The Hammer of the Scots

Chapter X JOANNA DEFIANT

The King was constantly with his eldest daughter. Only she could comfort him. They talked of the Queen, how good she had been and how they had failed to appreciate this to the full while she had lived. She had been so self-effacing, thinking only of the good of her family, and they had accepted her unselfishness as part of their lives and taken it for granted.

Gloucester and Joanna came to Westminster from Clerkenwell, and the four of them talked together of what the loss of the Queen meant to them.

Gloucester told the King that he could subdue his sorrow by throwing himself into his kingly duties. There was the matter of Scotland which had not grown less acute because of the Queen’s death.

The King agreed. He must drag himself away from his sorrow. He must continue that journey which had been interrupted.

Joanna, now quite obviously pregnant, was inclined to patronise her sister. As Countess of Gloucester, married to the most important baron in the country, rich, doted on and soon to become a mother, she made Eleanor feel that she was missing something in life.

When they were alone Joanna discussed the blessings of the married state.

‘Depend upon it,’ she said, ‘our father will soon be looking for a bride.’

‘Our father! He never would.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘He was devoted to our mother.’

‘My dear sister, how little you know of the world. Of course he was devoted to our mother. He loved her well. But she is dead. He is not an old man. He will want a wife, I tell you. He will want children.’

‘He has already had twelve and there are six of us still living. Joanna, do you think bearing so many children was what killed her?’

‘She was never worried about child-bearing.’

‘No, because she would think it her duty and would die in doing that. She knew how ill she was and she tried to keep it from us. Oh, Joanna, our father could never take another wife.’

‘Give him time,’ said the wise Joanna. ‘I’ll wager with you that soon there will be talk and our father will be persuaded to marry again. Ah, you like that not. My dear sister, you must not devote yourself so earnestly to our father. You must have a husband of your own. I assure you that if you find the right one there is a good deal to be said for the married state.’

Eleanor was beginning to think that too. She was no longer young. Twenty-six years old. Still time to marry and have children. Joanna was right. She must have a husband. But she was affianced to Alfonso of Aragon. She had set her heart against going to Aragon – and so had her father. He did not like Alfonso. But she must face the unfortunate fact that she had been affianced to him and that was tantamount to a betrothal. If she married anyone else she would need first a dispensation from the Pope and that might cause trouble with Aragon which was too important a country to quarrel with.

It seemed that she must either ask for negotiations to be opened with Aragon or make up her mind that marriage was not for her.

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 Duke 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.

The Princess Eleanor was happy. It was true that she must leave England and that was something she had dreaded doing, but now it seemed different; and her husband had promised that whenever possible they would visit England, and the King would always be welcome in Bar.

He would return there now to make preparations for her arrival, for he wanted to make sure that she received a royal welcome and he trusted no one to arrange that but himself.

In a few weeks she would join him.

How excited she was making her preparations. Joanna contrived to spend a great deal of time with her. ‘For,’ said Joanna, ‘when you go away I shall see you rarely then.’

Joanna had given birth to another daughter whom she called Margaret after her sister. So now she had three children. Child-bearing seemed to suit Joanna. Like her mother she came through the ordeals with little inconvenience to herself, and as Gilbert’s devotion did not diminish she was happy in her motherhood.

‘Sister,’ she said one day, ‘I do believe you are with child.’

Eleanor blushed slightly. She had suspected it and the fact that Joanna had noticed confirmed it.

‘It is what I want more than anything,’ she declared.

‘The Duke will be pleased.’

‘Yes, as soon as I am sure I shall send a message to him.’

Joanna laughed. ‘Life is good, is it not, sister? Was I not right in telling you you should marry? Poor Margaret, I doubt she will find it so blissful. It is strange is it not that her Duke allows her to stay away from him? I have heard it said that he prefers it so. Oh, we are the lucky ones, Eleanor.’

Eleanor agreed with this.

She was in fact pregnant, and when her husband heard this he replied that she must leave for Bar without delay. She must make the strenuous journey in the early stages before travelling should be irksome or dangerous. And it was essential that his heir should be born in the Duchy.

A great cavalcade accompanied her to Dover, the King at the head of it.

They took a tender farewell and the King would not leave the shore until he could no longer see the ship which was carrying his daughter away.

In her new home she was welcomed by her husband, who was determined to give her a display to equal that which King Edward had arranged for their pleasure. He had organised a tournament and had invited from all over the Continent, knights renowned for their prowess. Among these was John, the elder Duke of Brabant, the father of Margaret’s husband, who had been known all his life as one of the most accomplished of the knights and had so distinguished himself that he had won the titles of ‘Glory of the World’ and ‘Flower of Chivalry’, which meant that when he jousted people came from every corner of the world to watch him.

‘My dearest,’ said the Duke, ‘you of course must present the crown to the winner of the jousts for they will all perform in your honour.’

She was delighted. She had always been beautiful but seemed to have become more so since her marriage. There was new colour in her cheeks, a new shine to her eyes and a lustre in her hair, which she wore hanging loose about her shoulders.

The old Duke of Brabant was overcome by her beauty and he told her that he was determined to win the crown for the honour of receiving it from her hands.

She wished that Joanna could see her now. Would she be a little envious? Perhaps. But Joanna was in command of her life to such an extent that she rarely envied anyone. There was a niggling disquiet in the recesses of Eleanor’s mind concerning her sister. She had mentioned more than once the possibility of her husband’s dying – and without a great deal of concern – when she would have the husband of her choice.

But she could not think of Joanna on this day. How beautiful it was. The sun was shining, lances glittered and the knights were assembled in their armour ready for the mock battle. She was seated high on her bench with her ladies beside her, under a canopy of scarlet and gold, and all eyes were on her. They marvelled at the beauty of her hair and eyes, her fresh smooth skin. She wished that her father could see her now.

The knights were all eager to win the trophy; there was not one there who was not longing for the honour of having the crown placed on his head by those fair hands.

Yes, she thought, I am happy as I never thought to be. Joanna was right. I needed marriage and children. This is the true life. The crown of England for which she had longed seemed of little importance – a bauble. Here she was: a happy wife, a mother-to-be, the queen of the tournament.

The jousting began and went on throughout the day. The old Duke of Brabant had come successfully through several encounters and she hoped he would win. She wanted this to be his crowning endeavour, for he was clearly too old to joust much more.

She watched him. His opponent was a stranger whom she did not know. But he must be a knight of some repute or he would not be here. He was a tall man and he sat his horse as though he and it were one. Her father was like that. They had the long arms and legs of the Normans, and because of this they had the advantage on horseback.

It was the third turn. She heard the gasp in the crowd; there was a second or so of silence and then people were running onto the field where the old Duke of Brabant lay bleeding on the grass.

His opponent was kneeling beside the old man, imploring his pardon, begging him to use the sword against him, to kill him for what he had done.

The old Duke shook his head. ‘It was a fair fight,’ he whispered. ‘I should have known my day was done.’

He was carried from the field into the castle of Le Bar, where he died shortly afterwards. His death cast a gloom over the celebrations and the Duke and Eleanor agreed that they must put an end to them.

Some said it was not a good augury for the future. Now that the old Duke of Brabant was dead, Margaret’s husband was the new Duke.

In due course Eleanor’s child was born and to her – and her husband’s – great joy, it was a boy. She insisted on calling him Edward as a compliment to her father, and when the news reached England there was great rejoicing there. The King longed to be with his daughter. That was impossible, of course, but although he missed her sadly he was glad that at last she had a husband and child and he prayed for her happiness.

It was not long before she was once more pregnant and this time she produced a girl. She wrote to her sister Joanna telling her how happy she was and that she was going to name her daughter Joanna to remind her of the sister who had been closest to her.

There was no doubt that happiness reigned in the Duchy of Bar-le-Duc and fortunately neither the Duke nor the Duchess knew at that time how short-lived it would prove to be.

Joanna was now the mother of four children – Gilbert, Eleanor, Margaret and Elizabeth. They had all been born within the space of five years and the novelty of being a wife and mother had vanished.

As with her mother, child-bearing had come easily to Joanna and taken little toll of her looks. Her vitality was as strong as ever. She was twenty-three years old and, although when she was first married it seemed interesting to have an elderly husband, she was now beginning to see him as a very old man whose devotion was so constant that it seemed cloying.

She was becoming increasingly aware of one of Gilbert’s squires, a certain Ralph de Monthermer – good-looking, sturdy and above all young. When she compared this squire with her husband poor Gilbert seemed very old indeed and she wondered what would have happened if she had met Ralph de Monthermer before her marriage. She convinced herself that she never could have married Gilbert then and imagined what her father would have said if she had suggested Ralph as a bridegroom.

A squire for a king’s daughter! He would have thought she was mad. Perhaps she was a little. In any case she certainly felt reckless when she looked at that young man.

It amused her to play little games with him. To look up suddenly and catch his eyes on her and to ask him if he saw aught wrong.

He would become embarrassed, but only slightly, for he was quite a bold young man. ‘Wrong, my lady? Nay, right … far too right for my peace of mind.’

A pleasant allusion to her charms which she liked.

She would make sure that he was placed near her, but not too near. When she sang after supper it would be songs of hopeless love and she very much enjoyed the effect this had on him. When she rode out with a riding party he was invariably of it and she would pretend to be surprised to find herself beside him.

Some would say it was a dangerous situation into which she was sinking more deeply every day, but danger was irresistible to Joanna and she became more and more interested in Ralph de Monthermer.

Who could say how this would have ended and when it would have been brought to Gilbert’s notice if of late Gilbert had not been so easily tired that he had liked to retire early? That his last campaign had taken some toll of his health was obvious.

Joanna played the anxious wife for a while but it was a role she soon tired of. Fortunately for Gilbert he did not live long enough to see that she was wearying of it, for one morning when his attendants went into his bedchamber to waken him they found that he had died in his sleep.

It was not altogether a surprise for it had been obvious to the discerning that Gilbert had grown weaker every day.

Joanna received the news calmly. She found it hard to express any deep sorrow. The marriage had been satisfactory while it had lasted but it had lasted long enough. She could not have gone on being a dutiful wife much longer so it was better for everyone that Gilbert should pass on before he discovered this.

And there was Ralph de Monthermer.

She sent for him and gave him her hand to kiss in greeting. He did not release it but continued to hold it and drew her towards him.

‘What means this, my lord?’ she asked, but he saw the sparkle in her eyes.

‘I think you know, my lady.’

‘My husband is dead,’ she answered.

‘I know it.’

‘And you think that because of this you may with impunity misuse me?’

‘I think, my lady, from what I read in your eyes that I may presume a little on your kindness.’

‘Do you forget that I am the widow of your lord and the daughter of your King, Ralph de Monthermer?’

‘I forget all but one thing, lady, when I am close to you.’

‘You should leave me now. We will talk of this later.’

He hesitated and she half wished he would disobey her, seize her, make love to her. That would have been piquant with Gilbert not yet in his tomb. Instead of which he left, which after all was best.

We have the rest of our lives, she thought. We can for a while pay homage to propriety.

In his death chamber, faintly lighted by a wintry sun, for the month was December, Joanna had ordered that candles be lighted and one by one his squires went in to take their last farewell of him – a good master, a man of strong character, who more than once in his life had defied his King. Yet he was a man to be respected, for in spite of the fact that he had once fought against royalty on the side of Simon de Montfort, the King had given him his daughter.

Joanna was watchful during those days in Monmouth Castle to which they had come that Gilbert might guard his Welsh estates, and only now and then she allowed herself to catch the eye of Ralph de Monthermer, and then hers conveyed the message: ‘Wait awhile. But not for long.’

The family burial place of the Clares was Tewkesbury, and with great pomp Gilbert was taken to the abbey there. Joanna commanded that a statue should be made of him in his chain armour for he had above all been a great warrior; and on his tabard she had engraved the family arms and in the right hand the spear, in the left his sword.

‘Alas, poor Gilbert,’ she said, ‘he was a good husband to me, but he was old and it was to be expected that he would go before me.’

And she smiled to herself. She had always said that if a woman married once for state reasons – which as a princess perhaps duty demanded that she should – the second time she married, her husband should be of her own choosing.

It was imperative that she make sure that she should lose nothing by her husband’s death. His estates were vast for he had been one of the richest barons in England and when her father was in St Edmundsbury she took the journey there to be with him.

Edward was delighted to see her.

He embraced her warmly and looked eagerly at her, expecting, she supposed, to see the grief of a sorrowing widow.

She could not pretend to such an extent and when he sought to soothe her she replied, ‘My dear lord, Gilbert was a good husband to me. I married him because it was your command. But he was so much older than I and as the years passed the older he seemed to grow.’

The King was a little disconcerted, but he was pleased to see that she was not as unhappy as he had expected her to be.

‘I have my children to think to,’ she said. ‘I want to be sure that Gilbert’s estates come to me. I know that you would not allow them to be withheld from me.’

‘There is a certain amount owing to the exchequer, I am told,’ said the King. ‘I believe it to be ten thousand marks.’

‘That cannot be so, dear Father.’

‘Yes, my dear child, it is so. The ten thousand marks cover debts which he incurred as a fine and which was never paid.’ The King pressed her hand. ‘The rest of the estate shall be made over to you. I know it to be considerable.’

She was pleased; but she wanted to see how far her father would indulge her. He had come determined to make much of her. He greatly missed his eldest daughter, the Princess Eleanor, and he was now turning to the daughter who remained in England.

‘Dear Father,’ she said, ‘could you not forget the ten thousand marks? I would have to raise them and that would not be easy. Please, Father, for my sake and that of my children …’

She had slipped her arm through his and laid her face against his. She was very attractive – not as beautiful as Eleanor, nor as gentle as Margaret, nor as good as Mary, nor as dependent as Elizabeth … but there had always been something very appealing about Joanna.

Moreover he had something on his mind and that was marriage. He had mourned his Queen and had genuinely suffered through her loss, but several years had passed and many of his ministers had suggested that he should marry again. He was not young by any means. He was closer to sixty than fifty; but he was unusually full of vigour and he felt an excitement at the prospect of female company. Except in his extreme youth he had never been a man to sport outside the marriage bed. He could hardly begin now. He did not want to cast a slur on Eleanor’s memory, but it seemed only right and natural for a king to take a second wife.

He had heard eulogistic reports about the Princess of France. Her name was Blanche and she was the daughter of King Philip known as le Hardi. Philip was dead and Blanche was under the guardianship of her brother, the new King Philip le Bel. Before the idea of marriage had occurred to him he had heard Blanche praised for her beauty and sprightliness.

It had occurred to him recently that he must therefore marry and the most suitable bride for him was beautiful Blanche. Negotiations were going on at this time.

While Joanna was pleading with him he was wondering how he was going to break the news to his daughters that he was hoping to marry. They had all loved their mother so devotedly and he had declared many times after her death that he would never put another in her place. Times changed and kings had their duties to perform. No, he was too honest for that. He had never seen Blanche, but from the rumours he had heard he was already in love with her and he had discovered that love at fifty-six could be as strong as it was at twenty. Perhaps more so, because at that age a man who still retained his vigour also had the knowledge that there was not much time.

He would need the support of his daughters. He wanted them to understand. Therefore he would not wish there to be any rift between them.

‘My dear child,’ he said. ‘I would not wish to displease you for the sake of ten thousand marks.’

It had been easier than she had thought. She was exultant.

This tempted her to take her schemes a little further.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘there is another matter.’

He said: ‘I am listening, daughter.’

‘There is a squire who has served Gilbert well. I believe he should be rewarded. During Gilbert’s illness he was always at his side … a very faithful man, caring not what he did for his master’s comforts.’

‘What would you have for him?’

‘He is but a humble squire.’

‘Of what family?’

‘A most humble one, my lord, but in manners he is a true knight. Would you, out of love for me, grant him the boon of knighthood?’

‘I will do this out of my love for you,’ said the King.

She kissed his hand.

‘Dear Father, how good you have always been to us. The only reward I can offer you is my unswerving love.’

‘It would always be mine, would it not?’ said the King.

‘Always,’ she answered.

Joanna said goodbye to her father and with her retinue returned to Gloucester. She was well pleased. She was free and she had proved to herself that whatever she did she would be forgiven.

She sent for Ralph de Monthermer.

‘Why, my lord,’ she said, ‘you have grown in stature, have you not. A knight, no less!’

‘For which I have to thank my gracious lady.’

‘The King has always been a good father to us. I have a notion that he would deny me nothing.’

She was smiling secretly.

She held out a hand to him. Willingly he grasped it.

‘My lady,’ he began.

‘I have decided that we might marry,’ she said.

He caught his breath in amazement.

‘Yes,’ she went on. ‘I will be frank. There is that about you which pleases me. Do I please you?’

She laughed aloud at his expression.

‘Oh come, my lord. Do not be shy.’

‘My lady, I am afraid …’

‘You afraid. Then I have been mistaken. I do not like men who are afraid …’

‘Of nothing but displeasing you.’

‘But you do not please me standing there and trembling like a foolish boy.’

He came to her. She saw the wild light in his eyes and it matched hers.

He took her and held her, and she laughed exultantly.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is what I have waited for.’

‘You … the King’s daughter!’

‘And mistress of my knight.’

‘Joanna … My Joanna!’

Of course it was as she had known it would be. Gilbert had been such an old man. Now she was well matched. This sensuous tireless vital man was hers.

As they lay together she said, ‘We should wait a while before we marry. It is too soon yet.’

‘You would … go as far as that?’

‘Have you not discovered that there are no lengths to which I would not go?’

‘I am beginning to learn.’

‘Ah, you have much to learn, Ralph de Monthermer.’

‘And when we are married what will the King do, think you?’

‘He will rant and rage and threaten to disown me. Perhaps he will put you in a prison. Are you afraid? Will you hold back?’

‘I will never hold back.’

‘That is well. I would never want a coward. I want to live boldly … freely. Never fear, the King loves me dearly. He would never remain angry with me for long. And if you please me and I want my husband taken from his cold damp cell, I shall ask for him and he will be given to me.’

‘What if your husband has ceased to please you by then?’

‘He will have to take care that he goes on pleasing me … as he does now.’

They made love again and again.

This is living, thought Joanna. Of course this is what I always wanted.

After what Joanna considered to be a reasonable time had elapsed she and Ralph de Monthermer were secretly married. She was delighted by her wedding and the intrigue which had been necessary excited her a great deal, but when the deed was done she was anxious as to how she would break the news to her father.

She knew that at this time he was deeply weighed down with troubles of his own. He was thinking of marrying and really was becoming quite besotted about Blanche of France; it was said that when her name was mentioned his eyes lit up with pleasure and his voice took on an unusual warmth. She was young and beautiful and he wanted to marry her. At the same time he thought a great deal about the late Queen to whom he had always said he would be eternally faithful. He was a man who did not like to break his word.

There was another matter which deeply concerned him too. He was worried about his eldest daughter – his dear Eleanor, now Duchess of Bar-le-Duc, who had, some thought, been the one he had loved beyond everyone else before this obsession with Blanche.

Things were going badly at the castle of Le Bar. During Edward’s conflict with the King of France, as was to be expected Eleanor’s husband came out in full support of his father-in-law and, owing to his estates being so close to France, this was extremely useful to Edward. Edward had of course supplied him with arms and money and the Duke had attempted to take Champagne, a project with which Edward was in agreement as its capture would have meant the aggrandisement of his grandson.

Champagne, however, belonged in her own right to the Queen of France who held the title Countess of Champagne. She was furious at what she called the Duke of Bar-le-Duc’s audacity and she mustered all the strength she could, which was considerable, to come against the Duke.

The result had been disastrous … for the Duke.

His army had been defeated and he was taken prisoner. Not content with that the Queen, feeling vindictive against him, had had him fettered and sent to a dungeon in Paris. The King of France, however, had restrained his wife and while he agreed that the Duke should remain a prisoner he thought he should be treated with more dignity, and – perhaps his relationship with the King of England would make this advisable – the Duke was taken to a more comfortable prison at Bourges. But the King of France was determined that the Duke should not be granted his freedom as he would only use it in the service of the King of England against France.

Eleanor was therefore alone in the castle of Le Bar wondering about the fate of the husband whom she loved, protecting little Edward, her son, and Joanna, her daughter, and each day wondering what would become of them.

Edward was frantic with anxiety about her and was planning a meeting. He wanted Eleanor to come to Ghent where he could meet her and they could be together and discuss her future.

Joanna was wondering whether, in view of the King’s preoccupations, it would be a good thing to spring the news of her marriage on him or whether, beset by anxieties, he would be more inclined to fume against her. There was a great deal at stake, she told Ralph. He could confiscate their possessions. He could send Ralph to prison. There was no knowing how he might act. He had been an indulgent father but he did possess the notorious Plantagenet temper, and although he kept it well in check it could be terrifying when aroused.

After a great deal of thought, Joanna decided that it might be a good idea to set into circulation a rumour that she and Ralph were in love and contemplating marriage. They could see what effect this would have on the King and if he took the matter lightly they could come forth and confess. On the other hand if he expressed his fury they could retreat into silence and let him think the affair had come to nothing.

The King was brooding on his own and his eldest daughter’s predicaments when the news of the rumour came to him.

‘It’s a lie!’ he shouted. ‘She would not dare.’ He was horrified. He had been thinking that Joanna was not the sort of woman who should remain unmarried, and he had for some time been considering an offer from the Earl of Savoy who had been putting out feelers suggesting a match between himself and the King’s widowed daughter.

He remembered that she had prevailed on him to bestow a knighthood on Ralph de Monthermer and his fury increased. Of course there was foundation for the rumour. He remembered how she had cajoled him, how she made him forget her late husband’s debts, how she had seemed so happy to be with him and glean such comfort from his presence. When all the time she had been planning to deceive him!

Eleanor would never have done this. Nor would Margaret, Mary nor Elizabeth. Joanna was different. Born in a foreign land, spending the first years of her life with her grandmother, Joanna was different … a deceiver … a siren. But he would teach her a lesson.

He sent for two of his knights and shouted orders to them.

‘Go forward,’ he cried, ‘and confiscate in my name all the lands and possessions of the Countess of Gloucester.’

The very fact that he referred to her as the Countess rather than the Princess Joanna, his beloved daughter, was significant.

They hesitated.

‘Go,’ shouted the King. ‘Did you not hear me?’

So they went.

Joanna was in despair. So this was how he behaved when he heard a rumour that she was contemplating marriage. What would he say when he knew that the deed was already done?

‘We must act with the utmost care,’ she told Ralph. ‘Perhaps we should separate for a while.’

Ralph said he would face anything rather than that, and their danger seemed to intensify their passion. She was exultant. This was the lover she had been waiting for all her life. He was ready to face death for her sake and he might well do so, for the wrath of the King – though rare – could be terrible. But she doubted he would ever in any circumstances harm his daughter, though he might well vent his wrath on those who had shared her sins.

It was fortunate that she had friends, for one of the knights at the King’s Court who had always admired her decided that he would risk the King’s displeasure if he ever found out, in order to prepare her for the disaster to come.

This knight secretly left the Court and rode into Monmouth Castle and asked to be taken to the Countess Joanna without delay.

She received him at once, and before she could tell him how welcome he was he blurted out, ‘The King is sending his confessor Walter de Winterborn to you. He is to find out the true state of affairs between you and Ralph de Monthermer.’

‘I see,’ said Joanna, her mind working quickly.

‘He is to report whether there is any truth in the rumour that you are contemplating marriage. And he is to bring news of a match the King is arranging for you.’

‘Arranging a match for me!’

‘Yes, an agreement is being made with Amadeus, Earl of Savoy, and the King declares he is eager for you to be married without delay. It will put a stop to rumour.’

There was no way out. She saw that she could not keep her marriage secret much longer, but she could not face Walter de Winterborn now. She could imagine what his probing questions would be like.

She thanked the knight for warning her and went to find Ralph.

‘This is disaster,’ she said. ‘The King has a husband for me.’

‘He cannot have you,’ cried Ralph.

‘Of a certainty he will not. But you see how my father can be when his wrath is roused. Already he has left me nothing, taken everything I possess. Never mind, I’ll get it back. But I must have time. If Winterborn comes here he will discover at once. He will question the servants in his confessional manner, and they won’t be able to stand out against him however loyal they are.’

‘Then what do you propose, my love?’

‘We are going to leave here at once. I must have time. My father will have to know we are married, but I want to tell him myself … and in my own time. Be ready. We are leaving immediately for the Countess of Pembroke’s castle in Herefordshire. She will help me. She has always been my friend. I want to talk to her of all this. I must be able to think in peace.’

‘I will prepare at once,’ said Ralph.

‘I shall take the children with me,’ she went on. ‘My father dotes on the little girls and he will see that no harm comes to them, which means that he cannot send their mother away from them. I shall win him round eventually, but it will take time.’

‘You would always win anyone round,’ replied Ralph admiringly.

She smiled in agreement and in a very short time they were setting out for Goodrich Castle, the home of the Pembrokes, in Herefordshire.

The Countess had always been a friend of Joanna’s although considerably older and she had been recently widowed. Joanna had often confided in her and had complete trust in her. The Countess’s daughter Isabella, wife of Hastings, who was one of the claimants to the Scottish throne, was now with her mother at the castle, and they endeavoured to show Joanna how delighted they were that she should visit them.

Joanna sought an early opportunity to be alone with the Countess. The rumours had already reached her, but she did not know, of course, that the marriage had already taken place. When she was told this she was overcome with horror.

‘But, my dear Joanna,’ she said, ‘the King will be enraged!’

‘I know, and I want to talk over with you what I must do.’

‘Could you not have asked his permission?’

‘No, because it would have been refused.’

‘And it was so important to you?’

‘My dear friend, you have seen Ralph. Is he not a king among men?’

‘He is very attractive, I agree.’

‘I married an old man to please my father. I believe I now have a right to please myself.’

‘But not to marry without the King’s consent.’

‘I have married without his consent, and nothing can change that. What I want to talk about now is not what I should have or should not have done, but what I am going to do now. There is something else, which only Ralph knows. I will tell you …’

The Countess looked at her incredulously.

‘Yes,’ went on Joanna, ‘you may stare. It’s true. I am with child.’ Joanna began to laugh. ‘You see there is nothing he can do now … nothing.’

‘He can imprison your husband and confiscate your lands.’

‘The latter he has already done. Tell me, Countess, what can I do?’

The Countess was thoughtful. ‘There is only one thing,’ she said at length. ‘Go to him. Ask his pardon. Tell him how much you love your husband. Tell him you are to have a child.’

‘He will know that before long. He is angry because I persuaded him to give Ralph a knighthood and told him it was in payment for services to my husband.’

The Countess shook her head. ‘I am sure the storm will pass. The King loves his family dearly as we all know, and I am sure he will not allow more than a passing conflict. He will be angry for a while so perhaps it would be better for you to keep away from him until he is calmer.’

‘I think you are right. But I shall be sent for and I cannot disobey the summons. I think I will send the little girls on ahead of me. He loves them so much as he does all children, and particularly little girls. They will soften his heart. He will never bring himself to be unkind to their mother.’

‘That,’ agreed the Countess, ‘might be a good idea.’

She sent the little girls to St Albans where the King was at that time and news came to her that the King had received them with as much affection as he ever had, that they had been allowed to scramble over him and pull his hair and he had been delighted when they kissed him unasked.

A good augury! thought Joanna.

It was a shock therefore when the King’s guards arrived at Goodrich with orders to arrest Ralph de Monthermer and imprison him in Bristol Castle, where he was to be kept as the King’s prisoner. Joanna – he referred to her as the Countess of Gloucester – was to pay immediately the outstanding debts of the Earl of Gloucester which previously she had persuaded the King to forgo.

It was a sign that Edward was in an unforgiving mood, and more angry with a member of his family than she had ever known him before.

For a month or so the King refused to see his daughter, and she remained as though in haughty indifference to his coolness towards her. But meanwhile Ralph was imprisoned in Bristol and she could not allow that to go on.

Continually she discussed the matter with the Countess of Pembroke and her daughter Isabella.

‘I must do something,’ she declared. ‘I cannot let Ralph stay in Bristol. My father knows that this is the greatest revenge he can take on me … to rob me of my husband. I am going to see him and plead with him.’

The Countess shook her head and Isabella reminded her of the King’s great anger against her. He had been made to look foolish because he had been arranging a marriage for her when she was already married. It was difficult for a proud King to stomach that, said the Countess.

‘But he always has been soft with his daughters. We have always been able to overcome his annoyance with us.’

‘That might have been in matters of little significance. This is different.’

‘I must make him understand. He loves his grandchildren. He ought to be delighted that this child will have Ralph as a father. Come, confess, did you ever see a man more handsome?’

The Countess smiled and Isabella said with a certain amount of fervour, ‘He is indeed handsome. One rarely sees a man so well set up.’

‘Ah,’ said Joanna quickly. ‘I see you have a fancy for him.’

‘My lady,’ said the Countess, ‘Isabella has a husband and is devoted to him.’

Joanna laughed. ‘I know that well. I should have been annoyed if you had not admired Ralph. Well, now you see why I cannot have him languishing in prison. There is only one thing to do and that is to see my father, talk to him myself.’

‘Will he see you?’ asked Isabella.

‘He will if I present myself. I know him well. He loves us all too dearly not to long for a reconciliation. My dear friends, I shall leave tomorrow for the Court. No, do not try to dissuade me.’

‘We would not attempt to,’ replied the Countess with a smile. ‘We have always known that when you have made up your mind it would be useless to ask you to change it.’

‘I shall plead with him and you will see that he will relent.’

‘I pray that it may be so,’ said the Countess.

Joanna rode into St Albans on a hot July day.

She was received with some dismay for those in attendance on the King were uncertain. She was in disgrace, but she was the King’s daughter and they dared not offend her; yet on the other hand how would the King behave if they treated her as they had before the trouble?

She was now quite noticeably pregnant and she said that she was weary from the journey. She trusted she would not be denied a bed.

They were subdued before her imperious manner. No one would ever doubt Joanna’s royalty. There was an implicit demand in her behaviour to be treated with respect.

She sent a message to the King.

‘Your daughter is here. It is the first time in her life that she has been forced to crave an audience but she does so now and she hopes she will be graciously received.’

The King had heard that she was pregnant and he could not help being concerned for her health. He gave orders that she was to be well looked after and he would see her the following day.

Joanna was triumphant. He had acted as she had known he would. A show of affection, a little cajolery and she would win him over.

But when she stood before him she was a little appalled by the coolness of his expression. Never before had he looked at her in that way. It was as though he disliked her. She did not quail. She was fully confident of her powers.

He was seated on a throne-like chair which called attention to his royalty. She stood before him.

‘My lord father,’ she said, ‘I crave permission to sit.’

He nodded and she sat on a stool.

‘Why do you come here?’ he asked coldly.

‘Because you are my father though you are also the King.’

‘I do not forget it. You offend me doubly … as a daughter and as a subject.’

‘Dear Father, I cannot bear it when you look at me so coldly. I remember so much when my dear mother was alive. Ah, I would that she were here this day. She would listen to me … she would plead with you for me. How unhappy she would be to see you hating me so.’

‘She would indeed be unhappy to have borne such a rebellious daughter.’

‘You loved my mother dearly,’ she said. ‘So do I love my husband.’

‘This … nobody … whom you persuaded me to make a knight!’

‘No one deserved the honour more … nor that of being son-in-law to the greatest of kings. Father, remember … the past … the happiness we have known together. My child will be born in due course, the fruit of my love for my husband whom you have cruelly imprisoned.’

‘It was a mistake,’ the King said harshly. ‘He has his just deserts. I could find him a harsher prison which would no doubt fit his crime.’

At the thought of her husband, Joanna’s calm tactics broke down. She cried out, ‘Release him. He has done no harm. I love him, Father. You understand what that means. I persuaded him to this marriage … I forced him to it … through his love for me.’

A faint twitch which might have been of amusement showed itself at the corner of the King’s lips. He was thinking, Yes, she would have forced him to marry her. She would have selected him and then he would have had no say. That was his daughter Joanna. How could he help but admire such a daughter? She was all fire and energy. And she was not afraid either.

‘Tell me this,’ she went on. ‘Why is it not disgraceful for a man of rank to take a poor woman to be his wife, yet when a woman of rank takes a man of none it is considered so?’

‘You are a princess. He is nobody. You must ask my permission to marry. You flouted me … and the whole country. There were many seeking your hand.’

‘Seeking to better themselves by a royal alliance. My lord, I married once to please you. You gave me to an old man.’

‘Gilbert was good to you.’

‘What else could he be? He did well, did he not, to marry the King’s daughter? But I married him to please you. I took this ageing man because he was important to your schemes. I lived with him, I bore his children, then he died. Now why should I not marry according to my choice?’

‘You should never marry except where I say you may.’

‘How unfair it is. So I am to be denied love, am I, because I am a king’s daughter? One marriage for state reasons … I accepted it. But I claim the right the second time to choose for myself.’

‘You have no right,’ shouted the King. ‘You will do as I say.’

‘You cannot break up our marriage. Ralph is my husband. Nothing you can do to him will alter that.’

‘He can remain my prisoner. You will be stripped of your possessions. You will have to learn what happens to any who disobey the King.’

‘I see I am mistaken. I thought I had a loving father. How we loved … once. When our mother was there and the girls and little Edward … How we trusted you; how secure we felt in your love. But it was tender blossoms was it not, destroyed by the first cold wind … like buds in Maytime … beautiful but delicate.’

She put her hand on her body where she could feel the child.

‘My lord … perhaps my women …’

The King was beside her. ‘What is it?’

She waved him aside. ‘It is as though the child feels the unkindness of its grandsire.’

‘You should be taken to your apartments.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Goodbye, Father; you are a hard man. I could not have believed …’

The tears welled into her eyes and suddenly she threw herself into his arms.

‘I cannot bear it,’ she said. ‘Not my dear, dear father …’

He put his lips against her hair. How beautiful she was! How fierce in her passion! He would not have had her otherwise. The wild one, his dear daughter. So proud he had always been of her.

She clung to him. She would not let him go. Not that he showed any sign of forcing her to do so.

‘Tell me I am forgiven,’ she murmured almost incoherently. ‘Then I will go away … Perhaps I may join my husband in his prison … Your grandchild will be born in captivity but at least I shall be with my husband …’

‘Have done!’ said the King gruffly.

‘Oh, Father, I believe you love me a little after all.’

‘You are my beloved child and you know it,’ he said.

She put her arms about his neck and her face was radiant.

‘Still … your beloved child?’

‘You will always be that.’

‘Oh, my dear father, how happy you have made me.’

‘My dear child, I have been so grieved that there should be this unhappiness between us.’

‘It must be no more. Dear Father, let me tell you how I love my husband. You will love him too if you will but see him. You must love someone who loves your daughter so dearly and has brought her such happiness. Father, to make me happy, will you give the order for his release?’

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I suppose I must do this as my imperious daughter commands it.’

‘None commands the King, but in the goodness of his heart and his love for his children he could not let them continue heart-broken. I want to visit all our mother’s crosses and give thanks at them because you have forgiven me. I want to take my husband there so that we can both give thanks to her. If you will love me again I can be the happiest woman on earth.’

‘I never ceased to love you.’

It was her turn to punish him. ‘It seemed you did. Our mother must have wept in Heaven at your harshness to me and mine.’

He winced a little. He was wondering what Eleanor in Heaven was thinking of his plans to marry again, of his longings for the beautiful Blanche, the most lovely princess ever seen, they said.

He felt uneasy because his desire for Blanche seemed like infidelity to Eleanor.

‘She will rejoice now because we are good friends,’ Joanna said. ‘I am sure she is looking down on us now and weeping with joy.’

She would understand, he thought. Eleanor had always understood. Had she lived he would have remained her faithful husband until the end of his days. But she had gone and he was alone, and Blanche by all accounts was so beautiful.

He said: ‘Your husband shall be released, your lands shall be restored.’

She clung to him, kissing him, exultant in her triumph. How right she had been. Strength, sternness, Plantagenet temper – none of that could stand out against her wiles. His sentimentality had helped her of course, his family feeling. But it was her skill which had played on that.

He was so happy to see their relationship restored. He admitted that he would rather lose a castle than have an unkind word or deed from his family. He loved them all so much. They had been the crowning glory of his love for the Queen.

He was anxious about her. All this upset was not good for the baby she carried.

‘The child is happy now. You may laugh, my lord, but I can tell you it has settled down now. I believe it knows already that it has a king for a grandfather.’

‘You talk nonsense,’ he said fondly.

She wanted to remember every word that was spoken, every gesture he made. She would tell Ralph all about it when they were together again. He would realise that he had a clever wife as well as a seductive one.

She took a fond farewell of her father and everyone marvelled at the way in which he had been won over, for in a very short time Ralph de Monthermer was released and as the Court by that time was at Eltham Palace he went there to do homage to the King.

Edward received him kindly and bestowed on him the title of Earl of Gloucester and Hereford. Honour indeed. He and Joanna went then to Marlborough Castle where their child was born. It was a daughter and they called her Mary.