammering, I doubt they sleep at all.’

  Alice shrugged. ‘It’s necessary. The men must have somewhere to stable their horses.’

  It was true. Hundreds had been summoned to this parliament to agree the arrangements for the governing of the king’s new lands. The halls would be full and everyone of any importance would be there.