‘Give me strength to live until my son is of age to rule,’ he prayed. ‘Give me time to teach him what he must know.’
In the meantime there was the old King ruled by a loose woman who had no sense of honour and whose one idea was to amass as much wealth as she could. The people were restive. How long would they accept the state of affairs into which the country was falling?
If only the King would be as he once was—strong, just! None could deny that Edward had been one of the greatest kings England had known before this senility had overtaken him. If only Philippa had lived. Ah yes, if only Philippa had lived! If only the Black Prince, hero of Crécy and Poitiers, had his strength.
It was almost impossible to believe how England could have been brought so low through a chain of some unexpected circumstances. The death of the Queen; the domination of Alice Perrers over a King who had slipped from greatness to senility; a fever-stricken Prince of Wales; a scheming John of Gaunt; and an heir to the throne who was little more than a baby.
The Prince had emerged from the fever and was feeling a little better when William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester came to Berkhamstead in some haste and excitement. William of Wykeham had always been a friend of the Black Prince and with him had deplored the way in which England was declining.
He immediately told the Prince the reason for his visit.
‘I think, my lord,’ he said, ‘that we now have what we need to break this association between the King and the strumpet. I have discovered that she is married and therefore commits adultery.’
The Prince was excited. ‘Is this indeed so? Can it be proved? The matter should be laid before the Parliament.’
‘Indeed it shall be, my lord. The woman’s adultery shall be considered and with it the evil practices of bribery and corruption which she has brought about. This gives us an opportunity.’
‘Let us make good use of it,’ replied the Prince.
* * *
He felt better. There was a chance. The King would have to give up Alice Perrers. The thought of it made him feel well again. He was going to get up from his bed. He was going to be the strong man again. His father, rid of that woman, would return to his old way of life. Who knew he might have many years before him and after him would come the Black Prince and years and years ahead when Richard was a man taught wisdom by those of experience the crown should be placed on his head and England be prosperous again.
The Parliament assembled. Its members were ready to go against the wishes of their King and the people rejoiced for they, like the Black Prince, believed that this Parliament could bring about a return to the old sane ways. They called the Parliament the Good Parliament. It was supported by their idol the Black Prince and it would work against John of Gaunt whom they disliked and moreover it would bring to light the evil practices of Alice Perrers.
The Parliament lived up to the people’s expectations. Alice was summoned to appear. She was accused of practising nefariously in the courts of law, of meddling in other matters and of having seduced the King through black magic.
Alice displayed an insolence which did her little good and the result was that she was dismissed from Court and threatened with excommunication if she returned.
The King was desolate. A delegation headed by the Bishop of Winchester called on him and told him that Alice had married William de Windsor and therefore he and she were committing adultery.
‘I refuse to believe it,’ he cried in anguish. ‘She has never married anyone.’
They proved that she had recently done so, and he was overcome with grief.
‘She is also guilty of fraud and theft,’ he was told.
‘She has done nothing without my consent.’
‘My lord, even so she is guilty.’
There was not a man present who was not amazed at the state to which this once great King was reduced. A few years ago which one of them would have dared stand before him and tell him what he must do?
Now he listened meekly. He said: ‘I beg of you deal with her gently.’
Great Edward left them and went to his bedchamber and wept.
* * *
When the Black Prince heard that Alice was dismissed from Court he was delighted.
He knew that throughout the country people were looking to him. They knew that it was his support and his strength which had given the Good Parliament the courage to defy the King and send Alice from Court. But what everyone was marvelling at was that Edward should have allowed it. He must indeed be a sick man.
During the weeks that followed the Prince’s health deteriorated rapidly.
He sent for his little son Richard, a boy of nine, handsome, bright, alert. God preserve him, he prayed. If only he were a little older! If only his brother Edward had lived!
What could he say to Richard? How could he instill into that young head the importance of the destiny which lay ahead of him.
He asked that the King should come to him for he was too sick to go to him.
Edward came and sat by his son’s bedside. His grief was intense.
This son of his, this noble knight, could he be this sick and wasted man! How could God be so cruel to him! He remembered when this son had been born to him and Philippa and their great delight in him and when he grew to manhood it had seemed that all their dreams had been fulfilled in him.
Crécy. Such a boy he had been. ‘Let the boy win his spurs,’ he had said; and how he had won them! How the people had loved him! He had been their perfect knight, the symbol of chivalry; people had bowed their heads in reverence at the mention of the name of the Black Prince.
‘Oh my son, my son,’ sobbed the King. ‘Can this really be the end? It must not be. You will recover. You will be strong again. I need you, Edward. The country needs you.’
The Prince shook his head. ‘I am dying, Father. I know it well. I grieve to leave you ... and England. There are three wishes I have to ask of you. Confirm those gifts which I have bestowed, pay my debts from my estate and above all protect my son from his enemies. He is young yet ... only a boy. I fear for him, Father.’
‘You will live to reign after me, my son and I am not dead yet.’
‘Oh Father, you must live, you must not go ... not yet ... not yet ...’
The King promised that he would do all his son asked of him and went sorrowing away.
Joan knew that the end was near and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She had nursed her husband through his illness and for a long time she knew that she must be prepared for the end.
All that was left to her now was her boy. A great responsibility rested with her for when his father died that boy would be the heir to the throne.
There would be those who would try to depose him. It was always so when a boy became King.
She prayed for strength and she knew it would be granted her.
In the meantime she did all she could to keep her husband alive.
There came that day when the Black Prince sent for the Bishop of Bangor and his family gathered about his bed.
He prayed for forgiveness of those he had wronged and that God would pardon him his sins. As he died his eyes were on the stricken face of the little boy Richard who could not then understand what the future held for him.
The King was overcome with grief. He gave orders that his son should be buried with great ceremony in Canterbury Cathedral and his surcoat, helmet, shield and gauntlets hung over his tomb that none might forget that the greatest of all warriors lay there.
* * *
With the death of the Black Prince Edward dismissed the Good Parliament. John of Gaunt was in the ascendancy and appeared to have complete power over his father.
With the latter’s connivance Edward recalled Alice who came back with the utmost exuberance.
The people were enraged but in view of the King’s obviously failing health they did not insist on taking Alice from him.
She certainly pleased the King and he was almost happy with her beca
use she could make him forget that the prosperity of the country which he had taken such pains and a lifetime of endeavour and attention to duty to build up was crumbling. She would not let him remember that he was leaving a restless kingdom to a young boy who had no experience of ruling. He shut his eyes to the ambitions of John of Gaunt and sank into a state of euphoria.
Alice was back. Alice had comfort to offer. She would not accept the fact that he had a short time to live.
‘Nonsense,’ she cried. ‘You are not dying. You and I are going to ride out together to the hunt. I have a new falcon. I am going to show him to you, You must hurry and get well so that we can ride together.’
So eagerly did she talk, so loudly did she laugh that he believed her.
‘Alice, my love, we shall ride out together. Shall we have another joust at Smithfield? I shall never forget you riding as the Queen of the Sun. You are Queen of the Day and Queen of the Night, my Alice. There was never anyone like you.’
Sometimes he was drowsy dreaming of the past. He would have Alice beside him, her vibrant looks contrasting sadly with his ageing ones. But with her he felt young again. He was convinced that they would ride into the forest and there would be a joust and he would carry her favour on his helmet. He would be the champion of them all again as he had been in the past.
He was so feeble that he must as yet stay in his bed. Few people came near him. That did not matter while he had Alice.
‘We shall have a tournament,’ she said, ‘as soon as you are able to get up. And that will be soon.’
‘Will it, Alice? Do you think it will?’
‘I know so. I must have a gown which shall be studded with pearls, and furred with ermine. I shall need a zone of emeralds and rubies to go with it. Shall I order it to be made?’
‘Do so,’ he answered. ‘Do so.’
She kissed him fervently. ‘You are the best man in the world,’ she told him.
Her zone was to be made at all speed. She was well aware that there must be no delays. She knew even as she talked of hawking and hunting and the lavish jousts, that time was running out.
The whole Court knew it. It was no longer necessary to show respect for the King. How could they when it meant getting past the strumpet as they called her.
She ordered the immediate servants to do her bidding; they brought food which he was too weak to eat.
Shrewdly Alice watched. It would not be long now.
There came the morning when he lay still unable to speak and death had set its mark clearly on his brow.
He would never speak to her again. He would never smile at her.
She knew that in his mind he was far away.
He was with Philippa of Hainault, the first time he had seen her, a rosy-cheeked buxom girl standing in the great hall with her sisters. He had known she was the one and she had known it too. He remembered her bursting into tears when he had said good-bye ... there before the assembled Court. It was then that he had loved her and determined to marry her.
They had been happy together—an ideal marriage it had been. Fruitful, happy and he had known she was the best woman in the world.
Only once had she failed him ... by dying. And then everything had gone wrong.
The light was fading and darkness was enveloping him. He was going to Philippa now ...
Something touched his hands he believed, but he was not sure. He was too tired to look.
It was Alice quickly taking the rings from his fingers. The time had come for her to leave.
There was only one priest at his bedside. He was holding the cross before his eyes.
‘Jesu miserere ...’ murmured Edward.
This was the passing of Great Edward. He was buried as he had commanded he should be in Westminster Abbey close to the body of Philippa.
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The Vow on the Heron Page 40