The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  As March gave way to April, the green buds swelled to welcome the warmth of spring and the child within me grew larger. Thomas’s recovery was slow but eventually he was well enough to accompany Edmund back to Woodstock. With my undying gratitude, Master Gaddesden left for London. He said he must return, not just to his patients in the city but to his Rosa Medicinae, a treatise on medicine he was writing, which, he said, would excel all others. If I had owned a kingdom, I would gladly have given it to him for saving my son, but as it was, a large purse of gold was all I had to offer.

  In my concern for my child I had almost forgotten my husband’s problems in the north. Two days after saying farewell to our sons we received the news I had been dreading. Sir Robert Bruce’s fiery cross had been raised and marched across the land, calling his followers to action. English castles had fallen and men had flocked to the banner of their new leader.

  The bishop of Glasgow had exhorted his flock to support the rebellion, and the bishop of St Andrews had slipped away from Berwick in the dead of night. The word was that he had taken the pilgrim ferry to Elie. When a letter finally arrived with news of the events at Scone Abbey, my husband flew into such a rage he threw a basin across the floor and cursed and swore until I feared for his sanity.

  Lord de Lacy picked the message from the stone flags where it lay amongst the rushes, and read what it said.

  ‘On the feast of the Annunciation, a great multitude of men gathered at the ancient abbey of Scone. In the presence of more than half of the noble men of Scotland, together with the bishop of Glasgow and the bishop of St Andrews, with all due ceremony and with regalia suitable for the occasion, Sir Robert Bruce was crowned king of Scotland. He has let it be known that from henceforth he shall be known as King Robert.’

  ‘My clerics said it could not be done,’ shouted my husband. ‘They said he didn’t have the coronation stone, he didn’t have the vestments, he didn’t have the crown, and he didn’t have the earl of Fife.’

  ‘That is so, your grace,’ said Bishop Langton. ‘No king of the Scots can be crowned but by a member of the House of Fife. That is how it has always been. And we have earl in our possession.’

  ‘And now what do they tell me?’ screamed my husband, ‘Wishart had hidden the regalia. He had a banner with the royal arms secreted in his bishop’s treasury in Glasgow. Why didn’t we find it? Why didn’t we know it was there?’

  ‘It would be impossible to know such a thing, your grace,’ said Humphrey uneasily. ‘The bishop would have many such hiding holes.’

  ‘And that bitch, Buchan’s wife - a McDuff of Fife. Why didn’t we have her under lock and key? It’s well-known she’s Bruce’s whore, and now you tell me she put the crown on his head.’

  I flinched at the words. Alice had told me of the man he was so why did I feel such hurt?

  ‘The earl of Buchan assured us she was held safe,’ said Aymer de Valence. ‘He had her locked in a tower room with men on guard. But it seems the earl has vipers in his love-nest for someone smuggled the lady out. She took his finest horses and the earl is furious. I wouldn’t give a shilling for her safety if her husband catches her.’

  My husband began to hammer his fists on the bed and to keen and tear the sheets in his fury.

  ‘My lord,’ I said. ‘I pray you to be calm. You can do nothing about what has happened and it will not help to rail against it.’

  He looked at me in disgust.

  ‘Go away,’ he hissed. ‘You’re a woman. You could never understand. Bring me my son. He will be with me in this. We will grind them into the dirt. Bruce will rue the day he turned his hand against me, Bruce and all those involved in this treason.’

  I returned to my bed exhausted by his anger. I felt the child move within me and thought how pleasant it would be to stay here in my own chamber, away from all the horrors, until my baby was born.

  She came with the may blossom on a beautiful spring morning when the sun’s first light had barely touched the sky above St Catherine’s hill. Stealing in through the ill-fitting shutters, was the night scent of the may, the delicate pink and white flowers which grew against the walls of the palace. My old friend Lady de Lacy was in tears.

  ‘Oh my dear, just what we have been praying for, a little girl. And so perfect, so lovely. Some people say all babies look alike but I swear you can always tell a girl. She looks just like you, I can see none of his grace in that tiny nose and rosebud mouth. And as for those eyes. Oh my dear, I’m going to weep again. I am so happy for you.’

  I smiled at her through my tangled hair. She was truly a very kind woman.

  Elizabeth and Joan had both been with me for the birth and I could not thank them enough for the help and prayers they’d given me during those long frightening hours when I’d clung to them and cried with the pain. Afterwards, Elizabeth had kissed my sweat-drenched forehead and whispered that she too was again with child.

  Joan leaned over to admire her new half-sister. ‘I’m glad she resembles you Marguerite. Let’s hope she doesn’t have our father’s temper.’

  I smiled. Joan found it very hard to forgive my husband for his treatment of Ned the previous summer.

  There was a knock and Alice peeped round the door.

  ‘I’ve brought you something,’ she said. ‘For you, not for the baby. Everyone makes so much fuss of babies and forgets about the mother who has done all the work.’

  She thrust a small bunch of flowers into my hands.

  ‘Our Lady’s Tears. I found them in the garden this morning and thought of you.’

  The tiny white bells lay snugly amongst the long slender leaves, their sweet perfume filling the air.

  ‘Dearest Alice,’ I said, holding her close and kissing her. ‘I am blessed to have you as a friend.’

  I lay and thought about my beautiful, longed-for daughter. I forgot the worries of the outside world: the horrors of the coming war, the quarrels, the endless arguing as to what should be done, and lived for this moment, here with my beloved child.

  The wet-nurse returned her to my arms where she lay fast asleep. I should have been reasting but I couldn’t take my eyes away from this tiny scrap of perfection. How could something so small bring such joy?

  Later in the morning, my husband came. He looked tired and worried but had a smile on his face for me. He sat on the bed and took my hand in his.

  ‘All is well, my little pearl. God has granted you your heart’s desire.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. He has.’

  ‘And have you decided on a name for our daughter?’

  It had been a long and painful journey over the years since our wedding day. I had fought my way through snarled torments of jealousy. I’d ignored my mother’s warnings and had hated and despised a woman who had caused me no harm. My husband’s first wife had done nothing other than love him, and if she loved him she would want him to be happy. In her shadowed world she wouldn’t want to possess him, she’d want him to find companionship and love again. If I were to die that is what I would want for my husband - for him to be happy again.

  Ever since our time at Burstwick I’d come to think of her differently, not as a rival but as someone like me, someone who loved him. I should have realised when Edmund was born that love is infinite. God has made it so. My love for Thomas was not diminished one bit because I loved Edmund. The heart always has room for more and if my husband loved his first queen, and loved her still beyond the grave, it did not mean he did not also love me.

  I took my eyes away from the sleeping baby and gazed at my husband with tenderness.

  ‘If you have no objection, my lord, I should like to call her Eleanor, in honour of your first wife.’

  There was a moment of almost complete silence. All I could hear was the far-off twittering of birds outside my window and the distant sound of men and horses beyond the outer walls of the palace. His eyes filled with
tears. I had never seen him weep before and didn’t know what to say. He leaned forward and put his head on my shoulder, one hand laid gently against our daughter.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice muffled by tears and the silk of my nightgown. ‘If I ever forget to tell you how much you mean to me, how much I care for you, remember this moment.’

  We stayed like that for a long time, both our hearts too full to speak. It was only when the baby mewled that he lifted his head and looked at her with such an expression of love on his face.

  ‘Greetings little Eleanor,’ he said softly. ‘My queen of the may.’

  My eyes were closed in that half-land between waking and sleeping. I had been dreaming of Blanche and when I awoke there were tears on my cheeks. Beyond the bed curtain I heard one of my women say, ‘She is still asleep, your grace.’

  I pushed myself up and twitched the curtain open.

  ‘My lord, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were with your council.’

  ‘I was and that is why I’ve come to see you.’

  He turned to my women who were hovering about with armfuls of clothing and bits of sewing, and bade them leave us alone.

  ‘Is something amiss?’ I asked, arranging myself tidily amongst the pillows.

  He paused a moment before he spoke. ‘I have come to a decision,’ he said slowly. ‘It is time for things to change. I no longer have the stomach for campaigning and yet there is much still to be done.’

  I put my hand on his. I noticed how wrinkled and spotted his had become this past year, and how the pouches beneath his eyes were dark and bruised. The skin of his face was grey. He looked what he had become - an old, sick man.

  ‘I have given Gascony to my son.’

  I gave a little gasp. Gascony was one of the symbols of his kingship, the last of the English lands in Aquitaine, and the source of much of the Crown’s wealth. It was possession of Gascony which had been the reason for our marriage.

  ‘Ned will lead our royal armies. Not that he is ready. He is too young, too untried and although it pains me to say it, he is not a leader of men. But I have to work with what I have and I shall do my best to give him men who see the vision just as I do, friends of mine who will advise him if he will heed their words. I’ve sent Aymer de Valence north. He will secure the border and attend to matters until we can amass our armies at Carlisle. He is a good captain and I have complete confidence in his ability to do my bidding. I’ve told him to give no quarter and, who knows, by the time we arrive he may even have that piece of scum, Bruce, skewered in a ditch.’

  Despite everything, despite my devotion and loyalty to my husband, I felt my heart turn over.

  ‘I shall make a new army of knights for my son. The young are feckless these days, but I shall inspire them, just as I have always done. I’ve sent out word that all those who are not knights but would wish to be, should come to Westminster for the feast at Whitsuntide. I know how men’s minds work and I wager there will be a veritable horde.’

  He put his hand on mine and slowly his eyes lost that fevered look they had when he talked of war.

  ‘But now, my little pearl, we come to more intimate matters.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘I have started negotiations for a marriage for our daughter.’

  ‘No, my lord!’ I cried. ‘You can’t. She’s only four days old, and you haven’t consulted me.’

  The easy tears of the new mother rolled down my cheeks and I clutched at his sleeve.

  ‘Please, my lord. Don’t take her away from me.’

  He put his fingers up to my face and gently wiped away the tears.

  ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘No-one will take her away. Listen to me carefully. I have done this to protect her. I am arranging a marriage for her with the young count of Burgundy. You know who his mother is?’

  I did. The dowager countess of Burgundy was aunt to my brother Louis’s wife, and sole possessor of the huge Artois inheritance.

  ‘The little count’s sisters are betrothed to two of your brother, Philip’s sons. So you see what a good marriage this will be for our daughter.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘I do see.’

  ‘There are other reasons why this must be done now,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘If anything were to happen to me, how much care do you think my son would take over a marriage for our daughter? He’s as likely to marry her off to one of his unsuitable friends. You wouldn’t want that for our little queen of the may. Can you imagine her as the bride of someone like Master Gaveston?’

  He chuckled at his own joke but I sniffed miserably, still unhappy at the thought of my daughter ever leaving me.

  ‘Dry your eyes,’ he said, ‘and I will tell you of my plans. I had in mind a pair of gilded swans.’

  He talked enthusiastically of the ceremony and how he would first knight Ned, then let him do all the hard work of knighting the other men. He expected there to be well over two hundred who would come forward.

  ‘It will take days,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘There are men who have never been knighted, like old Mortimer of Chirk, and his nephew, Roger, and there’s Arundel’s son, Edmund Fitzalan, young Hugh Despenser, Roger d’Amory and my old friend de Warrenne’s grandson. The roll-call is endless.’

  He talked of the feast afterwards when he would make his speech, where I knew from experience, wine would flow and men would be carried away with what I liked to call war fever. They would be reckless in their ambitions, and vows would be taken. They would believe they were invincible and could conquer the world, and perhaps it would be true. I was sorry to miss the excitement but I’d not forgo these precious days with my daughter for all the feasts in Christendom.

  ‘It is time my grand-daughters were married,’ continued my husband who was clearly in an arranging mood. ‘The eldest de Clare girl is to wed young Hugh Despenser. I have talked with his father and it is settled. She is fourteen and Joan tells me she is ready for marriage. And I shall offer my granddaughter, little Jeanne de Bar, to my old friend’s grandson, young de Warrenne. And the earl of Fife can have Ralph de Monthermer’s girl, Mary. That should stop any future nonsense with the Scots. The boy has been in my son’s household for years so he’ll not be minded to crown any kings of Scotland in the years to come.’

  ‘Oh husband,’ I said with a smile in my voice. ‘You are becoming quite the matchmaker.’

  ‘It is part of a king’s duties, my dear,’ he sad seriously. ‘Marry up these families and tie the knots good and tight. New blood is all very well but one needs to choose carefully. That is what worries me about Ned, he is careless.’

  Yes, I thought sadly, Ned was loving and generous but he lacked the care and attention to every detail that a king needed. And most of all he failed to recognise the power of others, men who might turn their hands against him in the years ahead.

  Ten days later the men departed for Westminster leaving me and my daughter in the peace and quiet of our togetherness.

  ‘Till the feast of St John the Baptist, my dear,’ said my husband, kissing me on the cheek, his mind clearly on his war, not on his wife and daughter. ‘I shall see you at Westminster and we shall go north together.’

  15

  Autumn 1306

  It was past mid-summer when we departed from the Island of Thorns and headed north but the horrors didn’t start until we reached the town of Durham. It was here we first heard what was happening in the north and where, later, I had to live with the consequences.

  My husband’s old friend, the bishop, had generously offered his magnificent palace to us during our stay.

  ‘It’s no hardship for him,’ growled my husband, trying to ease the pain by shifting his position against a cushion. ‘Bek prefers his other palace. God’s bones! What luxury these prince bishops live in, wife. You’d think he was the king himself.’

  �
��He is your friend, my lord,’ I said. ‘He fights for you.’

  ‘Ha!’ he replied. ‘Bek fights everyone. If he’s not hunting he’s squabbling with some prior or other. And who has to sort out his messes? Me!’

  And with that he threw the costly velvet cushion onto the floor and demanded more wine.

  Aymer de Valence had done his work well, retaking several castles and hounding Sir Robert’s followers. His letter said dozens had returned to the English side, refusing to fight for their so-called “summer king”. Those who did not, and were captured had been sent south to face my husband’s justice.

  ‘My instructions were that no quarter was to be given,’ snarled my husband, upon being told of a group of prisoners awaiting his judgement in the castle dungeons. ‘Our army was to burn and slay and raise the dragon, and everybody knows what that means. No-one is to be spared if they take up arms against me. No-one. Is that not clear enough?’

  The captain who’d brought the news nodded in agreement, not daring to say a word.

  ‘These scum should have been slain on the spot and those who took part in that farce at Scone will be put down like dogs. How dare they think to crown a Scottish king!’

  ‘It was very wrong, husband,’ I said quietly. ‘Very wrong indeed.’

  He gazed at me and smiled a singularly unpleasant smile. ‘I have reserved a particular punishment for those who killed the lord of Badenoch at Dumfries.’

  I wondered what torments he was planning to inflict on Sir Robert and his friends if they were caught. I said a quick prayer for the man who would run through the heather. I prayed the nights would be dark and the seas calm.

  ‘And the prisoners?’ said Ralph de Monthermer.

  ‘Take them to Newcastle,’ said my husband. ‘Drag them through the streets and then hang them. Let them dance in the air to a different tune.’

  ‘Surely we will keep the titled men for ransom?’

  ‘Hang all of them,’ growled my husband, his chin sunk on his chest, his back bent against the pain. ‘Every last one of them. They’ve borne arms against their sovereign king. Whoever they are they will die.’