‘It is a pity he was killed so brutally.’
‘It was in battle. His side would have done the same to your father or Edward had they been the victors.’
‘I suppose Guy and the young Simon thought they were avenging him. It is understandable. It would be best if it could all be forgotten.’
‘My dearest Margaret, you were always the peacemaker. I should like to hear that the de Montforts were all dead. I like not to remember that Guy still lives and his brother Almeric too. He is with his mother, I believe, and the girl Eleanor. They call her the Demoiselle. It is a good idea. There are too many Eleanors in our family.’
‘’Tis true, lady. There is yourself and now Edward’s wife and Edward’s daughter and our aunt who married de Montfort and de Montfort’s daughter … I am so pleased I called my daughter Margaret.’
‘Which, my love, means that she can so easily be confused with her mother.’
‘I know, but Alexander wanted the name.’
The Queen Mother took her daughter’s face in her hands and kissed it. ‘I know. He loves you so well, and would have your daughter named for you. I’ll warrant he tells himself she is growing up exactly like you.’
‘How did you guess?’
The Queen Mother laughed happily. Her anger, aroused by the reference to the de Montforts, had evaporated.
‘Because, my dearest, he has the look of a happy husband. Now tell me, how did you think Beatrice was looking?’
‘Very well.’
‘She has given me five little grandchildren. I am very proud of her.’
‘I am sorry, dear Mother, that I have fallen short of that number.’
‘My dearest child, all I ask of you is that you are happy. You have my three little darlings and that contents me well. I’ll warrant Beatrice is with Edward’s wife. I hear they became great friends in Acre.’
‘Edward is fortunate in his Queen, my lady. She seems so gentle and devoted to him.’
‘She is a good wife. She thinks he is the most wonderful being on earth. She does exactly as he says all the time. I was never like that.’
‘I am sure Edward appreciates it.’
‘Your father appreciated me and yet I always had my own opinions.’
‘Dearest lady mother, you cannot expect everyone to be like you.’
The Queen Mother laughed.
She felt she was nearer happiness than she had been since Henry’s death.
‘Let us go and find Beatrice,’ she said. ‘There is so much I want to say to her. I have you so rarely to myself that I grudge every moment that is spent away from me.’
Dear Mother, thought Margaret, she cannot bear any of us to care for anyone more than we care for her.
* * *
There was excitement throughout the capital which extended to the whole of the country. A king was about to be crowned and soothsayers declared that a new age of prosperity was coming to the country.
The last two reigns had been uneasy ones – the first disastrous and the second slightly less so. Two weak kings had governed the country, now a strong man had come, a man who looked like a king, who acted like a king and having just returned from a campaign to the Holy Land would have the seal of God’s approval on him.
Great days were in store for England.
Stories were told throughout the countryside of his strength and prowess. His Queen was a good and virtuous woman. The account of how she had sucked the poison from his wound was repeated. They forgot that she came from a foreign land and that they had laughed at her followers when she had first arrived in the country. Little dark people whom they said resembled monkeys. Now she had grown into a beautiful woman. She had cast away her foreign manners. She was English and a fitting wife for the great King.
Edward had said that there should be hospitality for all at his coronation. He wanted the people to know that he was going to introduce just laws, that he was determined to make his country prosperous. Already he had settled that irritating matter of the wool with the foreign traders. He believed that the people should be allowed to carry on their peaceful trades and only be asked for money when the country needed it.
For once though there should be a lavish spectacle. The London merchants were willing to pay to see their King ceremoniously crowned. It was right that there should be celebrations for this was the beginning of a new era.
Wooden buildings were erected in the palace yards. On these food was going to be cooked, for none should go empty on this great day. There were no roofs on these buildings; they were open to the sky that the smoke of the fires should escape. Here, announced Edward, food would be served to all those who came to the city – no matter who. Men of the country would eat with London merchants, and apprentices and anyone could eat as the King’s guest – rich and poor alike, wealthy tradesmen and beggars. For fourteen days there should be this feasting. And on the day of the coronation the conduits and the fountains should flow with red and white wine.
Everyone must be aware that this was a time for rejoicing.
There was no murmur from the people. This was a different sort of celebration from those arranged by the new King’s father. Henry had given lavish banquets it was true, but they had always been for his friends and relations. But at King Edward’s table there would be just the good plain food which was served to his people. He wanted them to know that he was not a man to set great store by feasting and drinking and the wearing of fine clothes. His pleasure would be in a prosperous land and a happy people.
Perhaps he was subtly saying that they would find him different from his father. If he was, this was just what his people wanted to hear.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Kilwardby, had arrived at Westminster to officiate at the coronation. Edward considered that he was fortunate in his premier archbishop. It was not that he had any great affection for him. Far from it. They had nothing in common. But Kilwardby, unlike many of his predecessors, was not a man to attempt to interfere in state matters. Something of a pedant and a scholar he was more likely to be concerned with points of grammar than the country’s policies. A scholar who had taught for many years in Paris as a master of arts, one time prior of the Dominicans, he was not a man who saw himself as rival ruler to the King.
‘Let us thank God for our Archbishop,’ said Edward to his Queen.
And so, side by side, Edward and Eleanor his Queen were crowned to the acclamation of the people, and after the ceremony they made their way to the great hall of Westminster where the feast had been prepared.
The royal pair wore the crowns which had so recently been placed on their heads, and Edward whispered to his Queen that he wondered how she was managing to support hers and trusting it was not too uncomfortable. She assured him that she could endure it, and she was overcome with emotion to think how fortunate she was, and she did not mean in becoming the crowned queen of such a country but in being given such a husband.
‘I vow,’ Edward whispered to her, ‘that once I can take it off my head I shall not wear it again in a hurry.’
‘You are still a king, Edward, and seen to be such, without your crown.’
He pressed her hand and amid the acclamation of the spectators took his place in the chair of state on the dais.
Now was the time for his subjects to do homage to him.
First came the King of Scotland – Alexander, husband to his sister Margaret. A fine figure of a man, this Alexander, a man of courage and pride. He had made it clear that he was not here to do homage to Edward as King of Scotland for one king did not bow the knee to another – but merely to recognise that Edward was his liege lord in relation to the land he, Alexander, held in England. Fair enough, Edward had said; and he was glad to have the King of Scots as an ally.
Alexander, whose kingdom was smaller than that of England, had by the very nature of kings to make a brave show of his power and riches and there was no one in the entire company more splendidly accoutred than he was. Edward had smiled to see h
is mother’s eyes sparkle at the contemplation of her son-in-law of Scotland. Any show of extravagance delighted her. She would have liked to see this occasion far more splendid. She would have to be cured, thought Edward. As for Alexander, he would doubtless have to face lean times to pay for the show he had made at the King of England’s coronation.
So Alexander rode into the hall accompanied by one hundred of his knights only slightly less splendidly garbed than himself, and when he came to the dais on which Edward was seated, he dismounted, throwing the reins on the neck of his horse so that it was loose to wander where it would. His knights did the same so that one hundred and one horses made their way out of the hall to where the people were crowding to see the ceremony.
The King of Scotland had it proclaimed that any who could catch the horses who would be discarded by his company might keep them. There were shouts of joy as the horses came out and were seized by the lucky ones who could catch them.
Not to be outdone in this lavish gesture and determined that the Scots might not have all the credit for such unparalleled generosity, the King’s brother, Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, who was also followed into the hall by one hundred knights, did the same. Then the Earls of Gloucester, Pembroke and Warenne let their horses free so that the most memorable event of that coronation day for the people was that five hundred valuable horses were let loose to become the property of any who could catch them.
But there was one other event which was of greater importance and Edward was deeply conscious of it.
One by one the great dukes, earls and barons came to swear their allegiance to the King but there was one notable absentee.
Edward caught the eye of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, who murmured, ‘I see not Llewellyn of Wales, my lord.’
‘And for a good reason, sir Earl. He is not here. What means this, think you?’
‘Defiance of the royal command, my lord.’
‘Trouble to come, Gilbert.’
‘It would seem so, my lord. But it is but a little chieftain of Wales.’
Edward nodded. All very well to refer to him as that. It was true up to a point but Wales like Scotland had long been a source of irritation – and worse – to Edward’s predecessors, and he had hoped that if he showed himself willing to be friendly, he might win the confidence of these people. And now Llewellyn had openly disobeyed the summons to come to the coronation. Edward could be sure that he was not the only one who had noted this – and many present would be aware of its significance.
A curse on Llewellyn!
But this was his coronation and he must feign to be merry and full of hope for the future. He must not allow it to be seen that the absence of a pert Welsh chieftain disturbed him.
But it was on his mind during the feasting which followed the allegiance ceremony. Very merry were those in the hall, and equally so those outside who danced and sang in the streets and grew intoxicated on the King’s free-flowing wine. Those who had acquired valuable horses were ready to die for the King … at least on coronation day.
The people happy; the future bright. What more could a king ask?
His Queen beside him – happy in his triumph, his mother pleased but comparing this with her own coronation which had been far more lavish, his family gathered about him – he should be content.
But he was too much of a king to be able to brush aside the fact that trouble could be brewing on the Welsh border.
* * *
When the company was getting drowsy through the wine, the heat and the merry-making, Edward was alert, still thinking of the Welsh defaulter. Gloucester, Pembroke and Warenne were aware of this.
‘Even had he come to the coronation we could not have been sure that he would not have gone back and made trouble,’ commented Warenne.
‘He could scarcely have done that after giving his oath,’ Edward reminded him. ‘At least not yet.’
‘’Tis better to know where we stand with him.’
‘How can we ever know where we stand with the Welsh?’ demanded Edward. ‘Give them opportunity and they are ready to go to war. Hasn’t it always been so?’
‘Since the days of the Conqueror,’ agreed Warenne.
‘And before,’ added Edward. ‘They can swoop on our lands, attack and then scuttle back into their mountains. You mentioned the Conqueror. He tried to stop it. He even ventured into Wales with an army. Then – great warrior that he was – he realised that because of its mountainous nature, to conquer that land would cost more in lives and wealth and time than it was worth. So he contented himself with forays and little wars which have been going on ever since. I see no reason to go against his judgement. He was a wise man, that ancestor of mine. He had a genius for strategy. He decided to make that strip of land through which all armies had to pass – the English or the Welsh to reach each other – a no man’s land. Then he set up those barons who have become known as the Marcher Barons, and in exchange for the lands he bestowed upon them they must guard the country and be responsible for keeping the Welsh in order. This state of affairs has been going on for two hundred years. I see no reason why it should be changed.’
‘And what has happened?’ asked Gilbert. ‘The Marcher Barons control the land and they, like the Welsh, have become a law unto themselves. They see themselves as apart from allegiance to any, even to you, my lord.’
‘That’s true,’ said Edward. ‘And since Llewellyn sees fit to flout me thus it occurs to me that it may be necessary for me to settle this question of the Welsh once and for all.’
‘Ah, if that could be done, my lord, I doubt not it would be good for England and for Wales,’ said Pembroke. ‘But is it possible?’
‘My lord,’ replied Edward, ‘nothing is possible to those who think it impossible. The first rule when undertaking a difficult task is to stop saying “I can’t” and say “I will”.’
The lords nodded agreement and Warenne said, ‘Llewellyn has become very friendly with the de Montforts.’
‘I know that and I like it not,’ replied Edward. ‘The de Montforts caused enough trouble to my father. I am determined they shall not cause it to me.’
‘There are two of his sons left and one daughter,’ commented Warenne.
Edward nodded. ‘Henry died with his father at Evesham as we know, and Simon died in Italy soon after the murder of my cousin. By God, I shall never forgive them for what they did to Henry. They are cursed and doomed for that for ever. To murder him, so vilely while he knelt at his prayers … my cousin Henry! You know my feelings for him. He was my companion … come to that we were all companions in the royal nursery – Henry of Cornwall, the cousin I loved the best, and those others … cousins also … the de Montfort children. Henry of Cornwall was a man of outstanding nobility. I learned much from him, for he was those few years older than I which are so important when one is young. I looked up to him. There was a time when I was wild and foolish, when I was capable of senseless cruelty. Thank God my cousin Henry showed me the folly of that. I owe him much, and when I think of him as he must have been kneeling at the altar and those wicked men creeping up on him … when I think of the foul and obscene things they did to his corpse after they had murdered him, I cry vengeance on those who carried out this wicked crime. I say a curse on de Montfort.’
‘As those who saw the same done to the bodies of Simon de Montfort and his son Henry cried on you and yours,’ said Gilbert who could never resist making a logical comment even if he put his life in danger through making it.
But Edward was a logical man himself. ‘True,’ he said shortly. ‘True. But I had no hand in the murder of Simon de Montfort. He died in battle. That he was mutilated afterwards was the fortune of war. But to take this good and noble man as he knelt in prayer! No, Gilbert, I’ll not have it. A curse on the de Montforts … the whole family … even my aunt who became one through her secret marriage.’
‘Your feelings are easy to understand, my lord,’ said Warenne. ‘And it is the de Montforts we have
to guard against.’
‘Guy is a murderer and despised as such,’ said the King. ‘He will not prosper. But my cousins Almeric and Eleanor live in exile with my aunt and there is a rumour that Llewellyn is enamoured of my cousin Eleanor.’
‘It is so!’ said Gilbert. ‘She is royal, for her mother is King Henry’s sister, and Llewellyn and she it is said fell deeply in love.’
‘She was a beautiful girl when I last saw her,’ said Edward.
‘Nurtured as she must have been, how would she feel towards the rough mountain chieftain?’ wondered Pembroke.
‘I heard that she was as taken with Llewellyn as he with her and that pledges were made between them. Of course she is in exile and cannot come here and he – rebel chieftain that he is – is in no position to bring her. Thus are true lovers kept apart.’ Edward’s mouth was firm. ‘And shall remain so.’
‘Unless of course …’ began Gilbert.
‘Unless, my lord?’ Edward interrupted. ‘I guess what you will say. Unless we can use my cousin, the Demoiselle Eleanor, as a bargaining counter to bring Llewellyn to heel.’
‘If that were possible it would be a good plan.’
‘It would indeed,’ said Edward. ‘I think we are noticed. Our serious conversation gives an impression that we are holding a council of war.’
‘Which in a way we are, my lord,’ added Gilbert.
‘And that is no way in which to conduct a coronation. Let us ask the minstrels to sing.’
* * *
The coronation festivities continued. There was no more popular man in the city of London than the King. He was strong, said the people. He would not be a man to be ruled by his wife; nor was she a woman to seek to rule.
All knew that the late King had been ruled by his wife and she had been the one they hated; though they despised the King. But this was a new era.
This King was just. The matter of the bridge confirmed their belief in him.
A party of London citizens had asked leave to see the King during that period of coronation celebrations and he, knowing full well the importance of his capital, agreed to receive their leaders and hear what they had to say.
The Hammer of the Scots Page 5
