by Jean Plaidy
* * *
Joan of Kent had returned to Court, a widow. Her husband, Thomas Holland, had just died in Normandy where he had been on the King’s service, so there was nothing for Joan to do but return with her children to England.
Her arrival coincided with that of the Prince of Wales who had just returned from France whither he had been escorting King Jean.
The Prince appeared very pleased to see his cousin again. She was no longer young being thirty-three years old and the mother of three children but as soon as she returned to England he sent a silver beaker to remind her of him; and with it was a note welcoming his Cousin Jeanette back to England.
Joan was equally pleased to see him. She had found Thomas Holland a satisfactory husband and had been physically attracted to him but in her youth her secret ambition had been to marry the Prince of Wales.
It seemed strange to her that he had never married for she was sure some pressure to do so must have been brought on him. But Edward and Philippa had ever—contrary to royal custom—concerned themselves with the happiness of their children. And doubtless Edward had been firm in his inclination not to marry. Moreover there were other sons so the matter was not as pressing as it would otherwise have been.
Joan had no intention of remaining a widow and having married a man considered to be far beneath her socially she was now determined to pick the highest in the land. She had always been wily and if she was slightly less beautiful than she had been in her youth she made up for that by an increased astuteness.
She contrived to put herself in the Prince’s path and as he made no effort to evade her they were together often. He was two years younger than she was and to her dismay he seemed to have made up his mind that he would never marry. She was hurt and angry when he talked to her of the possibility of her doing so.
‘Oh, I shall not marry again,’ she answered and added untruthfully, ‘I have no wish to.’
‘Holland is so recently dead,’ replied the Prince. ‘You will change your mind later, I swear it.’
‘You do not know me, cousin,’ she answered.
‘Dear Jeanette, there are few I know better. We have grown up together.’
That was the trouble, she thought. He saw her as his cousin, the companion of nursery days. He was such a strange man. It was true that no one could understand what he really felt.
Still she was going to show him. He was not indifferent to women and clearly he liked her company. She was handsome enough still to be known as the Fair Maid of Kent. If she had grown a little plump it was becomingly so. She had always been the most beautiful woman at Court and refused to believe that she had moved in the slightest degree from that position.
Matters came to a head when Sir Bernard de Brocas, a very worthy and wealthy knight of Gascony, asked the King’s permission to marry her.
The King talked over the matter with the Prince because he knew of the friendliness between his son and Joan.
‘A good match,’ said the King. ‘Sir Bernard has served me well and I should like to reward him. The marriage would be a great one for him. She will bring him the family estates and I shall feel that I have rewarded him for his good service.’
The Prince nodded. As the only surviving member of her family the Kent title and estates had come to her. She was indeed a great heiress.
‘Of course,’ said the Prince, ‘she is a widow and will doubtless wish to have her say.’
‘We may trust Joan for that,’ replied Edward. ‘But it shall be known that I am agreeable to the match and it is only for her to agree to it. Perhaps, my son, you would speak to her and tell her my wishes.’
The Prince said he would do so and at the earliest opportunity sought out Joan.
He asked if he might speak to her in private.
Her heart was beginning to beat so wildly that she wondered if he would be aware of her excitement. Was this the moment? Had he at last made up his mind?
‘You are a widow, Jeanette,’ he said, ‘rich and by no means old. My father thinks you should marry again.’
She dared not look at him but she said quietly : ‘And you, Cousin. What think you?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I think you should.’
She closed her eyes. Her dream was coming true. He was going to suggest marriage. Princess of Wales, Queen in the not too far future.
‘As a matter of fact there has been an offer for you.’ ‘An ... offer I ‘
‘Sir Bernard de Brocas loves you dearly. He has spoken to the King.’
She stared at him blankly, angrily.
‘And the King,’ she said shortly, ‘what says he?’
‘He says that he would wish to reward Sir Bernard and this would be a way of doing so.’
‘So ... I am to be a ... reward! ‘
‘You are an excellent match, Cousin.’
‘My family’s estates, yes. A good reward for a faithful servant.’
‘And you are very beautiful, Cousin.’
‘I had not thought you had noticed.’
‘You know full well how much I admire you.’
‘You have never deemed it fitting to tell me so.’
‘Why should I tell you what you know already?’
‘The answer is that I should have liked to hear it.’
‘Well then, ‘tis so, Cousin. I repeat you are a beautiful woman and a rich one. But I do not believe it is your estates alone that he considers. What is your answer?’
‘What would you have me do?’ she asked almost plaintively.
‘I would have you consider the offer.’
‘Then let me tell you this,’ she said. ‘I shall never marry again.’
He was surprised. ‘You do not mean that,’ he protested. ‘You are too young ... too beautiful to remain unmarried. I know that you have had many suitors.’
‘None that I would take,’ she said. ‘I hope the King does not plan to force me into this.’
‘Indeed he would not. He would only advise you.’
She turned to him and lifting her beautiful eyes to his cried: ‘You advise me.’
He took her hand and held it fast. ‘Sir Bernard de Brocas is a very worthy knight,’ he said.
‘Stop it! ‘ she cried. ‘Don’t say it. I will not listen.’ Then she sat on a stool and covered her face with her hands.
He stared down at her in amazement; then he knelt down beside her and drew her hands away from her face. Her eyes were feverish with excitement.
‘Dearest Jeanette, what is wrong with you? You must know that de Brocas is one of the most chivalrous knights in my father’s service.’
‘I will never marry him ... as long as I live. I cannot because ...’
‘You are in love with someone else!’ cried the Prince.
She did not deny it. She cried out: ‘You tell me Bernard de Brocas is a chivalrous knight. I am in love with the most chivalrous knight in the world. How can you ask me to take something less.’
‘Then perhaps ...’
She shook her head. ‘Nay,’ she said. ‘I cannot marry this man so I shall take no other.’
‘He has made you unhappy ... this knight. That does not seem to me a chivalrous act.’
She smiled wanly. ‘Nay, he knows not the extent of my love for him. It has ever been so and he unaware of it.’
‘Tell me his name.’
‘You know it well.’
He stood up and she rose and stood beside him.
‘I could never bring myself to tell you,’ she said.
‘Jeanette,’ he said, ‘you shall tell me. I must know. I want to do everything I can to make you happy.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, Edward, surely you know. Is it not clear? Who is the most chivalrous knight in the world? Who was the companion of my childhood? Whom did I love always? Surely you know.’
He looked at her incredulously.
‘The Black Prince,’ she said. ‘There has never been one to compare with him nor ever shall be and as I will take only the best I
shall remain unmarried all the rest of my life.’
He continued to stare at her and the joy suddenly showed in his face. She had made up his mind for him. Jeanette! Of course it was Jeanette. The most beautiful woman at Court. She was the one he had been waiting for.
He kissed her hands fervently.
‘So all the time ... I was the one ...’
‘All the time,’ she said fervently. ‘Since I was small and you were small ... Even then it was only you.’
‘Yet you married Holland.’
‘Because I despaired. I would not take Salisbury whom I disliked. I thought it was no use waiting for you. There now, I have betrayed myself and you will despise me.’
‘I vow to God,’ said the Prince earnestly, ‘that I will not take any to be my wife but you—my dearest cousin, my Jeanette.’
She was triumphant. Why had she not done this before? It was so easy. This strange man whose thoughts were so wrapped up in military glory had only needed a woman to make up his mind for him.
She was alert to danger. What would the King and Queen say to the proposed match? Before she had married Thomas Holland they would have agreed to it; but she was no longer a favourite of the Queen. Philippa had not approved of the somewhat shady match with Holland when Joan had disclosed that she had already lived with him as his wife while pretend- ing she was going to marry Salisbury. Moreover Philippa had noticed the King’s eyes on the beauty. There was that incident of the garter. Philippa would not want her eldest son to marry a scheming woman. And the King. How could he feel about accepting as his daughter-in-law a woman whom he had once desired—for Joan knew well enough that he had and because he was the King she had given him several promising glances knowing full well that the high moral code he set upon himself would prevent their relationship straying beyond the boundary of flirtation.
They would both regard her as something of an adventuress and that was not the woman they would want as future Queen of England.
They would want someone like Philippa—stern, always aware of her duty.
And how determined was Edward? A short while ago he had been ready to offer her to Bernard de Brocas.
‘My dearest Edward,’ she said quickly. ‘I am bewildered by my happiness. So precious are you to me, for I have waited all these years never believing that my dreams would be fulfilled, that now I am afraid.’
‘You must never be afraid of anything with me beside you.’ ‘I am afraid they will try to stop our marriage.’
‘Nay, they never would.’
‘To please me, Edward. Do not tell anyone yet ... not until we have made our plans. Not until we can go to the King and tell him that we are set for marriage, that the plans are made and there can be no delay.’
To humour her, he agreed.
* * *
When Edward and Philippa heard that the Black Prince was going to marry Joan of Kent they were dismayed.
‘A widow ‘ cried the King. ‘A woman older than yourself.’
‘By two years,’ replied the Prince, ‘and I am not too old to beget sons, nor is she.’
‘The relationship is very close,’ put in Philippa.
‘I have already sent to Rome for a dispensation,’ answered the Prince. ‘There will be no difficulty in acquiring it, I am sure.’
Philippa was thinking: Will he be happy with her? It had really been disgraceful the manner in which she had pretended to be unmarried when all the time she had lived with Holland. Philippa would have liked her son to marry a gentle young virgin, someone who looked up to him and adored him—not an experienced woman, older than himself, full of wiles and who had already borne three children.
As for the King he thought: She will be a disturbing daughter-in-law ... She made him uneasy. There was flaunting sexuality about her, a quality which bothered him in women even more so than in the past. Philippa had aged more quickly than he had and she was so fat that she could not move about without difficulty. As he was getting older temptation came more often. No, he did not want a woman like Joan of Kent in the family.
But both of them saw that the Black Prince, after holding back for so long, was now all eagerness and was going to conduct his marriage like a military campaign. It was clear that nothing was going to deter him. He was no longer a boy and it appeared that he must have been waiting for his cousin as before he had shown clearly his lack of desire to marry and settle down.
Edward and Philippa discussed the matter together and they both agreed that they must accept the marriage.
News came from Rome that the dispensation was granted and would be sent to England. However, the Prince and Joan decided that they could not wait for it.
They were married in the Chapel at Windsor. The King was not present. Somehow he could not bring himself to see his son marry a woman who aroused such desires in himself. He felt too uneasy and it was better for him to stay away.
Joan guessed the real reason but she was content to let it be believed that the King was not entirely pleased with the marriage. What care I for that! she thought. Poor old Edward! He looked magnificent still, of course, but he was ageing a little. There was a good deal of white in the once golden hair. He was a little jealous of his son for having chosen such a voluptuous bride. She knew it, and she could understand it. Pious old Philippa was scarcely a siren these days.
They left Court soon after the ceremony for one of the Prince’s residences in Berkhamstead and as the King had granted his son all his dominions in Aquitaine and Gascony, the newly married pair left England and in a short time had set up a splendid Court which was sometimes in Aquitaine but more often in Bordeaux.
The whole family rejoiced when in due course, Joan gave birth to a son. He was called Edward, which seemed appropriate as he was in direct line to the throne.
ISABELLA AND DE COUCY
BEFORE the birth of the Black Prince’s son, a tragedy had struck the family and it was one from which Philippa never recovered.
Now that her sons were moving away from her which was inevitable she was more and more in the company of her daughters. Isabella was like a queen in her own right and gave herself more airs than ever Philippa had. Philippa knew that the King was largely responsible for the behaviour of this overbearing daughter but the older he grew the more dotingly fond he became.
Margaret was married and was the Countess of Pembroke but she was too young to live with her husband and remained in her mother’s care.
Mary was older and wished to marry the Duke of Brittany to whom shehad long been betrothed. Edward had however delayed the marriage becauseof the uncertainty of the bridegroom’s position; but now, as the young people were eager for the match, he decided that it should take place.
So now both her daughters were married. The only one who was not was Isabella and she was twelve years older than Mary. Isabella it seemed would remain unmarried but she and Philippa had never been as close as the others; and Philippa knew that she must resign herself to parting with her daughters in due course.
She did not realize how soon and how tragically.
She had noticed for some weeks that Margaret seemed lethargic. She slept a great deal even during the day and seemed unable to rouse herself.
One morning Philippa’s women came to her in some distress and said that Margaret’s attendants were dismayed as they could not arouse her. Philippa, who had known for some time that there was something wrong with her daughter, went uneasily to her apartments where she found Margaret lying on her bed looking very tired.
‘What is it, my dearest?’ asked Philippa. ‘Are you feeling ill?’
‘Only tired, my lady. Very tired.’
‘Come, let me help you dress.’
Philippa tried to lift her daughter but Margaret fell back on to her pillows.
‘I beg you, dear Mother, let me stay as I am. I cannot get up. I am so very tired.’
In dismay Philippa sent for the doctors. They did not know what ailed Margaret but as the day passed she sank i
nto a deep sleep.
‘Let her rest,’ said the doctors. ‘Then she may recover from her exhaustion.’
But Margaret did not recover. Quietly she slipped away from life.
Philippa was stunned. She had thought her daughter had been merely tired. It was not possible that she could be dead.
But she was. It was some disease which had never before been heard of; and it seemed it was fatal.
Philippa wept and shut herself away. If Margaret had been ailing she could have been prepared. But she had been so happy. She had loved her young husband dearly and he her. Poor boy. He was heart-broken; he came to Philippa and sobbed at her feet. She did her best to comfort him but it was useless.
It seemed as though the hand of God was against her for a few weeks after Margaret’s death Mary was struck with the same disease.
This time they were prepared for it and when the drowsiness attacked a second daughter Philippa and Edward had every physician of standing to come to their daughter.
It was no use. No one had any idea what the mysterious illness was and there was nothing to be done but watch the young girl’s strength slowly ebb away.
In a few weeks Mary was dead.
Philippa, completely stricken, seemed to have lost interest in life.
There was deep mourning throughout the Court and the two young husbands vowed they would never marry again.
Philippa tried to assuage her misery by having a fine tomb erected in the monastery of Abingdon and there the bodies of her two daughters were laid side by side.
* * *
Isabella was now the only living daughter. She was treated with the greatest respect and indulgence but she began to feel that she was missing a great deal in life. It was her own wish that she had remained unmarried for she had as shamelessly jilted Bernard Ezi as Louis of Flanders had jilted her.
She could congratulate herself on her escape from Louis but she had decided that perhaps she should marry after all.
When the King of France had returned to his country escorted by Edward, Isabella had been a member of the party and among the company was the Lord de Coucy who distinguished himself by his extraordinary good looks and success in the jousts; he could sing and dance most elegantly and Isabella thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was seven years younger than she was but that did not prevent an attachment springing up between them.
