by Jean Plaidy
But when their brother came to their apartments he was immediately attracted to Joan and sat on a window seat with her talking and laughing where she behaved as though she greatly honoured him for allowing him to speak with her.
‘What airs she gives herself,’ said Isabella. ‘One would think she were a king’s daughter.’
Young Edward, however, seemed to find her very atractive and when they rode out it was true that she had three attendants—the Prince himself. William de Montacute and Thomas Holland.
There could be no doubt that Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, was a very fascinating creature.
There was a new arrival at the joust. He came straight to the King and when Edward saw him he was overcome with emotion.
‘William! ‘ he cried and embraced his friend.
The Earl of Salisbury said that he thought he should lose no time in presenting himself to his sovereign lord who, he knew, had made such efforts on his behalf.
‘I waited only to see my family and hearing that my son had already left for the joust I knew that you, my lord, would wish me to join you.’
‘You are welcome, William. It does me good to see you.’ The King hesitated. ‘Tell me, is the Countess with you?’
‘My lord, she begs your indulgence. An indisposition.’
‘Nothing serious?’
‘Nay, my lord. She assures me of that. But she felt unfit to make the journey.’
The King did not know whether he was bitterly disappointed or relieved. She had done the right thing he was sure—as her tact and discretion would always insist. He longed to see her and yet had she come it would have been embarrassing with her husband just returned from captivity and the gossip which he guessed existed although none would dare let it reach his ears.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘you must show yourself to the Queen. She has been greatly concerned about your imprisonment. Then you must let us know how you were treated. Not too ill, I would guess, by your looks.’
‘No. Philip gave instructions that I was to be well treated. But you know I have had to swear not to take up arms against him again.’
‘I know. It was part of the terms. We will talk of it later. Now let us go to the Queen.’
* * *
There had never been such a joust as this one.
It was January and there was a sharp frost in the air. The Queen with her daughters and her ladies seated in the gallery was a sparkling figure, her gown decorated with pearls and jewels, her velvet cloak edged with finest fur. The King beside her was in red velvet and the entire company glittered.
It was Edward himself who must be the brightest star. He must be the champion of the joust. None should surpass him; nor would it be easy to for he had made himself a master of the field.
The emphasis on this occasion was chivalry. As his grandfather had, he wanted to return to those days when knighthood meant chivalry. And nowhere was this more stressed than in the legendary tales of King Arthur and his Round Table. True knights he proclaimed must respect pity and defend all weaker than themselves and that meant a glorification of that sex which was said to be the weaker. Each knight liked to carry a lady’s favour into the fight. A true knight must believe in and defend the Church. He must show strict obedience to his overlord except where this could conflict against his duty to God. He must always fight the forces of evil.
Edward would wear the Queen’s favour and wear it ostentatiously so that all the whispers about him might be suppressed and he could convey to the company that it ill pleased him that there should be calumnies concerning his relationship with the Countess of Salisbury.
How the people cheered his victory! How he enjoyed riding round the field and coming to rest at the royal balcony and there making his bow to the Queen. Philippa, smiling tenderly, knew what this meant. Contrition. He might stray in his thoughts but she was his Queen, the mother of his children and he loved her dearly.
He kept the Earl of Salisbury by his side and it was clear that he considered him to be his very dear friend. This did not surprise William de Montacute because he had always considered himself to be very close to the King; they had shared so many adventures together, and it seemed natural that having so recently returned from captivity in the King’s service Edward should show his appreciation.
In due course William made his appearance in the lists. It may have been that he was weakened from his imprisonment but to the King’s dismay he was felled by his opponent.
A deep silence was on the assembly and many hurried forward to offer succour to the fallen Earl.
The King ordered that he should be carried into the castle and his own royal doctors should attend him. There was a strange tension in the air. It was not unusual for such accidents to happen on such occasions—and they could result in death—but that at this time the victim should be the Earl of Salisbury seemed somehow like an act of fate.
The Earl was not dead, but badly bruised and certain bones were broken.The doctors said that if he rested there was a faint hope that he might recover.
The King said: ‘He is not old’—he was in fact forty-three years of age— ‘certainly he will recover.’
It had been the most magnificent joust he remembered and his pleasure in it was increased because Philip of France was furious because many of his knights had attended it. Philip had endeavoured to have a similar entertainment at his Court at the same time—which had turned out to be a failure. This was inevitable because many of the French champions having been given safe conduct to Windsor had been present there.
‘But for Salisbury’s accident,’ he said to Philippa, ‘it would have been perfect.’
‘Poor man,’ replied the Queen. ‘Perhaps we should send for his wife.’
Edward did not meet her eye. ‘Oh that will not be necessary,’ he said quickly, ‘he will be about in a week or so ... none the worse for this. It was nothing but a fall.’
He really was contrite, thought Philippa. And he did not think Catharine should be here to tempt him. He was very young and guileless and she loved him dearly. She longed to comfort him, to ease his conscience and to tell him that she knew she lacked the fascination of women like Catharine of Salisbury and she understood his admiration and desire for them. He must not fret. She would love him the more because he had resisted temptation for her sake. Or was that true? Was it the high morals of the Countess which had saved him from infidelity or his own stern conscience? She did not know. Nor did she want to.
‘I am going to make this an annual occasion,’ said the King. ‘I shall send for carpenters and builders and I will build a round table at which two hundred may sit and it shall be here at Windsor in commemoration of this occasion.’
The Queen thought it would be an excellent idea. Chivalry should be encouraged. It was good to remind the people of those glorious legendary days of King Arthur when the task of the strong was to defend the weak.
‘Nothing but good can come of it,’ she declared.
The work was immediately set in progress and a great Round Tower was begun at Windsor.
The King threw himself into the project with enthusiasm, It was a joy to be able to plan something other than war. The Queen agreed with him. A truce with France, a truce with Scotland. It was a satisfactory state of affairs. There should be a Round Table once a year, declared the King; and he would command all knights to attend. No one else should set up a tournament while the Round Table was in progress, so that none could have an excuse for not attending.
The whole court was excited about the project. Then it was realized that the Earl of Salisbury’s injuries were more serious than had been realized.
He became very ill and in a few days died, as the doctors said, ‘from his bruises.’
* * *
So the beautiful Catharine was now a widow. Edward thought of her often and let himself imagine that now she was free she would not be breaking her marriage vows. But he knew in his heart that such was her moral code she would never be a partner in
adultery.
Philippa had become pregnant again and he spent a great deal of time with her. He could not remember a period in their lives when he had been able to be so frequently with his family.
He was so eager that Philippa should be well cared for and that she should not believe for one instant that his deepest concern was not for her.
It had occurred to him that if she died he might, now that Salisbury was dead, marry Catharine and he let himself wonder what the country’s reaction would be if he did. But to think of life without Philippa was intolerable. No, not for anything, would he want her not to be beside him. He did not forget for one moment what he owed to her and if some thought her simple then it must be the simplicity of wisdom for he had never known anyone so capable of being happy and making others happy as his Queen; and surely happiness was at the heart of success.
Perhaps that was no way for a king to think. But it was the truth.
Robert of Artois had been severely wounded in France and had been brought home to England to die. He was buried with much ceremony in St Paul’s and the King was deeply grieved. Robert had been dissatisfied from birth; he had always believed that fate was against him; he had been a stirrer up of trouble yet he had had great charm and the King had enjoyed his company. Edward often thought that but for Robert he would never have embarked on this immense task of taking the crown of France. Sometimes when he thought of it he could see warfare stretching on through the century bringing no definite conclusion. Many lives would be lost in the struggle and what would be the end? Success for England would mean a changing of crowns. Success for France retaining it.
This year he had remained in England. He had had his family around him and it had been one of the happiest and most prosperous years he had ever known.
October came. The Queen had retired to Waltham near Winchester there to await the birth of her child.
In due course the child arrived. There was great rejoicing for it was a healthy child and after the brief appearance and exit of little Blanche there had been certain apprehensions.
The King was delighted to have a daughter and the Queen rejoiced with him.
They christened her Mary.
It was a wonderful day when the rest of the children came to their mother’s bedchamber to inspect their new sister. Even two-year-old Edmund was there to gaze in wonder at the new baby. They now had seven healthy children and had lost only two—little William and Blanche.
It was a goodly tally, said Edward.
He was well content with his family and union with the Countess of Salisbury was just an impossible dream.
CRÈCY
PRINCE Edward was now almost a man. At fifteen he was tall, mature for his age, and was eager to show his father that he was a man.
Edward delighted in him. Dearly as he loved his daughters he must admit that everyone looked to his sons and at the head of them was Edward. He could be proud of them all: Lionel a big sturdy fellow; John—who was always called John of Gaunt even in England and was always ready to attract attention and give a good account of himself; and Edmund who was a baby yet, but growing up like the others. Yes, he was a lucky man to have such sons.
Events of course did not stand still. Edward believed that the best place to start the attack on France must come from the North. The nearer he was to England, the easier was it to get the necessary supplies. He had no intention of falling into that trap which had proved to be the disaster of many a commander. Victory in the hands and nothing to hold it, success quickly turning to wretched failure. No, Edward wanted an open way to transport behind him. Therefore it would be the North and he looked to the Flemings for help.
There was uneasy news from Jacob van Arteveldt.
The Flemings were restive. Prosperity was waning and they were now grumbling among themselves and accusing Jacob of not keeping his promises.
An idea had occurred to Edward. Why should not Flanders be made a Duchy and Prince Edward become its Duke? The more he thought of it, the more the idea appealed to him. With Flanders in his hands through his son as its Duke, he would be in a good position to attack France. He could imagine Philip’s rage and chagrin when he heard of such a fait accompli.
But first it had to be brought about. Jacob van Arteveldt was in agreement with Edward when the matter was broached with him and he assured Edward that he could win the support of the main towns whose consent would be necessary. He had brought the people of Flanders to his side with his eloquence and honesty and he could do so again for he sincerely believed that union with England was the best hope for Flanders.
Delighted Edward summoned his son and explained to him what he hoped for. Young Edward, eager to fight beside his father, was excited at the prospect. Indeed he was chafing against the delay in getting to France and wresting the crown from Philip and placing it where he believed it belonged, on his father’s head, and he knew that in time that should mean on his, too.
‘We must prepare to leave at once for Flanders,’ said the King, ‘but without too much noise. It should not be known what is in our minds until the Flemings send to us to welcome us into Flanders. We want no trouble from our enemies. I trust van Arteveldt with all my heart and he will let us know as soon as his countrymen are ready to receive us. My plan is to take very few men with us. We will ride quietly to Sandwich and there take ship. The Swallow will be waiting for us. But remember, my son, quiet is the word. I have told your mother and a few others, no more. Now prepare.’
Philippa had listened to the project with a certain apprehension. It meant that the peaceful months were at an end. Heartily as she wished that Edward would abandon his project for the conquest of France she said nothing; but a little sadly said good-bye to her husband and son, and on the last day of June the two Edwards set out on the journey for Sandwich.
The following day they embarked on the Swallow.
Jacob van Arteveldt, however, was finding it was not as easy as he had thought. When he had first arisen the citizens of the main Flanders towns—Bruges, Ghent and Ypres—had welcomed him as their saviour. He was one of them; he was a good honest workman, a man of ideals and the courage to present them; an honest man; a leader of stature. Perhaps he had been a little too hopeful. Perhaps he had set his dreams of prosperity too high. The fact remains that a great deal of what he had promised had not come to pass.
He talked to the people in market squares. They were dissatisfied with their Count who worked against them with the French but, they wanted to know, why should they exchange him for a foreigner, an English boy of whom they knew nothing? No, they would keep what they had. Who could say which might be the lesser of two evils?
Meanwhile Edward and his son remained on board the Swallow in Slays awaiting the call from van Arteveldt. It was long in coming but Edward was certain of Jacob’s influence with the people and he believed it would come in time. He had forgotten that it was a long time since he had been in Flanders and reputations such as that of Jacob van Arteveldt, acquired so hastily can evaporate with equal speed.
Jacob’s success in Ghent had aroused a great deal of envy among his fellow citizens. Who is this man who sets himself up to be our leader? they were asking. He is only one of us. What has he that we haven’t?
He was an excellent business man. He had acquired a small fortune. But who was he to dictate what Flanders should do?
Then the whispers came. He was working with the English. He wanted to depose the Count and set up the son of the King of England in his place. He wanted to choose their rulers. He was a traitor, wasn’t he?
When Jacob returned to Ghent they were waiting for him. He sensed their hostility immediately. He saw murderous looks directed in his direction so he made haste to his house and once there barricaded himself in.
It seemed that no sooner had he done this than the mob was at his door. He heard them shouting for him to come out and he knew that if they were determined they would, in time, break down his doors. It was an ugly mob.
; It was his eloquence which had won them in the first place so he would try it again. He went to the topmost window of his house and looked down on the crowd.
Some of them carried clubs and others had picked up whatever article they could find to act as a weapon. He realized that they hated him now as fiercely as they had once loved him. Such was the emotion of the mob.
He opened a window and called to them to let him speak. ‘My friends and countrymen,’ he cried, ‘will you listen to me ...’
But they could not hear him to great was the noise they made
‘Come down and face us, Jacob,’ they chanted. ‘We will show you what we will do with you.’
‘Have you not prospered of late?’ he shouted. ‘Have I not made it easier for you to sell your goods? Did I not arrange ...’
But he could see it was useless. They had not come to listen. They had come to destroy him.
Several of them were climbing up the side of the house. ‘I can bring you prosperity,’ he cried.
But they could not hear. They did not want prosperity at this moment. They only wanted to satisfy their lust for revenge on one of their own kind who had risen far above them, who had set out to be a leader and who made contracts with kings.
A hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He was half way out of the window. Other hands seized him and pulled him down to the ground.
They were trampling on him; they were kicking him. They were raining blows on him.
It has all been in vain, he thought.
And so he died.
* * *
Eagerly awaiting a message from Jacob van Arteveldt, making his preparations for his and his son’s entry into Ghent, Edward received the messenger.
He could not believe what he heard.
Van Arteveldt dead! Murdered by the people of Ghent. But he was a man who had done so much for Flanders. Murdered. It was impossible.
‘‘Tis so, my lord,’ replied the messenger and told the King how the people of Ghent had turned against Jacob because he wanted to set a foreign Prince over them and how they had clubbed him to death.
