The Hammer of the Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  She consoled herself in comforting her sister Margaret who was greatly pleased when her bridegroom returned to Brabant without her. He was returning, it was said, to receive the congratulations on his marriage from his father’s subjects, but it was clear that he was no more unhappy at leaving his bride than she was to see him go.

  As for the King, the connection had been made, so politics had been served. He never wanted to part with any of his daughters, so Margaret would be welcome to stay at his Court for as long as was possible in the interests of propriety.

  Contemplating Margaret’s marriage Eleanor could be content with her single state. It was only when Joanna came flaunting the advantages which had come to her that she was dubious.

  Edward tried to draw himself out of his grief and consider the Scottish question.

  He called together his ministers and reminded them that this problem was of the utmost importance to them.

  One suggested that perhaps he might reduce Scotland to the same state as he had Wales.

  He shook his head. ‘Not so easy, my friend. Llewellyn and Davydd rose against me. They were captured and met their just deserts. With their departure went the claimants to the throne. In Scotland see how many there are. There are the three leading contenders and if these were removed we can be sure there would be others. We should be involved in costly wars lasting years and years. You know how difficult it is to fight in these mountainous lands, and how fiercely men will do battle on what they consider to be their own territory. Nay. What I aim at is to get them to select their ruler, but that he shall reign under me.’

  He would therefore continue with that journey which was broken by the death of his wife. He would call together a conference and he would let the Scots know that they owed fealty to him as their superior lord. If they acknowledged this they would then be free to select their own king from those claimants who now clamoured for the crown.

  But first he must have their acknowledgement of him as their superior lord.

  His grief over the loss of the Queen was somewhat alleviated by this action and as he rode northwards he gave his mind to the Scottish matter with such complete concentration that he found it was only at odd moments that he had time to remember.

  He had summoned the lords of Scotland to meet him at Norham and there the proceedings commenced.

  Edward was anxious to prove to the Scots that through the past years Scotland owed homage to the Kings of England.

  The Scottish lords, however, rejected this, at which Edward rose and standing before them towering above them all, with his stern countenance and voice to match, he cried, ‘By St Edward I will have the due right of my kingdom and the crown of which I am the guardian or I will die in the prosecution of it.’

  There was an awe-inspiring quality about the English King. It seemed to the watching Scots that he was endowed with some supernatural power. There was a magic about him which had come to him through his great ancestor the Conqueror. He was another such. Coeur de Lion had had it. Henry II had had a touch of it. It never failed to strike fear into the hearts of those who beheld it.

  A few days later when the assembly was meeting, the Scots acknowledged the King’s superiority and that they were ready to do homage to him.

  Edward was pleased. They might then choose which of the claimants should be their King.

  The matter should be left to them.

  Joanna and her husband had travelled to the latter’s estates at Wynchcombe near Tewkesbury that their child might be born there.

  The Earl was eager that everything that his beautiful young wife wanted she should have and Joanna was in her element. She was certain she was going to have a son. No one could deny Joanna anything … not even God.

  Petted and adored, she prepared for her lying in. It was nineteen years ago that she herself had been born in the town of Acre. Now she was producing her first child. How different it would be from her own coming into the world. As she lay waiting and feeling the preliminary alarms and discomforts, she did spare a moment to think of her mother lying in that hot and arid land pestered by flies and even more obnoxious insects, missing the comforts she would have had in her English palace.

  This was different. The luxurious bed; the anxious husband; countless attendants.

  It seemed that fate was determined to be kind to Joanna. Her labour was not long and there, almost before they could hope, was the child. She heard its cry and she whispered, ‘What is it?’

  ‘A boy, my lady. A lovely, healthy, little baby boy.’

  Of course. She had known it would be. Nothing should be denied her.

  Her husband came and knelt by her bed. She smiled triumphantly. It was as though he was worshipping at a shrine.

  ‘My dearest,’ he murmured, ‘what can I say …’

  ‘You are pleased?’ An unnecessary question but she wanted to hear again his expressions of gratitude; she wanted him to thank Heaven, as he had since their marriage, for his beautiful adorable unsurpassable wife.

  She touched his hand lightly.

  ‘Let us call him Gilbert,’ she said kindly. ‘After you.’

  The King must of course come to see his first grandchild. He called on his way back to Westminster from Scotland.

  He picked up young Gilbert, walked round the chamber with him, marvelled at his minute perfections and was happier than he had been since Eleanor’s death.

  It was while he was in Wynchcombe that a messenger came from the convent of Amesbury to tell him that his mother was very ill and she was asking to see him. It was necessary that he go to her with all speed.

  This time he was determined not to be too late and when he arrived at Amesbury he went straight to his mother’s bedchamber. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. She was very ill, he saw at once, and his heart sank. It was cruel. He had lost his wife and now was going to lose his mother. True he had been expecting this, for she would never have agreed to shut herself away from the world until she was fairly convinced that her end was near. Even so such foreknowledge could not soften the blow.

  ‘Oh, Edward,’ she said, ‘how glad I am that you have come. I am going … at last. Do you know, it is nineteen years since I lost your dear father.’

  ‘I know it well,’ said Edward. ‘I have reigned as long.’

  ‘Oh, Edward, my son, what a good life we had together, your father and I! It rarely happens so, and you with your dear wife … Now that she has gone … oh Edward, I know full well your sorrow. She was a good woman … rarely are women so good. You were lucky in your choice, my son, as I was in mine.’

  ‘Mother, I beg of you …’

  The King was so overcome with emotion that he feared he would break down.

  She knew this. ‘Do not be afraid to show your feelings to your family, my son. Your father never was. Oh, he was a great, good man … much maligned, never appreciated by his people … They appreciate you, Edward. Yes, I think they love you … and they loved the Queen. And now you are a great king. Many say that, Edward. You are the King the country needed … after your father and your grandfather. You are strong, a little hard perhaps. But that is what they need, they say. I remember when you were born, my son. What rejoicing! Such a sturdy baby … long-legged from the first. Longshanks. Your father liked to hear them call you that. How I suffered when you were ill! So strange that you should have been a delicate boy. But we cared so much for you. How often have I nursed you myself. I would have no others near you. Edward. Edward, my son.’

  He knelt by her bed and took her hand. ‘Dear Mother, you were so wonderful to us all. You made our family what it was. We were so happy and Eleanor and I tried to follow your example, and we did. Our children were always happy in their homes.’

  She nodded. ‘It is worth a great deal … worth anything … I loved good living … perhaps too well some will say … I loved land and possessions, jewels … We were poor in Provence and when I came to England it was as though I had discovered riches beyond my dreams. Perhaps I
loved them too well … But I always knew that the real treasure was the love of your father and you children. My real happiness was in you. And when your father died … I longed to go with him … and that is what I shall do now … nineteen years after.’

  ‘We could not have done without you during those years, dear Mother.’

  ‘You comfort me. Edward, there is something I have to say … It is this. You will marry again?’

  ‘There could never be any other for me,’ he said.

  ‘So it seems now, but that will change.’

  Edward shook his head.

  ‘You will have your duty to the country.’

  ‘I have a son.’

  ‘But one.’

  ‘Edward is a healthy child.’

  ‘It is always wise for a king to have more than one. You will see, my son.’

  But Edward did not agree.

  She smiled gently at him. And her thoughts drifted off to the days of his childhood. Henry was beside her. They had loved their beautiful son so dearly. A shared love … Oh, Henry, she thought, suddenly transported back to the present, I am coming to you now.

  Edward was with her when she died, for he would not leave her bedside.

  He was engulfed in his misery for he had in less than a year lost his beloved wife and his mother.

  He must return to Scotland soon, but first she should be embalmed at Amesbury and a grand tomb prepared for her. Her heart he would take with him to London.

  There was a great deal to occupy Edward’s mind and this helped to take his mind from his loss.

  It was hardly to be expected that firebrands would not rise now and then in Wales for there were bound to be those who resented English rule and attempted to throw it off. They were feeble attempts it was true, but he must be watchful of them. John Baliol, King of Scotland, was a weak man and not the unanimous choice of the Scottish people. A measure of his unpopularity was the nicknames which were bestowed on him. To the people he was Old Toom Tabard which meant empty jacket and Tyne Tabard, Lose Coat, which was a reference to his lack of possessions and his unworthiness to be the King of Scotland. The Scots resented the fact that their king had been obliged to swear allegiance to the King of England. Undoubtedly Edward needed to keep a watchful eye in every direction.

  There was another factor – and perhaps the most dangerous of all – and this threat came from across the Channel. It was hardly likely that Philip of France would not seize every opportunity to discountenance him and Philip had long had his envious eyes on Gascony.

  So therefore Edward needed to keep his eyes strained in every direction and be ready for immediate action should the need arise.

  Almost immediately after the birth of her son, Joanna had become pregnant, and in due course had borne a daughter whom she called Eleanor after the child’s grandmother and great-grandmother. Edward was delighted that the marriage was a success for he had had his doubts on account of the disparity in the ages of the pair. But Joanna seemed content to be admired and adored and Gilbert was completely her slave; moreover his character appeared to have changed and his ambition now seemed to dwell in his nursery where he fussed over his children. He had remained at his home on one occasion when the King had expected him to join his council – the reason being that the baby was ill and he feared to leave her. The fact that the baby was merely suffering from one of those minor ailments which affect babies from time to time seemed to him an adequate excuse for his conduct.

  Edward shrugged it aside. He was delighted for Joanna’s sake that she had such a devoted husband and he did remember how his own father and mother would have defied all the barons of England for the sake of one of their children.

  Then there was Eleanor. He worried a great deal about her. It was unfair that she should not be married. She had seen the union of her two sisters, Joanna’s so successful, Margaret’s less so. Still they were married and it seemed wrong that a young woman as beautiful and vital as his eldest daughter should be denied children.

  The Princess Eleanor herself was beginning to feel that she had been passed by. Her father was constantly moving from one place to another and it was not always easy for her to be with him; it was true she had a fine establishment – none of the family, even Prince Edward, had had a better – but that was not enough.

  It seemed to her that she must either accept her single state or ask her father to open up negotiations again with Aragon. It was possible that this might not be acceptable to the Aragonese for their amour propre must have been wounded by the second withdrawal.

  Eleanor began to wonder whether there was a man for whom she would be ready to leave her home and soon after her mother’s death she discovered that there was.

  To her father’s Court had come Henry III, Duke of Bar-le-Duc. He was the eldest son of Thibaut II and on his death Henry had inherited vast lands of great importance because they were situated between France and Germany. The Duchy had been formed as long ago as the tenth century and the reigning Dukes claimed descent from Charlemagne and counted themselves more royal than the Capets.

  The Due de Bar-le-Duc was immediately attracted by Eleanor and it was their pleasure to ride ahead of their attendants in the Windsor forest and then when they were free of them to walk their horses and talk together, he of his duchy in France, she of life in England.

  Joanna, whom Eleanor saw frequently, was interested in the growing friendship.

  ‘It would be a good match,’ she commented. ‘I am sure our father would agree.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘I should be afraid to suggest it. There is Aragon.’

  ‘How you have been cursed by Aragon! And we thought the Sicilian Vespers had taken care of that.’

  Joanna studied her sister appraisingly. ‘You are still handsome,’ she went on. ‘In fact you were always the most handsome of us all. Though I often deceive people into thinking I am. Gilbert is certainly of that opinion. You should manage your life better, sister, as I do.’

  ‘How can I ask the Duke of Bar-le-Duc to marry me?’

  ‘There are ways. Why not marry him in secret and make it a fait accompli? Then no one can do anything about it.’

  ‘You talk as though we are the daughters of some ordinary household.’

  ‘Our lives are what we make of them,’ said Joanna sagely, ‘and if you are going to accept what seems to be your fate you don’t deserve a better.’

  ‘All very well for you. You have a doting husband …’

  ‘Who seemed very old at first … and who is very old. Let us face it. Gilbert won’t live for ever and then I shall certainly make my own choice.’

  ‘You talk very recklessly, Joanna.’

  ‘And some say act so. But look what it has brought me. Two babies and a third on the way, I do declare. Everything I want. It is amusing how Gilbert tries to anticipate my needs before I know them myself. My dear sister, take what you want. If you don’t you’ll never get it.’

  It was easy for her to advise, thought Eleanor.

  And then suddenly – and it was certainly odd, reminding Eleanor of that other occasion when she and Joanna had prayed for a miracle – Alfonso of Aragon died. She was free.

  Her father came down to Windsor from the borders of Wales.

  He took her hands and kissed her. She clung to him. The sadness was still in his eyes and she knew he mourned their mother. He was still insisting that the late Queen should be commemorated in Westminster with dirges and masses for her soul.

  ‘My dearest child,’ he said, ‘it is time we settled your future. You are nearly thirty years of age. If you are going to marry and know the joy of children it must be now.’

  ‘I know, dear Father,’ she said.

  ‘My inclination is to keep you with me but often, my love, I shall go into battle. That is inevitable. There is Wales, Scotland and the French are watchful. I should like to see you happy as your sister Joanna is. Children are a great blessing, my child. I have noticed your growing friendship with the D
uke of Bar-le-Duc.’

  She smiled and when he saw the joy in her face he was immensely relieved.

  ‘He will happily ask for you,’ he said. ‘He loves you well and I am sure you have some regard for him.’

  ‘He is a great nobleman.’

  ‘Royal indeed. He is a good man, a loyal man. That is most important to me. And the strategic position of his lands could be of great importance to me if I were in conflict with the King of France and I know well he has his eyes on Gascony. I would welcome a match between you two … if you were not averse to it.’

  ‘Dear Father,’ she answered, ‘I have long thought of what I am missing. If I could see you frequently I should be happy to go to Bar.’

  Edward embraced her and assured her that ere long there would be a wedding for her.

  So it came to pass, for when the Duke of Bar-le-Duc realised that his suit was acceptable he was overjoyed.

  Edward was determined that his favourite daughter should not marry a stranger and he invited the Duke to stay in England until the wedding could be arranged, and during the whole of that summer Eleanor and the Duke were constantly in each other’s company. During September the King summoned the whole of his family, the chief knights of the country and every nobleman in the kingdom to Bristol where the ceremony took place.

  There were celebrations of great splendour for although, unlike his father and mother, Edward was not extravagant, he did believe that there were occasions when it was necessary to show the people the importance of what was taking place. Moreover this was the wedding of his best-loved daughter and he wanted her memories of England to be pleasant. The bridegroom too must be made aware of the might of the family he had married into, for the King would assuredly need his help at some time.

  After that the party travelled to Mortlake to be entertained in the household of Prince Edward. He was now ten years old – tall, good-looking and bearing a strong resemblance to his father. He was inclined to indolence and his attendants and young friends did not always behave with the decorum necessary to his rank, which had given the King some concern, but he believed that this was just youthful high spirits and that Edward would grow more sober as he advanced in years.