In time Eleanor’s dreams ceased to be haunted by disaster. The days were pleasant. She saw more of Edward than she ever had before and she thought she was indeed lucky to have such a brother and a new sister who was good and kind and who helped her to understand what was expected of her.
The great excitement now was the coming of the Countess of Hainault. Philippa had not seen her mother since her marriage; her excitement was infectious and Eleanor was caught up in it.
Edward joined them and they excitedly discussed the arrangements for the entertainments they would give. Edward was determined that all due honour should be paid to the mother of his Queen. He loved to joust for he excelled at the sport. His long arms and legs gave him an advantage and since the death of Mortimer and retirement of his mother an aura of kingship had settled on him. Each day he grew more and more like his grandfather but he loved splendour far more than Edward the First ever had. Edward certainly liked to show off his handsome looks and figure with fine clothes and to appear before his people as a champion; but it was an understandable vanity and the people enjoyed it.
‘There shall be tournaments in and around London,’ he said. ‘We will begin with Dartmouth and Stepney and the best of all shall be Cheapside. I will ride out through the streets with fifteen chosen knights and we will challenge any to come against us.’
‘It will be magnificent,’ cried the Queen.
‘I shall have a gallery put up across the road and you ladies shall watch the joust from it.’
‘My mother will be most grateful for your kindness in entertaining her so lavishly,’ said Philippa, but she was thinking of the cost, for she had been amazed at the poverty of England—. which was still feeling the effect of the extravagances, first of Gaveston, then the Despensers and after that Mortimer—when compared with the prosperity of Hainault which was so much smaller and of less importance in the world than England. She was sure that something should be done about it. But with the King glowing with anticipation at the pleasure in store this was not the time to talk about the country’s poverty.
Philippa’s happiness was complete when the Countess arrived. She and her daughter clung together for a while and the Countess was clearly longing to be alone with Philippa. When they were she said : ‘Now I can look at you clearly. You look radiant, my dearest child. So it is all as wonderful as you told me in your letters?’
‘I am perfectly happy,’ Philippa assured her.
‘I guessed you were. You could never deceive anyone, Philippa. It is not in your nature and I rejoice in that. Edward is a good husband to you, is he?’
‘I could not have a better. I knew from the moment I saw him.’
‘There are few who are as fortunate as you, dear child. Your father will be delighted when I return and tell him how things are here. There is some talk about Edward’s intention to claim the crown of France.’
‘He has a right through his mother,’ answered Philippa. The Countess shook her head. ‘Philip would never give it up. It would be a long and bitter war.’
‘I think Edward realizes this. But he says there is a claim through his mother.’
‘You know he would have the support of Hainault if you did go to war, but I hope it never comes to that. I fear little could be gained by it and it would mean long separations. It is never good for husband and wife to be apart from each other. Yet sometimes with kings it is necessary. And with wars ...’
‘Do not fear, dear mother,’ said Philippa. ‘Edward is wise. He is no longer guided by his mother and Mortimer. He has changed a great deal. You see, he was so young. He is not very old now.’
The Countess nodded. ‘So many burdens on such young shoulders!’
‘Edward is capable of carrying them. Of that I have no doubt.’
The Countess kissed her daughter. ‘Now where is this wonder child?’ she said.
Edward was produced and showed what both declared to be an extraordinarily intelligent interest in his grandmother.
They talked of the Court of Hainault and Philippa’s sisters. The Countess was a little sad to lose her daughters. ‘It is inevitable though and we still have Isabella. Though her turn will come I doubt not. Your father and I miss you all very much. But when I go home and tell him how happy you are it will be a great consolation to him.’
Days of feasting followed and the climax of the celebrations was to be the tournament in Cheapside between Wood Street and Queen Street. For days men had been at work preparing the site and a beautiful wooden gallery had been constructed on the King’s orders. It stretched from one side of the road to the other and would place the ladies in the best possible position to witness the jousting.
Philippa was very anxious that Eleanor should enjoy the festivities and insisted on having the young girl beside her. It was thus that she found herself often in the company of Raynald, the Earl of Gueldres and Zutphen. The Earl, a handsome man of great charm, was clearly struck by the fresh innocence of the young girl. Philippa was delighted that he should notice her and Eleanor should appear to be so happy in his company.
‘Alas, poor child,’ she said to her mother, ‘she has had such an unhappy childhood and as mine was so happy I feel I want to do everything I can for her.’
‘You always had the sweetest nature in the family,’ her mother told her fondly.
Philippa went on: ‘She seems to enjoy Raynald’s company. I think he admires her. It will be good for Eleanor to enjoy the society of such a man and she knows he is far too old to be considered as a possible husband. He has four daughters I believe ... as you and my father did.’
‘He has recently lost his wife,’ the Countess added. ‘So he may well be looking for a wife.’
‘If Eleanor were older and he younger I would say they might fall in love.’
‘You are so romantic,’ said the Countess. ‘You fell in love with Edward when you first saw him and I shall never forget how terrified you were that one of your sisters might be chosen to marry him.’
‘My fears were groundless. There was never any question of one of them being chosen. Edward sent his Bishop to choose it is true but he told me afterwards that he warned the Bishop that if he valued his life he must choose me.’
‘I thought it had happened that way,’ said the Countess fondly. ‘And you are indeed fortunate. I am so glad that you realize it and, my dear child, I shall pray that you continue with Edward as you are now.’
For three days the King with fifteen of his chosen knights rode through the streets of London challenging all comers to the Lists. Edward looked magnificent. He was nineteen years of age now and fully grown to his great height, almost as long- legged as his grandfather and with the same flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and fair complexion. He looked, as his people thought, just as a king should look. They were proud of him. He was like a god riding through their streets, his cloak of green embroidered with golden arrows and lined with red silk. His squires rode behind him in white kirtles with green sleeves. It was, said the people, a goodly sight. The bright September sun shone benignly on the scene and at the windows of every house people watched the riders flash by. They cheered the King; they delighted in him. At last he had come to power and manhood. He had destroyed the ruthless brutal grasping Mortimer whom they had all hated. He had acted with discretion towards his mother; he had never forgotten that she was his mother and, although he had realized that she was guilty of great crimes, he had set her up in some small state in Castle Rising where she would remain for a while until time showed him what to do. It was said that none dared criticize her in his hearing, which showed a good loyalty; and on the other hand he had not seen her since the death of her paramour; she had remained in Castle Rising.
And there was the Queen—rosy-cheeked, a little buxom, kindly and splendidly gowned, her crown on her head, her silk gown embroidered with pearls and gold, her cloak of velvet trimmed with ermine. She might have lacked the outstanding beauty of the last Queen, but no one wanted to be reminded of her; and
if there was something a little homely about Philippa’s countenance it shone with the softness of a good and kindly nature. She had made their King happy; she had given them their Prince; and already people were remembering little acts of kindness and the girl whom she had saved from execution.
The people of London were content with their King and Queen and little Prince. So they flocked to the Lists and they wanted to see their King triumphant.
It was like the days of great Edward all over again.
Philippa with her mother, Eleanor and a few of the noblest ladies mounted the tower, seated themselves and prepared to watch the pageantry.
The trumpets were sounding; the crowd were cheering; the royal procession to the Lists had begun.
The musicians walked before the horsemen, playing as they came. These were followed by the squires of the King’s household in their shining livery. Then the King himself. Edward’s love of dress was clearly shown, as for each day of the tournaments he had chosen different costumes. He had decided that on this day he and his knights should be disguised as Tartars, and ferocious they looked in long fur cloaks and high hats.
As he rode in the Lists Edward’s first glance was for the Queen in the gallery, seated there with her mother, his sister and the ladies of the Court. The King bowed low and the Queen immediately rose to return his greeting; as she did so everyone in the gallery rose too; and as they sat down there was a creaking sound, followed by a scream from one of the ladies, for the gallery seemed to reel and cave in and suddenly it had collapsed in a cloud of dust.
There was a moment of silence before pandemonium broke out. The King had dashed to the falling structure. Philippa, her gown covered in dust, her bright cheeks smudged with it, stood up. She was unharmed. The gallery had been made of light wood; it was too flimsy for the weight of the ladies and it had never been tested to see if it would take the weight of so many people.
‘Philippa,’ cried the King, ‘are you hurt?’
She laughed at him. ‘No, my lord. A little shaken. It was so sudden. I was not expecting it.’
It was a relief to discover that no one was hurt. People were crowding in on the scene and Edward shouted to them to stand back. He was clearly shaken and concerned for the ladies and in particular his wife.
‘How could such a thing happen?’ he demanded.
‘Well, we are safe,’ Philippa reassured him. ‘Only a little shaken and our gowns dirty. Oh, Edward, I hope it has not spoilt the day for you. You must not let it.’
She had seen a frown gathering on Edward’s brow and she knew what that meant. He was angry. She dreaded his anger. She had seen very little of it and it had never once been directed against her, but she had heard of the Plantagenet temper. It seemed most of them had it, and in some it was more violent than in others. Henry the Third and King John used to lie on the floor and bite the rushes in their accesses of rage; Henry the Third had only mildly possessed it and Edward the First had had it under control, as this Edward would; but there were occasions when it would break out and this was one of them.
‘I want the men who built this gallery found and brought here to me,’ he said. There was a brief pause. ‘Find them,’ he shouted, ‘and bring them to me without delay.’
Philippa said gently: ‘It is all over. We are not harmed. Such accidents can happen.’
‘Such accidents can happen only once in my kingdom,’ he retorted. He looked at her pleasant face smudged with dirt and her torn gown. His Philippa, who might so easily have been killed. The thought of what could have happened to Philippa enraged him still further.
‘Why is there this delay?’ he shouted. ‘Find those men. Bring them here. By God, they will wish they had never been born.’
Philippa laid her hand on his arm but he shrugged it aside. He was intent only on giving vent to his anger.
The men had been found. They came fearfully and the expression on their faces when they saw the fallen gallery and dishevelled ladies set them trembling. The King, looking ferocious in his Tartar’s robes, demanded to know why this had happened.
The men could only stare blankly.
‘Why was it not tested to see if it would stand the weight?’
‘My lord ... there was not time,’ said their spokesman. ‘It was only finished an hour or so before the joust was to begin.’
‘You fools, you knaves ... do you know this could have cost the Queen her life?’
Philippa said quickly: ‘My lord, it was light and flimsy. We could have had a fall at the worst. See, I am not harmed at all.’
But the King would not listen. He was whipping himself to fury, exaggerating the damage, intent on inflicting the utmost punishment on these careless men whose shoddy work had spoilt the day and could have caused harm to the Queen.
‘Take them away from here,’ he shouted. ‘Put a rope around their necks and let them be hanged until they be dead.’
There was a hushed silence in the crowd. One of the workmen, only a boy, fell to his knees and began to whimper.
The King turned his face away and shouted : ‘Take them away. Let it be done.’
Philippa was horrified. She thought of the families of those men, robbed of the breadwinners; she thought of the loves of wives for their husbands and mothers for their sons and she would not let it happen.
She knelt suddenly before the King. She took his hand and said: ‘My lord, you have said that you love and honour me. You have showered many gifts on me. There is nothing I want more than the lives of these men. If they die by the rope I shall remember them all my life. I have suffered no harm. Nor have these ladies. The gallery was erected in a hurry. Please, my lord, I beg of you, as you love me, spare these men.’
The King looked at her, with her hair loose about her shoulders and her dear kind eyes full of tears; the grief apparent on the face which he was accustomed to see merry and content.
He hesitated and she waited, watching him.
Then she said: ‘My lord, if you will not grant this request, I shall never be completely happy again. I shall always remember what was done to these men who wished me no ill and are your loyal subjects.’
The King said : ‘Let the men go free. My Queen pleads for them with such passion that I cannot resist her.’
The Queen covered her face for the tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. There were sudden deafening cheers. They filled the streets; the people were surging forward.
‘God bless the Queen!’ they cried. ‘God bless good Queen Philippa.’
* * *
The Countess returned to Hainault happy with her visit to England. There could be no doubt of Philippa’s happiness and she certainly seemed the most fortunate of princesses to have enjoyed a happy childhood and to slip so easily into a happy marriage.
There was one matter of concern to Philippa. She knew that the celebrations given in honour of her mother had been very costly, and her frugal outlook on life would not let her accept this. She compared her own country with England; a small country but with a rich economy; she decided it was because the people of Hainault worked harder than the English.
She talked to Edward about this and he was at first amused by her but after a while he saw that she was talking sense. It was true that the economy of the country was not flourishing. There was a great deal of poverty in certain areas. Through the reign of his father and of Mortimer there had been no thought of making the best of the country’s resources; wealth was appropriated and absorbed by favourites who used it not for the good of the country but for their own pleasure.
She had seen at once that the wool produced in England, which was reckoned to be the best in the world, would be more profitable to the country if it were made into cloth instead of the wool’s being exported to the Low Countries, there to be made into cloth and brought back to England.
Edward considered this and could see the logic in it.
Our people are not weavers,’ he said. ‘They do not care to work as hard as the people of
Flanders. They like to keep their sheep, watch over them, and wait for the shearing time.’
They would be more prosperous if they worked harder. A country needs prosperity, Edward. It is happier because of it.’
He conceded this. ‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ he said.
‘I want to send for some cloth weavers to come to England and set up a colony of weavers here. Then we can make our own cloth ... a little at first, and then increase it. I would like to see English cloth—not only wool—the best in the world.’
‘Well, my wise Queen, let us proceed with this.’
‘So I have your permission to write to one I know who excels in the craft?’
‘My dearest wife and Queen, you have indeed.’
Philippa immediately wrote to a certain John Kempe of Flanders. If he would come to England with his servants, apprentices and everything he needed to carry on his business he would have the protection of the King; and it was his wish that they should build up a flourishing cloth-weaving industry in England.
Philippa was delighted because she fully believed that hard work was the way to prosperity.
There was a great deal that John Kempe wanted clarified before he could take this great step. But the project had started and although it took a year or so to be put into action, Philippa’s wisdom was in due course responsible for the setting up in Norfolk of a cloth-making industry which was to bring prosperity not only to Norfolk but to the whole of England.
* * *
The Princess Eleanor was to be married. Oddly enough the prospect excited her. There was something about the Earl of Gueldres which fascinated her. It might have been that she heard so much from Philippa of the romantic meeting between her and Edward, how they had loved at first sight and the evidence of her own eyes told, her how happy that had turned out to be.
Eleanor was only thirteen years old but many girls were married at that age; Philippa herself had not been much older and it seemed that the King was satisfied with the Earl of Gueldres as a husband for his sister.
The Vow on the Heron Page 11