The Vow on the Heron

by Jean Plaidy

  Montacute’s spirits rose. He could see a satisfactory end of the enterprise in sight.

  He planned with the King and Sir William to enter the castle that night.

  * * *

  In their bedchamber Isabella and Mortimer were preparing for bed. Isabella had placed the keys of the castle under her pillow and they were safe for the night, she believed.

  We must be thankful for every night, she often said to herself. I have a terrible fear that some evil fate overhangs me.

  It was for Mortimer she feared rather than herself. She could not believe that Edward would ever allow anyone to harm her.

  Mortimer said he had thought of something he must say to the Bishop of Lincoln and his two trusted friends, Sir Oliver Ingham and Sir Simon Bereford, who were in the castle on this night. He would join Isabella later.

  He never did.

  As he talked with his friends, Montacute with an armed guard had come up through the secret passage and into the castle.

  Mortimer heard the scuffle outside the door followed by shouts and groans. He opened the door and saw the armed men and several of his bodyguard lying dead on the floor.

  ‘What means this?’ he shouted.

  He was immediately seized.

  ‘It means, my lord,’ said Montacute, ‘that you are the King’s prisoner.’

  Isabella hearing the shouts came running out in her night clothes.

  When she saw Mortimer held by the guards she gave a great cry of distress.

  ‘Where is the King? The King is here. I know the King is here.’

  No one answered her and she ran forward and would have thrown herself at Mortimer’s feet, but two of the men gently restrained her.

  ‘Where are you going? What are you doing? Release Mortimer.’

  ‘My lady, the Earl of March is the King’s prisoner.’

  ‘Take me to the King. Take me to the King,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh sweet son, have pity on my gentle Mortimer.’

  She slipped gently to the floor. She was moaning as they hustled Mortimer away.

  * * *

  The King has issued a proclamation. He had taken the administration of the country into his own hands. He summoned a Parliament which should meet at Westminster on the twenty-sixth day of November and its first task would be to try the prisoner, Roger de Mortimer, Earl of March.

  The whole country was talking of Mortimer. The people had long hated him. They had deplored his relationship with the Queen. There was scarcely a man in England who did not rejoice to see the end of Mortimer’s rule. The King was now a man. He was his grandfather all over again. Thank God, they said, England at last has a King.

  The story of Mortimer’s capture was told and the secret passage into Nottingham Castle was named Mortimer’s Hole and called so for ever after. This must be the end of Mortimer. He must go the way of other favourites who had taken so much of the wealth of the country and used it for their own benefit. England would have no more of him. England needed a strong King, a King who would restore law and order to the country so that it might trade and know justice and so grow rich.

  There came the day when Mortimer faced the King and his peers.

  The charges against him were that he had usurped royal power, that he had murdered King Edward the Second and Edmund Earl of Kent. He had taken possession of state revenues the latest of these being the payment from the Scots. For all these crimes he was judged to be a traitor and enemy of the King and the kingdom and was condemned to the traitor’s death, hanged, drawn and quartered.

  It was important, all agreed, that there should be no delay in carrying out the sentence. The Queen Mother had sent repeated appeals to her son but he would not see her until after the sentence was carried out.

  Mortimer must die. The country demanded it.

  So three days after his sentence Roger de Mortimer was taken to Tyburn and there, watched by thousands who had gathered to see the end of the most hated man in England, the terrible sentence was carried out.

  Mortimer’s reign of triumph was over.

  * * *

  Edward was distressed. He could not make up his mind what should be done about his mother. The old fascination she had always exerted over him was still there. She was guilty he believed of the murder of his father for she doubtless had connived with Mortimer to bring it about. He was hearing terrible rumours about the manner of that murder and surely any who could agree to such an act deserved the direst form of punishment.

  Yet ... she was his mother.

  What could he do? He could not let her live in state. He could not allow her to be near Philippa and the boy. She must not believe that she could act in such a diabolical way and nothing be made of it. That would be unfair to his father.

  He thought often of his father. He reproached himself for not being more watchful. He should have known when they put him away that some terrible fate was being planned for him. He could honestly plead his youth. A boy such as he had been had not dreamed such wickedness was possible.

  He would not go to her just yet. He could not face her. She had murdered his father—she and Mortimer between them—and if rumour was true in the most horrible manner.

  He could not condemn her to death as he had Mortimer. But he could not let her go free. He could not allow her to come to his Court. How could he? Every time he looked at her he would think of the terrible things she had allowed to be done to his father.

  He talked the matter over with Montacute.

  ‘My mother! ‘ he murmured. ‘My own mother! ‘

  ‘It is a difficult situation in which you find yourself,’ agreed Montacute. ‘You will have to act promptly and wisely, my lord.’

  ‘I know it. I shall strip her of all the wealth she has amassed—she and Mortimer together. Her ill-gotten gains must be restored to their rightful owners. But she is my mother, Montacute. I cannot forget that.’

  ‘Nor should you. Let her have an adequate income of say three thousand pounds a year. That will keep her in the state worthy of a queen and yet without extravagance. Send her to one of your castles and let her stay there until you have decided what you should do in the best interests of all.’

  ‘You have the answer, Montacute. I shall do that. And I think Castle Rising would provide the answer.’

  ‘You mean that place in Norfolk not far from the town of Lynn?’

  ‘That is the one. It is some distance from Westminster and from Windsor. It seems an ideal spot.’

  ‘Yes, my lord, I think you have chosen wisely.’

  * * *

  Through the gloomy rooms of Castle Rising Isabella roamed as though she were seeking her lover. Sometimes she called to him.

  ‘He is not dead,’ she told her attendants. ‘He cannot be dead. No one could kill Mortimer. Mortimer is invincible.’

  They tried to soothe her. It was dreams which haunted her. Someone must sleep in her chamber and be there to soothe her when the nightmares came.

  Once she fancied he was hanging on a rope at the foot of her bed. She had heard that long long ago King John had had his wife’s lover mutilated and hung on her bed canopy so that when she awoke in the morning the first thing she should see was his obscenely assaulted body.

  Then she would dream that they were doing to Mortimer what had been done to Edward.

  At these times they said: ‘The madness is upon her.’

  It would pass and she would remember then where she was and why she was there. And how her son Edward the King had sent her there, making her his prisoner.

  ‘He wants me out of the way,’ she said. ‘I have become an encumbrance to him ... a reminder.’

  Then she would be sunk in melancholy and she told them that her longing for Mortimer was more than she could endure.

  She wept a great deal.

  ‘It should have been so different,’ she said. ‘If I could but see my son ...’

  But Edward did not come near her. He was trying to find the murderers of his father. They had all esc
aped overseas but that did not mean they would not be found and brought back to justice. Then the questioning would start. She shuddered.

  ‘Let be, let be,’ she said. ‘It is past and done with.’

  That, she remembered, was what Mortimer had always said. And now he—the brave, the strong, the virile—the one being she had truly loved in the whole of her life—was past and done wi th.

  The months went by. She did not see her son, nor his Queen and her child.

  ‘One day,’ she said, ‘he will come. He will never desert his mother completely.’

  There were days when she was well but her attendants never knew when the frenzy would come upon her or the madness return.

  Sometimes they heard ghostly footsteps in the night.

  ‘It is Queen Isabella wandering through the castle,’ they said. ‘Her madness is coming upon her again.’

  THE MARRIAGE OF ELEANOR

  EDWARD was in a quandary. He had discovered the names of the men he suspected of murdering his father. William Ogle, he believed, had actually done the deed. When Edward considered that he felt sick with horror and his temper which he had inherited from his ancestors was ready to break out into fury, which it certainly would if he ever laid hands on Ogle. Nothing would be too bad for that man to suffer. ‘And by God, he shall suffer,’ vowed Edward.

  There were others concerned. Sir John de Maltravers was one, Sir Thomas Gurney another. They had fled to the Continent the day after the murder, which was surely an admission of their guilt.

  They shall be found, Edward promised himself, and when they are my father shall be avenged.

  But these guilty men had disappeared. Mortimer had paid the price for his sins and Queen Isabella was living in Castle Rising from which she could not emerge without his consent. He had heard that her melancholy was so great that she was subject to fits of madness.

  A just retribution, he thought. But she is my mother and it is not for me to add to her miseries. Her sins have created for her a hell on earth and it is for her to inhabit it.

  Meanwhile there were domestic problems. He wanted his sister Eleanor to take up residence with Philippa.

  Among all the evil things that had happened the brightness in his life came from his Queen and his child.

  Little Edward was progressing well and proving himself to be the most beautiful and intelligent boy that ever lived. Philippa was a happy wife and mother and whenever the King felt in need of comfort he went to her. He found her delighting in a letter from the Court of Hainault. She had always been devoted to her family and there was a constant exchange of letters between the two Courts, so Philippa was kept informed of the family’s health, excitement and sorrows.

  ‘She writes so vividly,’ said Philippa. ‘When I read my mother’s letters it is like being at home.’

  This time she was more than usually excited. ‘Such good news, Edward. My mother wants to visit us.’

  ‘That will be wonderful for you.’

  ‘Of course I tell her how happy I am, how wonderful you are to me and how ideally suited we are.’

  ‘I’ll warrant you also write of your son’s perfections.’ ‘She will naturally want to hear of Edward.’

  ‘What has the young rogue been doing of late ?’

  ‘Screaming now and then to attract my attention. Continuing to scream if the nurse picks him up because he wants his mother.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ said Edward fondly.

  ‘He knows exactly what is going on.’

  ‘I am sure he knows all about the trouble with the Scots and the French and all our other affairs.’

  Philippa noticed the sadness which crept into his voice, and she guessed he was thinking of his mother.

  She said quickly: ‘All declare there is something really wonderful about little Edward. He grows more like you every day.’

  ‘Then it would appear that he is well on the way to becoming a paragon of all the virtues ... in his mother’s eyes at least. Now tell me more of these suggested visits.’

  ‘She wants to see for herself.’

  ‘Then we must make grand preparations for her.’

  ‘Oh Edward, how good you are to me!’

  He smiled a little grimly. The festivities would be paid for out of the money she had brought into the country. The exchequer was low. When was it not? They were an extravagant family, these Plantagenets. Some spent on themselves and their families like Henry the Third, some on their favourites like Edward. Some on wars like his grandfather. He himself was not averse to a certain extravagance in dress. In fact he liked it very much. A king, after all, must appear in royal splendour to please his subjects and to impress his enemies—otherwise people would begin to wonder whether he was indeed a king.

  ‘We must make a really rich show for her. Your father will not travel with her, I suppose?’

  ‘He could not leave Hainault. Isabella will stay with him. She is the only one of us who is unmarried.’

  ‘I doubt she will remain so for long.’

  ‘It must be lonely for her ... with us all gone away. First me to you and then Margaret to Emperor Louis of Bavaria and then Jeanne to the Court of Juliers. It must be so different now.’

  ‘Speaking of families reminds me. I want my sister Eleanor to come to you.’

  ‘To come to me? To stay, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, I want her to join your household. You see, Philippa, what has happened to our mother has been a shock to us all. I do not know how Eleanor feels, for I would not ask her. You are good and kind and sweet and I want you to take her under your care. I want you to comfort her.’

  Philippa’s eyes were gentle.

  ‘My dear Edward, you can rely on me to do everything I can to make her happy.’

  Edward regarded her with emotion.

  Did ever a man have so perfect a wife?

  * * *

  It was a great comfort to the Princess Eleanor to join the household of her sister-in-law. Philippa welcomed her warmly and the friendly homely atmosphere which the Queen had brought to her Court was just what Eleanor needed at this time.

  There had been so many shocks in her life. She had quickly learned that her parents were at war with each other. She had heard whispers which she did not understand about the Despensers. She remembered seeing a swinging body on a rope and she and Joanna had huddled together afraid to look out of their window and yet unable to stop themselves although they knew that their dreams would be haunted by that sight for a long time to come. Then her father had disappeared and her mother had come from France with the Earl of March; afterwards her father had died and then, most frightening of all, Joanna had been taken away from her and married to the Prince of Scotland. She had never really recovered from that shock for she and Joanna had always been together until then. They had shared the same household. The Lady Isabella de Valence had been their guardian and Johanette Jermyn their governess, while John de Tresk had looked after their wardrobe. They had been a happy household and then gradually she had noticed an apprehension descend upon them. In those early days she had never thought of life without Joanna, and then suddenly her sister was whisked away. Poor sad little Joanna, who had been so frightened and clung to her at night and declared she would never never go. But the day had come and they had all travelled up to Scotland—except Edward. He would not come and people said it was because he did not like Joanna’s being sent away.

  And ever since Eleanor had realized that she might have been the one to be sent into that cold harsh country to live among strangers, away from her home, from Edward, Philippa, Lady de Valence and the rest. They might have allowed Johanette to go with her but after a while princesses’ countrymen and women were always sent home. Philippa’s had been but that was not important for Philippa had Edward and that was what she wanted; and now they had the dear little baby.

  It was a joyful day for Eleanor when she heard that instead of being sent away to some foreign land she was to go into the Queen’s household.
This was balm; it would almost make up for the loss of Joanna; and it was Philippa’s intention that it should.

  There was the baby to be admired, for Philippa did not behave in the least as Eleanor’s mother had. Eleanor had rarely seen Queen Isabella during her childhood and when she did there was so much to be remembered—curtseying in the correct manner, giving the right answers to the questions which were directed at her, and although few were she had always to be ready in case they might be. Philippa was quite different. She liked to sit with her baby in her lap with Eleanor on a stool while they talked of him and to him and marvelled at him.

  Eleanor wished that Joanna could have been there so that she could have enjoyed this life before being taken away to Scotland.

  Philippa did a great deal to soothe Eleanor’s fears. She was sure, she said, that when Eleanor married it would be someone she loved as she, Philippa, loved Edward. Philippa never tired of telling of the romantic way in which Edward had come to her father’s Court and how the four girls had liked him so much but that there was something special between her and Edward, and she told of how frightened she had been that she might not be the chosen one.

  In time Eleanor’s dreams ceased to be haunted by disaster. The days were pleasant. She saw more of Edward than she ever had before and she thought she was indeed lucky to have such a brother and a new sister who was good and kind and who helped her to understand what was expected of her.

  The great excitement now was the coming of the Countess of Hainault. Philippa had not seen her mother since her marriage; her excitement was infectious and Eleanor was caught up in it.

  Edward joined them and they excitedly discussed the arrangements for the entertainments they would give. Edward was determined that all due honour should be paid to the mother of his Queen. He loved to joust for he excelled at the sport. His long arms and legs gave him an advantage and since the death of Mortimer and retirement of his mother an aura of kingship had settled on him. Each day he grew more and more like his grandfather but he loved splendour far more than Edward the First ever had. Edward certainly liked to show off his handsome looks and figure with fine clothes and to appear before his people as a champion; but it was an understandable vanity and the people enjoyed it.