The Vow on the Heron Read online

  She slipped into his embrace and forgot Joanna, but only temporarily. Later her anxieties concerning the child returned to her with those uneasy stirrings of apprehension which Isabella and the Earl of March aroused in her.

  * * *

  The treaty had been signed. Edward explained the terms to her. He was giving up his feudal claim to Scotland and the great stone of Scone which his grandfather had taken away from Scotland was to be restored to them with certain treasures which had been confiscated. The Scots were to pay twenty thousand pounds to the King of England over the next three years. But the most important clause was the marriage between David, son of Robert the Bruce, and Joanna, daughter of King Edward the Second, the marriage to take place four months after the signing of the treaty.

  Philippa was horrified. So the poor child was to be sacrificed. She saw at once that there was nothing she could do about it. Isabella and the Earl of March were in favour of it. They had no desire for a lengthy war. They wanted to enjoy the spoils of their victory and that could not be done if treasure was to be wasted in fighting what could only be a prolonged war which might not bring success in the end. Edward the First, one of the mightiest warriors ever known, had been unable to subdue the Scots.

  This was what Edward told her, but she did suspect that he was in some way under the spell of his mother. She could understand it in a way because Isabella was so beautiful and she made such a point of showing her affection for her son—though, thought Philippa sadly, she did not show the same to her other children. Poor little Joanna was in urgent need of comfort, for before the year was out, if this unhappy matter were carried out, the poor little girl would be in Scotland.

  There was nothing Philippa could do. She was too young and inexperienced. She was glad that Edward was sympathetic towards his little sister, but as he said to Philippa, it had to be.

  It was a mercy that there was a little time left to Joanna and with the resilience of childhood and for weeks at a time she forgot the ordeal ahead of her.

  Easter had come and after the church service and celebrations the whole Court prepared to travel south.

  As they came out of the city of York and into the village of Bishoppesthorpe, a strange incident occurred which seemed to indicate that already the people had begun to guess the nature of their new young Queen.

  Philippa was riding beside Edward at the head of the cavalcade when a woman ran into the road before the uncoming horses and kneeling held up her hands.

  The horses were brought to a sharp halt and the woman, ragged and unkempt, came straight to Philippa. She fell to her knees and Philippa leaning forward spoke to her gently and asked what she wanted of her.

  ‘I have heard of your goodness, my lady,’ said the woman, ‘and it shines in your face. My daughter who is but eleven years is to be hanged by the neck. I beg of you, my lady, speak for her. Save her. She is my child ...’

  ‘What was her crime?’ asked Philippa.

  ‘She stole some trinket. It was but a childish impulse. Believe me, my lady, she is a good girl.’

  Edward said: ‘I fear my love, you will find many to beset you in this way.’

  ‘I must help her,’ replied Philippa firmly.

  The Queen Mother said: ‘Take the woman away. We wish to ride on.’

  For a moment the two queens looked at each other. Isabella’s gaze was impatient and then faintly disturbed. She had seen a hint of firmness in the wide candid eyes. Philippa had turned to Edward.

  ‘You will want to please me, I know, my lord.’

  ‘More than anything on earth,’ answered Edward.

  ‘Then,’ said Philippa, ‘we will call a halt here and I will look into this matter. I could not have our subjects believe that I would not listen to a mother’s plea. It is clear that this woman is deeply distressed.’

  ‘Do as you will, my dearest,’ answered Edward.

  ‘How good you are to me,’ she murmured.

  So there was a stay at Bishoppesthorpe and Philippa herself saw the young girl who had stolen the trinket and she spoke to the stewards and marshal of the household in which the theft had taken place and the judge who had condemned the girl; and as a result the child was saved from the hangman’s rope.

  The mother fell to her knees and kissed the hem of Philippa’s gown while Edward smiled on the scene benignly, and the people said : ‘It was a happy day when our King brought good Queen Philippa to our shores.’

  After that they continued their journey south and at last they came to the palace of Woodstock in Oxfordshire that most enchanting residence in sylvan surroundings so beloved of Edward’s ancestor Henry the Second.

  ‘We will rest here awhile,’ said Edward, ‘Philippa and I with a few attendants, for there has been so much state business and travelling since our marriage, and a little peace is due to us.’

  So there they stayed at Woodstock and Philippa’s attendants who had travelled with her from Hainault now returned to their native land. She retained only one. Walter de Manny who was her carver, because he had already shown himself to be a worthy knight and had sworn allegiance to the King.

  ‘Now,’ said Edward, ‘you have left Hainault behind and are my English Queen. Are you sad, sweet Philippa, to see them go?’

  ‘I have rewarded them well,’ she said, ‘and they are my friends. But I could not be sad while I am with you and you love me.’

  The idyllic life continued at Woodstock.

  TREACHERY AT CORFE CASTLE

  ISABELLA could not escape from the dark shadows which crowded in on her. Sometimes she thought she was going mad. She dreamed continually of her murdered husbane-that he came to life and would not Te-airs-re her, that he appeared not only in her bedroom at night when she lay beside her lover, but sometimes she thought she saw his face in a crowd, and once even at a conference table.

  Mortimer laughed at her. Mortimer was strong and had little understanding of whimsical imaginings. Mortimer lived entirely for the present and if there were threats in the future he would not look at them.

  Sometimes she thought of Gaveston and Hugh—both of whom had met violent deaths though neither could compare with what had happened to her husband—and how they had refused to see their fate approaching them. It had seemed clear enough to everyone else, but those two had continued to plunder the King and snap their fingers at the hatred of the people. If she were not besottedly infatuated by Mortimer, would she say he was the same?

  He never wanted to talk about the possibilities of disaster. He never wanted to take heed of warning shadows. He delighted in the pact with the Scots because Robert the Bruce was to pay Edward twenty thousand pounds. The first instalment arrived and Mortimer had taken charge of it, which meant that he would spend it. He was a great spender, Mortimer. He liked to live flamboyantly, and so did she. Well, they deserved it after all that they had suffered—he a prisoner in the Tower with an uncle who had died of starvation, as he might have done if he had not been so strong; and she, what humiliation she had endured for years, thrust into the background while all the favours were showered on her husband’s men friends, bearing his children while she loathed him just because she had to give the country heirs.

  Now, they were reaping their reward. Mortimer was the richest and most powerful man in the country and she and he ruled it together. Edward was such a boy and remained amenable.

  She was uneasy though about Philippa.

  She talked to Mortimer about it. ‘Mortimer what do you think of Philippa?’ she asked.

  ‘I never think of her. What is she? A simple country girl, fresh and untutored. Why should we think of Philippa as anything but a nice playmate for our boy. He likes married life evidently. Well, let them enjoy it. It will keep them occupied.’

  ‘That woman on the road ... She insisted, you know, and Edward wants to please her.’

  ‘She held us up yes. But it was of no great importance.’ ‘Only to show us that he will do a great deal to please her.’ ‘Of course he will ...
for a while. He is a boy; he experiences early love. It seems very important to him. Wait till she bears him children and he discovers that there are women in the world more attractive than his plump little Hainaulter.’ ‘At the moment she could guide him.’

  ‘How could such an innocent guide anyone?’

  ‘He is changing, wanting his own way. It could be less easy to control him.’

  ‘Come, sweetheart, let us leave that problem until it arises.’ ‘This peace with Scotland ...’

  ‘I welcome it.’

  Of course he did. It had brought money into his pocket. ‘The people of London are rioting.’

  ‘A plague on the people of London.’

  ‘Do not say that. It could be disastrous to the country.’ ‘I mean I care not a groat for them.’

  ‘They can be dangerous. They are saying the Scone stone shall not be given up and that it is a disgrace to send a baby to that barbarous land to marry the son of a leper.’

  ‘She will be Queen of Scotland.’

  ‘They do not like it. Mortimer, do you remember how they supported me? How they cheered me in the streets.’

  ‘They always loved you. You only have to appear and they shout their loyalty.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘It is a momentary matter. They don’t like the wedding. They won’t part with the stone of Scone. They have too high an opinion of their importance, these Londoners. It will blow over.’

  ‘Yesterday someone shouted “Whore” as I rode by.’

  ‘Did you see who? He could be hanged, drawn and quartered for that.’

  ‘Yes, and still he did it. They are turning from me, Mortimer. They are turning from us.’

  ‘Much should we care.’

  ‘I wonder sometimes ...’

  He soothed her as he always did. He snapped his fingers at danger by refusing to see it.

  He was the great Mortimer; she was the Queen of England. It was true there was another Queen—but she was of no importance, no more importance than her young husband. Edward and Philippa were the figureheads. The real rulers were Isabella and Mortimer—and so it should remain.

  * * *

  Every night Joanna cried herself to sleep. It was no use their telling her that she was going to be happy in Scotland. She knew she was not. She was going to have a hideous little bridegroom, two years younger than herself, David the Bruce, who was five years old.

  She knew that many princesses were betrothed at her age and sometimes they had to go to the homes of their bridegrooms to be brought up in his way of life, but that did not help at all. Eleanor was older than she was and she did not have to go away. And now Philippa had come and she loved Philippa. Philippa was her new sister but what was the use of having a new sister if you were not going to be with her?

  She heard the servants talking about how the new Queen had saved a girl from hanging, and how the King had indulged her although the Queen Mother and the Earl of March had not been very pleased and had wanted to continue their journey without delay.

  Perhaps if she asked Philippa to save her from going to Scotland she could speak with Edward and as Edward could deny Philippa nothing—so the gossips said—then perhaps she would be saved.

  It was her only hope. She would ask Philippa.

  Philippa listened gravely. Yes, it was true Edward had allowed her to save the girl, but this was not a state matter. The marriage with Scotland was, and it might be that there could be no way of stopping it. But Philippa would speak to Edward.

  She did. He was sorry but there was nothing he could do. It was a state matter and it was in the treaty.

  But when a child is so young surely she could be married by proxy and stay in her own home until she is of an age to leave?’

  Edward could only say that it was in the treaty.

  He himself was disturbed for he was fond of the little girl and her sister and his brother John. But he was so young himself and after his adventures in Scotland he felt loath to act on some matter of which he was not quite sure. He felt that he had looked rather foolish, marching north with an army and chasing the elusive Scots who had obviously been playing a game with him.

  He had to be careful in future.

  He hated to disappoint Philippa so he said he would go into the matter and see what could be done.

  This meant talking to his mother.

  Isabella was pleased that he should have consulted her instead of attempting to act on his own. She pretended to consider the matter but she was determined that Joanna must go to Scotland. It had been agreed upon and if the treaty broke down the Scots might demand the return of the money which Mortimer had already taken.

  ‘We are dealing with barbaric -people, my sweet son,’ she said. ‘You saw what they were like when you went up to chastise them. What a dance they led you.’

  He flushed a little. He was very young. It was good to bring home to him in a subtle way how inexperienced he was.

  ‘We could not say what would happen if we did not keep to the treaty. War might break out again.’

  ‘The people are against this marriage, my lady.’

  ‘The people sway with the wind. They know not what is best for them.’

  ‘The Queen is worried about Joanna. She is but a baby ... and to be sent away ...’

  Isabella stiffened imperceptibly. The Queen? My lady Philippa would have to learn that she had not come here to govern the land.

  ‘Dear Philippa,’ said Isabella, ‘she is so soft-hearted. I saw lips curl with amusement when she allowed that woman to get the better of her.’

  You mean the woman with the daughter whom Philippa saved from the hangman’s rope? I think the people loved her the more for that.’

  ‘Criminals will, my son. They will say we can commit our crimes and be caught. Never mind. We’ll make a plea to the Queen.’

  ‘This was but a young girl ...’

  ‘Of course she is young, our dear Philippa. She will grow up. She will learn quickly I think. She is a charming girl. I am so happy for you Edward.’

  Edward smiled. He loved to hear praise of Philippa.

  ‘Dear Edward,’ went on his mother, ‘you know my thoughts are all for you. Everything I do is what I think is best for you. But you have always known that.’

  Her beautiful eyes were moist with tears; he kissed her cheek.

  She clung to him. ‘It has not been easy for me, Edward,’ she went on. ‘Sometimes I look back over my life and wonder how I have come through it all. I was so petted in my young days at the Court of France and then when I came to England ...’ she shivered. ‘And when I think of all I had to do ... well, it was worth while because it brought me you. If I can see you secure on the throne, grown into the great King I know you will be ... in time ... I shall die happy.’

  ‘Dear lady, you are not going to die yet ... not for a long long time.’

  ‘I pray it will be a long time ... for I will refuse to die until you have become such a King as your grandfather was.’

  She had successfully made him realize his youth, his dependence upon her. He accepted her word that the Scottish marriage must go through.

  He told Philippa that he saw clearly that there was nothing he could do about it, and Philippa accepted his word.

  * * *

  Through the sultry July days the procession travelled north to Berwick. At its head rode Queen Isabella, beside the most wretched little girl in the kingdom.

  Joanna often thought of running away and she might have attempted it if the Earl of March had not ridden beside her and she had not been so afraid of him. In fact she did not know whom she feared most—her mother or the Earl.

  Her mother had spoken sharply to her. She must not be a baby. She must accept her fate. She was not the first Princess who had to leave her home. The Scots would make much of her. Didn’t she understand that she would leave her home as a Princess and in Scotland become a Queen.

  She would lie in her bed at the various castles in which the
y stayed during the journey and talk to her sister Eleanor. She was glad Eleanor had come. Eleanor tried to pretend that it was going to be wonderful in Scotland and marriage was exciting. Look how pleased Edward and Philippa were with theirs!

  Sometimes Joanna was comforted by her sister; but there were occasions when Eleanor could think of nothing comforting to say and was only too aware that before long she herself might be in a similar plight.

  It was sad that Edward and Philippa had not accompanied them. They had talked a great deal about the marriage and Edward longed to stop it. Once more he raged against his youth and inexperience. In his heart he felt the marriage was wrong, and yet he did not feel confident enough to stop it. If he had had a resounding success in Scotland he would have behaved differently.

  It was not that he lacked strength of purpose; what he missed was experience; and if he could have convinced himself that there was a right thing to do, he would have done it.

  Queen Isabella was hurt that he did not accompany them. She had tried to tempt him by arranging a mock battle and had had special spears made for him elaborately painted with his royal arms; she had others less glorious made for other combatants. It was the sort of entertainment Edward would have enjoyed taking part in and would have excelled at. But he was not tempted. In fact Isabella had misunderstood her son. The last thing he wanted was to be treated like a boy who is bribed with a special treat.

  He did not like the idea of the marriage. He did not want to go to the North again where he considered he had recently been humiliated. He was uncertain and unhappy about Scottish matters. So he was going to stay in the soothing company of his beloved Queen.

  Meanwhile the royal party arrived at Berwick and the ceremony of betrothal took place with a sad little bride weighed down with the magnificence of her jewelled garments and a little bridegroom who was even younger and seemed to be wondering what all the fuss was about.