‘You … marry my mother. But how can that be? I am your affianced bride.’
‘My dear child, you are very young and a much more suitable husband than I could ever be will be found for you.’
‘I think you are suitable. You are kind and I thought you liked me and were happy about our betrothal.’
‘I was, and I love you of course … but as a daughter. You understand?’
‘No,’ she cried. ‘No!’
‘Listen to me, little Joan. You have to grow up. There is much you have to learn. Your brother is the King of England.’
‘Young Henry,’ she said scornfully. ‘He is only a boy.’
‘He is the King of England and you as his sister are worthy of a great match.’
‘I have a great match.’
He took her hand and kissed it. She said eagerly: ‘You did not mean it. My mother will go back to England now you are home and it will all be as we planned.’
He shook his head sadly: ‘Nay, my child,’ he said. ‘Your mother and I will marry. It was what was intended years ago. Fate has brought us together again but it is what was meant to be. Come, we will ride back to the castle. I wanted to tell you this myself … to explain.’
‘I see,’ she said, ‘that you love my mother.’
He nodded.
‘Far more,’ she said sagely, ‘than you could ever love me.’
Then she spurred her horse and rode forward. He kept a distance between them. He did not want to see her sad little face.
* * *
So they were married and Joan saw her mother take that place which she had thought would be hers.
She watched them but they were unaware of her; they saw nothing but each other.
There were festivities in the castle to celebrate the marriage. There was dancing and the singing of lays. Minstrels rendered their music soulfully, romantically, and it was all about lovers.
Isabella was as beautiful as she ever was, Hugh was handsome. The life of the castle seemed to revolve round them; and the attendants whispered together and their talk was about the romance of two lovers, long parted, come together again.
Joan wondered what would happen to her. She supposed that when they emerged from this blissful wonder of being married they would perhaps remember her. Something would have to be done about her because she had no place in the castle now. Even the attendants looked at her as though she was something which a guest had left behind and must be set aside until she could be collected.
Even the bridegroom, kind Hugh, when they met, which she fancied he tried to avoid, seemed as though he were trying not to remember who she was.
She wept during the night when no one could see; and by day she wandered through the castle, lost and bewildered, but waiting with the certainty that something would have to happen before long.
Chapter III
THE SCOTTISH BRIDEGROOM
William Marshal had gone to his castle at Caversham near Reading with the conviction that he would never leave it. He was old – few men passed their eightieth birthdays – and he should be grateful for a long life, during which he had been able – and he would not have been the honest man he was if he had denied this – to serve his country in a manner which had preserved her from disaster.
He could look back over the last four years since the young King had come to the throne and congratulate himself that England was well on the road to recovery from that dreadful malaise which had all but killed her and handed over her useless corpse to the French.
There was order in the land. How the people responded to a strong hand! It had ever been so. Laws and order under pain of death and mutilation had always been the answer; and if it was administered with justice the people were grateful. That was what John had failed to see, for he had offered the punishments without consideration of whether they were deserved. Praise God, England was settled down to peace; there had been a four years’ truce with the French and he and the Justiciar, Hubert de Burgh, would see that it was renewed. England was rising to greatness and he would say Nunc dimittis.
Isabella, his wife, was concerned about him. They had grown old together; theirs had been a good union and a fruitful one. They had five sons and five daughters and their marriages had often brought good to the family by extending its influence; and although his first concern was with his honour and the right, and he put the country’s interests before his own, he could not help but be content that his was one of the richest and most influential families in the land.
But he had known for some time that his time would soon come; and he preferred to go before he lost his powers. Who – if he had been a man of action and sharp shrewd thinking – would want to become a poor invalid sitting in his chair waiting for the end?
His wife Isabella looked in at him as he sat thoughtfully at his table and he called to her.
‘You are well, husband?’ she asked.
‘Come and sit with me awhile, Isabella,’ he said.
She came, watching him anxiously.
‘We must not deceive ourselves,’ he said. ‘I believe that I shall soon be gone.’
‘You have the pain?’
‘It comes and goes. But there is after it a kind of lassitude and times when I find my mind wandering back over the past and my King is another Henry, blustering, wenching, soldiering in the way of a wise general, using strategy rather than bloodshed. He always used to say that to me: “A battle that can be won by words at a conference meeting is worth thrice as much as that in which the blood of good soldiers is shed.” I forget, Isabella, that it is the pallid boy who is now our King and not his grandfather who rules over us.’
‘There have been two kings since then, William.’
‘Richard … who forgot his country that he might win glory and honour with the Saracens … and John …’
‘My dear William, it upsets you to think of that. It is past. John is dead.’
‘For which me must thank God,’ said William. ‘He has left us this boy king.’
‘And you, William, have made England safe for him.’
William Marshal nodded slowly. ‘We are at peace as we have not been for many years, but we must keep it so.’
‘Hubert de Burgh is of your opinion and with two such as you to guide our affairs …’
‘Ah, my dear wife, how long think you that I shall be here. That is what sets me wondering.’
‘We are going to see that you remain with us for a long time.’
‘Who is this all powerful “We” which sets itself against the wishes of the Almighty? Nay, wife, when my time has come, come it will. And I want to be sure that England stays firm and that we continue in those steps towards peace and prosperity which we have taken these last four years. I am going to send a message to our son, William. I want him to come here with all speed as I have much to say to him.’
Isabella Marshal was alarmed. With that almost uncanny foresight of his William seemed to sense that his end was not far off. But she knew him well enough not to try to persuade him against such action. William had always known where he was going.
When she had left him he went to a court cupboard and unlocking it, took from it a Templar’s robe. Divesting himself of his surcoat, gown and soft white shirt, he put on the coarse garment.
He smiled wryly. It is what we all come to at the end of our days, he thought. When the end is near we turn to repentance.
He knelt down and prayed for forgiveness of his sins, and that when he passed on there might be strong men to keep the country peaceful and guide young Henry along the road to great kingship.
Then he rose and wrote a letter to his wife in which he asked that when he died he should be buried in the Temple Church in London, for if his duty had not led him elsewhere he would have chosen to be a knight of that religious but military order.
* * *
When William Marshal the younger arrived at Caversham he was shocked to see the deterioration in his father’s condition. He had never know
n the old man other than healthy and it had never occurred to him that he could ever be otherwise. His father had always been the greatest influence in his life – although in recent years they had not always been in agreement with each other – and he was shocked to realise the reason why he had been sent for. As the eldest son he had been brought up to realise his responsibilities.
His father embraced him and young William looked searchingly into his face.
‘Yes, my son,’ said the elder Marshal, ‘my time has come. I know it as surely as I stand here. My spirit is as good as it ever was but my flesh betrays me. Do not look sad; I’d as lief go a little sooner before my senses desert me. I am an old, old man, but I am mortal and mortals cannot live for ever. I have had a good life … a long life … and I feel it is crowned in success because I now see that the King is firm on the throne and with good government he will remain safely there. The country is free of the French and Hubert de Burgh is a strong man. I have asked him to come here, for I wish to see him before I go.’
Young William shook his head: ‘You speak as though you are taking a journey to Ireland … or to France …’
‘It is not unlike that, William.’
‘So you have sent for me to say good-bye.’
‘Take care of your mother. Like mine, her youth is long since past. It has been a good marriage and I am happy in my family. Though …’ he smiled wryly, ‘there have been times when you and I were on different sides.’
‘Father, there was a time when many Englishmen believed that there could be no good for England while John was on the throne.’
‘Aye, and who could deny them? My son, all differences are over now. Serve the King. Honour your country.’
‘I will do so, Father, when I can with honour.’
The younger William was referring to that period when Louis had landed in England and he had been one of those who had done him homage. It was understandable. He had been among those barons who had been present at Runnymede and he was well aware that disaster must come to England if John continued to rule. His father knew too, but he could not bring himself to abandon his loyalty to the crown. It was young William Marshal who had seized Worcester for Louis. But a year later he had turned from the French Prince for he could not bear to see French nobles strutting through England and when John died it seemed natural that he should change his allegiance, so he had joined his father and became a sturdy supporter of young Henry.
He had been married at a tender age to a child named Alice who was the daughter of Baldwin de Béthune; but the marriage had never been consummated as they had been but children and Alice had died before they were grown up.
There was no doubt that young William Marshal was considered a man of great influence, not only through his father but because of his own abilities. Young as he was he had already caused some consternation by going over to Louis’s side. Then he had fought beside his father and had taken possession of several castles which had been in French hands; but perhaps because of his one-time support of Louis he was watched rather closely by some of the older knights and in particular Hubert de Burgh.
He had recently been promised the hand of the Princess Eleanor – the youngest daughter of King John and at this time about three years old – because he was proposing to marry a daughter of Robert de Bruce, a prominent family of Southern Scotland who had some claim to the throne. The idea of a man’s marrying into the North, which was a perpetual threat to England, was alarming – particularly when he had shown that he could shift his loyalty to the French. And it was for this reason that the greater alliance with baby Eleanor had been offered him.
Young William could be proud, for it was clear that he was regarded as a man who must be placated.
When his father died he would inherit great possessions; but the thought of a world without his father filled him with foreboding.
The old man saw this and grasped his son’s hands. ‘You will follow me, my son. You will be the second Earl of Pembroke when I am gone. I want you always to keep our name as honourable as it is at this day.’
William promised but assured his father that he had some years left to him yet.
His father shrugged this aside and said that he wished his son to send for Hubert de Burgh as there was much he had to say to him.
In due course Hubert arrived at the castle and spent some hours with the Marshal when they talked of the difficulties through which the country had passed and those which remained.
‘There is not a man living,’ Hubert told him, with some emotion, ‘who has made England’s cause his own in the same self-effacing manner as you have, my lord.’
‘And you will carry this on, I know,’ replied William.
Hubert bowed his head and declared that he would do his best, though in his heart he doubted that he could match William Marshal. Hubert was a man whose emotions would always play some part in his actions; he often thought of his conduct with regard to Arthur for whose sake he had, at great risk, defied the King; and he wondered what William Marshal’s actions would have been in similar circumstances. Honour was a fetish with William Marshal. He was the man who had defied Richard, when it was clear that his father was on the edge of defeat and Richard would soon be King. Fearless in honour – that was William Marshal and there were few like him.
Hubert said suddenly: ‘My lord Earl, you must not expect the same degree of selfless service from other men as you yourself have given to the crown. The spirit is often willing, but self-interest creeps in – also the need to preserve one’s own life. The service of kings is a dangerous one.’
‘I know it well. I know you defied John when you saved Arthur from mutilation. You were not serving your King then, whatever your motive. But this gives you a quality which men perceive. I do not think they like you the less for it. Have you noticed how our young King turns first to you and with affection. He listens to me, but he cares for you, Hubert.’
Hubert knew this was true. The young King was fond of him … as Arthur had been.
‘Serve him well, Hubert, and good will come to England.’
Hubert said he would do his best.
There is strong foreign interest in the land. Guard against it. The Legate Pandulf has too much power. It was necessary for us to have his support when the country was overrun by the French, but now England should be governed by the English. I regret I have to leave you to this task. But you are a strong man, Hubert, and you have the confidence of the King.’
They talked awhile of the country’s affairs. The King was realising his responsibilities and learning quickly. Richard was in good hands in Corfe and his future could be left for a while. The Princess Joan was safely in Lusignan, betrothed to Hugh le Brun which was a good match, for it would keep Hugh an ally of the Crown of England since his wife would be a member of the English royal family. Her mother Queen Isabella was safely in Angoulême and long might she remain there. It was well to have her out of the way, William declared, for she was a troublemaker and he did not want her too close to the King. As soon as Hugh de Lusignan returned from his crusade the marriage could take place; and the Queen should of course stay with her daughter until after the ceremony. The remaining children were young yet and could play their part later. It was always well to have a princess or two ready to contract a marriage which could be valuable or expedient. So it had been with the baby Eleanor, now betrothed to the younger Marshal. His loyalty would be assured if he married the King’s sister. As for her slightly older sister Isabella, now five years old, she would have her uses in due course.
It seemed to the old man that the country’s condition had settled down beyond his wildest hopes; and, having made his preparations for departure, and his peace with God – and most of all safeguarding his country’s future as well as was within his power, he quietly slipped away.
* * *
No sooner was William Marshal dead than the peaceful progress of the country’s affairs seemed to come to an end. Hubert de Burgh, in hi
s role as Justiciar, took over control of the country; but he missed the firm hand of William Marshal. The foreign party – which had been subdued during William’s lifetime – became more vociferous. This was headed by Peter des Roches, the Poitevin Bishop of Winchester, whose aim was to oust Englishmen from the major positions of power and put foreigners in their places.
Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, fortunately for Hubert was on his side; and when Peter des Roches, supported by the Legate Pandulf, wanted to appoint a Poitevin as Seneschal for Poitou, Hubert and the Archbishop stood firmly against them in favour of an Englishman’s taking the post.
The controversy over this matter was significant, for Hubert, with the country behind him and the people beginning to take a pride in their nationalism – and perhaps feeling ashamed of having invited foreigners to rule them – were fierce in their denunciation of Pandulf so that his resignation was brought about.
While this was happening, news came to Hubert of the marriage of Isabella with Hugh de Lusignan and he hurried into consultation with the Archbishop.
‘But this is monstrous!’ cried Stephen Langton. ‘And we are only told after the marriage has taken place.’
‘It seems incredible,’ replied Hubert. ‘The Queen was betrothed to him years ago – and it seems they only have to meet to become lovers again. I have reports of their manners with each other and that it has been so since Hugh de Lusignan returned from the Holy Land. If that is not ill conceived enough, Lusignan is asking for her dowry.’
‘He shall be told that there will be no dowry. The Princess Joan was sent over and he was pledged to marry her. This is a very different matter.’
‘So thought I. I shall send messengers to the effect that the Princess Joan must return to England immediately and that there will be no dowry for the Queen.’
Messengers were sent off immediately to Lusignan.
It was shortly after that that Hubert began to wonder whether the marriage of Hugh and Isabella was perhaps fortunate after all.
The Battle of the Queens Page 7