The Battle of the Queens Read online

  Yes, Louis was very uneasy.

  He returned to France to spend Christmas with his wife, Blanche. Because of the deep love and trust between them – rare in royal marriages – she was a wife with whom he could discuss state matters. That she was anxious about the English expedition, he was in no doubt; and he had agreed with her that now a new King had been crowned, it was time to make the final settlement. They must raise a new army – a force which the English would not be able to resist. Louis must capture the young King and hold him as prisoner – hostage, while he himself was acknowledged as King of England.

  It was April before Louis had perfected his plans and returned to England, full of confidence that this would be the final phase and that England was ready to fall into his hands. He and Blanche had even made plans for their coronation in England but Louis did not know that during his absence in France loyalty to the crown of England was growing fast. Men were now talking disdainfully of the foreigner on English soil, forgetting that many of them had invited him there. There were some who were asking themselves how England could ever have come to such a pass and were determined to drive the French from the country.

  Louis’s first setback was at Lincoln, where the castle was in the hands of Nicole de la Haie, a Norman woman of forceful character, said to be as good and better than any man in her determination to save England for the English. Already she had sent out a proclamation that any of those barons who had rebelled against John were invited to her castle if they now were eager to be loyal to John’s son, that they might discuss plans for restoring England to its rightful king. The boy was not responsible for his father’s sins, she declared; and the spirit of the great Conqueror and the two Henrys would haunt them for the rest of their lives if they allowed the country to pass into the hands of the French. Nicole was eloquent. Under John the country had been humiliated beyond endurance, but those days were over and they must start to rebuild an England which would be as great as it had once been.

  What an undignified defeat that had been. It had begun well enough with the French on the point of forcing an entrance when they had been nearly decimated by William Marshal’s cross-bowmen, led by the Marshal himself, who in spite of his years, was in the thick of the fighting. There was about William Marshal that aura which comes to some men. The Conquerer had had it; so had Richard Coeur de Lion; men who were ranged against him lost their will for the battle because he was there. So many victories had been theirs that the notion had grown among the opposing armies that they were fighting against an irresistible force. When Marshal engaged the Count de la Perche – who was leading one section of the French – and the Count’s followers saw the fleur-de-lis fall from the hands of the standard bearer and the Count dislodged from his horse, mortally wounded, they were certain that there was some magical quality in this man Marshal which was invincible.

  And from that time it seemed the battle was lost and that God had determined to discountenance the French for at the vital stage of the battle a cow had become wedged in a narrow lane with a small opening leading into one of the courtyards and could not be moved, so that the soldiers could not pass; thus the men were trapped and four hundred prisoners were taken, which was near the number of those who had assembled to defend the castle.

  So the French were utterly defeated at Lincoln and there was great rejoicing among the English, for those who had wavered and asked themselves what could be hoped from a boy king, saw now that with men such as William Marshal behind him he might learn to govern well.

  When he heard of the defeat at Lincoln, Louis was very melancholy. He could see the campaign ending in disaster for him if he did not act promptly. He knew he could trust Blanche. She had the blood of the Conquerer in her veins and she would not fail him.

  Nor did she. Within a short time he had word from her. She had toured the country raising men and money for him and her enthusiasm, her energy and her determination to serve her husband brought about excellent results. In England great consternation spread through the army assembled to meet them and even the heart of Hubert de Burgh quailed when he realised the number of men and the amount of ammunition the French were bringing in their fleet.

  He immediately sought out William Marshal to discuss with him what was to be done. William was with the Bishop of Winchester when Hubert arrived and he listened with dismay.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Hubert. ‘We must attack the fleet. If they make a landing we are lost.’

  William Marshal pointed out that he was a soldier and the Bishop was a cleric, and he felt it would be unwise for them to take part in a venture of which they were entirely ignorant; but they implored Hubert to set out at once and do everything in his power to divert the French fleet. They were very worried men at that time; it would have been comforting had they known that Louis in London with inadequate forces was equally worried.

  Everything depended on the successful landing of the fleet. Hubert knew this and that he had to match cunning strategy against the might of the French immediately. With all speed he rode to Dover and there assembled the ships of the Cinque Ports, not a large fleet by any means. He made sure of the defences of the castle and he chose the most stalwart guards to defend it. They must hold it with their lives, he told them. As for himself if he fell into the enemy’s hands and they tried to ransom him for the castle they must let him hang and hold the castle till not a man was left of them. ‘Depend upon it,’ he cried, ‘Dover Castle is the key to England. They may have London but while we hold Dover we command the sea.’

  The French fleet was in the charge of Eustache the Monk, which in itself struck alarm in the hearts of loyal Englishmen; for Eustache was one of those seamen about whom a legend had grown. He had, in fact, taken orders in the monastery of Saint-Wulmar near Boulogne, but he had soon discovered that the monastic life was not for him and had left his monastery to take to the sea, which was much more suited to his nature; and the fact that he had been blessed with success allied with his earlier piety had meant that a legend had been built about him that he was a magician possessed of supernatural powers. Men flocked to serve under him because they believed that heaven had granted him some special dispensation from evil which would reflect on those about him. Here again John had shown his folly, for there had been a time when Eustache had worked for the King of England, but being unjustly treated by him he had retaliated by leaving him and offering his services to the King of France.

  Some troubadour had made him the hero of a song which told of his brilliant and always victorious exploits and throughout England, Normandy and Aquitaine, and at the Court of France men sang the Roman d’Eustache le Moine.

  And this man, who many believed could not fail, was chosen by Louis to bring the French fleet to England.

  It was small wonder that Hubert was uneasy.

  He talked to his men of the great Conquerer who would be looking down on them this day. They were descended from him and his Normans who had rightly come to England and succeeded. If they were brave and bold, if they were determined to succeed as he had always been, he would be with them this day. If they thought of him, took his example and prayed to God, they must succeed. They must remember that God would not be pleased with one who had deserted his monastery to become a pirate.

  God was certainly with Hubert that day. Or it may have been that the Conqueror was really at hand to guide them to victory against the French. In any case it seemed that Hubert was endowed with a wisdom which outclassed the supernatural powers of Eustache. His fleet was small and that which Blanche of France had gathered together, great and powerful.

  How Eustache must have exulted as he contemplated the task before him. So few English; so many French; the French ships were big and powerful; the English less so. Hubert had sixteen ships; the French had eighty; he had known he would be outnumbered but he had not thought it would be by so many.

  Wily strategy was his only hope. The French fleet was, as expected, taking a straight course to Dover. Hubert
commanded his captains to steer a slanting course, holding their luff, so giving an impression that Calais was their destination. It did not occur to Eustache that such a small force would attack, and he did not realise that this strategy enabled the English – well to windward while the French were running leeward – to attack the few ships at the rear and thus engage a smaller force than their own. By doing this Hubert was able to overcome the French in small sections, and Eustache, in the leading vessel, did not realise what was happening until it was too late.

  Eustache was drowned, but his body was recovered from the sea, and his head was cut off that it might be shown to the people that the magician monk was a lesser man than Hubert de Burgh who had defeated him and destroyed the legend of his supernatural power for ever.

  What rejoicing there was when Hubert landed at Dover, for news of his victory had already reached Dover and a great welcome awaited him.

  Five bishops headed the procession which wound its way up to the castle – that very castle which not so long before Hubert was warning his trusted men should be held at all cost.

  There was no longer need for anxiety. Louis was defeated. He had lost his ships and all they contained, and many of the spoils were now in English hands. Hubert was proud to hear that only fifteen had escaped and returned to France and as ten had been sunk that meant that over fifty had fallen to the English with all the treasure Blanche had gathered together for her husband’s army.

  Victory indeed!

  This would be the end of Louis’s hopes. How the Conqueror would be smiling on this day. He would say that Hubert de Burgh, who by a simple strategy had saved the throne for Henry, was a man he was proud to claim as a Norman, a man after his own heart.

  John was dead. A new king was on the throne. There would be peace with France. It was a new beginning.

  * * *

  Isabella’s women were dressing her in scarlet; this was a triumphant moment, for after Hubert de Burgh’s masterly defeat of the French fleet the throne was safe for Henry; and a great deal of that disaster which had come about through King John’s ineptitude could now be repaired and men of good will, nobility and intelligence could begin the task of rebuilding a kingdom.

  William Marshal came to her. He was ready to conduct her to the ceremony.

  As he bowed and took her hand he could not but be aware of her beauty; she seemed to be possessed of a new vitality which must be due to the fact that she had escaped from John. She looked, though, more like a woman setting out on adventure, than one who has just been bereaved of a husband.

  Her eyes mocked him slightly. ‘You think I am gaudily dressed for one so recently widowed? Nay, my lord, the last thing the people want to be reminded of is John. I have my son to consider. I do not wish that people should think of him as the son of John. ’Tis better if they forget that he is.’

  There was something in that, Marshal acceded. But at the same time he thought it might have been more becoming for a widow to show some discretion.

  ‘Come, my lord,’ she went on. ‘This is a happy day. Our good Hubert de Burgh has scored a marvellous victory. We are sending Louis about his business. England will be at peace and my son will learn to be a king when he has to guide him two of the greatest men this country – or any country – has produced. That is no reason for mourning.’

  ‘You are right, my lady,’ said William Marshal.

  ‘Then shall we proceed?’

  They went out to the barge which would take them to that spot near Staines where the ceremony would take place.

  There, Isabella took her place on one side of the river with William Marshal on one side of her and the Papal Legate on the other. Across the river were Louis and his advisers. Isabella noticed with satisfaction that Louis was crestfallen, as well he might be. She imagined his returning to his father, sly Philip the King, who had wanted the conquest of England but would have no part in it because he feared defeat; and he would return to his wife Blanche too. Isabella had heard of their conjugal bliss. So might it have been if she had married Hugh.

  Louis was slender and had a look of frailty about him which she felt to be deceptive. His features were fine drawn and his thick blond hair gave him a youthful look which was not unattractive in its way but he lacked the virility of Hugh de Lusignan which even now she remembered.

  But what would Hugh be like after all these years? Ever since he had passed out of her life she realised she had been comparing every man with Hugh. The lovers she had taken had borne some resemblance to him and John had known this. Perhaps it was one of the reasons why he had so savagely murdered one of them and hung him on the tester of her bed.

  How she would love to see Hugh again! Perhaps when he was her son-in-law she would. The thought made her hysterical with amusement or rage … Which? A mingling of the two of course.

  But she should be concentrating on this ceremony which was going to make England safe for her son.

  The solemn pledges were announced and spoken across a narrow stretch of water; and in the fields tents were being set up and in one of these a chapel was erected in which it would be necessary to make vows before the altar and Louis would swear that he would return to France and keep the peace for which William Marshal would promise that he should receive compensation.

  The next day the French crossed the river and in the chapel set up in the tent, peace was agreed upon and Louis would return to France with a compensation, to be paid by the English, of six thousand marks which would help reimburse him for the costliness of the venture.

  The Papal Legate and the leading men of London then went with the King of France and members of his entourage to Dover where Louis set sail.

  As the ship disappeared below the horizon there were cries of ‘England is safe. This is the King’s Peace. Long live Henry the Third – England’s King for the English.’

  * * *

  The Queen was feeling disgruntled. Neither William Marshal nor Hubert de Burgh had behaved in the manner she had hoped they would. It was true that Marshal was an old man and had always been one who would never adventure far in the realms of erotic passion. He had married his Isabella late in life and been faithful to her all the years they were together; they had had five sons and five daughters and he had been the model husband, she the model wife – everything that would be expected of William Marshal. So it was hardly likely that now he was rich in years he would be so overcome by the charms of Queen Isabella – not physically of course but enough to make him ready to indulge her.

  Hubert de Burgh – now he was of another type. His married life had been very varied. Isabella had become interested in him at the time of Prince Arthur’s imprisonment; she remembered how John had summoned him and given him secret instructions to put out the boy’s eyes and castrate him – a fate which had filled her with dismay for Arthur was a good looking boy and it was horrifying to one so aware of masculine perfection to contemplate his mutilation. She had been amused when she had heard that Hubert had disobeyed John – a noble thing to have done – and despising her husband she had admired Hubert, and had looked at him with favourable eyes for he was of comely appearance; but she quickly realised that although he was ready to risk his life, or worse still hideous mutilation, for the sake of a young boy for whom he had felt affection, he would not have been ready to indulge any sexual appetite he might have felt for the Queen. She had dismissed him from her thoughts then. Now she considered him. He had had three wives … so far, for he was not old and could well marry again should his third wife die. First there had been Joan, daughter of the Earl of Devon; she had died and he had taken Beatrice, who was the widow of Lord Bardulf; he was now married to Hadwisa, which was an extraordinary coincidence because Hadwisa had been John’s first wife. This was rather amusing. Hadwisa had been far from beautiful but the greatest heiress in the country; that was why John had married her and that had been before it seemed he had a hope of wearing the crown. He had tormented Hadwisa and rid himself of her to make Isabella h
is wife. And now Hadwisa was married to Hubert de Burgh! Hadwisa had had another husband after John – Geoffrey Mandeville, the fifth Earl of Essex. He had died but it had not been long before she found another husband in Hubert de Burgh – both embarking on their third marriages.

  Well there was Hubert – a much married gentleman, wise and shrewd and in no mood to become the slave of a widowed queen. It was exasperating, but if she wished she could find lovers in plenty. That potent sexual power in her had not diminished since John had seen her in the forest and been driven to desperate means to possess her, already affianced to Hugh de Lusignan though she was.

  That brought her back to Hugh. Her first love. For her there would never be another like him. How she would enjoy seeing him again to test whether his charm had lost its potency.

  But here she was – some would say in an enviable position – the mother of a king who was a minor, ten years old. Surely her place should be to guide him, to rule through him. That would be invigorating. People would come to her to ask favours. They would say: ‘Oh it is necessary to approach the King through his mother the Queen.’