Desired

by Virginia Henley

  After dinner, she swept from the hall without a backward glance, but Edward was determined to clear the air between them before he departed on the most important campaign of his life.

  One look at her face when he opened her chamber door told him she intended to play the shrew. “Katherine, I like it no better than you. Lady Kent has behaved wantonly to encourage two suitors at the same time.”

  “You are the king, for God’s sake! You can order her to marry William.”

  “Katherine, Sir John Holland has a valid contract signed by Joan and her brother, the Earl of Kent. It is not a matter for the crown, but for the Church to decide. I’ll set the matter before the Pope.”

  The Countess of Salisbury was only slightly mollified. Her stony heart did not soften toward Edward.

  “I have other news that should please you.” He watched her face closely. Her eyes brightened, she caught her breath as hope was kindled. “Even though it was against my better judgment, I offered to exchange the Earl of Moray for the Earl of Salisbury.”

  Katherine clutched his hand, unable to conceal the depth of her emotions.

  “Philip of France has accepted with unseemly eagerness,” he said quietly.

  Katherine fell to her knees before him, her face radiant, her beautiful eyes liquid with tears of joy and relief. “Edward, my love, I thank you with all my heart.” Her heart and her body softened toward him. At this moment she would yield him anything.

  He raised her, and feeling most virtuous, placed a chaste kiss upon her brow. “William de Montecute is my dear friend. He is a lucky man to beget such love and devotion.”

  With a sigh, the king put Katherine de Montecute from his thoughts before he entered the queen’s bower. Philippa would welcome him as gently and as sweetly as she had since she was a maid of fourteen. He, too, was a lucky man to beget such love and devotion.

  Two other couples were saying their good-byes on this last night at Windsor. Adele and Paddy dined together in the hall, then slipped out to walk by the river. They felt the urgency in the air, felt it in their blood as well. Paddy couldn’t dispel the darklings. It was ever so for him before a battle. Though he couldn’t put it into words, he felt that if he made a commitment and received one in return, Fate would let him come back to fulfill that commitment.

  Adele couldn’t endure the thought of losing this man when it had taken her so many years to find him. She marveled that such a strong, funny, kind man wanted a woman with a plain face who was about to turn thirty. That he was Irish made her feel doubly blessed. Their coming together this night was natural and right. They shared their thoughts, their hopes and fears. When they shared their bodies, they knew a small part of them would remain with the other. Perhaps the best part.

  Ali and Glynis had no difficulty translating their feelings into words. Their spirits had much in common: fatalism, superstition, mysticism. They chose the loveliest, most serene place in all of Windsor to bid adieu. In the walled garden the night-scented flowers perfumed the air, the fountain sang its silvery song, and the slumbering sundial measured only the sunny hours. Their fingers and their breath entwined as they murmured love words as ancient as time itself.

  They exchanged talismans. He gave her a translucent lump of amber with a myriad of dark inclusions and radiant sun spangles imprisoned in its golden depths. Amber was an eternal, magic touchstone whose sensuous softness was warm to the skin, and Glynis knew its luster would be enhanced by her continual touch.

  Glynis gave Ali an amulet set with torbernite, a form of copper with brilliant green plates. Neither experienced the fear of the unknown, for both knew their destinies were linked.

  Robert de Beauchamp knew he must speak with Prince Lionel early in the evening before he drank himself to oblivion. “This campaign could stretch into years. With the king and Prince Edward in France it is your God-given opportunity to take over the reins of the realm, take the responsibilities from your mother’s shoulders, and curry favor with the Council. Never forget for one moment that if aught befalls either of them, you will become heir to the throne. If aught befalls both, you will wear the crown.”

  Lionel grabbed him in a playful wrestling hold, pinning Robert’s great arms behind his back and bending his neck forward painfully. “What are the odds?” he demanded, laughing.

  Robert resisted the impulse to bring the young giant crashing over his shoulder to the floor. He was such a brainless bastard! Still, if Lionel were intelligent, he wouldn’t be able to manipulate him. “The odds are very good.” Robert was more cautious than to come right out and say he would do his best to make Lionel the King of England. “I’d say the odds were definitely in your favor.”

  Prince Lionel stopped the horseplay, prepared to listen seriously to his lieutenant’s advice.

  “We have some very good men in our camp, but we’ll need more. You may count on those loyal to the queen and of course the House of Warrick. I also have Wiggs and his knights from Bedford. We have John Holland and young William de Montecute is ripe for plucking. But never forget that Henry of Lancaster will back your brother, John of Gaunt.”

  “Lancaster is a graybeard. He could easily fall in battle.”

  “This war could change the face of England’s nobility. There could be a complete shift of power before it’s over. I want you to be prepared for any eventuality, Your Highness.”

  When he quit Lionel’s chambers, Robert rubbed his neck. Christ, he ached all over. If he didn’t get some rest, he’d be dead on his feet tomorrow. He had orders to move his men to the coast and dawn came too damned early.

  He had put off his leave-taking of Brianna to the last minute. She had made it plain that she would not submit to him before they were legally wed, so he decided to make no last-minute sexual demands upon her. Instead he took her a parting gift, one calculated to please and therefore bind her to him. When he arrived at her chambers, Joan of Kent was with her.

  Brianna’s eyes widened in disbelief as he strode into the room. “Robert, your limp is gone!”

  “Yes, it seems the king’s physician was wrong. All my leg needed was exercise. Fortune has smiled upon me. I am leading the men of the House of Clarence in the French campaign.”

  Brianna searched his face. Had he lied to her about the leg? Nay, that was such an unworthy thought. He seemed so gallant, so eager to answer the call of duty.

  Joan moved toward the door. “I’ll give you some privacy for your farewells.”

  “No need, Lady Kent. I only wished to give my lady this parting gift of paint and brushes. Think of me, Brianna, whenever you use them.” He took her hand to his lips as if he were the most chivalrous knight in Christendom.

  Brianna’s heart softened toward him. She must count her blessings. She knew she should be content to have Robert de Beauchamp for her husband, and would have been if she had never encountered the dark and dangerous Arabian. She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Go with God, Robert,” she whispered. Brianna meant it with all her heart.

  Edward III’s French offensive was a massive undertaking. He assembled two hundred ships to transport his army of twenty thousand. The vessels made several crossings, for fighting men needed horses, baggage wagons needed mules, and war machinery needed ammunition.

  All the leaders, the knights, and the members of noble families wore a steel cone helmet with a nasal, a long-sleeved, hooded chain-mail shirt that reached to the knees, girded by a weapons belt that held sword, knife, and mace. Each carried a shield whose sharp metal edge and point could be used as a weapon.

  Some ships carried tents, fodder for the animals, medical supplies, some staple foods, and inevitably, whores. In a flotilla of two hundred vessels, the camp followers found many places to conceal themselves.

  Many of the soldiers had fought in previous French campaigns and knew what to expect, but a lot were facing war without any experience. Hawksblood passed along his knowledge to Prince Edward and the other young nobles who would command men in real battle for the fi
rst time in their lives.

  Hawksblood knew he need not reiterate that courage was the highest virtue and that they must cast out their fear in the face of danger. Their training had been grueling and endless, and he had no doubts that most would lead their men magnificently. But his experience in warfare would be invaluable to them. He glanced at the faces about him and was satisfied that they understood it was kill or be killed, maim or be maimed. There was no room for squeamishness in war. Hawksblood grinned at the Black Prince. He finished by telling them, “A knight is only as good as his horse, and all warfare is based on deception.”

  Prince Edward said, “It seems my entire life has been in preparation for this moment.”

  “Then let’s make it count for something,” Hawksblood replied, clasping Edward’s thickly muscled sword arm in a pledge of allegiance.

  As the English ships dropped anchor at Cherbourg, Warrick took charge of landing the first batch of invaders. Naturally he did not include England’s king, the king’s son, nor his own sons in this foray. There was some opposition by the French, but soon they were disarmed and in flight.

  When Warrick gave the signal, King Edward was carried ashore by an overeager young De Montecute and Robert de Beauchamp. When they reached the shore, the king fell sprawling. Before it could be interpreted as a terrible omen, quick-witted Edward held out his earth-stained hands as William the Conqueror had done when he invaded England, and he repeated his famous words: “Behold, my friends, the very land of France cannot wait to embrace me as its rightful master. It is a sign from Heaven!”

  King Edward was deeply superstitious and though he himself was not convinced, he wanted his army to believe it. He took Warrick and the Prince of Wales aside. “I’m going to knight you immediately, Edward, so that if I fall in battle, the men will have another leader to follow.”

  “Christ, Father, no! I want to earn my spurs!”

  Warrick silenced him. “You will earn them, Your Highness, a hundred times over, never fear.”

  The chests holding the regalia for those newly knighted were located and within the hour of setting foot on French soil, the king created his first knights. He bade the two young men who carried him ashore to kneel with Edward. The king bent his knee, then touched the Prince of Wales upon his shoulder with his unsheathed sword, and fastened the golden spurs at his heels. Then he did the same to William de Montecute and Robert de Beauchamp.

  Godfrey de Harcourt dispatched scouts immediately, laying out the best routes for them to travel and relay information regarding the numbers and locations of French forces. Within a day of landing, the march across France began.

  There was very little opposition in the first weeks. The English forces conquered the French towns one by one, taking everything they had of value. Barfleur, Valognes, and Carentan all fell. Wagon trains filled with armor, tapestries, silver flagons, gold candlesticks and crucifixes, as well as magnificent French furnishings, carpets, and paintings were sent to the coast to be loaded onto vessels sailing back to England. Wealthy prisoners were sent south to Bordeaux to be held for ransom.

  Christian Hawksblood led the raid upon St. Lô. He was so familiar with the town and the castle, it fell to him like a house of cards. He took Baron St. Lô and his voluptuous sister into custody. When Paddy brought them into his campaign tent, Hawksblood was not surprised when Lisette flung herself into his arms in a desperate attempt to barter her body for her life and that of her brother. Hawksblood smiled cynically when she did not even try to save her husband.

  “He’s already had the use of your body,” Paddy said with contempt. “Offer something of value.”

  “Paddy,” Hawksblood murmured low, but it was enough to silence him.

  “The wine cellars beneath the castle,” Lisette cried eagerly. “St. Lô has a thousand tuns of wine!”

  Paddy whistled. “Christ, a tun holds two hundred and fifty gallons.”

  “Wipe that smile off your face, Paddy, and make arrangements to have it shipped to my villa in Bordeaux.” He removed Lisette’s tempting hands from his body and put a hand beneath her chin. “I’ll send you and the baron there also, until you are ransomed.” He cocked a dark brow at her. “If your husband does not think you worth a ransom, I’ll find other uses for you, chérie.”

  When they reached Caen they were surprised to find a small army, led by the Constable of France. The fighting was fierce in the town, but they hacked their way to the stronghold of the castle, cleared the walls of arbalests, then put up wooden hoardings to mount the walls.

  The sun was setting before the stronghold fell to them. King Edward went to the Constable of France’s war room and searched it top to bottom. When he discovered a plan to invade England that had been drawn up by the Normans, he was incensed. It showed in detail how England was to be divided among the victors. He handed it to the Black Prince, who had inherited his father’s lightning temper. The king’s eyes burned with blue fury. “Tomorrow you will put the entire population of Caen to the sword,” he ordered Warrick.

  “We will exact revenge for this plan, never fear,” thundered an infuriated prince.

  Warrick’s eyes rolled wildly in Hawksblood’s direction. He was familiar with the Plantagenet temper and, hardened warrior though he was, he did not relish putting women and children to the sword. The Constable of France and his army had already been defeated and many lay dead. It was unnecessary to spill more blood.

  Hawksblood understood Warrick immediately, without words having to be spoken. “You persuade the king; I’ll talk to Prince Edward,” he told Warrick.

  Hawksblood drew Edward out onto the ramparts. The townspeople were still putting out fires the English had set. Women wept and children wailed as Caen was systematically stripped and everything of value was piled onto the English wagons. “The success of this campaign depends upon speed, Your Highness. We must sweep across the whole of the northern coast before the French effectively organize against us. The chances for loot have been greater than we ever dreamed, but it has already slowed us considerably. Putting the entire population of Caen to the sword will take days. The men will rape the women before they kill them, then after the slaughter they will drink themselves into oblivion. We’ll lose another week. It has taken us a fortnight to get this far.”

  Edward drew in a deep breath. The air smelled of wood-smoke, blood, and death.

  “Bank the fires of your anger so you may draw upon it in battle.”

  The Black Prince nodded slowly. He had been knighted such a short time. He would keep his vows awhile longer.

  Warrick was having a much harder time controlling the king’s bloodlust. He refused again and again to give up this act of revenge. Warrick pointed out the need for speed, pointed out they should be closer to the French capital by now, but King Edward would not let go of his white-hot fury. It was only when a pair of Godfrey de Harcourt’s scouts arrived after dark, reporting that Philip had fallen into a panic and was preparing Paris to withstand a siege, that the king wavered.

  The scouts reported that Philip was tearing down all the buildings that touched the city walls. King Edward’s laughter rolled out, to think he could put fear into the King of France. The other news was less amusing, however. Philip was gathering a huge army on the Plain of St. Denis, between Paris and Poise, which swelled in number every day. The scouts could not give exact numbers, but of one thing they were certain: the French army was much larger than the English army!

  King Edward forgot his need for revenge and called a strategy meeting. They decided to press on at dawn, but instead of following the coast, they would take Lisieux and the towns that lay inland on their way to Paris.

  Twenty-eight days melted away before the English reached Poise. They were a mere dozen miles from Paris, but the great river Seine still had to be crossed. Suddenly they received different numbers regarding the French army. Some scouts reported fifty thousand, but others swore the French were sixty or seventy thousand strong. One thing was clear: Phili
p must have withdrawn all his forces from the south.

  Against such vast numbers, King Edward concluded a siege of Paris would be folly. It was decided that Sir Walter Manny would take a small force south, away from the Seine, and circle back up to Paris in a deceptive tactic while a pontoon bridge was built across the river Seine.

  It took them three days, and the leaders heaved great sighs of relief to have this obstacle behind them. Only lightning speed could safeguard the English army now, for they were rumored to be outnumbered at least three to one.

  This was the price they had to pay for their slow progress through Normandy while they searched out loot. The king and Warrick were aware of the danger. All the roads behind them were black with French troops. They drove their heavily laden soldiers at top speed through the Vexin of Normandy and covered an unbelievable sixty miles in four days. But the most serious obstacle to their progress still lay ahead.

  The broad river Somme with marshy peat bogs on both sides was enough to spark terror in the bravest heart. The king ordered his two marshals to go ahead and secure a crossing. Warrick took both his sons, but made it clear they must follow Harcourt’s orders because of the French knight’s familiarity with the treacherous terrain.

  They found all the bridges destroyed and the fords guarded by Picardy troops. Harcourt’s men failed in two attempts to seize fords. Then Warrick sent his son, Robert, who led the Duke of Clarence’s men, but they too failed.

  Hawksblood was eager to try, but Warrick decided to lead the men himself. They suffered high casualties; their horses floundered in the bogs and the attempt failed. When King Edward arrived with his army, he was incensed that no way across the boggy Somme had been secured.

  Hawksblood withdrew to his campaign tent with his squires. They knew he needed to achieve a trance-like state before he could experience one of his visions. Christian lay supine upon the floor while Ali lit a small incense burner. Hawksblood harnessed his mind’s great power, first clearing it of all unnecessary clutter. Then, one by one, he went through the barriers of fear, time, space, finally becoming one with the elements of air, earth, and water. What was secret became known, what was distant became close, what was impossible became attainable.