The Vow on the Heron

by Jean Plaidy

  The English would be quite unaware that they had left France until they were safe in Scotland.

  David was a little annoyed to realize that all the grand preparations were not for him. He would have liked to sail home surrounded by the might of the French navy. The English would then have determined to intercept. He was vain and arrogant but he was not a coward and he would have looked forward to such an encounter.

  Joanna saw the wisdom of what the French King had arranged, and on the first day of June they set sail.

  Their journey was uneventful and they arrived on the second day of June at Inverbervie, a small harbour in Kincardineshire.

  Although their landing was scarcely noticed, when the Scots heard that David the Bruce, their rightful King, had come back to Scotland, they went wild with joy.

  Now they would turn the English out of their country for ever.

  * * *

  David and his Queen were brought in triumph to Edinburgh. He found that the weakness of Baliol and his subservience to England had aroused the spirit of those men who longed to see a return of the strong rule of Robert the Bruce. There was a handful of men who were great fighters and had to a large extent the quality of leadership; these were rallying round the young King. There was Sir William Douglas, the Knight of Liddesdale, Robert the Steward, Murray of Bothwell and Randolph; and the determination of all these men was to rid Scotland of English domination. The fact that Edward had determined to make a bid for the crown of France had inspired them with greater hope than they had known since the death of Robert the Bruce.

  The help they had received from France had been an inspiration. They were grateful to Philip for the hospitality he had shown to their king although they were of course aware of the reason for this.

  They were stirring days in Scotland which followed the return of the King.

  It might have been that they were a little disturbed to note his Frenchified manners. He loved fine clothes—such as were never seen in Scotland. His manners were French; he had developed a love of luxury and young as he was indulged with a freedom and abandon in his light affairs which was, they believed, a reflection of French customs. They were sorry for the young Queen, but she was after all English and the sister of King Edward, and no doubt she had other matters with which to concern herself than her husband’s infidelities.

  Success followed success, castle after castle was recaptured in the name of the King and David was complacent, and as he had not yet been called upon to take part in any really serious battles his lack of judgement was not obvious.

  He was surrounded by strong men and there seemed little doubt that victory was in the air.

  It was hardly likely that Edward would allow matters to go on in this way.

  * * *

  Edward and Philippa determined that that Christmas should be a memorable one.

  ‘We have promised it to the children,’ said Edward. ‘Isabella was insistent that we all spend it together.’

  ‘And,’ added Philippa, ‘last Christmas poor little Joanna was in Austria.’

  ‘Well, there shall certainly be revelry this Christmas, otherwise I shall be in trouble with our daughter.’

  ‘Not too much indulgence, Edward, I beg of you.’

  ‘Oh, they are young yet. Let them be happy while they can. It will be necessary to arrange marriages for them soon. That is something I cannot relish.’

  The plans began to be carried out and there was a great deal of excitement in the Princesses’ apartments. Joanna was embroidering gifts for her family—a pastime in which she delighted and she knew that her parents appreciated what she did. There were purses for them both decorated with dragons and birds, worked with exquisitely coloured silks. Isabella was not inclined to do such work; she sent her treasurer to buy gifts for her parents. They revelled in their new gowns—scarlet and purple scattered with pearls. They would wear their hair hanging down their backs because that was how their father liked it. They had surcoats of fine cloth of gold with patterns of birds and beasts on them; and beneath these they would wear a close-fitting gown of very fine material. Isabella loved to try on her gowns and indeed she had a great admiration for herself. As for Joanna she was so happy to be home that she was ready to laugh at everything—even Isabel- la’s vanity and her determination to have the best whenever there should happen to be a choice.

  Never mind. This was Christmas in the palace of the Tower and a rare occasion because for once the entire family were all altogether.

  Philippa was contented to be with her children and she was expecting another in June. She had a fine family and she was proud of it. One of the joys of her life had been her ability to give Edward these children whom he so dearly loved.

  Perhaps some women would have been jealous of his devotion to them. Not Philippa. She rejoiced in it.

  So it was indeed a happy Christmas. Edward had summoned the most talented of his minstrels, a man named Godenal who was famous throughout the Court for his music, his singing, his mimicry and his ability to amuse.

  The pleasure of the children was a joy to behold, even young Edward joined in and they remarked afterwards that he was growing up fast and none would believe that he was only eleven years old.

  I could die tomorrow, thought the King, and I should have a worthy successor.

  But he had no intention of dying. There was so much he must do. More children to have. He was a man who could not have too many children. The more he had the more dear they would become to him. He hoped this one was a little girl. They had Edward, Lionel and John; and little girls were so enchanting.

  Isabella was now nestling up to him and he drew Joanna close lest she should think he favoured her sister more than he did her, which perhaps he did, but he loved them both dearly.

  Godenal’s performance was greeted with great joy by the children and the King whispered to them that they should reward the minstrel with a present.

  ‘Six shillings and eightpence from each of you I believe would be adequate,’ he said.

  He smiled benignly as the children gravely paid the minstrel for his services.

  That was a happy Christmas. but soon after came news from Scotland which was disturbing.

  Edward realized that there was no help for it. It was no use leaving others to deal with the Scots. He must go and do so himself.

  He reflected sadly that the last time he had gone his chief companion had been William Montacute Earl of Salisbury. Poor William, still languishing in a French prison! He had made several attempts to bring about his release. but Philip must know how great his friendship was for the Earl and he was determined to demand a great deal for his release.

  Whatever it was, it must be paid.

  But Philip was dilatory. After all, why should he put himself out to please the King of England?

  After Christmas it was necessary to say good-bye to the children. They would remain in the palace of the Tower until the Queen left for Langley where she had decided she would go for her next confinement.

  Edward in the meantime must busy himself with getting an army together to march on Scotland.

  In June at Langley, Philippa’s child was born. Another boy—healthy and with as good a pair of lungs as any of his brothers possessed. He was named Edmund.

  * * *

  Edward marched north and was encamped at Berwick. The months passed with neither side making much progress. Edward was prepared to make a big onslaught after Christmas and in the great fortress of Berwick his thoughts went back to the happy Christmas he had spent with his family the previous year. How different in Berwick! He was determined to settle the Scots; but then of course he had the French matter to deal with.

  Philippa would like him to stay in England, to govern that country well and forget Scotland and France. But Philippa was a woman, devoted to her home. He thought of her as she had been when he had first met her in her father’s castle of Hainault and what a happy domesticated atmosphere there had been there.

 
The old Count had not been ambitious—neither had his wife albeit she was a daughter of a King of France. Dear Philippa—rosy-cheeked, strong, plump, born to be a wife and mother.

  And, by God, he thought, where could I have found another such as she has been to me? I have been singularly blessed in my marriage.

  Often he thought of his mother who was now living in some luxury at Castle Rising but he rarely visited her. He found that too depressing, but when he did so, he gathered that her lapses into mental confusion were less frequent and that although she was not at Court she lived royally. When he had been with her he had been surprised at the plenteous and expensive foods on her table. Swans, turbot, lampreys and other delicacies abounded. She said that the people of the neighbourhood delighted in giving her presents. They were so pleased to have a Queen in their midst.

  He wondered if she ever thought of Mortimer, that lover to whom she had been so passionately devoted, or of his father and did he still come to haunt her dreams?

  He would go to see her when he left the North. She was after all his mother.

  One of the guards came to tell him that a young man had ridden to the camp and was begging to be allowed to see him. ‘What young man is this?’ demanded the King.

  ‘Scarcely more than a boy, my lord. He said he comes from the Castle of Wark which is under heavy siege by the Scots. He has come to beg your help.’

  ‘Wark. Why that is Salisbury’s place. Bring him to me without delay.’

  The boy was brought. He had a look of his father. Edward was concerned to see him so distressed.

  ‘My lord,’ stammered the boy, ‘we need your help. My mother and I have tried to hold the castle and have done so. We cannot hold out much longer. I fear they may take my mother as a hostage.’

  ‘You may be sure,’ said Edward, ‘that I shall drive the Scots away and save your mother from falling into their hands. There is no time to lose.’

  * * *

  Catharine Montacute, Countess of Salisbury, deeply mourned the absence of her husband. Theirs had been an unusually happy marriage but like all wives she had had to accept the fact that there would be times when they were separated. William had long been in the service of the King and although she herself had never met Edward she felt she knew him well from William’s talk of him.

  There was a bond between Edward and William. They were both happily married—rare in their circle where marriages were often made in the cradle which was likely to result in certain resentments as young people grew up and found they had no choice in whom they should marry.

  How fortunate she had been.

  As Catharine Grandison, daughter of the first Baron Grandison, she had been considered a suitable wife for the eldest son of the second Baron Montacute. William was a man of great charm and Catharine would have been guilty of false modesty if she had not admitted to being a beauty. In fact wherever she went her exceptional good looks aroused attention. She was not only a beautiful woman, she was wise, possessed dignity, courage and a lack of vanity which in one so gifted was particularly admirable.

  Their union had been blessed with several children, two of whom were sons, William and John. William the eldest at this time was almost fourteen years old.

  Her husband had gone far in the King’s service for Edward had taken a fancy to him from the first and when he was little more than a boy it was William whom he had taken into his confidence when he had realized he must rid the country of Mortimer.

  It was William who had found a way into Nottingham Castle and had been present at the arrest of Mortimer. The boy King had looked to the older man for friendship and advice for William was almost eleven years older than he was. It had been a lasting friendship and a few years before Edward had shown his appreciation by creating him Earl of Salisbury. He had chosen William to go to France to state his claim to the French crown; and Catharine knew that Edward had been most distressed to hear of his capture.

  Nothing had gone right since that day. The possibility of what might be happening to him in some dark French prison haunted her dreams; every morning when she awoke her first thoughts were for him. She could only find consolation in taking charge of his castles and his affairs so that they should not suffer from his absence.

  Wark Castle was on the south bank of the Tweed and being immediately on the border between England and Scotland could scarcely be in a more vulnerable position. So far it had been too formidable a fortress to have come under attack; and it probably never would have if Catharine’s brother-in-law, Edward Montacute, had not disconcerted the Scots by getting the better of them after one of their raids on English territory.

  Since the return of David the Bruce these forays were becoming more frequent. The Scots were particularly suited to this kind of warfare, travelling as they did on small sure-footed horses very different from the magnificent creatures which the English rode into battle; but they were very well suited to the rough country. Each man carried a small griddle and a bag of oatmeal so that he could feed himself for long periods at a stretch even if he could not augment this with the spoils snatched from the villages which they ransacked. It gave them a great advantage. They could lie low for days unhindered by the need to look for food. And there was no doubt that these raids were having a great effect on the English inhabitants. They never knew when they would occur; Catharine realized that in the past many of them had made pacts with the Scots simply because they could not bear to go on living in uncertainty.

  When recently there had been a big Scottish raid on Durham and Edward Montacute had had warning of this, he had taken a band of men from Wark Castle and lain in wait for the enemy. The Scots came to rest in a wood; they were weary with travelling; and they had brought with them the valuable articles which they had stolen from the town.

  While they were sleeping, Edward Montacute and his men suddenly appeared among them, taking them completely off their guard. It had been a successful raid. Two hundred Scots were killed for the loss of one or two English and Montacute rode back to Wark with twelve horses laden with Durham spoils.

  It was hardly to be supposed that the Scots would forgive such an attack.

  A few days passed. Nothing happened and Edward Montacute was called away on the King’s business. Two days after he had gone the Scottish army arrived at Wark and were at this time camped in the surrounding fields.

  The siege had begun.

  Catharine was determined to hold the castle for her husband, but although after the raid she had made certain preparations, she soon began to see that she was in a vulnerable position.

  She needed help. The King was in the neighbourhood. When she had last heard he had been in Berwick; and in fact that was the town which he had always made his headquarters. If she could get a message to him she was sure he would send help.

  Her eldest son was eager to see if he could break out of the castle but she was reluctant to allow him to try. Young William however had strong determination and she rather feared that if she forbade him to go he would all the same. He had his father’s spirit and was determined to break out and get help. He had heard that there were jokes being circulated in the Scottish camp about his mother. It was being said that she—so far-famed for her beauty—would be more of a prize than the castle. Their King David, who had an eye for women, would appreciate her; and the fact that her reputation for virtue was as great as that for beauty would make the matter doubly amusing.

  Young William had made up his mind and at night under cover of darkness, knowing the secret doors and passage ways of the castle, he managed to escape unseen. It was not difficult to acquire a horse, for those in the neighbourhood had benefited often from the goodness of the countess and were ready to help. Very soon he was on his way to Berwick.

  * * *

  Riding at the head of his army Edward saw the grim towers of Wark in the distance. He thought it would be a simple matter to rout the Scots. And when he returned to Westminster he would renew his attempts to get William Montac
ute released.

  In the meantime there was the Countess to think of. Edward knew how William loved his wife. They had compared their wives so often. Two virtuous women, two women who loved them. He would rescue Catharine Montacute for William. Edward laughed aloud when the Scottish camps came into sight. Enough to frighten a lady alone in a castle perhaps. He would make short work of them. One of his men suggested that they rest before the attack but Edward would hear nothing of that.

  ‘There is a lady waiting eagerly to be released,’ he said. ‘It would be churlish to let her remain so one second longer than is necessary.’

  So the attack began and as Edward had anticipated it did not last long. The English were vastly superior in arms and numbers, and in a short time the Scots had been routed and were flying in disorder.

  Seeing the approach of the English, Catharine’s first impulse was to give thanks to God. So her son had made his way to the King for there fluttering in the breeze was the royal standard so she knew who her deliverer was.

  The relief was intense. The Scots would have no chance against him. Briefly she let herself think of what might have happened to her. The humiliation of being taken prisoner by the uncouth Scots. She had heard rumours of the King’s profligate ways; she knew that there had been obscene talk about her in the Scottish ranks and in her heart that was what she had feared more than anything, although until now when release seemed certain she had not allowed herself to think about it.

  The King would be victorious. So certain was she of this that she went to the kitchens and told them to prepare what food was left and do their very best for she believed that before the end of the day the King would be eating at their table.

  They must wear their best livery. They must make a brave show. They were no longer the besieged. There must be adequate celebration of victory.

  She went to her bedchamber and commanded her women to bring out her finest garments. Her hair was combed and displayed in all its rippling golden glory, her close-fitting jacket of golden-coloured velvet revealed her small elegant waist and over it she wore her spangled surcoat with its fashionable long hanging sleeves.