by Jean Plaidy
But he died at peace and it was for the best. Young Edward need no longer suffer the qualms of conscience. He was now truly the King.
But he must return to York where his mother would be waiting for him.
How different it would have been if he had come back a triumphant hero, if he had won a battle which would have been like Bannockburn in reverse.
‘Edward vindicates the English in Scotland,’ he could hear them saying. ‘It is his grandfather all over again.’
One day he would show them. But they would not always be comparing him with his grandfather. They should talk of Great Edward the Third as well as the First of that name.
In the meantime the Scots had outwitted him and he must return to his Court chastened but with a valuable lesson learned. War was not a tournament in which easy honours were won. It was a matter of life and death, of tricks and strategy, of discomforts and bloodshed.
He would remember that and it would stand him in good stead.
* * *
As he travelled south to York Edward’s mood lightened a little. At least he had not been defeated in battle as his father had. His mission had failed but that was because the Scots refused to fight. He tried to work out what he should have done and he could see that all that had been possible was to seek the enemy. True he was returning with nothing achieved; and when he thought of how it might have ended if the Black Douglas had succeeded in capturing him, he was filled with dismay.
But he was returning to York and the Scots had agreed to consider a treaty. True his army was not in the same form as it had been when it had set out, and the Hainaulters had forcefully intimated that there would be no more fighting for them. The next thing was to make an advantageous treaty and ... what he wanted more than anything ... to marry Philippa.
His family was waiting for him at York and with them like a shadow, Roger de Mortimer.
The King frowned. He knew very well that it was no use refusing to think of Mortimer and why his mother was so determined to keep the man at his side. Edward shut his ears to gossip and of course none would dare cast a slur on his mother in his hearing.
The Queen embraced him. She told him fervently that she was delighted to see him safely back.
Mortimer bowed and Edward was certain that he detected a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘How well you look, my lord,’ he said. ‘Why, there is no sign of battle scars.’
‘The dastardly Scots,’ put in the Queen. ‘Who would have believed they would refuse to fight ‘
Edward said: ‘The news of my father’s death saddened me.’ ‘As it did us all,’ replied the Queen.
‘It was a peaceful passing,’ put in Mortimer, ‘and it has been said by those near him that the late King had longed for peace.’
The young King frowned. ‘I would I had seen him at the end.’
His mother put her arm through his and lifted her face. ‘My son,’ she said, ‘so do we all. But we must content ourselves with the knowledge that he is now at rest.’
Edward turned to his brother and sisters, who were regarding him with awe. He was not just their brother now. He was their King.
‘Well, brother John, how fares it with you?’
John smiled and said it fared well with him as it did he hoped with his lord the King.
‘Brother Edward to you, John.’ Edward knelt down and took both little girls in his arms. How pretty they were with their wondering eyes and their smooth pink skins which reminded him of Philippa’s.
Eleanor the elder of the two little girls said: ‘They are making a banquet because you have come.’
‘Is that so?’ replied Edward. ‘Then I must do justice to it, must I not?’
Six-year-old Joanna’s eyes filled with tears suddenly. ‘We have no father now,’ she said.
The tears had started to spill from Joanna’s eyes and both Eleanor and John were on the point of weeping. They remembered their father vaguely—a kindly man, who was gentle and quiet. They had not been afraid of him at all as they were of their mother.
‘Now,’ said the Queen, ‘you must remember that your brother is now the King. You are not in the nursery you know.’
The sharpness of her voice sobered the children except Joanna who was unable to curb her tears.
‘Take your sister away,’ said the Queen. ‘I am ashamed that you should so behave before the King.’
But Edward held them tightly to him. ‘It is natural to mourn,’ he said. ‘I mourn with you. But, my little sisters, I am your guardian now. I am your King and your brother and I shall see that nothing harms you.’
Joanna threw her arms about his neck and again he was reminded of Philippa.
‘Take your sisters away, John,’ said the Queen authoritatively and when Edward released them they went.
‘Poor fatherless children! ‘ said Edward. ‘They are aware of their loss.’
‘My dear Edward, they saw so little of him. He had no time to spare for them.’
‘He was kind to them when he did see them.’
‘We know your father’s failings. Let us not make a saint of him simply because he has departed.’
There was a sharpness to his mother’s voice. It is her grief, I suppose, thought Edward. Perhaps she regrets their difference and herself wishes there had been time for reconciliation.
‘You will wish to go to your apartments,’ she said. ‘You will
be weary from the journey and I shall take you there now.’ Edward nodded. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said. ‘Just you.’
The words were addressed pointedly in the direction of
Mortimer, who bowed and stood back.
When they were alone the King said : ‘I wish to know how my father died.’
It was as I told you. He died peacefully ... in the night. He went to bed as usual and the next morning they went in and found him ... dead.’
‘My poor father, his was an unhappy life.’
‘He knew himself to be a failure, Edward, as he was. It is no use pretending it was different now.’
‘I know he was not like his father.’
The Queen’s laugh had a note of hysteria in it. ‘My dear, I understand your emotion. You feel sad about your father now that he is dead. Your grandfather was a great man. It was Edward’s tragedy that he followed such a one. Had he come after ... say John ... his faults would not have been obvious. But he came after the Great Edward and he was a man of strange tastes. He is dead. Let him rest in peace.’
She put her hand on his arm and looked appealingly at him. ‘Dear lady,’ he said, ‘you are right, of course.’
‘You and I have worked together, Edward. I brought you to England. I made you a King.’
‘Yes, my lady, but I was naturally one when my father died.’
‘I made you one before your father died and because he was your father that made you uneasy. You must not be. Think of the wishes of the people. They did not want your father. They want you to rule them. Come, let us forget the past. Let us look forward to the future.’
‘Let us do that. I am determined to marry without delay.’
A dazzling smile crossed her face and he sensed her immense relief.
‘It is natural that you should.’
‘You made an agreement with the Count of Hainault.’
‘It was necessary that I did. Without that agreement I could never have raised the army which brought us back to England.’
‘I am glad you made it. I felt a great affection for Philippa.’ The Queen laughed with excessive gaiety.
‘It was a little noticeable,’ she said. ‘I shall never forget how the child burst into tears when she had to say good-bye.’ ‘She is charming,’ cried Edward. ‘So fresh, so natural.’
‘Then why should not the marriage take place without delay?’
‘That is what I think.’
She slipped her arm through his and walked to the window. ‘The agreement,’ she told him, ‘was for one of the Count’s daughters.
’
‘I shall have Philippa--no other.’
‘Indeed you shall have Philippa but it has occurred to me that the Count may want his eldest daughter off his hands first. It is a custom. Margaret is the eldest.’
‘I tell you I will have Philippa.’
‘Pray do not grow so fierce. I will tell you what we shall do. We shall send our embassy to Hainault and we shall give instructions that the leader of it shall choose the most suitable of the four girls.’
‘What if he does not choose Philippa?’
‘He will because we shall tell him in advance that he must choose her.’
Edward laughed. ‘That sounds a good project,’ he said.
‘Well then, we will set it in motion without delay. I’ll send for Adam of Orlton. He is the man. He is with us now. He has always served us well. He is shrewd and clever. He will do exactly what is needed. I will send him to you. There is no reason why he should not set out at once.’
The King left his mother and immediately sent for Adam of Orlton.
Meanwhile the Queen had returned to Mortimer.
‘Our lord the King has become somewhat imperious since his somewhat ignoble adventures in the North,’ commented Mortimer. ‘He clearly dismissed me.’
‘You must not take that to heart, my love. He talked of his father. He broods on it, I believe. I had difficulty in getting him away from the subject.’
‘He will hear no rumours.’
‘None would dare. They know it would be most unwise. I have stressed that Edward is at peace now. I keep telling him that. He has no suspicions. He is in love with Philippa of Hainault and this occupies his mind, which is fortunate. He wants to marry without delay.’
‘We must not stop him. Let his mind dwell on his marriage- couch rather than on the deathbed of his father.’
‘So we will marry him without delay. Nothing should occupy him more exclusively than his little Philippa.’
‘She will suit our young man very well,’ said Mortimer.
‘You thought her attractive?’
‘Dazzled by the incomparable beauty of my Queen I scarcely saw her. She is a typical Fleming, I did vaguely observe. Plump already. She will incline to weightiness, you will see. But she is fresh enough and right I would say for the boy. She will be a good breeder, I doubt not.’
‘I hope that he will not continue to talk of his father,’ said the Queen with a shudder.
Mortimer put an arm about her. ‘Ah, my love, you must stop brooding. Let us bring Philippa over. Let us have a royal wedding ... babies. Can you believe it, sweetheart, you will be a grandmother.’
‘I like not the sound of that.’
‘The most beautiful and youthful grandmother the world has ever known.’
* * *
Adam of Orlton Bishop of Hereford stood before the King.
This was a man who had been the enemy of the late King and had served the Queen well. Shrewd, calculating and determined to go far in his profession, he had quickly realized that Edward the Second would in time become intolerable to the people of England and for that reason he had thrown in his lot with the Queen. He it was who had been largely responsible for Mortimer’s escape from the Tower for, if the Queen had not been able to enlist his help and through him the two London merchants who supplied the boat and horses, the adventure would have failed.
As soon as the Queen had come to London with her army he had presented himself and had worked with her and Mortimer ever since.
Edward knew him as a faithful servant.
He now bowed before the King and Edward said : ‘Pray be seated.’ He felt a little awkward that such a venerable man should stand ... while he sat. He would have to overcome such feelings. As usual he wished that he could grow up more quickly.
‘My lord Bishop,’ said the King, ‘I wish you to leave at once for the Court of the Count of Hainault. As you know he has four young daughters and I have decided to marry one of these.’
‘I will set off immediately, my lord,’ the Bishop assured him.
‘Pray present yourself to the Count and tell him of your mission. He will receive you with pleasure. He is eager for the marriage.’
‘As he must be,’ replied the Bishop. ‘He has four daughters. Naturally your bride should be the eldest.’
‘No, my lord. No! I have already met the future Queen of England and she is not Margaret the eldest but Philippa, the second daughter.’
‘I see, my lord.’
‘So when you are asked to choose the most suitable you will know which one to choose.’
‘I shall choose Philippa, my lord.’
‘And see that the rest of the embassy approves your choice.’ ‘I shall do that.’
‘I knew I could rely on you, Adam.’
The Bishop smiled. ‘I see it would bode ill for me if I returned with news of your betrothal to the wrong lady.’ ‘It could cost you your head, Bishop.’
The King spoke jocularly but the Bishop felt a shiver of uneasiness pass through him. One could never be sure with these Plantagenets. The temper which had come through the line from Henry the Second was notorious.
‘Rest assured, my lord. I shall keep it. It is too valuable an acquisition to be lightly cast aside. A matter has occurred to me, however, which no doubt you are aware of, my lord. There is a close relationship between you and the Lady Philippa.’
The King shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘Kings have so many relations among noble houses,’ he said.
‘That is so, my lord, but this is close. You and the lady both have the same great grandfather in Philip the Third of France.’
‘Well ?’ demanded Edward.
‘I think it would be advisable for me to prepare for a mission to Avignon after I have settled matters in Hainault. I cannot believe the Pope will raise any objection to the dispensation.’ ‘I shall ignore him if he does.’
The Bishop bowed his head. ‘That, my lord, I am sure will not be necessary. I shall set off at once for Hainault and my business completed there leave at once for Avignon.’
The King nodded, confident that soon Philippa would be with him.
THE KING’S BRIDE
EVER since Edward had spent a week at the Court of Hainault Philippa had never ceased to think of him. Before he had come she had been completely content with her life. Hers was a closely knit family and if it was a source of disappointment to the Count and Countess of Hainault that it consisted of only one son and four daughters they had showed no sign of it.
They had had one great tragedy in their life for there had been five girls. Their eldest. Sybella, had died when she was young; only the two elder ones remembered her, and they would never forget the deep sadness in the family at her premature departure.
The girls had always been aware that their mother came of a very noble family—the royal family of France, no less. Countess Jeanne was the daughter of Charles of Valois and her brother, Philip of Valois, was next in line of succession to the crown of France if the reigning King Charles died without a male heir. It seemed likely that he might for ill luck had been the lot of the Kings of France since Philip IV had persecuted the Knights Templars and their Grand Master, Jacques de Molai, had cursed the Capet line while he was being burned at the stake. It did seem as though that branch of the family would die out; in which case the Valois would take over.
Countess Jeanne never tired of talking of her early life in France and the four sisters knew how much more elegantly life was conducted there than in Hainault and how the music and poetry composed there was the best in the world.
‘Still,’ she would add, ‘I have known more happiness in Hainault than I ever had in France.’
That did not prevent her from introducing French customs and letting the girls know, if they ever acted in a manner of which their high-born mother disapproved, that they came from the royal house of France.
Philippa was sure that nowhere in the world was there such a handsome boy as Edward of England. E
ven France could not produce one so full of charm, vitality and kindliness, and since he had gone life had become excessively dull.
Every day was the same. It was made up mostly of lessons but there was also a good deal of exercise. The Count was a great believer in the benefits of outdoor life; they were all excellent horsewomen and their fresh complexions were an indication of their blooming good health.
It was a happy simple life they led and both the Count and his Countess had wished their girls to be first of all good women. They spoke their minds freely and saw no virtue in deception. They had been taught to be kind to those below them in rank and that, although they had been born without their own advantages, they were human beings and worthy of their consideration.
Countess Jeanne often smiled to think how differently she herself had been brought up; but she was wise enough to realize that the simple happiness of the Court of Hainault was infinitely more desirable than the sophistication of that of France.
The girls often discussed the visit of the Queen of England and her son who had since become the King. Philippa had a habit of bringing the conversation round to him and this usually happened at that hour of the day when they were at their needlework for they must set aside a certain time of the day to sew for the poor. They would all have preferred to work on some colourful tapestry but the Countess had told them that they must make themselves enjoy working on the rather coarse materials because they could think of the comfort it would bring to those less fortunate than themselves.
As she stitched Philippa thought of Edward and that made the hour pass quickly. She would sit smiling over the stuff and not see the strong thread but Edward leaping onto his horse, showing how far he could let an arrow fly, riding out with his falcon, and best of all arranging that he and she strayed behind a little or rode on ahead so that they could lose the party and be alone together.
Her sisters talked of him too. They had all found him attractive. And one day as they sat sewing their garments for the poor they heard sounds of arrival at the castle.
