The She-Wolf (The Accursed Kings, Book 5)

by Druon, Maurice

  And this was how it had come to pass and how these notable events came to be scored on young Prince Edward’s memory.

  When they had fled in such a hurry from Paris in the early hours of that morning when Monseigneur of Artois, shouting in his loud voice, had dragged them all from their beds, they had made all speed, travelling by forced marches, to the territory of the Empire; and one night they had reached the castle of Sire Eustache d’Aubercicourt, who together with his wife had extended a kindly and hospitable welcome to the little English company. And when he had seen to the comfort of their unexpected guests as best they could, Messire d’Aubercicourt had mounted his horse and gone off to inform the good Count Guillaume, whose wife was cousin-german to Queen Isabella, at his capital city of Valenciennes. And the following morning the Count’s younger brother, Messire Jean de Hainaut, had come to see them.

  Jean de Hainaut was an eccentric; not so much in his appearance, which was physically solid, with a round face set on a strong body, round eyes and a short, snub nose above a small fair moustache, but eccentric in the way he behaved. For, as soon as he came into the Queen’s presence, and before he had even taken off his boots, he fell on one knee on the flagstones, and cried with his hand on his heart: ‘Madame, here is your knight, ready to die for you even if the whole world fails you. And I shall do everything in my power, with the help of your friends, to take you and Monseigneur your son over the sea to your realm of England. And everyone I can collect will place his life at your service, and we shall have enough men-at-arms, if it please God.’

  The Queen, to thank him for so sudden an expression of assistance, made to kneel before him; but Messire Jean de Hainaut prevented her by seizing her in his arms. Clasping her to him and breathing in her face, he went on: ‘May it please God that the Queen of England shall never kneel to anyone. Comfort yourself, Madame, and your charming son also, for I shall keep my promise.’

  Roger Mortimer was beginning to look a little glum, for he thought that Messire Jean de Hainaut was a little too eager to place his sword at ladies’ service. Really, the man seemed to take himself for Lancelot of the Lake, for he had suddenly declared that he would not sleep the night under the same roof as the Queen for fear of compromising her, as if he were unaware of the fact that there were at least six great lords about her! He had beat a somewhat sanctimonious retreat to a neighbouring abbey, only to return early in the morning, after Mass and breakfast, to fetch the Queen and conduct the whole company to Valenciennes.

  Count Guillaume the Good, his wife and their four daughters, who lived in a white castle, were excellent people. Their marriage was a happy one; it could be seen in their expressions and heard in every word they uttered. Young Prince Edward, who had suffered from childhood from the spectacle of the discord between his parents, looked with admiration at this united couple who were so kind in every way. How lucky the four young Princesses of Hainaut were to have been born into such a family!

  Good Count Guillaume had offered his services to Queen Isabella, less eloquently however than had his brother and after making certain inquiries so as to be sure of not bringing down on himself the fury of the King of France, nor that of the Pope.

  Messire Jean de Hainaut spared no effort. He wrote to all the knights of his acquaintance praying them to come in honour and friendship to join him in his enterprise and because of the vow he had made. He created such excitement in Hainaut, Brabant, Zeeland and Holland, that good Count Guillaume became anxious; Messire Jean was in process of raising the whole army of his states and all his chivalry. He therefore advised moderation; but the other would not hear of it.

  ‘Messire my Brother,’ he said, ‘I have but one death to die, and that will be as God wills it, but I have promised this fair lady to take her to her kingdom, and this I shall do, even if I must die for it, for every knight is bound to give loyal assistance, and to the utmost of his power, to all ladies and maidens in sorrow and distress whenever they have need of it.’

  Guillaume the Good was also concerned for his Treasury, for all these bannerets who were being set to polish up their armour would have to be paid; but on that score he was reassured by Roger Mortimer, who seemed to have enough money from the Lombard banks to maintain a thousand lances.

  They therefore stayed three months at Valenciennes, living the life of the Court, while every day Jean de Hainaut announced that someone of importance had rallied to them, as it might be the Sire Michel de Ligne or the Sire de Sarre, or the Chevalier Oulfart de Ghistelles, or Perceval de Sémeries, or Sance de Boussoy.

  They went in a family party on a pilgrimage to the church at Sebourg where were kept the relics of Saint Druon, which were much venerated since Count Guillaume’s grandfather, Jean d’Avesnes, who was suffering pain from a stone, had gone to ask for a cure. In the presence of his whole Court and the people of the town, Count Jean d’Avesnes and Hainaut had knelt on the tomb and recited in a loud voice a prayer remarkable for its humility and faith; and hardly had he finished praying when he ejected from his body three stones each the size of a nut, and his pain had disappeared never to return.

  Of Count Guillaume’s four daughters, the second, Philippa, had immediately taken young Prince Edward’s fancy. She was red-haired, chubby and covered with freckles, her face was wide and her stomach already conspicuous. She was a typical little Valois with a strong tinge of Brabant. It so happened that the two young people were perfectly matched in age; and everyone was surprised to see Prince Edward, who normally never spoke, going about as much as he could with the fat Philippa, and talking, talking, talking for hours on end. That he was attracted by her was evident to everyone. Silent people never can dissemble when they do abandon their silence.

  And Queen Isabella and the Count of Hainaut had very soon agreed to affiance their children since they showed such a great inclination towards each other. For Queen Isabella it was a means of cementing an alliance which alone could help her recover her throne of England, while the Count of Hainaut, as soon as it became clear that his daughter would one day become Queen across the sea, saw nothing but advantage in lending his knights.

  In spite of the formal orders of King Edward II, who had forbidden his son to become affianced or to allow himself to be made affianced without his consent,36 the necessary dispensations had already been asked of the Pope. It really seemed to be decreed by Destiny that Prince Edward should marry a Valois. His father, three years earlier, had refused one of the younger daughters of Monseigneur Charles for him, a fortunate refusal as it now turned out, since the young man could marry that same Monseigneur Charles’s granddaughter, with whom he was in love.

  The expedition had at once taken on a new urgency for Prince Edward. For, if the invasion succeeded and his uncle of Kent and Roger Mortimer, with the assistance of his cousin of Hainaut, managed to expel the wicked Despensers and take their place beside the King, he would be forced to agree to the marriage.

  Besides, people now talked openly in the boy’s presence of his father’s morals; he was horrified and aghast. How could a man, a knight, a king, behave in this way with a lord of his Court? The Prince determined, when it came to his turn to reign, never to tolerate such depravity among his barons, and with his Philippa he would show the whole world what a fine, loyal, true love of a man for a woman, of a king for a queen, could be. This fat, round, red-haired girl, who was already very feminine, and seemed to him the most beautiful girl in the world, had a reassuring effect on the Duke of Aquitaine.

  It was, therefore, the right to love the boy was going to win, and this disguised the painful, if not odious, circumstance that he was marching to war against his own father.

  Three months had consequently been spent in this happy manner, and they were without doubt the most agreeable Prince Edward had ever known.

  The assembly of the Hennuyers, for this was the name by which the knights of Hainaut were known, had taken place at Dordrecht on the Meuse, a pretty town curiously intersected by canals and basins, wher
e every street crossed a waterway, and ships from all the seas, as well as flat-bottomed barges without sails, which were used on the rivers, were moored even in front of the churches. It was a wealthy merchant city, where the lords walked about the quays, making their way between bales of wool and crates of spices, where the smell of fish, both fresh and salted, tainted the air about the markets, and in the streets of which watermen and dockers ate fine white soles, which could be bought at the stalls all hot from the frying-pan. And the inhabitants, when they came out of the huge brick cathedral after Mass, could go and gape idly at the great warlike array, such as had never before been seen, moored at the very foot of the houses. The swinging masts of the ships were taller than the roofs.

  It had taken much time, effort and shouting to load the ships, which were as round as the clogs all Holland wore, with the equipment of the cavalry: cases of arms, chests of armour, food, kitchens, stoves and a farrier’s shop, which would employ a hundred men, with its anvils, bellows and hammers. Then the great Flanders horses had to be embarked, those heavy chestnuts which, with their coats looking almost red under the sun, their paler, almost faded manes flowing, their large hooves covered with hair, and their huge, silky quarters, were proper mounts for knights. For, without tiring them, you could load them with a high-cantled saddle, heavy steel horse-armour, as well as a fully armed man, altogether some four hundred pounds to carry at a gallop.

  There were a thousand or more of these horses, for Messire Jean de Hainaut had kept his word and assembled a thousand knights together with their squires, varlets and servants, making a total of 2,757 men on the pay-roll, according to the register kept by Gerard de Alspaye.

  The sterncastles of the ships had been arranged to accommodate the most important lords.

  They had set sail on the morning of September 22 so as to take advantage of the equinoctial currents and had spent a whole day navigating the Meuse before reaching their anchorage off the dykes of Holland. The seagulls had circled crying round the ships. Then, next day, they had set out to sea. The weather had seemed fine, but towards the end of the day the wind had become contrary and the ships had found difficulty in making headway against it; then the sea had got up, and the whole expedition had been very sick and very frightened. The knights vomited over the rail when they had the strength to reach it. The crews themselves had been far from happy, and the horses, tossed about in the deck stables, stank appallingly. The storm was even more terrifying by night than by day. The chaplains had set themselves to pray.

  Messire Jean de Hainaut had shown great courage and alacrity in comforting Queen Isabella, indeed a little too much perhaps, for there are occasions when a man’s attentiveness may be importunate to a lady. The Queen felt rather relieved when Messire de Hainaut also became seasick.

  Roger Mortimer alone seemed unaffected by the storm; it is said that jealous men are never seasick. On the other hand, John Maltravers was in a pitiable state by the time dawn broke; his face was longer and more yellow than ever, his hair was hanging down over his ears and his surcoat was soiled; sitting with his legs spread wide against a coil of rope, he seemed to expect death with every wave.

  At last, by the grace of Monseigneur Saint George, the sea had fallen, and everyone had been able to clean himself up a bit. The lookout men had seen the shores of England only a few miles south of where they had expected to make their landfall. Then the navigators had made for the port of Harwich, which they were now entering, and where the royal vessel, its oars shipped, was already coming alongside the wooden mole.

  Young Prince Edward was staring dreamily about him through his long fair lashes, for everything he saw seemed red or pink and rounded, the clouds driven by the September breeze, the low, bellying sails of the last ships, the rumps of the Flanders chestnuts, the cheeks of Messire Jean de Hainaut, and they all reminded him invincibly of the Holland of his love.

  As he set foot on the quay at Harwich, Roger Mortimer felt exactly like his ancestor who, two hundred and sixty years earlier, had disembarked on English soil beside the Conqueror. This was clear from his air, the tone of his voice and the way he took everything in hand.

  He was sharing the command of the expedition on equal terms with Jean de Hainaut. This was reasonable, since Mortimer had to his account only his good cause, a few English lords and the Lombard money; while the other had provided the 2,757 fighting men. Nevertheless, Mortimer thought that Jean de Hainaut should devote himself exclusively to the management of his troops, while he himself would undertake the supreme direction of the operations. The Earl of Kent, for his part, did not appear eager to push himself forward; for if, in spite of the information they had received, part of the nobility remained loyal to King Edward, the King’s troops would be commanded by the Earl of Norfolk, the Marshal of England, that is to say, Kent’s own brother. And to rebel against a half-brother who is a bad king and twenty years your senior is one thing; but it is quite another to draw your sword against a beloved brother from whom you are separated in age by only a single year.

  Mortimer, in search of information, had sent for the Mayor of Harwich. Did he know where the royal troops were? Where was the nearest castle which could shelter the Queen while the troops were being disembarked and the ships unloaded?

  ‘We are here,’ Mortimer told the Mayor, ‘to help King Edward get rid of his bad councillors who are ruining the kingdom, and to restore the Queen to the position that is her due. We have, therefore, no intentions other than those which are in accord with the will of the barons and all the people of England.’

  This was brief and clear, and Roger Mortimer was to repeat it at every halt, to explain the surprising arrival of a foreign army.

  The Mayor, his white hair fluttering on each side of his skull, and trembling in his robe, not from cold, but from fear of his responsibilities, appeared to have no information. The King? It was said that he was in London, unless he was at Portsmouth. In any case a large fleet was to be gathered at Portsmouth, since orders had been received last month for every ship to assemble there to repel a French invasion; this explained why there were so few ships in the harbour.

  At this Lord Mortimer showed considerable pride; particularly when he turned to Messire de Hainaut. For he had cleverly spread it abroad through agents that it was his intention to land on the south coast, and the trick had clearly succeeded. But Jean de Hainaut, on his side, could be proud of his Dutch sailors, who had held their course in spite of the storm.

  The district was unguarded; the Mayor had no knowledge of any troop movements in the neighbourhood, nor had he received any orders for more than the usual coastal watch to be kept. A place to stay? The Mayor suggested Walton Abbey, about three leagues to the south, along the estuary. In his heart of hearts he very much wanted to get rid of the responsibility for lodging this company on to the monks.

  An escort to protect the Queen had to be organized.

  ‘I’ll command it!’ cried Jean de Hainaut.

  ‘And who’ll see to the disembarkation of your Hennuyers, Messire?’ asked Mortimer. ‘And how long will it take?’

  ‘Three full days, before they’ll be in marching order. I’ll leave my chief equerry, Philippe de Chasteaux, in charge.’

  Mortimer’s chief anxiety was concerning the secret messengers he had sent from Holland to Bishop Orleton and the Earl of Lancaster. Had contact been made with them, had they been warned in time, and where were they at this moment? No doubt he would be able to get information from the monks and could send couriers who, posting from monastery to monastery, would reach the two leaders of the internal resistance.

  Authoritative and outwardly calm, Mortimer strode up and down Harwich High Street, which was lined with low houses, impatient to see the escort organized. He went down to the harbour to hurry on the disembarkation of the horses, and then returned to the Three Goblets where the Queen and Prince Edward were awaiting their horses. For several centuries to come the history of England was to pass through this street in
which he was now walking.37

  At last the escort was ready; the knights arrived, forming up four abreast and filling the whole width of the High Street. The grooms were running beside the horses fastening the last buckles of the horse-armour; the lances waved in front of the narrow windows; swords clattered against iron knee-caps.

  The Queen was helped on to her palfrey, and then the ride began through the rolling country, with its thinly scattered trees, its tidal flats and rare thatched cottages. Behind low hedges, sheep with thick fleeces grazed round brackish pools. On the whole, a melancholy countryside with the sea-mist lying over the farther bank of the estuary. But the handful of Englishmen, Kent, Cromwell, Alspaye, and Maltravers himself, though he was still feeling far from well, gazed at the countryside and then looked at each other, tears shining in their eyes. This land was England!

  And suddenly, owing to a cart-horse neighing through the half-door of its stable as the cavalcade went by, Roger Mortimer felt a sudden wave of emotion at being home again. The long-awaited joy, which had so far eluded him because of all the weighty matters he had on his mind and all the decisions he had to take, now suddenly overwhelmed him in the middle of the countryside because an English horse had neighed at the horses from Flanders.

  Three years in exile abroad, three years of waiting and hoping. Mortimer remembered the night of his escape from the Tower, when wet through he had crossed the Thames in a boat to take horse on the farther bank. And now he was back, his coat of arms embroidered on his chest, and a thousand lances to do battle with him. He had come back as the lover of the Queen of whom he had dreamed so much in prison. Dreams sometimes came true, and then one could truly call oneself happy.